“Your lack of knowledge regarding your assigned post is puzzling,” Thrawn said. “Under the circumstances I must draw your attention to Paragraph Seven. That proviso states that before any talks may be opened, the governor or other leader must fully disarm.” He gestured toward the tactical. “I must therefore insist that those turbolaser emplacements around your palace be removed.”
“Oh, you insist, do you?” Quesl retorted in a condescending tone. “So. Commodore or not, Imperial Star Destroyer or not, you still dare not face a free people and their weapons? Afraid our bite is as bad as our bark?” He folded his arms across his chest, a mocking smile on his face. “You want those turbolasers gone, Commodore Thrawn? Fine. Do it yourself.”
“Very well,” Thrawn said. He gestured to Yve. “Senior Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir,” Yve said. “Special Unit One: Go.” On the tactical, six of the TIE fighters that had been moving to intercept the V-19s abruptly broke formation. Weaving easily through the defenders’ formation, they headed straight in toward the capital and the palace.
“What? No!” Quesl shouted. “Defenders—defend!”
The turbolasers opened fire, their brilliant blasts sizzling through the air toward the incoming fighters.
It was an exercise in futility. Yve had trained her TIE pilots superbly, and the starfighters themselves were fast and nimble. They evaded the blasts with ease, approaching the palace even as the defenders’ fire increased. “It is not too late to surrender, Governor,” Thrawn said.
“Never,” Quesl spat. His face was taut with expectation, his eyes focused somewhere off cam. “I will die with dignity and grace, and with the full strength and defiance of the Jefi people at my side.”
“Your spirit is admirable,” Thrawn said. “But your dramatics are quite unnecessary. Observe the power and the skill of the Imperial Navy.”
The TIEs had reached the palace, and their laser cannons opened fire.
But they weren’t targeting the palace. Even as they twisted and turned and jinked to avoid the frantic turbolaser blasts, they instead poured salvo after salvo into the weapons themselves. One of the turbolasers disintegrated in a brilliant blast of shattered metal and ceramic. The second went…then the third…
“Commander Faro?” Thrawn called.
Eli blinked. So engrossed had he become in the deadly dance at the planet’s surface that he’d forgotten to keep track of the situation in the Chimaera’s immediate vicinity. He looked at the tactical—
To discover that, while he’d been distracted, the Chimaera had somehow drifted a significant distance to starboard toward the corvette still holding position there. A blue line appeared on the tactical, marking the activation of one of the Star Destroyer’s tractor beams—
And on the comm display, Quesl gasped as his image gave a violent jerk.
Eli looked back at the tactical as it belatedly hit him. “He’s on the corvette?”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his voice. “Along with the extremely valuable art collection that you see behind him. My apologies, Governor, for failing to cooperate in your hoped-for destruction of the palace. It would have rather effectively covered up your theft, as well as enraging the Jefies into launching a full attack on the Chimaera. I expect you hoped to slip away to freedom during the resulting chaos.”
On the display, Quesl was breathing heavily, his face a mask of hatred and despair. “They’ll never believe you,” he bit out. “The Jefies are loyal to me.”
“They are loyal to a respected leader,” Thrawn countered, his voice going cold. “I do not believe they will see you as such beyond this day.”
For a moment Quesl glared. Then he seemed to wilt. Offering Thrawn another mocking smile, he half turned to look at the wall behind him. “They’re worth hundreds of millions, Commodore. Maybe even billions. And all they do is sit collecting dust in a third-rate building on a fifth-rate world. Billions.”
He turned back, some of the melancholy replaced by puzzlement. “But there are two identical corvettes. How did you know I was on this one?”
“The starfighter flyby,” Thrawn said. “Your pilot twitched with reaction to what he feared would be an impending collision. Human crew. The other corvette trusted their leader implicitly, and thus showed no such fear. Jefi crew. You, of course, could not rely on Jefies to assist you in their betrayal.”
Quesl sighed. “So that’s it?”
“Hardly,” Thrawn assured him. “You and your crew must still be brought aboard the Chimaera, the artwork must be returned, the Jefies need to be enlightened, and a new leader must be chosen until Coruscant can send a new governor.” His eyes glittered. “Later, of course, there will be your trial.”
He let the last word hang in the air for a moment, perhaps inviting Quesl the chance to respond. But the governor remained silent.
Thrawn gestured for the comm display to be blanked. “So I gather there is no Clone Wars–era treaty?” Faro asked.
“No,” Thrawn said. “I merely wished to keep him in view until his movement under the tractor beam’s pull gave final confirmation of his presence.”
He took a deep breath. “Senior Lieutenant Lomar, contact the chief of the Botajef Defense Force and explain the situation. I’m sure he’ll want proof; you may invite him aboard at his convenience. Commander Faro, bring the governor’s corvette into the hangar bay. Major Ayer, your stormtroopers will board as soon as the vessel is secure. Take care with the prisoners; take even better care with the artwork. Senior Lieutenant Yve, bring Special Unit One back to screen position with the other TIEs. Inform all pilots they are to remain alert, but that no further combat is anticipated.”
He looked at Eli, and Eli thought he could detect a small smile on the Chiss’s lips. “Commander Vanto, you will contact the High Command on Coruscant. Inform them that the situation on Botajef has been resolved.”
It is believed by many that the military life is one of adventure and excitement. In truth, that life more often consists of long periods of routine, even boredom, with only brief intervals of challenge and danger.
Enemies seldom seek out their opponents. The warrior must become a hunter, searching and stalking with craft and patience. Successes are often achieved by a confluence of small things: stray facts, unwary or overheard conversations, logistical vectors. If the hunter is persistent, the pattern will become visible, and the enemy will be found. Only then will the routine be broken by combat.
It’s not surprising, therefore, that those seeking excitement sometimes weary of long and arduous pursuits. They are relieved when the enemy appears of his own accord, standing firm and issuing a challenge.
But the wise warrior is especially wary at those times. He knows there are few things more dangerous than a skilled enemy on his own carefully chosen ground.
—
“Code cylinders, please,” the door warden said. Her voice is brisk and formal, but her face shows suspicion.
“Here,” Vanto said, handing over both his cylinder and Thrawn’s.
The warden takes the first and slips it into the ID reader. The confirmation procedure takes longer than usual. Perhaps she doesn’t believe that the IDs are genuine.
Vanto notices the delay, as well. “Is there a problem, Warrant Officer?”
“No problem, Commander.” Her face still holds suspicion as she returns the cylinders. But she does not hold enough doubt to summon assistance. “You’re cleared to enter, Commander Vanto.” Another brief but noticeable hesitation. “As are you, Admiral Thrawn.”
They passed through the doorway into the High Command headquarters. “I wonder what it is this time,” Vanto murmured as they made their way among the other navy personnel hurrying about their appointed tasks.
“The pattern of communications during the past four days indicates that the One Oh Third and One Twenty-Fifth task forces have also been summoned,” Thrawn said. “I conclude a major mission is being planned.”
“Interesting,” Vanto said. “How much sifting through the chatter did it take to dig out those bits of information?”