Hitchhiker, continued

Chapter 17

All Members Of The Antilles Family Are Flying Commercial From Now On

"Bloody hell!"

Flung to the ground by the explosion, a shaken Commander Piett felt a sticky liquid trickling down the left side of his face. His ears were ringing and it took him a few seconds to realize the noise was outside his head as well. Red alert klaxons howled all around him. He knew he had to get back up, quick, but he couldn't coordinate his suddenly rubbery legs. Smoke and sparks obscured part of the bridge amid shouts and screams.

"Direct hit! Hull breach on the secondary bridge! We're venting air!"

"Seal off the--"

It came out as a croak. He forced himself to cough, tried again. "Seal off the bridge, now!" This time his voice was loud enough, and he felt a twinge of pride. He hoisted himself up, leaning heavily the half-askew command console. "Casrah, get Colonel Tyfas on the comm, fast! I want his space troopers suited up and into that breach in five minutes!"

"Lieutenant Casrah is--I'll call the colonel, sir."

Young Mikam's voice, unsteady. Turning, Piett could see Casrah's olive-garbed unmoving form, slumped over the main comm station. His gaze took in the port side of the bridge, where most of the ship's complicated electronics seemed to have burst out of their panels in a mess of wires and burnt durasteel. The Empire's Revenge bridge seemed horizontal enough now, but that was because the gravity compensators had kicked in. It had felt like being kicked upside down, and from what he could see around him, it was pretty much what had happened. Those men who'd been in the way of unsecured heavy equipment would never have to answer for their negligence in checking that everything was bolted fast at any time. That imbecile Corlag has never run a tight ship in his life, but I'm just as much at fault. I should have pushed for drills no matter what frelling Corlag said.

He pressed a few keys on the command console, to no effect. He had to know what hit them, fast. "Tactical!"

"Sir?"

That one would come out unscathed from a direct sublight torpedo hit. "So those pirates were going to surrender, were they, lieutenant?" he hissed. "Find out which of these Duros failed to conform to your artistic predictions, on the double. And where the prakking Judicator vanished. Then parallel your controls to the main comm station and take over Lieutenant's Casrah's post; I'll command from the tac station since the captain's chair has been trashed."

The handsome blue face was perhaps a shade paler, but otherwise expressionless. "Aye, sir. The Judicator seems to have microjumped back behind the red dwarf with-part of the pirate fleet." Thrawn's left hand hit several keys on the tac console. "We were attacked by two ships that weren't part of the original pirate configuration. They-could be the cruisers that were being repaired at the Shi'sla dockyards. I'll find out more."

He did mention those in his earlier report , Piett remembered, watching Thrawn enter the tactical codes into the network before standing aside from the console. The First Officer took a wobbly step to the tac station. "Lend me your arm, lieutenant," he snapped testily, annoyed that his legs still refused to act normally. Thrawn was at his right side in an instant, offering a firm elbow across the forward bridge. Piett grasped the tac console durasteel casing with relief. "Comm! Get me the Judicator's captain! Weapons officer! Status report, now!" The tactical holo occupied most of the viewspace, with five-second refreshes. "How do I size this down, lieutenant?"

With his left hand, Thrawn had pulled the station's chair up for Piett, and helped him into it. He called up a side control panel, then stepped aside as Lieutenant-Commander Janred's battered and blackened face appeared in one of the small comm displays. "I've lost half my crews, Firmus. That hit took the aft starboard laser batteries. Levels 31 to 35 are gone-we've had to seal them off. I've got some torpedo and missile launchers left there, and I can rustle you up enough firepower to kill a Theta Shuttle or two, but that's about it. Portside's still structurally intact and armed, but we got human casualties when the Revenge flipped."

Piett had known things were critical the instant his old friend had called him by his first name, instead of the rank Navy etiquette demanded-something Janred would normally be the first to insist on. "I was there when the Captain countermanded your drill schedules, Saki," he said wearily. "Now we've got to fix up things as best we can. Draft whatever techs and troopers you want-we're not about to start a land attack any time soon. I'll let Tyfas know. How long will it take before we have 30% firepower?"

Janred frowned. "Probably an hour, but I'll make sure we can at least pulverize one thing out of space in ten minutes' time. Just chose it well."

Piett smiled in spite of himself. "What else do you need?"

"Medics, med droids, whatever you can spare."

Piett looked up. Medical teams, with agrav stretchers and IV drips, had started working the bridge among the debris. "I'll see what I can send. Piett out." He turned to the comm stations. "Where the frell is Colonel Tyfas? And I need a sensor status, now! Lieutenant Theel?"

But the relaying comm station was unmanned. There's one loss I'm not going to mourn overmuch. Searching the nearest crew pit, his eyes spotted a young officer whose technical bent he'd noticed in the past. "Lieutenant Dorja, can you slave the sensor station to the relaying comm and give me a merged status report? Then come up here and snap to it." He glanced at his wristchrono, and found he'd broken it when he fell, the last reading now frozen behind the shattered transparisteel. One look at the tactical time stamp told him they'd been hit eleven minutes ago. Why isn't anyone firing at us now? And how long before they start again?

***

Dazed, Wynssa Starflare tried to pick herself up from her stateroom's plush carpet, and cried out the moment she tried to put some weight on her feet. She couldn't stand on her right ankle. She looked around her in dismay. The furniture was still in the same place, but everything that wasn't bolted to the floor had been violently flung about, me included, she thought. The pieces of the comm center littered the floor among the sofas' throw cushions and the shards of the glass she'd drunk a juri juice from. Her small travel bag was wedged between one sofa and an end-table, and she reached for it, clutching it to her. She couldn't see her large trunk at all. Where in stars can it have gone-

An angry hiss called her attention to the viewport, and she got her answer. The huge travel chest was strangely stuck mid-height against the transparisteel, and she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach that what kept it there was the pressure of the cabin's air venting into space through hairline cracks. I'm lucky it missed me-I would have been squished like a ripe moonglow. Ankle or no ankle, she had to get out, now. She had no idea how much pressure transparisteel could take before imploding, and at any rate, the stateroom's oxygen would soon be gone. She hoisted herself onto the nearest sofa, and pulled herself up painfully, eyeing the distance between her and the cabin's door. It doesn't matter if it hurts. Hurt is better than dead. She cried in pain as she hobbled as best she could across the room, the venting air loudly hissing in her ears. Finally reaching the door, she palmed it open, and dragged herself outside, hurrying to hit the exterior lock command. When the stateroom's door swooshed back down, she released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and stood trembling in the corridor, leaning on the doorjamb.

I can't stay here. I don't know how much this door can take. I've got to get somewhere safer.

It was a terrifying replay of the previous hours, and this time, she was crippled and didn't even have a comlink to Thrawn. I'm never, ever not taking public transport again. Doesn't matter if I get invited on yachts, on space limos, on racing craft, on a Golan space station. All members of the Antilles family are flying commercial from now on. She looked down, and realized she'd dragged her carryall with her. She hesitated, then sat down on the ground, and fingered it open. She had stupidly taken Commander Piett's cue, and changed back into an elegant dress and heels. She might look silly wearing her running boots with this, but silly, too, was better than dead. She slipped her good foot into the left sporting shoe and laced it up and around her ankle, then delicately slid her right foot into the other boot. Searing-hot pain lanced her entire leg the instant she tried to fasten it, but she clenched her teeth and laced up the boot as tight as she could stand-it would give her damaged ankle a modicum of support. She threw her black suede pumps into the carryall, closed it, and passed the shoulder strap over her neck. There.

Now to get up again. She managed somehow, but once upright, she looked up and down the corridor in momentary indecision. The bridge was not very far, but it was on the side that had taken the enemy hit. She had no way of telling what shape it would be in if she reached it, or even if it would-still be there. No. They have to be all right. He has to be all right. But assuming they'd scraped through-and if they hadn't, she didn't want to think too clearly of the consequences-the last thing they needed was to be saddled with their extra passenger's dead weight. She'd made herself useful earlier on, but that was when she could move. She took a tentative, wobbly step in the direction of the turbolifts. Sickbay. I need to get this stupid foot fixed, so that I'm not a millstone lumbering anyone who might help. If I manage to get this in bacta soon enough, it'll be like new in an hour. If I have to wait my turn- Bacta worked fastest if applied straightaway, before the tissues had started their own healing process. Then the effect could seem nothing short of magical. But even the perspective of a simple painkiller hypospray sounded too good to pass. She remembered the location of the main med bay, for once thankful that Corlag had asked her to pay it a ridiculous travesty of an official visit. She started limping to the turbolift bank.

Chapter 18

I Want Nothing To Do With That Damn Sorcerer

""Captain Sansevi of the Judicator on the comm for you, sir."

Surprised by Thrawn's cultured, controlled voice on the holo link, Piett spared only a few seconds to remember he'd assigned the alien lieutenant to Casrah's post as well as to tactical. He had to compose himself enough that whatever he'd say wouldn't sound like a reproach, or worse, an accusation, to the Judicator's commanding officers, every single one of whom was his superior in rank. "Where the frell were you while we were being hammered?" definitely wouldn't cut it.

"Piett, commanding the Empire's Revenge. Sir, we're being attacked by two new pirate ships, provenance unknown. We've sustained extensive damage and casualties. If the battle plan has been changed, we'll need assistance to fulfill our end."

On the comm holo, the other's strong-jawed face remained stiffly unmoving for a few seconds. "Your situation is perfectly clear to me, Commander," Sansevi said in a carefully restrained tone. "The battle plan was unchanged until now. However, part of the pirate fleet microjumped ahead of us this last time, and launched several wings of fighters. Lord Vader has decided to join the space battle in his own TIE Interceptor, and Admiral Mordon will not allow the Judicator to leave this vicinity until he's back on board. What's your current status?"

Piett felt his jaw drop, and clenched his teeth with an audible click. Things were moving too fast for his taste.

"I've lost starboard weapons capacity almost entirely, and half my gunning crews, sir. We're working on restoring 30% of firepower within the hour. We had hull breaches, had to seal off the secondary bridge. Apparently we can still maintain integrity, but I'd be wary of attempting to jump considering the unknowns. Casualties in the hundreds."

"Bogeys still shooting at you?"

"Not this instant, sir, but I don't know what's keeping them," he said bitterly. "One may be partly out of commission-we hammered at it as long as we could with our portside batteries-but I'm blind with nominal shields on the other side. I need a better sensor report-I lost my main sensor officer, and we're breaking in his replacement." Piett cast a sideways look at Dorja, who was working Theel's unfamiliar console frantically.

"We can probably help you with that, at least," Sansevi said without commenting on Piett's report. His head turned half-way out of the holo viewspace, and he was heard ordering one of the Judicator's bridge officers to train his sensors on space between them and the Empire's Revenge. "Transmitting now. We'll keep one comm feeder link open and live to you, how's that?"

Unable to hide his astonishment, Piett rubbed his tired eyes with his left fist. "Thank you very much, sir" he said feelingly. Preempting completely one of the Judicator's few holocomm channels was unexpectedly generous.

"We should be blasting the scum that attacked you out of space, commander, not playing nanny for His Majesty's favorite sorcerer," Sansevi snorted. "It's a starfighter battle here, their capital ships are in retreat and badly damaged. They microjumped after us this time, but it broke their formation all the same. Weird tactics you had us try out, but interesting." The holo wavered for an instant in noisy static, and Sansevi's figure seemed to stumble. "They've got some teeth left, as you can see, but nothing we can't handle."

***

The med bay, when Wynssa finally limped across its doors, was a roiling emergency scene barely policed by med droids doing summary triage among the press of injured soldiers and techs. She could see burns, crushed and perforated limbs, lacerated and gory uniforms, and suddenly felt very silly, and a little ashamed, with her throbbing ankle. I got off unbelievably lightly. I'd better go sit in a corner and wait my turn.

She was still looking for the best place to keep out of everyone's way, when a Too-OneBee addressed her in a warm baritone. "Miss Starflare? Have you come to visit Captain Corlag?"

Oh my stars, is that where they put him? And they remember me from that stupid visit!

"I-er, I just wanted to know if he was all right-"

"Please follow me, miss Starflare. It's a great honor."

"I don't want to distract-"

"You're an Imperial Guest, Miss Starflare. That gives you precedence."

"No, please, I'd really rather not, now. If you could just let me sit somewhere-"

By that time of course the droid had noticed her limp. "Are you injured, Miss Starflare?"

"A little, but I don't really think it-"

"Your rank is equal to the Captain's according to our programming, Miss Starflare. Please come this way, and we'll examine your leg."

"But there are far worse cases here! Shouldn't you be tending them first? What does your programming say to that?"

By that time they'd entered an inner office, and the Too-OneBee pointed her to the examination table. "Miss Starflare, why do you want to cause me a programming conflict when we can be done in no time?" it said in a chiding tone, sounding so uncannily like one of her aunts, that she subsided, shrugging off her carryall's strap, and meekly climbing onto the daybed. She couldn't repress a whimper when the droid's light metallic fingers sliced through her laces, and pulled the boot delicately off her foot. Her entire leg felt aflame. "You shouldn't have walked on that ankle," the droid said reproachingly. "Can you move your toes?"

"It was that or not getting here at all," she protested. "Is it broken?"

But her toes did painfully obey her, and a scan confirmed she just had a bad sprain. After a painkiller hypo which magically dispelled the excruciating hurt, the Too-OneBee wrapped her ankle in a bacta pack. "If you don't move, you should be all right in a couple of hours. We'll get you installed in a restbay."

Try as she did, she couldn't make it budge from its decision, and she soon found herself lying down on a clean cot in a tiny cubicle, her bacta-wrapped foot comfortably elevated and a painkilling solution drip hooked to her arm. She was a little light-headed from the drugs, and had to admit to herself it felt wonderful. The temptation of sleep beckoned: she'd been on her feet for almost 48 hours. I really shouldn't be here, but I might as well-

The click of a door opening was so close that she thought for an instant it was her own. She lifted her head from the pillow, looked around. No-one. Must be next door. Soundproofing isn't rated necessary in military med bays. Never mind-she was sure she could sleep through another attack.

"Captain! Sir! Are you awake? Captain Corlag?"

Wynssa sat up straight in her bed. She'd only heard it twice, but she easily recognized Lieutenant Per Theel's voice.

***

"Sir?"

Commander Piett turned from his study of the Judicator's beamed sensor input to see Lieutenant Thrawn standing a couple of paces from the main comm station, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "Yes? What is it, lieutenant?"

"Sir, I-believe Captain Sansevi may be in a more difficult situation than he thinks."

Piett waited for further explanations, but none seemed to come. "Well?"

"Sir-logically, these pirates shouldn't have thought of microjumps. But they have-and I-can't assume any longer that they'll have the blind spots I was counting on."

Such an admission of failure seemed to come hard. Well, all his freakish theories about art have just blown up in his face-and ours. The first officer's eyes narrowed. "Yes?" he said uncompromisingly. "Speak up, man!"

Thrawn nodded. "They've split us, sir. They could put us out of commission right now. If they don't, it's because we're more use to them tying up some of the Judicator's resources from a distance. Add to this that the starfighter attacks have leveled the playing ground out there-it's their wings of Uglies against our TIEs, not a motley fleet against the full armament of a Victory-class Star Destroyer. We're getting hamstrung."

Piett considered the alien lieutenant with something approaching respect. He was very obviously swallowing his pride and sticking his neck out to offer what he felt was necessary advice. It was not an attitude he'd come across often in junior officers. "Yes," he said again, in a less hostile tone. "So far, you're making sense. What do you suggest?"

"Sir, we have to join forces with the Judicator. Or convince Captain Sansevi to jump back here."

"Captain Sansevi doesn't need convincing," Piett said curtly. "Admiral Mordon does, which is a different proposition."

"If-I understand correctly, Lord Vader does," Thrawn said in a diffident enough tone to rob his remark of any suspicion of impertinence. "Sir, am I right in thinking Lord Vader's experimental TIE has a hyperdrive?"

Piett froze. "You are. You're also simply not going there, lieutenant, d'you hear me? I want nothing to do with that damn sorcerer."

Chapter 19

I Take It You Have An Alternate Plan?

Uncharacteristically, Wynssa Starflare felt like murdering someone. Preferably Lieutenant Theel. Corlag's a bully and an imbecile, but this one's a nasty bigoted little sneak. If it turned out that he was the only survivor from the bridge, she-

She didn't want to think about it. Not yet. Would be just like him to run and make mischief rather than fight. She was being unfair and she knew it-Theel could conceivably be both unpleasant and courageous. I don't care. He's a miserable little-

"Captain Corlag?"

Oh stars. How can I prevent him from rousing Corlag? Not that Theel sounded especially successful. Straining, she could barely hear a faint groan from the captain. Still, it worried her. Why did I snub this little twerp, back on the bridge? Now he'll be immediately suspicious...

And yet there was no helping it. Stifling a sigh, she threw back the covers and considered the bacta-pack around her ankle longingly. She'd had it on for forty minutes at best, but there was no way she could keep it on, with its cumbersome plasteel splint and gutter, and walk, never mind run. Gingerly, she unstuck the drip from her arm, and started unwrapping the bandages. Between the painkillers and the effects of the bacta, she felt almost nothing. Her naked ankle looked pinkish, but otherwise pretty normal. She looked for her running boots and saw them neatly aligned at the foot of the cot, next to her carryall. This gave her an idea. Rummaging quickly through her things, she found the tracksuit she wore during overnight flights or on pauses during cold location shoots. Being pale blue, it wouldn't be as inconspicuous as her tech's overalls, but it still would look a lot more appropriate than her printed chiffon dress. She changed quickly, shrugged herself into her silver-gray Hoth-polar jacket on top for good measure, then proceeded to bandage her ankle and lace up her running boots again, as tight as she could while the painkillers still kicked in. She zipped her identicards, her necklace and what credit chips she had into the jacket's various inner pockets, gave up on the rest of the carryall's contents, fingered it closed again, and hid it against the wall under the far corner of the cot. She straightened the sheets quickly, pushed the IV frame in the corner after unhooking the painkiller drip bottle, cast a look around. It looked ready for the next occupant, probably a lot more deserving than I.

Screwing the bottle shut and pocketing it, she palmed the door open, clutching its handle to slow it down and muffle the noise, and peeked outside. The scene looked a bit more organized, but busy enough for her plan. She spotted an overworked med droid nearby and walked next to it.

"Look, you can't make me wait forever. I came to see Captain Corlag and I want to see him now."

She'd used her clear, carrying stage voice, and sure enough, within seconds, lieutenant Theel's deceptively friendly face showed up at the door of the cubicle next to the one she'd been in. "Miss Starflare! I thought that was your voice! How did you get here?"

Turning away from the droid before it could completely register her question, she looked at Theel with the slightly puzzled, smiling look of someone trying to remember a name to go with a half-familiar face. "Lieutenant-Theel?"

That took him aback, as she'd intended. "We met on the bridge earlier," he said, trying not to sound aggrieved.

"Oh-of course we did. Lieutenant, it's nice to see you, but I was really looking for Captain Corlag. I've been told he's very seriously injured."

Funny how less nice he looks when he smiles. "Captain Corlag is here, Miss Starflare," Theel said, looking smug. "I was with him when I heard you."

She riveted her blue eyes to his, with a bat of eyelashes for good measure. "You were? Oh, I would so much like to see him! May I?"

It worked every time. Reekseye, Wynssa thought dispassionately, watching Theel flush. "Of-of course you may, Miss Starflare! Come with me!"

He led the way to the cubicle with a spring in his step, pausing briefly at the door to whisper happily "The captain has been unwell, but I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

What? The plan was not to help Corlag get better!

But she had no choice now. She walked into a cubicle exactly similar to the one she'd just vacated. Corlag's heavy bulk took up the entire cot, and she saw with a wry inner smile that he'd been hooked to the same kind of IV drip bottle she had in her own pocket. So much for my bright idea to drug him. She consoled herself by finding out that the captain, lying motionless on his back, truly looked awful. The unshaven shadow on his cheeks made his face look pasty-white, and he seemed catatonic.

"Oh my stars, he really is in a terrible way! Are these droids doing everything they ought for him? Where are they?"

She has kept her voice low, but Theel had obviously decided she would be a perfect enticement to rouse Corlag. "Sir! Captain!" he said brightly, "Miss Starflare has come to see you! Captain? Wake up, captain!"

***

"I take it you have an alternate plan, lieutenant?"

It had taken Commander Piett a few instants to place the lean, grizzled man in a well-worn gray tech's uniform next to Thrawn. Chief-Engineer-ah, yes, Bron. Of course: he'd been one of the two hostages Thrawn had managed to get released.

"Sir, since we can't hope to see the Judicator jump to us, I asked the Chief if we were in any condition to jump to her."

The alien lieutenant nodded quietly to Bron to take over, and Piett was once again struck by Thrawn's respectful attitude to the middle-aged noncom. Not that he hasn't been impeccably formal at all times, but there's something more here. Never mind now-there would be time later, with luck, to investigate this smaller mystery.

"Go ahead, chief," Piett said as the other cleared his throat.

"Sir, at this moment I can't guarantee ship's integrity for a jump. However, considering there's only a small distance to cover, I think there might be a way-if you're willing to sacrifice a Theta shuttle."

Sacrifice a- It said a lot for what he'd been through in the past hours, Piett reflected, that he didn't even begin to voice his objection aloud. Instead, he gave an abbreviated nod. "No doubt you're about to explain how the thing is done, chief. Or is it one of Lieutenant's Thrawn's creative notions?" He caught the tech's guarded side glance. "No, don't tell me. Well?"

"Sir, this'd be hopeless on any significant distance, but for a twenty-second jump, I think it will work: program the shuttle to jump so that it drags the Revenge in its hyperspace shadow. We'll have to calculate the shadow's cone precisely, but I'd say it can be done. We'll angle the Revenge so that it stays to portside of the shuttle - I guess the shuttle itself won't be able to bear the pull, and will explode upon reversion, but we still have shields enough on that side that it shouldn't harm us."

Piett felt a glimmer of hope loosening the knot in his stomach even before he attempted to put it into words. Maybe we're not dead yet. "What are the risks?"

Bron blinked and rubbed his eyes. "Nothing's risk-free, but with this we don't have to start our engines at all-we just glide in and out. No energy-core vibrations, no centrifugal pull from the reactors. We choose the part of the ship that takes the most stress - portside."

And if his calculation's wrong, we won't be here to complain.

"Care to give me odds on this, chief?"

The Rimworlder's jaw tightened. "Even chance, sir."

Not a diplomat, this one. "Very well, let's do it. There was a Theta Shuttle whose climate controls were acting up at the Chandrila layover; take that one."

A slow half-grin spread on Bron's weathered face. "Yep, sir. The Lycinium. Had it in the shop often enough. Piece of junk'll finally make itself useful for a change."

"How long do you need to prep it? Do you need anything else?"

"Should take less than an hour, sir." The corners of Bron's deep-set, ice-blue eyes crinkled measuringly. "If you could-er-spare the lieutenant for a moment, sir, he could go get himself patched up."

"Go get-" Piett caught a glitter of Thrawn's strange eyes before the pale, handsome features froze again. "What's wrong with you, lieutenant?"

But it was the chief engineer who answered. "Right arm all busted. I don't expect the kid'd tell you, so I did."

And I might have noticed before, except that I was busy enough with the damage to the ship. Now that Bron had attracted his attention, he could see that Thrawn's right arm was hanging somewhat twistedly to his side. But he helped- No, it was the other arm he gave me to lean on after the explosion. He's been using his left hand throughout. Piett's eyes narrowed. "What happened to your arm, lieutenant? Why didn't you get a med droid to look at it when they were on the bridge?"

An almost mulish look briefly crossed Thrawn's features, but he replied in his usual cool tone. "There were many in worse shape, sir."

"Well, they seem to have been taken care of. You should have had this seen to long ago."

"Aye, sir," Thrawn said tonelessly.

Now what's this all about? He didn't look this hangdog when Corlag was screaming at him. "So get yourself to sickbay, will you? There isn't much to do here until the chief has programmed the Lycinium, by which time I'm sure the droids will have sent you back."

Commander Piett stared at the broad back of the alien officer as he walked off the bridge. Strange character. He considered the chief-engineer working at a wall console. And this one has some keys to the mystery. He hoped there would be time in their future to find out.

Chapter 20 

If I've Killed This Nice Girl Trying To Make Things Look Better... 

When a shuttle-sized craft reverted to realspace and promptly exploded less than a hundred clicks from the Judicator, Captain Sansevi's immediate reaction was to train his fore turbolaser batteries at the reversion point. The next flicker of pseudomotion produced a larger vessel than any he'd faced so far in this engagement: only his split-second reflexes prevented him from blasting the limping Empire's Revenge's characteristic triangular superstructure.

"What the kreth-Get me the cretin in charge of the Revenge on the comm!"

"Commander Piett just hailed us, sir. Shall I patch him through?"

"Yes, prak it-You! Piett! D'you realize how close you just came to getting your people killed? Why the frell didn't you warn us you were jumping?"

"Sir-my apologies. I was about to comm you when they started pounding us with sublight torpedoes again. We had to attempt our jump sooner than-"

"What was that thing that blew up just ahead of you? Ours or theirs?"

"Ours, sir, but-"

"Who hit it? Sensor officer! Do we have bogeys incoming?"

The lieutenant at the Judicator's main sensor station scrutinized his unblinking array with a puzzled look. Glancing down again, Sansevi considered the younger commander's tense face in his chair's viewspace. Piett drew a controlled breath. "Sir, nobody shot down that shuttle. It blew up on reversion. It was dragging us in. We couldn't jump on our own power."

Does he mean what I think he means? "You seem fond of unorthodox tactics, commander Piett."

"Our chief-engineer devised that one, but-yes, sir. Considering it got us out, sir."

"Out of a mess you jumped into in the first place," Admiral Mordon's sneering voice broke in over Sansevi's shoulder. "What were you thinking, having your popsy broadcast this pathetic call for help? For that matter, what's she doing on your ship? Is this the Imperial Navy or a Twi'lek cruise boat? If that's what you've been doing instead of drills, no wonder the first bunch of sub-human pirates can knock you out of space. Captain Sansevi!"

Sansevi straightened to full attention. Officers who offended Mordon's rigid sense of decorum had a way of drawing year-long assignments in Hutt space-or beyond. "Sir?"

"Prepare to take over command of the Empire's Revenge and oversee her repairs. Her present captain"-a sneer at Piett's quarter-sized figure in the holo-"is relieved and will present a full report by tomorrow. I want proper explanations for this entire fiasco. Meanwhile, I'll assume direct command of the Judicator. Is that understood?"

***

Well. That didn't take long. Commander Piett kept his attention stiffly on Captain Sansevi's holoimage until the connection was cut off, then, letting a long breath escape, turned away from the tac console and took a moment to survey the Empire's Revenge's bridge. The medics had wheeled all the casualties away, and the debris had been swept; but the missing or unfamiliar faces at their stations told the story, even without the torn and blackened panels and the sealed-off far starboard viewport, its cracks hidden by the plasteel plates hastily soldered in place by colonel Tyfas's spacetroopers. I certainly made a fine mess of things. Corlag helped. And young Thrawn, although I don't suppose we would have done any better without his advice, and he certainly thought up a creative solution to our jumping problem. Or was it Bron? He would have to think of a way to shield Bron and Thrawn from the worse fallout in this fiasco. Or Mikam. In spite of his bleak prospects, Piett allowed himself a smile. Goes to show anyone can surprise you. At the very moment when he'd thought the Revenge and all her crew lost for good, he'd glimpsed Mikam's arrested expression, and surmised something-interesting was about to happen. I can still hear the thud against Corlag's skull. It had to have something to do with Thrawn's newly-won influence-now there was an unusual friendship-but Thrawn would never have pulled something so beautifully straightforward. Piett's eyes sought the junior lieutenant at the comm station, and nodded fractionally. "Commander Janred, lieutenant Mikam, you're with me. We'll meet Captain Sansevi at his shuttle."

***

To Wynssa's distress, Captain Corlag was slowly emerging from his stupor. He had managed to sit up with Theel's help, grunting and holding his head. His bulk occupied almost the entire cubicle. Theel's clucking about like a distressed nuna. Of course, it's harder work sucking up to someone who's barely conscious.

"Sir-we need you on the bridge! Commander Piett can't hold his own in this battle-"

"Piett'shh 'n old woman," Corlag growled. "Duzhh-doeshn't-know-a Shtar Deshtruyer'sh meant to deshtroy-My headsh-"

"Can't you see the Captain's seriously unwell?" Wynssa urged in an undertone. "What if his concussion is worse than it looks? We'd never forgive ourselves if-"

"TshMissh Starflare. Shouldn'tsh worry your purrty headsh. I'll protectsh yoush. Got a hard headsh-"

He made the mistake to shake it, and groaned awfully. "You should be in bed!" Wynssa exclaimed. "Really, Lieutenant Theel-"

"Miss Starflare, I know you mean well, but you've no idea what we soldiers are used to withstand," Per Theel snapped.

"Perhaps I don't, but I do have some first aid training, lieutenant, and I can tell you Captain Corlag should remain under medical care. Concuss-"

Theel's hand grabbed her arm. "Come this way a minute, Miss Starflare," he interrupted, leading her firmly outside the cubicle. She was so surprised she didn't resist. "Now, Miss Starflare," he said in an urgent undertone, "there's something you can't possibly know. The Captain had-indulged in perhaps more brandy than was reasonable. He didn't expect a space battle, after all. It's not concussion he's got here, it's a hangover."

Oh, I couldn't possibly know this, could I? She had to grudgingly admire Theel's resourcefulness, though. He's a nasty piece of work, but he's not entirely stupid. "But-but wasn't he injured in the battle?"

"He tripped and fell. Why not believe him when he says he's hard-headed?"

Thick-skulled, more like. She paused as if she vacillated, staring wide-eyed straight into Theel's green eyes. "I'd feel safer if we asked a med droid's opinion. Promise me you'll wait until I've brought one here? I'll go find one immediately!"

Possibly because he didn't expect her to relent so soon, possibly because he was not impervious to her large blue eyes, Theel nodded. "Of course, Miss Starflare. But please hurry. We need a proper Imperial captain at the helm if we're to get out of this free and alive. I wouldn't put a surrender deal with this pirate scum past the alien-lovers in our command staff."

He was free to read her start of disgust as fear of the picture he painted, she thought, and he probably would. "I'll get the chief Too-OneBee at once," she said with a nod, watching Theel slip into Corlag's cubicle again.

So my rank equals the Captain's in the med droids' programming? Time to make it work for me. She stepped into the Too-OneBee's office with visions of its unrelentingly cheerful officiousness being unleashed onto Theel and Corlag. What she did not expect was the sight of a rather pale Thrawn on the examination table, his uniform jacket and shirt off, having his right arm being set in a bacta cast.

***

Piett had hastily assembled a mini honor guard of six stormtroopers and their noncom in the hangar bay, but Sansevi, after a quick salute, dismissed them. "Save that sort of thing for the Admiral. Let's see what we can do to fix things here, if at all possible."

"Yes, sir. May I introduce Lieutenant-Commander Janred, our weapons officer, and lieutenant Mikam?"

Sansevi nodded and let Piett lead the way back to the bridge. Formalities would be respected, then, although Sansevi started peppering the three of them with questions even before they entered the turbolift.

"Explain that trick with the shuttle to pull you in and out of hyperspace. Bloody expensive, but I can see where it could come in handy."

"Briefly, sir: I didn't trust in the Revenge's structural integrity, so we rigged a spare shuttle to drag us in the cone of its hyperspace shadow. Our chief engineer will give you all the calculations."

"Call him to the bridge. Had you tried something like it before?"

"I can't speak for the chief, sir, but not in my experience on the Empire's Revenge."

"You gambled, in fact?"

Piett nodded. There goes my career down the sewage tube.

"And what in the name of all five Sith hells was this audio call by your girlfriend?"

"Miss Starflare isn't my or anyone's girlfriend, sir," he said stiffly. "She's the holo actress. She was finished shooting a holodrama on Chandrila, and Captain Corlag invited her for the voyage back to Coruscant."

"Sir," Mikam piped up unexpectedly, "perhaps you don't remember, but the idea was to hide her identity from the pirates, otherwise they might have tried to hold her for ransom."

Eyes narrowed, Sansevi stared from Piett's suddenly frozen face to Mikam's, but all he said was "D'you mean you've got Wynssa Starflare on board? Where is she now?"

"I sent her back to her stateroom before the attack, sir-"

Oh Maker. The VIP cabins were-

"Sir, permission to send lieutenant Mikam to check on Miss Starflare at once. Her quarters were on our starboard side."

Piett could see the dismay registering on Mikam's face. "Yes, yes," Sansevi said. "I'd have wanted to meet her at any rate. Bring her back up here." As the turbolift halted at bridge level, they left Mikam inside, his hand already poised above the call panel. If I've killed this nice girl trying to make things look better...

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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.