Thrawn

by Timothy Zahn

  Maybe Thrawn still couldn’t pick up the subtleties of human expressions. But Eli could. He’d been on the receiving end of his own set of sly smiles and whispered comments since the day they’d arrived, and he’d developed a fine-tuned sense of when he was about to be hit with a joke, trick, or insult.

  And Orbar and Turuy were definitely winding up for one of the three. Or something worse.

  At least it wasn’t the gambling thing Eli had worried about. Turuy had put up a small fuss when Eli told her that neither he nor Thrawn could afford the extra credits to bet on their game, and she and Orbar had accepted the condition with rolled eyes and thinly veiled scorn.

  But the fuss hadn’t been big enough, and they’d given in too easily. Something else was in the works.

  He grimaced. Walking into an unknown trap. Was this really how Chiss did things?

  “Oh, sure, the game was part of it,” Orbar said, finishing the deal and picking up his cards. “Corrosion tests are boring, and you get tired of two-handed games.” He shifted his gaze to Thrawn. “But mostly I wanted to pick your friend’s brain.”

  “On what subject?” Thrawn asked, his glowing red eyes narrowing slightly as he carefully fanned his cards the way Eli had shown him.

  “Tactics and strategy,” Orbar said. “I’m having some trouble in a couple of my battle simulation classes, and I figured with all your military experience—”

  “At least, that’s what we’ve been told,” Turuy put in with a smile. She was smiling way too much tonight.

  “Right,” Orbar said. “We figured you might be able to help.”

  “I am happy to share my experience,” Thrawn said. “Have you a specific question?”

  “I’m interested in the idea of traps,” Orbar said, his voice way too casual. “Take these cards. If I’m holding a King’s Lane, there’s no way any of you can beat me. But you won’t know that until it’s too late. How would you prepare for that kind of situation?”

  “One would first study the probabilities,” Thrawn said. “A King’s Lane is indeed unbeatable; but recall that there are three equivalent runs in the deck. Any of them would stagger yours and lead to mutual deadlock.”

  Turuy snorted. “You have any idea what the odds are against getting two King’s Lanes in the same deal?” she asked.

  “The odds for having two are similar to the odds for having one,” Thrawn pointed out. “But as you say, such runs are rare. More likely you hold a Prince’s Lane at best, or a Cube or Triad. In that event, what you described as a trap would more likely be termed simply a battle.” His eyes glittered. “Or a bluff.”

  “Okay, but you’re avoiding the question,” Orbar said. “I asked what you’d do if I had a King’s Lane. I didn’t ask for a dissertation on game theory.”

  “Let us assume you have the cards you suggest,” Thrawn said. “As I said earlier, even in that case your chance of success also depends upon which cards I hold.” He lifted his fanned cards slightly. “Knowledge that you do not have.”

  “The premise is that my hand is unbeatable.”

  “There is no such hand,” Thrawn said flatly. “As I suggested earlier, I might have a King’s Lane of my own. In that case, a challenge would mean mutual destruction. Your better option would be to avoid my hand and deliver your challenge to a different player.”

  Orbar flicked a glance at Eli. “That assumes there’s another target worth going after.”

  “True,” Thrawn said. “But mutual destruction is never the preferred option.” He gestured around the table. “You have not yet made your challenge. It is not too late to choose another.”

  “But none would be more satisfying,” Orbar said, smiling tightly.

  “As you wish,” Thrawn said, shrugging. “A moment, if you will.” He set his cards facedown on the table and slipped his hand into his tunic.

  And drew it out holding his lieutenant’s insignia plaque. He fastened it into position on his upper left tunic and picked up his cards again. “I believe you were about to make a challenge?”

  Eli looked at Orbar and Turuy. Both cadets were staring at the insignia plaque, their eyes widened, their mouths drooping open. Orbar threw a quick look at Turuy, got a completely unsmiling glance back from her—

  “What’s going on here?” a hard voice called from behind Thrawn.

  Eli jerked his head around. One of the instructors stood in the lab doorway, his fists on his hips, his expression thunderous as he glared at the cadets around the table. “I assume you all have authorization to be in here?” he growled, striding toward the table.

  “Cadets Orbar and Turuy are running a test, sir,” Thrawn said, standing up and turning to face the instructor.

  The other man came to an abrupt halt, his own eyes widening. Enough reaction, Eli thought darkly, to show he’d been in on Orbar’s scheme. “Lieutenant,” he breathed. “I…what about him?” he asked, nodding toward Eli.

  “Cadet Vanto is my translator,” Thrawn said calmly. “Where I go, he must necessarily accompany me.”

  The instructor’s lip twitched. “I see. I…very well, Lieutenant. Carry on.” He spun on his heel and beat a hasty retreat.

  Thrawn watched him go. Then, very deliberately, he turned back to the table and gazed down upon the others. “There is no guaranteed winning hand, Cadet Orbar,” he said quietly. “I suggest you not forget that. Cadet Vanto, I believe we are finished here. Good evening, Cadets.”

  A minute later, he and Eli were back out in the reflected light of the planetwide city surrounding them, walking along the path leading toward Barracks Two. “Well, that was fun,” Eli commented, wincing at the slight shaking in his voice. Would he never get used to confrontations? “So you knew he was going to pull that?”

  “You yourself suggested his tactic this afternoon,” Thrawn reminded him. “The timing was the only challenge.”

  “The timing?”

  “If I had brought out my insignia plaque too soon, he might have been able to warn off his confederate,” Thrawn said. “If I had waited until after the instructor’s appearance, he could have disciplined me for being improperly uniformed.”

  “Or could have challenged your right to wear it,” Eli pointed out. “You’ve never worn it before.”

  “Because I am both officer and cadet,” Thrawn said. “It is a unique situation, which leads to unique opportunities.” He smiled slightly. “As well as confusion and uncertainties among our opponents. What did you learn tonight?”

  Eli wrinkled his nose. That Orbar and Turuy were jerks to be avoided in the future? True enough, but probably not what Thrawn was going for. “Anticipate your enemy,” he said. “Figure out what he’s doing, then try to stay a step ahead of him.”

  “A step ahead, or to the side,” Thrawn said, nodding. “When an attack comes, it is usually best to be out of the target zone if possible, thus permitting the energy of the assault to be dissipated elsewhere.”

  “Yes, I can see how that could be handy,” Eli said drily. “Though I guess you can’t always choose—”

  And without warning Thrawn put his hand on Eli’s shoulder and gave him a violent shove to the side.

  Eli’s comment ended in a startled squeak as his legs hit the knee-high hedge bordering the walkway, the impact and his momentum sending him sprawling over the barrier onto the decorative crushed-stone strip on the other side. The squeak turned into a grunt as his arms and shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He shoved himself back up to a sitting position, wincing as the gravel dug into his palms. What the hell—

  He stiffened. Three hooded men had suddenly appeared, surrounding Thrawn.

  And as Eli stared in disbelief, they moved in for the kill.

  —

  For that first stretched-out second, Eli’s mind refused to believe it. Things like this didn’t happen on the Royal Imperial Academy grounds. They just didn’t.

  But it was happening. Right in front of him.

  The first mad charge seemed to have hit a litt
le off center, probably because Thrawn’s action in shoving Eli over the hedge had similarly pushed the Chiss a meter in the opposite direction. But the assailants were quick. They were back on track now, and were converging on the Chiss.

  And as Eli watched in disbelief and horror, they attacked.

  The standard Academy curriculum included a unit on unarmed combat. Unfortunately, with Thrawn’s studies focused exclusively on technology and navy protocol, he hadn’t been given any time in the combat dojo.

  And it showed. He was doing his best to fend off his attackers, but his defense consisted mainly of trying to push them away, ducking away from their attacks, dodging so that they couldn’t all come at him at once, and trying to protect his face and torso.

  But it wasn’t enough. Defense alone was never enough. He needed to start adding in a few counterattacks, to make an effort to reduce the odds against him. Right now he was in a battle of attrition, and no matter how much stamina he had he would almost certainly run out of strength before his attackers did.

  And then, unbidden, a thought slipped in at the edge of Eli’s mind.

  This could be the end of all his problems.

  It was a horrible thought. A gruesome thought. And yet, it was startlingly compelling. If Thrawn was so badly injured that he couldn’t complete his training, he would have no choice but to drop out. The Emperor’s grand experiment—whatever he’d hoped to accomplish by bringing the Chiss into the navy—would have failed. There would be nothing left to do but take Thrawn back to his exile planet and leave him there.

  And Eli would be free.

  The Strikefast was long gone, of course. But he could grab a transport to Myomar, paying for it out of his own pocket if he had to, and be back on track at the Academy there within a week. Surely Commandant Deenlark wouldn’t want him to stay at Royal Imperial once Thrawn was gone, any more than Eli himself wanted it. Back on Myomar; back in his proper career path; back to his life.

  One of the attackers got in a solid punch to Thrawn’s lower torso, sending the Chiss down to one knee.

  And a flood of shame abruptly flowed over Eli’s soul.

  What the hell was he thinking?

  “Hey!” he shouted, pushing himself up into a crouch. As he did so, he dug his fingers into the crushed stone beneath him, ignoring the flickers of pain as the sharp edges dug into his skin. “Hey, you! Bright eyes!”

  Two of the three turned to face him—

  And with all his strength Eli hurled two handfuls of gravel straight at their faces.

  He hadn’t really expected it to work. But it did. Both attackers howled in pain, belatedly throwing up their hands against the hail of stone. Eli leaned down and dug his hands into the ground again, wondering if he could get another volley into the air before they could recover and respond.

  Because if he couldn’t—if they jumped the hedge and got to him first—he was in serious trouble. Thrawn was still down on one knee, unable to help, and two-to-one odds would be more than enough to take Eli down.

  Too late, it occurred to him that the assailants had learned their tactics lessons all too well. Splitting the enemy force in two parts and demolishing them one at a time was a classic approach to warfare. They’d successfully focused their efforts on Thrawn, and now they were going to do the same to Eli.

  Only they’d miscalculated. Even as the two attackers started toward Eli, the helpless, all-but-demolished Thrawn leaned toward the man standing over him and slammed his forearm with muscle-paralyzing force into the man’s thigh.

  The man gasped a startled curse, nearly falling as he clutched at his injured leg. His two friends spun back to him, their drive toward Eli wavering as their focus was suddenly split between their two targets. Eli cocked his arms for his next salvo of gravel—

  “Hey!” someone shouted from nearby.

  Eli turned to look. Five cadets had emerged from one of the buildings and were racing toward the fight.

  That was enough for the attackers. They turned and hurried away into the night, the man Thrawn had hit in the leg supported on either side by his two companions.

  “Are you all right?”

  Eli blinked away the sudden sweat trickling into his eyes, his body shaking with aftershock. Was it over? “I’m fine,” he told Thrawn, climbing unsteadily over the hedge. Strangely enough, his voice wasn’t trembling at all. “You?”

  “My injuries are minor,” Thrawn said, easing carefully to a standing position.

  “Yeah,” Eli said, frowning at him. Thrawn’s tunic was badly rumpled, and there were spots of oozing blood on both cheeks. “You sure?”

  “It appears worse than it is,” Thrawn assured him, gingerly touching one of his cheeks. “Your assistance was most timely. Thank you.”

  Eli felt his face warm with private shame. If the Chiss knew why he hadn’t moved faster…“Sorry I couldn’t do more,” he said. “I was on the wrong side of the hedge, you know. I gather you heard them coming?”

  “There is a particular tread all predators tend to use,” Thrawn said, walking over to him. “A balance between silence and speed. Humans use a version of this tread.”

  “Ah.” Eli had already known that Chiss eyes were a bit better than those of humans, their visible spectrum edging a bit into the infrared. Apparently, their ears were better, too. “Thanks for getting me out of the way. I’ve had just enough training to know I’m not very good at this.”

  “You are welcome.” Thrawn looked at the approaching cadets, who had slowed to a jog now that the attackers were gone. “And now, I believe,” he added, “it is finally time for us to see Commandant Deenlark.”

  A leader is responsible for those under his authority. That is the first rule of command. He is responsible for their safety, their provisions, their knowledge, and, ultimately, their lives.

  Those whom he commands are in turn responsible for their behavior and their dedication to duty. Any who violates his trust must be disciplined for the good of the others.

  But such discipline is not always easy or straightforward. There are many factors, some of them beyond the commander’s control. Sometimes those complications involve personal relationships. Other times it is the circumstances themselves that are difficult. There can also be politics and outside intervention.

  Failure to act always brings consequences. But sometimes, those consequences can be turned to one’s advantage.

  —

  “All right,” Commandant Deenlark said as he made a final notation on his datapad. The skin around his eyes is puffy. Perhaps he is newly awakened. His facial heat is bright and the muscles in his throat are tight. There is a thin coating of perspiration on his face. Perhaps he is nervous. “Cadets Orbar and Turuy set up the assault, you say. Did you actually hear them calling in the men who attacked you?”

  “No, sir, we didn’t,” Vanto said. “But their comlink records—or the lab’s own comm system—should give you the necessary indicators.”

  “Yes, they should,” Deenlark agreed. His voice goes deeper in tone. Reluctance? “Unless the assailants were an entirely separate bunch.”

  “They were not,” Thrawn said.

  “How do you know?” Deenlark asked. His eyes narrow.

  “They came across the southwest corner of the parade ground,” Thrawn said. “At that time, they were already moving with speed and stealth. But the only way for them to have independently identified us was with electrobinoculars.”

  “Which none of them had,” Vanto said. He nods, a gesture of understanding. “That also rules out an attack driven by jealousy or xenophobia, since they couldn’t have known it was Cadet Thrawn. So it was Orbar or Turuy. Or the instructor?” he added. His tone rises slightly with thoughtfulness.

  “No,” Deenlark said. “It wasn’t him.”

  “It could have been,” Thrawn said.

  “I said it wasn’t,” Deenlark repeated. His tone has gone deeper, his face stiff, his eyes gazing with heightened intent. Perhaps he does not wish it to
be possible. “Bad enough that cadets were mixed up in something like this. We’re not going to drag an instructor in, too.” He looks back at his datapad. His facial heat increases as he makes a final note.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think politics should enter into this,” Vanto said. His tone is respectful but firm.

  “Oh, you don’t, do you?” Deenlark said. His voice becomes harsh. “Are you ready to have your name put on a witness list?”

  “I could handle it, sir.”

  “I doubt that, Cadet,” Deenlark said. “Orbar’s family has a lot of say about what happens on Coruscant. Even if they let you graduate, you’d probably find yourself assigned to some Wild Space listening post.”

  “Is not such manipulation of the justice system in itself illegal?” Thrawn asked.

  “Of course it is,” Deenlark said. His lips compress, his facial glow fading slowly. “All right. Assuming your assailants haven’t figured out a way to bypass the comlink records, we should have their names by morning.”

  “It will not be a long search,” Thrawn said. “They would not risk going outside their closest circle of friends. There are eight other cadets who typically socialize with them, two of whom may be eliminated by considerations of aura.”

  “Aura?”

  “Esethimba.”

  “Presence or aura,” Vanto translated. “The Sy Bisti term can refer to a person’s height, weight, build, vocal quality, mannerisms, profession and expertise, or some combination.”

  “They’re cadets,” Deenlark said. “They don’t have a profession.”

  “All ten are in the weapons engineering track of study,” Thrawn said.

  “Yes, I suppose they are,” Deenlark said. “Which leaves us six suspects.”

  “All of them also from the same social level as Cadets Orbar and Turuy, I assume?”

  “If you’re suggesting I’m going to look the other way on this, Cadet, I strongly suggest you revise your thinking,” Deenlark said. His voice is harsh, his facial heat increased. Perhaps he is angry, or feels guilt. “Yes, I’m concerned about the potential political fallout here. I’ve put up with Orbar’s antics for almost four years because of it. Two more months, and he’ll be someone else’s problem. So yes, I’d like to see this go away. But I can’t let this one slide. And I won’t.”