Arihnda began to breathe again. So it was just the local politics that were the problem? She could handle that. “I’ll look into it when I get back to Lothal,” she promised. “I can petition the Senate, possibly even the Emperor. There are procedures for that kind of thing.”
“Yes, there are,” Talmoor said grimly. “They’re called revolution. I understand your concerns about your friend, Mattai, but there’s really nothing you can do.”
“And I’m perfectly willing to accept that,” Gudry said. “But I need to hear that from him. I’ve heard too many stories about people being press-ganged by pirates and insurgent groups—and yes, I know most of them are probably apocryphal. But I need—” He swallowed hard. “I just need to hear it from him.”
“So we’re going in,” Arihnda said. “You don’t have to take us if you don’t want to, but it would help if you could call ahead to someone you know.”
Talmoor sighed. “You’ll never get through the cordon without me. Fine, I’ll take you. What’s your friend’s name?”
“Who knows?” Gudry said. “I mean, he hasn’t always been on the right side of the law, if you get my meaning. I knew him as Blayze Jonoo, but I don’t know what he’s using here.”
“That’s helpful,” Talmoor said with a touch of sarcasm. “Will you at least recognize him if you see him?”
“Absolutely,” Gudry assured him. “And he’s a weapons electronics guy, so that should give us a clue as to where they might have him working.”
“Okay,” Talmoor said, snagging his jacket from a coat tree by the door. “We’ll go in and take a quick look around. But if and when they tell us to leave, we leave. Clear?”
“Clear,” Arihnda said. “Before we go, I need to use the restroom.”
“Okay,” Talmoor said. “You remember where it is?”
“Unless you and Mother have moved it,” Arihnda said with a tight smile. “I’ll be right back.”
She was, too. But on the way to the restroom was the kitchen, and her mother’s handbag hanging by its strap as usual on a peg behind the door. Out of sight of the others, Arihnda opened the side pouch, hoping fervently that her mother hadn’t changed her comm make and model since the last time she’d visited.
But her mother was a creature of habit, and to Arihnda’s relief the comm was the same one she’d had before. Quickly, Arihnda swapped it out for the identical one she’d brought from Coruscant, then continued on to the restroom.
It would have been nice to simply borrow the comm without bothering with the switch. But she didn’t dare risk it. If her mother noticed it was missing, she’d use a finder ping to locate it, and that could bring up awkward questions at the wrong time and place. This way, unless Elainye decided to make a call, her comm’s disappearance shouldn’t be noticed.
Gudry was still going on about his missing friend when Arihnda rejoined them. “Ready?” Talmoor asked.
“Ready,” Arihnda confirmed. “Thanks, Father.”
“You’re always welcome,” Talmoor said. “All right. Let’s do this.”
—
The terminator line had passed Paeragosto City. The sky over the enemy stronghold at Creekpath was darkening with the approach of night.
It was time.
Thrawn’s office was quiet, filled with the same twilight the insurgents below were experiencing. Surrounding him were holograms of Batonnese art, hovering like messengers from the past, each piece speaking to the ethos, attitudes, and modes of thinking of the people and culture that had created it. Shape and flow, color and texture, style and medium—it all spoke to him. Even such factors as the type of art and the reputed value of the pieces offered clues as to how the people would act and react in warfare.
Unfortunately, with this kind of insurgency the patterns weren’t as clear as a simple planetary uprising would be. Most of those under Nightswan’s leadership were Batonnese, but there would be others who had journeyed here to join their cause. Those outside elements would distort and dilute the patterns laid out by the art.
Ideally, he would have had time for a more leisurely, more focused study of the enemy. But there was no more time. Scrim Island had been a diversion, something loud and obvious with which Nightswan had hoped to hold Imperial attention while he gathered his forces and weaponry under Creekpath’s protective shield. Most likely he had expected the island’s recapture to persuade the Empire that Batonn was no longer a threat, leaving him time for further preparation after they withdrew.
But for once he’d miscalculated. His time was coming to an end, along with the Batonn insurgency.
It was Thrawn’s responsibility to do everything in his power to ensure it ended in the best possible way.
His desk comm was already set to the proper frequency. “Yes?” a woman answered.
“This is Admiral Thrawn aboard the ISD Chimaera,” he said. “I wish to speak to Nightswan.”
There was a pause. “Excuse me?” the woman said. Her voice holds disbelief and astonishment.
“This is Admiral Thrawn,” Thrawn repeated. “Please inform Nightswan that I wish to speak with him.”
This time, the pause was longer. “One moment.”
It was forty seconds before the comm came active again. “This is Nightswan,” the familiar voice said. His tone holds caution but little surprise. “How did you get this frequency?”
“It was one of many contained in the records of the freighter Commander Vanto and I took from your Nomad.”
“Ah,” Nightswan said. His voice now holds dark humor within the caution. “Careless of whoever flew that ship last. Well. With anyone else I’d expect an ultimatum or at least some gloating. But neither strikes me as your style. Why did you call?”
“I wish to speak with you.”
“We are.”
“Together, face-to-face, with no barriers between us.”
There is a quiet snort. “Certainly. Do you want to come to my heavily armed camp, or shall I come to yours?”
“There is a field two kilometers northeast of the Creekpath facility,” Thrawn said. “It includes a ridge of low hills that block it from casual observation, but is easily accessible from your camp.”
Another pause. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Nightswan said. His voice holds confusion. “You really want me to come there, out from under the shield?”
“If it would make you feel more comfortable, I will arrive first,” Thrawn offered. “As you know, I have a civilian freighter, one that would not draw undue attention.”
“You’ll have guards, of course.”
“I will order them to stay with the freighter and out of firing distance. Be assured that I do not seek your death.”
“Just my capture?”
“You misunderstand,” Thrawn said. “Your value to me cannot be realized by your capture. It certainly cannot be realized by your death.”
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Nightswan said. Caution, but also a rising interest. “What is my value to you?”
“I will only speak of it face-to-face,” Thrawn said. “I will not discuss it in a comm conversation.”
“I see.” Another pause. “You say you don’t want to kill me. I like that part. What makes you think I won’t kill you?”
“Because you value life,” Thrawn said. “Because I am the only guarantee that the civilians crowded within your stronghold will not be slaughtered. Should others lead the attack, they will almost certainly kill everyone and destroy everything in their path. You do not want that.”
“I didn’t ask the civilians to come here,” Nightswan said. There is fresh pain, and anger, and resentment. “Some I couldn’t help, the ones whose homes are under the shield. But the others…I asked them not to come. But we couldn’t keep them out.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “I also understand that you see that burden the way I would see it. I pledge to do all in my power to prevent unnecessary deaths. That is why I know you will allow me to return to the Chimaera in peace.”
The pause this time was longer, nearly eleven seconds. A reading of expression and body stance would be useful. But the connection was only audio.
If Nightswan accepted his invitation, a more complete reading would be possible.
“As I say, curiosity,” Nightswan said. “All right, why not? The northeast field. When?”
“I will be there in one hour,” Thrawn said. “You may arrive at your convenience.”
“One hour,” Nightswan said. “I’ll be there.”