The Hand Of Thrawn Duology_ Specter Of The Past Part 29

That's how its resources are supposed to be used."

"Granted," Pellaeon said with a nod. "And what do you suppose will happen when they find out we've been goading them?"

"There's no reason they need to find out," Hestiv argued. "We don't have to use our Star Destroyers or TIE fighters or anything else obviously Imperial."

"No." Pellaeon shook his head. "We can keep up such a charade for a while, maybe even a long while. But in the end, they'll find out. And then they'll unite again, at least long enough to destroy us."

Hestiv looked out the window at the blue-green sphere in the distance. "At least that way we'd go down fighting," he said with obvious difficulty. "Your way . .

. there's no honor in surrender, Admiral."

"There's no honor in wasting lives for nothing, either," Pellaeon countered.

Hestiv smiled wryly. "I know. But at least if you're dead you don't have to live with the shame of it."

"There are some in the Fleet who would call that a n.o.ble warrior att.i.tude," Pellaeon said.

"Personally, I'd call it stupid. II we're destroyed-if we all die-the concepts and ideals of the New Order die with us. But if we surrender, we can keep those ideals alive. Then, if and when the New Republic self-destructs, we'll be positioned to rise again. Maybe then the galaxy will finally be ready to accept us."

Hestiv grimaced. "Perhaps."

"There's no disgrace in backing out of a no-win situation General," Pellaeon said quietly.

"I saw Grand Admiral Thrawn do it more than once, forthrightly and without embarra.s.sment, rather than waste his men and ships. That's no more or less what I'm proposing we do now."

Hestiv swirled his drink restlessly in his gla.s.s. "I presume you've already consulted with the Moffs about this."

"I have," Pellaeon said. "In the end, they agreed."

"Reluctantly, I suppose."

"None of us is exactly enthusiastic about it," Pellaeon said. "We simply recognize that it has to be done."

Hestiv took a deep breath, exhaled it. "I suppose you're right. I wish you weren't." He lifted his gla.s.s, drained it in a single swallow. "Very well, Admiral. You have my support, which I presume was the real reason you came to Yaga Minor. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"As a matter of fact, there is," Pellaeon said, pulling out datacard and handing it across the desk. "First of all, I'd like you to run this list of names through the Ubiqtorate base's computer system."

"Certainly," Hestiv said, sliding the datacard into its slot and keying his terminal.

"Anything in particular you're looking for?"

"Unaltered information," Pellaeon told him. "These are people I suspect of having shady financial ties to Moff Disra, but we haven't been able to track the connections."

"And Disra wouldn't let you look through the Bastion records?" Hestiv suggested with a wry smile.

"I'm sure he would have," Pellaeon said. "I just don't happen to think I'd be able to trust what those records said."

"Well, you can trust these," Hestiv a.s.sured him, keying his board. "No one gets into my records without proper and double-confirmed authorization. That major from the Obliterator -Tierce-certainly found that out when he tried to-"

"Major Tierce?" Pellaeon interrupted him. "Major Grodin Tierce?"

"Yes, that's the one," Hestiv said, frowning. "He was here on behalf of Captain Trazzen, only we couldn't make contact with the Obliterator to confirm the authorization so we wouldn't let him into the system. Why, is something wrong?"

"Yes," Pellaeon gritted. "Major Tierce isn't attached to the Obliterator. He's Moff Disra's aide."

Hestiv's expression turned to stone. "Is he, now."

Pellaeon gestured toward the terminal. "Is there any way to tell which records he might have tapped into?"

"I just told you he didn't get in."

"Oh, he got in, all right," Pellaeon said darkly. "Through a terminal no one was watching, or perhaps he brought one of his own and tapped in at a junction point. But he most certainly didn't leave without whatever it was he came here to do."

Hestiv was keying his board. "You're right, of course. I'll order a check; and while we're at it, let's have them run his ID again."

The examination took just under an hour; and in the end, they found what Pellaeon had begun to suspect they would find.

Nothing.

"This doesn't make any sense," Hestiv growled, glaring at his display. We know he was here, and presumably not just for his health. But there isn't a single sign of access or tampering. So what in blazes did he do? "

"Did you check all the records?" Pellaeon asked, swiveling the display around and running an eye down the listing.

"Of course we did," Hestiv said, his tone a little huffy. "Everything from the basic maintenance files on up to-"

"No," Pellaeon said, staring at the display as a sudden chilling thought hit him. "You didn't check everything. You couldn't have."

"Begging the Admiral's pardon-"

"Because there are records you don't have access to," Pellaeon cut him off, scrolling down the listing. "Specifically, the Special Files section."

Hestiv's eyebrows lifted. "You can't be serious," he said. "Are you suggesting a lowly major could access the Emperor's own sealed records?"

"I agree it sounds unbelievable," Pellaeon said. "But we're running out of options."

"But a major?"

"He's an aide to a very slippery Moff," Pellaeon reminded him. "I wouldn't put it past Disra to have found a way into the Special Files. In fact, considering his ambition and lack of discernible ethics, I'd probably find it more surprising if he hadn't."

"I still don't believe it," Hestiv said heavily. "But as you say, we're running out of, options." He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "I don't suppose you can get us into those records to check this out?"

Pellaeon shook his head. "The codes and procedures were lost long before I rose to the position where I would have been instructed in their use."

"Pity," Hestiv said. "If we can't get in, we aren't going to be able to figure out what he was doing in there."

"That is the big question, isn't it?" Pellaeon agreed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "He couldn't have been looking up something-the records at Bastion are duplicates of the ones here. Which implies his purpose was to add, delete, or alter."

Hestiv muttered something under his breath. "Which implies those names you're investigating may have more of a history with the Empire than you thought."

"Perhaps," Pellaeon agreed soberly as another unpleasant thought struck him. "But there's one other possibility. If I wanted details on the attack that destroyed Caamas, where would I look?"

Hestiv shrugged slightly. "There should be copies of all the media and official reports in the regular files, both current-time and follow-up."

"And if Palpatine was personally involved, as the rumors suggested?"

Hestiv exhaled noisily. "Anything like that would be in the Special Files section, wouldn't it? You think that's what Tierce was really after?"

"Or he was after that plus Disra's ally list," Pellaeon said. "As long as he was in the files anyway, why not do both?"

Why not, indeed?" Hestiv said, drumming his fingers thoughtfully on the desktop. "The question is, what would Disra want with the Caamas files?"

"Whatever it is, I doubt very much that it has anything other than Disra's personal aggrandizement at the core," Pellaeon said sourly. "And for that reason alone, I want to know what it is. I think, General, that the two of us ought to begin a quiet search for someone who might be able to access those records for us."

"I'll begin making inquiries immediately," Hestiv promised. Where can I contact you if I'm successful?"

"I'll be out of contact for a while," Pellaeon said, standing up. "I'll communicate with you when I get back. Thank you for your a.s.sistance."

"Anytime, Admiral," Hestiv said. "And best of luck with with everything."

And it was finally time, Pellaeon knew as he headed down the corridor from Hestiv's office toward the docking bay where his shuttle was berthed. The Yaga Minor shipyards were the last stop on his tour of the Empire's meager defensive facilities, and he had gleaned as much support from the senior military as he was going to get.

It was time now for the lonely journey to Pesitiin.

He grimaced. It had been three weeks now. Three weeks since Major Vermel would have arrived at Morishim to try to contact General Bel Iblis. Three weeks since he and his Corellian Corvette had vanished without a single trace. The increasingly unavoidable conclusion was that he'd been intercepted somewhere along the way, either by random pirates, overeager New Republic forces, or dissident Imperials.

He'd been a good officer, even a friend, and Pellaeon would mourn his loss and miss his service. But at the moment the critical question was whether he'd been able to deliver his message before that interception occurred.

There was no way for Pellaeon to know. He would simply have to show up at Pesitiin and see if Bel Ibis did likewise.

And if the other did not . . . well, he would deal with that when and if it became necessary.

CHAPTER 17.

Its official name was the Grand Rim Promenade; and even on a world that prided itself on engineering achievements as much as Cejansij clearly did, it was a remarkable achievement indeed. Thirty meters wide at its greatest expanse, attached to the eastern wall of the Canyonade about two-thirds of the way from floor to rim, it stretched the entire length-over ten kilometers-of the canyon. Small trade and vending booths were set up all along the canyon wall, the commercial areas interspersed with conversat ion circles or tiny contoured meditation gardens or sculpture cl.u.s.ters. At other spots the wall had been left completely open to allow un.o.bstructed observation of interesting natural vegetation clumps or the small waterfalls that dribbled softly down toward the canyon floor below.

The far more interesting view, though, was on the other side of the Promenade. Beyond the chest-high, elaborately tooled metal-mesh guardwall one could look down into the Canyonade itself, to the city that had been created across the floor and sides. At regular intervals the guardwall opened up into the skyarches that curved gracefully across the canyon to the lesser and more utilitarian walkways on the far side. The skyarches were arranged in diamond-patterned groups of nine: three connecting with the Promenade, two each connecting with the walkways above and below it, one each from the walkways above and below those.

An impressive achievement, made all the more so by the fact that the entire three-hundred-year-old structure was held solidly in place without any repulsorlift support whatsoever. Walking along the Promenade, gazing across through the gathering darkness at the scattering of lights across the canyon and down below, Luke wondered if anyone in these modern days would have both the skill and the self-confidence to undertake anything of this magnitude.

Rolling along at Luke's side, Artoo twittered uneasily. "Don't worry, Artoo, I'm not going to get too close to the edge," Luke soothed the little droid, shifting his shoulders beneath his hooded cloak. "Anyway, it's not dangerous-the brochure said there are emergency tractor beams set up to catch anyone who falls."

Artoo warbled a not entirely convinced acknowledgment. Then, rotating his dome for a surrept.i.tious look behind them, he beeped a question. "Yes," Luke told him soberly. "He's still following us."

Had been following them, in fact, since shortly after their arrival on the Promenade: a large bulky alien, slipping in and out of the other pedestrians with unlikely grace. Luke wasn't sure exactly when he and Artoo had been spotted and identified; possibly during the turbolift ride down from the s.p.a.ceport, possibly not until they'd arrived on the Promenade itself.

For that matter, it was entirely possible they hadn't been identified at all. Their tail could simply be a local thief hoping to relieve a helpless stranger of his astromech droid.

If so, he was going to be in for a surprise.

Artoo twittered again. "Patience," Luke told him, looking around. They had come to the end of one of the groups of wall-hugging businesses now and were starting into a wide area that featured only a waterfall and two currently unoccupied conversation areas. Quiet, peaceful, and as private as Luke had yet seen up here. An ideal place for holding an impromptu conversation.

Or for springing an ambush.

"Let's pause here a moment," he said to Artoo, crossing over toward the outer edge of the Promenade. They were roughly in the middle of the quiet area now, with the waterfall rippling softly behind them. Picking a section of guardwall, Luke stopped walking and leaned his elbows on the top rail, stretching out to the Force as he did so. There was a subtle change in the emotions of their pursuer now: a change that felt to Luke like the other had made a decision. "He's coming," Luke muttered to Artoo. "I think he's alone, but there could still be trouble. Keep back out of the way, all right?"

The droid acknowledged with a nervous twitter, rolling a meter back in response.

Resettling his elbows on the guardwall, Luke gazed out into the Canyonade, a gentle shiver running up his back as he listened to the quiet footsteps approaching from the side. As near as he could tell, this was the exact spot where he'd seen himself in that vision The footsteps stopped. "Pardon me," a gentle voice asked. "Are you the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker?"

Luke turned, getting his first clear look at the being who'd been following them. He was of an unfamiliar species: tall and broad, with dark sh.e.l.l plates half-hidden beneath a fur-trimmed cloak. His head was large, with alert black eyes and small spikes where the mouth would be on a human. "I'm Skywalker, yes," Luke confirmed. "And you?"

"I am Moshene Tre," the alien said. "Un'Yala of the Cas'ta tribe of the Rellarin people of Rellnas Minor."

He reached a Wookiee-sized hand to the collar of his cloak and turned the edge back.

Fastened on the underside was a distinctive gold-filigree pin. "I am also a New Republic Observer. I am honored to meet you, sir."

"And I you," Luke said, nodding in greeting as his last vestiges of tension faded away.

The Observers were an experimental, quasi-official part of the New Republic, created in this latest round of governmental policy reorganization. Moving freely about their a.s.signed sectors, their job was to report directly to the High Council and Senate whatever they saw or heard, with a particular eye toward improper governmental activities that the local or sector authorities might prefer to keep out of sight.

There had been some early fears that the Observers might evolve into the kind of secret security forces that the Empire had used with such devastating effect during its reign of terror. So far, though, that didn't seem to be happening. The various governments that had undertaken to sponsor Observers had chosen their candidates carefully, with an eye toward hiring only strongly ethical beings and then strictly defining the limits of their mandate. The fact that the Observers were a.s.signed to sectors far away from their homes and any local or species rivalries undoubtedly helped encourage their sponsors to pick candidates who were as incorruptible and impartial as possible.

A similar system had been used in the Old Republic, Luke knew, with the Jedi Knights acting in the Observers' role. Perhaps someday his academy graduates would be numerous enough-and trusted enough-to once again take on that duty. "What may I do to help you?" he asked.

"Please forgive my impertinence in walking within your shadow," Tre continued. "But I felt a burden to speak with you, and needed to be certain of your ident.i.ty before I approached."

"I understand," Luke said. "No harm done. How may I help you?"

The Rellarin stepped up to the guardwall beside Luke and waved a ma.s.sive hand downward. "I wished you to see what is happening in the Canyonade tonight. To see, and to understand."

Luke turned back to the guardwall and looked down. All he could see were the normal street and vehicle lights of a modern city. "Where am I supposed to be looking?" he asked.

"There," Tre said, pointing toward a large diamond-shaped area near the center of the Canyonade directly across from where the two of them stood. Though bordered by normal street illumination, the area itself was almost completely dark, with only a handful of tiny lights showing near the center.

"It looks like a park," Luke hazarded, mentally calling up the map of the Canyonade he'd looked at on the way into the s.p.a.ceport. "Tranquillity Common, perhaps?"

"That is correct," Tre said. "Do you see the lights in the center?"

"Yes," Luke said. "They're . . ."

He paused, frowning. In the past few seconds, as he and Tre had been speaking, the number of lights had seemingly doubled. Still grouped closely together . . . and then, even as he watched, a new. circle of lights was added to the group.