One step back from the conflagration, Commander Piett watched in some awe Captains Sansevi and Corlag locked in the loudest shouting match he could remember ever witnessing on any ship in his career. He could see the techs and lower ranks in both crew pits staring up curiously, not to mention the bridge officers throwing barely covert glances. In normal circumstances, he would have called everyone sharply to order, but these were far from normal circumstances, and part of him was guiltily enjoying the scene. Corlag had the brute mass advantage, but Sansevi's was obviously the better form. "The state of unreadiness of your crew is a disgrace! No wonder you took casualties, you were too busy drinking and gallivanting with holostars to drill them properly!"
"You little freller, you have no authority on my ship!"
"If you hadn't been sleeping off your latest hangover instead of leading the battle, you'd have heard Admiral Mordon giving me authority!"
"You lousy little desk-jockey, you think you can hide behind—"
Piett tore himself regretfully away. "Lieutenant Dorja, how's that sensor report coming on? What d'you think you're looking at, gunning-sergeant Rekos? If you've got so much free time on your hands, I suggest you give Lieutenant Mikam a readiness report for your crew pit batteries, now. That goes for you too, Rotham—d'you think these pirates are just going to flip over and make nice?"
"Sir! Sir, we're getting a transmission from—it looks like it's from one of the Judicator's TIEs, but it's got a first-rank command override," Dorja's puzzled voice called back.
Why is Dorja fielding— Of course, poor Casrah bought it, and Thrawn isn't back from sickbay. A cold shiver ran down Piett's spine. He had a good notion of who was calling them. He glanced at the two captains still at it at full throttle, inwardly sighed, and signaled to Dorja. "Patch it over here."
As he more than half expected, the tac console viewspace revealed an unmoving, grisly black mask, all death-head-like gleaming planes and grilles. "Sir... er, my lord?"
"How many TIE squadrons have you got in readiness?"
The voice was even more chilling than the mask, Piett thought. Deep, vocoder-mechanical, inhuman, punctuated by Vader's regular, oddly-amplified breathing. He was never more relieved to find his training taking over smoothly. "All six squadrons, my lord, in three wings."
"Launch them. I am sending comlink frequencies on which I want them to report to me."
"Acknowledged, my lord, and understood."
The black mask disappeared from the viewspace with no warning. "Get me TIE control," Piett ordered. Yes, new frequencies had been transmitted in an encrypted burst to the Empire's Revenge comm system. He sent them on to the TIE colonel who answered his call, already in his flightsuit and helmet under his arm, he noted. Of course they're in readiness—Corlag had sent them out and I recalled them. At least Lord Vader won't have to complain of any delays. "I need not tell you of Lord Vader's authority at his Majesty's side. Glory to the Empire and good hunting, Colonel," he concluded, hoping the Emperor's Sith lord wasn't as wasteful of his pilots' lives as he'd known Corlag to be. At least he flies with them.
But his activity had finally attracted the feuding captains' attention. "What the frell d'you think you're doing, Piett?" Corlag barked.
Piett quickly glanced from the alarmingly red-faced Corlag to a thin-lipped but calmer-looking Sansevi. "Lord Vader hailed us to order our TIE squadrons launched at once, sir. I've just done so," he answered, staring at a point at shoulder height precisely between the two commanding officers.
"You've what?" Corlag shouted at the same time that Sansevi said "Well done, Commander Piett." Enraged, Corlag turned on the other captain, but this time Sansevi's voice cut like a vibroblade. "This nonsense has lasted long enough. You are formally relieved of command. I don't especially want to have you removed from this bridge under arrest but believe me, I'm getting more reconciled to the idea by the minute. Commander, will you request Colonel Tyfas to send up a squad of troopers?"
Piett could almost find it in him to be sorry for Corlag's public loss of face. Al-most. If it weren't for all those good men who died. He raised a hand at Dorja to comm Tyfas. At that precise moment, an out-of-control TIE careened so close to the port viewport that everyone on the bridge instinctively ducked. An instant later, the doomed fighter crashed into the hull bare meters from the port sensor array, exploding into a ball of fire. Lord Vader, it seemed, had brought the starfighter battle straight to them.
***
In the first seventeen years of her life on her parents' Gus Treta refueling station, Wynssa had never seen a Dug, much less a pirate one, and she couldn't help sneaking looks at the spidery creature limping at their side, wristbinders shackled by a short leash to Thrawn's belt. "Na ta chura hzeke holo porko Wynza Ssstarflare," the Dug suddenly hissed, and she jumped back.
"Ek, eika tori bazda waheta," Thrawn replied easily.
"What did you say?"
"Sebulba here thinks you look like the holo actress, Wynssa Starflare. I told him you get that a lot."
"I—" She caught his meaningful look. "Ah—is that his name? Sebulba?"
"So he tells me. He's been less than forthright about a few other things, though, so I wouldn't make too much of it, would I, my friend?"
"Ttttold you everytthhhhhing, but no longer on our sssship. Tthhhingss chhhange fassst."
She started at the sound of the Dug's sibilant, but perfectly understandable Basic. "For instance, he forgot to tell me he spoke Basic," Thrawn continued with a satisfied smirk. The Dug spat something that sounded like Yoka to bantha poodoo! and Thrawn yanked his lead once, hard, making him trip on two of his chitinous legs. "Keep it decent, and don't think I forget where you come from. If you want to stay this side of the hull, you'll have to prove us you're worth the inconvenience. Do I make myself clear?"
***
Piett and Sansevi leaned in, eyes riveted on the tactical holo beamed to the bridge main display. The TIEs' red dots cut a reckless swathe through the serrated blue wings of pirate Uglies, cutting off small groups of fighters to engage them one by one. Piett watched one starfighter angling an impossible turn from under an enemy cluster, then picking out three Uglies in rapid succession, almost like on a fighting range. Except that he's doing it at two klicks per second and five Gs gravity. That particular red dot wove under another pirate formation and started systematically demolishing it with fierce quad laser jabs, dancing all the while among the harried enemy craft. Seized with the irrepressible need to confirm a growing conviction, Piett tweaked the console's controls. Sure enough, the lethal TIE's dot alone started blinking with a distinctive golden halo, indicating the presence of a hyperdrive. Vader's.
"Oh, there's indeed a point to all the hokey stuff," he heard Sansevi's voice say next to him. "Just this kind of flying might make it all worth it, if he didn't—"
If he didn't—?
The Judicator captain's eyes flickered left and right before he answered Piett's unformulated question in a tense undertone. "You don't want to bring Lord Vader news of failure. Or even to be slow with reports of success. I lost four bridge officers in the past six months. One at least was a good man who drew the wrong lot at the wrong time."
Piett felt a cold dead weight constricting his chest. "The wrong lot?"
"They'd draw lots to decide who would bring Lord Vader the less pleasant news when I wasn't personally on duty. Not always, you understand; but I never forbade it—it was bad enough that I was powerless to shield them."
I ought to have known there's worse than mopping up after Corlag. "How do you stand it?" he asked bluntly.
"Not much choice, is there? And—" The other captain mopped his brow despite the bridge's strictly-controlled temperature. "Lord Vader is capable. Short-tempered and unpredictable, but—more than competent, in his scary way." Sansevi's lowered his voice even more. "Look at your TIE squadrons. Notice anything?"
Piett focused his attention on the tactical holo again for a moment. "I'm not sure I can tell them apart," he said slowly. "They're—completely integrated." He turned to face Sansevi. "You know how unprepared we are, sir. I wish I could take credit for our pilots' coordination, but I don't see how I can. What's going on out there?"