Vision of the future

'Don't worry about it,' Tierce said with a tone of finality in his voice. 'Bel Iblis won't hit Bastion; and he will hit Yaga Minor. And once we've defeated him, we'll see the Empire's prestige rise considerably.'

'We might also finally push Coruscant into launching a full-scale attack at us,' Disra warned. Tierce shook his head. 'In five days Coruscant will have a civil war on its hands,' he said. 'And long before they're ready to turn any attention this direction, we'll have Parck and the Hand of Thrawn.'

His eyes glittered. 'And this time, there will be nothing that can stop us. Nothing at all.'

* * *

The corridor was long and drab and gray, lined with equally drab doors. Locked doors, of course—this was a prison, after all. The walls and ceiling were solid metal, the floor a metal grating that gave off a pair of hollow-sounding clinks with every footstep.

They were certainly making a lot of those clinks at the moment, Pellaeon thought, listening to the sound echo off the walls as he strode down the corridor toward the secondary security post just around the corner at the far end. It sounded like a parade, in fact, or a sudden burst of rain on a thin metal roof.

And those ahead had taken notice of the commotion. Already four of the guards had poked black-helmeted heads around the corner to see what all the commotion was about. Two of those guards were still visible; the others had ducked back out of sight, presumably to report to whoever was manning the security post.

The other two guards had reappeared by the time Pellaeon reached the corner, all four of them now standing stiffly at full military attention. Without a word or glance Pellaeon passed through the group and rounded the corner.

Four more guards were standing at attention behind the security post desk, three meters in front of an extra- secure-looking cell door. Seated at the desk, gazing up at Pellaeon with a mixture of uncertainty and surliness in his face, was a young major. He opened his mouth to speak—

'I'm Admiral Pellaeon,' Pellaeon cut him off. 'Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door.'

The major's cheek twitched. 'I'm sorry, Admiral, but I have orders that the prisoner is to be kept strictly incommunicado.'

For a few seconds Pellaeon just stared at him, a glare developed and honed and fine-tuned by long decades of Imperial command. 'I'm Admiral Pellaeon,' he said at last, biting out each word, his tone the verbal counterpart of that blade-edged glare. He'd been willing to give the guards the benefit of the doubt, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to put up with any nonsense whatsoever.

'Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet. Open the door.'

The major swallowed visibly. His eyes flicked away from Pellaeon to the dozen stormtroopers visible in the corridor behind him, his mind perhaps flicking to the other twelve stormtroopers out of sight around the corner that his guards would have told him about, then came reluctantly back to Pellaeon's face again. 'My orders come from Moff Disra himself, sir,' he said, the words coming out with difficulty.

Beside Pellaeon, the stormtrooper commander stirred. 'Moff Disra is a civilian,' Pellaeon reminded the major, giving him one last chance. 'And I'm countermanding those orders.' The major took a careful breath. 'Yes, sir,' he said, capitulating at last. Half turning, he nodded to one of the guards.

The guard, who had also been eyeing the stormtroopers and had obviously already done the math, showed no hesitation whatsoever. Stepping quickly to the cell door behind him, he keyed it open and moved smartly aside.

'Wait here,'' Pellaeon told the stormtrooper commander, rounding the desk and stepping into the cell, his pulse pounding in his neck. If Disra had somehow managed to get word here through the transmission blockade and ordered all witnesses disposed of...

Seated at a small table, a hand of single sabacc laid out in front of him, Colonel Vermel looked up, his eyes widening in astonishment. 'Admiral!' he said, clearly not sure he believed it. 'I—' Abruptly, he scrambled to his feet. 'Colonel Meizh Vermel, Admiral,' he said briskly. 'Request permission to return to duty, sir.'

'Request granted, Colonel,' Pellaeon said, not bothering to hide his relief. 'And may I say how pleased I am to find you looking so well.'

'Thank you, Admiral,' Vermel said, heaving a sigh of relief of his own as he stepped around the table. 'I hope you didn't come alone.'

'Don't worry,' Pellaeon assured him grimly, waving Vermel to the cell door. 'I haven't exactly taken over Rimcee Station; but my men are in position to do so if any of Disra's people take exception to our leaving.'

'Yes, sir,' Vermel said, throwing an odd look back at him. 'Regardless, may I suggest we hurry?'