The Hand Of Thrawn Duology_ Specter Of The Past Part 28

Lando grimaced. "Reggi, look-"

"And if you're going to bring up Taanab again, don't," the other interrupted him. "You've been squeezing that bit of history for favors for, oh, must be fifteen years now. Not going to do you any good this time."

"It's always nice to see grat.i.tude," Lando said frostily, getting to his feet. "See you around, Reggi. Have fun with whichever war you settle on."

The afternoon Cilparian sunlight seemed especially harsh after the cool dimness of the tapcafe. For a minute Lando stood beside the entrance, studying the business flags that flew all up and down s.p.a.cer's Street and wondering if it would be worth the effort to try checking out their current clientele.

No. Reggi was right: any mercenary group worth hiring these days was looking for bigger game than freighter escort duty. And a higher pay scale than Lando could afford.

After nearly two decades of agonizing struggle, the galaxy had finally found peace . . .

and all they wanted to do with it was get back to the petty little wars the Emperor's New Order had so thoughtlessly interrupted.

With a tired shake of his head, he turned back toward the s.p.a.ceport.

The noise of the crowd reached him long before he came into sight of them. It was a good-sized mob, as these things seemed to be going: probably three hundred humans and aliens, milling noisily around the entrance to Docking Bay 66. This group was better organized than most, though, with signs as well as the usual shouted demands for justice for Caamas.

The mood he was in, he would have welcomed the opportunity to shove his way through them, maybe get a chance to burn a little of the simmering resentment out of his system. But the universe wasn't going to cooperate even that far with him today: the Lady Luck was two bays down in 68. Muttering under his breath about people who had nothing better to do than protest something that had happened before most of them were even born, he stomped past the crowd and headed toward his bay. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got off Cilpar, the better.

He was a good ten meters past the edge of the crowd when a stray fact managed to penetrate his blanket of grouchy self-pity. These protests invariably targeted Bothans: Bothan merchants or diplomats or businesses. But there were no Bothans at Mos Tommro s.p.a.ceport-they used a different facility entirely.

So what were the protesters doing here?

Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he backed into an alley out of their sight and pulled out his comlink. He keyed it to run through the Lady Luck's comm system and punched for the s.p.a.ceport control center. "This is Lando Calrissian in Bay 68," he identified himself to the bored voice that answered. "I'd like a listing of the ships in Bay 66."

"There will be no need for that," a calm voice said from the alley behind him.

Lando spun around, his hand twitching aside the edge of his cloak with practiced ease and landing on the b.u.t.t of his holstered blaster. Standing a few meters away, decked out in full diplomatic regalia, were a pair of white-maned, leathery-faced Diamala. "Yes?" he asked cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I believe you can," the taller of the two aliens said. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Porolo Miatamia, Senator to the New Republic. May I confirm that my ears did not deceive me and that you are General Lando Calrissian?"

"Former general, yes," Lando nodded, releasing his grip on his blaster and shutting off his comlink. The crowd of protesters at Bay 66 was starting to make sense now. "May I confirm in turn that this is not a chance meeting?"

Miatamia smiled thinly, the only way Lando had ever seen a Diamal smile. "You are correct," the Senator a.s.sured him. "My aide spotted you five streets away as you were approaching." One fan-shaped ear dipped to point at the Diamal beside him. "We have paralleled you to this point, seeking a way to confirm your ident.i.ty."

"You've confirmed it," Lando said. One of the more irritating Diamalan social characteristics-annoying to him, anyway-was this tendency of theirs to trample the ground flat around an issue before actually getting to it. "Is there some service I can perform for you?"

Miatamia's ear flicked in the direction of the crowd. "My ship is in Docking Bay 66," he said. "There are . . . persons who disapprove of my government's stance on the Bothan issue."

"Yes, I've heard," Lando said. So it was now the Bothan issue, not the Caamas issue.

Interesting. "Your government wants to forgive and forget, or some such thing."

The Senator eyed him closely. "Would you then prefer to inflict mindless vengeance against innocents?"

Lando spread his hands. "Hey, this is politics. I'm just a simple businessman trying to turn a little profit."

Miatamia eyed him a moment longer. Then one of his ears twitched. "As that may be," he said cryptically. "At any rate, the protesters have made their point. I have therefore appealed to the s.p.a.ceport authorities to remove them so that I may return to my ship."

Lando nodded. After that lethal riot on Bothawui a week ago, he could understand the Senator's reluctance to try to push his way through the crowd. "Let me guess. They refused to lift a finger."

"There is no need to guess: I can positively state that that was their response," Miatamia said. "We were departing from their offices when we noticed you and made our tentative identification."

"I understand," Lando said. "What service may I perform for you?"

Miatamia's other ear twitched. "I wished to ask you to use your position and influence with the New Republic to intercede on my behalf."

His influence with the New Republic. Right. "I wish I could help you," he said.

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid my influence these days is limited to a select number of friends and a.s.sociates. None of whom is currently on Cilpar."

"I see." Miatamia was silent a moment "In that event, perhaps you would be willing to speak to the crowd. As a hero of the Rebellion, you would have a calming influence."

Lando snorted under his breath. "I very much doubt my past activities would get me very far with them, Senator. There's a bad tendency these days for people to forget what happened back then."

"Then you refuse to help me?"

"It's not a refusal," Lando said, trying hard to be patient. It was a language thing, of course; for all their calmly logical veneer, Diamala had a tendency to use words in nonstandard ways. One reason why a lot of people didn't like dealing with them. "I'm simply pointing out that there's nothing I can do to help you."

And then a sudden thought occurred to him. "At least, nothing I can do to get you to your ship," he continued before Miatamia could respond. "If all you need right now is to get to Coruscant or back home, that's another matter."

Both ears twitched this time. "Explain."

"My ship is docked in Bay 68," he said. "I would be honored to take you wherever in the New Republic you wished to go."

"Others of the crew are still outside," the aide pointed out. "Trapped away from the ship by the crowd. Do you offer them transport as well?"

"I was thinking mainly of you and Senator Miatamia," Lando said, looking at him. "My ship has rather limited living s.p.a.ce."

He shifted his eyes back to Miatamia. "But it seems to me that the crowd isn't interested in your crew, just in the attention of the Senator. Once you're not here to give them that attention, there won't be much point in them hanging around."

"You speak reason," Miatamia said. "Now speak cost."

"No cost, Senator," Lando a.s.sured him, waving a hand in invitation back toward his docking bay. "I would be honored to have such a distinguished personage aboard my ship."

The other didn't move. "Speak of the cost, please. There is always a cost."

So much for finding a subtle way to bring up the topic aboard the Lady Luck, "There is no cost," Lando repeated. "However, my underwater mining operation is having problems with pirate attacks. I thought perhaps I might be able to make an arrangement with the Diamalan military to provide extra security for my shipments."

"The primary task of the Diamalan military is to protect Diamalan interests," Miatamia said. "However, there may be room for discussion."

"Thank you, Senator," Lando said. "Honest discussion is all I ask. Shall we go?"

The short trip across the street to the docking-bay door was just a shade worse than Lando had expected it would be. The two Diamala refused to run or even to hurry-a matter of dignity, apparently-and they were no more than halfway to the door when the crowd waiting two bays down spotted them. Fortunately, having no compunctions of his own against a little judicious haste, Lando had already reached the other side and was keying the door open by the time the mob started its belated surge toward them. The Diamala made it inside in plenty of time, with only a few minor fruit juice stains from glancing impacts as souvenirs.

"They are barbarians," the aide said, his voice icy cold, as Lando sealed the door behind them. "No being should have the right to attempt such dishonoring of another."

"Peace," Miatamia said in the same tone as he flicked a few drops of juice from his sleeve with his fingertips. "Few other beings have the wisdom or capacity for proper expression that characterize the Diamala. Rather than considering them as barbarians to be shunned, or even as wrongdoers to be punished, you must see them as children who merely need instruction in civilized behavior."

He looked at Lando. "Do you not agree?"

"I think any such discussions should be postponed, Senator," Lando said, not about to let himself get dragged into that kind of conversation. "At least until we're safely off Cilpar."

"You speak wisdom," Miatamia said, his ears twitching again. "Please; lead the way."

Tierce looked up from the display . . . and from his expression alone Disra knew he'd hit solid ore. "You have a target?" he asked.

"I do indeed," Tierce said. "Senator Porolo Miatamia, Diamalan representative to the New Republic." He swiveled the display around to face the other. "And you'll never guess who he's. .h.i.tched a ride with."

Disra scanned the report, feeling his own eyes widen a little. "They must be joking. Lando Calrissian?"

"No joke," Tierce a.s.sured him. "And no error, either. The reporting agent back-checked against the Mos Tommro s.p.a.ceport lift records. Calrissian, the Senator, and the Senator's aide all took off together in Calrissian's yacht."

"Did they indeed," Disra murmured. No wonder Tierce was looking so self-satisfied. The Diamala were even louder advocates of the forgive-and-forget att.i.tude than either the Mon Calamari or the Duros. An ideal choice for the little drama Tierce had in mind.

And to have a close friend of Han Solo's along for the ride made it even more perfect.

What's their destination-oh, here it is. Coruscant."

"Yes." Tierce had called up a star chart and was laying rate-of-pa.s.sage tracklines across it. "a.s.suming Calrissian heads straight for Coruscant, we should have no trouble intercepting them wherever we want along the way. The only question is whether Flim and I can rendezvous with the Relentless before they grab the yacht."

"It won't look good if they have to wait for you to show up," Disra warned. "This is supposed to look like one of Thrawn's casual-omniscience tricks."

"Kindly do not lecture me on the subtleties of my own plans," Tierce said coldly, manipulating the tracklines across the starfield. "It'll be a bit tight, but I think we can manage it."

"Yes," Disra said as he looked over the numbers himself. "I'm still not wild about this plan, Tierce. We have no idea how the New Republic will react"

"Of course we know," Tierce said patiently. "I've already explained all of that to you."

"You've given me your guesses," Disra corrected. "But that's all they are. Guesses."

"If you're not willing to take some risks, you shouldn't have started this scheme in the first place," Tierce said, his voice chilling a few degrees. "It's still not too late for you to back out if you've lost your nerve."

Disra glared at him. "It's not a question of my nerve, Major," he growled. "It's a question of not taking unnecessary risks to achieve our objective."

Tierce met his gaze evenly. "This one is necessary, Your Excellency," he said. "Trust me.

Now, we'll need an Interdictor Cruiser, too," He lifted his eyebrows slightly. "And we're on something of a tight schedule here."

With an effort, Disra swallowed back the rest of his argument Tierce hadn't sprung this new scheme on him until after his return from Yaga Minor, and he still wasn't sure how the Guardsman had talked him into it. But if they were going to do it, they had blazing well better do it right. "Fine," he growled. "Get out of my chair and I'll issue the orders."

CHAPTER 16.

"Well, General," Admiral Pellaeon said, leaning back in his seat as he accepted a small gla.s.s of Kareas brandy from the other, "How are things at Yaga Minor?"

"About the same as always, Admiral," High General Hestiv said, waving at the distant planet centered in his office viewport as he poured a little of the brandy into his own gla.s.s and sat down again behind his datacard-strewn desk. "Very quiet."

"I understand there's been some recent unrest among segments of the Yagai population,"

Pellaeon said.

"Completely negligible," Hestiv said, waving a hand in dismissal. "Actually, since the overwhelming majority of the populace is completely loyal, they mostly take care of the handful of dissenters themselves. The only time we normally have to lift a finger is to protect the dissidents from overzealous loyalists."

"Allowing you to take the moral high ground."

"Exactly," Hestiv said. "It makes for a refreshing change from our usual image among aliens."

"Yes," Pellaeon murmured, sipping his drink. "A pity the Emperor didn't work harder at that kind of public relations himself twenty years ago."

"A pity someone who wasn't so insanely blind with power didn't overthrow him while there was still time," Hestiv countered, an edge of bitterness in his voice. "There must have been hundreds of competent administrators or Fleet officers who could have kept the Empire alive."

Pellaeon felt a catch in his throat. "There was one, at least," he said quietly.

Hestiv's lip twitched. "Yes-Grand Admiral Thrawn. I've always regretted the fact that I never had the chance to meet him."

For a moment the two men sat in silence. Then Hestiv cleared his throat. "But I don't suppose it gains us anything to count the might-have-beens," he said. "That was the past, this is the present; and I presume, Admiral, that you're here to discuss the future."

Pellaeon took another sip of his drink. "Yes," he said, watching the other closely. "To put it bluntly, the war against the New Republic is over, and we've lost. In my professional military opinion, it's time to talk peace."

The muscles around Hestiv's eyes tightened. "You mean surrender."

"I'll be negotiating for terms," Pellaeon said. "If I do a proper job, I think we should be able to keep most of what we have."

Hestiv snorted. "Such as it is."

"We still control over a thousand inhabited systems," Pellaeon reminded him mildly. "Would you prefer we allow the New Republic to whittle that number down further before we accept the inevitable?"

"The New Republic's in no shape to do much whittling at the moment," Hestiv said. "It looks to me like they're poised to go for each other's throats, not ours?'

"Certainly they have problems," Pellaeon said. "But if you're expecting them to collapse into a full-fledged civil war over Caamas or anything else, I think you're being unrealistic."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon, but I respectfully disagree," Hestiv said. "Particularly if we engaged in a little judicious pushing of our own."

Pellaeon stifled a sigh. Yet another argument he'd heard over and over again on this trip.

"So you'd have us encourage them in their self-destruction," he said. "Emptying your shipyards if necessary; draining all the manpower and resources from your Ubiqtorate base.

Leaving this system totally defenseless."

"If it's necessary to go that far, yes," Hestiv said. "This is a military base, Admiral.