Arihnda turned. Colonel Yularen was standing a few meters back, his eyes hard on her. “Yes,” she said. “I’m sending them back home. There’s nothing here for them now.”
“Nothing much here for anyone, really,” he said. “I came to tell you that Admiral Thrawn requests our presence aboard the Chimaera.”
Which the colonel could have told her via comm, Arihnda knew. But if he’d done that, he wouldn’t have been able to follow her and see what she was up to.
Fine. Let him watch. Let him watch, and wonder, and suspect. She was Governor Pryce now, ruler of a vast array of mines, factories, and industries vital to the economic and military well-being of the Empire. As long as she continued to deliver what Coruscant wanted, she was untouchable. “Thank you, Colonel,” she said. “Do you have a shuttle ready?”
“I do, Your Excellency,” he said. “Shall we go?”
All people have regrets. Warriors are no exceptions.
One would hope it was possible to distinguish between events caused by one’s carelessness or lack of ability and those caused by circumstances or forces beyond one’s control. But in practice, there is no difference. All forms of regret sear equally deeply into the mind and soul. All forms leave scars of equal bitterness.
And always, beneath the scar, lurks the thought and fear that there was something else that could have been done. Some action, or inaction, that would have changed things for the better. Such questions can sometimes be learned from. All too often, they merely add to the scar tissue.
A warrior must learn to set those regrets aside as best he can. Knowing full well that they will never be very far away.
—
“It was, by anyone’s standards, a slaughter,” Yularen said. His voice is under control but holds deep regret and the echo of dark memories. “I saw some horrendous things during the Clone Wars. This ranks right up there with the worst of them.”
“You have the numbers?” Thrawn asked.
“Yes, sir,” Yularen said, keying his datapad. “As you can see, the number of civilian deaths far exceeded the number of insurgents killed.”
“How do we know which were which?” Governor Pryce asked. Her voice holds scorn and caution but no sympathy. The muscles of her arms and shoulders are tight beneath her tunic. “This was a citizen uprising, after all.”
“We can assume the people inside the central cordon and the ones holding weapons on the sentry lines were insurgents,” Yularen said. His tone is polite but holds barely concealed contempt. “The people in their houses when the firestorm blew them apart probably weren’t.”
“There’s no need for vehemence, Colonel,” Pryce said. Her voice holds calmness now, with the scorn fading. Her hands, resting on the conference table, show rigid self-control.
“You do not know how the explosives came to be detonated before the shield generator?” Thrawn asked.
“I’ll tell you what I told Colonel Yularen,” Pryce said. “I went to my parents’ house to get them ready to leave. We waited there for Agent Gudry. He didn’t return by the time we’d agreed on, so we left. I can only assume he was trapped or disabled by the insurgents, and rather than allow them to take him alive triggered the caps.”
“Those on the explosives cache first?” Yularen asked. His voice holds suspicion. His eyes are fixed unblinkingly on Pryce.
“Or he triggered both at once,” Pryce said. Her voice holds impatience and challenge. Her hands begin to move, then become motionless again as she regains control. “Or he tried the generator first and it failed. We won’t know the details until a full investigation is made.”
Commander Vanto stirred in his chair, also frustrated and suspicious. But he said nothing.
“The Senate has already ordered an inquiry,” Yularen said. “But I doubt they’ll find anything useful. The inner section of the complex, where the explosions took place, was reduced pretty much to dust.”
“Again, I don’t have much sympathy for the insurgents,” Pryce said. “But I do mourn the loss of Agent Gudry. He was a good agent, and a loyal protector.”
“I trust you also mourn the troopers who died in the blast,” Yularen said. “Including those who had been sent to rescue you.”
“A mission I was unaware of,” Pryce said. Her voice holds coolness. The tightness is fading from her muscles. “As I told you earlier, I didn’t want to use my comm more than absolutely necessary.”
“Have we information as to the insurgents’ ability to tap into such communications?” Thrawn asked.
“We don’t know that they could, sir,” Vanto said. “But it is theoretically possible. And someone like Nightswan would certainly have wanted to keep tabs on who was communicating from inside his stronghold if he’d had the capability.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “Your report, Colonel, said his death was confirmed?”
“Yes, sir,” Yularen said. “His body was found and identified in one of the outer areas, where the damage was less severe. He was probably checking on the perimeter.” He hesitated. “Possibly preparing to stand alongside the defenders there.”
“Yes,” Thrawn said.
And so it was over. The path had ended. The pattern was broken.
The song of the Nightswan was silenced. The galaxy would be the worse for its loss.
“Still, the Emperor is pleased with the outcome,” Pryce said. Her voice holds pride and satisfaction as she looks at Thrawn. Her head is held high. “Very pleased indeed.”
“Is he?” Thrawn said.
Pryce’s eyes slip away from his gaze. Her throat muscles tighten, her expression holding caution and discomfort. “He is,” she said. “I expect he’ll find a tangible way to show his thanks.”
There was a signal from the conference room intercom. “Yes?” Thrawn asked.
“A message from Coruscant, Admiral,” Faro reported. Her voice holds controlled excitement. “The Emperor requests your presence at the Imperial Palace at your earliest convenience.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Transmit my acknowledgment, and inform Coruscant that we will travel there as soon as the Batonn matter has been finalized.”
“Yes, sir.” The intercom clicked off.
“You don’t want to keep the Emperor waiting, Admiral,” Pryce warned.
“Agreed,” Yularen said. “With respect, sir, we can handle things from groundside.”
“And the cruisers can follow on as soon as their repairs are complete, sir,” Vanto added. “They shouldn’t be more than a couple of days behind us. If you’d like, we can leave the frigates here with them so that they can all convoy together.”
“An excellent thought,” Thrawn said. “Very well. Inform Commander Faro to make ready. The Chimaera will leave Batonn in three hours, with the rest of the task force following as able. Colonel Yularen, if during the next three hours you find my attention here is further needed, please inform me so that I may delay our departure.”
“Yes, sir.” Yularen, Vanto, and Pryce stand up from the table.
“Governor Pryce, a word with you in private, if I may,” Thrawn said.
Vanto and Yularen exchanged glances. But they collected their data cards and left the conference room without further comment.
“A question, Admiral?” Pryce asked when the others were gone. She remains standing by her chair, her body stance holding no indication that she is preparing to sit down again.
“A statement, Governor,” Thrawn corrected.
Pryce shakes her head. Her cheek and throat muscles show fresh tension, but her back is stiff and straight and her head is held high with defiant confidence. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s not how you bring an accusation against a powerful member of the Imperial government,” she said. “For all your tactical skill, Admiral, you still don’t know the first thing about dealing with politicians.”
“Do I not?”