'We most certainly will not,' Pellaeon reproved him mildly. 'Thrawn's return would revitalize our people and bring nothing but good to the Empire. I would never want it said that I valued my own pride above that.'
Ardiff colored slightly. 'No, sir, of course not. My apologies, Admiral.'
'No apologies necessary, Captain,' Pellaeon assured him, getting to his feet. 'As you said, it's been a long, hard road. But it's nearly over. One way or another, it's nearly over.'
* * *
The entry procedures at the Drev'starn Spaceport were considerably tighter today than they'd been the last time Drend Navett had landed here on the Bothan homeworld. Hardly surprising, considering the events of the past five days. With the surprise Leresen attack against their orbital manufacturing plant and the subsequent multispecies military buildup in the sky overhead, tensions were growing at a rapid and eminently satisfying pace.
And the Bothans' normally business-friendly procedures had suffered as a result. Once little more than a formality, exit from the spaceport quarantine area now required a complete ID check and cargo scan.
Not that that mattered to Navett. This time through, there was nothing in his cargo that would raise even a paranoid Bothan's fur. And his ID was as perfect as only Imperial Intelligence could make them.
'Your identification and personal effects appear to be in order,' the Bothan customs official said after the fifteen- minute procedure that seemed to be the norm today. 'However, the Importation Department will have to run further tests on your animals before they can be allowed into the city proper.'
'Sure, no problem,' Navett said, waving his hand in one of the expansive gestures typical of the Betreasley district on Fedje where his ID claimed he'd been born. He had no idea whether the Bothan would notice subtleties of that sort, but the first law of infiltration was to wear a role the way a stormtrooper wore his armor. 'Hey, I done this on dozens of planets,' he added. 'I know how this quarantine thing works.'
The Bothan's fur rippled, just noticeably. 'On many worlds, you say?' he asked. 'Is there some problem you have with maintaining ownership of your shops?'
Navett frowned, as if trying to decipher his way through a complicated sentence, then let his face clear. 'Naw, you got it all wrong,' he said. 'I'm not tryin' to set up a place I can settle down in. 'Sides, unless you got a bunch of guys to run the racks for you, you can't make a go of the exotic pet business unless you keep movin'. Lot of potential stock you'll never even hear about unless you go where they come from.'
'Perhaps,' the Bothan murmured. 'But I suspect you will not find much of a market on Bothawui in these troubled times.'
'You kiddin'?' Navett said, letting some oily smugness show through. 'Hey, this place is perfect. A planet under siege—lots of tension—that's exactly where folks are going to need a pet to get their minds off their troubles. Trust me—I seen it happen dozens of times.'
'If you say so,' the Bothan said with a ripple of his shoulder fur, obviously not caring whether this slightly uncouth alien made a profit here or not. 'Leave me your comlink frequency and code and you'll be notified when the quarantine is ended.'
'Thanks,' Navett said, collecting his documents together. 'Make it fast, okay?'
'It will be as quick as regulations require,' the Bothan said. 'A day of peace and profit to you.'
'Yeah. Same to you.'
Five minutes later Navett was walking down the street, jostling his way through the mass of travelers hurrying in and out of the spaceport. Passing up the rows of for-hire landspeeders, he put his back to the setting sun and headed off on foot toward a row of cheap hotels bordering the spaceport area.
With his back to the sun, he spotted the shadow coming up behind him a few seconds before Klif dropped into step at his side. 'Any problems?' the other asked quietly.
'No, it went real smooth,' Navett said. 'You?'
Klif shook his head. 'Not a one. He took the bribe, by the way, but he wouldn't promise we'd get the animals out any sooner.'
'Not with a bribe that small,' Navett agreed, smiling to himself. An insultingly small gratuity from the pet dealer's assistant, and none at all from the dealer himself, ought to nicely reinforce their carefully constructed image as small-timers trying to turn a fast profit without the slightest idea how the game was played.
And with the Bothans, an image like that practically guaranteed them to be the focus of private amusement, back- room contempt, and complete official disinterest.
Which meant that when the time was right for the Drev'starn section of the Bothawui planetary shield to come
