Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(22)

“A reasonable concern,” Thrawn conceded. “Have you an alternative suggestion?”

Anakin looked around the cantina. None of the bodies was the right size for him or Thrawn to adopt their clothing; nor was there anything else in sight that could be used as a disguise.

On the other hand…

“You said he’s afraid one of his friends survived,” he said. “Let’s play on that.” Reaching out to the Force, he got a grip on one of the dead humans and lifted him off the floor.

“Interesting,” Thrawn said. If he was startled by the body’s sudden movement, it didn’t show in his voice. “This requires a change in the story, though. The Jedi he sought to kill will now be alive.”

“I like this one better,” Anakin growled.

“I didn’t say it was worse, merely different,” Thrawn said mildly. “Can you make him appear to be living?”

“Let’s find out.”

It turned out to be trickier than Anakin had expected. Life wasn’t just limbs moving back and forth, he quickly discovered, but also the more subtle flexing of muscles beneath the skin, plus the interplay of muscle groups with balance and kinesthetics.

An hour’s worth of practice, and he would have had it down cold. But a few minutes was all he got before Thrawn called a halt. “That will be sufficient, and we have no more time,” the Chiss said. “I suggest you take him out and lay him across the top of your fighter for transport.”

Anakin thought about that. Balancing him up there would be tricky, even wedged in between the canopy and R2-D2’s dome. “He’d fit better in the landspeeder,” he pointed out.

“Would you normally leave your fighter behind while transporting a prisoner?”

Anakin scowled. Under certain circumstances that wouldn’t be completely out of the question. Here and now, though, he had no intention of leaving his Actis unattended. “You’re right,” he said. “Okay, I’ll take our puppet and head out. Any particular direction you want me to go?”

“I suggest you fly toward the ambassador’s ship,” Thrawn said. “If our attackers were alerted by the smugglers, they’ll know of that spot and assume you’re traveling there. Meantime, I’ll endeavor to identify and follow our quarry.”

“Right,” Anakin said. “I’ll go nice and slow to keep the jamming field over the whole area as long as possible.”

“Very good.” Thrawn eased himself out of his chair and turned around.

Anakin caught his breath. The chest of the Chiss uniform had turned from black to a dirty gray, and was pocked with a dozen ragged-edged blaster burns. “What—?”

“Their blasterfire was impressively accurate,” Thrawn said, moving carefully toward the door. “Fortunately, Chiss uniforms are designed to absorb and disperse as much energy as possible.” He looked down at his tunic. “It is, unfortunately, not a perfect system.”

“Still better than nothing,” Anakin said, his respect for the Chiss reluctantly rising a couple of notches. He’d seen hardened clone warriors turn to jelly with fewer wounds than that through their chest plates. “You going to be okay?”

“I’ve already treated the wounds,” Thrawn said. “Until they’re fully healed, I’ll make do. Are you ready?”

Stretching out to the Force, Anakin started the dead man doing a shuffle-walk toward the door. “Ready,” he said. He moved up beside the puppet and put his left arm around the other’s waist, supporting him as he might a wounded prisoner. He took a couple of experimental steps forward, moving the body’s legs to keep time with his own. “How does it look?”

“Adequate.” Walking stiffly to the door, Thrawn unlocked it. “Go. Good fortune.”

“Come on, Artoo,” Anakin said. The inside of the door, he saw now, was pocked with fresh blaster burns. Apparently, injured Chiss didn’t shoot very accurately. Pushing open the door with his free hand, he stepped out into the street.

Black Spire hadn’t looked all that big as he and Thrawn rode through in their landspeeder. Not nearly big enough to support four or five hundred people.

But clearly it did…and every one of them seemed to have turned out to gawk at the Republic starfighter that had landed in the center of their town.

Perhaps a dozen people turned as Anakin stepped into the sunlight. The rest of the crowd, still fascinated by the shiny fighter, ignored him completely. “Move aside!” Anakin called, pouring on every gram of authority that a lifetime’s worth of war command had given him. “Move aside! Republic business.”

He wasn’t sure that people out here even knew what the Republic was. But if they didn’t, the tone of his voice was apparently enough. The crowd began to shuffle aside, opening up a crooked path to the Actis. “Come on,” Anakin said under his breath, remembering to move the body’s legs as he started down the open path, his senses alert to danger. If their quarry wanted to finish off either him or his injured comrade—or both—this would be the time for him to take that shot.

No attacks had come by the time they reached the Actis. Anakin waited for R2-D2 to jet up and lock himself into his socket, then lifted his burden onto the top of the vehicle, pushing him as he would a wounded man and making it look like the body’s arms were searching weakly for handholds.