But never in all that time had Ar’alani experienced such a mix of determination, viciousness, and utter pointlessness as in the scene now unfolding in front of her.
“Watch it, Vigilant—you’ve got four more coming at you from starboard-nadir.” The voice of Senior Captain Xodlak’in’daro came from the Vigilant’s bridge speaker, her resonant alto glacially calm as always.
“Acknowledged, Grayshrike,” Ar’alani called back, looking at the tactical. Four more Nikardun gunboats had indeed appeared from around the small moon, driving at full power toward the Vigilant. “Looks like you have a few latecomers to your party, as well,” she added.
“We’re on it, ma’am,” Lakinda said.
“Good,” Ar’alani said, studying the six missile boats that had appeared from behind the hulk of the battle cruiser she and the other two Chiss ships had hammered into rubble fifteen minutes ago. Sneaking into cover that way without being spotted had taken some ingenuity, and many commanders with that level of competence would have used their skill to exercise the better part of valor and abandon such a clearly hopeless battle.
But that wasn’t what these last pockets of Nikardun resistance were about. They were about complete self-sacrifice, throwing themselves at the Chiss warships that had rooted them from their burrows, apparently with the sole goal of taking some of the hated enemies with them.
That wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Not to Ar’alani’s force. “Thrawn, the Grayshrike has picked up a new nest of nighthunters,” she called. “Can you offer them some assistance?”
“Certainly,” Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo replied. “Captain Lakinda, if you’ll turn thirty degrees to starboard, I believe we can draw your attackers into a crossfire.”
“Thirty degrees, acknowledged,” Lakinda said, and Ar’alani saw the Grayshrike’s tactical display image angle away from the incoming missile boats and head toward Thrawn’s Springhawk. “Though with all due respect to the admiral, I’d say they’re more whisker cubs than nighthunters.”
“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “If these are the same ones we thought were caught in the battle cruiser explosion, they should be down to a single missile each.”
“Actually, our tally makes two of them completely empty,” Lakinda said. “Just along for the glory of martyrdom, I suppose.”
“Such as it is,” Ar’alani said. “I doubt anyone out there is going to be singing the elegiac praises of Yiv the Benevolent anytime soon. Wutroow?”
“Spheres are ready, Admiral,” Senior Captain Kiwu’tro’owmis confirmed from across the Vigilant’s bridge. “Ready to rain on their picnic?”
“One moment,” Ar’alani said, watching the tactical and gauging the distances. Plasma spheres’ ability to deliver electronics-freezing blasts of ionic energy made them capable of disabling attackers without having to plow through the tough nyix-alloy hulls that sheathed most warships in this part of the Chaos. Smaller fighter-class ships, like the Nikardun missile boats currently charging the Vigilant, were especially vulnerable to such attacks.
But the missile boats’ smaller size also meant they were more nimble than larger warships, and could sometimes dodge out of harm’s way if the relatively slow plasma spheres were launched too soon.
There were tables and balance charts to calculate that sort of thing. Ar’alani preferred to do it by eyesight and experienced judgment.
And that judgment told her they had a sudden opportunity here. Another two seconds…“Fire spheres,” she ordered.
There was a small, muffled thud as the plasma spheres shot from their launchers. Ar’alani kept her eyes on the tactical, watching as the missile boats realized they were under attack and scrambled to evade the spheres. The rearmost of them almost made it, the sphere flickering into its aft port side and paralyzing its thrusters, sending it spinning off into space along its final evasion vector. The other three caught the spheres squarely amidships, killing their major systems as they, too, went gliding helplessly away.
“Three down, one still wiggling,” Wutroow reported. “You want us to take them?”
“Hold on that for now,” Ar’alani told her. It would be at least another few minutes before the missile boats recovered. In the meantime…“Thrawn?” she called. “Over to you.”
“Acknowledged, Admiral.”
Ar’alani shifted her attention to the Springhawk. Normally, she would never do this to the captain of one of her task force ships: giving a vague order on the assumption that the other would pick up on her intent. But she and Thrawn had worked together long enough that she knew he would see what she was seeing and know exactly what she wanted him to do.
And so he did. As the four momentarily stunned missile boats headed off on their individual vectors, a tractor beam shot out from the Springhawk’s bow, grabbed one of them, and started to pull it in.
Pulling it directly into the path of the cluster of missile boats charging toward the Grayshrike.
The Nikardun, their full attention focused on their suicidal attack on the Chiss cruiser, were caught completely off guard by the vessel angling in on them. At the last second they scattered, all six managing to evade the incoming obstacle.
But the disruption had thrown off their rhythm and their aim. Worse than that, from their point of view, Thrawn had timed that distraction for the precise moment when the Nikardun fighters came into full effective range of the Grayshrike’s and Springhawk’s spectrum lasers. The missile ships were still trying to reestablish their configuration when the Chiss lasers opened fire.
Twenty seconds later, that section of space was once again clear of enemies.
“Well done, both of you,” Ar’alani said, checking the tactical. Aside from the disabled missile boats, only two Nikardun ships out there still showed signs of life. “Wutroow, move us toward target seven. Spectrum lasers should be adequate to finish him off. Grayshrike, what’s your status?”
“Still working on the thrusters, Admiral,” Lakinda said. “But we’re sealed again, and the engineers say they should have us back at full power in a quarter hour or less.”
“Good,” Ar’alani said, doing a quick analysis of the debris and battered ships visible through the Vigilant’s bridge viewport. There shouldn’t be any places out there where more ships could be lurking.
On the other hand, that was what she’d thought before those six missile boats popped into view from the battle cruiser’s hulk. There could be a few more small ships gone to ground in the fog of battle in the hope that they’d be missed until the time was right for their own suicide runs.
And at the moment, with its main thrusters down, the Grayshrike was a sitting flashfly. “Springhawk, stay with Grayshrike,” she ordered. “We’ll clean out these last two.”
“That’s really not necessary, Admiral,” Lakinda said, a hint of carefully controlled protest in her voice. “We can still maneuver enough to fight.”
“You just concentrate on your repairs,” Ar’alani told her. “If you get bored, you can finish off those four missile boats when they wake up.”
“We’re not going to offer them the chance to surrender?” Thrawn asked.
“You can make that offer if you want,” Ar’alani said. “I can’t see them accepting it any more than any of their late comrades did. But I’m willing to be surprised.” She hesitated. “Grayshrike, you can also start a full scan of the area. There could be someone else lurking nearby, and I’m tired of people charging out of nowhere and shooting at us.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Lakinda said.
Ar’alani smiled to herself. Lakinda hadn’t actually said thank you, but she could hear it in the senior captain’s voice. Of all the officers in Ar’alani’s task force, Lakinda was the most focused and driven, and she absolutely hated to be left out of things.
There was a brush of air as Wutroow stepped up beside Ar’alani’s command chair. “Hopefully, this is the last of them,” the Vigilant’s first officer commented. “The Vaks should be able to sleep a bit easier now.” She considered. “So should the Syndicure.”
Ar’alani touched the comm mute key. As far as she’d been able to tell, the supreme ruling body of the Chiss Ascendancy had been as unenthusiastic about this cleanup mission as it was possible for politicians to get. “I didn’t know the Syndicure was worried about rogue Nikardun threats to the Vak Combine.”
“I’m sure they aren’t,” Wutroow said. “I’m equally sure they are worried about why we’re way out here engaging in warlike actions.”
Ar’alani cocked an eyebrow at her. “You raise that question as if you already knew the answer.”
“Not really,” Wutroow said, giving Ar’alani one of those significant looks she did so well. “I was hoping you knew.”
“Sadly, the Aristocra seldom consult with me these days,” Ar’alani said.
“Oddly enough, they don’t consult with me, either,” Wutroow said. “But I’m sure they have their reasons.”
Ar’alani nodded. Normally, the Nine Ruling Families—and the full weight of official Ascendancy policy—were dead-set against any military action unless Chiss worlds or holdings had been directly attacked first. She could only assume that the interrogation of General Yiv the Benevolent and a thorough examination of his captured files and records had proved the Nikardun had been such an imminent threat that the Syndicure had been willing to bend the usual rules.
“At least Thrawn must be pleased,” Wutroow continued. “It’s rare to get vindication and retaliation delivered in the same neat package.”
“If you’re trying to get me to tell you what he and I talked about with Supreme General Ba’kif before we left on this little jaunt, you’re in for a disappointment,” Ar’alani said. “But yes, I imagine Senior Captain Thrawn is pleased at how things turned out.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Wutroow said, her voice making a subtle shift from the admiral’s friend to the admiral’s first officer. “Coming into range of target seven.”
“Very good,” Ar’alani said. “You may fire at your convenience.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With a crisp nod, Wutroow headed back across the bridge. “Oeskym, stand by lasers,” she called to the weapons officer.
Two minutes later, it was over. Ar’alani ordered the Vigilant back around, to find that the last four missile boats had vanished into expanding clouds of debris. Briefly, she thought about asking Thrawn and Lakinda if they’d offered the Nikardun the chance to surrender and decided it would be a waste of breath. The enemy had been annihilated, and that was what mattered.
“Well done, all of you,” Ar’alani said as Wutroow returned to her side. “Captain Thrawn, I believe the Grayshrike and I can handle the rest of the mission. You’re hereby authorized to move on.”
“If you’re certain, Admiral,” Thrawn said.
“I am,” Ar’alani said. “May warrior’s luck smile on your efforts.”
“And yours,” Thrawn said. “Springhawk out.”
Wutroow cleared her throat. “Supreme General Ba’kif’s conversation, I presume?”
“You may presume whatever you wish,” Ar’alani said.
“Ah,” Wutroow said. “Well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get started on the post-battle report.”
“Thank you,” Ar’alani said.
She watched as Wutroow headed across toward the systems monitor console. Her first officer was right about one thing, at least. The Vak Combine would be relieved and pleased.
The Nine Ruling Families and the Defense Hierarchy Council would also be relieved. But she doubted very much that anyone in either of those particular groups would be genuinely pleased.
Syndic Prime Mitth’urf’ianico had been waiting in the March of Silence in the Syndicure’s prestigious and historical Convocate Hall for nearly half an hour before the man he’d arranged to speak with finally arrived.
But that was all right. The idle time gave Thurfian a chance to observe, and to brood, and to plan.
The observation part was easy. The March of Silence, a favorite spot for Speakers, syndics, and others of the Aristocra to meet on neutral yet private ground, was surprisingly empty today. Most of that, Thurfian suspected, was because the syndics were back in their offices with the Council’s latest report on the mop-up efforts against what was left of General Yiv’s scattered forces, while the mid-level Ruling Family members that constituted the Aristocra helped them prep for the upcoming Syndicure session or simply worked their usual jobs in the various government agencies. The Speakers, as the top representatives of their families, were probably having long conversations with their homesteads, discussing the situation and getting their Patriarchs’ orders on what exactly their families’ responses would be once the data sifting was finished.
The brooding part was equally easy. Thurfian had already read the report, or as much of it as he could stomach at one sitting. Woven through all the military data and maps and charts was the understated but clear fact that Senior Captain Thrawn had—again—come out looking like a bright star in the Csilla sky. All that despite the fact that he had disobeyed the spirit of standing orders, put an invaluable sky-walker in deadly danger, and risked drawing the Ascendancy into a blatantly illegal and unethical war.
Thurfian was still working on the planning part when Syndic Irizi’stal’mustro finally made his appearance.
As always, Zistalmu waited until he was in earshot of Thurfian—and out of earshot of the other small groups in the hall—before speaking. “Syndic Thurfian,” he said, nodding in greeting. “My apologies for the delay.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation they were meeting to discuss, Thurfian nevertheless had to suppress a smile. Syndic Thurfian. Zistalmu had no idea that his colleague had just been elevated to Syndic Prime, the highest Syndicure position below the Speakership itself.
Zistalmu didn’t know the new title, and he probably never would. Such rankings were closely guarded family secrets, for internal Syndicure use only, unless the Speaker or Patriarch decided some extra authority was needed somewhere. But those situations were few and far between. Thurfian would most likely carry the rank in secret until the day of his retirement, and only his memorial pillar at the Mitth homestead would reveal it.
But he didn’t need anyone else to know. Secrets were such delicious morsels that they could be enjoyed alone.
“I was getting ready to leave,” Zistalmu continued, “when a delegation of Xodlak descended on my office, and I couldn’t get rid of them.”
“They came to you?” Thurfian asked.
“No, they came to Speaker Ziemol,” Zistalmu said sourly. “He generously foisted them off onto me.”
“That sounds like Ziemol.” Thurfian huffed out a commiserating breath. “Let me guess. They wanted the Irizi to sponsor their return to Ruling Family status?”
“What else?” Zistalmu growled. “I suppose you have delegates from the Forty come to you on occasion, too?”
“More often than I’d like,” Thurfian said. Though now that he was Syndic Prime, that would never happen again. As Speaker Ziemol had handed the Xodlak off to Zistalmu, so Thurfian could now hand such annoyances off to a lower-ranking Mitth syndic. “Usually they just want support or a temporary alliance, but a lot of them want to get into the Nine, too. I sometimes daydream about proposing a law that the number of Ruling Families be permanently set at nine.”
“I’d be on board with that,” Zistalmu said. “Though one should be wary of unintended consequences. If at some future date the Syndicure decided they wanted the Xodlak or perhaps even the Stybla back in, the Mitth might get booted out to make room for them.”
“Never happen,” Thurfian said firmly. “Speaking of unintended consequences, I assume you read the Council’s latest report?”
“On the Nikardun campaigns?” Zistalmu nodded. “Your boy Thrawn just can’t seem to lose, can he?”
“If you ask me, he loses all the time,” Thurfian growled. “The problem is that every disaster he breaks over his knee is followed so quickly by a glowing success that everyone forgets or ignores what came before.”
“The fact that he has people with brooms sweeping up behind him doesn’t hurt, either,” Zistalmu said. “I don’t know, Thurfian. I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever be able to take him down.” He raised his eyebrows. “And to be perfectly honest, I’m also starting to wonder if you still want to.”
“If you’ll cast your mind back, you may remember I first broached this topic when he was also riding high,” Thurfian said stiffly. “You think just because he hasn’t yet fallen from his implausible mountaintop means I’m happy to see him continue unimpeded?”
“He is bringing honor to the Mitth,” Zistalmu countered, just as stiffly.
“Honor that could evaporate tomorrow,” Thurfian said. “Along with whatever gains he’s brought to the Ascendancy as a whole. No, Zistalmu. Rest assured that I still want him out. The only question is how to do it so that his ultimate self-destruction creates a minimum of collateral damage.”
“Agreed,” Zistalmu said. To Thurfian’s ears, he still didn’t sound completely convinced. But at this point, even partial cooperation was enough. “I presume you brought a proposal?”
“The beginnings of one, yes,” Thurfian said. “It seems to me that we want him as far away from the Ascendancy as possible when he falls. One possibility would be to persuade the Council to send him against the Paataatus.”
“Which they won’t do,” Zistalmu said. “They’re bending the preemptive-strike laws hard enough right now with the Nikardun. They’re not going to turn around and send him against someone else. Certainly not without provocation.”
“But what if there was provocation?” Thurfian asked. “Specifically, what if there were rumors that the Paataatus were allying with a large pirate group to attack us? At the very least, the Syndicure and Council would want someone to go out and investigate such a possibility.”
“Are there any such rumors?”
“Actually, there are,” Thurfian said. “Nothing all that solid at the moment, I admit. But they’re there, they’re strengthening, and they’re definitely provocative. I imagine that with a little effort we could boost their credibility.”
“That’s fine as far as it goes,” Zistalmu said, eyeing him closely. “How do we persuade the Council to send Thrawn?”
“I doubt they’ll need much persuasion,” Thurfian said, feeling a smug smile crease his lips. “It turns out the alleged pirates are a group he’s already faced off against. Specifically, the Vagaari.”
Zistalmu opened his mouth. Closed it again without speaking, his presumably reflexive dismissal of the idea morphing into something more contemplative. “I thought he’d already destroyed them.”
“He destroyed one group of them,” Thurfian corrected. “But who’s to say there aren’t more lurking in the shadows?”
“That was certainly one of his most mixed-result exploits,” Zistalmu mused. “He captured that gravity-well generator the researchers are still trying to figure out, but then lost the big alien ship from Lesser Space before anyone could get a look inside.”
“And lost a respected Mitth syndic along with it,” Thurfian growled. All Chiss lives were important, but the fact that Syndic Mitth’ras’safis had been a Mitth automatically meant his disappearance wouldn’t mean as much to an Irizi like Zistalmu.
It was supposed to be different when the one who’d been lost was kin, though. It still rankled Thurfian that Thrawn would so casually throw away the life of one of his own family members.
“Yes, of course,” Zistalmu said. “A sad day, indeed. You knew Syndic Thrass, didn’t you?”
“Mostly just in passing,” Thurfian said, feeling slightly mollified. At least Zistalmu had the grace to acknowledge the Mitth loss. “I oversaw the transportation and commerce office back then, while he worked directly under the Speaker.”
“I understand he was close to Thrawn?”
“So I’ve heard,” Thurfian said. “I’m not sure I ever saw them together, though. Syndicure and Expansionary Defense Fleet circles don’t overlap very much.”
“Hardly at all, in fact,” Zistalmu conceded.
“But to return to the point, what the Council and Syndicure will remember most is the gravity generator Thrawn brought back,” Thurfian said. “We can hint that if they send him out there again, the same lightning might strike twice.”
“Hopefully with technology that will be a bit easier to crack,” Zistalmu said. “You have a plan for getting this enhanced rumor started?”
“There are some pathways I can use that won’t lead back to me,” Thurfian said. “That part is key, of course. You’ll want to find some similar pathways of your own.”
“So that if it explodes in our faces instead of Thrawn’s, you won’t take all the blame?”
“So that we have two different credible sources to present to the Council and Syndicure,” Thurfian said. “One story is an unfounded rumor, and we already have a few of those. Two independent stories from Chiss sources are a pattern worth paying attention to.”
“I hope so.” Zistalmu paused. “I trust you see the possible flaw in your plan?”
“That he’ll succeed yet again?” Thurfian scowled. “I know. But once the Nikardun have been destroyed, that will be the end as far as any real danger to the Ascendancy is concerned. A Paataatus-Vagaari alliance may not be much of a threat, but it’s all we have to work with. And surely between the two of them they can handle a single Chiss warship.”
“If the Council sends him alone,” Zistalmu said. “All right, I’ll see what I can do about getting some rumor pathways set up. Let me know when you’re ready so that we can coordinate the revelations. You have any idea when Thrawn is due back from the Vak Combine?”
“Not really,” Thurfian said. “Ar’alani is committed to finishing the job, and there’s no way of knowing how long that will take. Especially since what she finds may require her task force to make a side trip or two to clean out other Nikardun nests. The point is that we have time to get this moving in the proper direction.”
“Let’s just make sure we do it right,” Zistalmu warned. “If we let people get too comfortable, he’ll continue to skate along while they all forget him, after which his next disaster will catch everyone by surprise.”
“Don’t worry,” Thurfian assured him. “We’ll do it right. And this time, we’ll do it permanently.”
Only they probably wouldn’t, Thurfian conceded glumly as he left Zistalmu and headed out of the March of Silence. People saw what they wanted to see, and too many of the people in authority chose to remember Thrawn’s successes and ignore his failures. Thurfian was certainly willing to give this latest attempt a try, but he suspected it would end the same way as all the others.
What they needed was a new approach. He and Zistalmu were trying to hit Thrawn with a hammer, but Thrawn was too big and the hammer was too small. They needed a new angle with which to hit him.
Or they needed a bigger hammer.
Syndic Thurfian had held a certain degree of power. Syndic Prime Thurfian held a little more. But he realized now that neither of those positions gave him enough.
It was time to try something new. It was time for Syndic Thurfian to become Speaker Thurfian.
By the time he reached his office he had the outlines of a plan. Speaker Mitth’ykl’omi, he knew, was considered to be a vital part of the Mitth political structure.
It was time for Thurfian to make himself equally indispensable.