Uncharacteristically, Wynssa Starflare felt like murdering someone. Preferably Lieutenant Theel. Corlag's a bully and an imbecile, but this one's a nasty bigoted little sneak. If it turned out that he was the only survivor from the bridge, she—
She didn't want to think about it. Not yet. Would be just like him to run and make mischief rather than fight. She was being unfair and she knew it—Theel could conceivably be both unpleasant and courageous. I don't care. He's a miserable little—
"Captain Corlag?"
Oh stars. How can I prevent him from rousing Corlag? Not that Theel sounded especially successful. Straining, she could barely hear a faint groan from the captain. Still, it worried her. Why did I snub this little twerp, back on the bridge? Now he'll be immediately suspicious...
And yet there was no helping it. Stifling a sigh, she threw back the covers and considered the bacta-pack around her ankle longingly. She'd had it on for forty minutes at best, but there was no way she could keep it on, with its cumbersome plasteel splint and gutter, and walk, never mind run. Gingerly, she unstuck the drip from her arm, and started unwrapping the bandages. Between the painkillers and the effects of the bacta, she felt almost nothing. Her naked ankle looked pinkish, but otherwise pretty normal. She looked for her running boots and saw them neatly aligned at the foot of the cot, next to her carryall. This gave her an idea. Rummaging quickly through her things, she found the tracksuit she wore during overnight flights or on pauses during cold location shoots. Being pale blue, it wouldn't be as inconspicuous as her tech's overalls, but it still would look a lot more appropriate than her printed chiffon dress. She changed quickly, shrugged herself into her silver-gray Hoth-polar jacket on top for good measure, then proceeded to bandage her ankle and lace up her running boots again, as tight as she could while the painkillers still kicked in. She zipped her identicards, her necklace and what credit chips she had into the jacket's various inner pockets, gave up on the rest of the carryall's contents, fingered it closed again, and hid it against the wall under the far corner of the cot. She straightened the sheets quickly, pushed the IV frame in the corner after unhooking the painkiller drip bottle, cast a look around. It looked ready for the next occupant, probably a lot more deserving than I.
Screwing the bottle shut and pocketing it, she palmed the door open, clutching its handle to slow it down and muffle the noise, and peeked outside. The scene looked a bit more organized, but busy enough for her plan. She spotted an overworked med droid nearby and walked next to it.
"Look, you can't make me wait forever. I came to see Captain Corlag and I want to see him now."
She'd used her clear, carrying stage voice, and sure enough, within seconds, lieutenant Theel's deceptively friendly face showed up at the door of the cubicle next to the one she'd been in. "Miss Starflare! I thought that was your voice! How did you get here?"
Turning away from the droid before it could completely register her question, she looked at Theel with the slightly puzzled, smiling look of someone trying to remember a name to go with a half-familiar face. "Lieutenant—Theel?"
That took him aback, as she'd intended. "We met on the bridge earlier," he said, trying not to sound aggrieved.
"Oh—of course we did. Lieutenant, it's nice to see you, but I was really looking for Captain Corlag. I've been told he's very seriously injured."
Funny how less nice he looks when he smiles. "Captain Corlag is here, Miss Starflare," Theel said, looking smug. "I was with him when I heard you."
She riveted her blue eyes to his, with a bat of eyelashes for good measure. "You were? Oh, I would so much like to see him! May I?"
It worked every time. Reekseye, Wynssa thought dispassionately, watching Theel flush. "Of—of course you may, Miss Starflare! Come with me!"
He led the way to the cubicle with a spring in his step, pausing briefly at the door to whisper happily "The captain has been unwell, but I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."
What? The plan was not to help Corlag get better!
But she had no choice now. She walked into a cubicle exactly similar to the one she'd just vacated. Corlag's heavy bulk took up the entire cot, and she saw with a wry inner smile that he'd been hooked to the same kind of IV drip bottle she had in her own pocket. So much for my bright idea to drug him. She consoled herself by finding out that the captain, lying motionless on his back, truly looked awful. The unshaven shadow on his cheeks made his face look pasty-white, and he seemed catatonic.
"Oh my stars, he really is in a terrible way! Are these droids doing everything they ought for him? Where are they?"
She has kept her voice low, but Theel had obviously decided she would be a perfect enticement to rouse Corlag. "Sir! Captain!" he said brightly, "Miss Starflare has come to see you! Captain? Wake up, captain!"
***
"I take it you have an alternate plan, lieutenant?"
It had taken Commander Piett a few instants to place the lean, grizzled man in a well-worn gray tech's uniform next to Thrawn. Chief-Engineer—ah, yes, Bron. Of course: he'd been one of the two hostages Thrawn had managed to get released.
"Sir, since we can't hope to see the Judicator jump to us, I asked the Chief if we were in any condition to jump to her."
The alien lieutenant nodded quietly to Bron to take over, and Piett was once again struck by Thrawn's respectful attitude to the middle-aged noncom. Not that he hasn't been impeccably formal at all times, but there's something more here. Never mind now—there would be time later, with luck, to investigate this smaller mystery.
"Go ahead, chief," Piett said as the other cleared his throat.
"Sir, at this moment I can't guarantee ship's integrity for a jump. However, considering there's only a small distance to cover, I think there might be a way—if you're willing to sacrifice a Theta shuttle."
Sacrifice a— It said a lot for what he'd been through in the past hours, Piett reflected, that he didn't even begin to voice his objection aloud. Instead, he gave an abbreviated nod. "No doubt you're about to explain how the thing is done, chief. Or is it one of Lieutenant's Thrawn's creative notions?" He caught the tech's guarded side glance. "No, don't tell me. Well?"
"Sir, this'd be hopeless on any significant distance, but for a twenty-second jump, I think it will work: program the shuttle to jump so that it drags the Revenge in its hyperspace shadow. We'll have to calculate the shadow's cone precisely, but I'd say it can be done. We'll angle the Revenge so that it stays to portside of the shuttle – I guess the shuttle itself won't be able to bear the pull, and will explode upon reversion, but we still have shields enough on that side that it shouldn't harm us."
Piett felt a glimmer of hope loosening the knot in his stomach even before he attempted to put it into words. Maybe we're not dead yet. "What are the risks?"
Bron blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Nothing's risk-free, but with this we don't have to start our engines at all—we just glide in and out. No energy-core vibrations, no centrifugal pull from the reactors. We choose the part of the ship that takes the most stress – portside."
And if his calculation's wrong, we won't be here to complain.
"Care to give me odds on this, chief?"
The Rimworlder's jaw tightened. "Even chance, sir."
Not a diplomat, this one. "Very well, let's do it. There was a Theta Shuttle whose climate controls were acting up at the Chandrila layover; take that one."
A slow half-grin spread on Bron's weathered face. "Yep, sir. The Lycinium. Had it in the shop often enough. Piece of junk'll finally make itself useful for a change."
"How long do you need to prep it? Do you need anything else?"
"Should take less than an hour, sir." The corners of Bron's deep-set, ice-blue eyes crinkled measuringly. "If you could—er—spare the lieutenant for a moment, sir, he could go get himself patched up."
"Go get—" Piett caught a glitter of Thrawn's strange eyes before the pale, handsome features froze again. "What's wrong with you, lieutenant?"
But it was the chief engineer who answered. "Right arm all busted. I don't expect the kid'd tell you, so I did."
And I might have noticed before, except that I was busy enough with the damage to the ship. Now that Bron had attracted his attention, he could see that Thrawn's right arm was hanging somewhat twistedly to his side. But he helped— No, it was the other arm he gave me to lean on after the explosion. He's been using his left hand throughout. Piett's eyes narrowed. "What happened to your arm, lieutenant? Why didn't you get a med droid to look at it when they were on the bridge?"
An almost mulish look briefly crossed Thrawn's features, but he replied in his usual cool tone. "There were many in worse shape, sir."
"Well, they seem to have been taken care of. You should have had this seen to long ago."
"Aye, sir," Thrawn said tonelessly.
Now what's this all about? He didn't look this hangdog when Corlag was screaming at him. "So get yourself to sickbay, will you? There isn't much to do here until the chief has programmed the Lycinium, by which time I'm sure the droids will have sent you back."
Commander Piett stared at the broad back of the alien officer as he walked off the bridge. Strange character. He considered the chief-engineer working at a wall console. And this one has some keys to the mystery. He hoped there would be time in their future to find out.