Prelude: Heir to the Emperor

“Where do you suppose C’baoth found that Lancer?” Pellaeon murmured as the guards helped the nav officer out of his seat and carried him aft.

“He most likely hijacked it,” Thrawn said, his voice tight. “He’s been sending messages for us over distances of several light-years, and he certainly knows how to take control of people. Apparently, he’s learned how to meld the two abilities.”

Pellaeon looked down into the crew pit, a shiver running up his back. “I’m not sure I like that, sir.” —Dark Force Rising

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In an isolated region of deep space known only as the Depot, the Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera glided silently.

Silently, but not alone. Visible off the Chimaera’s starboard side trailed the elongated and elegant shape of a Lancer-class Frigate. Beyond the Lancer there were only the tiny pinpricks of a million stars shining light-years in the distance. And beyond that, the blackness of deep space.

Captain Pellaeon made his way quickly down the corridor that connected the Chimaera’s bridge with the room Grand Admiral Thrawn had transformed into his personal command center. The hall was long and empty, and Pellaeon had only the echo of his own bootsteps for company. His left hand was clenched nervously; in his right he held tightly to a slim data pad. And on that data pad…

Pellaeon finally stopped outside an unmarked door, taking a deep breath. “Captain Pellaeon to see Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he announced.

The door slid open, revealing a dimly lit entry room, and Pellaeon took a cautious look inside. Somewhere in here, he knew, was Thrawn’s bodyguard Rukh, waiting to spring his usual game of cat-and-mouse.

But for once, thankfully, Rukh didn’t seem eager to play. “Captain Pellaeon,” the Noghri hissed, his nightmarish face emerging from where he had been half-hidden in the shadows. “The Grand Admiral is waiting. You may enter.”

“Thank you,” Pellaeon grumbled as he slipped past Rukh into the command room. Usually Thrawn kept the room decorated with holographic images of strange alien sculptures and other artwork, and this time was no exception: Pellaeon could see at least a dozen pieces scattered throughout the room, of a type he didn‘t recognize. What was somewhat unusual was the display of stars that filled the walls and ceiling, wrapping around the room like a planetarium.

As always, sitting silently in the middle of the double-display ring that took up most of the room, a single ysalamir wrapped around the back of his chair, was Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Thrawn’s typically glowing red eyes had been closed in meditation, but as Pellaeon entered the room they suddenly popped opened. “Ah—Captain Pellaeon,” he said. His eyes focused on Pellaeon’s face for a moment, then dropped to the data pad he was still clutching in his hand. “The Judicator’s report?”

Pellaeon swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Let me see it,” Thrawn said, holding out an expectant hand.

Wordlessly Pellaeon handed it to him. Thrawn’s eyes skimmed the report… “Is this all of it?” he asked, his voice suddenly hard.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon repeated. “And we’ve received word from the hangar bay,” he added. “C’baoth’s shuttle landed ten minutes ago. The deck officer is bringing him here now.”

Thrawn nodded, reading the report again. It wasn’t good, Pellaeon knew: most of the Judicator’s starfighter complement destroyed, along with its entire contingent of drop ships. As for the Peremptory—

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of some commotion coming from the other side of the anteroom door. Pellaeon turned just as the door behind him slid open again; and in marched the striding figure of Joruus C’baoth, his long white hair and old-fashioned robes streaming behind him. Pellaeon managed to catch a quick glimpse of Rukh, his alien face looking clearly unhappy, before the door slid shut again.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn!” C’baoth bellowed, his voice echoing unnaturally in the room. “I must speak with you.”

Thrawn, however, gave no indication he had even noticed C’baoth, let alone heard him. The Jedi Master glanced briefly at Pellaeon, and Pellaeon saw the confusion and uncertainty in the old man’s eyes before he moved them back to Thrawn. “Grand Admiral—”

“I have here,” Thrawn interrupted, indicating the data pad, “the report from the Judicator on the Katana battle. Would you care for me to read it to you?”

“Such matters are your concern,” C’baoth reminded him, waving a hand dismissively. “What care should I have for them?”

“It says,” Thrawn continued, as if he hadn’t heard C’baoth answer, “that the Star Destroyer Peremptory was completely destroyed in the skirmish with the Rebels, along with most of the ship’s fighter complement. So,” he said, his glowing eyes blazing with cold fire as he looked up from the Judicator’s report. “Thanks to your insistence on delaying me, we’ve lost the Peremptory. I trust you’re satisfied.”

C’baoth met the gaze evenly. “Don’t blame the incompetence of your would-be conquerors on me,” he said, his voice as icy as Thrawn’s. “Or perhaps it wasn’t incompetence, but the skill of the Rebellion. Perhaps it would be you lying dead now if the Chimaera had gone instead.”

Thrawn’s face darkened. Pellaeon eased a half step closer to the Grand Admiral, moving a little farther into the protective sphere of the ysalamiri beside the command chair, and braced himself for the explosion.

But Thrawn had better control than that. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

C’baoth smiled and turned deliberately away. “You’ve made many promises to me since you first arrived on Wayland, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he said, pausing to peer at one of the hologram sculptures scattered around the room. “I’m here to make sure those promises are kept.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“By making certain that I’m too important to be, shall we say, conveniently forgotten,” C’baoth said. “I’m hereby informing you, therefore, that I will be returning to Wayland…and will be assuming command of your Mount Tantiss project.”

Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. “The Mount Tantiss project?” Thrawn asked evenly.

“Yes, C’baoth said, smiling again as his eyes flicked to Pellaeon. “Oh, I know about it, Captain. Despite your petty efforts to conceal the truth from me.”

“We wished to spare you unnecessary discomfort,” Thrawn assured him. “Unpleasant memories, for example, that the project might bring to mind.”

C’baoth studied him. “Perhaps you did,” he conceded with only a touch of sarcasm. “If that was truly your motive, I thank you. But the time for such things has passed. I have grown in power and ability since I left Wayland, Grand Admiral Thrawn. I no longer need you to care for my sensitivities.”

He drew himself up to his full height; and when he spoke again, his voice boomed and echoed throughout the room. “I am C’baoth; Jedi Master. The Force which binds the galaxy together is my servant.”

Slowly, Thrawn rose to his feet. “And you are my servant,” he said.

C’baoth shook his head. “Not anymore, Grand Admiral Thrawn. The circle has closed. The Jedi will rule again.”

“Take care, C’baoth,” Thrawn warned. “Posture all you wish. But never forget that even you are not indispensable to the Empire.”

C’baoth’s bushy eyebrows lifted…and the smile which creased his face sent an icy shiver through Pellaeon’s chest. It was the same smile he remembered from Wayland.

The smile that had first convinced him that C’baoth was indeed insane.

“On the contrary,” the Jedi Master said softly. “As of now, I am all that is not indispensable to the Empire.”

He lifted his gaze to the stars displayed on the room’s walls. “Come,” he said. “Let us discuss the new arrangement of our Empire.”

Thrawn’s own gaze drifted to the stars as well. “And what arrangement would that be?” he asked carefully.

“Our final victory against the Rebellion,” C’baoth said, as if the answer were obvious. “The establishment of the new Empire.”

“With you at its head, I presume?”

“I am a Jedi,” C’baoth reminded him. “Who better to take the Emperor’s place as ruler of the galaxy?”

“Who indeed?” Thrawn asked dryly, sharing a look with Pellaeon. “You surprise me, Master C’baoth. When I first came to you on Wayland, you told me you had no interest in galactic conquest or ruling distant worlds. Perhaps your recent taste of power has changed your sensibilities?”

“Have a care, Grand Admiral,” C’baoth said, some of the menace returning to his voice. “Do not presume to question my motives. Or is it that you seek to place yourself as ruler of the Empire, once you have defeated the Rebellion?”

Thrawn shook his head. “My interest has never been in ruling worlds. I have always been concerned with one thing only: the reestablishment of the Emperor’s New Order.”

“How very noble,” C’baoth sneered. “Yet perhaps when the moment comes you too shall find yourself unwilling to relinquish the power to which you have become accustomed.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn allowed politely. “But you haven’t yet answered my question. Why are you here?”

Pellaeon caught a flicker of irritation flash across C’baoth’s face. “I have already told you,” the Jedi Master said. “To return to Wayland, and oversee the Mount Tantiss project.”

“So you‘ve said,” Thrawn nodded. “But you misunderstand. Why are you here, Master C'baoth? I thought we had agreed you would remain on Jomark, to await the arrival of Luke Skywalker. Did he not come to you, as you had claimed?”

The flicker of irritation vanished, replaced by a long smile that played on C’baoth’s lips. “He came, Grand Admiral,” C’baoth assured him. “He came, and he learned at my feet.”

“Did he?” Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you could explain what he was doing here on my ship two weeks ago.”

“He came aboard the Chimaera, then?” C’baoth asked airily. “I thought he might. And yet,” his smile widened, “even on your own ship you were unable to detain him…not even with all your precious ysalamiri. You continue to disappoint me, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“And you me, Master C’baoth” Thrawn answered evenly. “I had assumed once Skywalker was in your hands you would have the power to keep him there. Clearly that assumption was mistaken.”

Pellaeon expected this comment to anger C’baoth, or at least irritate him. But instead the Jedi Master continued to smile. “It was not by his own choice that Skywalker left,” C’baoth said. “He was taken from me, by another also skilled in the Force. And she will suffer, for challenging the Jedi Master Joruus C’baoth. She will suffer greatly…and then she too will serve at my feet.”

For a moment the anger Pellaeon had been expecting appeared again in C’baoth’s eyes, and Pellaeon felt a shiver run down his back. What manner of punishment, he wondered, would someone like C’baoth come up with? “But that is for the future,” C’baoth said. “For now I am returning to Wayland. You will therefore instruct your men to prepare a ship to take me there.”

But Thrawn shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“I am a Jedi Master, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” C’baoth said, drawing himself up once again. “Do not presume to tell me where I may or may not go.”

“I presume nothing,” Thrawn countered.

“Then prepare the ship I ask.” C’baoth raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Or must I take another one for myself?”

“You may do whatever you like,” Thrawn said with a shrug. “But the Empire—your Empire—needs your talents here. Not on Wayland.”

“The Mount Tantiss project is the centerpiece of our campaign against the Rebels,” C’baoth reminded him…but Pellaeon could see confusion appearing in the hard lines of his face again. “What better place for me than there?”

“Mount Tantiss is the centerpiece,” Thrawn agreed, settling back down in his command chair. Clearly he’d noticed the confusion, too. “But it is only a piece. Now that we have the Katana fleet in our hands, the time has come to begin our true offensive. By now the Rebels will have discovered the truth behind the clone troopers in the Katana skirmish. Unveiling the strength of our most important weapon should have the appropriate psychological effect on our enemies, until I am ready to launch my final campaign.”

“And when will that be?”

“When the time is right,” Thrawn said evasively, a small smile touching his lips. For all C’baoth’s vaunted Jedi power, he still needed Thrawn’s tactical genius. And Thrawn knew it. “Patience, Master C’baoth. As you said before, such matters are my concern, not yours. In the meanwhile, I have already chosen a suitable planet from which to launch the campaign.”

He flicked a switch on his command chair and the sculptures scattered around the room vanished. They were replaced by a three-dimensional hologram of a small planet, rotating slowly over the main display. C’baoth eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?” he asked.

“The planet Ukio,” Thrawn identified it. “One of the top five producers of foodstuffs in Rebel territory. This is to be our next target.”

C’baoth snorted. “A world of farmers? This will be the launching point for your glorious campaign against the Rebellion?”

“The Empire’s victory is dependent on the thousands of new clones at its command,” Thrawn explained. “With most of the Katana fleet in our control, we now have the ships to crew them; once we take Ukio, we will also have the means to feed them.

“Nor should you underestimate the Ukian defenses. Ukio has invested in considerable ground/space weaponry, and is within a few light-years of the Rebel starfighter bases at Ord Pardron and Filve.” He flicked another switch, and on the display a hazy red shell suddenly wrapped itself around the planet. “But the greatest concern by far is the defensive shield that surrounds the planet. The shield is virtually impenetrable, protecting Ukio from any space bombardment. That, Master C’baoth, is where you come in.”

“More attack coordination for your troops, then?” C’baoth sighed. “I am a Jedi Master. I grow weary of simple parlor tricks.”

Thrawn smiled again, more openly this time. “As it happens, I have a more impressive demonstration in mind this time—one that makes rather better use of your particular talents.”

C’baoth frowned, but before he could ask for clarification Thrawn flicked his armchair switch again and the planet vanished. “However, to ensure the success of the Ukio operation we will first need to conduct a series of tests. That is the reason I need you here, with the Chimaera instead of on Wayland. After the operation, of course, you will be free to go where you like.”

C’baoth said nothing, his almost maniacal eyes staring into Thrawn’s red ones, and Pellaeon wondered if he was trying to read Thrawn’s thoughts. But with the other safely seated within the protection of the ysalamir, there would be very little point. At least, Pellaeon hoped. “Very well,” C’baoth said at last, breaking his silence. “I will remain on the ship. For now. I trust that will be acceptable?”

“Most acceptable, Master C’baoth,” Thrawn replied.

C’baoth studied him for another moment. “Then I shall go see to it that my chambers are properly prepared.” He gave Thrawn a rather stiff bow before slipping back through the anteroom door.

Pellaeon didn’t dare speak first in the silence that followed. “Has the Chimaera’s caretaker crew finished transferring to the Lancer yet?” Thrawn asked, his eyes still on the door through which C‘baoth had departed.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said stiffly. “I’ve instructed them to take the Lancer to Ord Trasi and wait for us there.”

“Good,” Thrawn said, and then turned his chair towards Pellaeon. “You have something you wish to share, no doubt,” he said, his eyes boring now into Pellaeon.

Pellaeon swallowed. “I’d rather not say, Admiral.”

“Surely we’re past the point where you need censure your comments, Captain,” Thrawn chided. He let out a long sigh. “At any rate I suppose I can guess your concern. You’ve never trusted Master C‘baoth.”

“He’s becoming too dangerous,” Pellaeon said anyway, pointing urgently at the data pad still held in Thrawn‘s hand. “Did you see sick bay’s report? Nausea, delirium—it’ll be at least a week before anyone in that Lancer crew is ready for combat duty. No, sir, C‘baoth is becoming too dangerous, and too difficult to control…maybe even for you.”

“I don’t disagree,” Thrawn said mildly.

“Then with all due respect: why are we still catering to him?”

“In the short run? Because we have to. Master C’baoth is the lynchpin to the Ukio operation, and the Ukio operation is the lynchpin to our new campaign against the Rebellion. We’ll simply have to find a way to tolerate his eccentricities a little bit longer.”

“And in the long run?” Pellaeon pushed.

“Ah. Yes, well, that’s a different matter entirely,” A thin smile appeared on Thrawn’s lips. “In the long run there are contingencies, of course, many of which do not feature Master C’baoth at all. Despite his proclamations just now, he is hardly indispensable to the Empire—or at least, not the Empire I shall lead. If his eccentricities start to outweigh his value…well, there are contingencies for that, too.”