Hitchhiker, continued

Chapter 13

Your Expressions Are Priceless

"He what?"

Why did people always seem to ask him that question of late? Rory Mikam looked into Wynssa Starflare's huge bright blue eyes, and promptly forgot his irritation. "Sliced into the ISB bridge recordings. It's not even that difficult, I've done it myself to find out about surprise assignments. There's enough to get me shot there, except I suppose Per wants to make it look as if Piett put me up to it."

"The Imperial Security Bureau records activity on the bridge?"

"You bet. Captains with Rebel sympathies don't live long in the Imperial Navy."

The holostar stared at him with a horrified look. "Perhaps they simply learn to keep it very quiet... But where else does ISB record the crew? Here?"

Rory looked around him at the VIP stateroom. The sitting-room alone was twice the size of the dorm he shared with Theel and Thrawn, and the furniture made you forget you were aboard a battleship. He would have remembered seeing it before. "I don't think so. Per and me sniffed around enough, and apart from the bridge, all we ever found were recordings of the main briefing-room."

"Well, that's not terribly efficient."

"Don't forget ISB always has agents in the crew." He laughed at her appalled expression. "And any commanding officer worth his rank squares knows exactly who they are, and is very careful to give them just enough information to keep Armand Isard's goons happy. Not that I'd trust Corlag on this, but Piett ain't stupid, and he's been in the Navy long enough. Rumor says officers keep lists of ISB agents, and swap them whenever the guys get transferred or promoted. But a recording - you can't do much against that."

"And this-this womprat Theel has got it now?"

Mikam nodded gloomily. "I don't know how he plans to use it, but-"

"He took it to Captain Corlag in sickbay," a well-known cool voice said from the doorway. "Fortunately, the good captain was still unconscious. It made it a lot easier to retrieve this."

Both Rory and Wynssa spun to gape at Thrawn, who held a small datadisk between two long blue fingers. The alien lieutenant closed the door carefully, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Really, I could wish ISB had had the forethought to provide cameras in this stateroom. Your expressions are priceless."

***

"How did you-"

"Thrawn, you champ-"

He waited for half a minute then raised a hand to stop the fracas. "Who needs covert electronics? You'll bring ship's security on us by the simple power of the human voice."

This silenced the others, but only briefly. "See? What did I tell you?" Mikam said. "He never used to crack jokes before. That's two in one minute."

"I still don't think I had anything to do with-"

"No doubt I will get your attention in your own good time," Thrawn's voice interrupted. "However, we're getting closer to our engagement with the pirate fleet, and there's one or two details we'd be well-advised to settle."

"Cold," Rory said. "Definitely cold. Does he talk like that when you're alone?"

"He sure does on the comm."

"Don't count."

"It's not like we had any kind of time-"

"If I'd known the two of you were going to gang up like that," Thrawn started in the tone of someone goaded beyond endurance, "I would have kept you as far apart as possible. Will you please be serious for one minute?"

"Got his goat."

"I hope you'll remember how to do it when I've left."

"Count on it."

Eyes glowering, the alien lieutenant took one step into the stateroom, and Mikam retreated hastily behind Wynssa. She burst out laughing, then flung her hands up. "We surrender! We surrender!"

"Yes," Thrawn said glacially, "I suggest you do just that. Because in case you had forgotten, this disk is only a copy. The original recording is still in the protected ISB databanks inside the ship's computer."

That did stop Wynssa and Rory dead in their tracks, as he'd known it would. "First, we must determine what exactly is on it. Wynssa, I would assume your cabin has a data reader somewhere?"

She nodded quietly, pointing at a console at the side of one of the sofas. Thrawn went to it and slid the datadisk into the player. A simulated flatscreen materialized in the holo viewspace.

"They flatrecord only?" Wynssa asked in a surprised voice.

Rory snorted. "You think ISB has HoloNet's means?"

She caught herself. "I wasn't thinking. They'd need a dozen cameras for that. Of course they flatrecord only."

"Precisely," Thrawn said. "The ethernet connectivity would also play havoc with the ship's comm. I don't want to give you false hopes, but it's just possible what they've got here is inconclusive."

On the hovering flatscreen, the scene showed Commander Piett still in charge of the bridge. "Can we fast-forward this?" Thrawn asked.

She nodded. "Let me see. Here."

The silhouettes on the screen became agitated, pirouetting and gesticulating from one end of the forward bridge to the other. A new character erupted from the background.

"That's it! Let's slow down and get some sound-"

"What the kreth is going on on my bridge? Piett, what do you think you're doing?"

Fascinated, Wynssa stared at the virtual screen, biting her knuckles. She wasn't there, of course. Although it would seem she'd seen Corlag only minutes before. The dialogue with Piett replayed, ending in Corlag's belligerent "Which of you sorry lot thought up this little wheeze?" followed by Piett and Thrawn's simultaneous answers. Corlag's nasty jibe drew a sharp gasp from her. "How? How could you stand there and not knock this-this bastard down?"

"Wynssa!"

She whirled to confront Mikam. "I can think of a lot worse words I heard on holo sets and at the refueling station! And you, just standing there-"

"Actually," Thrawn said, "Rory did a lot more than stand there. And even if he hadn't, allow me to share a saying of my people- 'there is no finer gratification than being mistaken for an dunce by an imbecile.' I wasn't about to let my career be destroyed for the sake of scoring cheap points with this incompetent."

She was silenced at that, a curious expression on her face. He smiled a little. "Anyway, we're getting to the best part. Look!"

It went very fast, not helped by the lurching picture as the ship took repeated hits. One minute Corlag was up, the next he could partly be seen between the command chair and the weapons relay comm console, sprawled on the ground, while Mikam called out "Captain down! The captain is injured!"

"Let's frame-by-frame it," Thrawn said. "Back up a bit. Turn the sound up."

She obeyed his instructions wordlessly. The three of them peered at the flatscreen where all motion had slowed down to a sluggish pace. The sound rumbled like something hot being poured out of a cauldron. Corlag fell impossibly slowly, the lazy arc broken by the edge of Mikam's console, and briefly vanished behind the young man's back. Mikam's shoulders moved as he stood up and sideways, obscuring part of the scene. The sound swelled up incomprehensibly.

"That's you calling for help. Now let's go back again, normal speed, to check what you said exactly."

Wynssa pressed the remote again. "Turbolasers: on my mark!"

"Turbolasers ready!"

A crash, a lurch, screams and screeches. They heard the thud of Corlag's fall, then a mumble from Rory which could have been "Oh, no!", then more cracks and crashes.

"Captain down! The captain is injured!"

"So it would seem. You'd better call a med droid. Hit his head on your console, did he?"

"Y-es, sir."

"Have him taken to sickbay at once. Oh, and, lieutenant Mikam-you'd better make sure the Too-OneBee runs the proper tests before they medicate him. Some treatments are contra-indicated when too much alcohol's found in the blood. Wouldn't want to risk that. Better have it all on record."

"Er- yes, sir, just so."

Even before Piett was finished on the virtual screen, Wynssa had run to Rory and kissed him soundly. "You are such a star! Forgive me for anything I said! That was brilliant!"

Mikam looked bemused if anything, a grin spreading on his flushed face. "Hey, I didn't even know I was going to do it. It just sort of-happened."

"More to the point," Thrawn said, "it didn't get caught on camera. It's possible Theel could have built some sort of a case to Corlag from that shoulder twitch of yours, especially with the bump the captain must have on the back of his head right now, instead of where he hit the edge of your station, but by the time ISB gets this recording, the memories'll all be blurred."

"What I want to know," Wynssa demanded, "is how you got hold of this."

He smiled. "I was simply lucky."

"I can't believe that."

"I assure you, it's true." He held up a hand. "I promise to tell you all about it later, but it's really time for Rory and I to get back to the bridge. The pirates I interrogated gave me some useful information we'll need for when the "Judicator" joins us."

"Oh kr- blast!" Rory exclaimed. "I was only supposed to get you to your cabin. We gotta go!"

Thrawn nodded. "Go ahead. I'll see you at the turbolifts in a minute."

Mikam hesitated only a second. "Oh. Oh-yeah, sure. I'm off." As he reached the door, he turned back, grinning at his bunkmate and the holostar. "Believe me, Wynssa, you did this."

Thrawn stared at the open doorway for an instant after Mikam had gone, then turned to Wynssa Starflare. The HoloNet star was still wearing the overalls he had diverted from ship's reserves, now stained with dirt and engine grease. Strands of dune-colored hair escaped from her misshapen mechanic's cap. With her expressive blue eyes, and the streak of soot on her left cheek, she looked vibrantly alive.

"Will he be all right?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"I think so. We can't be entirely sure, because I don't know what Corlag will remember, or if anyone else saw him. Worse, saw that Piett saw him. If they go after anyone, they'll go after Piett first." But it's Mikam she cares about and laughs with, Mikam she told her family history to.

Wynssa took off the crumpled cap, releasing an untidy, golden ponytail. "Who's 'they'?"

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run his hands through her glorious hair. The iron self-discipline that had served him all these years helped him answer dispassionately. "Corlag and the hidebound element in the Navy brass - people who don't like original tactics, don't like younger officers like Piett with no Core ties, don't like experiments like bringing in a non-human in the Navy. I might add that seen from anyone's point of view, there's enough grounds for an accusation of mutiny, you know."

"But Corlag was going to get us killed!"

"That opinion will provide a court-martial board plenty of food for discussion."

"You take things so calmly."

He paused. "Not-always."

"I can't imagine you could ever be shaken by anything."

He took a step closer. "You are mistaken," he said in a low voice.

She glanced up at him then, and fell silent, eyes locked in his. He knew how difficult humans found it to hold his phosphorescent gaze. Somehow, he was not surprised that she would. "I promise you I'll do everything I can to spare him that," he said quietly.

A puzzled look crossed the blue eyes. "Commander Piett?"

Piett? Now it was his turn to be perplexed. "I meant Rory, of course. I understand how much he-means to you."

"Rory- Now look here, I'm very fond of Rory, he makes me think of my kid brother; somehow I think Wedge could grow up like that. But what exactly is this supposed to mean?"

The "Empire's Revenge" was lying in stationary wait behind the system's red dwarf. Still he was still sure he felt the deckplates rock under him. Could I have so spectacularly misread this situation? "You told him everything about your family and getting Corlag drunk," he said somewhat defensively.

"Yes." The blue eyes were still intent on his, but their corners crinkled now. "I did."

"You were joking as if you both thought of the same thing at the same time."

Her smile widened. "That's right. We had a good number going, Rory and I." Unexpectedly, she reached out and took his hand. "Come sit here."

The touch of her fingers was electric. His hand closed tightly on hers, and instead of yielding, he pulled her to him. "There is no time now. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Of course you didn't offend me. In fact I would like you to watch out for Rory, because he's a friend. Yours and mine. But I want you to watch out for yourself too, do you understand?"

The slight Corellian intonation in her voice was intoxicating. He drew her nearer. "I hope I do. This time."

This close to him, she nodded silently, and broke their eye lock. He rested his other hand lightly on top of her shoulder, near a curl of blond hair, very aware that his fingers shook slightly. He could hear her quiet, regular breathing.

"Wynssa-"

"Syal."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Wynssa Starflare is a stage name. My real name is Syal, Syal Antilles."

"Syal," he repeated slowly, trying out the long diphthong, like wine in a glass. "I like it. It suits you."

"My parents were so dead set against my career that I changed it, and my agent-"

His hand moved under her chin and tipped her face upwards. "Sshhh. You'll tell me later." Their gazes locked again, but this time he bent toward her and kissed her lips, gently at first, then more passionately when she started to respond. It was like drowning, he thought, the world underwater, closed around them, silent and different and overwhelming. At some stage her arms closed around his neck, and his just found their place around her, the hollows and curves all at the right places, nestling, holding, always closer. He lost all sense of time for an instant, and the very strangeness of that dislocation brought him back to the surface, some small buoy in his mind reminding him of where they were. He whispered the new name.

"Syal."

"I-"

"I must go. I'll see you soon."

He felt, more than he heard, her assent. Letting her go was unnatural. He grasped her hand as they unwound, holding to it as to an anchor. "I cannot begin to tell you," he said in a very low voice, "how much this means to me."

Her eyes, again. Wide open, holding his. "Go, now. And come back to me."

He left.

***

Rory Mikam had stopped counting turbolifts after the twelfth opening of one or another pair of safety doors on the lift bank landing. Empty ones were not too bad, but he was getting tired of shaking his head at irritated passengers. What the frell was holding up-

No, here was Thrawn at last. His palm slammed the call panel again. "Get a move on! Piett's gonna have our heads."

"Yours. I was interrogating prisoners, remember?"

" Of all the ungrateful-oh. Uh-uh. Things going well for you, I see?"

The arrival of an empty turbolift saved Thrawn from answering; They piled into it. "Lucky nek," Mikam persevered, grinning. "She's a great gun. And easy on the eye."

Thrawn's strange red eyes glittered dangerously. Rory's grin widened. Abruptly, the other said "How can you tell?"

"How can I-" He started laughing. "You're serious, aren't you? Well, well. Never thought you'd be the one asking me something. My friend, this is the first time since you showed up in our dorm nine months ago that you don't look like you could freeze a blaster bolt from the moment you hop out of bed. Plus, the delectable Miss Starflare is obviously stuck on you. Plus, you've just spent ten minutes alone with her. How hard is it to get the hologram? Don't they ever get lucky in that place you come from?"

It was a day for firsts. Rory could have sworn Thrawn looked briefly at a loss, another expression he had never expected to see on that handsome blue face. He'd thrown the last question more rhetorically than anything, but to his surprise, his bunkmate answered. "Relationships are-more formal with us. Marriages are partly arranged. Other-relations are not very-sentimental."

None of us here knows anything about this guy, do we? Or bothered to ask. Not that I think he'd have told a thing. Mikam had a hundred questions for his new friend-yes, he's that now, funny how I'm so certain. But the turbolift had arrived at bridge level. It would have to wait.

When Rory and Thrawn ran up to the command level, they found Commander Piett seated in the captain's chair, and everyone at battle stations. Unlike the relaxed atmosphere they'd left moments before, the mood of taut expectation on the bridge could be cut with a vibroblade. Wonder what happened while we were away. Seeing them arrive together, Piett raised an eyebrow. "Becoming the Singing Hutts Duo, are you?" He waved Mikam to the weapons relay comm station, and motioned for Thrawn to report. "Well?"

"The leader of the pirate fleet is a Duros who's been hijacking ships on the Chandrilan Trade Spine for over a year, sir, so that would fit the description you had. Name of Kal'tuar. What we saw was more or less all their available warships, although they have a couple more currently being refurbished at the Shi'sla dockyards. The prisoners I interrogated mentioned a base in the Taanab asteroid belt, but I don't believe that's their only one, or even the largest."

Glib, Mikam thought in admiration. There was no other way to describe the ease with which Thrawn was delivering his report, as if he'd really arrived straight from the brig's interrogation rooms, instead of Wynssa Starflare's luxurious VIP suite, presumably snogging with the holostar who'd got the entire officer corps slavering for the past week. Clever sonovanek. It struck him that he'd easily trust his friend to lead them into battle. Wouldn't lose his cool, and there isn't much that'd get past him. Piett was listening to him, too-Rory had always respected Piett's good sense.

"Overall," Thrawn went on, "I'd say they have an unusually disciplined organization for pirates. Their boarding groups have been drilled by a group of Twi'lek mercenaries who used to work for the Trade Federation, and got laid off after His Majesty sent a Moff and an Imperial garrison to the Nemoidia system; as you know, sir, Nemoidia was settled by Duros millennia ago; they originate from the same species even though they're easy to tell apart now. Anyway, it doesn't look as if the Twi'leks have much to do with fleet tactics; that's largely a Duros affair, which should make them fairly predictable."

"It should?" Piett said mildly.

"I believe so, yes, sir. Duros society puts a high premium on hierarchy. They're inventive enough, and reactive, but they don't improvise."

"Spent some time on a Duros orbital station in your life, lieutenant?"

"No, sir."

"So how come you know the species so well?"

"I've-studied them, sir."

Piett's eyes narrowed. "How exactly? I'm pretty familiar with what little's left of exosociology in the Academy cursus, lieutenant, and it usually isn't enough to help you order a beer in a Rim cantina."

"I've studied Duros art, sir."

"Duros art?" Head cocked to the right, a sardonic expression on his face, the "Empire's Revenge"'s first officer considered the alien lieutenant. Mikam, listening in from the weapons comm station, wondered if he'd heard aright. Art?

"Art provides the best insight you can have of a people, sir. Duros art puts a high emphasis on symmetry and perspective, but it's never invented much in terms of color, and their abstractions are mostly decorative. They construct things, but they're not mold-breakers."

Piett's face reflected polite doubt. Rory was glad nobody asked his advice-his new pal, he felt, had gone way off the deep end on that one.

"I have to assume you believe what you're saying, since you must be aware how it sounds to me," Piett said with more than a hint of sarcasm. "So tell me, lieutenant, how Duros art can help us one hour before our space battle?"

Thrawn paused for an instant as if marshalling his thoughts, and took a measured breath. "Sir, over the centuries, Duros artists have invented new techniques to fit more subject-matter on planic pictures or in sculpted subjects. They invented, then tweaked, perspective; they refined triptych delineation; they also devised narrative conventions that every Duros understands in order to cram intelligible storylines carved onto fairly small chunks of semi-precious stones. All this is very ingenious, just as they've been ingenious in designing the orbital stations they now live in after industrial pollution made their world largely uninhabitable. But it implies an almost complete subjection to order, because without order, their world can't exist-it would explode." He stepped to the tactical console and picked up the laser pointer. "So what you must use against them is asymmetry-non-logical narrative. Hit the articulation of a flank, not the center. To attack the lead ship, send out a squadron of TIEs against one structural weakness, and recall them immediately, whether they've succeeded or failed. Use overwhelming fire for fast attrition of their first line of defense, then vanish-microjump to leave them faced with empty space, and microjump back on a different vector. It will gain you the advantage faster than classic Imperial tactics, because they expect those. In fact, I believe it may end in their surrender."

Piett had been staring at the young officer with something approaching fascination, but the last word broke the apparent spell. "Surrender? Pirates? Knowing what they do of Imperial policy to their kind? Not to mention that I'll be hanged if any of them has ever set foot in a museum other than to burgle it. Aren't you being a tad fanciful, lieutenant?"

"Sir, I believe I'm right, but I realize this is an unconventional view."

"I'll say it is. At any rate, you can see why I don't plan on presenting it to the "Judicator" 's commanding officer."

The blue-black hair shimmered under the bridge's harsh artificial lighting when Thrawn nodded. "I do, sir, but does that prevent you entirely from using some asymmetrical tactics?"

"You mean, without explaining why?"

Thrawn nodded again.

"More of your sneaky tricks, lieutenant Thrawn?"

"Sir," the alien lieutenant said, "I said I would not go behind your back, and I don't plan to do so. It all comes down to whether you believe my ideas have any merit, and my tactics will work."

Piett rose from the command chair, and headed to the forward viewport, motioning to Thrawn to follow him. "Do I believe your art theories, lieutenant? No. Do I believe that you're an unusually good tactician, and that you might succeed in throwing the Duros out there for a loop? Yes. So go and devise me a plausible course of action with enough conventional-sounding explanations backing it up that I don't look as if I'd gone off my rocker if I'm asked why I'm suggesting it. Got me?"

Thrawn very nearly smiled. "Aye, aye, sir."

"You've just succeeded in making me behave as sneakily as you, haven't you?"

"Sir-"

"Haven't you?"

"Sir-it doesn't matter if none of those pirates have ever been in a museum or an art gallery. Their mental structures are the same as those of the artists who've produced centuries of Duros art. The art is just a deciphering device, a code-breaker-it's reliable because it's consistent, and it's neutral."

The first officer turned from the starry space view to look straight into the strange glowing eyes. "You take this pretty seriously, don't you, lieutenant?"

"I take seriously any means which permits me to win, sir."

Piett paused infinitesimally. "Yes, I can see that you do. Very well, lieutenant, I'll trust you not to botch this up. Because while you were chatting with the sorry bunch in the brig, we had a subspace communication from Admiral Mordon on the "Judicator." They've got Lord Vader on board, and he'll take a very dim view of any officer screwing up this operation."

Chapter 16

Who are you fooling, my girl?

One of the advantages of being a VIP guest, Wynssa had to admit to herself, was her suite's lavish private 'fresher, complete with running water instead of mere sonics. She lowered herself into the ridiculously large Xiquinian marble bathtub and sighed in sheer pleasure as the kinks of her sleepless night and hard day's work on the forklift hovercar dissolved in the steaming water. Not even the thought of Thrawn and Mikam preparing for the next space battle could raise more than a vestigial twinge of guilt. I'm really a selfish, frivolous creature. She did trust Commander Piett, though-if he said the battle was a foregone conclusion, she believed him. She'd met enough studio bosses, holo directors and Coruscant bigwigs eager to date a successful actress to recognize a good leader. The First Officer was plain-spoken enough that people probably missed out on his obvious intelligence, something that would never happen to Thrawn, no matter how prejudiced anyone was against him.

Thrawn's a virtuoso, that's what he is. His unique situation may force it upon him, but I just know he enjoys the thrill of it, enjoys confusing everyone. She was certain he was just as much of an oddity in his own society. Corellia was a hub for dozens of breeds from all over the galaxy in addition to its three indigenous peoples, enough of whom had made their way to her parents' refueling-station that young Syal Antilles had stopped paying attention to species before she'd started going to school. In whatever shape or color, this one is completely off the charts.

She stretched luxuriously in the vast tub and let herself float, eyes closed, remembering their kiss. It had felt so perfectly right. She trusted her instinct there. He wasn't faking, wasn't playing. If I'm wrong, he's the best liar in the universe.

And yet how naïve could she get? She'd just had strong evidence that Thrawn was a consummate liar whenever it suited him. But he believed I was in love with Rory. She smiled fondly. No, he could get things wrong at times. That was the most reassuring part.

* * *

Commander Piett looked up from the annotated diagrams Thrawn had transmitted to his command console to check on the bridge crew. They were as ready as they could hope to be. He'd set a double maintenance crew to clear all traces of the previous engagement, and asked Janred to personally oversee the choice of replacement gunners and combat techs. The "Empire's Revenge" officers stood at battle stations, their terminals updated with the latest sensor reports and ship's resources. He only needed to press one key, and the battle plan would be uploaded to every data display on the bridge.

He knew perfectly well why he still hesitated. Vader. As he'd more than expected-come to rely on, really-Thrawn had delivered a remarkably competent blueprint, especially considering it had taken him barely half an hour. It still looked unconventional, but alternatives were all set out in logical progression, and due attention had been paid, with an interesting degree of creativity, to integrating the "Judicator" 's formidable firepower and heavy-duty guns. Wonder if Mordon'll realize he's being made to play straight guy to us. The Admiral might not, but Lord Vader was a question mark. In more ways than one. The Emperor's mysterious right-hand-man? sorcerer?-had a fearsome reputation as a warrior, although Piett had no idea whether he had ever been involved in Fleet strategy. Worse was the Dark Lord's notoriously lethal temper. Demerits for mistakes, he'd heard, had a way of being permanent. It looked bad enough that the "Revenge" had had to ask for the "Judicator" 's help. That, no doubt, had been the underlying reason why Corlag had rejected Thrawn's earlier plan. Well, there were times in life when you didn't have a choice.

Corlag. Piett dialed sickbay on his personal comlink. If his inner self chose to call it procrastination, he would simply not listen. "Calling for a report on Captain Corlag's medical status," he told the Too-One Bee who answered.

"The Captain's life signs are satisfactory, consistent with cranial concussion and three-and-a-half grams alcohol blood-level. Recovery should be total in a few days. I'm not sure the Captain is yet capable of coherent communication, but do you want us to try?"

Great stars. "Certainly not. Your priority is to ensure the Captain's complete well-being and recovery. We especially don't want him to experience the mildest discomfort. Please act accordingly." He disconnected with a retrospective shudder. In all likelihood, the meddroid would now dispense some amount of chemical paradise. Sometimes procrastination is good.

But there was such a thing as overdoing it. The "Judicator" should be dropping out of hyperspace any moment. Piett decided to take a gamble on both Thrawn and Vader, and hit the "send" key.

*** 

Watching the battle in fascination from her cabin's viewport, Wynssa couldn't help feeling guilty. This is not a holodrama. This is not a ballet, not an opera. People are dying out there.

But it was all of those things, silent and magnificent against the starry backdrop of black space. By chance, she had been facing the viewport when the "Judicator" reverted to realspace only a few klicks from them. As the huge arrow-shaped, predatory mass suddenly filled the transparisteel panels, she'd jumped back, overturning the comm center. So this is what we look like to others. Not quite-Rory had told her the "Judicator", a more recent design, outmassed the "Empire's Revenge" one and a half times. Still, it must be awe-inspiring. She'd only see Star Destroyers in orbit, and had boarded the "Revenge" from a windowless shuttle. Now squadrons of starfighters swarmed between the two huge destroyers as they majestically left the shadow of the dying star in formation.

She had seen the coherent rays and explosions of the battle before being able to make out the enemy. Then, suddenly, the stars in the viewport elongated into a thousand lines and turned milky-white for only a moment, before changing back to normal-and now the battle was all around them, and she could feel in her entire body the vibrations of the turbolaser shots from the "Revenge" 's batteries. Was that a hyperspace jump? So short? One of the alien pirate ships exploded in front of her in a short burst of molten durasteel, startling her. There were sentients on that ship, many of them, and now they're light and fire instantly doused by the vacuum. Green shafts of light fired from a spot below her viewport scythed a wing of strange-looking starfighters, then another, and then the starscape stretched once more into starlines, turning to white fog before reverting to immutable, star-studded blackness. How very strange, like switching holochannels. The "Empire's Revenge" shuddered under her, several times, and she guessed they had fired yet another type of weapon. This time, she couldn't even see the target. The vibrations eventually stopped, but she couldn't have told if they'd had any kind of result. She sat down somewhat abruptly on one of the sofas. It was a strange feeling, witnessing this slaughter from the same overplush setting where the previous evening, Corlag had tried to seduce her, and she didn't like it.

She knelt down on the deep pile carpet to pick up the comm center's elements, hoping they weren't damaged, and started stacking them back on a surprisingly steady side-table. Everything's bolted to the floor! Makes perfect sense. The comm center must be a later addition. The remote had slid under the other sofa, and as she retrieved it, she flicked it on to check if it was working. A virtual flatscreen materialized in the holo viewspace, showing-

Oh my stars, they forgot the ISB datadisk

She hit the "eject" command and grabbed the small card-chip. Where could she hide it? Not in the now-pristine cabin-as she waited for first shot to be fired, she had become so nervous that she'd packed all her things, telling herself she was preparing just in case she might have to transfer to the "Judicator" after the battle. Who are you fooling, my girl? You needed something to do in order not to go completely mad. Her large trunk was locked, and she didn't care to reopen it. She ran the tip of her index finger on the fingerprint clasp-lock of the small personal carryall which contained the few things she didn't want to lose, and cast a critical look inside. Her identicards, her one good necklace, a pair of insulated running boots, a thin Hoth-polar overcoat, her toothbrush and overnight things, the rushes from the Chandrila shoot-

That would do fine. She slid the datadisk into a pouch among two dozen others exactly like it. When she'd fingered her carryall safely locked again, she stowed it next to the door, then looked up across the stateroom at the viewport. Everything looked becalmed at last. The "Judicator" hung motionless in space at a short distance, hiding one full third of the starscape. She had been right to believe Piett-they must have won the space battle.

At that very moment, a blast stronger than she'd ever felt shook the "Empire's Revenge" like an erupting volcano, throwing her to the floor as alarms blared across the ship.

Continued...

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.