[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(29)

“Of course,” Disra said, frowning slightly. For an instant there had suddenly been something electric in the Guardsman’s expression. “How else do you think I knew how to find where he’d hidden all those clones?”

The flash of interest had already vanished behind Tierce’s mask. “Of course,” he said calmly. “What else was in there?”

“There was the outline of a grand strategy,” Disra said, watching him closely. But whatever had sparked that flicker was buried again. “His plans for the next five years’ worth of campaigns against the New Republic. Incredibly detailed; unfortunately, at this point, also completely useless.”

“I’d be careful about dismissing anything Thrawn ever did as completely useless,” Tierce reproved him mildly. “Anything else?”

Disra shrugged. “Personal memoirs and such. Nothing that struck me as militarily interesting. You’re welcome to look through them later if you want.”

“Thank you,” Tierce said. “I believe I will.”

“I take it,” Flim put in, “that you’re considering something more ambitious than simply using my Thrawn as a rallying point?”

Tierce inclined his head slightly to the con man. “Very perceptive, Admiral,” he said. “Yes, I think we can do better than that. Much better, in fact. Is there a computer terminal down here?-ah; excellent. I’ll need the datacards we left on your desk, Your Excellency. Would you mind getting them?”

“Not at all,” Disra murmured. “I’ll be right back.”

Already busy at the computer terminal, Tierce didn’t bother to answer. For a moment Disra gazed at the back of his head, wondering if he might possibly have miscalculated. Major Tierce, former Royal Guardsman, would be a useful servant. He would not be an appreciated master.

But for right now, they all needed each other. Swallowing his words, and his pride, Disra stepped out into the tunnel and headed back toward the turbolift.





CHAPTER


5


Councilor Borsk Fey’lya looked up from the datapad, his violet eyes dilated, his cream-colored fur flattened tightly against his body. “So it has finally come to light,” he whispered.”

“Yes, it has,” Leia said. “And it demands an explanation.”

Fey’lya shook his head. “There is nothing to explain,” he said softly. “It is true.”

“I see,” Leia said, feeling a heaviness settle across her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been hoping that Karrde had been right about the Caamas record being a forgery. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” Fey’lya said, his gaze drifting away from Leia to the datapad again.

“Then you know who was involved.”

“No,” Fey’lya said. “That is the core of the problem, Councilor Organa Solo. And the reason we have been silent over this for so long. We know only what you now know: that a group of Bothans helped agents of Senator Palpatine gain access to the Caamas shield generators. We don’t even know the clan involved, let alone the specific individuals.”

“Did you try to find out?” Leia asked bluntly.

Fey’lya’s fur rippled. “Of course we did. But Palpatine had covered his trail far too well. It was only long after the event, in the early days of the Rebellion, that the chief clan leaders even became aware of Bothan complicity at Caamas. It was our shock at that revelation, in fact, that moved us to dedicate our people to the Rebel Alliance and Palpatine’s downfall. But the trail was by then too old to follow.”

Leia sighed. “I understand.”

“You believe me, don’t you?” Fey’lya persisted. “You must believe me.”

For a moment Leia didn’t speak. Gazing into his face, reaching out with the Force, she searched as best she could for any hint of deception. But if it was there, she couldn’t find it. “I believe you’re telling the truth, at least as far as you know it,” she told the Bothan. “Unfortunately, I’m not the only one you’ll have to convince.”

Fey’lya shivered, random clumps of his fur stiffening across his body. “No,” he agreed soberly. “There will be many who will believe we are merely protecting the criminals in the name of Bothan solidarity.”

Leia picked up the datapad, suppressing a grimace. He was certainly right about that. The Bothan approach to interstellar politics was far more biting and pop-and-topple than many in the New Republic cared for. Even species who thought nothing of all-out physical combat between themselves generally tried to moderate their approach when dealing with outsiders. The fact that the Bothans were either unable or unwilling to do likewise had earned them more than their fair share of ill will in diplomatic circ les. “I agree,” she said. “All the more reason to get this resolved as quickly as possible.”