Star Wars the Last Command Read Online

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The Thrawn Trilogy 03

Star Wars

The Last Command

past Timothy Zahn

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Gliding through the blackness of deep space, the Majestic Star Destroyer Chimaera pointed its mighty arrowhead shape toward the dim star of its target system, three thousandths of a lite-year away. And prepared itself for war.

"All systems bear witness battle prepare, Admiral," the comm officer reported from the portside crew pit. "The task force is beginning to cheque in."

"Very adept, Lieutenant," Chiliad Admiral Thrawn nodded. "Inform me when all have washed then. Captain Pellaeon?"

"Sir?" Pellaeon said, searching his superior's face for the stress the Grand Admiral must be feeling. The stress he himself was certainly feeling. This was not merely another tactical strike against the Rebellion, after all—not a pocket-size aircraft raid or fifty-fifty a complex just straightforward hit-and-fade against some insignificant planetary base of operations. After nearly a month of frenzied preparations, Thrawn'due south primary entrada for the Empire's final victory was most to be launched.

Only if the G Admiral was feeling whatever tension, he was keeping information technology to himself. "Begin the countdown," he told Pellaeon, his vocalism every bit calm as if he were ordering dinner.

"Aye, sir," Pellaeon said, turning back to the group of 1-quarter-size holographic figures standing before him in the Chimaera's aft bridge hologram pod. "Gentlemen: launch marks. Bellicose: three minutes."

"Acknowledged, Chimaera," Captain Aban nodded, his proper war machine demeanor non quite masking his eagerness to take this war back to the Rebellion. "Good hunting."

The holo epitome sputtered and vanished as the Bellicose raised its deflector shields, cutting off long-range communications. Pellaeon shifted his attending to the side by side image in line. "Relentless: four point five minutes."

"Best-selling," Captain Dorja said, cupping his right fist in his left in an aboriginal Mirshaf gesture of victory every bit he, too, vanished from the hologram pod.

Pellaeon glanced at his data pad. "Judicator: six minutes."

"We're ready, Chimaera," Captain Brandei said, his voice soft. Soft, and just a little bit wrong. . . .

Pellaeon frowned at him. Quarter-sized holos didn't show a lot of particular, but even so the expression on Brandei'southward face was like shooting fish in a barrel to read. It was the expression of a human being out for blood.

"This is war, Helm Brandei," Thrawn said, coming up silently to Pellaeon'south side. "Not an opportunity for personal revenge."

"I understand my duty, Admiral," Brandei said stiffly.

Thrawn'southward blue-black eyebrows lifted slightly. "Do you, Captain? Do you indeed?"

Slowly, reluctantly, some of the fire faded from Brandei's face. "Aye, sir," he muttered. "My duty is to the Empire, and to yous, and to the ships and crews under my command."

"Very good," Thrawn said. "To the living, in other words. Not to the dead."

Brandei was yet glowering, but he gave a dutiful nod. "Yes, sir."

"Never forget that, Captain," Thrawn warned him. "The fortunes of war ascension and fall, and you may be bodacious that the Rebellion will be repaid in total for their destruction of the Peremptory at the Katana armada skirmish. But that repayment will occur in the context of our overall strategy. Not as an deed of private vengeance." His glowing red eyes narrowed slightly. "Certainly non by whatever Fleet helm nether my command. I trust I make myself clear."

Brandei'southward cheek twitched. Pellaeon had never idea of the man equally brilliant, but he was smart enough to recognize a threat when he heard one. "Very clear, Admiral."

"Good." Thrawn eyed him a moment longer, and so nodded. "I believe you've been given your launch mark?"

"Aye, sir. Judicator out."

Thrawn looked at Pellaeon. "Continue, Captain," he said, and turned away.

"Yes, sir." Pellaeon looked at his information pad. "Nemesis . . ."

He finished the list without farther incident. By the time the last holo epitome disappeared, the final check-in from their own chore strength was complete.

"The timetable appears to exist running smoothly," Thrawn said as Pellaeon returned to his command station. "The Stormhawk reports that the guide freighters launched on time with tow cables functioning properly. And nosotros've just intercepted a general emergency call from the Ando arrangement."

The Bellicose and its chore force, correct on schedule. "Any response, sir?" Pellaeon asked.

"The Rebel base at Ord Pardron acknowledged," Thrawn said. "It should be interesting to see how much assistance they transport."

Pellaeon nodded. The Rebels had seen enough of Thrawn's tactics by at present to expect Ando to exist a feint, and to respond accordingly. Merely on the other hand, an attack force consisting of an Imperial Star Destroyer and viii Katana armada Dreadnaughts was hardly something they could beget to dismiss out of hand, either.

Not that information technology really mattered. They would send a few ships to Ando to fight the Disagreeable, and a few more to Filve to fight the Judicator, and a few more than to Crondre to fight the Nemesis, and so on and so on. Past the time the Expiry's Caput hit the base itself, Ord Pardron would exist down to a skeleton defense and screaming itself for all the reinforcements the Rebellion could scramble.

And that was where those reinforcements would become. Leaving the Empire's true target ripe for the picking.

Pellaeon looked out the frontward viewport at the star of the Ukio system expressionless alee, his throat tightening as he contemplated again the enormous conceit of this whole program. With planetary shields able to hold off all simply the most massive turbolaser and proton torpedo battery, conventional wisdom held that the only way to subdue a modern globe was to put a fast-moving ground force downwards at the edges and send them overland to destroy the shield generators. Between the burn down laid downwards by the ground strength and the subsequent orbital assault, the target earth was e'er badly damaged by the time information technology was finally taken. The alternative, landing hundreds of thousands of troops in a major ground campaign that could stretch into months or years, was no better. To capture a planet relatively undamaged simply with shield generators still intact was considered an impossibility.

That fleck of military wisdom would autumn today. Along with Ukio itself.

"Intercepted distress point from Filve, Admiral," the comm officer reported. "Ord Pardron again responding."

"Adept." Thrawn consulted his chrono. "Seven minutes, I think, and we'll be able to move." His lips compressed, just noticeably. "I suppose we'd better confirm that our exalted Jedi Master is ready to do his function."

Pellaeon hid a grimace. Joruus C'baoth, insane clone of the long-dead Jedi Master Jorus C'baoth, who a month agone had proclaimed himself the true heir to the Empire. He didn't similar talking to the man any more than Thrawn did; but he might equally well volunteer. If he didn't, it would merely become an social club. "I'll go, sir," he said, standing up.

"Thank you, Helm," Thrawn said. Every bit if Pellaeon would have had a option.

He felt the mental summons the moment he stepped across the Force-protection of the ysalamiri scattered virtually the bridge on their nutrient frames. Master C'baoth, conspicuously, was impatient for the operation to begin. Preparing himself every bit best he could, fighting against C'baoth's casual mental force per unit area to hurry, Pellaeon made his way down to Thrawn'southward command room.

The chamber was brightly lit, in marked contrast to the subdued lighting the Grand Admiral usually preferred. "Helm Pellaeon," C'baoth chosen, beckoning to him from the double display ring in the center of the room. "Come in. I've been waiting for you."

"The balance of the operation has taken my full attention," Pellaeon told him stiffly, trying to hide his distaste for the human. Knowing full well how futile such attempts were.

"Of form," C'baoth smiled, a smile tha

t showed more effectively than any words his amusement with Pellaeon'south discomfort. "No matter. I have it Grand Admiral Thrawn is finally ready?"

"Well-nigh," Pellaeon said. "Nosotros want to articulate out Ord Pardron as much equally possible before we move."

C'baoth snorted. "Yous continue to assume the New Republic will trip the light fantastic to the Grand Admiral's tune."

"They will," Pellaeon said. "The Grand Admiral has studied the enemy thoroughly."

"He's studied their artwork," C'baoth countered with another snort. "That volition be useful if the time ever comes when the New Republic has zero but artists left to throw confronting u.s.."

A signal from the display ring saved Pellaeon from the demand to reply. "We're moving," he told C'baoth, starting a mental countdown of the lxx-six seconds it would take to attain the Ukio system from their position and trying non to let C'baoth'southward words go under his skin. He didn't empathize himself how Thrawn could and so accurately learn the innermost secrets of a species from its artwork. But he'd seen that knowledge proved ofttimes plenty to trust the G Admiral's instincts on such things. C'baoth hadn't.

But then, C'baoth wasn't really interested in an honest fence on the subject. For the by month, ever since declaring himself to be the truthful heir to the Emperor, C'baoth had been pressing this quiet war against Thrawn'southward credibility, implying that true insight came only through the Forcefulness. And, therefore, only through him.

Pellaeon himself didn't buy that argument. The Emperor had been deep into this Force thing, too, and he hadn't even been able to predict his own death at Endor. But the seeds of uncertainty C'baoth was trying to sow were nevertheless starting to have agree, specially among the less experienced of Thrawn'southward officers.

Which was, for Pellaeon, simply i more reason why this attack had to succeed. The upshot hinged as much on Thrawn'due south reading of the Ukian cultural ethos every bit it did on directly armed services tactics. On Thrawn's conviction that, at a basic psychological level, the Ukians were terrified of the impossible.

"He will not e'er exist right," C'baoth said into Pellaeon's musings.

Pellaeon bit downwardly hard on the inside of his cheek, the pare of his dorsum crawling at having had his thoughts so casually invaded. "Yous don't have any concept of privacy, do yous?" he growled.

"I am the Empire, Helm Pellaeon," C'baoth said, his eyes glowing with a dark, fanatical burn. "Your thoughts are a function of your service to me."

"My service is to Thou Admiral Thrawn," Pellaeon said stiffly.

C'baoth smiled. "You lot may believe that if y'all wish. But to business organisation—truthful Imperial business concern. When the boxing here is over, Captain Pellaeon, I desire a bulletin sent to Wayland."

"Announcing your imminent render, no uncertainty," Pellaeon said sourly. C'baoth had been insisting for most a calendar month now that he would presently be going back to his sometime home on Wayland, where he would take command of the cloning facility in the Emperor's erstwhile storehouse inside Mount Tantiss. Then far, he'd been too busy trying to subvert Thrawn'due south position to do anything more than talk about it.

"Exercise not worry, Captain Pellaeon," C'baoth said, all amused again. "When the time is right, I will indeed return to Wayland. Which is why you will contact Wayland after this battle is over and club them to create a clone for me. A very special clone."

K Admiral Thrawn will take to qualify that, were the words that came to mind. "What kind do you want?" were the ones that inexplicably came out. Pellaeon blinked, running the memory over in his mind over again. Aye, that was what he'd said, all right.

C'baoth smiled once more at his silent confusion. "I merely wish a servant," he said. "Someone who will be waiting at that place for me when I return. Formed from one of the Emperor's prize souvenirs—sample B-2332-54, I believe it was. You volition, of course, print upon the garrison commander at that place that this must be done in total secrecy."

I will do nothing of the sort. "Yep," Pellaeon heard himself say instead. The sound of the discussion shocked him; but certainly he didn't mean it. On the contrary, equally soon every bit the battle was over he'd be reporting this little incident directly to Thrawn.

"Yous will as well continue this conversation a private matter betwixt ourselves," C'baoth said lazily. "One time you have obeyed, you will forget it even happened."

"Of form," Pellaeon nodded, simply to close him up. Aye, he'd report this to Thrawn, all right. The Grand Admiral would know what to exercise.

The countdown reached zero, and on the main wall display the planet Ukio appeared. "We should put up a tactical brandish, Principal C'baoth," he said.

C'baoth waved a hand. "As y'all wish."

Pellaeon reached over the double display ring and touched the proper key, and in the eye of the room the holographic tactical display appeared. The Chimaera was driving toward high orbit above the sunside equator; the ten Katana fleet Dreadnaughts of its task strength were splitting upwardly into outer and inner defense positions; and the Stormhawk was coming in as backstop from the night side. Other ships, generally freighters and other commercial types, could exist seen dropping through the brief gaps Ground Control was opening for them in Ukio's energy shield, a hazy bluish trounce surrounding the planet nigh fifty kilometers above the surface. 2 of the blips flashed cerise: the guide freighters from the Stormhawk, looking as innocent as all the rest of the ships scurrying madly for cover. The freighters, and the four invisible companions they towed.

"Invisible merely to those without eyes to encounter them," C'baoth murmured.

"Then now you lot can see the ships themselves, can you?" Pellaeon growled. "How Jedi skills grow."

He'd been hoping to irritate C'baoth a little—not much, merely a fiddling. But it was a futile effort. "I can run into the men inside your precious cloaking shields," the Jedi Master said placidly. "I can see their thoughts and guide their wills. What does the metal itself matter?"

Pellaeon felt his lip twist. "I suppose there'due south a lot that doesn't matter to yous," he said.

From the corner of his eye he saw C'baoth smile. "What doesn't matter to a Jedi Chief does not matter to the universe."

The freighters and cloaked cruisers were about to the shield now. "They'll be dropping the tow cables as soon as they're within the shield," Pellaeon reminded C'baoth. "Are you set up?"

The Jedi Master straightened up in his seat and closed his eyes to slits. "I await the Grand Admiral's command," he said sardonically.

For another 2nd Pellaeon looked at the other's composed expression, a shiver running up through him. He could recollect vividly the outset time C'baoth had tried this kind of direct long-distance control. Could remember the pain that had been on C'baoth's confront; the pinched look of concentration and desperation as he struggled to concord the mental contacts.

Barely two months ago, Thrawn had confidently said that C'baoth would never be a threat to the Empire because he lacked the ability to focus and concentrate his Jedi power on a long-term ground. Somehow, between that time and at present, C'baoth had obviously succeeded in learning the necessary control.

Which left C'baoth as a threat to the Empire. A very dangerous threat indeed.

The intercom beeped. "Captain Pellaeon?"

Pellaeon reached over the brandish ring and touched the fundamental, pushing away his fears nearly C'baoth as best he could. For the moment, at least, the Fleet needed C'baoth. Fortunately, perhaps, C'baoth also needed the Fleet. "We're prepare, Admiral," he said.

"Stand by," Thrawn said. "Tow cables detaching at present."

"They are free," C'baoth said. "They are under power . . . moving at present to their appointed positions."

"Confirm that they're below the planetary shield," Thrawn ordered.

For the first time a hint of the quondam strain crossed C'baoth'southward face. Hardly surprising; with the cloaking shield preventing the Chimaera from seeing the cruisers and at the same time blinding the cruisers' ain sensors, the only way to know exactly where they were was for C'baoth to practice a precise location check on the minds he was touching. "All four ships are beneath the shield," he said.

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