HITCHHIKER

"I don't like this."

"Like they'll ask our opinion next time."

"Look, she's a major holostar, she makes millions of credits. Why does she need to thumb a lift on a Star Destroyer?"

"Because it's more fun, that's why."

"Fun for who? We get all those spittle-and-polish extra troop reviews, and this is going to delay all leaves by at least two weeks."

"Fun for Captain Corlag. He gets to show us off and to dine with her every night."

"Every night? Fun for him, definitely not fun for her. Unless she's got lousy taste."

"What do I know what Coruscant holostars like or don't like? Pass me that brush."

"Hey! That's my clothesbrush. Get your shoe brushes from your locker."

"You're such a wuss."

"Give me that!"

"Come get it--if you can!"

"You Bantha dropp--"

"Giving up already? Knew you couldn't knock out a Bith waitress in a jizz bar."

"Sshhh! The freak's back."

Lieutenant Per Theel hated the way the newest junior officer had of turning up in their dorm, or indeed anywhere else, without a sound. Suddenly, he was there with no more warning than--

"I believe that's my bunk," the freak said, in his infuriatingly posh accent, as if anyone could believe he came from one the best Core families. What a joke.

"Oh yeah? So what?"

"And I need my dress uniform from the locker behind you."

"So what's that to me?"

"You may choose to be late for the bridge review. I don't intend to be."

"Look, buddy--" Theel started, but his friend Rory Mikam was already up on his stockinged feet, grabbing his half-polished boots. "Prak it, Theel, we gotta be there in seven minutes!"

"Six," the freak said, and there was no mistaking the cool satisfaction in his voice. One day, Theel thought, I'm going to punch that smug smile from your--

But there indeed was no time. Theel shrugged himself into his well-brushed olive-green dress-jacket, hurriedly checking insignia, rank cylinder and regulation regimental pips; running a quick comb through his short chestnut hair. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the new junior lieutenant take the extra few seconds to hang his undress jacket with precise gestures before pulling the other one out of his locker. Yet another dry twig onto the smoldering fire of his resentment -- the new man never seemed to look less than impeccable, the crease in his regulation trousers vibroblade-sharp, never one blue-black hair out of place...

Freak.

The three lieutenants piled out of the dorm and into the nearby turbolift. 34 levels to the bridge. Mikam's ears popped, and he swallowed reflexively, casting a glance at the rapidly changing digits. Their flicker backlit the new man's impassive profile: high brow, slightly aquiline nose, thin but well-defined lips, firm jaw. There were no lines on that smooth skin, but Mikam suddenly sensed that the other lieutenant was older than either of them. Although how anyone could tell-

The lift doors swooshed open, and the three junior lieutenants sprang out and up the stairs to the main bridge. A small group of olive-garbed officers had already gathered on either side of the starboard crew pit. Captain Corlag, at the forward viewport, could be seen talking to a slight figure in a jade-green dress, blonde hair to the shoulders. Mikam instinctively checked the time at his wristcom, and stumbled on a step, feeling himself trip with a hollowing in his stomach. At the same instant, his left elbow was grasped in a steel grip, righting him up without breaking their pace. They'd reached the top of the stairs. Surprised, Mikam turned to meet the new man's strange eyes.

"Er, thanks."

"Don't mention it. Better take our places."

Wynssa Starflare, the HoloNet star, and Captain Corlag's personal guest on the "Empire's Revenge", pasted a smile on her beautifully made-up lips, followed the captain's expansive gesture to take in the spectacle of rows of impeccably groomed officers, and inwardly groaned. Zilkha, her agent, had insisted that she seize the opportunity offered by the Navy officer who'd besieged her dressing-trailer after he'd discovered she was shooting a new holodrama on Chandrila. "Think of the holo opportunities for the flimsies and the grids! Not only will he fly you back to Coruscant twice as fast as any liner, but I promise you by the time you dock, there'll be newsbeings ten deep to record your arrival with an Imperial hero. You can't buy that kind of publicity."

"Doesn't mean I want it for free."

"Oh, please."

"Look, Zilkha, I'm tired, the past three weeks' shoot was exhausting, I've got two new offers already, I really don't feel--"

"Fine. Fine. Just don't come to me next time you don't get script rewrites approval, or next time you get locked in a contract with that nauseating little trained monkey, Garik Loran, or…"

Wynssa had thrown her hands up at that. Had to -- Zilkha really was trying her best to get her the kind of bargaining power that would give her her independence. But now, half-listening to Corlag's unctuous speeches, she regretted not sticking to her guns. Whatever possessed military officers to think their attractiveness depended on how many men they could line up in neat stiff rows? She'd been on the "Empire's Revenge" for three days, had seen at least four reviews, and wasn't looking forward to another week of that regimen.

"May I introduce you to my staff officers, Miss Starflare?"

Keep that smile firmly on, Wynssa. "Certainly, Captain."

There had to be a downside to the smaller numbers of soldiers present this afternoon on the bridge. She hadn't been expected to shake hands with every stormtrooper during yesterday's docking bay review. No helping it, though. She followed Corlag down the olive-green line, mouthing polite platitudes to every man in turn. Most were frankly admiring, which really, she chided herself, she couldn't complain about. You're the one who wanted to leave the refueling station, Syal. You're the one who wanted to make it in holos. Deal.

Almost at the end of the row, with the junior ranks, Per Theel, his earlier grumbling forgotten, stared at the holostar working the line, finding a few words for each officer. Wynssa Starflare was smaller than he'd expected, but no holo could do justice to her translucent skin, brilliant blue eyes and flashing smile. Her soprano voice, with her clear actress's elocution, stirred emotions he hadn't known he could feel. When she finally reached  him, he felt himself blushing with dismay.

"How do you do? Have you served on the 'Empire's Revenge' long, Lieutenant?"

He stammered something. Suddenly, saying: "Two years and seven months" seemed more arduous than solving a dual-vector hyperspace astrogation problem. The holostar moved on to the next officer--

And very briefly paused. The freak. She was bound to notice the only non-human officer on the Star Destroyer. That idiot Corlag should have found him something to do at the other end of the ship: his precious holostar wasn't going to thank him for making her greet a prakking alien.

"How do you do, Lieutenant? May I ask from which world you come?"

"My homeworld is in what you call the Unknown Regions, Miss Starflare," the freak answered in the same cool voice he always used. "I have the advantage of you in this respect -- you are Corellian, are you not?"

The star's large blue eyes widened even more: "How can you tell? I didn't think I'd kept any accent--"

"Almost none at all. Perhaps those hard 'n's. You see, the first citizens of the Empire I ever met were Corellian traders. They spoke the earliest Basic I heard."

Wynssa Starflare looked with interest into the junior lieutenant's strange, glowing red eyes. "I can't believe you learned Basic from Corellians. Quite frankly, lieutenant, I would have sworn it was your mother tongue."

"You are very kind, Miss Starflare."

"Not at all. I'm an actress. Speech is my profession, lieutenant..."

"Thrawn."

"Lieutenant Thrawn. Congratulations."

In a haze of red-hot jealousy, Theel saw her move on to Mikam at the freak's-- Thrawn's -- right. And swore to himself that the uppity alien would soon be made to regret showing off to Wynssa Starflare.

Per Theel hadn't been alone in noticing the attention the visiting holostar had paid the newest flag lieutenant. As the staff disbanded to take their stations, the "Empire's Revenge" 's first officer made his way to the tac console, where Lieutenant Thrawn was grading holos of the latest missile exercises.

"Living dangerously, lieutenant?"

"Sir?"

Commander Piett leaned into the holo viewspace and smiled pleasantly: "Save us both some time, lieutenant. I'm sure you can imagine what I'm talking about; you're not stupid. So let's say your little chat with Miss Starflare was undiplomatic. It is further suggested that you contrive to be anywhere else than in her presence in the next eight days she will spend on this ship. Do I make myself clear?"

The strange red eyes were unreadable. "I think so, yes, sir."

Piett's own grey eyes narrowed. "You think so, lieutenant Thrawn? Care to share all that cerebral activity with us?"

"I was wondering whether Captain Corlag had sent you, or whether you were trying to prevent an incident, sir."

Piett considered the strange non-human Fleet Intelligence had recommended for this post. One of their special projects; had fast-tracked his way through Academy exams; it was rumored the Emperor approved of his existence. The "Empire's Revenge" 's first officer very much doubted the latter: Emperor Palpatine's anti-alien prejudices were well-known. But the young man was extremely competent, no doubt about that. Pretty self-contained, too, but that wasn't surprising -- few of his peers were likely to want to socialize with him. Not coming from a Core family himself, Piett had a fair notion of how Thrawn -- an alien, not just a provincial -- must have been received by the staff officers of a Navy Command flagship like the "Empire's Revenge". The memory of old but never-quite-forgotten slights somewhat softened his next remark. "The captain was, shall we say, very keen on Miss Starflare's visit. She asked him about you a moment ago. I don't expect this would be his conversation topic of choice with her. Even if she's only talking out of curiosity. Got me?"

The non-human lieutenant nodded once. Was he imagining it, or had the young man's broad shoulders imperceptibly slumped for a second? But there was still no easily-read expression on that blue-skinned, somehow aristocratic face. "Good. Carry on with your tactical analysis. We'll need the rundown in two hours, before the next exercise starts."

"Aye, sir."

Cold fish, Piett thought. For all I know, his kind are hermaphrodites or seasonal breeders or lay eggs.

The gym was a vast Navy-grey cavern under glaring lighting. None of the frills of her smart Coruscant health club, but enough machinery and weights to keep Corlag's men in trim. As she'd hoped, it was empty at this late hour. In the changing-room, Wynssa quickly slipped into her leotard and legwarmers, tied up her hair, and snapped on her heart-rate monitor. Oh the bliss of it. Just a workout, no socializing, no endless dinners or dratted reviews. Back in the main room, she stretched for a few minutes, then, having eyed the track and stepper, picked the exercise tribike. She set the gravity on Corellian values, 5% heavier than the ship's standard, and set off for a warm-up at a brisk RPM. Twenty minutes later, she had worked up a nice sweat, a 110 pulse, and her spirits had shot up like a TIE Interceptor, Corlag a distant memory. Time to go hang from a bar or two. She climbed off the bike and made a beeline for the far wall, mopping her face and neck with her towel--

--and almost collided with another late exerciser lifting weights. Blast. It was too much to hope that she could be alone. She mumbled an apology, tossing the towel around her neck, and stopped in her tracks when she identified the weight-lifter. "Lieutenant--Thrawn, yes? Now where had you vanished all this while?"

He looked at her with enough cool deliberation to surprise her, then set down his weights into the notches of their cross-bar. "There are 37,000 of us on the 'Empire's Revenge', Miss Starflare. You may not have met all of us yet."

Was he making fun of her? She flushed and returned his look steadily. He was wearing khaki shorts and a singlet, showing the long muscles of a runner. His pale-blue skin was smooth as a marble statue. Out of uniform he definitely looked more alien. "There's only one of you in the officer corps, lieutenant, and I have seen enough officers in the past five days to man a Golan space station, I can assure you," she said tartly.

It was really no more than a twitch of his lips, but she caught it, and grinned. "Ah, that's better! For a moment I really thought you disliked me enough to avoid me."

Now Thrawn did look taken aback for an instant. "You are very... direct, Miss Starflare," he said eventually.

"Bantha by the horns, that's my motto." She couldn't believe she'd just said that. Now what in stars' name is the matter with me? Light-headed from the extra oxygen already? They were standing close to the fixed bar, and stepping back, she sprang up, on her toes, to grab it and hang straight, feeling her spine stretch blissfully, vertebra by vertebra. I must have been a hawkbat in a previous life. "So, lieutenant, were you? Avoiding me?"

He was staring at her with interest now. "Yes."

She nearly let go of the bar. In an instant, he was under her, ready to grab hold of her. That close, she could see the top of his short but thick blue-black hair, a few centimeters from her waist. "I'm all right," she said, swinging lightly to prove it. He took one step back and she let herself drop to the floor. "Nice technique. First startle the target, then pick her up."

He did laugh at that, a short sound that didn't quite seem in character. "I would say you have the tactical advantage of me, Miss Starflare."

"You're doing it again."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Lobbing the zoneball back at me."

"Do I?"

"I asked about your world and you got out of answering by guessing my accent. Now instead of telling me why you're avoiding me, you butter me up with some nonsense about tactical advantage."

"Butter you up," he repeated unhurriedly, as if considering the words and their meaning literally, and she felt herself blush, blurting out: "It's an expression."

"I gathered as much," he said with a slight smile of those thin, well-defined lips. "Very well, Miss Starflare: I was advised by one of my superiors to stay away from you."

"To stay away from-- "

"You are the Captain's guest. I was given to understand that he would not appreciate your taking an interest in me. For whatever reason," he added before she could voice an objection.

Stay away from her. What did that idiot Corlag think? She recalled having mentioned the non-human junior officer to him two days before, almost in passing. She couldn't remember his answer now.

"But what a nerve!" she spluttered.

"Yes, was it not?"

She had almost nothing to compare it to, yet his tone struck her. It sounded--almost flippant, and completely out of character. Again. He must have caught the narrowing of her eyes, because he smiled again, and it was a very different smile from the first, crinkling the corners of those strange glowing red eyes. "Don't encourage me on the path of self-indulgence, Miss Starflare. No, I didn't especially like it, but this is the Imperial Navy, not a holiday resort. It doesn't owe me a social life -- just a military career."

"And are you getting that?"

He considered her for an instant, then set to choosing another set of weights. "Oh, yes. I really have no cause to complain."

She looked on as he slid the additional weights on either side of the crossbar, then stepped under it and started lifting them above his shoulders in a smooth motion. He was a magnificent athlete, deceptively lean; he hardly showed the effort the movement obviously required. She waited until he'd finished ten extended lifts and set the crossbar back into its durasteel trestle before she asked quietly:

"Why this Navy career? Wouldn't your own world need your talents more than the mighty Imperial machine?"

His eyes glittered at that, and instinctively she took a step back. "My...world...is... not... interested," he spat out, grabbing the heavy weighted crossbar again and jabbing it above his head almost without pause for several minutes. When he finally set it down, a fine sheen of sweat shone on his face and his bare shoulders. Embarrassed, Wynssa silently handed him her towel. He took it reflexively, dried his face and neck, then stared down at the drenched terrycloth, seemingly sliding back into the cool, unflappable persona she'd seen on the bridge. "I'll have this washed and sent back to you. I apologize; I shouldn't have used it."

"Don't worry about this. It's the ship's, not mine. I--I'm the one who should apologize."

He looked at her from slightly narrowed eyes. "No. No, you said nothing wrong. On the contrary, you were quite perceptive. And right, of course. My world thinks it has no use for me, Miss Starflare, and so I had to pursue a military career by other means in order to be one day of service to them. When the Imperial Navy found me, in fact, I was in exile."

"You had left?"

"I had been banished. To an uninhabited planet."

Her eyes widened: "Alone? With -- no ship?"

He simply nodded.

"My stars! How long?"

"Five years. I was... rescued by an Imperial Star Destroyer."

"That was fortunate."

"Oh, I... assisted fortune somehow. But yes, I could not have made them stop on the planet if it hadn't been on their route; that was indeed lucky."

She wondered what "assist Fortune" could have meant, and if he realized what a heroic figure he cut--the abandoned soldier on his solitary rock, now turned into a model naval officer of another civilization. "I would have gone mad," she said with conviction.

"You--"

"Alone to survive on a deserted planet, with an almost certain chance of having to spend the rest of my existence there?"

"That world actually had interesting resources -- minerals, a rich vegetation, a good atmosphere. It was my hope that some colonists might eventually come to claim it."

"You simply won't accept to be called a hero, lieutenant, is that it?" she asked lightly.

He smiled at that: "Holodramas require heroes, Miss Starflare. All I had to do was stay alive."

"And 'assist' Fortune."

He cocked his head to consider her: "Again, at the risk of repeating myself--you are extremely perceptive, Miss Starflare."

"Wynssa."

He seemed to hesitate, then extended his hand in an oddly formal manner: "Wynssa. Very well. Please call me Thrawn."

She took his hand and shook it firmly. "You realize that I won't resist asking you why you'd been exiled, do you?"

He smiled slightly: "A very long story, mis-- Wynssa. I don't think I could tell it in less than the time required for, say, dinner."

So much for all that "stay away from her" business. "No need for that," she joked. "It's now obvious to me you must have been guilty of arrant recklessness."

His face froze for an instant, and when he spoke, his voice was space-cold: "But how clever of you, Wynssa. It was indeed recklessness."

She looked at him wordlessly. The intensity of his answers was almost disturbing - as if half the words were booby-trapped. A change from my usual conversations in the holo business, surely. Still, it upped the stakes unexpectedly. She now had a choice - diffuse the tension with another, lighter pleasantry, or let open the floodgates of his reminiscences. She had enough experience to know that he was ready to confide in her. And to realize that, in what seemed to be his current self-flagellating mood, he might afterwards regret it.

"Lieutenant, I don't-"

"Thrawn."

"Thrawn, I don't know-what -you did to set yourself against your people. But somehow, I have a feeling you'd do it again today, if you found yourself in the same situation."

He stood silent for an instant, absently folding the towel. "You're taking issue with the word 'reckless'."

She nodded, and smiled. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I do. I'm guessing you tend to be hard on yourself."

"No more than others," he said quietly. "And certainly no more than necessary. Do you do stage work, Wynssa?"

She stared at him in surprise at the sudden change of subject. "Do I-?"

"Theater. You're precise. You pay attention to words."

He was quick, she had to give him that. "Yes, I do. Or did - holos seem to take more and more of my time these days." She grinned. "And they pay a lot more."

"In that case, I hope you won't be too disappointed by the technicians' mess I was hoping to take you to."

She had meant to steer the conversation back to a safer pitch, she reflected, so why did she now feel disappointed?

Thrawn threw her a shrewd look. "Second thoughts, Miss Starflare?"

Am I so transparent? "No. If you don't. When did you have in mind?"

He smiled, but did not take the bait. "Tonight would be a bit late. How about tomorrow, 19:00?"

"You're a fast operator once you've made up your mind, aren't you?"

He inclined his head slightly, with an odd formality. "It's always good tactics."

And how's that for a deadpan? "Very well, tomorrow it is. How shall-"

"It's not that easy to find - the "Revenge" is a large ship. I could meet you here, and escort you."

Well, that would take care of one problem - her suite was distressingly close to Corlag's ready room. Still-

"I would also suggest that you dress more - neutrally than when you visited the bridge. If such a suggestion doesn't offend you."

She had to laugh at that. "And where would we be if it did? Now let me guess, you'd want me to wear technician's overalls? Possibly with a cap?"

"You understand me so well, Miss Starflare."

When he grinned like that, he looked very human after all, she reflected. "The thing is, I'm not sure I've packed something that will look enough like your standard Imperial mechanic's outfit."

"That's what quartermasters are for." He looked at her appraisingly. "Why don't you hang on to your locker's key overnight? When you come in tomorrow evening, you'll find the overalls inside and you can change here."

And that would take care of any question as to her whereabouts; she'd already established an exercise routine in the few days she'd been on board "Empire's Revenge." "That's very clever," she said.

"Very simple."

"And you're not worried someone will track the missing overalls to you?"

"Not unless they're looking for a sliced line of code which could, or could not, have been a request form."

She threw up her hands. "With this kind of ingenuity just to organize a dinner date, I wonder that you're not a general already."

She'd sat down on the exercise mat to unhook her zoneball sneakers, but looked up when no answer was forthcoming. The alien lieutenant hadn't moved and was considering her with those strange glowing eyes. "That's for tomorrow night's conversation," he finally said.

Lieutenant Rory Mikam was stretched out on his bunk, trying somewhat listlessly to make sense of an astrogation problem, when, beyond the edge of the backlit datapad, his eye caught the movement of the dorm room door opening. The freak. Mikam had been curious enough, some months back, to follow Thrawn one evening, and had only been half-surprised to find out the alien junior lieutenant liked exercising alone, late in the evening. Figures, with the shape he's in. Thrawn was constantly scoring the best marks in training, and Mikam had once or twice even wondered if he wasn't holding himself back just a little, in order not to come too obviously first every time. He'd mentioned his feeling to Per Theel, who'd blown him off nastily, but Per's obsession with the freak blinded him altogether to too many things. Good thing Per was on duty right now, Mikam thought - he wouldn't have liked the uncharacteristic little smile on Thrawn's thin lips. Would have taken it personal. The fourth bunk was empty - their last roommate had been transferred to another ship, and hadn't yet been replaced.

" 'lo," Mikam mumbled as the other passed his bunk and started unbuttoning his uniform tunic.

"Hello," Thrawn replied after an infinitesimal silence.

Mikam glanced back at the datapad. "I, er, didn't thank you the other day-"

The red eyes fractionally turned to him. "Whatever for?"

You're gonna make me sweat it, is that it? "For not letting me fall on my face during review."

Thrawn paused briefly in the act of folding his uniform trousers. "Oh, that?" The thin blue lips stretched an additional centimeter. "Do you expect Captain Corlag would have made the difference among us three if we'd somehow messed up his bridge parade?"

Smug sonovanek. Not that he hasn't got a point. We'd all three have ended up in the brig for a week. "Ah," Mikam said weakly.

Thrawn took his time hanging his trousers into his locker long enough that Mikam had turned back to his datapad when he heard the smooth voice again. "On the other hand, I don't think I might have minded so much being disciplined if I could have seen Theel splattered into the starboard crew pit."

Mikam gaped up swiftly. Thrawn had spoken softly, almost dreamily.

"You've got a funny way of saying 'you're welcome'."

"Have I? But it's quite sincere."

This time Rory burst out laughing. He was still catching his breath when Per Theel strode in, and stopped in the middle of the dorm, glaring at his two roommates.

"What's so prakking funny?"

Rory Mikam's brain went blank for a sickening beat. He could predict clearly the nasty tantrum Theel would throw if he didn't manage to dig himself out of that hole fast, but his mind refused to function. He was still racking it when Thrawn's voice cut through, on a very different, angry tone.

"All right, that's enough. Give me back my datapad!"

A blue hand snatched his datapad from his still-uncomprehending grasp, and the alien hissed "You play another of these games on me and you'll regret it."

"This freak giving you trouble, Rory?" Theel started, menacing.

Understanding flooded through Mikam. He's making Per believe I was laughing at him, not with him. It was beautifully simple, and it had worked. Now I better return the favor and deflect the heat from red-eyes here.

"Nah, give it up, Per. I'm bushed, all I want is my bed."

"Wouldn't be no trouble. I've been saying for some time some people get too uppity for their own good."

"Lay it off already. I don't give a blast."

Theel's glare swiveled from his bunkmate to the freak. It was obvious he weighed the difference between jumping Thrawn with Mikam, and trying it alone. Thrawn stood his ground coolly, one hand idly tapping a few keys on the datapad. An instant later, Theel threw himself on his bunk with a scowl.

"You're a bloody wuss, Mikam."

"Whatever. Can you turn down the prakking light?"

Theel grumbled a bit more, but soon enough, the dorm was dark and quiet. Mikam was, in fact, close to slumber himself when he felt the touch of a hand on his arm. He nearly jumped before he glimpsed the two glinting red slits a meter or so from him and realized Thrawn, from the neighboring bunk, was silently handing him his datapad back. With the movement, the sleeping screen came alive. Quickly flipping it his way to hide the soft glare from Theel, Mikam reflexively cast a look at the display.

His astrogation problem was solved.

***

The blare of what sounded like a thousand sirens woke them in the middle of the night.

"What the frell-"

"Not another drill-"

As he was scrambling into his uniform, Mikam felt the dorm ground move slightly - not even a lurch, still unusual on a ship that size.

"No drill," he heard Thrawn say dryly while pulling on his boots. On his other side, Per Theel swore under his breath while burrowing under a pile of ballistics manuals for a clean shirt.

"Who'd be stupid enough to attack an Imperial Star Destroyer?"

"Someone either desperate, or who think they have a good chance against us," the alien replied calmly, clipping shut his uniform belt buckle, and in a departure from normal bridge dress regs, fastening a side-arm holster to it.

"How's a blaster gonna help you in a space battle, nerf-herder?" Theel guffawed. Without waiting to see how his taunt was received, he hurried out. Almost ready himself, Mikam glanced quickly at Thrawn. The thin blue lips stretched in the hint of a smile. "You never know what may happen in battle," the alien lieutenant said quietly.

And you look like you've learned this the hard way. Making up his mind in a flash, Mikam threw his locker open, grabbed his own blaster and pocketed it. Thrawn raised an approving blue-black eyebrow. "Shall we?"

***

The bridge looked normal, with nothing but an empty starfield beyond the far end viewports - but there was no mistaking the tension in the air. Mikam and Thrawn ran up the steps from the turbolift, taking in the state of readiness of the various teams at battle stations. In the starboard crew pit, the main turbolasers were already being prepped under the barked orders of Lieutenant-Commander Janred; but next to their bank of consoles, the shield modulators were still only attended by a harried-looking single lieutenant, probably the night duty officer. The port crew pit was similarly unequally manned. In theory, capital ships operated 24 standard hours a day. In practice, "daytime" was determined by the captain's own schedule - whoever pulled "night" duty, because they had less contact with the commanding officers, stood more remote from any influence they could hope to have with the chain of command. Some captains made a point of rotating everyone's schedules, starting with their own. Corlag wasn't one of those - in fact, Mikam noted with some surprise, it didn't even look as if he was on the bridge yet. So who-

But Thrawn had already spotted Commander Piett leaning over the shoulder of the tactical holo officer, tensely studying the repeater displays. He and Mikam hurried to the "Empire's Revenge's first officer, standing at attention two respectful meters from the tac station. Piett didn't move an inch for a couple of minutes. Finally he straightened up, turning a tired face to the two junior lieutenants. Mikam saw that it took him half a second to place him. Thrawn of course he knew at once. Figures.

"Mikam, Thrawn. As you can see, there's an unknown fleet out there half a light-second from us. One...thing the size of a Dreadnaught, two frigates, possibly fighters, all shields up, so they're obviously hostile. I want you to check on the readiness of our ion and missile crews. If they're undermanned, take command until the proper team leaders have shown up, and have them power up at once. Then report to me."

"Aye, sir." Mikam saluted smartly and made to turn, but Thrawn didn't move. "If I may, sir?" he said in that smooth, cultured voice.

Piett threw him a less than friendly glance. "Yes, lieutenant? Is this really the time?"

"I believe so, sir," the other replied, with a fractional movement of the chin at the tactical holo displays. "The enemy's configuration doesn't look complete. I wonder if they appeared on our sensors long ago? And much further than where they are now?"

Piett's eyes narrowed, but to Mikam's astonishment, he did answer. "No, in fact. They dropped out of hyperspace perhaps two minutes before the alarm was rung. Janred was the bridge officer and he raised me on the comm at once."

"In that case, sir, it's very possible that the rest of them is waiting to see how we engage these ships, and revert to realspace behind us to crush us in a pincer."

Piett snorted. "And assuming - assuming! - that you read the holos right, lieutenant Thrawn, what makes you think that the commander of this group would take the risk to confront an Imperial Star destroyer heads on with less than his full contingent? Without any possible coordination with his - hypothetical - remaining force as long as they stay in hyperspace?"

"Sir, they can revert to realspace at short intervals just to check on their timing. It doesn't need to be within range of our sensors."

Piett frowned. "It may not have occurred to you, lieutenant, that this is hardly the time for this kind of speculation. Yes, in theory your microjumps idea is possible, but it would be frelling costly just for a comm call. And we don't know who this fleet belongs to. Or if we're the ones they wanted so badly in the first place."

And that's as much of a brushoff you'll get this side of being grounded, buddy, Mikam thought almost out loud. Couldn't Thrawn see he was asking for trouble? But-

"Sir, with all due respect - does this really matter?" red-eyes went on, as coolly as you please. "The question is rather whether they'll back off when they see we're Imperials. And" - another carefully controlled chin movement - "they don't act as if they will."

Piett's eyes swiveled from Thrawn to the holo display then back to where the two young men rigidly stood. "All right. I'm not saying I believe it yet, but show me what makes you think this. Fast, if possible."

"Aye, sir." The alien lieutenant stepped to the tac console and picked up the light pointer. "The two frigates - here - are staying aft and portside of the Dreadnaught, as if they kept to a diamond formation which should include a parallel flanking fore and starboard of the capital ship. But that side is empty - completely unprotected." The pointer's thin red beam of coherent light quickly jabbed at the empty space ahead and to the right of the Dreadnaught's round shape. "They haven't moved in the past five minutes, so we have to assume they're waiting in place. As you said, sir, they've powered up shields. They know we're here - no Duros would hold still otherw-"

"Hold it!" Piett snapped. "What did you say? A Duros?"

"I believe that's a Duros captain in the Dreadnaught, sir", the freak went on smoothly. "From the holo shadow, it looks closest to one of those Kuat capital ships that were decommissioned by the Republic fifteen years ago, and extensively reconditioned by the Duros government for a while-"

"Blast it!"

"Sir?"

Snapping his fingers for the two lieutenants to follow him, Piett ran to Captain Corlag's still-empty command chair, sat in, and flicked on the command displays. "Comm? What other Imperial ships can you locate within five parsecs? Mikam, give me a general weapons readiness status. Use this station. Thrawn? What do you know of this Duros Navy reconditioning? What armaments do they have?"

"Standard, sir? In most cases, they replaced the ion cannons by sublight torpedoes. Added heavy turbolasers. Sorosuub long-range hyperdrive docking rings for half a squadron of fighters, but Sorosuub doesn't maintain these any longer, so I don't expect they're all operational."

"Fightercraft?"

"Preybird-class mostly, but-"

"But we can't be sure they've not replaced that clunky old junk in the past 15 years, can we?"

The alien nodded. "Exactly, sir."

Jaws tensed, Piett was hitting keys rapidly on the captain's controls. "You see, lieutenant," he said without looking up, "we've known for some time of a Duros pirate working the Chandrilan Trade Spine with his own little fleet. If that's indeed him, your pincer theory is likely correct."

As far as Wynssa Starflare was concerned, the blare of the sirens was the sweetest sound in the known universe.

She hadn't been back from the gym for ten minutes that a knock on the door of her suite had revealed Captain Corlag, followed by a serving droid bearing a heavy tray; and no amount of polite, and even not-so polite demurring, had managed to shake him off. Sprawled on the sitting-room couch - the man had a way of spreading himself, legs extended in front of him, arms draped over the padded backrest, Corellian brandy snifter in hand - he'd insisted on telling her long and convoluted tales of influence and backstabbing within military and Court circles. Every now and then, he leaned forward over the armrest of her own chair, exhaling increasingly alcoholic breaths in her general direction. Early on, Wynssa has made a quick decision - to try and get him drunk while maintaining a glacial, Ice-Queen persona. Pouring brandy into the Captain had been ridiculously easy, she now reflected. It was even possible that the Ice Queen part had indeed prevented him from actually lunging at her - he did take her rebuffs with some attempts at apologizing, every time. The snag was that however drunk he'd become, Corlag, a big man, still didn't act incapacitated. What will it take to knock him out? He's well into the second bottle, and his speech is hardly slurring. Not for the first time Wynssa considered the possibility that in hitching a ride on "Empire's Revenge", she might have made a stupid decision.

So when klaxons loud enough to crack transparisteel had suddenly drowned the Captain's last meandering story, she'd felt grateful more than anything else. Hands on her ears, she sprang to her feet, mimicking surprise and shock.

"My dear Wynssa, don't worry! It's a drill!"

She shook her head wildly as if she couldn't hear in the alarms' racket, eyes wide and face frozen in a style she had perfected while shooting "Imperial Forever." Why won't this imbecile take the hint? Unfortunately, Corlag seemed to feel it behoved him to protect her. Advancing on her purposefully, he'd almost cornered her against a bulkhead when he lurched and staggered against the serving droid. Seeing an opening, Wynssa darted under his flailing arm between the droid and the couch. She caught a short breath in the middle of the sitting-room, faced with a choice of two doors, and elected to rush out into the corridor - the idea of locking herself in her bedroom with a maudlin Captain Corlag banging on the only door definitely didn't appeal. The drill guaranteed a certain amount of confusion in the ship's corridors, and she could always argue afterwards that she'd been too scared to think...

Amend "confusion" to "chaos", she thought the minute she found herself in the middle of a general rush of troops in every direction. Now what?

***

Commander Piett cast a hard, sweeping look across the bridge, now operating at full readiness, every weapons station manned and powered up, TIE squadrons at the ready in their hangar bays, the comm and sensor officers flanking his small command staff on either side of the parallel crew pits. On the tactical holo, now enlarged four times to be easily readable by all officers from their bridge stations, the Duros fleet had barely moved. "The son of an unmarried Nek battle dog wants me to blink first," Piett spat under his breath. It helped a little, but not much. And where the frell was the captain?

"I would imagine our Duros friend is beginning to feel doubtful himself, sir," lieutenant Thrawn's cool voice said in a quiet undertone.

Piett took a few seconds to consider the junior lieutenant standing next to his-no, Corlag's! he reminded himself-command chair. For the past hour, he'd been acting for all practical purposes as his first officer, nominally in charge of tactical. There had been some funny looks, but Piett didn't care - the man had called the situation correctly, and seemed to have uncanny powers of organization in patching together a coherent battle order out of a crew that had obviously let far too long without proper drills instead of mindless physical exercises. When we're out of this, I'm going to redraft the entire shifts rota, he swore to himself. Some of the night teams here haven't worked with the day officers in months.

***

If this is a drill, I don't want to know what the real thing is. Wynssa had never been caught in such a suffocating press of people, not even at the Ralltiir Holo Festival, which could go pretty wild. And I had an airlimo and security guards aplenty. She would not panic. Panic was the surest way to get in trouble. Look at the bright side, Corlag sure won't catch up with me now.

There was a flow to the crowd, she noticed - most of the troops seemed to know where they were heading. Except that she wasn't part of whatever general plan - battle plan? - they were following. With difficulty, she pushed her way laterally to the corridor's near wall, and stopped there, her back firmly against the durasteel, staring at the torrent milling past her. Soldiers, crewmen, techs, stormtroopers, black-clad TIE pilots... She was still wearing her gym leotards, she realized. The gym! She could certainly return there for a while. It was bound to be quieter. And-

But she wouldn't dare hope for that yet. She started to struggle against the current, always hugging the wall on one side. Some of the men who bumped into her cursed; one trooper whistled at her tight getup and reached for her, but she batted his hand away, and he was gone. When she finally reached the turbolift she aimed for, her breath was short and she was more shaken than she wanted to acknowledge. Twice the lift spat out a crowd of uniformed crewmen, until she decided to board it in the wrong direction and follow the movement down. It's got to go back up eventually. Her back to the bulkhead again, nose squished against someone's olive-green uniform sleeve, she rode what felt like miles down to the bowels of the Star Destroyer. Finally the turbolift emptied of its last occupants - three grey-overalled techs who'd eyed her clinging exercise outfit curiously - and Wynssa gratefully hit the gym level panel.

During the long ride up, as the cabin filled again, she was careful to keep to the immediate side of the door, fearful that she wouldn't be able to get off at her level if she let herself be pushed all the way back again. It worked, and scuttling out, she finally found herself in the familiar, much less crowded passageway to the sports complex. Practically running, she reached the gym doors, palmed the hatch control, and dashed into the entirely deserted facility, breathing hard. Now stop it, you stupid girl, you never were in any serious danger. But she couldn't stop herself from shaking, and sat rather abruptly on the rowing machine's bench. After a few minutes, another thought came to her. Just you wait, Zilkha, until I tell you. Publicity, ha! That brought enough of a smile to her lips that she was able to stand up again, and try and consider what she should do next.

Now if this were tomorrow, at least I'd have something less revealing to wear-

Wynssa fumbled in her gusset pocket. Sure enough, the key to her locker was still there. No harm in having a look. She walked all the way to the back of the big facility and the access to the changing rooms, cautioning herself against unreasonable expectations. It took her two tries before she managed to insert and turn the key.

Inside the locker, neatly folded, was a tech's outfit, of the same grey that she'd just seen in the turbolift, and she let out the long breath she didn't know she was holding. I don't even want to know when he had the time to think of this. Ripping off her leotards, she gratefully shrugged herself into the baggy overalls, zipping the front all the way to her chin. This, at least, would make her less conspicuous. Peeking again inside the locker, she saw a new grey cap that had been hidden by the overalls. Perfectionist, she thought, smiling in spite of herself. Grabbing it, she found it strangely heavy. There's something inside-

It was a comlink, together with a short note on a piece of flimsy. "This is tuned to my personal frequency. Let me know if you had second thoughts after all. T."

Continues in Chapter 5

The fine print (how small can I make this?)... and all the usual disclaimers!  No, I'm not making any money.  It's just for fun.  George, please don't sue me.