[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(111)

“I’ll be out of contact for a while,” Pellaeon said, standing up. “I’ll communicate with you when I get back. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Anytime, Admiral,” Hestiv said. “And best of luck with with everything.”

And it was finally time, Pellaeon knew as he headed down the corridor from Hestiv’s office toward the docking bay where his shuttle was berthed. The Yaga Minor shipyards were the last stop on his tour of the Empire’s meager defensive facilities, and he had gleaned as much support from the senior military as he was going to get.

It was time now for the lonely journey to Pesitiin.

He grimaced. It had been three weeks now. Three weeks since Major Vermel would have arrived at Morishim to try to contact General Bel Iblis. Three weeks since he and his Corellian Corvette had vanished without a single trace. The increasingly unavoidable conclusion was that he’d been intercepted somewhere along the way, either by random pirates, overeager New Republic forces, or dissident Imperials.

He’d been a good officer, even a friend, and Pellaeon would mourn his loss and miss his service. But at the moment the critical question was whether he’d been able to deliver his message before that interception occurred.

There was no way for Pellaeon to know. He would simply have to show up at Pesitiin and see if Bel Ibis did likewise.

And if the other did not … well, he would deal with that when and if it became necessary.





CHAPTER


17


Its official name was the Grand Rim Promenade; and even on a world that prided itself on engineering achievements as much as Cejansij clearly did, it was a remarkable achievement indeed. Thirty meters wide at its greatest expanse, attached to the eastern wall of the Canyonade about two-thirds of the way from floor to rim, it stretched the entire length-over ten kilometers-of the canyon. Small trade and vending booths were set up all along the canyon wall, the commercial areas interspersed with conversat ion circles or tiny contoured meditation gardens or sculpture clusters. At other spots the wall had been left completely open to allow unobstructed observation of interesting natural vegetation clumps or the small waterfalls that dribbled softly down toward the canyon floor below.

The far more interesting view, though, was on the other side of the Promenade. Beyond the chest-high, elaborately tooled metal-mesh guardwall one could look down into the Canyonade itself, to the city that had been created across the floor and sides. At regular intervals the guardwall opened up into the skyarches that curved gracefully across the canyon to the lesser and more utilitarian walkways on the far side. The skyarches were arranged in diamond-patterned groups of nine: three connecting with the Promenade, two each connecting with the walkways above and below it, one each from the walkways above and below those.

An impressive achievement, made all the more so by the fact that the entire three-hundred-year-old structure was held solidly in place without any repulsorlift support whatsoever. Walking along the Promenade, gazing across through the gathering darkness at the scattering of lights across the canyon and down below, Luke wondered if anyone in these modern days would have both the skill and the self-confidence to undertake anything of this magnitude.

Rolling along at Luke’s side, Artoo twittered uneasily. “Don’t worry, Artoo, I’m not going to get too close to the edge,” Luke soothed the little droid, shifting his shoulders beneath his hooded cloak. “Anyway, it’s not dangerous-the brochure said there are emergency tractor beams set up to catch anyone who falls.”

Artoo warbled a not entirely convinced acknowledgment. Then, rotating his dome for a surreptitious look behind them, he beeped a question. “Yes,” Luke told him soberly. “He’s still following us.”

Had been following them, in fact, since shortly after their arrival on the Promenade: a large bulky alien, slipping in and out of the other pedestrians with unlikely grace. Luke wasn’t sure exactly when he and Artoo had been spotted and identified; possibly during the turbolift ride down from the spaceport, possibly not until they’d arrived on the Promenade itself.

For that matter, it was entirely possible they hadn’t been identified at all. Their tail could simply be a local thief hoping to relieve a helpless stranger of his astromech droid.

If so, he was going to be in for a surprise.

Artoo twittered again. “Patience,” Luke told him, looking around. They had come to the end of one of the groups of wall-hugging businesses now and were starting into a wide area that featured only a waterfall and two currently unoccupied conversation areas. Quiet, peaceful, and as private as Luke had yet seen up here. An ideal place for holding an impromptu conversation.