"I'm glad you think so," Flim said irritably, examining his hand closely where Nalgol had gripped it. "It wasn't your hand he came over and-"

"I said relax," Tierce said again, and this time there was an edge to his voice. "He wasn't putting anything in. He was taking something out."

"A small skin sample, to be exact," Disra said, finally catching on. "Which he'll undoubtedly take straight over to the archives to compare against the genetic profile in Thrawn's ID records."

"Exactly," Tierce said. "And once he's convinced-and he'll certainly share his findings with the others-there will be literally nothing they won't do for us."

"I wondered why you were so insistent we get those ID records altered last night," Disra said. "Not exactly a large margin of error built into that operation."

"Especially considering the two of us were taking all the risks," Flim seconded, still cradling his hand. "You weren't even in the room with us."

"Calm down, both of you," Tierce said, a hint of contempt in his tone. "There's a long way yet to go on this. I hope you're not losing your nerve already."

"Don't worry about our nerve, Major," Disra bit out. "You just worry about this strategy of yours actually working."

"It will," Tierce a.s.sured him. "Trust me. Whatever the preliminary skirmishes, the opening battle of the Rebellion's final civil war will be fought over Bothawui. The Caamas Doc.u.ment will insure that. We want to orchestrate the details of that blow-up as best we can; and we want an Imperial presence at Bothawui to make sure the damage to both sides is as extensive as possible."

"Well, whatever we do, we'd. better do it quickly," Disra warned. "Pellaeon's already three-quarters of the way to making my connection to the Cavrilhu Pirates and their a.s.sociates. If he does a check and finds my sector fleet missing four Star Destroyers, he's going to be all over me."

"There's not much we can do about the timetable," Tierce reminded him. "The three heading to the Bothawui system won't be in attack position for several weeks."

"Then perhaps we should sc.r.a.p the comet aspect," Disra said. "They can form up around some other marker."

"There isn't one," Tierce said patiently. "At least, nothing that would be safe for them to use. You'll just have to use your native charm to keep Pellaeon at bay."

"I'll do my best," Disra said sarcastically. "And what sort of charm would you suggest I use on Captain Zothip?"

"What's wrong with Captain Zothip?" Flim asked.

"Major Tierce called and told him we were cutting off their supply of clones," Disra growled. "Zothip is rather upset."

"We've been through this once already," Tierce said with an air of strained patience. We need those clones ourselves now. Zothip has no cause to complain-he's benefited well enough from having them aboard his ships. Anyway, what are you worried about? That he'll come here and demand satisfaction?"

"You don't know Zothip," Disra said heavily.

"He's sc.u.m from the fringe," Tierce said, dismissing the pirate with a twist of his lip.

"Buy him off or calm him down-I don't care which,"

"I'm less worried about Zothip than I am about your att.i.tude," Disra countered. "From now on, major decisions like this are going to be made jointly. I won't have you tearing down things I've built and then handing me the pieces to put back together."

For a long moment Tierce just looked at him. "Let's get one thing straight right now, Disra," he said at last, his voice icy smooth. "I'm in command of the military aspects of this operation, All of them. That's what you offered me, and that's what I'm taking. Your part right now-your only part right now-is to supply the ships and men I need, and to handle any political aspects that crop up."

Disra glared again at him. But it was a glare whose edge he could feel blunting. Just what sort of monster had he created here? "Is that all I am to you?" he asked Tierce quietly.

"Your supply officer?"

Tierce smiled, a cold twitch of the corner of his lip. "Afraid you've lost control of this scheme you've created? Don't be. My goal here-my only goal-is to avenge the Emperor's death and wipe the Rebellion off every map of the galaxy. After that, my job is done.

Ruling the new Empire that emerges will be entirely up to you."

For a moment Disra eyed him, trying to read past his stony expression, trying not to let wishful thinking color his judgment. If the man was lying. . .

No. Tierce was a soldier; an uncommonly good one, but a soldier nonetheless. He had nowhere near the political skills or experience Disra himself possessed. Even if he grew to like the taste of power, he would still need Disra after the fighting was over.

"Most triumvirates are unstable, Your Excellency," Film spoke up. "I know; I've seen many of them rise and collapse among pirate and smuggler organizations in the fringe. But this one is different. None of us can make it work without both of the others."

"He's right," Tierce agreed. "So shut up your whining and do your part. Or it'll be penal colonies for all of us."

"Agreed," Disra said reluctantly. "My apologies, Major. It won't happen again."

"Good," Tierce said briskly. "Back to business. I'm going to need a copy of the decryption algorithm you used to slice into the Emperor's and Thrawn's private records."

Disra frowned. "What for?"

"So that I can pull a complete list of the sleeper cells Thrawn planted around the Rebellion," Tierce explained. "We're going to need all the trained Imperial soldiers and pilots we can get our hands on."

That seemed reasonable enough. "All right," Disra said. "But I can pull the list for you."

"It would be useful if I could get into those files myself whenever I needed to," Tierce pointed out.

"It would also be useful for me to know a few things that you don't," Disra countered.

"For the sake of balance and all."

Tierce shook his head. "Fine. Go ahead and play your little games. Just get me that list."

Disra inclined his head in an ironic bow. "Immediately, Major."

No, there would be no more outbursts, Disra decided as he walked back across the office to the secret tunnel. But that didn't mean he wouldn't keep a close eye on his partners in this triumvirate. And if they both still needed him, the time might well come when he no longer needed them.

It was something to think about.

CHAPTER6 She was short, she was furry, she was loud, and she was determined to sell him a melon.

"Sorry," Wedge Antilles said, moving away as best he could in the press of the crowded Morishim marketplace, holding his hands palms outward in front of him. "Not interested in wk'ou melons today, thanks."

Either the female Morish didn't understand Basic or else she wasn't ready. to concede defeat quite yet. She followed along with him behind her produce table, paralleling his retreat, thrusting the double-bulbous, pale red melon toward him and jabbering away nonstop in her own language. "Not today," Wedge repeated firmly, looking around and trying to catch a glimpse of any of his Rogue Squadron teammates in the crowd of shoppers. Janson and Tycho were supposed to know a little of the Morish language, but neither of them was anywhere to be seen.

But there was a gap freshly opened up in the pedestrian traffic pattern beside him. "Maybe tomorrow," he called to the wk'ou seller, and made his escape.

"For a big bad X-wing warrior, you're sure rotten at saying no," Janson's voice said from behind him.

"I didn't buy it, did I?" Wedge countered, turning to face his grinning teammate. "Where were you when I needed you?"

"Oh, I caught most of the show," Janson said, grinning a little wider. "I especially liked the part where you gave her that palms-outward sign."

Wedge felt his eyes narrow. "That doesn't mean no' here?"

"Not quite," Janson said, clearly enjoying himself. "It means you don't want it at that price but that she might want to try a better offer."

"Oh, well, thanks for telling me that going in," Wedge growled. "No wonder she wouldn't leave me alone."

"It's a big galaxy," Janson said philosophically. "There's so much out there to learn.

Come on-I ran into an old friend of yours over here."

"As long as he doesn't try to sell me something," Wedge grumbled as Janson led the way through the shoppers. "Any word from the base?"

"Hardly," Janson said over his shoulder. "The meeting only started half an hour ago. With a general of Bel Iblis's standing, they probably haven't even gotten through the preliminary compliments yet. Here we go. Hey-General!"

A few people away a distinguished-looking man in a black cloak turned around&mdash "Well, well," Wedge said, easing through the pa.s.sersby and offering his hand. "General Calrissian."

"It's just plain Calrissian now," Lando Calrissian corrected, tucking the wk'ou melon he was carrying. under one arm and gripping Wedge's hand. "My military days are long behind me. Good to see you again, Wedge."

"You, too," Wedge said. "What are you doing in this part of the galaxy?"

"Hoping for a chance to talk to General Bel Iblis," Lando said, nodding his head back toward the pyramidal launch towers of the New Republic Starfighter Base rising up behind the city. "We have got to do something about the pirate activity we've been getting out near Varn."

"Been hitting your ore shipments, have they?" Wedge asked.

"That, and scaring away potential customers," Lando said. "I don't know if you knew I added a casino and observation gallery to the Deep Pockets."

"Sounds like a really big draw," Janson said dryly.

"You'd be surprised how interesting underwater mining is to watch," Lando told him.

"Actually, at full capacity the casino could probably pay the overhead for the whole operation all by itself. But not if everyone's afraid to come there."

"Pirate gangs have been coming out of the stonework just about everywhere," Wedge agreed.

"Even in the Core systems. Have you tried talking to Coruscant?"

"Till my voice gave out," Lando said sourly. "Didn't gain me a thing. The bureaucratic bit-sorters there are as bad as the ones we had under the Empire."

Janson snorted. "Some of them are the same ones."

"This latest policy reorganization should help," Wedge said, trying to steer the conversation away from what was a permanent sore point for him and his Rogue Squadron comrades. "Shifting the bulk of political power back down to system and sector levels is definitely the way to go. The Empire already proved the centralized approach doesn't work."

He looked up at the clear blue sky overhead. "Funny, isn't it, how things wind up. I remember when being in a system this close to the edge of Imperial s.p.a.ce meant you slept in your X-wing. Instead, here we are, strolling along like we were on Svivren or Ord Mantell."

"I wouldn't get too overconfident if I were you," Janson warned. "The Empire isn't exactly dead yet. They could still deliver a pretty good punch if they wanted to."

"And they've looked like they were ready to throw in their cards before," Lando added.

"Remember what things were like just before Grand Admiral Thrawn came back from wherever it was he'd been hiding?"

"Wedge?" a voice called over the din. "Hey-Wedge!"

Wedge peered over the crowd, caught a glimpse of tousled light brown hair, and lifted a hand. "Over here."

"Who's that?" Lando asked, craning his neck to peer over the crowd.

"His name's Tycho Celchu," Wedge told him. "One of my Rogue Squadron people. I don't know if you ever met him."

Tycho reached them. "Hey, Wedge, you've got to come hear this guy," he said, his voice and face dark. "Come on-he's over here."

He led them through the marketplace to a small booth with a wizened Morish hunched over it. "Here he is,') Tycho said, gathering the others in front of the booth. "W'simip'rotou?"

"M'rish'kavjsh f'oril," the Morish wheezed. "M'shisht C'aama' por kri'vres'ymj B'oth."

Janson whistled softly. "What is it?" Wedge asked.

"He says new information's just been dug up about the destruction of Caamas," Tycho said grimly. "And that it was the Bothans who were responsible."

Wedge stared at Tycho. "You must be joking," he said.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Tycho bit out, a fire in his blue eyes. "Figures, doesn't it?

Endor, Borleias, and now this."

"Take it easy," Wedge said, putting some parade-ground steel into his voice. "Borleias wasn't really the Bothans' fault."

Tycho's shoulders shifted uneasily. "Not all of it, anyway," he conceded grudgingly.

Wedge looked at Lando. "Have you heard anything about fresh Caamas information?"

"Not a whisper," Lando said, eyeing the Morish suspiciously. "Ask him where he heard it."

"Right." Tycho spoke to the Morish again, got an answer. "He says it came from the Old Recluse," he translated. "He lives up in a cave in the high Tatmana. Apparently knows everything about what goes on in the galaxy."

Wedge turned and looked up at the Tatmana Mountains, rising in a saw-toothed crest in the distance on the opposite side of the city from the New Republic base, On the face of it, it was absurd to think that some old native hermit would have any idea what was even going on in the city down here, let alone in the larger galaxy above his mountains.

But on the other hand, Wedge had hung around Luke Skywalker long enough to know that there were a lot of unexplainable things in the galaxy. Maybe this Old Recluse was one of those latent Force-users Luke was always trying to find.

And it wasn't like they were exactly busy right now, anyway. "Ask him where we can find this Old Recluse," he instructed Tycho.

"You going up there?" Lando asked as Tycho began talking to the Morish again. "What in the worlds for?"

"Curiosity," Wedge told him. "We've got time&mdashthe general won't be needing us for at least a few more hours. You coming?"

Lando sighed. "Lead the way."