Journey to Jomark

“No, we’re not going back to Coruscant, Artoo,” Luke told the droid, an echo of déjà vu tugging at him. “We’re going to a little place called Jomark. To see a Jedi Master.” —Dark Force Rising

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One of the first minor truths abut interstellar flight that any observant traveler learned was that a planet seen from space almost never looked anything at all like the official maps of it. Scatterings of cloud cover, shadows from mountain ranges, contour-altering effects of large vegetation tracts, and lighting tricks in general, all combined to disguise and distort the nice clean computer-scrubbed lines drawn by the cartographers. It was an effect that had probably caused a lot of bad moments for neophyte navigators, as well as supplying ammunition for innumerable practical jokes played on those same neophytes by their more experienced shipmates.

As usual, the planet Jomark was the exception.

Luke gazed out the canopy at the large ball rotating slowly beneath the nose of his X-wing. Whether it was because of the angle or time of day or something else entirely, Jomark once again looked precisely as it had the first time he’d visited Master C‘baoth here. The same lighting, the same assortment of clouds: everything looked like an exact copy of the detailed map in the X-wing’s databanks.

There was one difference, though. This time, Luke knew what he was getting himself into.

Taking a breath, he reached out with the Force and gently probed the planet below. There was another difference, too. Last time, Luke had been able to sense C’baoth’s presence almost as soon as Artoo had brought them out of hyperspace, even if he hadn’t been able to determine the Jedi Master’s precise location. But try as he might now, Luke couldn’t detect anything. Did that mean C’baoth was somehow able to mask his presence from Luke? Or simply that he was no longer here?

There was only one way to find out.

Snug behind Luke in his droid socket, Artoo hooted softly to himself. “What is it, Artoo?” Luke called back. “Are you picking something up on the sensors?”

The droid chortled back a curt negative. Artoo had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they’d left Coruscant, even subdued; Luke might have said he was pouting, if he thought the droid capable of such a thing. Certainly Artoo didn’t like coming back here, and he wasn’t alone: Han and Leia had spent an hour trying to convince Luke this little side-trip was a bad idea. Maybe they were right.

But Luke had to come, one last time. He couldn’t give up on C’baoth that easily, not after spending so long looking for another Jedi. If C’baoth was ill, Luke could try and help him. And if Mara was right and he really was working for the Empire…well, Luke needed to see that for himself. He didn’t expect anyone else to understand. It was, as he’d told Han, just one of those crazy Jedi things.

And one he might as well get over with. “Okay, Artoo,” Luke said, wrapping a hand around the control stick. “I’m taking us down.”

He banked the X-wing left, and the planet began to grow larger in his canopy. Their target was the solitary continent that comprised the bulk of Jomark’s land mass—a decent-sized island near the sunset line—and more specifically a ring-shaped lake that had formed in the volcanic remains near the center of the continent. But they wouldn’t go there directly. Last time they’d landed immediately outside the small mansion on the far side of the ring-lake, where C’baoth had made his abode. But this time Luke was playing it more cautiously. It only took him a few minutes to locate the small ledge half-way down the mountain where Artoo had stowed the X-wing during their first visit. Even from this distance, it didn’t look like it would be the easiest climb up from the ledge to the top. But after the past few days trapped in Council meetings, Luke relished the exercise. Besides, if C’baoth really were somehow associated with the Empire, it wouldn’t do to park themselves in plain view, where an Imperial probe might see them. Keying in the repulsorlifts, Luke confirmed that the ledge was clear and then brought them down.

As Luke was shutting off the engines he heard Artoo trill another question. “No, Artoo, I want you to stay here,” he said. “But keep the ship’s systems on standby. And keep an eye out. Even if C‘baoth isn‘t working with the Empire, that doesn’t mean he‘ll be happy to see us.”

Artoo whistled his agreement. Meanwhile Luke had popped the cockpit canopy and slipped off his helmet, and then, with a light leap, vaulted over the X-wing’s side and onto the ground. A cool breeze was blowing across the ledge from the lake below, but Luke’s attention was focused upwards as he cast a long look up the rock wall. It was a fifty-meter, almost-sheer ascent to the top of the crater; but Luke had done a fair amount of climbing as a boy in Beggar’s Canyon on Tatooine, and the path looked more than doable to him. “Keep an eye out, Artoo,” he called one last time over his shoulder; and then, getting a secure grip on his first handhold, Luke started up.

The climb was harder than he’d expected. The volcanic rock offered plenty of handholds, but the mountain air made climbing difficult even with enhanced Jedi breathing techniques, and the wind pulled at his cloak. But Luke didn’t mind it; it had been a long time since he‘d gotten a good workout. As he went he felt the weight of old memories tugging at him: scaling similar rock-faces as a kid in Beggar’s Canyon, with Biggs and his other childhood friends; scrambling one-handed up the girders beneath the underside of Cloud City on Bespin; more recently the rush of the wind pulling at his clothes as he swung down from the Tower of Law to rescue Han and Leia on Bimmisaari. This last one made Luke think for a moment about Han and Leia, and Chewie, and even Threepio, and everyone else he’d left behind on Coruscant; and perhaps most importantly the unborn twins still growing in Leia‘s belly.

Luke wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach the top; but reach the top he did, and pulling himself at last over the lip of the edge he gave himself a brief rest as he cast a look around. It all looked exactly as he remembered it: the small courtyard, the waist-high fence with its single gate standing in the middle, and over it all the imposing shadow of the High Castle. Luke once again reached out with the Force, but once again C’baoth’s presence was nowhere to be found—nor any other presence, for that matter.

When he was at last good and rested, Luke stood up and headed toward the mansion. He hopped easily over the fencing, and then with senses alert moved swiftly and deliberately, but also more cautiously across the courtyard to the mansion’s front door. It was only then he felt the cold hard metal of the lightsaber pressing into the palm of his hand, and looking down realized at some point he must have pulled it out. With an effort he put it back in his tunic. He still couldn’t sense any immediate presence nearby, but he could feel also a nagging sense of danger, and it seemed to be growing.

Carefully Luke pushed the door open. The entry hall was dark and empty; the light of the open doorway cast strange shadows in the corners. Beyond this room was the main hall itself, where C’baoth had sometimes sat in judgment of the villagers that lived at the base of the mountain (and on one or two occasions had ordered Luke to sit in judgment himself); and beyond that, the corridor that led to C’baoth’s personal chambers. “Hello?” Luke called out. “Master C’baoth? Is anybody here?”

When he didn’t get a response, Luke moved past the entry hall and stepped into the second hall. This too was dark and empty, though Luke could catch some faint illumination from the narrow windows cut into the right-hand side. At the distant end of the room was the raised, ornate chair from which C’baoth had issued his decrees: an almost throne-like seat of polished wood, stiff and uncomfortable and thoroughly alien. It was in this chair here that Luke himself had sat, when he had disappointed C’baoth so completely the first time he had proclaimed his own judgment. Back then, he’d felt mostly disheartened at the Jedi Master’s disapproval, and maybe also a little confused: as if he’d somehow let C’baoth down.

But C’baoth wasn’t here now, and Luke felt instead only a regret that he hadn’t done more to help C’baoth when he’d had the chance. From the moment of their first meeting Luke had been able to sense the deep instability, the erraticism—even insanity—that underlay much of C’baoth’s personality. At the time he’d been willing to dismiss it as the stress of being one of the last surviving Jedi. But now he wasn’t so sure. Now, he wished he’d done more. “Master C‘baoth?” Luke called again, but an echo was the only sound that came back.

Yes, now indeed he wished he’d done more. Because whether C’baoth was working with the Empire or not, he clearly wasn’t here. And he needed Luke’s help, even if he didn’t know it yet.

* * *

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted by a click from the comlink at his side. Reaching down he pulled it off his belt and switched it on. “What is it, Artoo?” he asked.

Without the benefit of a translation it was hard to make complete sense of the droid’s warbling, but Luke knew Artoo well enough to get the gist. “Okay, Artoo, calm down. How many people are approaching?”

The droid’s second response was even less helpful than the first one. “Never mind—I can see them now,” Luke told him, stepping up to one of the narrow windows and peeking out. He could see them, all right—two of the villagers from the town below, making their way toward the gate in the beat-up remains of what looked like a Cracian Thumper. “Thanks, Artoo. I’ll check it out.”

Quickly Luke replaced the comlink at his belt and hurried back toward the main entrance. By the time he made it to the front door, the two men had already dismounted from the Thumper and were making their own way past the main gate. “Hello,” Luke greeted, waving a friendly hand as he stepped out of the shadows of the mansion.

The two stopped, clearly surprised to see another person up here at the High Castle. “I know you,” Luke realized suddenly, pointing at the one on the left. “You’re Svan. I’m a friend of Master C’baoth, remember?”

It looked like Svan remembered, all right, and the memory wasn’t a happy one. He eyed Luke warily, and with his right hand pulled out a tiny slugthrower that had been hidden in his pocket. Luke held up his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he promised.

“The Master is not here,” Svan said in choppy Basic, half-pointing the slugthrower in Luke’s direction. “The Master is not here.”

“Yes, I know,” Luke assured him, trying to keep his hands in a place where Svan could see them. “I came looking for him. Do you know where he might be?”

Svan and his companion each took a step back toward the Thumper. “The Master is not here,” they repeated. “He has not been here for many days. We did not think he would come back. We did not mean any harm.”

“Did he say anything before he left?” Luke pressed, taking a step closer even as they took another step back. “Do you know where I can find him? It’s very important.” A new thought occurred to him. “Did you see him leave with anyone?” he asked.

But neither of them was listening. Their eyes widening suddenly with fear they turned and ran back toward the Thumper. “Wait!” Luke called out, taking another step, but his call went unheeded. Already they had reached the Thumper and were revving it up. Yet even over the sputtering sound of the Thumper’s engines, Luke caught a new sound filling the air: the distant yet unmistakable high-pitched whine of repulsorlifts. Spinning around he could see beyond the mansion the distant Y-shaped silhouette of an Imperial Lambda-class shuttle, breaking out of the cloud cover. Bearing on a direct course to the High Castle. “Artoo!” Luke hissed, grabbing at his belt and yanking off the comlink. By now Svan and the Thumper were long gone, a fading cloud of dust the only remains of their presence. “Artoo! Are you there?”

The droid’s response came back quickly. “It looks like we’ve got company, Artoo,” Luke said, pulling himself back into the shadows of the front of the house and peeking around the corner. The shuttle was definitely headed this way—already it had grown bigger against the horizon. “I can see at least one Imperial craft coming towards us. ETA looks to be about five minutes. You picking anything else up on the scanner?”

Artoo beeped a definite negative. That was something, at least. “Good,” Luke said. He looked again at the approaching shape of the shuttle, did some quick calculations in his head… “I can’t make it back to you before they spot me,” he decided. “Sit tight and wait for my call. And keep those systems on standby. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be making a quick retreat.”

Artoo whistled one last affirmative and then the comlink went silent. Replacing it at his belt, Luke gave another peek around the corner. By now the shuttle was close enough that Luke could get a clear view of it. It was an Imperial shuttle, all right: he recognized the telltale circular insignia emblazoned on the wing. No fighter escort, though, or at least none that he could see. That meant they weren’t expecting trouble. Or else they had enough firepower on board to handle whatever trouble they were expecting.

Either way, they were in for a surprise.

There was a harsh roar of engines in his ear as the shuttle passed by overhead. It did a quick circle around the High Castle before coming to a midair stop; then, with inverted wings rising up on either side, it descended slowly to the ground. There was a slight bump as the pilot landed the ship gingerly on the soft ground just outside the front gate—but even before the repulsorlifts had died the front ramp was lowering to the ground, and from the shuttle’s open belly issued forth a full squad of Imperial stormtroopers.

Luke watched silently from the safety of the darkened doorway as the troopers fanned out through the single gate, their polished white armor gleaming. He knew that formation, he realized suddenly: it was the same formation the stormtroopers had used back on Myrkr, when Luke and Mara had watched as they investigated the remains of their crashed Skiprays. As they neared Luke backed a little further into the shadows, wrapping his black cloak tightly around him.

By the time the stormtroopers had finished searching the courtyard a new figure had emerged from the shuttle: the tan-clad shape of a mid-level officer—a lieutenant, it looked like—with a scowl on his face and a data pad in his hand. He turned as one of the troopers came up to him. “Well?” he demanded.

“The area is secure, sir,” the stormtrooper responded in his usual, slightly-modulated voice.

“Good,” the lieutenant said. He gestured up into the shuttle…and coming down the ramp now came a pair of Imperial techs, a gravsled floating between them. “You two, head inside and get to work,” he ordered, handing them the data pad. “The Grand Admiral wants all Imperial equipment removed before we leave. Here‘s a complete list.”

The Grand Admiral. So Mara was right, and C’baoth had been working with the Empire. No, Luke corrected himself. Not had; was. Truth be told, Luke couldn’t say he was really surprised. How else could another Jedi have survived the Emperor’s purges?

“Go on, get going,” the lieutenant’s voice cut into his thoughts. “I want to get this over with as soon as possible. Something about this place gives me the creeps,” he added softly, gazing up at the imposing shape of the High Castle. For a heartbeat his eyes seemed to stop where Luke was concealed in the doorway; and Luke suddenly feared he’d somehow been seen. But then the lieutenant turned around. “You,” he said, pointing a finger at two of the stormtroopers. “Go with them. I don‘t want them running into any trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” the troopers said, and their response gave Luke pause. It wasn’t unusual for stormtroopers to sound alike, given the microphonic modulators they all had built into their helmets. But even so, these two had sounded uncannily similar…

Gently Luke reached out with the Force, briefly touching each of the troopers’ minds; and just as quickly reeled back, his suspicions confirmed. These troopers didn’t just sound the same, he realized darkly; they were the same—they were two of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s new clone soldiers.

And it wasn’t just these two. All the stormtroopers had the same strange aura Luke had sensed back on the Katana: the same tingling ripple in the Force.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the lieutenant asked, his scowl growing even deeper. “I said get going. You can start with the comm station in the back, if you‘re having trouble deciding where to begin.”

“Yes, sir,” one of the techs said; and loading up the gravsled, they began pushing it through the gate and across the courtyard. The two stormtroopers the lieutenant had pointed at moved into position behind them, and together the four of them wheeled around the corner and out of sight. Meanwhile the lieutenant had returned into the shuttle, and the rest of the stormtroopers were taking positions around the courtyard. At any rate none of them seemed to be paying the High Castle any mind. Luke gave them all one last look before slipping back into the mansion. “Artoo?” he whispered into his comlink.

A quiet beep was his only response. “Yes, I’m still here,” he told Artoo, starting to remove his cloak. A plan had begun to form in his head. “It’s Imperials, all right; there’s at least a full squad of stormtroopers, plus a couple techs and whatever else they’ve got in the shuttle. It looks like Mara was right: Master C’baoth really is working with the Empire.”

Artoo blurted his opinion on that. “Yes, well, you’ll have plenty of time to say ‘I told you so’ once we’re safely out of here. I should be ready to leave in a couple minutes. Get the engines fired up and wait for my signal.”

He finished removing his cloak and examined it. It was a little dusty from the hike up the cliff-face, but otherwise didn’t look too worse for wear. Anyway it was all he had on him. Lifting it up with his right hand Luke reached out with the Force; and with the Force grabbed the cloak by the hood, letting the rest unfurl beneath.

The effect wasn’t great, but it would do. From a distance at least it should look like there was a person wearing it underneath; and Luke didn’t need the illusion to last all that long. Creeping back towards the doorway he snuck a final peek outside. He still counted ten stormtroopers out there, milling about the courtyard or else holding private conversations here and there, but it was a casual formation at best. Of the lieutenant there was no sign.

He wouldn’t get a better opening. Waving his hand, Luke sent the cloak hovering out the door, then started moving it toward the nearest trooper.

These new clones were quick, all right. Luke hadn’t gotten the cloak more than maybe a couple of meters before one of the stormtroopers issued a command to stop. A second command followed when the first one wasn’t obeyed; then their blasters were up and they started firing. The initial shot went wide (probably not more than a warning shot) but the next one scythed right through the middle of the cloak, leaving a decent-sized hole in the chest.

There was a brief cry of victory, a briefer one of shock and dismay when the cloaked figure kept moving towards them: and then all the stormtroopers opened fire. Luke could sense their sudden panic; and he could certainly hear it in the hysterical shouts of the lieutenant, who in the meantime had reappeared at the top of the ramp to see what all the noise was about. “Keep firing!” he ordered…but the troopers were slowly backing up even as the mysterious figure advanced.

It was all the opening Luke needed. “Artoo: now!” he shouted into the comlink—and with a deep breath and the benefit of Force-enhanced muscles he burst out of the doorway and sprinted across the courtyard. He’d made it halfway before anybody seemed to notice him; half-a-dozen steps more before the first blaster shot started tracking in his direction. By now the stormtroopers were realizing their mistake, and from the top of the shuttle ramp their lieutenant was shouting at them furiously. But Luke was over the fence and heading toward the cliff-edge just as fast as he could go. Already he could see the edge within distance. Fifteen steps to go; ten steps; five, four…

Then with the roar of repulsors the elongated nose of his X-wing appeared rising up from the cliff, its S foils extended and its weapons primed. There was a sudden shout of dismay behind him at the sight of the starfighter, followed by a more panicked one as Artoo fired a few quick shots from the X-wing’s wingtip laser cannons. “Artoo!” Luke called again.

There was a whirr as the X-wing canopy swung ponderously open, and with a great leap Luke jumped off the cliff edge and landed in the cockpit. He was dropping into his seat and strapping himself in even as Artoo lowered the canopy back into place, and the cockpit sealed shut just as another blaster shot ricocheted harmlessly off the transparisteel. “All right, Artoo,” Luke said, popping on his helmet and grabbing the flight stick. “Let‘s go.”

There was a sudden kick as Artoo switched on the sublight engines and the X-wing roared off into the atmosphere. From the ground a few laser blasts followed after…but they couldn't do much damage at this range and soon fell silent. “I’m fine, Artoo,” Luke assured the droid as a question scrolled across his screen. “Really. Now relax and start calculating the jump to lightspeed. My guess is those troopers aren’t alone out here.”

Artoo beeped an affirmative and got to work, and Luke took the moment to have a quick peek at the scanners. He couldn’t see much yet outside the canopy except a blanket of cloud cover, but he knew that somewhere up here had to be the Star Destroyer that had brought the shuttle in.

Yes, there it was, on his scanner just where he’d expected it: an Imperial-class Star Destroyer sitting in high orbit over the planet. And if Luke could see it, it could certainly see him—already it appeared to be moving into an intercept position.

Artoo, apparently, had noticed it, too. “I see it, Artoo,” Luke answered the droid’s warble. On his screen the ship’s computer began running calculations and offering intercept estimates. A diagram appeared with a large triangle representing the Star Destroyer, and a long line extending from the triangle’s point to the X-wing. ETA: three minutes.

“We’ve got three minutes, Artoo,” Luke called back, altering the ship’s trajectory slightly. “How are we coming on that lightspeed calculation?”

Artoo answered with a noncommittal beep. Luke changed the X-wing’s trajectory again; on his screen the long line got a little longer, and the ETA increased to four. Meanwhile the ship’s comm suddenly hissed and cracked. “Unidentified starfighter,” came a voice almost as harsh and unfriendly as the tan-wearing lieutenant’s, “this is the Star Destroyer Bellicose. You are ordered to alter your course and bring your ship within tractor-beam range.”

“Not likely,” Luke muttered, giving his computer screen another look. “Artoo—”

“Unidentified starfighter,” the voice said again, even more forcefully. “Shut down your engines and prepare to be brought aboard. If you do not comply you will be fired upon.”

Artoo bleeped a comment. “Yes, they mean business, all right,” Luke agreed. “Do we have that lightspeed estimate yet?”

A new number appeared on his screen: two minutes. It was going to be close. Already the arrow-head shape of the Star Destroyer was filling up the sky behind him as it bore down after them. The sky also started flashing with green laser fire as the Star Destroyer targeted its turbolaser batteries on the X-wing. “Artoo, switch the shields to double-back,” Luke ordered, yanking the flight stick and swinging the ship into an evasive maneuver.

There was a beep as Artoo moved the deflectors accordingly, and Luke took the brief lull to recheck his scanners. So far they looked to be doing okay. There was the incoming turbolaser fire, of course, but Luke wasn’t too worried about that; the Star Destroyer was still too far away to score any serious hits, and with Luke’s Jedi reflexes he should be able to dodge all but the most direct barrage.

But the Star Destroyer’s tractor beams were another matter. Luke’s screen showed that the X-wing was just coming into the edge of the ship’s range, represented by an elongated oval extending from the Star Destroyer‘s front. Even now his systems indicated the Imperials were trying to get a lock. “New plan, Artoo,” Luke said. “I want you to try modulating the deflector shields’ strength. Keep alternating between back and front in three-second intervals.”

Artoo blurted out a protest— “Just do it, Artoo,” Luke said. Modulating the shield strength wouldn’t throw off a tractor lock for more than a few extra seconds, Luke knew. But Luke also knew, from first-hand experience, that those few extra seconds might be all they would need. The last time he and Artoo had gotten caught in a Star Destroyer’s tractor beam—on their first trip to Jomark, in fact—things hadn’t ended well for them. Luke had been forced to break the lock by backfiring the acceleration compensator, severely damaging the X-wing’s hyperdrive in the process. The result had been a significant detour that had almost gotten him killed a couple of times. It wasn’t something that he was eager to repeat.

But this time his shield-modulation trick seemed to be working. His scope indicated they were well within the Star Destroyer’s tractor range by this point, but the Imperials still hasn’t been able to secure a lock. If Artoo could keep it up just a little bit longer…

And then, suddenly, there came the long-expected ping from the board. Their two minutes were up; the lightspeed calculation was ready. Luke reached a hand over to the hyperdrive lever, and with a roar the X-wing leaped into hyperspace.

* * *

It was in the middle of their tour of the Chazwa system that Pellaeon got the message. “We’ve got a priority transmission coming in, Admiral,” he said, spying the flashing light on his board. “Message from Captain Aban.”

“Captain Aban?” Thrawn repeated, turning his attention away from the bridge viewport. Outside hung the planet Chazwa, looking dull and dark. “Patch it through, please, Captain.”

Pellaeon pressed a button on his board, and over his display appeared the quarter-size holographic image of Captain Aban. “Captain Pellaeon, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he greeted, giving a smart salute.

“Captain Aban,” Thrawn acknowledged with a nod. “Has the Bellicose completed its mission over Jomark?”

“Almost,” Aban said…but did Pellaeon notice a slight hesitation? “My shuttle crew is in the process of collecting the equipment now. We should be finished within the hour.”

“Very good, Captain,” Thrawn said, and he let a cool moment pass before his next question. “May I ask then the purpose of this transmission?”

This time Pellaeon was sure Aban hesitated. “My men ran into a small problem while they were reloading the shuttle,” he started. “They stumbled upon an intruder who appeared to be poking around the High Castle.”

“What kind of intruder, Captain?”

“I’m not entirely sure at this point, Admiral. The intruder hadn’t removed anything apparent from the mansion or any of the surrounding buildings. My men attempted to detain him, but he managed to escape.” There was no doubt about the hesitation this time. “In an X-wing starfighter.”

“An X-wing?” Pellaeon repeated dumbly. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, sir,” Aban confirmed. “It appears Luke Skywalker was on Jomark.”

Pellaeon felt his jaw drop. Skywalker? It couldn’t be. Aban had to be mistaken. Surely Skywalker wouldn’t be foolish enough to return to Jomark. “You’re certain it was Skywalker,” Thrawn said coolly. It wasn’t a question.

Even in the quarter-size holo, Pellaeon could see Aban go pale. “Yes, sir. My men on the ground say he used some sort of Jedi trick to get past them. It was Skywalker, all right.”

He stopped, waiting; and for another handful of uncomfortable minutes Thrawn stroked his chin silently. “You say was, Captain,” he observed at last. “May I assume then that Skywalker escaped successfully?”

Aban swallowed. “Yes, sir. He evaded my men on the ground and was able to make the jump to lightspeed before the Bellicose could establish a tractor lock. I‘m sorry, Admiral.”

Thrawn sighed. “An unfortunate outcome, to be sure,” he said, “but one in which you are hardly alone. Skywalker has eluded Imperial custody several times, including an ambush set by myself. You needn’t apologize, Captain.”

Aban swallowed again, but some of the color returned to his face. “Thank you, sir.”

Pellaeon bit his tongue, wondering if Master C’baoth would agree with Thrawn’s assessment. He cast a quick look around the bridge. But no; C’baoth wasn’t here. He was “meditating”—whatever that meant—in Thrawn’s private command room, two decks down.

“We’ll hold off making a final determination until you submit your report,” Thrawn continued, and to Pellaeon the implication was clear: there had better not be anything in it to suggest Aban did less than his absolute best. Judging from the holo, it was clear to Aban, too. “In the meantime, continue with your scheduled operation. Signal the Chimaera when everything is complete.”

Aban gave another smart salute, and his image faded and disappeared from Pellaeon’s display. “You have a question, Captain,” Thrawn said, turning.

“Just one, sir,” Pellaeon answered. Was he really that easy for the Admiral to read? “What in the Empire was Skywalker doing on Jomark?”

Thrawn smiled thinly. “An obvious question, of course, and one with an equally obvious answer. He must have returned to see Master C’baoth again.”

“After their last encounter? Why?”

“That is a more difficult question,” Thrawn admitted. “Two conclusions present themselves, each with its own implication: either Skywalker was still not entirely convinced of C’baoth’s ties with the Empire…or else Master C’baoth’s influence over him is more acute than we gave initial credit for.”

“You mean…he summoned him there?” Pellaeon asked, suppressing a shiver. C’baoth himself had suggested as much two months back, but at the time Pellaeon had dismissed the assertion as mere bravado. If C’baoth really could exert that kind of control over another Jedi…

Thrawn at least did not appear so concerned. “Not quite so dire as that, I think,” he said with a wave of his hand. “If C’baoth could truly summon Skywalker back to Jomark, he wouldn’t have done so while he himself was away, would he? No, I think his control is much more subtle. If it’s anything at all.” He sighed. “At any rate, it appears our esteemed Jedi Master was a little too hasty in his desire to return to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, once again thankful C’baoth wasn’t on the bridge at the moment. “Are you going to tell him?”

“About Skywalker? I see no reason to.” Thrawn shrugged. “If Master C’baoth can’t sense these things on his own, I don’t think it’s our responsibility to inquire into them for him. We have our own matters to look after.” And with that, he turned back towards the viewport and the planet below. “Speaking of which, we still have the Chazwa garrison to attend to. Has the last of the Chimaera’s shuttles finished unloading?”

Pellaeon checked his display, pushing C’baoth and Skywalker and all Jedi out of his mind. “Yes, sir. The Chazwa base now has a full complement of clone soldiers at its disposal.”

“Good,” Thrawn said. “Then instruct their shuttles to return to the Chimaera. And then plot a course for Svivren.” His thoughtful red eyes glowed fiercely. “Skywalker won’t wait forever, Captain, but he’ll wait for the time being. In the interim we have a war to win.”