It was an Intelligence report, purchased from a Devaronian freelancer named Lak Jit, concerning the discovery in the Mount Tantiss ruins of a partial record of the destruction of Caamas. "This is perfect," he told Tierce as he skimmed through it. "Exactly what we need."

Tierce shook his head. "Certainly it's useful. But it's not enough."

"Ah, but it is," Disra said, feeling a tight smile tugging at his lips as he reread the crucial parts of the report. "I don't think you fully understand the political situation the New Republic finds itself in these days. A flash point like Caamas-especially with Bothan involvement-will bring the whole thing to a boil. Particularly if we can give it the proper nudge."

"The situation among the Rebels is not the issue," Tierce countered coldly. "It's the state of the Empire you don't seem to understand. Simply tearing the Rebellion apart is not going to rebuild the Emperor's New Order. We need a focal point, a leader around whom the Imperial forces can rally. Admiral Pellaeon is the closest thing we have to such an authority figure, and he's obviously lost the will to fight."

"Forget Pellaeon," Disra said. "Suppose I could provide such a leader. Would you be willing to join us?"

Tierce eyed him. "Who is this us' you refer to?"

"If you join, there would be three of us," Disra said. "Three who would share the secret I'm prepared to offer you. A secret that will bring the entire Fleet onto our side."

Tierce smiled cynically. "You'll forgive me, Your Excellency, if I suggest you couldn't inspire blind loyalty in a drugged bantha."

Disra felt a flash of anger. How dare this common soldier-? "No," he agreed, practically choking out the word from between clenched teeth. Tierce was hardly a common soldier, after all. More importantly, Disra desperately needed a man of his skills and training. "I would merely be the political power behind the throne. Plus the supplier of military men and materiel, of course."

"From the Braxant Sector Fleet?"

"And other sources," Disra said. "You, should you choose to join us, would serve as the architect of our overall strategy."

"I see." If Tierce was bothered by the word serve,' he didn't show it. "And the third person?"

"Are you with us?"

Tierce studied him. "First tell me more."

"I'll do better than tell you." Disra pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'll show you."

Judging from Tierce's lack of reaction, the supposedly secret corridor between the private office and Disra's quarters came as no surprise to the former Guardsman. The camouflaged doorway halfway along it, however, did. "Installed by the palace's previous owner," Disra explained as they walked down a narrow pa.s.sageway to an equally narrow turbolift car. "It goes down fifty meters. From there you can then go either to the torture chamber beneath the dungeon level or to a secret exit tunnel in the hills to the north. I've sometimes wondered which direction he used the most"

Which are we using today?" Tierce asked as the turbolift car started down.

"The one to the torture chamber," Disra said. "It's the most private and secure place in the palace. Or anywhere on Bastion, for that matter. The third person of our group is waiting there."

The car stopped and the door slid open. Two narrow, rough-carved tunnels branched off the open s.p.a.ce in front of the turbolift; brushing aside a stray strand of cobweb, Disra led the way down the rightmost corridor. It ended in a dusty metal door with a wheel set into its center. Gripping the edges of the wheel, Disra turned; and with a creak that echoed eerily in the confined s.p.a.ce the door swung open.

The previous owner would hardly have recognized his onetime torture chamber. The instruments of pain and terror had been taken out, the walls and floor cleaned and carpet-insulated, and the furnishings of a fully functional modern apartment installed.

But for the moment Disra had no interest in the chamber itself. All his attention was on Tierce as the former Guardsman stepped into the room.

Stepped into the room . . . and caught sight of the room's single occupant, seated in the center in a duplicate of a Star Destroyer's captain's chair.

Tierce froze, his eyes widening with shock, his entire body stiffening as if a power current had jolted through him. His eyes darted to Disra, back to the captain's chair, flicked around the room as if seeking evidence of a trap or hallucination or perhaps his own insanity, back again to the chair. Disra held his breath And then, abruptly, Tierce straightened to parade-ground attention. "Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir," he said with laser-sharp military formality. "Stormtrooper TR-889, reporting for duty."

Disra shifted his attention to the room's occupant as he rose slowly to his feet. To the blue skin, the blue-black hair, the glowing red eyes, the white Grand Admiral's uniform.

The glowing eyes met Disra's; then he turned back to Tierce. Welcome back to duty, stormtrooper," he said gravely. "However, I'm afraid I must tell you"-he glanced again at Disra-"that I'm not who you think I am."

The first hint of a frown crept across Tierce's face. "Sir?"

"Allow me," Disra said. Stepping across the room, he took hold of the white uniform sleeve and pulled the man a step closer to Tierce. "Major Tierce: allow me to present my a.s.sociate Flim.

"A highly talented con artist."

For a long minute the room was filled with a brittle silence. Tierce stared at the white-uniformed impostor, disbelief and disappointment mixing with anger and betrayal in his face. Disra watched the play of emotions, his pulse pounding unpleasantly in his neck.

If Tierce let his pride take charge here-if he chose to take offense at the deception they'd just played on him-then neither Disra nor Flim would be leaving this room alive.

Tierce turned his gaze onto Disra, the emotional turmoil retreating behind a mask of stone. "Explain," he said darkly.

"You said yourself the Empire needed a leader," Disra reminded him. "What better leader could we have than Grand Admiral. Thrawn?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Tierce looked back at the false Grand Admiral. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"As His Excellency told you, my name is Flim." the other said. His voice was subtly changed, his manner no longer the powerful, almost regal air of a Grand Admiral. Precisely the same transformation, Disra realized suddenly, as the one Tierce himself had gone through a few minutes ago up in the private office, except in reverse.

Perhaps Tierce recognized that, too. "Interesting," he said, taking a step forward and peering closely at Flim's face. "It's uncanny. You look exactly like him."

"He should," Disra said. "It took me nearly eight years of searching to find someone who could pull off such a masquerade. I've been planning this a long time."

"So I see." Tierce gestured. "How do you do the eyes?"

"Surface inserts," Disra said. "Self-powered to provide the red glow. The rest is just skin and hair coloring, plus a remarkable voice control and natural acting ability."

"I've done many such impersonations," Flim said. "This is just one more." He smiled.

"Though with considerably greater potential for reward."

"It's remarkable," Tierce said, looking back at Disra. "There's only one problem. Thrawn is dead, and everyone knows it."

Disra lifted his eyebrows. "Ah, but do they? He was reported dead, certainly, but that may or may not mean anything at all. Perhaps he was merely comatose from Rukh's knife wound.

Perhaps he was taken to some secret place where he has spent the long years in recovery."

He nodded toward Flim. "Or perhaps it was actually an impostor like Flim who died on the Chimaera's bridge. You said you were expecting an attack on him at Bilbringi; perhaps Thrawn was, too, and made private arrangements of his own."

Tierce snorted. "Farfetched."

"Of course," Disra agreed. "But that doesn't matter. All we need to do is present Thrawn, and wishful thinking will do the rest. The entire Empire will rush to believe in him, from Admiral Pellaeon on down."

"Is that your plan, then?" Tierce asked. "To present the Grand Admiral to Pellaeon, reinstate him aboard the Chimaera, and use him as a rallying point for the Empire?"

"Basically," Disra said, frowning. "Why?"

For a moment Tierce was silent "You said you had other resources besides the Braxant Sector Fleet," he said. "What are they?"

Disra glanced at Flim. But the con man was merely looking interestedly at Tierce. "I have an arrangement with the Cavrilhu Pirates," he told the Guardsman. "They're a large and highly sophisticated group working out of-"

"I'm familiar with Captain Zothip's gang," Tierce said. "Not particularly sophisticated, to my mind, but certainly large enough. What sort of arrangement?"

"One of interlocking interests," Disra said. "I use Imperial Intelligence reports to locate useful New Republic shipments, which Zothip then attacks. He gets whatever booty he can; we get further destabilization of our enemy."

"And a share of the SoroSuub Preybirds being turned out by Zothip's production line?"

Tierce suggested.

Disra pursed his lips. Either Tierce knew a great deal more than he should about the Moff's secrets, or he was a lot sharper than Disra had expected. Either way, he wasn't sure he liked it. "We're getting all the Preybirds, actually," he said. "Zothip has all the starfighters he needs."

"How are you paying for them?"

"With the kind of expert a.s.sistance Zothip can't get anywhere else," Disra said, favoring the other with a sly smile. "I'm loaning him some very special warrior-advisers: groups of Thrawn's own Mount Tantiss clones."

He had the satisfaction of seeing Tierce's jaw drop a fraction. "There are still some of them left?"

"There are whole nests of them left," Disra told him sourly. "Our clever little Grand Admiral scattered groups all over the New Republic under deep cover. What he intended to do with them I don't know; there wasn't anything in his records specifically concerning-"

"You found Thrawn's records?" Tierce cut him off. "His personal records, I mean?"

"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."

"But how?" Fey'lya asked. "The Bothans have searched long and hard for a list of those responsible, both in the official clan libraries on Bothawui as well as on all our colony worlds and enclaves. It simply doesn't exist."

"It existed here," Leia pointed out, puffing the datacard from the datapad. "I'm convinced it did. We can see if the techs can reconstruct it; if they can't, we'll just have to locate another copy somewhere. At least now we know what to look for."

"We can try," Fey'lya said doubtfully. "But in the meantime, what do you plan to do?"

Leia fingered the datacard. "I can't just forget the whole thing, Councilor Fey'lya-you have to understand that I have to at least take it to the rest of the High Council. But I'll do what I can to persuade President Gavrisom that it shouldn't be made public. At least not until the techs have had time to see what they can do with the ruined sections."

"I see," Fey'lya said, his fur and emotions both rippling. "Whether the techs will keep silent is of course another question. More important, what about the smuggler Talon Karrde? You said he also knows."

"He's given his promise that he won't say anything," Leia told him. And he has a message out to the rest of his people to watch for the Devaronian who found the datacard. Maybe they can catch up with him before he tells anyone else."

Fey'lya sniffed. "You really, think he hasn't already told others? After the way you and Karrde treated him?"