[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(125)

But not all that precisely pointed. In fact, the projected cone of hyperdrive-dampening gravity waves was not even close to being centered on the tug-and-back contest taking place out here. If Lando could break free of the tractor beam, there was an even chance he could get to the edge of the cone and escape before the Star Destroyer could reestablish the lock.

If. “Call your aide on the intercom and have him strap down,” he told the Senator. The Lady Luck had one last trick up her sleeve, a little something that one of Luke’s exploits a few years back had inspired Lando to install. Powering up the backup proton torpedo launcher, he keyed for a Stage Three torpedo and fired.

The torpedo flashed out from under the yacht’s bow, accelerating suddenly as the tractor beam yanked at it. There was a flicker from Lando’s board as one of the Star Destroyer’s turbolaser batteries began to track it&mdash

And then, no more than twenty meters in front of the Lady Luck, the torpedo exploded.

Not into a devastating blast, but into a brilliant cloud of trac-reflective particles. Particles that should, in theory, confuse the lock, tie up the entire tractor beam, and let him slip free.

And it was working. The yacht shuddered for a moment and then jerked hard as the invisible grip was abruptly broken. “Hang on!” Lando shouted, turning the ship’s nose hard over. If Luke’s experience with the covert-shroud gambit was anything to go by, he would have bare seconds to get to the edge of the Interdictor Cruiser’s mass-shadow cone before the Imperials woke up and started shooting.

But even as the Lady Luck started to turn, there was a burst of light from behind the particle cloud between him and the Star Destroyer. He had just enough time to see the glittering trac-reflective particles turn a dull, nonreflective black&mdash

And with another jolt the yacht was once again trapped in the tractor beam.

“What now?” Miatamia asked.

“Only one thing we can do,” Lando told him, his stomach tight as he shut down the Lady Luck’s sublight engines. We surrender.”

***

Six stormtroopers led the way, clumping along in perfect unison in three ranks of two each. Behind them, their softer footsteps not even trying to stay in step, strode Miatamia and his aide. Lando walked behind the two Diamala, obscurely glad to be in the less noticeable position in the back.

Not that that spot really gained him anything. There were six more stormtroopers behind him bringing up the rear.

Apart from a brief “come with us” from the stormtrooper commander, there had been no communication between captors and prisoners. But Lando had been aboard more than one Star Destroyer in his time, and he didn’t need either an invitation or a map to know that they were being herded into senior-officer country. Possibly to the Intelligence officer’s nerve center, possibly even to the captain’s office complex itself.

He’d been unable to read the ship’s ID before the Lady Luck had been drawn into the gaping hangar bay, and had been hoping against hope that this was some monstrous practical joke being played on him with one of the New Republic’s captured Star Destroyers. With each passing step, with each Imperial officer or crewer who stepped respectfully aside to give the stormtroopers room, the hope faded a little further.

It seemed to take forever, but finally they came to a halt at a door marked simply SECONDARY COMMAND ROOM. “You are expected,” the commander said from behind Lando as the leading stormtroopers formed a guard semicircle around the door. “Enter.”

“Thank you,” Miatamia said, his voice impossibly calm. The door slid open and, without hesitation, the two Diamala strode inside. Reluctantly, Lando followed&mdash

And nearly ran into Miatamia’s back as both aliens suddenly jerked to a halt. Lando caught his balance, peering between them to try to see what had startled them so much.

The room was sparsely decorated, with little more than some tactical wall monitors and a double ring of repeater displays encircling a command chair in the middle of the room. Standing beside the chair was a hard-faced man wearing major’s insignia.

And rising calmly from the chair itself&mdash

Lando felt his heart seize up in his chest. No.

No, it couldn’t be.

But it was.

“Good day, gentlemen,” Grand Admiral Thrawn said, gesturing to them. “My apologies as to the rather informal method by which you were brought here. please, come inside.”

The horrified moment seemed to stretch itself toward eternity as Lando gazed in stunned horror at that face. It couldn’t be. Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead. He was dead. He had to be.

And yet here he was. Very much alive.

No one had yet moved. “Please, come inside,” the Grand Admiral repeated, this time with an edge of command in his voice.