Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(46)

Though to be fair, Vader didn’t look any better. Once back aboard ship, Thrawn could simply change clothing, while Vader would need his armor cleaned in more time-consuming detail. Fortunately, he had another full set in his quarters that he could wear while the Chimaera’s techs restored this one.

“Of course,” Thrawn said. With an effort, he squatted beside one of the bodies.

“What are you doing?” Vader demanded. “The Emperor’s disturbance is elsewhere.”

“A moment,” Thrawn said. He gazed at the Darshi’s knife, gently touched the spot where the scabbard rode the belt, and then drew the weapon. “Do you see?” he asked Vader, holding it up.

“I see that you are here while the Emperor’s disturbance is not,” Vader said, putting some anger into his voice.

“Yes,” Thrawn murmured. He slid the knife back into its scabbard and stood up. “Let us hope we are not too late,” he added as he made his slightly staggering way toward the door. “Nodlia? Do not let anyone remove these bodies.”

“I’ll try,” the bartender said, sounding doubtful. “But—”

“You will do as he says,” Vader ordered, glowering at Thrawn’s back as he followed. Had the Chiss been stalling with the whole knife thing, hoping to delay their travel?

No. Vader remembered the look on the Chiss’s face just before the final Darshi attack. Something about the mysterious houses, the explosion, and the Emperor’s disturbance had actually startled him.

And anything that could startle Grand Admiral Thrawn was something Vader very much wanted to see.



* * *



—

“I think they’ve spotted us,” Tephan reported from the Darkhawk’s helm, her pleasant alto voice glacially calm. “Reading fresh power transfer in their probable hyperdrive section.”

“Copy,” Kimmund said, cursing silently. The Darkhawk had an impressively low sensor cross section, but eventually even the most unobservant scan operator couldn’t help but notice it.

The target was already close enough for the Darkhawk’s laser cannons to blow it into atoms. But Lord Vader wanted it taken mostly intact, along with at least a handful of surviving prisoners. That meant Kimmund’s gunners had to get close enough for controlled, pinpoint fire.

The question was whether they could get there before the target escaped. Lord Vader wouldn’t be happy if that happened.

And everyone in the First Legion knew what happened when Lord Vader wasn’t happy.

With an effort, Kimmund unclenched his teeth. He was, in fact, the fourth commander this particular unit of the legion had had in the past two years. Two of the others had been demoted and sent back to the 501st. The third had been summarily executed.

But for cause, Kimmund reminded himself firmly. All three had been replaced for cause, either for incompetence or otherwise failing in their missions. None had been executed simply through bad luck or failure of subordinates.

At least, not in this unit. Other units of the First Legion had their own stories.

Some of those stories were painful to even listen to.

“Yeah, they’ve spotted us, all right,” Tephan said. “Breaking orbit and grabbing for deep vacuum.”

“Yes, thank you, I got it,” Kimmund growled, watching the displays, his mind sifting rapidly through the possibilities. The freighter was too deep in Batuu’s gravity well to make the jump to lightspeed, but that particular window was rapidly closing. He checked the displays, hoping Tephan might be able to squeeze a little more acceleration out of the engines. But the Darkhawk was already running full-out. Now all he could do was keep going as they were and hope his gunners could rise to the challenge—

“Incoming one eighty!” Tephan snapped.

Incoming one eighty? From behind them? Kimmund shifted his eyes to the aft display—

Just as a flight of four TIEs roared past the Darkhawk, blazing toward the target freighter.

“Whoa!” Kimmund said. “Yeah, that’s incoming and a half.”

“I guess the admiral decided to give us some backup after all,” Tephan said. “They came up through our shadow—never saw them.”

Which meant the freighter wouldn’t have seen them, either, Kimmund knew. At least Thrawn’s people had some rudimentary tactical ability.

“Commander Kimmund,” a formal voice came over the bridge speaker. “This is Captain Vult Skerris of Defender Squadron One. Hope we’re not too late to join in. Anything in particular we can do for you?”

Kimmund mouthed a curse. Not standard TIE fighters, but a quartet of those TIE Defenders he’d heard Thrawn was always going to Coruscant to lobby the High Command for.

Which was a complete waste of everyone’s time. With the extra weight of shields and hyperdrives—which standard TIEs didn’t have and competent pilots didn’t need—not to mention the structural changes necessary to switch the design from two wings to three, the Defenders were bigger, clumsier, slower, and more expensive than any other starfighters in the fleet. Even the navy didn’t have infinite funds, and with the High Command’s passion for bigger and more powerful ships there was no way even a grand admiral with Thrawn’s friends on Coruscant was going to get his way.

Kimmund frowned. On the other hand, given how fast the Defenders were leaving the Darkhawk behind, the reports of the craft being waddling ducks might have been a bit exaggerated.