By:  Timothy Zahn Published by Bantam Books June 1991 It's five years after Return of the Jedi:  the Rebel Alliance has destroyed the Death Star, defeated Darth Vader and the Emperor, and driven the remnants of the old Imperial Starfleet to a distant corner of the galaxy.  Princess Leia and Han Solo are married and are expecting Jedi twins.  And Luke Skywalker has become the first in a long-awaited line of Jedi Knights. But thousands of light-years away, the last of the Emperor's warlords has taken command of the shattered Imperial fleet, readied it for war, and pointed it at the fragile heart of the New Republic.  For this dark warrior has made two vital discoveries that could destroy everything the courageous men and women of the Rebel Alliance fought so hard to build.

    For a long moment the old man continued to stare at Thrawn, a dozen strange expressions flicking in quick succession across his face.  "Come.  We will talk."
    "Thank you," Thrawn said, inclining his head slightly.  "May I ask who we have the honor of addressing?"
    "Of course."  The old man's face was abruptly regal again, and when he spoke his voice rang out in the silence of the crypt.  "I am the Jedi Master Joruus C'baoth."
    Pellaeon inhaled sharply, a cold shiver running up his back.  "Joruus C'baoth?" he breathed.  "But--"
    He broke off.  C'baoth looked at him, much as Pellaeon himself might look at a junior officer who has spoken out of turn.  "Come," he repeated, turning back to Thrawn.  "We will talk."
    He led the way out of the crypt and back into the sunshine.  Several small knots of people had gathered in the square in their absence, huddling well back from both the crypt and the shuttle as they whispered nervously together.
    With one exception.  Standing directly in their path a few meters away was one of the two  guards C'baoth had ordered out of the crypt.  On his face was an expression of barely controlled fury; in his hands, cocked and ready, was his crossbow.  "You destroyed his home," C'baoth said, almost conversationally.  "Doubtless he would like to exact vengeance."
    The words were barely out of his mouth when the guard suddenly snapped up the crossbow and fired.  Instinctively, Pellaeon ducked, raising his blaster--
    And three meters from the Imperials the bolt came to an abrupt halt in midair.
    Pellaeon stared at the hovering piece of wood and metal, his brain only slowly catching up with what had just happened.  "They are our guests," C'baoth told the guard in a voice clearly intended to reach everyone in the square.  "They will be treated accordingly."
    With a crackle of splintering wood, the crossbow bolt shattered, the pieces dropping to the ground.  Slowly, reluctantly, the guard lowered his crossbow, his eyes still burning with a now impotent rage.  Thrawn let him stand there another second like that, then gestured to Rukh.  The Noghri raised his blaster and fired--
    And in a blur of motion almost too fast to see, a flat stone detached itself from the ground and hurled itself directly into the path of the shot, shattering spectacularly as the blast hit it.
    Thrawn spun to face C'baoth, his face a mirror of surprise and anger.  "C'baoth--!"
    "These are my people, Grand Admiral Thrawn," the other cut him off, his voice forged from quiet steel.  "Not yours; mine.  If there is punishment to be dealt out, I will do it."
    For a long moment the two men again locked eyes.  Then, with an obvious effort, Thrawn regained his composure.  "Of course, Master C'baoth," he said.  "Forgive me."
    C'baoth nodded.  "Better.  Much better."  He looked past Thrawn, dismissed the guard with a nod.  "Come," he said, looking back at the Grand Admiral.  "We will talk."