No one can say where his path will take him, even for the duration of a single day. More difficult still is to see where one’s path will intersect that of another warrior.
A warrior must always be alert for such meetings. Some are generated by happenstance, and those may be benign. But others are arranged with purpose. Those must never be underestimated.
Fortunately, there are always signs. Before any trap is sprung, it must be prepared and primed and armed. If one reads the signs properly, the pattern of the attack will be clear.
But one must always remember that launching a trap is easier than defeating it.
The smugglers had been escorted aboard, scowling or cursing, and sent one by one into the brig. Commander Alfren Cheno stood by the brig’s outer hatch, fingering a large grist mollusk shell. “Shells,” he said flatly. “They were smuggling iridium inside shells.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. Cheno was an old-school type, having risen to the peak of his ability as captain of the Thunder Wasp. He was probably destined to end his career aboard it, or another ship just like it.
Given the captain’s age and upbringing, Eli had feared that he would show either the prejudices of Moff Ghadi’s patronizing mouthpiece Culper or the disdain of the Blood Crow’s Captain Rossi. Instead, Cheno had taken Thrawn’s assignment in stride, though with a certain degree of quiet yet unmistakable misgiving. But over time the Chiss had slowly won him over with his ability to see through the clutter to the heart of whatever matter they were dealing with.
Still, the commander had never lost his ability to be dumbfounded. Which was what made moments like this so entertaining.
“They were taking the stolen iridium from the mines to an old surplus underwater transport, sir,” Eli explained. “Possibly Gungan; we still haven’t positively identified the vehicle. They then transported it to a group of fishing boats where they formed it into small disks and hid them inside the shells for shipment offplanet.”
“The discrepancy in weight didn’t give the show away?”
“There wasn’t any, sir,” Eli said. “The disks were small, and grist mollusk meat is unusually dense. They had the whole thing down to a science.”
“Mm.” Cheno puckered his lips. “Dare I ask who tumbled the scheme?
“Do you really need to, sir?”
“I suppose not,” Cheno said. “Fine. How did he do it?”
As recently as a year ago, Eli mused, when he and Thrawn had first come aboard the Thunder Wasp, it had hurt a little to have to explain how Thrawn had pulled off the most recent of his long string of miracles. Now Eli was so used to it that it was almost fun. Rather like being the assistant of an illusionist who knew the secrets of how the tricks worked.
Which wasn’t to say that he would ever be able to pull off the tricks himself. But he was becoming surprisingly okay with that. “It was the makorr, sir,” he said. “One of the local water predator species. Captain Thrawn noticed that they were unusually active near these particular boats. Something seemed to be drawing them.”
“That mysterious lure being free food,” Cheno said, nodding understanding. “The smugglers had to get rid of the mollusk meat to make room for the iridium, and they simply dumped it overboard.” He shook his head. “It’s really quite simple once you see it.”
“Yes, sir,” Eli said. Illusionist’s assistant…“Most things are.”
The hatch slid open, and Thrawn appeared. “Captain,” Cheno greeted him. “Our guests all packed away for the night?”
“Yes, sir,” Thrawn said. “They seem somewhat bewildered, though.”
“Good,” Cheno said. “I like bewildered prisoners. Gives them something to think about besides escape. Speaking of packing, I understand we have more antiques on their way?”
“Yes, sir,” Thrawn said. “My apologies for not informing you sooner.”
“No problem,” Cheno said. “What is it this time? Another piece of hyperdrive ring?”
“No, sir. A piece of a buzz droid and a section of an attack weapon I believe was called a vulture droid.”
Cheno grunted. “Clone Wars matériel again,” he said, eyeing Thrawn closely. “Something about that era that interests you?”
“In point of fact, sir, everything about that era interests me,” Thrawn said. “May I continue to store the items in the aft hangar bay?”
“Absolutely,” Cheno said. “Mind you, if we ever get those new TIE fighters they keep promising us, we’ll need to come to some other arrangement. But until then, I see no reason why the space can’t be yours.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thrawn said. “With your permission, I will go and see about getting them properly stowed.”
“Of course,” Cheno said. “Carry on, Captain. Ensign.” With a nod to each of them, he turned and headed toward the bridge.
“Would you walk with me, Ensign?” Thrawn invited, gesturing in the direction of the unused hangar bay.
“Certainly, sir,” Eli said as they headed out. “Bewildered, you say?”
“They are angry at the manner in which they were captured.”
“I’ll bet they are,” Eli said. “Maybe the next group will be smart enough to save up the mollusk meat and dump it in bits and pieces the whole length of the way back to port. That way they won’t draw a crowd.”
“Excellent,” Thrawn said.
Eli frowned. “What’s excellent?”
“Your growing aptitude for the art of tactics.” Thrawn handed him his datapad. “What do you make of this?”
“What is it?” Eli asked as he took the device. It was hardly tactics to see the stupid moves a group of overconfident smugglers had made. As Cheno had said, everything was obvious in hindsight.
“A listing of the prices of various Clone War artifacts in various antiques shops, surplus stores, and salvage yards over the past three years.”
Eli frowned. “You mean all the way back to when you started collecting them on the Blood Crow?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “The oldest numbers are at the top. Study them, and tell me what you see.”
Eli peered at the list. It was an impressive document, long and detailed. It wasn’t just the items Thrawn had bought, either, but an entire spectrum of Clone Wars weaponry and equipment. He gazed at the list, his mind slipping automatically into the supply and shipping mode that he hadn’t had much opportunity to use since graduating from the Academy. “Well, the Mark One buzz droids are through the roof,” he said. “But with the price of doonium still going up, that one was inevitable.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “Continue scrolling down the list, if you would. Search for a pattern.”
Eli nodded absently, already ahead of the suggestion. Items, prices, dates…
And there it was. “The vulture droids,” he said, tapping the datapad. “The prices have been stable until five months ago.”
“When they suddenly began moving upward,” Thrawn said, nodding. “What do you conclude from that?”
“Obviously, someone’s buying them. Someone’s buying a lot of them.” Eli raised his eyebrows. “More doonium?”
“Not with these droids,” Thrawn said. “But you remind me. Have you made any progress in your analysis of the navy’s warship program?”
“Some,” Eli said cautiously. In truth, they’d been so busy over the past few months that he’d only had occasional moments to devote to that project. “There are a lot of nooks and crannies in that kind of matrix sheet, so I can’t say for certain. But right now, I can’t find any building project that could be absorbing anywhere near the amount of doonium that’s been disappearing from the markets.”
“And the finances themselves?”
“Again, nothing obvious. If something’s going on, it’s being very well hidden.”
“Interesting,” Thrawn murmured. “I trust you will continue your investigation.” He gestured toward the datapad. “In the meantime, we have these vulture droids to consider. You say they are being purchased?”
“Yes,” Eli said. “And the buy-up’s not just local, either. You can’t get numbers rising this fast unless all the surrounding sectors are being drained, too.”
“That was my assumption, as well,” Thrawn agreed. “And with no other obvious value to the droids, the likely conclusion is that the buyer intends to use them.”
“Not much a vulture droid can be used for except to shoot at other people,” Eli pointed out. “And their tech has to be at least a couple of decades old. I was under the impression that we’d pretty much learned how to deal with them.”
“It is possible we have forgotten,” Thrawn pointed out. “As weaponry advances, the techniques used against obsolete ordnance may be neglected or lost.”
“Possibly,” Eli said. “Takes a pretty confident person to think he can beat modern turbolasers with blaster cannons, though.”
Thrawn shrugged. “I could.”
“Right, but you’re on our side,” Eli said drily. “Who else could?”
Thrawn raised his eyebrows in silent question. Eli frowned…“Let me guess. Nightswan?”
“The Rodian who sold me the vulture droid part had an order for more such parts under the name Nightswan,” Thrawn confirmed.
“The merchant let you see his order requests?”
“He was unaware that I did so.”
“Ah,” Eli said, peering closely at him. Ever since Uba and the lost tibanna, Thrawn had had a subtle but strong focus—Eli refused to call it an obsession, even in the privacy of his own mind—toward Nightswan. Over the past year Thrawn had been summoned back to Coruscant four times to consult with the Emperor, and during each of those visits he’d made time to visit Colonel Yularen for a private and unofficial update on Nightswan’s activities. “I don’t suppose there could be a second Nightswan out there?”
“That is always possible,” Thrawn said. “But consider. We know our Nightswan specializes in clever strategies. We know he has seen firsthand the effectiveness of old technology and weapons that no one expects to face. And along with the name, the request specified that payment would be in iridium.”
“So you’re also tagging him for the operation we just took down?” Eli shook his head. “I don’t know. Nightswan is smart. These guys are idiots.”
“Indeed they are,” Thrawn agreed. “Which is why I asked one of them about the mollusk meat as they were being locked away. He admitted that the man who set up the scheme specifically told them to disperse the meat over their entire path. They told him that was too much trouble.”
“Interesting,” Eli said. “Still doesn’t qualify as proof.”
“True, but it bears further examination,” Thrawn said. “I will inform the commander of my thoughts and speculations. Meanwhile, perhaps you could track the smuggled metals and look for a connection to vulture droid purchases.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Eli said. “But lines like that are pretty easy to cover up.”
“I trust your abilities,” Thrawn said. “We must also watch for reports of trouble on the planet Umbara.”
“Why Umbara?”
“The smugglers remembered that the man who instructed them mentioned that world.”
“Sounds like misdirection,” Eli warned “Umbara was one of the major Separatist planets. The locals fought pretty hard, and got stomped pretty solidly. Hard to believe they’d want to go through that again.”
“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “But we will watch for reports from there just the same.” His expression hardened. “Nightswan escaped the Empire once. I’m sure the Empire would appreciate it if we remedied that failure.”
Art.
For some it was a measure of culture. For others it was a measure of wealth. For most it was a matter of simple enjoyment.
For Thrawn, it was an invaluable tool.
The Thunder Wasp’s computer library had only a limited catalog of art reproductions, and only three pieces of those were from Umbara. Fortunately, Thrawn had spent the past three years building up an extensive collection of data cards that rivaled the best art archives in the Empire.
He sat in his cabin, surrounded by holograms of sculptures, flats, mobiles, kinetics, interactives, and the other art forms the Umbarans had developed and explored over the centuries. Of particular interest were the subtle changes that had taken place between works created before and after the Clone Wars.
The other Chiss didn’t understand. They never had. He’d been asked innumerable times how he was able to build such detailed tactical knowledge from such obscure and insignificant ingredients.
The question carried its own answer. To Thrawn, nothing in a species’ art was obscure or insignificant. All the threads tied together; all the brushstrokes spoke to him; all the light curves told the story of their creator.
Artists were individuals. But they were also products of their culture and history and philosophy. The weave of artist and culture was evident to the discerning eye. The fundamental pattern of a species could be sketched, then drawn, then fully fleshed out. Most important of all, the relationships among art, culture, and military doctrine could be deduced.
And what could be deduced could be countered.
Distantly, Thrawn became aware that a new image had entered the pattern of Umbaran art flowing around him. Reluctantly, he withdrew his mind from contemplation and reflection and narrowed his focus.
Ensign Vanto had entered his cabin.
“Ensign,” Thrawn said. “You disturb my solitude.”
“You worried us,” Vanto countered. His expression is concerned. “Commander Cheno has been trying to reach you by intercom for the past ten minutes. We’ve entered the Umbara system, and he wants you on the bridge.”
“My apologies,” Thrawn said. “I was more focused than I realized.”
“Sure,” Vanto said. He looks around at the artwork. “The commander thought you might have become ill. What’s all this?”
“Art of the Umbaran people,” Thrawn said. “Has the rest of the task force arrived?”
“Our Star Destroyer has,” Vanto said. He continues to study the artwork with interest. “The ISD Foremost, Admiral Carlou Gendling commanding. He has two of his four corvettes with him, but he sent the other two and his light cruiser off to investigate a problem that just cropped up in another system.”
“Is Admiral Gendling planning to wait for the other ships?”
“He seems confident that we can handle the matter without their help,” Vanto said. “I’m assuming that once we reach orbit, he’ll order the dissidents to proceed to the nearest garrison or police station and surrender themselves and their weapons. Commander Cheno wants you on the bridge just in case they don’t.”
“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Please convey my apologies to the commander, and tell him I shall join him momentarily.”
He reached the bridge to find the combat crew assembled and at their proper stations. All indicators showed the Thunder Wasp at full battle readiness. “Reporting for duty, Commander,” he said. “My apologies for the delay.”
“No problem,” Cheno said. He peers closely at Thrawn’s face. “Are you all right? I thought you might have been taken ill.”
“I am well,” Thrawn assured him. “I understand Admiral Gendling is preparing to deliver an ultimatum?”
“Yes,” Cheno said. His expression indicates apprehension. “I advised him to wait for the rest of the task force, but Gendling’s an impatient sort.” He steps closer to Thrawn and lowers the volume of his voice. “He also has a somewhat overinflated view of himself and his capabilities,” he added. “Though that’s just my opinion.”
“Not simply your opinion, sir,” Thrawn said. “The overall pattern of his career validates your assessment.”
“Really?” Cheno said. He is surprised. “You’ve studied his career?”
“I have given it a cursory examination.”
“Really. Have you made the same cursory examination of my career?”
“You have not been offered the same opportunities as Admiral Gendling,” Thrawn said. “Without such, there is little chance for you to prove your abilities.”
“Even if I could?” Cheno said. His expression is wry and understanding. “No, don’t try to spare my feelings. You’re a brilliant officer. I’m an adequate one. You’ll rise through the ranks. I’ll end my career quietly.” He turned back to the forward viewport. “But maybe we’ll be lucky. Maybe we’ll have to fight a battle, and you’ll win it for me. At least the Thunder Wasp will finally get some recognition.” He nodded aft. “The starboard turbolaser targeting system has been giving us some problems. Go see if Ensign Vanto needs assistance checking the diagnostics, if you would.”
“Yes, sir.”
Vanto was standing by the weapons diagnostic station when Thrawn arrived. “Ensign,” Thrawn greeted him. “Report on the starboard targeting system.”
“They just ran a diagnostic,” Vanto said. “No obvious problem, but the thing’s been twitchy so we’re running it again. Did I hear Commander Cheno hoping the Umbarans take a shot at us?”
“You did,” Thrawn confirmed. “But his hope will likely remain unfulfilled. The Umbarans will not attack.”
“Really, sir?” Vanto said, his tone one of surprise. “Because they attacked just fine during the Clone Wars.”
“But only when they perceived themselves as having an advantage in numbers or position or command capability,” Thrawn said. “Those factors do not exist here. Furthermore, their homeworld stands to absorb severe damage from orbital bombardment if they initiate combat.”
“Ah,” Vanto said. “Too bad for Commander Cheno, I guess.”
On the main comm display, Admiral Gendling’s face appeared. “People of Umbara,” he said. His voice is strong and proud, carrying both challenge and contempt. “Or perhaps I should say, insurgents of Umbara. This is Admiral Carlou Gendling of the Imperial Star Destroyer Foremost. You have engaged in sedition and gathered weapons in defiance of Imperial law. In the name of the Emperor, I order you to turn in yourselves and your weapons to the nearest military garrison or police station. Your leaders will be charged according to the severity of their crimes; those who simply followed out of ignorance or family ties will be permitted to return to their homes and lives without punishment. If you do not comply, your world will face the full destructive force that an Imperial Star Destroyer can bring to bear. I give you one hour.”
“And that’s that,” Vanto said. There is a level of regret in his voice. As Commander Cheno wishes to test himself in full combat, so, too, does Vanto. “He’ll probably end up sending in a few stormtrooper squads to keep order and make sure the troublemakers remember what’s sitting over their heads. But for us—”
“Incoming!” Senior Lieutenant Hammerly called from the sensor station. Her voice holds surprise and tension. “Numerous craft, incoming from behind the outer moon. Two hundred—three hundred—four hundred. Four hundred craft incoming on our starboard-aft quarter, moving on attack vectors.
“Identification: vulture droids.”