Hitchhiker, continued

From his post at the relaying comm station, just sideways of the Captain's command chair, currently usurped by that nonentity Piett, Per Theel had an excellent vantage point over most of the "Empire's Revenge" bridge - and the day's freshest outrage, the red-eyed freak ordering human officers about as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Should've pegged Piett for a frigging alien-lover sooner. When he'd shown up to report on the bridge, looking for Captain Corlag - and where was prakking Corlag while all this was going on? - Piett had assigned Theel to the comm, and barely spoken to him except to require reports. Yet when the freak had shown up with that sneaky twerp, Mikam - who'd be made to regret sucking up to that blue ape soon enough - Piett had bent over backwards to ask the other's advice, and to put him in charge. If that wasn't close to treason, Theel didn't know what was. The Imperial Navy had never admitted sub-humans until now, and there was a good-

"Lieutenant Theel, I believe I asked you for the subspace comm report," the freak's precise, hated voice cut into Per's ruminations, cold as space. Theel cast a venomous glance towards the tac station, but hit the requisite keys on his console, having caught Piett's sharp look from the corner of his eye. Thrawn never seemed to raise his tone, but somehow he could make himself heard across the bridge. With a stiff nod, he called up Theel's report on the tac viewspace, studied it for an instant, and turned to Piett.

"Sir, I think Bpfassh orbital station caught their echo. Ten light-minutes from here, plausible vector. Fourteen-strong fleet, at least three capital ships, came out of lightspeed for no more than 200 seconds, had encrypted comm activity, and jumped again."

"Blast." Piett stepped to the tac station and stared at the reading intently. "Looks like it indeed. Where's the 'Judicator'?"

"Bimmisaari system, half a day from here, sir."

"And the 'Peremptory'?"

"Still not answering our subspace and holo hails, unless they did in the last ten minutes, sir. Lieutenant Casrah, lieutenant Theel?"

"Nothing, sir," Casrah called out from the main comm station, across the bridge from Theel, who forced himself to answer "nothing" in an even voice.

Piett's eyes swiveled from the Bpfasshi report to the main tactical holo display. "It might get very crowded here in a few minutes," he remarked. "Suggestions, lieutenant Thrawn?"

Not "suggestions, gentlemen", Theel inwardly seethed. Granted, there was little tradition of collegial leadership in the Imperial Navy but this- this simply meant giving control to this alien.

"Sir, two can play this game," the other's smooth voice came. "We could microjump behind the nearest system's sun. It's a red dwarf, cooling close to extinction-I imagine our hull could stand to exit hyperspace close enough that our shadow would be entirely confused with the star's itself. In fact, if we calculate the jump vector precisely enough, the red dwarf's gravity well should pull us back into realspace like an Interdictor no matter how far we plot our course. We might look as if we jumped to the other end of the Corellian Trade Spine and be practically here still."

What damnfool notion- But Theel could see Commander Piett looked interested. Interested? The man's practically slobbering.

"You realize the manual says no hyperspace jump should be attempted near a planetary system, let alone within one, lieutenant?" he commented mildly, raising an eyebrow to the young tactical officer.

The glowing red eyes glittered for an instant, then Thrawn smiled. "I would imagine our Duros friend is quite aware of that, Commander."

A bleep punctuated his answer, and Theel saw the alien lieutenant flicking his collar comlink on.

"Bridge."

Per couldn't identify the chittering voice coming from the device: clearly, Thrawn had turned the settings quite low. But it was obvious he interrupted whoever was reporting to him. "I still need those calculations," the freak was saying in his cool, arrogant voice. "In fact we may need them in the next fifteen minutes. Please have them ready." Infuriated, Theel watched Thrawn flicking out the communication without a word of thanks. You think you've got it made, you can push us around. Well, I don't think so.

Meanwhile, the freak was buttering up Piett. "My apologies, sir." Not that he needed to - the other looked ready to surrender command to him. Could Thrawn have made a private deal with the Duros pirate fleet? Have gotten rid of the Captain somehow - where the frell was Corlag? - and planned this all along?

***

Commander Piett didn't share Theel's suspicions, but the captain's absence was beginning to worry him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, considering the tactical holo for a moment. "Hmmm. Once behind the sun, we can wait six hours for the 'Judicator' to join us, and crush them. I like your idea," he finally told the young alien lieutenant patiently standing next to the command chair. "I like it a lot, but I'd like it even better if we'd managed to sell it to Captain Corlag. Casrah, have you managed to reach the Captain yet?"

"No answer from the Captain's quarters, sir."

Piett compressed his lips to a thin line. "We should have sent someone to check on him."

"I'll detail two men straightaway, sir," Thrawn said quietly, "but they won't be back in time-"

"Yes, I know-if this other force jumps back here straight from Bpfassh, they'll hit us in what-?"

"Worst-case scenario, seven minutes, sir."

Piett's grey eyes narrowed. "Very well, let's do it, and be quick about it. Sensor officer: I want a report on anything that moves in a half-parsec radius. Lieutenant Thrawn, I assume you can calculate precisely that jump vector to the other side of the red dwarf?"

"Aye, sir. I'll need to double-check on-"

"Do it. Helm: full power to the main engines, you'll be getting a hyperspace vector in a moment from lieutenant Thrawn. Lieutenant Mikam, I need a long-range missiles readiness check, full-operational in ten minutes: please coordinate with Commander Janred. Let's be about it, gentlemen!"

Thrawn had already stepped to the tac console, keying in data. Piett saw him talking into his comlink, and called up the new sensor reports on the command chair's displays, a tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. There was no theoretical reason for the microjump to fail, as long as it was carefully plotted. Small craft had been known to do it, even to rely on large astral bodies' gravity to revert to realspace - the Bomdan system was a favorite, because of its star's unusual density. Still, this would be a first with any kind of capital ship. Piett thought of the 37,000 men on "Empire's Revenge," then of the havoc a fleet of over 20 pirate ships could wreak even on an Imperial Star Destroyer. It was a command decision, he'd taken it. All he could do now was trust that Thrawn was as good an astrogator as he seemed to be a tactician.

"Inputting the jump coordinates now, sir."

Piett cast a look at the navputer display. No time to lose.

"Thank you, Lieutenant Thrawn. Helm, prepare to-"

The rest of the order never came, as a booming voice interrupted from the command walkway to the bridge.

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

Captain Corlag had finally appeared.

Click.

What the-?

Still standing in the middle of the empty locker-room, Wynssa eyed the now-silent comlink. What was Thrawn up to-

He'd answered the call with "Bridge", so that's where he must have been. Possibly with Corlag breathing down his neck. You didn't seriously want him to go "hello, darling" in front of all the brass, did you?

Wynssa sat down rather abruptly on one of the room's wooden benches, the comlink still in her hand. "I need those calculations in the next fifteen minutes." He was telling you something, silly. Must mean he'll call back in the next quarter-hour.

Or did it mean she was supposed to call back?

Double-guessing Thrawn seemed a pretty useless exercise. This one must stay three moves ahead of anyone. Dad would love playing holochess with him. Unbidden, the mental image of Jagged Antilles sitting in his work overalls at the small game table in the back of the refueling station sprang to her mind. The memory was so vivid that for an instant she thought she could smell the durasene fumes and see the dark stains under her father's short, chipped nails, as he deftly nudged one of the miniature warriors across the board. Her throat suddenly constricted. Why would this come back to her now? She'd left Gus Treta almost eight years ago, at 17, and never been back. She'd sent a couple of holocards after a while, which hadn't been answered, even the one that included a clip from her first screen test; and a credit chip that had never been cashed. Although more recently a credit voucher she'd transmitted for her kid brother's birthday had been used in the Coronet City branch of the upscale Imperial Center toy store chain she'd picked. Her bank statement had included the article code, and she'd looked it up: a model airspeeder, half-size, just the thing, she figured, for a 12-year-old. No note of thanks ever came. She wondered what their parents had told young Wedge.

The bleep of the comlink interrupted her thoughts, and grabbing it, she flicked it on.

"Wynssa?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here!"

"Good. Where are you?"

No explanations, no superfluous words, but there was something amazingly comforting in his cool, quiet tone. "Still in the gym."

"Stay there until I call you again, and change into the overalls if you haven't yet. Wear the cap. You understand this is not a drill?"

"It's not? But-"

"I think we should be all right, but you're safer where you are than in a VIP cabin with viewports, close to the Captain's quarters. If you have to move, find some work with a group of people. Kitchen duty, cleaning detail, anything inconspicuous. Keep the comlink always with you, but out of sight, ring tone off, just the vibrating alert, understood? Thrawn out."

Click.

She stared at the dead comlink for a full minute, then, with slightly shaking hands, tied up her hair in a ponytail and stuffed it in the grey cloth cap. Thrawn's clipped words still rang in her ears. Did he expect the "Empire's Revenge" to be boarded? But who'd dare attack an Imperial Star Destroyer?

***

Even before he was done outlining, as succinctly as he could, the behind-the-red-dwarf plan to Captain Corlag, First Officer Firmus Piett could tell it wouldn't fly. Fly? If we don't actually get attacked by pirates in the next few minutes, I have a feeling I'm gonna wish we had. Corlag teetered fractionally, and Piett caught a whiff of the captain's breath. Maker, has the man just bathed in Corellian brandy?

"Never heard anything more preposterous in my life. D'you mean you want to risk my ship in a completely irregular maneuver just because some jumped-up whippersnapper got scared and started reading stim-tea leaves in the comm reports? Which of you sorry lot"-Corlag spun on his heel a little unsteadily to take in most of the bridge staff, his heavy bulk nearly stumbling against lieutenant Mikam at the relay weapons status station-"thought up this little wheeze?"

"That was my decision, sir" Piett began at the same time that Thrawn took one step forward, saying "I did, sir."

Corlag's beady eye raked up and down the alien lieutenant frozen at full parade attention for an awful half-minute before swiveling back to Piett. "When I agreed to take on Imperial Center's latest pet, I didn't mean to give it the key to the command room." He swung back to the stock-still young officer. "Perhaps they run at the first hint of action where you come from, lieutenant, but you'd better remember you're in the Imperial Navy now. Piett!"

"Sir?" Piett uttered in a toneless voice, registering in a flash the various expressions around the command post. Anger on young Mikam's face - someone should really warn him to keep a better sabacc face. Janred looks disgusted - my shaving-mirror would show me much the same, I expect. And I'd never noticed how unpleasant young Theel looks with that bovine smirk pasted on.

"After we've taken care of the riff-raff out there, see to it that Mister Thrawn here does two weeks of cleaning duty for defeatist and cowardly attitude, with docked pay and mention in his record."

"Sir, I-"

"Do you mean to challenge a direct order, Commander Piett?"

Piett forced himself to take a deep breath. "Sir, I don't, but-"

He didn't think Corlag's face could get redder. He was wrong. "If I get one more bleat out of you, Piett, you can bloody join your little alien pal on cleaning detail, d'you hear me? I'm not halfway finished with you yet! You were about to go on with this dumb-ass idea when all you had to do was drop the Empire's hammer on some pathetic sub-human pirate scum who'll probably run rather than give us a half-way decent workout! Now you'd better-"

The rest of Corlag's tirade was drowned in the howl of the bridge and sensor alarms as what looked like an entire fleet dropped out of hyperspace a mere dozen klicks away, shields and weapons fully powered, launching several squadrons of mismatched fightercraft. As he ran to the tactical console, Piett had to fight half a second's irrational feeling of relief. We're probably going to get clobbered, but at least that jackass Corlag got shut up. He didn't imagine that thought would ever get engraved on his tombstone.

Rory Mikam couldn't believe how close to boiling point he felt.

While hurriedly feeding weapons stats updates to the command systems, he kept glancing in uneasy wonder at Thrawn's tall frame standing at the tac console, calmly inputting calculations under Casrah's and Piett's instructions. I would've punched Corlag in the face, instead of standing there like a statue letting that drunk call me an animal. The moron's reeking of brandy, and he's gonna get us killed.

The "Empire's Revenge" hull shuddered noticeably when its shields absorbed the first hits from the closest Dreadnaught's turbolasers. Corlag, who still hadn't sat in the command chair vacated by Piett, stumbled, grabbing the side of Mikam's console to catch himself at the last minute, and barked "Helm: all ahead full! Turbolasers: on my mark!"

Janred's readiness signal lit up on Mikam's displays. "Turbolasers ready, sir," Rory called.

"Target the Dreadnaught's superstructure and fire, full power!"

Relaying the order with the appropriate targeting computations, Mikam punched the keys, then looked up, catching Lieutenant-Commander Janred's eye just on the other side of the command walkway as the weapons officer directed the salvo from the port crewpit. Janred looks as disgusted as me, he thought fleetingly, somewhat surprised at sharing so clearly a superior officer's feelings. The "Revenge" took another hit, and Corlag repeated his order, mechanically relayed by Mikam. Does this lumbering bantha think we can just punch our way in? We are so dead.

This time the "Empire's Revenge" took a sideways hit, and Mikam felt the deckplates lurch under him with a sick feeling in his stomach. "Starboard shields down to 27%!" someone shouted from the starboard crewpit, and neither Piett not the pit's ranking officer bothered to call the man on it - Piett usually tore a major strip off anyone bawling information across the bridge. Instead, the first officer's voice rang, only a shade tighter than usual.

"Recommend evasive maneuvers, sir."

"Evasive? Against this scum? You've lost your nerve, man! TIE control: order first two squadrons launched immediately, and two more prepped to launch at my command!"

TIEs against a fleet of capital ships? They're gonna get murdered. Rory stared across at Casrah relaying the order on the comm in a flat voice, then caught Thrawn's glittering red eyes: the alien lieutenant had half-turned from the tac console when hearing the command. His pale-blue features were composed, as usual, but the thin line of the lips told the story. He knows this is about the worst way to fight our way out of this. But there's no way anyone will listen to him now.

"Turbolasers: on my mark!"

Corlag looked willing to keep ordering strikes with most of the Star Destroyer's weapons, like the furious swats of a cornered reek. "Turbolasers ready!" Rory called between clenched teeth.

The "Empire's Revenge" took a direct hit at that very moment, and the huge ship's entire structure shook with a tortured screech. Sparks flew, hardware crashed to the deck, crewers stumbled; and in the reigning pandemonium and shouts, Captain Corlag toppled and fell heavily, head hitting the edge of Mikam's console and massive body missing the junior lieutenant's legs by inches. Numbly, Mikam gaped at the captain sprawled at his feet, uniform cap lying a couple of feet away. A dazed look on his ruddy face, Corlag was already trying to hoist himself back up. Oh no you don't, Rory thought in a flash. Two quick glances left and right reassured him that no-one was paying him much attention - yet. Wrenching from his jacket pocket the blaster Thrawn had encouraged him to carry, he grabbed the gun by its barrel and swung it hard against Corlag's cranium. The durasteel connected with a satisfying thud, and Corlag fell back to the deck bonelessly, mouth agape. Good job. Mikam swiftly pocketed the blaster, and scrambled to his feet, yelling "Captain down! The captain is injured!"

"So it would seem," Commander Piett's deadpan voice drawled just behind him, causing him to jump. Mikam spun to face the ship's first officer. "You'd better call a med droid," Piett said calmly, a faint smile hovering on his lips. "Hit his head on your console, did he?"

"Y-es, sir," Mikam stammered.

"Have him taken to sickbay at once." Piett looked down for an instant at Corlag's motionless, massive bulk. "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," Mikam said, eyes widening a little. He turned to hit the comm key on his console, and as he called Medical, noticed Thrawn watching him from the tac station, a rare look of surprise on his aristocratic features. Looks very human that way, Rory thought, and grinned. The other slowly smiled back, and nodded an appreciative salute. Now I've cleared the way for you, pal, you'd better find a way to get us out of this jam.

***

As the gym floor lurched again under her feet, Wynssa Starflare started feeling rather queasy. You've always been a good spacer. You're nervous, that's all. Wasn't much comfort. To have something to do, she'd started exercising on one the upper-body machines, seated on a bench while pulling down a weighted bar behind her shoulder blades. It was a good workout and stretched her back gratifyingly, but it never brought her the release from tension she'd come to expect from exertion as a due. Another tremor shook the ship. Someone's slugging us out there. She wondered how they could take it, the young men she'd dutifully shaken hands with day after day, and who spent years in this metal hull waiting to be targeted and shot at. Perhaps they mostly think they'll be shooting at others. What fun.

The comlink rang. She'd left it lying on another machine and searched for it frantically for a few seconds. Stupid! There! She pounced on it. "Yes, yes!"

"Feeling the strain, Miss Starflare?" lieutenant Thrawn's cool voice asked, and she immediately felt at the same time reassured and a bit foolish.

"No - I mean, yes, but I'm not-"

"We should be all right, but it will take a little more effort than I thought."

Punctuating his words, the "Empire's Revenge" took a hit that made Wynssa sit rather abruptly on the machine's bench.

"Tell me," she shot back, "do you work at this incredibly detached attitude, or does it come naturally?"

Oh stars, tell me I didn't say this just now. He'll think I'm the galaxy's worst shrew.

"It's just like your smart one-liners, Wynssa," the cultured voice said. "I have found it serves me best. But I really called to ask for your help."

My what? "Anything you want, but how could I possibly-"

"Captain Corlag has met with a little accident. It would be quite useful if you could send a wide-range message on all frequencies, asking for help as convincingly as you know how."

She stared at the comlink in her hand. What in stars was he up to now? "You want this message to be intercepted," she said slowly.

She couldn't see him, but she could have sworn he was smiling slightly now, the well-defined lips she remembered well ironic, the strange red eyes glittering. "Again-you understand me so well, Miss Starflare. I apologize that I won't be able to come for you at the gym, but I'll send someone to show you the way to the bridge. Thrawn out."

Grimly trying to hold his own in front of overwhelming force, Commander Piett was wondering how they could regain the crucial fifteen minutes, and their past opportunities, lost by Captain Corlag's blustering. He'd recalled the TIEs, because there was no upside in winning dogfights in the middle of the larger space battle, and he'd still hoped to be able to jump. But the "Empire's Revenge" was too hemmed in by the pirate fleet, and taking a beating. Janred's gunners had managed to kill two frigates and one of the Dreadnaughts, but the others kept coming, with the added firepower of those sublight torpedoes whose characteristic sonic impact he was learning to dread. Shields were dangerously down, and he could see the likelihood of a hull breach closing in.

"Helm: give me a 20% yaw starboard rotation, now. Weapons: ion energy reserves report!"

"Reserves at 42% in uninterrupted fire, 60% if we give it a 20-minute recharge," Mikam's tight voice said.

I don't have 20 prakking minutes, but it's obvious the kid knows it. Piett refrained from swearing, and ordered another salvo at one of the reconfigured Dreadnoughts. Studying hurriedly the tac holo, he noticed Thrawn had stepped to Mikam's console and was talking quietly to the young weapons controller. "Sir, request permission to temporarily relieve Lieutenant Mikam!"

What the- "Permission granted, lieutenant." I have to assume this one knows what he's doing. And that he'll tell me what he's up to... Mikam slid out of his station, and Thrawn replaced him immediately. Another hit shook the "Empire's Revenge" superstructure. And whatever it is, that he can swing it fast.

***

I simply can't believe this guy. Rory Mikam hurried down turbolifts and gangways, a grin of unholy glee on his face. Theel would blow a gasket if he knew. If we ever get out of this, I'll make sure he finds out. Heh.

He reached the secondary aft gymnasium easily, palmed the door open, and called out into the large empty room. "Miss Starflare?"

Sure enough, it was the holostar, coming out from behind a stepper, although it took him a half-second to recognize her in the baggy mechanic's overalls and cap. "Hello, lieutenant."

"Lieutenant Thrawn sent me," Rory started, more intimidated that he would have wished. She did have a wonderful smile. And those eyes...

"Yes, he told me you'd be coming to get me. Where are we off to?"

"Secondary bridge comm station. This way."

Mikam led the way at a brisk trot, but the star was in shape and kept up easily. "Did he tell you exactly what he wants me to do?"

Rory grinned. "He said he'd be 'grateful if you could give a Golden Cos performance', whatever that means." They'd reached the turbolift bank, and he hit a code on one of the panels. "We'll have the secondary comm station to ourselves. I'll set up the transmission, and you'll do the talking." The turbolift arrived, and they rushed in. Rory pulled a datapad from his pocket. "Here, he gave me that for you."

Wynssa Starflare took it and started studying it, muffling an exclamation.

"What?"

"Lieutenant Thrawn has a nerve, and you can tell him I said that."

Mikam stared at the beautiful, fine-boned face in some worry. If she meant to be difficult... But no, she was smiling again ruefully. "Not that it will make any difference, I expect. He's got us all dancing to his tune, hasn't he?"

Boy, that woman is hooked. When did Thrawn have the time to pull her? Cool operator. Forget Theel, Corlag would go ballistic. "There we are," Rory announced as the turbolift doors opened. "This way."

Their steps rang out eerily on the durasteel deckplates of the empty secondary bridge. Rory ran to the main comm station, flicked the console on, and started setting up a wide-ranging subspace audio transmission on every military and civilian channel available. When he finally raised his eyes, he was surprised by the transformation in Wynssa's entire demeanor. Outwardly nothing much had changed. But her expression... He rose and nodded her into the seat. She stepped up, carefully laid aside the datapad, and grasped the edge of the console.

"Help us, please help, anyone, help! This is the "Empire's Revenge", a star destroyer, we've been attacked by pirates, the Captain is injured, his officers are dead, the bridge is destroyed, we need help! We're one day out of the Tauron system, please help! I'm the Captain's fiancée, I don't know how to give a more exact position, please help! The "Empire's Revenge", seven days out of Chandrila, bound for Coruscant, help! Please help!"

I'd believe her, and I've just watched her do it, Mikam thought, awed. The note of desperation in her voice was heart-wrenching with panic and fear. He nodded at Wynssa and she stepped back from the console. He grabbed the datapad and slammed it into the sound receptors with a great crash. Yup, that'll do fine. He grinned at the holoactress and switched off the console.

***

"You want what, lieutenant?"

"The only way to make them stop pounding us and leave us enough space to make the jump is if they board us, sir. So we have to convince them to board us."

Piett stared at the alien lieutenant, unsure whether he should burst out laughing or tear his hair out. "They're not going to come in exactly unarmed," he hedged.

"No, sir, but we can make them believe we're in far worse shape than we are. We could fix a couple of smoke bombs from the Delta reconnaissance shuttles just outside the bridge viewports, and it will look as if the bridge was in flames. The same for the power cores, and for the aft TIE hangar, so that they try and board from the other one. And in that one we can have two companies of stormtroopers to greet the boarders, and complete communications dampening so that they can't report back to their officers it's a trap."

"What about the emergency hatches? They'll probably send boarding parties through those as well."

"I'm less worried about the emergency hatches, sir," Thrawn said dismissively, and part of Piett's mind noticed how effortlessly the strange alien lieutenant slipped into the language of command. I wonder what kind of world he comes from, and what their military is like. Unless he got all this from the Academy, but they don't especially encourage that kind of outside-the-box thinking at the Academy.

"That's narrow enough that small squads of Colonel Tyfas's troopers can pick intruders one by one, and smaller dampening fields can be arranged pretty easily," Thrawn was saying. "But we'd better move on this now, sir."

Piett considered for an instant the young man standing at the relay weapons status station. I suppose almost anything is better than being hammered to space debris. But I also trust this one to come up with something creative. "And talking of jumping space, what happens to the boarding ships?"

"Frankly, sir, I don't much care. They either explode, or jump along in our hyperspace shadow, I'm not sure. But once we're hidden two light-seconds away alone with them, they won't be much trouble."

Cool customer, Piett reflected. I don't think I'd like to get on his bad side. "All right, we'll go for it. Send spacetroopers to fix those smokescreens smartish. Then we'll have to hope that whoever is in charge out there takes the hint."

The thin blue lips stretched into a wolfish smile. "Oh, I think they will, sir. I've just baited it."

Continues in Chapter 9

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.