Leadership and obedience are the two legs on which a warrior’s life is balanced. Without both, victory cannot be achieved.
Leadership depends on information and comprehension. Not so obedience. Sometimes a commander may choose to share details of his plan. Often he may not. In either case, obedience must be instant and complete.
Such automatic response relies on trust between commander and those commanded. And that trust can only be obtained through leadership.
Eli had expected Captain Rossi to take Thrawn’s recommendations badly. He wasn’t disappointed.
“A full op crew?” Rossi echoed incredulously. “Is he out of his mind?”
“Ma’am, the cargo is extremely valuable,” Eli pointed out, fighting back a growing annoyance. Rossi had no business simply rejecting Thrawn’s suggestions out of hand. But Thrawn likewise shouldn’t have put Eli in the middle of this in the first place. If he wanted to pitch this crazy plan he should have done it himself. “If we can move either the ship or the tibanna—”
“And if he thinks he’s going to play around with twenty tibanna cylinders while my ship is in even the same solar system, he’s very much mistaken,” Rossi cut him off.
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said, glowering at his comlink. Now the captain was just being overdramatic. A cascading tibanna explosion was seriously nasty, but it wasn’t that bad. “But if Lieutenant Thrawn thinks it can be done, it may be worth letting him try.”
“It would hardly be a major loss for the navy if he blew himself to atoms,” Rossi countered sarcastically. “But I’m not risking that much of my crew on those odds. Anyway, it’s a moot point. A Ho’Din settlement on Moltok is getting shot at by the local Makurth boss, and they need some Imperial muscle to knock their little heads together before it becomes a full-fledged war. We need to go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli said, wishing he could just let it go and let Rossi’s decision play out, for better or worse, upon her own head.
But Cygni needed protection and justice, too. So did the Imperial base or local planetary defense force that had ordered that tibanna shipment.
Besides, Thrawn was counting on him.
“What if just Lieutenant Thrawn and I stayed behind?” he suggested to Rossi. “Possibly with one of the techs along to assist? We could try to get the ship started, and maybe work on the tibanna a little. You could come back and get us after you’ve settled the Moltok situation.”
There was a short pause, and Eli could visualize Rossi tapping her fingers on her armrest as she weighed her options.
If Eli were a betting man—and if gambling were allowed aboard the Blood Crow—he would bet on the captain going with whatever option had the best chance of Thrawn blowing himself up. If the tibanna didn’t do the trick, a shipload of returning pirates might.
“Very well, Ensign,” Rossi said. “Inform Lieutenant Thrawn that he can have whatever equipment he needs, and up to three crew, assuming he can find that many willing to volunteer. You’ll stay with him regardless, of course. An important officer like that can’t be without his aide.”
Eli scowled. He’d called it, all right. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’ll deliver your message immediately.”
Given the circumstances, Rossi no doubt assumed the repair party would consist only of Thrawn and Eli. It was probably a surprise to her, and not a pleasant one, when Barlin, Layneo, and Jakeeb all instantly volunteered to stay, as well.
“I’m gratified you were all willing to help,” Cygni said as he and the others watched from the Dromedar’s bridge as the Blood Crow jumped to lightspeed. “I just hope it doesn’t end badly for you.”
“It will not,” Thrawn assured him. “Ensign Barlin, Tech Layneo: You may begin when ready.”
“Yes, sir,” Barlin said, seating herself at the helm station. “Layneo?”
“On it, ma’am,” Layneo said, pulling a chair over to the main computer station. “Here we go.”
“What are they doing?” Cygni asked, lowering his voice to a whisper as if afraid he would disturb their work.
“They are attempting what is known as an asymmetric backdoor,” Thrawn told him. “It is a hidden code programmed into many ship computers for precisely this purpose.”
Cygni whistled softly. “I’ve never heard of that. Nice.” He threw a sideways look toward Thrawn. “Never heard of a nonhuman as an Imperial officer, either. You’re some sort of Pantoran, right?”
Eli took a breath, preparing to point out that Pantorans didn’t have red eyes—
“Of a sort, yes,” Thrawn said. “What I am is a lieutenant in the Imperial Navy.”
“Right,” Cygni said again. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to pry. I just…no offense.”
“None taken,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto, go to engineering and unpack the crate I had delivered aboard. We shall join you shortly.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said, frowning slightly. There was something about the way Thrawn was acting, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Was he worried about the ship? The tibanna gas? The pirates? Captain Rossi?
Actually, when he put it that way, it wasn’t surprising at all that Thrawn might feel preoccupied.
The crate had been left just outside the cargo bay where the line of tibanna cylinders stood against the hull. Eli glanced into the bay—Jakeeb was in there taking the readings Thrawn had ordered—then set to work on the crate. He got the end open.
And felt his eyes widen. He’d had no idea that Thrawn was bringing—
“What in the world?” Cygni’s stunned voice came from behind him. “Is that a buzz droid?”
“It is,” Thrawn said calmly. “I am surprised you recognize it.”
“They weren’t exactly a secret weapon,” Cygni said, walking up to Eli and crouching beside him to peer into the crate. “That’s a Mark One, isn’t it? Rare. Is it functional? Please tell me it isn’t functional.”
“Of course it is functional,” Thrawn said. “It would hardly be of use otherwise.”
Cygni looked at Thrawn, then at the buzz droid, then back at Thrawn. “Okay, you’ve lost me,” he said. “These things were designed to eat starfighters, right?”
“They also have other uses,” Thrawn said. “Come. I will explain.”
He turned and walked through the hatchway into the cargo bay. Cygni watched him go, then turned to Eli. “Is he serious? About using buzz droids in there, I mean?”
“I assume so,” Eli said.
“Really.” Cygni looked at the hatchway again, then shrugged and gestured to Eli. “After you,” he said. “This I have to see.”
Thrawn was standing with Jakeeb, the two having a quiet discussion, when Eli and Cygni joined them. “Tech Jakeeb confirms my earlier assumptions,” Thrawn said. “The static-lock does indeed seal the tibanna cylinders, but only from this side.”
“Excuse me?” Cygni asked, sounding even more confused. “What do you mean, this side?”
Thrawn gestured. “Tech Jakeeb?”
“The lock’s only on the cargo bay side of the cylinders,” Jakeeb explained. “See, they’re fastened right against the hull with half-meter struts. That’s too short a distance for the lock to go all the way around—it would short out or power-drain itself out of existence. So the lock is just on the surfaces inside the bay.”
“Though also around the ends of the cylinder row, I assume,” Eli said. He saw where Thrawn was going with this now.
“Correct,” Jakeeb confirmed. “Just not on the backside. So if you want to get to them, your best bet is to go through the hull.”
“Hence, the buzz droid,” Cygni said, sounding awed. “I’ll be damned. Why hasn’t anyone thought of that before?”
“Oh, they have,” Jakeeb said. “Thing is, it’s not quite as simple as it sounds.”
“Because?”
“One, you have to get a buzz droid and probably rebuild it,” Jakeeb said, ticking off fingers. “Two, once you’ve done that, big-ship hulls are thicker and tougher than the old starfighters. Fair chance you’ll wreck your droid before you’re halfway through. Third—” He looked at Thrawn, raised his eyebrows.
“Third is that you will necessarily drain one of the cylinders into space when you cut through,” Thrawn said. “That represents a loss that many are unwilling to accept.”
“Though losing one out of twenty isn’t bad, percentage-wise,” Cygni mused. “Especially if the alternative is to lose all of them. So I gather once you have that cylinder drained, you can cut it into little pieces and dump it out your gap in the hull, which then gives you access to the others from the back. Then you just work your way down the line, cutting all the struts and freeing them one by one?”
“Exactly,” Jakeeb said. “Takes a while, but once you’ve got the first one out it’s a purely mechanical operation.” He looked at Thrawn again. “There is one other slight problem, of course. Venting the tibanna outside the ship theoretically works just fine. But if you spark the vapor in just the right way…well, there could be trouble.”
“As in blowing up the ship?” Cygni asked.
“Not that much trouble,” Jakeeb said. “But it would be a mess.”
“Fortunately, that will not be necessary after all,” Thrawn said. His head was cocked a little to the side, Eli saw, as if he was listening to something.
“Why not?” Cygni asked.
In answer, Thrawn pulled out his comlink. “Ensign Barlin? Do I hear the hyperdrive going active?”
“Yes, sir, you do,” Barlin’s voice came faintly from the comlink. “Got through the lock, and we’re just about ready to go. Does Cygni have the destination coordinates? Or are we just going to take the ship to Ansion?”
“Neither, I’m afraid,” Cygni said softly.
Frowning, Eli turned to him.
And froze. The wretched, nervous, ill-fated crewman had vanished. In his place was someone else: quiet, calm, and supremely confident.
A small blaster held steady in his hand.
“What the hell?” Jakeeb breathed.
Cygni ignored the comment. Pulling out a comlink with his free hand, he flicked it on. “We’re good,” he said. “Three with the tibanna; two on the bridge.” He raised his eyebrows toward Thrawn. “I’d appreciate it if you’d order Barlin and Layneo to surrender quietly.”
“Why should I deprive them of their right and duty to defend their lives?” Thrawn countered.
“Because if they surrender, they won’t be harmed,” Cygni said. “I give you my word.”
“And these?” Thrawn asked, inclining his head toward Eli and Jakeeb.
“None of you will be harmed,” Cygni said. “All we want is the tibanna.” He wrinkled his nose. “Well, and the ship, too. I guess that goes without saying.”
Before Thrawn could answer, a dozen large, rough-looking men appeared, swarming through the hatchway into the cargo bay. One of them, a thin man with a braided beard, raised his blaster—
“Blasters down,” Cygni snapped. “They’ve surrendered. No shooting. Angel, I said down.”
The man with the braided beard ignored him. “What the hell is that?” he demanded, jabbing the blaster at Thrawn.
“That,” Cygni said, “is a lieutenant of the Imperial Navy. Now lower your weapon.” He looked at Thrawn. “Lieutenant?”
For a moment Thrawn studied him. Then he raised his comlink again. “Ensign Barlin, a group of pirates are on their way. They’ve been ordered not to harm you if you surrender without resistance. You will do so.”
“Sir?”
“Surrender, Ensign. That is an order.” Thrawn put the comlink away. “Would you care to accept my surrender personally, Mr. Cygni?”
“That’s all right, Lieutenant,” Cygni said, not moving. “I get no particular enjoyment out of defeating my opponents. Angel? Disarm them, please.”
“Yeah.” Angel grinned evilly. “ ’Cause I do enjoy it. So don’t get clever.” He gestured three of his soldiers forward.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eli saw Jakeeb brace himself as he prepared for action. “As you were, Jakeeb,” he murmured. “You’ve been given an order.”
Jakeeb hissed out a sigh. “Yes, sir.”
A moment later, the Imperials were disarmed.
“Good,” Cygni said. To Eli’s eye he looked more relaxed now that the risk of combat was past. “Better call your ship, Angel.”
“Already called,” Angel said. “I suppose you want me to toss this crowd in with the others?”
“That was the deal,” Cygni said. “No deaths; no injuries. Oh, and in case I didn’t mention it, I already have people on the ground at the drop point to make sure you deliver everyone safely.”
“Well, you know, now, things don’t always go the way you want ’em to,” Angel warned. His eyes, Eli noted, hadn’t left Thrawn for a minute. “Sometimes there are accidents. Sometimes there’s trouble. There can be—”
“Sometimes there are consequences you really don’t want to face,” Cygni said. He hadn’t raised his voice, but something in his tone nevertheless sent a chill up Eli’s back. “Enough posturing. You have the other two Imperials? Good. Bring them down here. As soon as your ship arrives, we’ll transfer them over. I trust you’ve decided which of your men will help me bring the Dromedar to port?”
“Oh, yeah, I got your team,” Angel said, still eyeing Thrawn. “Starting with me.”
Cygni frowned. “There’s no need for you to come personally,” he said. “Getting the cylinders will take some time, whether we break the static-lock or use Lieutenant Thrawn’s idea of cutting them out through the hull. Plenty of time for you to drop the prisoners and rejoin us.”
“I know,” Angel said. “I just like your company, that’s all.” He nodded toward Thrawn. “I was just saying that accidents do happen. Not saying they would or wouldn’t, just saying they could.”
Cygni gazed at him, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked at Thrawn, back at Angel. Eli held his breath…
“Let me sweeten the pot,” Cygni said. “Did you notice that box in the passageway on your way in?”
“Yeah,” Angel said. “Is that a buzz droid?”
“It is indeed,” Cygni said. “Take it as a bonus. It’s probably worth, what—?” He held up a hand toward Thrawn.
“Two hundred credits as it is,” Thrawn said.
Cygni snorted. “You have no idea, Lieutenant. That’s a Mark One, Angel. At current prices, it’s probably a thousand credits just for the core’s doonium shell.”
Angel threw a startled look at the droid. “It’s got a doonium shell?”
“Refined, case-hardened, and ready for the right buyer to pull it off and drop it on the black market,” Cygni confirmed. “A thousand credits. Two hundred each for five otherwise worthless Imperials. Just to keep them alive.”
Angel scrunched up his nose. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Sure. I guess so.”
“If that’s not good enough, consider this,” Cygni said. “If I hadn’t persuaded them to surrender, they would have fought, and some of your men would be dead right now. Maybe even you.”
“I said fine,” Angel said scornfully. “They keep their noses clean, I’ll dump ’em with the rest. Happy?”
Cygni inclined his head. “You may not realize this, Angel, but it pays to build a reputation for keeping your word.”
“Not to the folks I work with it doesn’t,” Angel said sourly. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
“So just because I don’t have your plate-crystal reputation, you think I can’t be trusted to do what I said?” Angel looks back over his shoulder at his prisoners and the other pirates. His eyes are narrowed, his lips twisted with the corners downward. The muscles in his throat and back are tight.
“Not at all,” Cygni said. His tone is calm, his words conciliatory. His movements are careful and precise. His face shows little expression, but there is a tight muscle behind his cheek. “As long as I was here, I thought I’d check up on the other prisoners. Your men were a little rough on a couple of them.”
“Hey, you throw a punch at a Culoss, it comes back with interest,” Angel growled. “They’re lucky I didn’t shoot them dead.”
“Yes,” Cygni murmured. “I suppose they are.”
“What is a Culoss?” Thrawn asked.
“What?” Angel demands. His eyes narrow, his facial heat intensifying. His tone is cautious and suddenly angry, perhaps indicating regret for speaking the word.
“It is a word I have not heard before,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto?”
“I don’t know it, either,” Vanto said. His tone is cautious, but interested. “Some slang thing, I’d guess. Probably means ‘idiot.’ ”
Angel takes a step toward Vanto. His expression is suddenly furious. His hands form into fists. “Listen, pretty boy—”
“Enough,” Cygni said. “Move on, Angel. We’re on a schedule.”
The Dromedar’s crew were locked inside a large metal-barred cage that had been built into the back third of the pirate ship’s aft-starboard cargo bay. There were ten of them: seven humans of varying ages, sizes, and skin tones; two Gran, each with the three eyes and goatlike snouts of their species; and one Togruta, her cone-horn montrals and striped head-tails making her prominent among the prisoners. The Togruta watches as the new prisoners approach, her hands rubbing slowly vertically along one of the bars of their prison. She looks briefly at each of the Imperials, then turns her attention to Angel.
They reached the cage. Angel took a chained key from around his neck and unfastened the deadlock securing the cage door. The lock was a mechanical style, impervious to electronic lock breaking. The key itself was an elaborate, wavy shape with multiple nubs and indentations, likely difficult or impossible to duplicate.
Three of the pirates leveled their blasters at the prisoners in the cage as Angel disengaged the lock. He swung the door open and gestured. “Go,” he ordered.
Angel waited until the five Imperials were inside, then closed the door behind them and resealed the lock. “Satisfied?” he asked Cygni. Angel handed the key to one of the other pirates, who hung the chain around his own neck and pushed the key deep under his shirt.
“For now,” Cygni said. “Remember: They all get dropped off as agreed. Unharmed.” He raises his eyebrows in silent challenge. “No accidents. Remind your men.”
“Don’t worry,” Angel growled. “You lubs—back to your stations. I want you at the Trapo in six days.” He looks again at Cygni. His eyes narrow. “And be sure you don’t bruise any of them when you drop ’em off. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
He left the cargo bay and headed forward, followed by his men. Cygni gives the prisoners a final look, his lips pressed tightly together, then follows.
“I gather you’re our rescue squad?” one of the other humans in the cage asked. Her lip is twisted, perhaps with contempt or sarcasm.
“Something like that,” Vanto said. “This is Lieutenant Thrawn; I’m Ensign Vanto. Are you Captain Fitz?”
“Yeah,” the woman said. “So he snoggered you, too?”
“Who, Cygni?”
“Yeah,” Fitz said. “Got aboard the Dromedar with a fake authorization and then managed to get the drop on everyone.”
“He didn’t get everyone,” Layneo corrected. “He said you locked down the hyperdrive.”
“Yeah,” Fitz said again. “For all the good it did us. So he talked you into starting it up for him?”
“More or less,” Vanto said.
Fitz swore. “So that’s it. The ship’s gone, the tibanna’s gone, and we’re done. They might as well kill us.”
“I wouldn’t give up hope quite yet,” Vanto said. “Lieutenant?”
“Not yet, Ensign,” Thrawn said. “Patience.”
“Not yet what?” Fitz asked. “Hey, bright-eyes—I’m talking to you.”
“Probably figuring out what he’s going to say in his report,” one of the other prisoners said. “Got to make this mess look good somehow.”
“Watch your mouths,” Vanto warned. “That’s an officer of the Imperial Navy you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, I’m real impressed—”
“I said watch your mouths.” Vanto does not raise his voice. But the effect on the prisoners is immediate. Fitz gives him a covert look and lowers her eyes. Her facial glow grows brighter. “Sorry,” she said in a low voice.
“Thank you,” Vanto said. “And if you think Lieutenant Thrawn is wasting time with excuses, you’re badly mistaken. Lieutenant?”
“Another moment,” Thrawn said.
“Look, Lieutenant—” Fitz began.
“He said wait,” Vanto said.
“For what?” Fitz clenches her teeth, then forces them to relax. “What are we waiting for?”
“For Cygni and the others to reboard the Dromedar and jump to lightspeed,” Thrawn said. “I am counting out the estimated time now.”
“You want him to get away with our ship?”
“Be quiet, Captain,” Vanto said.
“But—”
“I said quiet,” Vanto repeated. Again, his voice remains steady and controlled. But the purpose and confidence again quiet Fitz’s protest. “I won’t ask again.”
The cage fell silent. Thrawn continued to count.
And then, it was time.
“Tech Layneo, are you familiar with the control electronics for a ship of this sort?” he asked.
“Not this type specifically, sir,” Layneo said. She peers through the metal bars at the entrance to the cargo bay. “But I looked at the engine-control layout on our way through, and it seemed pretty standard. What do you need me to do?”
“If we isolate the bridge, can we fly the ship from here?”
A murmur passes among the prisoners. “Probably,” Layneo said. “Ensign Barlin?”
“I think we can do it, Lieutenant,” Barlin agreed. “It’ll take some quick rewiring, though. If the pirates are fast enough, they may be able to disable some of the circuits before we can override them.”
“I think we can keep them occupied,” Thrawn said.
“Sounds great,” Captain Fitz said. “Except that the circuits are out there, and we’re in here.”
“I’m guessing not much longer, Captain,” Vanto said. “Lieutenant, do you need us to give you room?”
“Not at all, Ensign.” Thrawn removed his insignia plaque. “You asked me once what I would do with the spare plaque Commandant Deenlark gave me at the Academy.”
Vanto leans closer, frowning. He studies the insignia plaque and the electronic components and micro switches partially visible from the back. His frown clears. “That’s a beckon call, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Thrawn said.
“Wait a second,” Fitz said. “Are you saying that your ship is close enough to call—? No, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Our ship is long gone,” Vanto said. He smiles. “But that’s not what he’s calling.”
“Then what?” Fitz demanded.
Five seconds later, she received her answer.
Clone Wars–era holos showing buzz droid attacks on Republic starfighters were impressive enough. But such combat had taken place in the vacuum of space, with only faint sounds recorded via metal conduction. The droid now cutting and grinding its way through the cargo bay bulkhead toward them was far louder than Thrawn had expected. “Move back!” he called over the noise as the edges of the blades, the points of the drill, and the brilliant blade of the plasma torch appeared through the bulkhead metal. Once the droid made it through, the only thing between it and the beckon call would be the cage itself. The timing would be critical to allow it to cut through the bars but not continue toward the remote and the one who held it.
The droid emerged through the bulkhead, throwing off a few final shards of metal. It continued its interrupted vector across the bay, closing into its sphere shape as it flew. It struck the cage and popped open again, its hook appendages gripping one bar as the circular saw and torch attacked two of the others. A meter-long section of one of the bars, sliced through, clattered to the deck, and the blade moved on to the next bar.
“This is going to take too long,” Vanto warned.
Thrawn had already estimated the droid’s progress. Vanto was correct. “Agreed,” Thrawn said. He took two steps to his right, moving the beckon call to the far side of the cage door. The droid shifted toward him. Thrawn repositioned the beckon call, bringing the droid directly onto the door. One final adjustment, and the droid’s saw began eating into the lock mechanism.
Thrawn looked at the entrance to the bay. Within a few more seconds, the pirates in this section of the ship would surely come to investigate.
He looked back at the cage door, again gauging the droid’s progress. The timing would be close.
“Look out!” one of the prisoners shouted.
Three pirates appeared abruptly through the hatchway. Their pace falters, their eyes widening and their mouths dropping open as they see the buzz droid eating through the cage. A second later they recovered from their surprise and reached for their blasters, their hands fumbling slightly with the last remnants of their shock. Their expressions change from surprise to anger.
Thrawn reached through the bars of the cage and flipped the beckon call over their heads to land on the engine room deck behind them. Instantly the buzz droid closed down its cutting instruments, unhooked itself from the cage, and shot across the bay toward the pirates.
The pirates’ eyes again widen. Their blasters had been lining up on the prisoners. Now they turned the weapons instead toward the approaching droid and fired.
Even with a doonium inner shell, the buzz droid’s inner mechanism was vulnerable to blasterfire. But the outer spherical shell was much stronger. All three of the pirates’ shots struck, but none made it through. The pirates fired again, all three shots missing. Two of the men hurled themselves to the deck, attempting to evade the droid’s approach. The third was too slow and was struck a glancing blow that sent him spinning.
Beside Thrawn, Jakeeb stepped forward, grabbed the top bars of the cage, and slammed the soles of both feet against the door. The remaining undamaged part of the lock mechanism snapped with the impact. Jakeeb dropped back to the floor and ducked out of the cage. Barlin, Layneo, and the rest of the prisoners were right behind them.
There was a brief melee of combat. When it ended, all three pirates had been reduced to unconsciousness.
“Well done,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto, Tech Jakeeb, Captain Fitz: Take their blasters and guard the access to this section. Ensign Barlin and Tech Layneo: the control system.”
“Yes, sir,” Barlin said. She hurried toward the control boards, Layneo and three of the Dromedar’s crew behind him.
“We’ll need more weapons if we’re going to make a stand,” Captain Fitz said.
“That will most likely be unnecessary,” Thrawn said. “The pirates still forward of the entrance hatch will not be joining us.”
“What’s going to stop them?” Fitz asked.
“The internal hatch safety interlocks,” Thrawn said. He pointed forward, toward the flashing red lights in the distance. “Even now, the entrance chamber and amidships section of the ship have been opened to vacuum.”
“What?” Fitz asked. Her muscles tense with surprise and puzzlement. “How in the world—?”
“Relax, Captain,” Vanto said. He smiles with satisfaction and grim humor. “Lieutenant Thrawn is always prepared. And as it happens, he also owns a second buzz droid.”
Fitz is silent two seconds. Then a slow smile spreads across her face. “How very unfortunate for our pirates,” she said. “Lieutenant Thrawn, I believe the ship is yours. What course shall we set?”