The Last Command (Star Wars: The Thrawn Trilogy, #3)

by Timothy Zahn

Few of the scientific papers on the subject had survived the Clone Wars era, but Pellaeon had come across one that had suggested that no clone grown to maturity in less than a year would be stable enough to survive outside of a totally controlled environment. Given the destruction they’d unleashed on the galaxy, Pellaeon had always assumed that the clonemasters had eventually found at least a partial solution to the problem. Whether they had recognized the underlying cause of the madness was another question entirely.

And for the first time in five years, Pellaeon finally knew in the deepest level of his being that the old Empire was gone. The new Empire, with Grand Admiral Thrawn at its head, had been born.

This way we kill two dune lizards with one throw.”

Finally. After ten hours of labor—after nine months of pregnancy—the end was finally in sight. No. Not the end. The beginning. They laid the twins in her arms a few minutes later … and as she looked first at them and then up at Han, she felt a sense of utter peace settle over her. Out among the stars there might be a war going on; but for here, and for now, all was right with the universe.

“There isn’t anything,” she said. “Not with Thrawn. He has no patterns; no favorite strategies; no discernible weaknesses. He studies his enemies and tailors his attacks against psychological blind spots. He doesn’t overcommit his forces, and he’s not too proud to back off when it’s clear he’s losing. Which doesn’t happen very often. As you’re finding out.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Leia said, her voice pained. “You’re talking about a highly illegal action. Bordering on treason.” Han patted her knee. “The whole Rebellion was a highly illegal action bordering on treason, sweetheart,” he reminded her. “When the rules don’t work, you break ’em.”

Thrawn cocked an eyebrow. “You’re the Jedi Master. As you gaze into the future, can you see a future Empire arising without me?”

“No more than absolutely necessary,” Thrawn said. “History is on the move, Captain. Those who cannot keep up will be left behind, to watch from a distance.” He glanced back at the door through which C’baoth had departed. “And those who stand in our way,” he added softly, “will not watch at all.”

“We’re at war,” she reminded him patiently. “In war you can do just about anything the other side can’t stop you from doing.

“That’s why I can’t simply go down and take command,” Bel Iblis said into the silence, “Until she’s able to accept me—really accept me—as someone she can trust, she won’t ever be able to give me any genuine authority in the New Republic. She’ll always need to be hovering around in the background somewhere, watching over my shoulder to make sure I don’t make any mistakes. She hasn’t got the time for that, I haven’t got the patience, and the friction would be devastating for everyone caught in the middle.”

The long and perilous history Mon Mothma and Bel Iblis had shared had created an empathy between them, a bond and understanding far deeper than Leia’s Jedi insights could even begin to track through. Perhaps, she decided, it was that empathy that formed the true underlying strength of the New Republic. The strength that would create the future of the galaxy.

The Star Destroyer’s blast is not, in fact, penetrating Ukio’s planetary shield. What appears to be that same blast is actually a second shot, fired from a cloaked vessel inside the shield.”

to the New Republic,” Mon Mothma reminded him. “And properly so. The Empire rules by force and threat; we rule instead by inspiration and leadership. We cannot be perceived to be cowering here in fear of our lives.”

“Of course it is. The insanity of men and aliens who’ve learned the hard way that they can’t match me face-to-face. And so they attempt to use my own tactical skill and insight against me. They pretend to walk into my trap, gambling that I’ll notice the subtlety of their movements and interpret that as genuine intent. And while I then congratulate myself on my perception”—he gestured at the Bilbringi holo—“they prepare their actual attack.”

“Most likely all of it,” the Noghri said calmly. “Yes. I can see how our lives and deaths could be amusing to our enslavers. We will convince them otherwise.” No white-hot rage, no fanatical hatred. Just a simple, icy determination. About as dangerous as you could get.

When you make an exact duplicate of a sentient being, there’s a natural resonance or something set up through the Force between that duplicate and the original. That’s what warps the mind of a clone that’s been grown too fast—there’s not enough time for the mind to adapt to the pressure on it. It can’t adjust; so it breaks.”

“You don’t have to believe,” the Grand Admiral told him. “But be prepared to be proved wrong.”

Your destiny is in your hands, Mara. Not C’baoth’s or the Emperor’s. In the end you’re the one who makes the decisions. You have that right … and that responsibility.”

The true power of the Jedi is not in these simple tricks of matter and energy. The true might of the Jedi is that we alone of all those in the galaxy have the power to grow beyond ourselves. To extend ourselves into all the reaches of the universe.”

Mara gazed down at him … and as she took a ragged breath, the voice in the back of her mind fell silent. It was done. She had fulfilled the Emperor’s last command. And she was finally free.

Thrawn caught his eye; and to Pellaeon’s astonishment, the Grand Admiral smiled. “But,” he whispered, “it was so artistically done.” The smile faded. The glow in his eyes did likewise … and Thrawn, the last Grand Admiral, was gone.