[Thrawn Trilogy] - 01(32)
I was wrong.
The words echoed through Luke’s mind, all the way back to Coruscant.
Chapter 8
For a long minute Grand Admiral Thrawn sat in his chair, surrounded by his holographic works of art, and said nothing. Pellaeon kept himself at a motionless attention, watching the other’s expressionless face and glowing red eyes and trying not to think about the fate couriers of bad news had often suffered at the hands of Lord Vader. “All died but the coordinator, then?” Thrawn asked at last.
“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon confirmed. He glanced across the room, to where C’baoth stood studying one of the wall displays, and lowered his voice a bit. “We’re still not entirely sure what went wrong.”
“Instruct Central to give the coordinator a thorough debriefing,” Thrawn said. “What report from Wayland?”
Pellaeon had thought they’d been talking too quietly for C’baoth to hear them. He was wrong. “Is that it, then?” C’baoth demanded, turning away from the display and striding over to tower over Thrawn’s command chair. “Your Noghri have failed; so too bad, and on to more pressing business? You promised me Jedi, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
Thrawn gazed coolly up at him. “I promised you Jedi,” he acknowledged. “And I will deliver them.” Deliberately, he turned back to Pellaeon. “What report from Wayland?” he repeated.
Pellaeon swallowed, trying hard to remember that with ysalamiri scattered all through the command room, C’baoth had no power whatsoever. At least for the moment. “The engineering team has finished its analysis, sir,” he told Thrawn. “They report that the cloaking shield schematics seem complete, but that to actually build one will take some time. It’ll also be highly expensive, at least for a ship the size of the Chimaera.”
“Fortunately, they won’t have to start with anything nearly this big,” Thrawn said, handing Pellaeon a data card. “Here are the specs for what we’ll need at Sluis Van.”
“The shipyards?” Pellaeon frowned, taking the data card. The Grand Admiral had so far been very secretive about both his goals and the strategy for that attack.
“Yes. Oh, and we’re also going to need some advanced mining machines-mole miners, I believe they’re informally called. Have Intelligence start a records search; we’ll need a minimum of forty.”
“Yes, sir.” Pellaeon made a note on his data pad. “One other thing, sir.” He threw a quick glance at C’baoth. “The engineers also report that nearly eighty percent of the Spaarti cylinders we’ll need are functional or can be restored to working order with relative ease.”
“Spaarti cylinders?” C’baoth frowned. “What are those?”
“Just that other little bit of technology I was hoping to find in the mountain,” Thrawn soothed him, throwing a quick warning look in Pellaeon’s direction. An unnecessary precaution; Pellaeon had already decided that discussing Spaarti cylinders with C’baoth would not be a smart thing to do. “So. Eighty percent. That’s excellent, Captain. Excellent.” A gleam came into those glowing eyes. “How very thoughtful of the Emperor to have left such fine equipment for us to rebuild his Empire with. What about the mountain’s power and defense systems?”
“Also operational, for the most part,” Pellaeon said. “Three of the four reactors have already been brought on line. Some of the more esoteric defenses seem to have decayed, but what’s left should defend the storehouse more than adequately.”
“Again, excellent,” Thrawn nodded. The brief flicker of emotion was gone, and he was all cool business again. “Instruct them to begin bringing the cylinders to full operational status. The Death’s Head should arrive within two or three days with the extra specialists and two hundred ysalamiri they’ll need to get things started. At that point-” he smiled faintly “-we’ll be ready to begin the operation in earnest. Beginning with the Sluis Van shipyards.”
“Yes, sir.” Pellaeon glanced at C’baoth again. “And about Skywalker and his sister?”
“We’ll use Team Four next,” the Grand Admiral said. “Transmit a message telling them to withdraw from their current assignment and stand ready for further orders.”
“You want me to transmit the message, sir?” Pellaeon asked. “Not that I’m questioning the order,” he added hastily. “But in the past you’ve usually preferred to contact them yourself.”
Thrawn’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Team Eight failed me,” he said softly. “Sending the message through you will let the others know how displeased I am.”