Military leadership is a journey, not a destination. It is continually challenged, and must continually prove itself anew against fresh obstacles. Sometimes those obstacles are external events. Other times they are the doubts of those being led. Still other times they are a result of the leader’s own failures and shortcomings.
Political power and influence are different. Once certain levels have been reached, there is no need to prove leadership or competence. A person with such power is accustomed to having every word carefully considered, and every whim treated as an order. And all who recognize that power know to bow to it.
A few have the courage or the foolishness to resist. Some succeed in standing firm against the storm. More often, they find their paths yet again turned from their hoped-for goal.
But such a turn does not always mean that the victim has lost. Or that the victor has won.
Eli had no business being here. He knew it, Yularen surely knew it, and he was pretty sure everyone else in the ballroom knew it, too.
It just made no sense. He was too backwater for these Core people. He was too junior in rank for the scattering of admirals and generals in attendance. And he was far too lower-class to be rubbing shoulders with the elite of the Empire.
The same drawbacks also applied to Thrawn, of course, plus the added one of being a nonhuman in a society that, while tolerant for the most part, wasn’t exactly welcoming. But at least there was a reason why Yularen had dragged him here to show off to the men and women of power. If the High Command decided to get serious over their threatened court-martial, an interested civilian base could be useful as a counterweight against offended admirals.
Thrawn needed to be here. Eli’s presence was completely unnecessary.
Though even with Thrawn he couldn’t avoid the sense that the Chiss was being seen less as an unfairly charged officer and more as an unusual prize fish.
“Interesting,” Yularen murmured.
Eli turned back from the shimmering color-changing gown he’d been eyeing to find the colonel gazing at his datapad. “Sir?” he asked.
“A note from HQ,” Yularen said. “Lieutenant Thrawn’s latest suggestion seems to have paid off.”
Eli looked at Thrawn. “Is this the backtrack of Cygni you suggested a couple of days ago?”
“No,” Thrawn said, eyeing Yularen closely. “As it turned out, Colonel Yularen was unable to establish enough data points with that inquiry to yield useful results. In this case, I noted that the planet Kril’dor, a known source of tibanna gas, is quite close to the Uba system. It occurred to me that if Cygni intended to simply sell the cylinders, he would have taken the Dromedar there, where extra tibanna could easily and invisibly be added into their own distribution channels.”
“Which suggested that his intended recipients wanted the tibanna as is,” Yularen said. “Which immediately pointed to either arms dealers or people who already have blasters and wanted to be able to shoot them.”
Eli winced. “Criminals or insurgents.”
“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “We have been profiling many of them, looking for indicators and markers.”
“Really,” Eli said, frowning. He hadn’t heard anything about criminal profiling work. “When have you been doing all this?”
Thrawn inclined his head. “You sleep more than I do.”
Eli felt his face warm. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Yularen said with a grunt. “And don’t worry—a career with the navy will knock that out of you soon enough. The point is that if you throw Thrawn’s latest filter in with all the rest, here’s what pops up.”
He handed the datapad to Thrawn. Eli leaned close to the Chiss and peered at the display. There was a full report there, but in the center Yularen had highlighted a single word.
Nightswan.
“We’ve been hearing rumors about someone calling himself Nightswan for the past year or so,” Yularen continued. “At first, he seemed to be some sort of consultant, planning jobs like this for various groups.”
“And now?” Thrawn asked, handing back the datapad.
“Now we’re not sure,” Yularen said, his eyes darting back and forth as he skimmed the report. “A couple of the analysts are suggesting he may have settled down with a single organization. I’m not sure I buy that, myself.” He pursed his lips. “Well, we’ll keep an eye out for him. At least now we know one of his aliases.”
Which the man would probably never use again, Eli knew. No one had yet figured out how Cygni had slipped through the cordon that Admiral Wiskovis had thrown around Uba, but somehow he’d gotten away.
Maybe the interrogations of the surviving pirates would give them some clues. Eli rather doubted it.
“Anyway, this came through while you were talking with that last group of senators, and I thought you’d like to know,” Yularen said.
“I appreciate that, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “Thank you.”
“No thanks needed—it was your suggestion that got us there,” Yularen reminded him. He started to put the datapad away, paused as something caught his eye. “Wait a moment—something new coming through. The tibanna cylinders…”
He trailed off. “Is there trouble, Colonel?” Thrawn asked.
“You could say that, Lieutenant.” Yularen took a deep breath. “It seems that twelve of the twenty cylinders we recovered along with the Dromedar”—again, he offered Thrawn the datapad—“were empty.”
Eli felt his mouth drop open. “Empty? But that’s impossible. They were still static-locked.”
“Our friend Cygni apparently found a way to get the gas out anyway,” Yularen growled. “Looks like he went in through the cylinders’ backs.”
Eli winced. The very technique that Thrawn had suggested. Terrific. “Through the hull?”
“The hull was untouched,” Yularen said, shaking his head. “No, they’re going to have to pull everything apart to figure out how he did it.”
For a long moment the three of them just looked at one another. “You still saved the ship,” Yularen said at last. “Along with almost half the tibanna and the Dromedar’s crew. And you caught most of the pirates.”
“Considering the value the High Command places on tibanna,” Thrawn said, “they may not consider that a sufficient victory.” His voice was calm enough.
But the expression on his face sent a shiver up Eli’s back.
Some of the myths talked about what happened when Chiss were defeated or outsmarted. None of those stories ended well.
“If they don’t, they should,” Yularen said flatly. “Never mind. There’s still a long way to go, and I, for one, have always considered half a loaf far superior to no loaf at all. We’ll make this work.” He gave Thrawn a twisted smile “And if the navy decides to toss you out, the ISB would be more than happy to take you.” He tapped his white tunic. “I daresay you’d look good in white.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “But my skills and aptitudes are best suited for ships and open warfare.”
“Then let’s make sure you stay there.” Yularen looked around. “I believe that’s the minister of war over there. No point aiming low when you can aim high. If we’re lucky—and if he’s been drinking—we might get him to drop the court-martial completely.”
“Your Excellency, please,” Arihnda said carefully, backing toward the door, her lungs alternately burning and icing with the bits of spice she’d accidentally inhaled. What the hell was going on?
Whatever it was, there was precious little she could do about it. The door was presumably locked, the windows were unbreakable, and she was on the five thousandth floor anyway.
“He’s very clever, your Senator Renking,” Ghadi said. His voice was cool, almost conversational. “Did he really think he could get away with this?”
Arihnda shook her head. “I’m sorry, Your Excellency, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about planting false data in a senior Imperial official’s computer,” Ghadi said, his voice going soft and menacing. “Apparently, Renking expected me to be so taken with you that I’d just load the data card without checking it first.”
Arihnda felt her eyes widen. “Wait a minute. Planting false data? What kind of false data?”
“So here’s what you’re going to do,” Ghadi continued, ignoring her question. “You’re going to take that data card”—he pointed languidly toward the card in her hand—“and do whatever Renking told you to do with it. Leave it on his desk, file it, hide it under the carpet; whatever he said. And you will never, ever tell him about the switch or about this conversation.” Ghadi raised his eyebrows. “Follow my instructions, and that’ll be the end of it. Deviate from them, and I’ll see that you’re arrested for possession. Your choice.”
Arihnda’s lungs were slowly starting to clear. But at the same time, the room was starting to take on a strange clarity, with colors and textures more and more sharply defined and light and shadow pulsing back and forth. “What is this stuff doing to me?” she asked. Her voice, she noticed, was throbbing in time with the light/shadow dance.
“Nothing much,” Ghadi said. “It needs to be cooked to release its full potency. Of course, the fact that it’s raw means you’d be identified as a dealer or courier instead of simply a user. Much harsher sentence. I need your decision.”
Arihnda squeezed her eyes shut. Even through closed lids she seemed able to see the room’s new vibrancy. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?” she asked, opening her eyes again.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Ghadi countered with a shrug. “You’re a very small fish, not worth the time and effort of gutting.”
“I see,” Arihnda said. “What was on the data card I gave you?”
Ghadi frowned. “You ask a lot of questions, Ms. Pryce,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you trying to make me think you’re worth gutting?”
“You’re asking me to do to Renking the same thing he tried to do to you,” Arihnda pointed out. “I don’t want to escape your bonfire just to get dropped into his.”
“Do your job and he’ll never know it was you,” Ghadi said. “Besides, you don’t really have a choice, do you?”
Arihnda looked at the powder Ghadi had thrown on her tunic. The bright white was fading as the dust was absorbed into the fabric, but she knew that with the right equipment it would be detectable for days. “I suppose not.”
“And don’t forget it.” Ghadi smiled, a tight, bitter, evil smile. “Welcome to politics, Ms. Pryce.
“Welcome to the real Coruscant.”
Arihnda managed to slip out of the ballroom without Juahir or Driller spotting her. She caught an air taxi, rode to Renking’s office, and put Ghadi’s data card in the slot in the desk safe as she’d been instructed. Then, calling another air taxi, she returned to Driller’s borrowed apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was stay in Core Square a second longer than she had to, but she knew that running would make her look guilty.
Besides, her lungs and vision were still showing the effects of the spice, and there were probably other visual cues that would tag her to anyone who knew what to look for. It would be the height of irony if Ghadi kept his word not to turn her in only to have some random security guard do it for him.
She lay awake on the daybed for the next three hours, waiting for the symptoms to fade, wondering what was on the card. Wondering what it would do. Wondering what she would do.
She had no answers.
It was after two in the morning when Juahir and Driller finally returned. Arihnda brushed off Juahir’s questions with a story about not feeling well, then fended off the other woman’s efforts to help. Eventually, Juahir gave up, and she and Driller drifted off to their own beds.
It wasn’t until dawn was starting to lighten the sky that Arihnda finally nodded off. Her last thought as she fell asleep was to wonder when the blow would fall.
It fell very quickly.
The general comm call came at oh-nine-hundred, barely three hours after Arihnda fell asleep. She arrived at Renking’s office to find most of the local staff already assembled, whispering urgently and apprehensively among themselves. Renking arrived a few minutes later, his eyes cold, his face dark and stiff.
“I have some bad news,” he said without preamble. His gaze moved across the crowd as he talked, but Arihnda noted that his eyes never seemed to touch her face. “Some allegations have recently arisen of financial and corporate discrepancies coming from my office. While these allegations are categorically false, I must nonetheless address them as quickly as possible. I will therefore be returning to Lothal for a time, and will probably need to make brief visits to other worlds before I return.
“Unfortunately, until the situation has been straightened out, my funding levels will be severely restricted. I have no choice but to close several of my outlying offices and relieve those assigned there of your duties. Here are the offices affected.”
He read off a list of seven offices from his datapad. It wasn’t coincidence, Arihnda suspected, that he saved Bash Four for the very end.
“Thank you all for coming,” he concluded. “My apologies to those of you whom I’m no longer able to employ, but I’m certain you’ll find other positions soon. Enjoy the rest of your Ascension Week festivities. Ms. Pryce, if you’d stay a moment?”
Arihnda remained standing beside the wall as the others filed out. Renking busied himself with his datapad, or at least pretended to do so, until the two of them were alone.
And then, for the first time since entering the office, he looked at her.
Arihnda had expected to see anger in his eyes. She saw only ice. She expected him to shout or curse. His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft and infinitely more frightening. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I didn’t have any choice,” Arihnda said, silently cursing the shaking that had suddenly afflicted her voice. She’d promised herself that she would match him tone for tone, but an Imperial senator in full-blown anger was more intimidating than she’d expected. “He said he would have me arrested.”
“And you believed him?” Renking demanded. “You honestly believed you were important enough to waste even the time of a single police call on?” He shook his head. “You really are a fool, aren’t you?”
“What about you?” Arihnda countered. How was this her fault? “Whatever you were trying to do, you must not have disguised it very well. If I’d known what was going on, I would at least have been ready for him.”
“Oh, right,” he bit back. “A wet-eared Lothal yokel would have been ready for a moff. Yes, I’d have paid good money to watch that match.” He held out his hand. “Your airspeeder key.”
Arihnda handed it over, clamping her mouth shut against the retort that wanted to come out. “I assume you’ll be taking back my apartment, too,” she said instead. “I’ll go over and start clearing it out.”
“It’s already being emptied,” Renking said. “Your things will be waiting in the outer office tomorrow.” His lip twisted. “We could have done great things together, Arihnda. I’m sorry I couldn’t rely on you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you, either,” Arihnda said.
“Trust?” Renking snorted. “Don’t be a fool. There’s no trust in politics. Never has been. Never will be. Now get out. I’m sure you’ll be very happy back on Lothal.”
To Arihnda’s surprise, Juahir and Driller were waiting outside the office. “Are you all right?” Juahir asked anxiously. “I got a call from the landlady that a group of Ugnaughts were in your apartment packing everything up and figured you were here.”
“I just got fired,” Arihnda told her. The trembling was starting to creep back into her voice. Ruthlessly, she forced it down. “The apartment disappeared when the job did.”
“Ouch.” Juahir peered closely at her. “Does this have anything to do with why you bailed on us last night?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it.” Arihnda looked around at the cityscape rising all around them, at the majestic buildings and the never-ending flow of airspeeder traffic. When she’d first arrived she’d found the view exotic and exciting. Later, it had become familiar and commonplace.
Now it was ominous. Billions of humans and aliens were crammed together out there, all jockeying for the same jobs and the same living space.
And Arihnda was now one of them.
“Okay,” Juahir said briskly. “Well, you can stay with me for the moment. A little cramped, but we’ll make do. Work-wise…well, you know what Topple’s clientele is like, so you might not want to even consider it. But the server droids are always breaking down, so Walt’s always hiring.”
“Yes,” Arihnda murmured. Renking’s words, I’m sorry I couldn’t rely on you, echoed accusingly through her mind.
Maybe that was the trick to surviving on Coruscant: never relying on anyone.
If that was what it took, Arihnda could do it.
“Or you could stay with me for the next two months if you’d rather,” Driller offered. “Closer to the center of things and the fancier jobs. Though it’s probably hard to get one of those.”
“Probably,” Arihnda said. She took a deep breath. She could do this. “Thanks for your offers. What I need, Driller, if you’re willing, is to stay with you and Juahir for the rest of Ascension Week. After that, I’ll be out of your hair.”
Juahir and Driller exchanged glances. “Okay,” Juahir said carefully. “You sure you don’t want to come back with me?”
“No,” Arihnda said. “Thank you.”
“Isn’t there anything else we can do for you?” Driller pressed. “Nothing else you need?”
“Just one more thing,” Arihnda said, pulling out her datapad. The datapad, at least, was hers, not Renking’s. “I need the address of the nearest citizen assistance office.”
“…and it is therefore the decision of this panel that Lieutenant Thrawn be cleared of all charges.”
Eli took a deep breath. So that was that. The court-martial panel had taken the full details of the Dromedar incident into account, specifically made note of Captain Rossi’s pettiness, and rendered the correct decision.
It was a solid vindication. Still, Eli found himself having mixed feelings as he and Thrawn walked together from the room. He himself had been under the edge of the cloud on this one, but as a subordinate officer his career hadn’t been at risk nearly as much as Thrawn’s. If Thrawn had been convicted and discharged from the navy, would Eli have been returned to his old supply officer career path?
And if he had, would he have been pleased or disappointed?
He scowled at the flat gray walls around them. He hadn’t asked for the role that had been thrust upon him, and he definitely hadn’t wanted it. As he’d long suspected, his position as Thrawn’s aide was having a dampening effect on his own advancement, and there were many times over the past couple of years when he would have given anything to be free and clear of the Chiss.
But then there were the other times. The times when Thrawn made some connection or noticed some small fact that nailed a smuggler or racketeer red-handed. The times when the Chiss suggested a tactical maneuver that pulled an unexpected victory out of defeat. The times, as with Cygni and his pirates, when Thrawn was two steps ahead of the enemy at every turn.
Or at least, most of the turns. The lost tibanna still rankled him. It rankled Thrawn even more, he could tell.
So what did Eli really want? A calm, safe pathway that utilized his talents and skills to their maximum potential and took him to the top of his chosen field? Or a path where he nearly always felt like a fish flopping on the shore, but where he got to see true genius in action?
He’d been mulling that question ever since Royal Imperial. He still didn’t have an answer.
“Your family still engages in private shipping, does it not?” Thrawn asked into his thoughts.
“Yes, sir,” Eli confirmed, wincing a little. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about being Thrawn’s aide, but his parents had made their thoughts about his stagnating career very clear. It had gotten so bad that he no longer looked forward to their letters and calls.
“I assume that such work also includes a knowledge of supply and demand?”
“Shipping by itself doesn’t,” Eli said, “but they also do a lot of purchasing, and that definitely does. Why, is there something you need?”
Thrawn was silent another few steps. “Doonium,” he said. “Cygni identified my buzz droid as a Mark One model, and clearly recognized its value. That can only be due to its doonium content.”
Eli shrugged. “No surprise there. The price of doonium has gone through the roof since the navy started its latest shipbuilding surge.”
“That is the tale,” Thrawn agreed. “But I wonder. Do you know how many ships are being constructed, and how much doonium they require?”
“Not offhand, but I could probably find out,” Eli said, frowning. “Are you thinking the navy might be stockpiling the stuff?”
“That is one possibility,” Thrawn said. “The other possibility is more…intriguing.”
“That possibility being…?”
“Some other project,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “Something large, and unannounced.”
“Militaries sometimes have off-the-list projects going on,” Eli pointed out. “But I don’t know how large it could be. I suppose the first step would be to check the Senate and finance ministry’s public records.”
“Unless the project has been made invisible even to them.”
“That would argue something even smaller,” Eli said. “Secret project or not, the money has to come from somewhere. Not just material costs, but engineering, worker payments, and resource transport. The bigger it is, the harder all that is to hide.”
“But not impossible?”
“My parents always said that nothing was impossible,” Eli said. “If you’d like, I can look into it.”
“I would be most appreciative,” Thrawn said. “Thank you.” He gestured to a door ahead. “I was told our new orders would be waiting for us here.”
“Ah,” Eli said. That was fast. Apparently the High Command had known in advance what the panel’s verdict would be. At least he and Thrawn wouldn’t just be sitting around in limbo.
Still, the news was likely to be mixed. From what he’d read, courts-martial were the ultimate in career killers. Even if the officer was acquitted, he was usually given only ground or orbital assignments for the next few years. Given the navy’s attitude toward nonhumans—and given the way Thrawn had ruffled both Admiral Wiskovis’s and Captain Rossi’s feathers on his way to scoring only half a victory—he doubted it would be one of the nicer or more prestigious ground assignments, either.
And where Thrawn went, would Eli follow?
“Ensign Eli Vanto?” a voice came from behind them.
“Yes, ma’am,” Eli confirmed, turning around.
The woman striding toward them was middle-aged, dressed in a quiet but expensive-looking business outfit topped by a short cloak. Her expression was cool, her skin smooth with the look of someone who rarely if ever walked beneath an open sky. “A word, if you please?” she asked.
Eli looked at Thrawn. “You may speak with her,” Thrawn said. “I will get our orders and return.” He sent the newcomer a brief look, then continued on toward the door he’d indicated. It slid open, and he disappeared inside.
“You may speak with her?” the woman echoed. “I didn’t know even ensigns needed permission from their superiors to talk with people.”
“That’s just the way he talks,” Eli said, feeling his face warming. Thrawn had long since become fluent in Basic, but his ability to phrase his comments in polite or diplomatic ways was still sometimes woefully lacking. “You are…?”
“My name is Culper,” the woman said. “I’m an aide to Moff Ghadi.” Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “You do know who Moff Ghadi is, I assume?”
“Of course,” Eli said. He actually had heard of Ghadi—the moff of the important Tangenine sector here in the Core, he vaguely remembered. Beyond that one fact, though, the details of Ghadi’s life and position were somewhat fuzzy.
“Good,” Culper said briskly. “His Excellency has been following this case with some interest. He concurs with the outcome, but is somewhat displeased that your role in the lieutenant’s success was not more fully acknowledged.”
“Not hard to explain,” Eli said. “Lieutenant Thrawn was the one who identified the impostor Cygni as a plant, laid out a plan to capture him, then executed that plan with skill and efficiency.”
“But hardly alone,” Culper pointed out. “You and the other members of the Blood Crow’s crew were vital to his achieving that result.”
“Which has been stated time and again,” Eli reminded her. “Mostly by Lieutenant Thrawn himself. Who I believe has also recommended commendations for all of us.”
“But not promotions.”
“Junior officers don’t get to tell senior officers how to do their job,” Eli said. “I trust High Command and the Imperial Navy to do what is right and proper.”
Culper smiled thinly. “Ah, yes. Right and proper. Two high-sounding but meaningless words. One doesn’t get what one deserves in this universe, Ensign Vanto. One certainly shouldn’t wait for what someone else considers right or proper. No, one must be alert for opportunities and take firm grasp of them.” She lifted a hand, closed it emphatically into a fist.
“Is there an opportunity out there that I’m missing?”
“Indeed,” Culper said. “His Excellency Moff Ghadi has many contacts and associates across the Empire. One of them, a governor in a prestigious Inner Rim system, is in need of an assistant military attaché. A single word from His Excellency, and the job is yours.” Another thin smile. “And you would certainly be promoted to lieutenant along the way, with promotion to captain soon following.”
“Interesting,” Eli said. “Unfortunately, I’m committed to three more years of service to the navy before I could even consider such an offer.”
“Not a problem,” Culper assured him. “In the particular system at issue, the attaché’s office is an extension of the Imperial Navy. You’d be serving out your Imperial commitment even while establishing yourself in the local hierarchy.”
“Sounds even better,” Eli said. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not yet ready for a desk job.”
“This would hardly be a desk job,” Culper said, her lips twisting just slightly with amusement or contempt. Apparently, Eli was even less well informed about such things than he’d realized. “You’d liaison with the Imperial Navy, yes; but you’d also be an officer in the system fleet’s own defense force. Before you know it, you’d have a command of your own. A patrol craft to start with, then a frigate, up to a light or even heavy cruiser.”
“Sounds intriguing,” Eli said.
“More than simply intriguing, I would hope,” Culper said, her smooth forehead wrinkling. “You seem oddly hesitant, Ensign. I trust you realize that there are senior officers throughout the navy who would jump at a chance like this. For His Excellency to offer it to an officer as junior as you is unheard of.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Eli agreed. “Which leads to the obvious question: Why me?”
Culper shrugged. “One might just as well ask why not you? You’ve proved yourself capable in an unusual situation, you’ve made a name for yourself—” She paused, her eyes flicking to the door through which Thrawn had just exited. “And it’s not like the navy has your future in mind.”
Eli looked away, a knot forming in his stomach. Culper was right on that one, anyway. Thrawn was on his way to a desk assignment of his own, with his aide likely falling meteorlike alongside him.
Or instead, Eli could take Moff Ghadi up on his offer and command his own ship.
He’d never considered that as a possibility for his future. He’d been in supply at the Academy, and the best that career track had to offer was chief supply officer on a Star Destroyer or possibly command of a major ground-based depot.
But that career track was long gone. Now he was an officer’s aide…and if there were ever a path that led nowhere, that was it. He might end up a captain, possibly even a lieutenant commander; but he would always be standing in the shadow of a full commander, an admiral, or a grand admiral.
Or instead, he could be captain of his own ship.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. He would be a fool to turn it down.
But could he really pull this off? Could he command an entire ship, even one as small as a system patrol craft? He didn’t have the training or the experience. He certainly didn’t have the gifts of leadership or charisma.
But still. Captain of his own ship…
“I trust the location is not a problem,” Culper said into his hesitation. “To be perfectly honest, an Inner Rim assignment is more than generous.”
Eli’s thoughts froze. “What do you mean, more than generous?”
Culper’s lips compressed briefly. “I mean that for a Wild Space person like yourself, the Inner Rim is an incredible move upward.”
“I see,” Eli said, a trickle of anger tugging at him. He’d seen plenty of superiority and disdain from the Core cadets at the Royal Imperial Academy, but he’d never thought he would hear that same prejudice from a senior government official. “Tell me, Ms. Culper: Why exactly have I been singled out for this honor?”
“Because His Excellency considers you worthy of promotion.”
“So you said,” Eli agreed. “What’s the real reason?”
Culper’s lips compressed again. “If you don’t wish to avail yourself of this opportunity—”
“It’s because of Thrawn, isn’t it?” Eli cut in as he suddenly understood. “Moff Ghadi doesn’t care if I succeed. What he wants is for Thrawn to fail.”
“His Excellency has no interest in what happens to a lowly senior lieutenant.”
Eli looked at the door ahead with a sudden flash of understanding. “Only he’s not a senior lieutenant anymore, is he? He’s been promoted to captain.”
Culper’s lip twitched. Not much, but enough to show that Eli had hit the mark. “Fine,” she said, her smooth voice going dark. “Yes, he’s being promoted; and yes, there are a few of us who aren’t pleased by all the attention the alien is getting. His actions cost the Empire hundreds of thousands of credits’ worth of lost tibanna gas.”
“He saved half of it.”
“Forty percent,” Culper said frostily. “And that was Admiral Wiskovis’s doing, not his. All your alien friend cared about was showing how clever he was.”
“He also rescued the freighter crew.”
“Three of whom were aliens.”
Eli felt his skin prickle. “What difference does that make?”
“Do you really not understand?” Culper demanded. “The Empire’s priority was to retrieve the tibanna. That was what was valuable. That was what a good Imperial officer should have focused on. Instead, he risked the lives of you and the other Blood Crow crew to rescue some aliens. What do you think he’ll do the next time such a decision is required?”
“I see,” Eli said. So there it was. He wasn’t being cited for ability and groomed for a prestigious post. He was nothing more than a tool with which Ghadi and his friends hoped to topple the non-elite, nonhuman threat to their comfortable little universe. “I appreciate your honesty, Ms. Culper. Please thank His Excellency Moff Ghadi for his offer. But I’m happy right where I am.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Culper said acidly. “He will go down someday. Even with you there to smooth the political path for him, he’ll go down. He was lucky this time. But luck never lasts. And when he goes down, anyone too close will go down with him.”
“Moff Ghadi will make sure of that?”
Culper smiled. “Good day, Ensign,” she said.
She started to turn away, then paused. “Oh, and if I were you, I’d get comfortable with that title,” she added. “You’ll be holding it for quite some time.”
She turned again, swirling her cape this time, and strode toward the exit. Eli watched her go, the emotional tangle emerging again as the disgust receded.
But while his feelings were still mixed, his course was now clear. One way or another, his career was linked to Thrawn’s.
“You are disturbed.” Thrawn’s voice came from behind him.
“I’m fine,” Eli growled. Was it too much to ask that people stop sneaking up on him? “Did you get your orders?”
“Yes,” Thrawn said. “What did she want from you?”
“She was offering me a job,” Eli said shortly. “What’s your new assignment?”
Thrawn looked down at the datapad in his hand. “First officer aboard the Thunder Wasp. It is listed as an Arquitens-class light cruiser currently on patrol duty in the Mid Rim.”
“And you’ve been promoted to captain?”
Thrawn inclined his head, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. “How did you know?”
“Lucky guess,” Eli said. “I assume you picked up my orders while you were at it?”
“Yes.” Thrawn held out a data card. “Also the Thunder Wasp, as my aide-de-camp.”
“With no promotion.”
“No,” Thrawn said. “My apologies, Ensign. I had recommended you for both promotion and for a combat station.”
“Which I’m not really trained for,” Eli pointed out. “Where I should be is in supply.”
Thrawn was silent a moment. “This job you were offered. Was it better than the one the navy has assigned you?”
Eli looked over just in time to see Culper leave the room. Captain of his own ship…“No,” he said. “Not really.”
It took Arihnda four tries to find what she was looking for.
But it was time well spent.
The place she was now in was without a doubt the most poorly staffed citizen assistance office she’d ever seen. Only four of the twelve desks were occupied, two by humans, one each by a Rodian and a Duros. There was a light coming from the supervisor’s office door, so apparently there was at least one other person here.
The lack of personnel was likely an artifact of the timing, with the Ascension Week festivities having taken their toll on the office’s staff. The obvious corollary was that the ones who were here would be the ones who couldn’t get time off, which likely meant the newest and least competent.
Of course, since ordinary citizens didn’t get weeklong holidays off, either, the line was just as long as usual. Longer, really, since only a third of the staff was there to handle their problems.
Arihnda smiled to herself. Perfect.
She had plenty of time during her wait in line to evaluate the workers. She finally settled on one of the humans, a squat woman whose face and body language silently proclaimed the fact that she didn’t want to be there. Arihnda deftly tweaked her position in line just enough to make sure that Grouchy’s desk was the one she finally sat down at.
“Welcome to Proam Avenue Citizen Assistance,” the woman said in a voice that was more mechanical than that of some droids Arihnda had worked with. “My name is Nariba. How can I help you?”
“I’m Arihnda,” Arihnda said. “I recently lost my job, and I need another one. Something interesting and fun would be the best. Oh, and I also need a place to stay.”
“Is that all?” Nariba said with a grunt, peering down at her computer. “References? Qualifications? Job history? Come on, come on—I don’t have all day.”
“I used to work for a senator,” Arihnda said brightly. “But all I’ve been offered since then was a waitress job.”
“And you didn’t take it?” Nariba growled. “Not smart. You’re not going to get anything better around here.”
“But I used to work for a senator.”
“Hey, honey, look around you,” Nariba said in a voice of strained patience. “Half the people in Core Square used to work for a senator. You’re lucky you didn’t have to work under a senator, if you know what I mean.” She peered a little more closely. “Or maybe you did. You’re the type a lot of them would like.”
“Are you suggesting my senator would act immorally?” Arihnda asked, a small part of her appreciating the irony of the question.
“What, you just fall off the Rimma transport?” Nariba puckered her lips in a condescending smile. “Of course you did. Worked on your accent, I see. Need to work a little harder.”
“I will,” Arihnda promised. “But about my job and an apartment…?”
Nariba rolled her eyes. “Sure, why not? There are still people who believe in miracles. Give me your comm number and I’ll put you on the list.”
Arihnda did so. Thanking Nariba, she stood up and waved over the next person in line.
And then headed straight to the supervisor’s office.
There was a buzzer by the door. Arihnda tapped it and waited a moment. She tapped it again, and again. On the fourth buzz, the door slid open.
The office was smaller than Arihnda would have guessed, not much bigger than the medium-sized desk and full-wall data card shelves filling most of the space. Behind the desk sat a harried-looking middle-aged man. “Who are you, and what do you want?” he growled.
“My name is Arihnda Pryce,” Arihnda said, stepping inside and glancing at the name plaque on the desk. Alistar Sinclar. “You have a problem, Mr. Sinclar, and I have the solution.”
Sinclar blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I just spoke with Nariba,” Arihnda said. “Your employee at desk three. She’s not very good at her job. She’s rude and insulting; and worst of all, she isn’t helpful. Between you and me, she needs to be fired.”
“Does she, now?” Sinclar said. “I hardly think you’re in a position to make that kind of judgment.”
“No, but you are,” Arihnda said. “That’s where my solution comes in. Hire me to replace her.”
Sinclar raised his eyebrows. “Your credentials?”
“I worked for the past two years in Senator Renking’s assistance office in Bash Four,” Arihnda said. “And I was very good at my job.”
Sinclar pursed his lips. “Working for a senator is a bit insular—”
“I’ve dealt with angry landlords, angry tenants, reluctant employers, and panicky job-seekers,” Arihnda continued. “Also union bosses, would-be union bosses, striking miners, strike-breaking miners, angry men and women who wanted to tear up my office, low-level criminals, high-level criminals, and politicians from the rawest hack to the most entrenched fossil.”
She stopped for air. From the look on Sinclar’s face, he probably hadn’t heard anyone throw quite this depth of a list at him before. “Really,” he said, a bit lamely.
“Really,” she assured him. “But don’t take my word for it.” She nodded toward the main office behind her. “You have eight empty desks out there. Let me work the rest of Ascension Week for free. After that, you can decide for yourself which of us you want to keep.”
Sinclar smiled. “You are brash, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Arihnda agreed. “But I’ve been told that it isn’t brashness if you succeed.”
“Interesting point.” Sinclar stood up and offered his hand across the desk. “You’re on, Ms. Pryce. Take desk eight. Let’s see if you’re as good as you think.”