“Okay,” Eli said, fresh doubts nagging at him. Playing this insane role on a comm was one thing. Playing it in person was something else.
He forced the thought away. The whole essence of being a scoundrel was self-confidence. If he couldn’t fake that, he was dead. “Where will you be?”
“Engineering our escape,” Thrawn said. “In the meantime, learn as much about them as you can.”
“Right.” The Nomad was coming into view ahead, and Eli could see that there were six small ships already lined up in its long, full-flank repair bay. Tucked in among the parked vessels were three empty slots, with flashing approach lights marking the one in the center. “Just remember that I can’t keep this role up forever.”
“I’ll be as quick as I can,” Thrawn said. He left the cockpit, taking Eli’s tunic with him.
“Figg, there’s a landing slot marked for you,” the freighter pilot said, veering out of Eli’s path. “Land and come outside. Someone will be waiting.”
Eli keyed the transmitter. “Understood,” he said. “I hope there’s something to eat. I’m starving.”
“Just be ready to talk,” the other said sourly. “Because you’ll be doing a lot of that.”
—
Three armed men were waiting for Eli when he walked down the freighter’s ramp. “Well, well,” one of them sneered. “An Imperial. What a surprise.”
“And you’re exactly the kind of idiot I wear this for,” Eli said, putting tired contempt into his voice. “Did you even notice that it doesn’t fit?”
“Or see the blaster burn?” one of the others added, pointing his blaster toward Eli’s stomach.
“Which you can’t see if I angle the comm cam just right,” Eli said. “Guaranteed to get people’s attention and cooperation.”
“Not here it doesn’t,” the first man said. “That blaster. Pull it out—slowly—and kick it over.”
“Be careful with it,” Eli said, drawing his blaster from its holster and setting it on the deck in front of him. A gentle nudge with his toe sent it spinning across to the guards. “That’s part of my stock. Genuine Imperial Navy sidearm. Can’t get those just anywhere.”
“You’d be surprised,” the first man said. “Arms out and stand still.”
Eli complied. The man gestured, and his two companions laid their own blasters on the deck and walked over to Eli, purposeful expressions on their faces.
He’d hoped they wouldn’t find the hold-out blaster hidden under his arm. They did.
“More stock?” the first man asked, taking the weapon and frowning at it as the others retrieved their own weapons.
“Part stock, part insurance,” Eli said. “You’d be surprised how many customers try to walk off without paying for their purchases.”
“I’ll bet. Come on.”
The docking bay had three hatches leading into the rest of the massive ship. The three men took Eli through the center one, the hatch nearest his freighter. A short walk down a rust-edged corridor, a turn into another corridor, and they arrived at a compartment with a faded plaque that said SHIPMASTER beside it.
The first man stepped forward and tapped the release. The hatch opened, and he gestured Eli forward.
Eli took a careful breath. Self-confidence, he reminded himself. Arrogant self-confidence. With a casual nod at his captor, he walked through the hatchway.
And froze. Seated behind an old desk, a small smile on his face—
“Cygni?”
“So you remember me,” the man said, his smile widening a bit. “It’s good to see you again, Commander Vanto.
“And please—call me Nightswan.”
—
For a long moment, Eli couldn’t breathe. Ever since that first run-in aboard the Dromedar, Nightswan had always kept to the shadows and background. Always. He was the last person Eli had expected to see in charge of the Scrim Island operation.
Was this something new? Or had they never really known the man at all?
He started as someone poked him hard in the back. Forcing his muscles to unfreeze, he stepped into the room. “Have a seat,” Nightswan said, gesturing to a chair at the corner of his desk. “What was he carrying?”
“Standard blaster,” the first guard said, brushing past Eli and laying the navy sidearm on the desk. “Plus this,” he added, setting the hold-out blaster beside it. “Never seen one like it before.”
“An antique of some sort,” Nightswan said, peering closely at it. “Clone Wars era?” he asked, looking up at Eli.
Eli shook his head. “No idea.”
“Doesn’t really matter,” Nightswan said, turning both weapons a few degrees so that they were pointed away from him and directly at Eli. “I’m glad that Admiral Thrawn sent you to seek me out, by the way. I always thought you’d been handed a bad set of cards, and your presence here means you’ll be spared what the rebels on Scrim Island are doing to him right now.” He frowned, his gaze dropping to the tunic’s insignia plaque. “You are a commander, aren’t you? I saw the announcement. You haven’t been demoted, have you?”
“No, I’m still a commander,” Eli confirmed, some of his mental haze burning away in a sudden surge of cautious excitement. Nightswan thought it was Thrawn directing that botched attack on the island? “This is just part of the camouflage.”
“Ah,” Nightswan said. “Not much of a disguise. You really weren’t expecting to be challenged?”
“Oh, I was expecting to be challenged,” Eli said, his mind racing. Nightswan clearly thought Eli was here alone. His best chance now was to stall. “I just wasn’t expecting there to be someone aboard who’d ever seen me before, let alone you. So, what, you’ve thrown in with a bunch of crazies?”
“They’re hardly crazies,” Nightswan said. “Your Empire is corrupt, Commander. Corrupt, dangerous, and ultimately self-defeating. It’s going to fall anyway. I’m just helping it along.”
“I’d go easy on the overconfidence if I were you,” Eli offered. “As long as there are commanders like Admiral Thrawn, you’re going to have an uphill job of it.”
“Ah, but there are no commanders like Admiral Thrawn,” Nightswan said with a tight smile. “Not anymore.”
The smile faded. “Please understand that Scrim Island was my last resort. I’d tried destroying him politically. I’d tried persuading the High Command that he was more trouble than he was worth. But he skated clear every time. Killing him was the only way I could think of to neutralize him.”
“I’m sure he appreciated your earlier restraint,” Eli said, frowning as the patterns of Nightswan’s earlier challenges suddenly became clear. “Still, Star Destroyers are pretty tough ships. The island also has only one turbolaser, and it’s firing through atmosphere. He may wiggle out yet.”
Nightswan shrugged. “Perhaps. At this point, though, it doesn’t really matter. Losing his command ship—and the ship is lost, whether he personally survives or not—is a blunder even he can’t withstand. Whoever his friends are, however highly they’re placed, they’ll have no choice now but to turn their backs on him.”
Eli had to smile at that one. “Maybe,” he said. “You seem to have taken an interest in his career.”
“I have,” Nightswan said, frowning at Eli’s smile. “Ever since he turned the tables on my little tibanna gas theft. What’s so funny?”
“Oh, nothing,” Eli said. “Speaking of the tibanna, that was a nice trick of your own. How did you get the gas out without leaving any damage to the cylinders?”
“Sorry. Professional secret.”
“So what?” Eli countered. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Nightswan said. “Not unless you make trouble. My target was Thrawn, not you.”
“Thanks,” Eli said drily. “Not sure whether to be flattered or insulted. Though even Scrim Island may not be enough. I gather you don’t know how Thrawn happened to be admitted into the navy in the first place.”