Authors: Timothy Zahn
“But they have only manual targeting,” Thrawn reminded them. “And the very shields that protect them also make them heavy and unwieldy. Even Nuso Esva’s most expert gunners will have trouble with TIE attack speeds.”
“Unless the TIE is coming straight at them, as is the case with Commander Fel’s scenario,” Nyama said acidly. “No, Admiral Thrawn. Trust me: your TIE fighters will be useless in this battle.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “We shall see.”
“We shall see?” Nyama echoed. “Tell me, Admiral: if the /Admonitor’s/turbolasers are incapable of penetrating the shields, your TIEs certainly won’t be able to do so. What then will you have them do? Destroy the homes of the Workers and Soldiers that lie outside the shield zone?”
“We do not make war on civilians, Liaison Nyama,” Thrawn said, his voice suddenly cold and brittle. “A fact you well know.”
For a second Nyama’s antagonism seemed to waver. Then, his natural Stromma leadership attitude reasserted itself. “Then what /will/ they do?” he demanded.
“As Commander Fel has already stated, there are gaps between the shields,” Thrawn said. “While the juggernauts move into the city, the TIEs will be shooting through those gaps with the goal of demolishing one or more of the shield generators.”
“Generators that are protected by the very shields they create?” Nyama scoffed. “You can’t hit the generators unless you’re already beneath the shields.”
“Unless it happens that a gap between two shields opens up a targeting vector to a third,” Thrawn pointed out. “I admit the probability is low, but as Commander Fel pointed out, the coverage is not as good as it would have been if Nuso Esva had had more shields available. And if such an attack succeeds, the TIEs will be in position to take full advantage of the situation. But no, the downfall of Nuso Esva’s plan will not be our TIE fighters, but our stormtroopers.”
“Your /stormtroopers?”/
Across the table, Balkin stirred at the implied slight against his forces. Thrawn’s hand twitched a warning, and the other subsided.
“Nuso Esva will have instructed the Queen to array the bulk of her Soldiers along Setting Sun Avenue to prevent a sortie from the juggernauts,” the admiral said. “We’ll therefore send a small stormtrooper force into the city southwest of the main assault, angle up toward the juggernaut line’s southern flank, and attack the avenue’s shield generators from behind.”
Nyama shook his head. “Nuso Esva will not sit idly by and let that happen. Nor will the Queen of the Red. The Soldiers lining the attack route will simply turn around and swarm against the stormtroopers.”
“Of course they will,” Thrawn said. “When that happens, the stormtroopers will retreat, drawing them still farther from the
juggernauts and the shields.” He smiled slightly. “And when they’re too far back to respond, the stormtroopers inside the tanks will emerge, cut their way through the remaining Soldiers, and destroy the shields.”
Nyama snorted. “And all this against Quesoth Soldiers? You have far too much confidence in your humans, Admiral Thrawn.”
“The stormtroopers of the 501st consist of humans /and/ nonhumans,” Thrawn reminded him calmly. “Including a number of your own people.”
“Not anymore.” Abruptly, Nyama stood up. “I’ve heard enough. The Stromma council will not risk its warriors in this mad attack. Particularly not an attack against our allies. I hereby withdraw all of them from Imperial service, effective immediately.”
Beside him, the conciliator’s mouth dropped open in clear disbelief. “What Council Liaison Nyama means—”
“Council Liaison Nyama means exactly what he says,” Nyama interrupted. “Give the orders, Admiral Thrawn. Or I will give them for you.”
For a long moment, the room seemed to quiver with the silence of approaching death. Nyama loomed over the still-seated Thrawn like a grass-covered mountain, his black eyes hard, his mouth set at an angle that warned against argument.
Thrawn stirred. “Very well, Council Liaison,” he said. “If you don’t wish to assist in freeing your allies from bondage, your people will be ordered to your carriers.”
“What I /don’t/ wish is for my people to die for nothing,” Nyama ground out. “And it /will/ be for nothing. In two years Nuso Esva and the remnant of his Chosen will find themselves masters of a deserted city. If at that time you still insist on having your vengeance, we will gladly march in alongside you and sing a song to your honor as you destroy him. But I won’t waste my people in a useless and futile battle.”
He glared at the conciliator, as if daring the younger Stromma to dare try to soften his words. But the conciliator had learned his lesson, and remained silent.
“Nuso Esva can do a great deal of damage in those two years,” Parck said. It wasn’t a particularly politic thing to do, he knew, speaking words of contradiction to a Stromma council liaison. But he had no intention of letting his commander take the full brunt of Nyama’s contempt alone. “And there are manufacturing facilities below Red City that he might use to devastating effect. Are you willing to simply stand aside and watch all that happen?”
“The Queen of the Red invited Nuso Esva into her city,” Nyama said, sending an acid-edged glare at Parck. “Whatever happens now is on her head, and upon the heads of her people.”
He turned back to Thrawn. “I return to my shuttle, Admiral Thrawn. I expect all Stromma under your command to be assembled at the /Admonitor’s/ hangar bay within the hour.”
“I’ll give the order,” Thrawn said.
Nyama held the admiral’s gaze another two seconds, then stepped away from the table and strode from the room.
The conciliator stood up, his face pained. “Admiral—”
“Go with your superior,” Thrawn said, his face impassive.
The younger Stromma looked helplessly at the others around the table, then nodded and left without another word.
“Well,” Fel said into the silence. /“That/ went well.”
“Hardly unexpected, though,” Parck agreed heavily.
“True.” Fel cocked an eyebrow at Thrawn. “You /do/ know, Admiral, that I wasn’t exaggerating about the size of that gap. You come in at the wrong angle and graze one of those shields, and it’ll blow off that section of wing and give you enough spin to send you spiraling straight into the ground.”
“I have full confidence that you and your pilots will make it work, Commander.” Thrawn turned to Balkin. “As I also have confidence that you and your stormtroopers will do their part.”
“We will, Admiral,” Balkin said quietly.
“So the plan’s still on?” Parck asked.
“It is,” Thrawn confirmed.
Parck felt his lip twitch. “I /have/ spoken to some of the other Stromma who understand Quesoth Soldier Speak,” he said. “They say that even if we’re able to record enough of the Queen’s orders during the battle, it’ll be impossible to pick-and-stitch the words together to create counter-orders of our own.”
“My Stromma trainees say the same thing,” Balkin confirmed. “There’s some kind of pitch rhythm in the subharmonics that a set of randomly stitched words won’t be able to match.”
“We shall see,” Thrawn said. “Are there any other thoughts or concerns?”
Parck looked around the table. No one seemed inclined to say anything more. “Then you’re dismissed,” Thrawn said formally. “Make your final preparations, then get your forces fed and to sleep.” His eyes glittered. “Tomorrow, at midmorning, we attack.”
It was not in the nature of Imperial stormtroopers to hide themselves from view. Their entire attitude and training, not to mention their gleaming white armor, tended in exactly the opposite direction.
Nevertheless, stormtrooper Lhagva of the Stromma contingent was trying to stay out of everyone’s sight.
For the first hour he succeeded, running a quiet path between the /Admonitor/’s main trooper kitchen area and the equipment storage facility, choosing a route senior officers seldom traveled unless they had a reason to be there. He kept an ear cocked as he strode silently along, listening for loud voices and stern, determined footsteps.
He was ten minutes into the second hour when his luck ran out. Rounding a stack of safety-webbed crates, he ran smack into Line Lieutenant Dramos Sanjin, perched casually on the saddle of a Mobquet reconnaissance swoop.
“Stormtrooper Lhagva,” Sanjin said with an air of clearly artificial casualness. “You seem to have missed the order that all Stromma aboard the /Admonitor/ were to report to the Number Three hangar deck for disembarkation.”
“My apologies, Lieutenant,” Lhagva said, striving for the right mix of surprise and chagrin. “I’ve been having trouble with my hearing lately.”
“Really,” Sanjin said. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble with Commander Balkin’s order to report to the practice range earlier this afternoon.”
Lhagva grimaced. Sanjin had him, and there really was no point in carrying on the charade any longer. “I heard a rumor that all the Stromma were being taken off in advance of the attack,” he said. “I wanted to stay.”
“You feel entitled to ignore orders you don’t feel like obeying?”
“You need me, Lieutenant,” Lhagva said, painfully aware that he was walking on extremely thin stone here. “Puriv and I are the only ones in the assault force who understand Quesoth Soldier Speak. We’re the only ones who can give you any advance warning of what the Queen of the Red is ordering her forces to do.”
“Yet Puriv left the /Admonitor/ as ordered,” Sanjin said. “Are you saying he doesn’t have the same loyalty to the unit that you do?”
“Puriv has a family, and a strong family honor that he must uphold,” Lhagva said. “Disobeying his orders would shame them all.”
“Whereas you’re an orphan who has no one to shame?”
“I’m an orphan who will dishonor no one but myself,” Lhagva corrected. “I’m willing to accept that shame.”
“Stromma discipline can be harsh,” Sanjin warned. “Imperial discipline can be even worse.”
“I understand,” Lhagva said. “Discipline or discharge me as you must, Lieutenant. But I beg you, don’t do either until after tomorrow.”
Sanjin studied Lhagva’s face. “You feel that strongly about this battle?”
“The Quesoth are Stromma allies,” Lhagva said. “More than that, I spent two years in the Stromma diplomatic enclave at the edge of the Black City. I like these people, and I don’t want to see them destroyed.”
“And you think that likely?”
“If Nuso Esva isn’t stopped, it’s the only possible outcome,” Lhagva said. “If he succeeds in holding the Red City, it’ll be only a matter of time before he also takes the White City, then the Black City, and then the entire planet.”
“And you want to see him stopped.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Even at the risk of your own life and honor?”
“I’m an Imperial stormtrooper, Lieutenant,” Lhagva said. “I live or die at the pleasure of my superiors and my commander.”
“And if it pleases those same superiors for you to sit this one out?”
Lhagva swallowed hard, wishing he could read Sanjin’s face. But human expressions were always so hard for him to penetrate. “Then I will resign my commission and accompany my former unit to the surface as a civilian,” he said. “Stowing away aboard the transport if need be.”
For a dozen heartbeats Sanjin just gazed at him. “This hearing problem of yours,” he said at last. “Comes and goes, does it?”
It took Lhagva a moment to figure out what Sanjin was talking about. And there was a strange look the human’s eye…“Yes, sir, it does,” he said. “As I said earlier—”
“Sounds serious,” Sanjin cut in. “You’d better report to the medical bay. I’ll let the Stromma liaison officer know that you’ll be remaining aboard until the diagnostic droids have come up with a reading and a course of treatment.” He cocked his head. “I’m sure you’ll be ordered to remain in the bay until the assault transports have all launched at midmorning tomorrow.”
“Hopefully, my hearing will be functional when that order is given.” Lhagva bowed his head. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sanjin warned. “Better yet, don’t thank me at all. If we’re both still alive this time tomorrow Captain Parck will probably flay both of us alive. That is, if Commander Balkin doesn’t get to us first.” He gestured. “Get to the medical bay, and then get some rest. One way or the other, tomorrow is likely to end badly.”
It was midmorning, and Trevik was once again holding the nectar bowl at the Queen’s side when one of the Storm-hairs came unexpectedly into the Dwelling of Guests with an urgent report.
The forces of Grand Admiral Thrawn had left the star caravan and were moving toward the edges of the Red City.
“Excellent,” Nuso Esva said with an almost eager satisfaction in his voice. “All is prepared?”
“All is prepared,” the other Storm-hair confirmed.
Nuso Esva turned to the Queen. “Your forces are also arrayed as I ordered, O Queen?”
Trevik’s eyes flicked sideways to the Queen’s litter. The Queen’s Soldiers, as /Nuso Esva/ had ordered? Had /ordered?/
Such blatant effrontery should have earned Nuso Esva words of sharp rebuke, possibly even death at the hands of the Soldiers standing their usual guard outside the Dwelling. But to Trevik’s even greater surprise, the Queen made neither response. “They are so arrayed,” she said instead. “You are certain your weapons can stop the invading forces?”