Chapter 2
The Imperial Palace was a shambles. The massive bombardment of two days before that had taken the planet had reduced the edifice to a jumble of shattered wings and crumbling, half-melted towers. The ruins of the Republic governmental centre were unoccupied and desolate, slowly collapsing in on themselves from lack of structural integrity. No one who'd been in there after the shields went down had survived; there was now not enough space for even a rat to escape from that tangle of debris.
The Senate building, on the other hand, was in fine condition. Imperial forces had been under strict orders to keep that out of the lines of fire, and being the well-trained forces the Empire had access to nowadays, they had succeeded admirably. Though the Senate was no longer a political entity, the major organs of government had been left relatively intact when the Senate building was spared, and so the smooth transition to new Imperial rule was accomplished swiftly and smoothly.
Captain Pellaeon strode down the immense hall that led to Grand Admiral Thrawn's new chambers marveling at the ultimate success of their grand campaign. To be sure, they had lost the Wayland cloning facilities, and there were still nests of Rebels scattered about the galaxy, but the Empire was now in control again. It only remained to overwhelm the few remaining old-guard Republic worlds and begin patrolling the new sectors that they had control over, and the installation of a new Empire would be complete.
Thrawn, Pellaeon knew, hated being land-locked in a groundside office for so long, but until a new governmental system had been set up and some directives regarding that to-be created entity, he would have to remain on Coruscant, directing the government from his office.
The office itself was marked by a simple door very like the thousands of other doors within the vast chambers of the Senate building. A straightforward sheet of solid durasteel marked with a small golden plaque that read simply GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN. It was a chilling contrast to the immense power the Grand Admiral himself wielded.
Pellaeon stepped forward, feeling a twinge of the unease and awe he always felt when entering the presence of such a legend as Thrawn, and hit the entrance button. As usual, the door hissed open without comment to reveal the security lock within, a small chamber about two meters in dimension in every direction. Growling at what he knew he would find when he stepped in, Pellaeon moved forward.
Nothing happened. Pellaeon looked carefully all around himself, a futile effort, he knew. He wouldn't see Ruhk unless the creepy alien wanted himself to be seen.
"Captain Pellaeon," a voice mewed.
From above him.
Pellaeon dropped into a combat crouch instinctively, yanking out the hidden hold-out blaster concealed within the chest of his olive Fleet uniform and pointing it at the ceiling. There, braced against the conjunction of the back and front walls with the roof, was Ruhk, teeth bared and as gray and ugly as ever.
"Damn it, Ruhk," Pellaeon snarled, "Why must you keep doing that? I'm not your prey; leave me be."
"As I have said before," the impassive alien mewed, "Stalking must be practiced."
"Not on me, it mustn't," Pellaeon growled, stepping forward to mash the entrance button on the second security door. It opened without comment, and Pellaeon stalked inside, leaving the gray assassin outside to continue his 'practicing'.
Grand Admiral Thrawn's office bore great resemblance to the chambers he had converted into his own on board the Chimera, still the same duplicate of a Star Destroyer captain's chair seated in the center of a double ring of fantastical artwork displays from all over the galaxy, the source of Thrawn's tactical brilliance. Pellaeon didn't see how one could divine the innermost impulses and thoughts of an entire species from several little pieces of artwork, but the fact remained that Thrawn won his battles, and by a large margin.
"What is it, Captain?" the smooth, rich voice of the Admiral inquired, and the glowing red eyes set in the bluish skin of his face lifted to stare at Pellaeon. Pellaeon felt some pride in being able to meet that gaze without flinching or lowering his eyes. Many in the Fleet could not.
"Final report from Wayland, sir," he answered, handing a datacard to Thrawn that he'd pulled from his uniform's breast pocket. "Not much of interest, I'm afraid, just a post-explosion analysis."
Thrawn held up one extremely long sapphire finger, his manner of extreme laziness. "Patience, Captain," he said softly, scanning the datacard with detached interest. "There may indeed be things of great interest here."
Pellaeon nodded quietly, inwardly shaking his head. This was going to be another of those many occasions on which Pellaeon thought nothing of some small detail that Thrawn used later to win a battle. or a war. The Bilbringi attack rushed painfully into his mind. Pellaeon had been convinced of the Rebel's sham attack on Tangrene, and had argued eloquently for its defense. But Thrawn had chosen to ignore him and defend Bilbringi instead, and as a result, the war was won.
"Interesting," Thrawn murmured suddenly, and Pellaeon came to full attention. Here it came.
"What is it, Admiral?" Pellaeon asked excitedly.
"Note the points the analysis team makes here," Thrawn said softly, pointing to a specific paragraph of the report on the datacard. "Part of the mountain was wracked by a very hot and violent explosion before the reactor was destroyed. Not of the type induced by small explosives, either."
"Yes, I see, sir," Pellaeon said respectfully. He, of course, didn't see the significance, and Thrawn would undoubtedly point it out to him in a few seconds.
"Most interesting," Thrawn said again. "It is proof that Skywalker and his cohorts were indeed there."
"Sir?"
Thrawn smiled. "I believe you know that when Dark Jedi die, they explode in a blaze of blue fire, or at least, that is the legend."
Pellaeon nodded. There was as much Sith as Jedi literature and legend around the galaxy, and some of the stories mentioned the deadly explosions purported to consume the bodies of Sith adherents upon death. He'd always been skeptical of such legends, but if Thrawn said it, it was truth.
"Such an explosion, then, is our culprit in the early detonation that destroyed the throne room chambers," Thrawn said with finality.
"I'm sorry sir, I don't see-" Pellaeon began tentatively, and Thrawn cut him off with a lazy hand wave.
"You know, Captain, that C'baoth was imprisoned in the throne room chambers," Thrawn said, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "We also know that Noghri, as well as Republic insurgents, were involved in Wayland's destruction. If C'baoth died there, Skywalker was there to do the job."
"But the ysalamiri-"
"I suspect the troops General Covell brought were ordered to remove or destroy the ysalamiri," Thrawn said, reduced once more to quiet meditation and contemplation. "Once C'baoth had his powers back, only a Jedi could have destroyed our tame Master."
Pellaeon resigned himself to defeat. "Yes, sir."
Thrawn smiled calmly up at his protégé, manner now metamorphosed into gentle superiority, the kind between a teacher and a student.
"Patience, Captain," he said again. "You will learn much in time. Do not be disheartened if you do not fully comprehend as yet." His eyes hardened. "Reports on those unknown ships we've seen flitting around recently?"
Pellaeon brought his personal datapad out of his breast pocket, a small, hand-sized device that contained every intelligence report the Chimera had received in the last 48 hours. It was an extensive list, and soon Pellaeon found what he was looking for.
"Only one item of any interest, sir," he said, thumbing through the reports to make certain of his diagnosis. "One ship of unknown type or manufacture blasted its way out of Mos Eisley two days hence. Four squads of stormtroopers were killed in the firefight, but before he died, the group commander reported to the local garrison that one of the escapees was Wedge Antilles."
Thrawn's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, so Antilles has thrown his lot in with the disorganized terrorists that they hope to call a rebellion. Has Intelligence identified his ship?"
"Already impounded and in transit to Coruscant for your personal examination, sir," Pellaeon said, consulting the datapad again. "And also, one ship of a size similar to an Interdictor cruiser flickered into the Coruscant system briefly, but was gone before the outer system patrols could get an accurate reading of it."
Thrawn nodded. "Did the commander scan the area for dropped objects?"
Pellaeon nodded his head. "No trace, sir."
"Very well," Thrawn said. "Continue delivering reports and organizing reconstruction efforts in the capital, then, Captain. Once that is completed, we leave for the Bothan battle front." He looked up into Pellaeon's eyes, and despite himself, Pellaeon shivered with fear. "The final battles of the war await."
The Imperial Palace was a shambles. The massive bombardment of two days before that had taken the planet had reduced the edifice to a jumble of shattered wings and crumbling, half-melted towers. The ruins of the Republic governmental centre were unoccupied and desolate, slowly collapsing in on themselves from lack of structural integrity. No one who'd been in there after the shields went down had survived; there was now not enough space for even a rat to escape from that tangle of debris.
The Senate building, on the other hand, was in fine condition. Imperial forces had been under strict orders to keep that out of the lines of fire, and being the well-trained forces the Empire had access to nowadays, they had succeeded admirably. Though the Senate was no longer a political entity, the major organs of government had been left relatively intact when the Senate building was spared, and so the smooth transition to new Imperial rule was accomplished swiftly and smoothly.
Captain Pellaeon strode down the immense hall that led to Grand Admiral Thrawn's new chambers marveling at the ultimate success of their grand campaign. To be sure, they had lost the Wayland cloning facilities, and there were still nests of Rebels scattered about the galaxy, but the Empire was now in control again. It only remained to overwhelm the few remaining old-guard Republic worlds and begin patrolling the new sectors that they had control over, and the installation of a new Empire would be complete.
Thrawn, Pellaeon knew, hated being land-locked in a groundside office for so long, but until a new governmental system had been set up and some directives regarding that to-be created entity, he would have to remain on Coruscant, directing the government from his office.
The office itself was marked by a simple door very like the thousands of other doors within the vast chambers of the Senate building. A straightforward sheet of solid durasteel marked with a small golden plaque that read simply GRAND ADMIRAL THRAWN. It was a chilling contrast to the immense power the Grand Admiral himself wielded.
Pellaeon stepped forward, feeling a twinge of the unease and awe he always felt when entering the presence of such a legend as Thrawn, and hit the entrance button. As usual, the door hissed open without comment to reveal the security lock within, a small chamber about two meters in dimension in every direction. Growling at what he knew he would find when he stepped in, Pellaeon moved forward.
Nothing happened. Pellaeon looked carefully all around himself, a futile effort, he knew. He wouldn't see Ruhk unless the creepy alien wanted himself to be seen.
"Captain Pellaeon," a voice mewed.
From above him.
Pellaeon dropped into a combat crouch instinctively, yanking out the hidden hold-out blaster concealed within the chest of his olive Fleet uniform and pointing it at the ceiling. There, braced against the conjunction of the back and front walls with the roof, was Ruhk, teeth bared and as gray and ugly as ever.
"Damn it, Ruhk," Pellaeon snarled, "Why must you keep doing that? I'm not your prey; leave me be."
"As I have said before," the impassive alien mewed, "Stalking must be practiced."
"Not on me, it mustn't," Pellaeon growled, stepping forward to mash the entrance button on the second security door. It opened without comment, and Pellaeon stalked inside, leaving the gray assassin outside to continue his 'practicing'.
Grand Admiral Thrawn's office bore great resemblance to the chambers he had converted into his own on board the Chimera, still the same duplicate of a Star Destroyer captain's chair seated in the center of a double ring of fantastical artwork displays from all over the galaxy, the source of Thrawn's tactical brilliance. Pellaeon didn't see how one could divine the innermost impulses and thoughts of an entire species from several little pieces of artwork, but the fact remained that Thrawn won his battles, and by a large margin.
"What is it, Captain?" the smooth, rich voice of the Admiral inquired, and the glowing red eyes set in the bluish skin of his face lifted to stare at Pellaeon. Pellaeon felt some pride in being able to meet that gaze without flinching or lowering his eyes. Many in the Fleet could not.
"Final report from Wayland, sir," he answered, handing a datacard to Thrawn that he'd pulled from his uniform's breast pocket. "Not much of interest, I'm afraid, just a post-explosion analysis."
Thrawn held up one extremely long sapphire finger, his manner of extreme laziness. "Patience, Captain," he said softly, scanning the datacard with detached interest. "There may indeed be things of great interest here."
Pellaeon nodded quietly, inwardly shaking his head. This was going to be another of those many occasions on which Pellaeon thought nothing of some small detail that Thrawn used later to win a battle. or a war. The Bilbringi attack rushed painfully into his mind. Pellaeon had been convinced of the Rebel's sham attack on Tangrene, and had argued eloquently for its defense. But Thrawn had chosen to ignore him and defend Bilbringi instead, and as a result, the war was won.
"Interesting," Thrawn murmured suddenly, and Pellaeon came to full attention. Here it came.
"What is it, Admiral?" Pellaeon asked excitedly.
"Note the points the analysis team makes here," Thrawn said softly, pointing to a specific paragraph of the report on the datacard. "Part of the mountain was wracked by a very hot and violent explosion before the reactor was destroyed. Not of the type induced by small explosives, either."
"Yes, I see, sir," Pellaeon said respectfully. He, of course, didn't see the significance, and Thrawn would undoubtedly point it out to him in a few seconds.
"Most interesting," Thrawn said again. "It is proof that Skywalker and his cohorts were indeed there."
"Sir?"
Thrawn smiled. "I believe you know that when Dark Jedi die, they explode in a blaze of blue fire, or at least, that is the legend."
Pellaeon nodded. There was as much Sith as Jedi literature and legend around the galaxy, and some of the stories mentioned the deadly explosions purported to consume the bodies of Sith adherents upon death. He'd always been skeptical of such legends, but if Thrawn said it, it was truth.
"Such an explosion, then, is our culprit in the early detonation that destroyed the throne room chambers," Thrawn said with finality.
"I'm sorry sir, I don't see-" Pellaeon began tentatively, and Thrawn cut him off with a lazy hand wave.
"You know, Captain, that C'baoth was imprisoned in the throne room chambers," Thrawn said, a hint of impatience creeping into his tone. "We also know that Noghri, as well as Republic insurgents, were involved in Wayland's destruction. If C'baoth died there, Skywalker was there to do the job."
"But the ysalamiri-"
"I suspect the troops General Covell brought were ordered to remove or destroy the ysalamiri," Thrawn said, reduced once more to quiet meditation and contemplation. "Once C'baoth had his powers back, only a Jedi could have destroyed our tame Master."
Pellaeon resigned himself to defeat. "Yes, sir."
Thrawn smiled calmly up at his protégé, manner now metamorphosed into gentle superiority, the kind between a teacher and a student.
"Patience, Captain," he said again. "You will learn much in time. Do not be disheartened if you do not fully comprehend as yet." His eyes hardened. "Reports on those unknown ships we've seen flitting around recently?"
Pellaeon brought his personal datapad out of his breast pocket, a small, hand-sized device that contained every intelligence report the Chimera had received in the last 48 hours. It was an extensive list, and soon Pellaeon found what he was looking for.
"Only one item of any interest, sir," he said, thumbing through the reports to make certain of his diagnosis. "One ship of unknown type or manufacture blasted its way out of Mos Eisley two days hence. Four squads of stormtroopers were killed in the firefight, but before he died, the group commander reported to the local garrison that one of the escapees was Wedge Antilles."
Thrawn's eyes lit up with interest. "Ah, so Antilles has thrown his lot in with the disorganized terrorists that they hope to call a rebellion. Has Intelligence identified his ship?"
"Already impounded and in transit to Coruscant for your personal examination, sir," Pellaeon said, consulting the datapad again. "And also, one ship of a size similar to an Interdictor cruiser flickered into the Coruscant system briefly, but was gone before the outer system patrols could get an accurate reading of it."
Thrawn nodded. "Did the commander scan the area for dropped objects?"
Pellaeon nodded his head. "No trace, sir."
"Very well," Thrawn said. "Continue delivering reports and organizing reconstruction efforts in the capital, then, Captain. Once that is completed, we leave for the Bothan battle front." He looked up into Pellaeon's eyes, and despite himself, Pellaeon shivered with fear. "The final battles of the war await."