All things considered, the transport business could have been worse. After the Rebels took Brentaal, there'd been a short spike of outgoing traffic from Imperial Center; mostly rich folk or off-worlders making a run for it because they thought a whole fleet of terrorists was just a short hop away. For the few months after that, most of the normal locals stayed put for the same reason. Now that it was clear the Rebels' Coreward offensive had petered out, people started to feel more comfortable hopping planets again, which meant Saaris Transit Limited might climb out of the red this year after all.
Everybody knew the newsnets were all censored by ISB and not very reliable, but a planet with one trillion beings on it generated a lot of gossip, and a businessbeing like Qinla Saaris knew how the filter out fact from fiction pretty well. He and his clan-mates had started running their ferry service up the Hydian Way from Coruscant all the way to the Corporate Sector five years ago, but since the Emperor's death things had gotten messy. He'd had to keep up-to-date on all the latest word-of-mouth to know what parts of space were safe to run his ships through and which might get a transport captured, blown up, or otherwise afflicted with lawsuit-inducing problems.
It was a massive pain, and frankly he wished old Palps had hung on. Granted, Togruta like him hadn't had it the greatest under his rule, but things weren't any better under Isard. At least with Palpatine in charge you could run a stable business. The Rebels said they were all about liberating oppressed nonhuman races, which was well and good, but they didn't seem to care how much they messed with an honest Togruta's livelihood.
Saaris Transit Limited sent two ships outbound per day: one early in the morning and the other at late evening. The ISB had been slowly taking over customs work from the local Security Force ever since Isard took over, which meant Saaris' flights were often delayed because Imperial black-shirts insisted on opening up everyone's luggage. Because his passengers couldn't blame Isard they blamed him instead, which meant he always had to deal with a raft of customer complaints. The morning crowd was a lot of commuters who regularly took his lines; they had discounted tickets and had been pre-screened by Imperial Center customs, which meant they were more likely to get off on-time.
Saaris was working in the office at the entrance to the landing pad, selling and checking tickets and waving passengers toward the ISB checkpoint when an unfamiliar human came, asking for a one-way ticket to Corsin. He was sure ISB would check her because she was unfamiliar and hoped they didn't give her too hard a time.
He stuck her identi-card into the computer and uploaded her information into his passenger registry. As he waited for the system to confirm her, he glanced over the counter and gave her another look. Corsin was on the edge of Zsinj's territory, as far as his shuttles were going right now, but she was only carrying one bag. She looked a little uncomfortable on her feet; her belly was swelled like it was going to burst and it took him a moment to remember how that only happened when female humans were gestating.
To be polite, he asked, "How much longer, Miss?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Your, ah-" What did humans call their spawn? "Your child, miss."
"Oh." She rested her free hand on her stomach and smiled politely. "Just a couple more months."
"Male or female?" he asked as the computer finished her registration. He took out her identicard and handed it back.
"I don't know yet. I was waiting until his father and I were together again. Then we'd find out."
"He waiting at Corsin, Miss?"
"That's right."
"You know the transport isn't stopping at Brentaal?"
"Of course. Rebel territory."
"The detour around it won't add more than a day to your trip, Miss. Once you're clear of that little mess you'll have straight, safe flying all the way up the Hydian. Can I have your bank card please?"
"I'll just be paying with chips today, if you don't mind. I can do that, can't I?"
There was no reason why she couldn't, but the flight out to Corsin was fairly expensive and most beings just charged it right to their credit accounts.
He smiled politely and said, "That'll be no problem at all, miss."
Once she paid, he waved her through the gate to where the ISB agents were waiting. Once she was gone, he examined the credits closely. He was good at spotting forgeries and these looked legitimate. As to why she'd insisted on paying with chips, well, he'd probably never know and there was no point in wondering.
As a few more customers came in he kept on eye on the woman and the ISB agents through the window. As he'd been expecting, the ISB agents had no qualms about opening a pregnant woman's travel case and rummaging through it. Apparently, they didn't find anything incriminating, because they waved her through and let her board the transport.
Saaris breathed a tiny sigh of relief. They might even lift off on schedule today.
-{}-
Syal Antilles Fel placed her suitcase in the overhead compartment and sat down on the seat nearest the window. The chairs in these liners were large and comfortable, designed for long hauls. It would be a several days to Corsin, and from there she didn't know where she'd go. Isard had done a good job of blocking all legitimate transit routes between her territory and Republic-owned systems. Syal could have tried to buy passage with a smuggling ship, but anyone who took illegal passengers on probably wouldn't hesitate to hand her over to the Imperials if they found out her identity. Here, on this passenger ship with a thousand other beings, she could be something like anonymous.
The line between systems loyal to Isard and the other Imperial warlords was vague, and patrols were a lot more lax than in areas bordering on Republic space. According to Rusty's scuttlebutt, Corsin's governor was loyal to Zsinj, but kept his ports open to pretty much everyone. It was therefore a perfect place to swap ships and keep climbing up the Hydian. Civilians might have been able to pass more or less easily from Isard's territory to Zsinj's, but she bet Zsinj would be on the lookout for ISB agents. Zsinj might have his own intel people on the lookout, but at least at Corsin she'd be safe from Isard's hunters.
That was what she hoped, anyway.
Her heart lifted when the pilot announced they were ready for takeoff. The transport shuddered only a little as it fired its rpeulsors and kicked up from the landing pad. As she rose she leaned close to the window and peered down. The two ISB agents who'd questioned her looked like black insects below.
Then the transport banked, and the landing pad was gone. She kept her eyes on the brilliant spires of Imperial City, her home for almost twenty years. Then the shuttle rose higher still, and the spires fell away. She knew in her heart that she'd never see them again.
-{}-
The Coruscant system was the bright center of the galaxy, but most of the brightness came from the Imperial Center itself. The system had ten other planets, only one of which was inhabited: Vandoor-3, the next planet sunward from Imperial Center, which was mostly notable for its agriculture and military garrisons. The next ones rimward from the capital were a pair of massive gas giants, Muscave and Improcco, each orbited by twenty-some uninhabited moons mostly used for mining or occasional live fire exercises by the local defense forces.
Because it was so close to Imperial Center, yet received so little traffic, the fifth moon of Muscave was an ideal place for a rendezvous. Thrawn and Niriz, with only a half-dozen stormtroopers as guards, had left Grey Wolf behind outside the system's edge, boarded a shuttle, and taken a short hyperspace hop to their destination.
It should have felt strange, being in the Core again, but Niriz mostly kept wondering whether Isard would greet them with a star destroyer or a TIE squadron and blow them to atoms. Thrawn had been keeping tabs on Imperial Center from the Unknown Regions and it was clear that the intelligence director had put knives in more than a few backs to get where she was. She had to know that Thrawn represented a potential threat to her power.
Niriz was relieved, then, to see only another Lamba-class shuttle waiting for them over Muscave's fifth moon.
The two shuttled folded wings and maneuvered to couple ventral airlocks like a pair of birds clasping talons. When their artificial gravity temporarily disabled, Niriz and Thrawn clambered across the wall of the rear hold to the airlock portal. Four stormtroopers floated behind them, E-11 rifles ready.
When the airlock opened, they were met with a mirroring image of four white-armored soldiers. In front of them was Ysanne Isard in her scarlet uniform, white-streaked black hair billowing around her head.
It made her look almost comical, but the woman said with heavy dignity, "Welcome, Grand Admiral Thrawn."
The Chiss inclined his head sightly. "Thank you for having me, Madame Director."
"Come," Isard said. "I have a chamber prepared. We have much to talk about." When Thrawn didn't move right away, she added, "You may take some of your guards into my shuttle. I only want to talk."
"As do I." Thrawn held up a hand, twinned fingers out. Two of his stormtroopers stayed in the hold, while two more followed him and Niriz into the other shuttle.
Isard pushed herself toward the back of the hold, saying, "I would like to speak privately. No guards for either of us."
"Very well," said Thrawn. "However, I will insist Dagon Niriz accompany me."
Isard's eyes- a disconcerting blue-red pair- darted to the captain. He saw suspicion, and something else. Envy, perhaps, that she had no one to trust as Thrawn trusted him. He realized that might have been the reason Thrawn brought him here in the first place.
Isard gave a wordless nod, then went through the portal.
The artificial gravity had been localized to their aft chamber, and the three of them awkwardly maneuvered themselves to land boots-first on the deck. There were only two chairs in the small cabin, and without instruction, Niriz took his place over the seated admiral's shoulder.
Isard spared Niriz one more bichromate glare before turning her attention to Thrawn. She placed her hands palm down on her red thighs and said, "You asked for this conference, Admiral. Please go first."
He inclined his head in a slight nod. "You should know that the Ssi-ruuvi Imperium is no longer a threat."
"Exterminated?"
"Broken."
She nodded, satisfied. "What of your warlord nemesis, Nuso Esva?"
Isard had been privileged to more confidential information than anyone else under Palpatine; it was no surprise that she knew about Thrawn's operations in the Unknown Regions. Still, Niriz felt disconcerted.
"Nuso Esva is contained, but not defeated. I do not believe he poses any immediate threat to Imperial space. We will, of course, continue to counter him in his own territory."
She seemed satisfied with that. Likely she'd been afraid that Thrawn was going to announce some hostile takeover of her holdings in the Core.
Thrawn folded white-gloved hands in his lap. "I have been following affairs in this part of the galaxy for the past year, so I'm reasonably familiar with the status of the war against the Rebellion. It doesn't seem that they are in the position to begin a new offensive."
"Their military is exhausted and they're in need of resources," said Isard, "But it is only temporary. To be frank, Admiral, I don't currently have enough ships to stamp them out. And to be even more frank, there are many so-called Imperials who don't want me to."
"Warlords," Thrawn said simply.
"Zsinj. Teradoc. Jerec. Brill. Harrsk. Delvardus. And those are just the ones worth mentioning. They've played soft with the Rebels. They'd rather Corurscant fall to a band of alien anarchists than stay in my hands."
Her voice was tight and bitter. Niriz couldn't even blame her. The way all the new warlords had flagrantly disrespect-ed traditional Imperial had authority had been appalling, even to Niriz himself, whose own allegiant had gradually shifted away from Palpatine.
Thrawn said, "You're fortunate that I do not agree with them. I believe maintaining the integrity of the Core is our second most important priority. The third most important is reestablishing central authority over the breakaway war-lords."
She raised an eyebrow. "The first?"
"Pacification of threats from what you call the Unknown Regions."
"Of course," she smirked. "I won't quibble over your ranking so long as we're mostly in agreement. The question, Admiral, is how you plan on helping the Empire here in charted space."
Isard was desperate for more ships, for Thrawn's military expertise. Niriz could see that. Thrawn, though, said, "Nuso Esva is my main concern at the moment. I do not believe the Empire will be secure until we have control of the western border. I understand you still have Grand Admirals Grant and Makati in your service."
"This is correct." A question hung between them. Isard said, "Tell me, Admiral, what is your opinion of Grant and Makati?"
"I did not spend much time in the Emperor's court," he demurred.
"Neither did Grant and Makati. They were never glory-hounds like Teshik or Tigellinus."
According to rumors, Grand Admiral Tigellinus had initially welcomed Thrawn into the Imperial court, then humiliated and rejected him. If mention of the man angered the Chiss, he gave no sign.
When it became clear Thrawn wasn't going to give his opinion Isard gave hers. "Makati is a very competent commander, and very loyal, but he needs more resources. As for Grant, he's capable but too cautious. If he had to chose between his life or the Empire's, he'd choose his own. I can't depend on him."
After a thoughtful pause, Thrawn asked, "What of the garrison at Anaxes? Azure Hammer Command still has the Whelm and a large support fleet. Or am I misinformed?"
Isard shook her head. "Admiral Kiez is… cautious also."
In other words, he was unwilling to give Isard his fleet, but unwilling to throw his lot in with a warlord either. Niriz didn't know Kiez well, but he'd heard the man was a big devotee of High Human Culture policies. He'd never give Thrawn command of anything.
"I've tasked Grand Admiral Makati with planing an offensive against Zsinj," Isard said. "I'm sure he would welcome your input. He's a very practical man."
In other words, he wouldn't reject Thrawn just for being non-human. Thrawn, though, said, "I'll take that under consideration. However, there is another reason why I came to see you."
"And that is?"
"I want to help you solve a problem, Madam Director. A private one."
"Private?" she looked honestly confused.
Thrawn nodded. "You've kept it off the news-nets, but I know that General Baron Soontir Fel has defected to the Rebels, and that you are searching for his wife."
Anger flared in her eyes. She nodded.
"I'm sure you are trying to capture Wynssa Starflare, and thereby capture him, at which point you will dispense the justice due to traitors. That is what I want to help you with."
"What makes you think I need your help?" she said defensively.
"Despite being intimately familiar with ISB and Ubiqtorate operations, you have failed to capture either Fel or his wife after six months."
Isard's eyes darted to the side, like she was considering how much to say. When they swung back to Thrawn she said, "We were very close. Just days ago I had a team tracking rebel intelligence agents who'd come to Imperial Center to extract her. They shadowed the rebel agents as they retrieved her and took her to a safehouse." She scowled. "Unfotunately, my agents failed in their attempt to seize their target."
"Killed?" asked Thrawn.
"As well as two rebel agents. Their corpses were ransacked and Starflare's body wasn't on the scene. We can only assume Starflare took their identicards and ran. My operat-ives reported only two rebel agents were with her, so I suspect she's alone. She's probably trying to get off Imperial Center, if she hasn't already escaped."
"You have no way of tracing her?"
Isard hesitated again, then said, "The chief ISB agent on that mission was carrying a special identicard that grants him access to almost any location in Imperial space. That identicard also contains a tracer chip that periodically emits an isotopic tracer transmission on a very, very narrow frequency. It wasn't on his body."
"And you believe Starflare took that card?"
"She probably doesn't even know what it is. She probably took it because it looked useful."
"And have you found that pulse transmission on Imperial Center?"
Isard scowled. "There was a… communications blackout on the team. The transmission can only be read for a limited time and my operatives were dead for hours before we knew the mission failed. The agents responsible have been punished."
Thrawn leaned forward. "If you doubt your agents' abilities, I have a special team standing by to help your search."
"Special how?"
"They're some of my best men. They came up through Imperial ranks, just as we did. Right now, I suspect Wynssa Starflare is going to flee for warlord territory. It's easier to get into than Rebel-held space and much harder for your ISB agents to reach. My team has no such limits."
Suspicious, she asked, "Why would you help me capture Starflare?"
"Because I want Baron Fel captured as much as you do."
"And what do you want in return?"
Thrawn spread his hands. "Baron Fel, of course."
She stared at him, considering. "Alive."
He nodded.
"Baron Fel is a traitor. He deserves what all traitors deserve, Admiral, and frankly, I've been very eager to give it to him personally. Why should I leave his fate in your hands?"
"Because he will be in my hands, and soon. After that, he will never fly for the Rebels again. I promise that."
"You sound very confident in your men."
"I am," he said. "Are you?"
Isard wrestled with a wince until she turned it into a scowl. "All right. I will give you all the intelligence I have on Baron Fel and his wife. Now please, tell me about these special agents of yours."
-{}-
"Are you sure we're right for this, sir?" asked Daric LaRone as he stood in Thrawn's briefing room aboard Grey Wolf. "None of us have formal intel experience."
"Your team survived ISB pursuit for three months while waging a private war against corruption in the Empire," the Grand Admiral said as he paced in front of the viewport. Grey Wolf was parked far outside the Coruscant system and there were only distant stars outside.
"I know, sir, but don't you have other agents? Vaantaar, for example, or-"
Thrawn held up a hand. "Vaantaar does not know Imperial space. Very few of my men do. Yours, however, have been all across the galaxy and have experience blending in and evading detection."
"What about the five-oh-first, sir?"
"You've trained a highly competent unit. They will survive until you return." Thrawn held out a small data-chip. "This contains everything Isard gave us about the target's last know whereabouts and how to track her."
He took it, ran his thumb along its metallic edge. "Where was she last seen?"
"Imperial Center, two days ago. It's very likely she's offworld by now, but it may be possible to find where she went. I've obtained a ship for your team. Mandalorian design, but often sold to civilians. It's been stocked with weapons, as well as medical and surveillance equipment. And, if you decide to use them, five sets of stormtrooper armor."
"You want us to be ready for anything."
"As I said, the target has quite likely fled Imperial Center by now. She'll probably try to get to Rebel space via warlord territory. Her main goal is to escape Isard."
LaRone wasn't quite sure why they were helping Isard track down a fugitive. Because he had to find out at some point, he asked, "Admiral, who is the target?"
Thrawn turned to fix red eyes on him. "You've heard of Baron Soontir Fel, of course."
LaRone blinked. "Of course."
"Six months ago, Baron Fel defected to the Rebels. He currently flies with their elite Rogue Squadron. Your assignment is to capture his fugitive wife."
It took a moment to compute. "You mean Wynssa Starflare? The actress?"
"The same. Though I'm sure she's changed her appearance to be less recognizable."
The little chip in his hand felt brick-heavy. "Sir… Is our goal to capture Starflare, then use her to capture Fel?"
"Correct."
"Are we doing this for Isard? Or are we doing this for us?"
"Isard wants him alive so she can kill him herself. I believe he's much more valuable if he stays alive."
Of course Isard wanted him dead. He was a hero of the Empire turned traitor. LaRone was a traitor too, in his own way. He didn't like to think of himself like that. After he'd taken his squad on the run he'd kept telling himself he was serving the Empire, just in his own way. Even after signing on with Thrawn and leaving the known galaxy behind, he'd still told himself he was serving, even though he knew the empire Thrawn had built in uncharted space was very different from the one Palpatine had made.
Maybe that was the whole point. Thrawn had offered LaRone and his men a second chance. Now he wanted to do the same for Baron Fel.
It was definitely a better fate than whatever Isard had planned for him.
LaRone couldn't express how much Thrawn's trust meant to him; how it was flattering and terrifying at the same time. Instead of trying to stay it, he snapped a salute and said, "We'll find her, sir."
Thrawn simply nodded and gestured for him to leave.
As LaRone marched down the halls he felt like his head had gone separate from his body. Everything seemed dreamy, unbelievable. He rode the lift back down to the ready-room, where Quiller, Marcross, Brightwater, and Grave were all the middle of a sabacc game.
"Hey Quiller," he called, "We've got a new mission, search-and-retrieve. You'll never guess who the target is…"
-{}-
When Palpatine appointed his grand admirals at the Fete Week Celebration, he'd ignited a raft of speculation and rumor-mongering in the Imperial court as to why he'd picked those twelve men to be his elite commanders, removing them from the Imperial Navy's formal command structure and making them answerable only to him. The rumor-mongers believed there was some secret unifying rationale behind the Emperor's choices, and jealously traded what they believed to be great secrets to which only Palpatine and his elite twelve were privy.
As usual, the rumor-mongers missed the point. Palpatine's rationale was only ever apparent to Palpatine, though by the end Octavian Grant was starting to have his doubts about even that. He'd been watching the man in action for thirty years, wondering which trait would ultimately define his life: his genius, his ambition, or his arrogance.
At Endor, the Rebels had given an answer.
It was, at least, a relief to Grant that in all the swirling rumors, his name didn't raise the most confusion. He wasn't young like Tigellinus, a mongrel like Pitta, a low-born over-ambitious social-climber like Zaarin, or a lunatic like Il-Raz. He came from noble Fondorian family, he boasted a number of victories against the Rebels and the Separatists before them, and he had more years of combined service in the Judicial Force, Republic, and Imperial fleets than any other grand admiral except the late Josef Grunger. Despite an aversion to politicking in the Imperial Court, he'd none-theless managed to build a network of loyal allies in the Imperial armed forces, made largely of younger officers whose careers he'd shepherded, and who'd never forgotten what they owed him.
Most of those connections were still in the navy, though a few had transferred to the army. Grant had only one ally who worked in Imperial Intelligence, which made him the most valuable of all.
The night before his departure for his conference with Ardus Kaine, Grant paid Colonel Morrell a personal visit. Isard was surely aware of his relationship with his former naval intelligence officer, and they took great steps to avoid notice. They came dressed in plainclothes, blending in with the hundreds of other beings wandering around Monument Plaza that evening. If Isard was watching one or both of them, it would be impossible to read their lips in the dark or pick out their voices from the clamor.
Still, Grant felt tense as he and Morrell walked lazy loops around the statue to Wullf Yularen that had been erected after terrorists had blown old admiral to bits over Yavin, along with Tarkin and so many more men Grant had known for decades.
"You keep looking at the statue," Morrell comments as he sauntered along, both hands stuck in the pockets of his trousers. "Wondering if they'll put you up there some day? Personally, I think you'd look splendid right next to that statue of Grand Moff Tarkin."
"They'd better not," Grant sniffed. "They've turned this place into a monument to the Empire's martyrs. Yularen, Tarkin, Romodi..."
"Don't forget Palpatine," Morrell nodded at the statue in the center of the plaza that towered twice as high as the rest. That one had been erected long before Endor and they both knew it, but when put alongside all the others it started to look like a self-fulfilling prophecy.
"I've heard Isard's planning to put one up for Grand Admiral Syn," Morrell continued. "I'm guessing not for Pitta or Grunger."
"They deserve one as much as Zaarin."
Morrell slowed his pace and looked up at the high stony underside of Yularen's jaw. "I'm sure you didn't ask me here to talk about statues."
"I want to make sure I don't become one."
Morrell allowed a slanted grin. "Looking to stay informed?"
"Keeping informed means keeping alive. Now more than ever."
"And you don't trust our illustrious leader to tell you everything you need to know?"
"Isard seems to think I can work miracles just because Palpatine gave me a white uniform. She thinks I didn't capture Grunger's super star destroyer because I wasn't trying hard enough."
Morrell chuckled, though for the life of him Grant didn't know what was so funny.
The other man drew a hand from his pocket. In the darkness, Grant could just barely see distant light reflect off the smooth side of a datacard. Morrell's hand casually swung forward; Grant picked the card and dropped it in his pocket. If Isard had watchers in the night, they'd never have spotted it.
Grant was an Imperial Grand Admiral from one of the finest houses on Fondor, but here he was, sneaking in the dark like a common criminal. It was degrading and humiliating but, in a strange way, exciting.
"Latest reports," Morrell said. "Things I thought you'd be interested in."
"Anything on Kaine?"
"Actually, no. It seems he's locked down his sectors pretty tight. We've got agents in Zsinj territory, but even they're having a hard time pulling out useful data. The ones Zsinj doesn't catch and kill, he feeds false intel."
"He was always a clever one," Grant said, trying to keep the disappointment from his voice. It seems he'd come all this way for nothing.
"Some interesting bits of local stuff you might like."
"Oh really?"
Morrell ignored his sarcasm. "We've been having problems with sabotage on the Eclipse project. Isard's trying to push construction on Kuat to go faster, but that's hard wihout compromising security. Looks like she's really trying to fix her lack of super star destroyers."
"Yes, she did seem rather… insecure about that."
"Ah, and another thing. You know Baron Fel defected to the Rebels?"
"Of course. Isard does tell me pertinent information from time to time."
"Well, I'm glad, because that means you also know she's been trying to capture Fel's wife for the past six months."
"Are you telling me she's succeeded?"
"Close, but not quite. Her ISB agents tracked Starflare and two rebel operatives to a safehouse. When they tried to break in they caught resistance."
"You mean they all got killed trying to nab one vapid holo-actress?"
"I'm sure the rebel agents helped. They got killed in the fighting too but Starflare slipped through the cracks and escaped Imperial Center."
"Well. I'm glad to see I'm not solely responsible for her awful mood."
"The reports since have been interesting. Isard removed everyone associated with the Starflare hunt from the op."
"You mean the ones that weren't killed?"
"Yes. They've all been reassigned. She didn't designate any new ISB agents to track Starflare… But she just got an intial report from someone else."
Grant frowned. "How do you know she didn't just assign agents outside your… scope of vision?"
"My 'scope of vision' is as wide as I need it to be. Whoever's tracking Starflare, they're not ISB."
"She wouldn't hire mercenaries for something this important."
"I didn't think so either, but I'm low on other options. It would make some kind of sense, considering."
"Considering what?"
"They think Starflare grabbed a ship and hopped off-planet. She'll probably be trying to make her way to Rebel-held space, likely through warlord territory."
"Hmm. That does make sense. Their borders are more… porous."
"Exactly. And Zsinj and Teradoc have been good at picking off Isard's agents. If she tries to use ISB people to grab Starflare in their space-"
"There's a good chance the warlods would learn of it and grab her instead."
"Exactly."
"I can't believe it's mercenaries, not for a target like that."
"I don't know what to tell you. All I know is that Isard's new team- whoever they are- got in a ship and are chasing after her."
It was intriguing, but Grant had no idea what to do with that information. The only way it might be useful would be if Starflare tried hiding in Kaine's territory, though even though, Grant wasn't sure what he could do about it.
Still, Morrell was doing him a favor. Whoever had Wynssa Starflare had Baron Fel, and there were few more valuable men in the galaxy.
"Thank you for this, Colonel," he said finally.
"How long will you away from Imperial Center?"
"That is… uncertain. At least a week. I'll let you know when I return. I might require an update."
"I'm happy to serve, sir."
And he really was. Grant was grateful for that. Loyalty was supposed to go two ways, and benefit both parties. If Isard understood that, she'd just might have a chance of saving the Empire. But instead, it was up to Grant to find a way to save himself.
