"I still need those calculations. In fact we may need them in the next fifteen minutes. Please have them ready."
Click.
What the—?
Still standing in the middle of the empty locker-room, Wynssa eyed the now-silent comlink. What was Thrawn up to—
Calm down. What exactly did he say?
He'd answered the call with "Bridge", so that's where he must have been. Possibly with Corlag breathing down his neck. You didn't seriously want him to go "hello, darling" in front of all the brass, did you?
Wynssa sat down rather abruptly on one of the room's wooden benches, the comlink still in her hand. "I need those calculations in the next fifteen minutes." He was telling you something, silly. Must mean he'll call back in the next quarter-hour.
Or did it mean she was supposed to call back?
Double-guessing Thrawn seemed a pretty useless exercise. This one must stay three moves ahead of anyone. Dad would love playing holochess with him. Unbidden, the mental image of Jagged Antilles sitting in his work overalls at the small game table in the back of the refueling station sprang to her mind. The memory was so vivid that for an instant she thought she could smell the durasene fumes and see the dark stains under her father's short, chipped nails, as he deftly nudged one of the miniature warriors across the board. Her throat suddenly constricted. Why would this come back to her now? She'd left Gus Treta almost eight years ago, at 17, and never been back. She'd sent a couple of holocards after a while, which hadn't been answered, even the one that included a clip from her first screen test; and a credit chip that had never been cashed. Although more recently a credit voucher she'd transmitted for her kid brother's birthday had been used in the Coronet City branch of the upscale Imperial Center toy store chain she'd picked. Her bank statement had included the article code, and she'd looked it up: a model airspeeder, half-size, just the thing, she figured, for a 12-year-old. No note of thanks ever came. She wondered what their parents had told young Wedge.
The bleep of the comlink interrupted her thoughts, and grabbing it, she flicked it on.
"Wynssa?"
"Yes, yes, I'm here!"
"Good. Where are you?"
No explanations, no superfluous words, but there was something amazingly comforting in his cool, quiet tone. "Still in the gym."
"Stay there until I call you again, and change into the overalls if you haven't yet. Wear the cap. You understand this is not a drill?"
"It's not? But—"
"I think we should be all right, but you're safer where you are than in a VIP cabin with viewports, close to the Captain's quarters. If you have to move, find some work with a group of people. Kitchen duty, cleaning detail, anything inconspicuous. Keep the comlink always with you, but out of sight, ring tone off, just the vibrating alert, understood? Thrawn out."
Click.
She stared at the dead comlink for a full minute, then, with slightly shaking hands, tied up her hair in a ponytail and stuffed it in the grey cloth cap. Thrawn's clipped words still rang in her ears. Did he expect the "Empire's Revenge" to be boarded? But who'd dare attack an Imperial Star Destroyer?
***
Even before he was done outlining, as succinctly as he could, the behind-the-red-dwarf plan to Captain Corlag, First Officer Firmus Piett could tell it wouldn't fly. Fly? If we don't actually get attacked by pirates in the next few minutes, I have a feeling I'm gonna wish we had. Corlag teetered fractionally, and Piett caught a whiff of the captain's breath. Maker, has the man just bathed in Corellian brandy?
"Never heard anything more preposterous in my life. D'you mean you want to risk my ship in a completely irregular maneuver just because some jumped-up whippersnapper got scared and started reading stim-tea leaves in the comm reports? Which of you sorry lot"—Corlag spun on his heel a little unsteadily to take in most of the bridge staff, his heavy bulk nearly stumbling against lieutenant Mikam at the relay weapons status station—"thought up this little wheeze?"
"That was my decision, sir" Piett began at the same time that Thrawn took one step forward, saying "I did, sir."
Corlag's beady eye raked up and down the alien lieutenant frozen at full parade attention for an awful half-minute before swiveling back to Piett. "When I agreed to take on Imperial Center's latest pet, I didn't mean to give it the key to the command room." He swung back to the stock-still young officer. "Perhaps they run at the first hint of action where you come from, lieutenant, but you'd better remember you're in the Imperial Navy now. Piett!"
"Sir?" Piett uttered in a toneless voice, registering in a flash the various expressions around the command post. Anger on young Mikam's face – someone should really warn him to keep a better sabacc face. Janred looks disgusted – my shaving-mirror would show me much the same, I expect. And I'd never noticed how unpleasant young Theel looks with that bovine smirk pasted on.
"After we've taken care of the riff-raff out there, see to it that Mister Thrawn here does two weeks of cleaning duty for defeatist and cowardly attitude, with docked pay and mention in his record."
"Sir, I—"
"Do you mean to challenge a direct order, Commander Piett?"
Piett forced himself to take a deep breath. "Sir, I don't, but—"
He didn't think Corlag's face could get redder. He was wrong. "If I get one more bleat out of you, Piett, you can bloody join your little alien pal on cleaning detail, d'you hear me? I'm not halfway finished with you yet! You were about to go on with this dumb-ass idea when all you had to do was drop the Empire's hammer on some pathetic sub-human pirate scum who'll probably run rather than give us a half-way decent workout! Now you'd better—"
The rest of Corlag's tirade was drowned in the howl of the bridge and sensor alarms as what looked like an entire fleet dropped out of hyperspace a mere dozen klicks away, shields and weapons fully powered, launching several squadrons of mismatched fightercraft. As he ran to the tactical console, Piett had to fight half-a second's irrational feeling of relief. We're probably going to get clobbered, but at least that jackass Corlag got shut up. He didn't imagine that thought would ever get engraved on his tombstone.