Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(69)

And in that same instant a new light flared out right in the middle of the first group of B1s. A blue light: tight, compact, brilliant.

A lightsaber.

Even as Padmé gasped in surprise the blade was in motion, slashing with dizzying speed through the patrol, turning the droids into scrap. It finished the last one, and closed down—

And then the floodlights blazed back on, revealing a scene of sudden chaos erupting among the droids and people as the whole group converged on the site of the brief battle.

Only the attacker—and the lightsaber—had vanished.

Quickly, Padmé ducked back away from the window. With the Jedi intruder nowhere to be seen, the hunt would immediately turn every direction at once, and she didn’t dare risk someone spotting her.

But even as she pressed herself against the wall, a sudden thrill of excitement rippled through her. There was only one Jedi she knew who had both the skill and the sheer audacity to pull off a stunt like that.

Anakin was here.

She really should stay hidden, she knew. But the temptation was too great. Once again, she eased an eye around the edge of the window. Was he hiding somewhere, or was he one of the two newcomers?

He was. Despite still only seeing his back, and despite the fact he was in strange clothing, she could see now that that was indeed her husband.

Who was now walking toward a second pair of B2s flanking that southeast door, their wrist blasters leveled at him, the first two super battle droids pressing close behind him.

Anakin’s hands, and those of his companion, were pinioned behind their backs with heavy-duty binders.

Again, Padmé ducked back from the window, her mouth gone suddenly dry. Anakin had been captured. His lightsaber was surely gone by now, either taken by the Separatists or deliberately hidden after his long-distance attack on the battle droids. He was probably on his way right now to the Bins.

And here Padmé stood. Trapped in a cell every bit as escape-proof as his.

Powerless to help him.





Seven times the Chimaera had made forays into the same region of space. Each time they came in from a different angle. Each time they found nothing. Each time they accomplished nothing.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had failed seven times. Now he was trying it an eighth.

Vader watched the Chiss, listening as he gave orders or studied the displays or gazed out at the hyperspace sky. Madness, an old saying went, was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. By that definition, Thrawn was clearly mad.

But he wasn’t. Vader knew he wasn’t. More important, the Emperor knew he wasn’t.

And the grand admiral’s hour was nearly gone.

What Vader couldn’t decide was what all this was supposed to accomplish. Thrawn had already agreed that there were no cloaked gravity-well generators out here, and any generator large enough to project its effect beyond the Chimaera’s inner sensor range would be running such a huge power generator that it would practically light up the sky.

What was Thrawn doing? Was he really thinking he would find something after seven failed attempts?

Or was he simply stalling for time?

The Grysk had escaped with the source of the Force disturbance. Thrawn had tacitly admitted that, as well. But what was it? Force-sensitive beings of some sort? Force-sensitive animals, if such a thing existed?

Rogue Jedi?

True, the thoughts and emotions Vader had sensed from the disturbance hadn’t been like anything he’d ever experienced. But that could have been distortion caused by the hibernation process.

Were the Grysk hiding some Jedi from Imperial justice?

Was Thrawn helping them?

Unthinkable. Thrawn had sworn loyalty to the Emperor and the Empire. Such a betrayal would be treason.

And yet…

Thrawn had claimed that his failure to capture or kill Kanan Jarrus at Atollon had been due to the strange creature that had unexpectedly intervened in the battle. The reports from the death trooper guard had appeared to corroborate that.

But what if they were wrong? What if Thrawn had deliberately allowed Jarrus to escape?

Ahead, the hyperspace sky became starlines and collapsed back into stars. “Navigation mark!” Faro snapped. “Sensors at full range.”

“Mark, aye.”

“No objects in range,” the sensor officer reported.

“Very good,” Thrawn said. “Again.”

“Yes, sir,” Faro said. “Helm: new course on board. Execute.”

“Yes, Commodore.” The Chimaera began wheeling around in preparation for its return to hyperspace.

Abruptly, Vader came to a decision. Eight failures now on record, and the hour Thrawn had begged for was nearly over. “Admiral,” he said.

Thrawn turned to face him. What he saw in Vader’s stance, or what he’d heard in Vader’s voice, apparently warned him this was serious. “Yes, my lord?”

“We will speak,” Vader said.

Again, the grand admiral knew better than to argue. He nodded and gestured Vader toward the forward viewport, where they would be out of earshot of Faro and the men and women in the crew pits.

Vader strode past him, sensing Faro’s sudden uneasiness as his cloak brushed her shoulder. Thrawn turned again as Vader passed, and the two of them continued on, walking shoulder-to-shoulder.

Vader stopped an arm’s length from the viewport. Thrawn, again with proper deference, waited until then to also stop. For a moment they stood in silence, still shoulder-to-shoulder, gazing out at the mottled hyperspace sky. “You asked me to trust you,” Vader said quietly.