Chief Engineer Bron hid his shakes better than the young cadet, but it was obvious he'd thought he wouldn't get out of this alive, Piett judged. A tough-looking, middle-aged Rimworlder, he'd understood part of the negotiations, and thanked Thrawn profusely when all was over. "I hope I can make this up to you one day, kid," he was saying, which brought a smile to Piett's lips. I don't think many have ever called Lieutenant Thrawn "kid". Thrawn replied in an unexpectedly respectful tone, calling Bron "ta Chuba", "Ancient One" in Huttese – and, as Piett well knew, a mark of great consideration. Now what's that all about? But even though the pirates had finally surrendered, the situation still required a bit of attention. More than that, in fact – Thrawn and Tyfas sounded close to a slanging match.
"What's all this? What seems to be the problem, Colonel?"
"Lieutenant Thrawn seems to think he has authority over my prisoners, sir," Tyfas answered curtly.
"Sir," Thrawn started, "I don't think the prisoners should be spaced. We promised them their lives in the negotiation."
"You promised," Tyfas spat. "At any rate, you can imagine how I care about guarantees given to pirates under duress. How do you think they'd behave in our place?"
"That's irrelevant, sir" Thrawn said coldly. "What I'm saying here is that this story will be known, and any other Imperial officer caught in a similar situation will no longer be able to negotiate."
"If they're space junk, they won't talk."
"Do you intend to execute the troopers who'll space them, Colonel? And then the ones who carried out the executions? What do you think this will do to ship's morale?"
"I'll thank you to leave questions of ship's morale to your superiors, Lieutenant," Tyfas said frigidly.
Time to step in. "Very well, I'll take that decision," Piett said. "The prisoners are not to be spaced. Have them all transferred to the lower-level brig, after sending whatever inmates we have there to another detention area. I don't want to mix this bunch of murderers with our own people, but I'm not about to let it be said that the word of a Naval officer is worthless. Besides, they might have useful information for our coming assault on their main fleet when the "Judicator" joins us. Lieutenant Thrawn, you speak their lingo, you're in charge of that. You have two hours to come up with useful intel. I'll see you on the bridge."
***
Per Theel had decided to go check on captain Corlag in the "Revenge" sickbay. What he certainly hadn't expected was this... zoo, with what looked like dozens of repulsive aliens and dirty-looking humans crowding the place, being examined by Too-OneBee droids or nursing assistants under the watchful eye of armed stormtroopers.
"What the frell— You, there! What's going on here?"
Several droids ignored him. He was luckier with the stormtrooper sergeant. "Lieutenant Thrawn's orders, sir. He sent the prisoners he's finished interrogating to be patched up."
"He what? Who the kreth does he think he is, wasting our med bay resources?"
The sergeant, possibly wary of assenting to criticism of one officer by another, prudently stayed silent. Theel pushed his way into an inner office, where another of the... creatures was being examined by a Too-OneBee. I've never seen anything uglier in my life. How can you tell which are legs and which are arms? Yechh. It looks like a giant, bad-tempered locust.
"Your chest will be fine, but I can't do anything for the limp. You broke all your hind legs far too long ago," the med droid said, in a curiously warm baritone. Probably programmed for optimum bedside manner.
"Yeshh. Podrasshhing accident, very bad, nearly kkilled me. Fankss for trying. I was a great sshhhampion thhhen. Femaless all loved me."
"I'll schedule medicine for you. You can go."
The thing picked itself – himself? – up slowly from the examining table, but Theel didn't wait for it to leave the room. "I've come to see Captain Corlag. Where is he?"
"Cubicle one, but he's still sedated and sleeping," the Too-OneBee said. "He has concussion."
Blast. "So why aren't you taking care of him instead of this menagerie? How would you even know what to do to them anyway?"
"Most galactic species have been registered in our databanks for centuries," the droid said with dignity. "I hadn't seen a Dug in fifteen years at least. This is excellent practice."
"Practice for what?" Theel said brutally. "It'll be a lot more than fifteen years before you see another, I can tell you."
Jostling his way past the limping Dug, Theel walked out of the office again. He could see a row of numbered doors at the far end of the main room. Pushing his way through the distasteful crowd, he reached door one and palmed it open. Corlag's massive, snoring bulk, covered by an infirmary synthlin sheet, took up a regulation cot to the last centimeter. "Captain?" he called out in an undertone.
No response. Corlag was dead to the world. Theel shifted from foot to foot irresolutely for a minute, then looked around the small cubicle. Sure enough, Corlag's uniform hung in a locker at the foot of his cot. Theel pulled the datadisk he'd meant to show him, and slid it into the uniform jacket upper left pocket. There would always be time to alert Corlag to it later.
Per Theel sauntered out of the cubicle, crossed the mob scene one last time, and left the "Empire's Revenge" sickbay. He never noticed the Dug who'd followed him to Corlag's cabin, and soon appropriated the datadisk from the unconscious captain's pocket.
***
No sooner had Theel left his post that Rory stepped up to the relaying comm station his bunkmate had just vacated, and called up the console's cache. Sure enough, the little gopher program he knew Theel used to slice into ISB recordings had last run barely five minutes before. I am now officially screwed. His stomach constricted painfully. GBH on the person of the captain – if they don't shoot me, I'll end up in the spice mines of Kessel. He didn't dare access the recording so soon after Per – it was the sort of irregular activity the ISB programmers were bound to flag. Only one solution now. He looked up. Yes, Piett was back – without Thrawn, but that didn't much matter right now. Bracing himself, Mikam walked up to the First Officer.
***
A high-ranking officer – she could tell from the multicolored squares on his left breast – with a pleasant face, alert grey eyes and an assured manner stepped up to the edge of the port crew pit and greeted Wynssa. "Hello, miss Starflare. I've come to release you from duty. This rookie been giving you any trouble, chief-gunner Rotham?"
"No, sir, she's been good help. Rethel and Fark got hit by debris early one and we were really short."
"Well, you have time to get replacements from another section now, haven't you?"
"Aye, sir," Rotham said.
This one has to be the famous Piett. Vast improvement on Corlag. Piett walked to the side of the crew pit, at the top of the stairs, and she climbed out a little self-consciously, suddenly very aware of her borrowed overalls. "I was very impressed by your performance on the comm," he said politely.
"Did— did everyone hear it?"
"Oh, no. Well, on this ship; I've no idea who caught it outside. Lieutenant Thrawn replayed it for me."
Instinctively, her eyes scanned the bridge to see if she could spot him. This was not lost on Piett. "He's still interrogating prisoners in the brig. No doubt you will see him at some stage. Now, miss Starflare, I'm sure I have absolutely no authority over you, but perhaps I should make you aware of the situation for the next few hours. Thanks to Lieutenant Thrawn, and to your inspired piece of theater, we were able to jump a short distance away from the pirate fleet which attacked us. We will shortly be joined by another Imperial Star Destroyer, and shall return to attack them by surprise and destroy them. This battle will be very different from what you've just experienced, and we'll win it. However, I don't believe it would serve anyone's purpose to have you spend it in a gunnery crew. I have made sure that your cabin is in fact intact. Captain Corlag is in sickbay, and I don't expect he will recover before the pirates are defeated and we have to report to the admiral currently on the "Judicator". What I would suggest, if that is agreeable to you, is that you return to your stateroom and become once more the honored guest we have been happy to convey to Imperial Center."
Yes, this one is quite impressive. It was the voice of reason, of course. Why did she suddenly feel as if a grown-up had put an end to an afternoon's frivolous play?
"I understand, Commander," she said.
He looked at her and smiled. "Don't look so desolate, miss Starflare. I understand from Lieutenant Mikam that you are aware of – recent irregular events. If we tie up every loose end by the end of the day, the likelihood of a court-martial for myself, or any of the officers on my staff, will recede considerably."
"Could it—?"
"Not if I can help it," he said with steel in his voice.
They were much of a height. She looked into the intelligent grey eyes. "I can't imagine why you're not a captain already."
He burst out in a short laugh. "I can give you any number of good and bad reasons, but please tell me you won't say anything of the kind to the Admiral when you meet him?"
"You mean my recommendation will not carry weight with him? I don't think I'll recover."
He smiled. "I should rather think he will not recover. We understand one another, I believe. Lieutenant Mikam will take you back to your cabin. I'll see you after the battle."