Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(11)

“That’s all right, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Anakin said. Did this being go out of his way to be annoying and condescending? “I think I can handle it.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” the alien said.

“That’s what I said,” Anakin said. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“It’s pronounced Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Yes. Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Anakin clenched his teeth. He could hear a slight difference between his pronunciation and the alien’s. But he couldn’t figure out how to correct his version. “Fine,” he growled. “Thrawn.”

“Thank you,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo—Thrawn—said. “It will make things easier. My shuttle is prepared. Let us depart.”



* * *



—

Padmé’s ship was parked in a small clearing in a forested area thirty kilometers from Black Spire Outpost. Unlike most clearings Anakin had seen—and the one he’d landed his Actis in a kilometer away—this one was overhung with branches that concealed anything parked there, yet was nevertheless accessible via a narrow corridor through the surrounding trees that allowed for an approach that would leave no traces.

And the ship wasn’t alone.

Two rough-looking men and a couple of nonhumans of different species were gathered around the hatch, with another five humans sitting in cargo vehicles parked at the edges of the clearing. The postures and stances of all nine indicated impatience. The group by the ship was working on the hatch with cutting torches.

Anakin glared at them from behind a concealing tree, his lightsaber already gripped in his hand. He and Thrawn had had to land in different spots, and Anakin had promised to wait outside the clearing until the Chiss arrived so that they could begin the investigation together.

But that had been before Anakin found the ship under assault. More important, just because he couldn’t sense Padmé didn’t mean she wasn’t still aboard, possibly injured or unconscious.

And that changed everything. Waiting for his new ally when nothing was happening was one thing. Waiting for him when Padmé might be in danger was entirely different.

Behind him, R2-D2 gave a soft, questioning warble. “No, you just stay here, Artoo,” Anakin murmured. “If I need backup, I’ll call. And stay out of the line of fire this time, okay?”

R2-D2 made a wounded-sounding gurgle.

“I said no,” Anakin said firmly. A month ago, the techs had spent three days putting the droid back together after he’d taken a bolt from a B2-RP super battle droid for no better reason than that the little astromech had wanted to see what was going on.

R2-D2 made one more brief protest, then went silent. Taking a final, careful look around the area to make sure there weren’t any surprises, Anakin stepped around the tree into view. “Hold it right there!” he called.

Every eye swung toward him, the torches shutting down as their operators turned to the unexpected interloper. Anakin started toward them, watching the group at the hatch, trusting the Force to alert him to any threat from the vehicle drivers.

He’d taken barely five steps when his peripheral vision spotted the men in the two vehicles farthest from each other slide blasters from their holsters. He took one more step, settling his mind and body into combat awareness…

Double vision: the Force showing him the present overlaid with a glimpse of a moment into the future—two blaster bolts coming from the drivers of the two vehicles—the first scoring into his upper chest, the second into his lower side—

With a snap-hiss his lightsaber blade blazed into existence—

He swung the blue blade against the first bolt, then the second, and paused.

For perhaps two seconds no one moved. Then, as if on signal, the other seven snatched their blasters from their holsters and opened fire—

Double vision: blaster bolts coming at torso, at side, at head, at side—the Force speeding his perception, slowing down time—moving his hands in a blur—no longer deflecting bolts away, but sending them back to their points of origin—

Anakin had given the first attack what Obi-Wan liked to call a second-thoughts chance, deflecting the bolts into the woods instead of bouncing them directly back into the shooters. Now, with nine-to-one odds, he didn’t have that luxury.

Double vision: bolts coming at chest, at chest, at head—controlling with precision, sending back to arm, to leg, to shoulder—

But not to kill. Only to wound, to disable and dissuade. If Padmé wasn’t here, they might know where she was.

If Padmé was here, and if they’d hurt her, her attackers would need to suffer a little before they died.

Double vision: bolts coming at head, at torso—attack faltering as wounded enemies cease fire—

“Kunesu!” a voice called from somewhere.

Abruptly, the attack ceased. Anakin waited a couple of seconds to make sure the barrage wasn’t going to start again, then lowered his lightsaber a few centimeters and looked around.

Standing a few meters inside the clearing a quarter of the way around the edge was a tall, slender man. Or rather, not quite a man. His eyes were glowing red, his skin blue, his hair blue-black. He was dressed in a black military-style uniform with a burgundy patch on one shoulder and silver bars on his collar. Something was holstered on his right hip—a sidearm of some sort—with a slender, lightsaber-sized tube holstered on his left.