by Timothy Zahn
“I’m afraid not,” he said, a little less truculently. Putting the mess onto the Mitth family instead of him had edged him at least a little closer to sympathy for her current situation. “There’s processing time to consider, especially since the other senior officers’ families have a right to challenge.”
“I see,” Thalias said. “Always comes down to the families, doesn’t it?”
“It does seem to go that way a lot,” the officer said, his stiffness bending a little more.
“Well, if I can’t get aboard as an observer, is there any other way I can join the ship?” Thalias asked. “Some other job I could do? I’m proficient in computers, data analysis—”
“Sorry,” he cut in, stopping her with an upraised hand. “You’re a civilian, and the Springhawk doesn’t have any positions for civilians.” He frowned suddenly. “Unless…just a moment.”
He keyed his questis, paused, keyed it again, scrolled slowly down the pages. Thalias tried to read along from her side of the desk, but the text was upside down and he was using one of the scripts specifically designed to be hard to read that way.
“Here we go,” he said, looking up again. “Maybe. There’s one job you might be able to take. The Springhawk’s just been assigned a sky-walker, but a caregiver hasn’t been appointed yet. You have any experience or qualifications in handling children?”
“Not really,” Thalias said. “But I was once a sky-walker myself. Does that count?”
His eyes widened. “You were a sky-walker? Really?”
“Really,” she assured him.
“Interesting,” he muttered, his eyes shrinking back to normal, and maybe just a little in the other direction. “A hundred years ago all caregivers were former sky-walkers. Or so I’ve heard.”
“Interesting,” Thalias said. There was her opening.
If she wanted to go for it.
It wasn’t an easy or obvious answer. That part of her life was far behind her. More than that, it was filled with some memories she’d just as soon leave there.
Of course, many of those unpleasant memories were wrapped around the women who’d been assigned to look after her aboard her ships. Some of them had been reasonable; others hadn’t understood her at all. She would be on the other side of the relationship this time, which should help a lot.
Maybe. If she was being honest, she would have to admit that she probably hadn’t been the easiest of caregiver assignments, either. A lot of that time blurred together, but she distinctly remembered several long-term sulks and more than a few full-rage screaming fits.
To take that job onto herself—to face a sky-walker with all that entailed—to try to make a little girl’s life less stressful—
She squared her shoulders. Visiting those dark parts of her past would be hard. But it might be her only chance to once again see Thrawn. It would certainly be her best chance for real observation of him. “All right,” she said. “Yes. I’ll take it.”
“Whoa,” the officer warned. “It’s not that easy. You’d still need—”
He broke off as the door behind her opened. Thalias turned to see a middle-aged man stride into the office. Pinned high on his yellow outerwrap robe was the sunrise crest of a Mitth family syndic. “I see I’m not too late,” he commented. “Mitth’ali’astov, I presume?”
“Yes,” Thalias said, frowning. “And you?”
“Syndic Mitth’urf’ianico,” the man identified himself, his eyes shifting to the officer. “I understand the young lady is trying to secure a place aboard the Springhawk?”
“She is, Syndic,” the officer said, his eyes narrowing a bit more. “You’ll excuse me, but this is a matter for the fleet, not the Aristocra.”
“Not if she’s going aboard as a Mitth family observer,” Thurfian countered.
The officer shook his head. “Her datawork isn’t in order for that.”
“Someone in the family delayed the processing,” Thalias added.
“I see,” Thurfian said. “And there’s nothing that can be done?”
“There’s an opening for the sky-walker’s caregiver,” Thalias said. “We were just starting to talk about that.”
“Perfect,” Thurfian said, brightening. “What still needs to be done to make that happen?”
“It’s not that easy,” the officer said.
“Of course it is,” Thurfian said. “The position’s open, and the Mitth family still has the right of observation.”
“The approvals haven’t been completed.”
“I’m completing them now,” Thurfian said.
The officer shook his head. “With all due respect, Syndic—”
“With all due respect to you,” Thurfian interrupted. He drew himself up—
And suddenly Thalias had a sense of the true power the Syndicure wielded. It stretched far past their political authority, carrying the full weight of Chiss history. “The Ascendancy lies under threat of attack,” Thurfian said, his voice low and dark. “The Defense Force and Expansionary Fleet need to stand at full readiness. Every ship that requires a sky-walker needs to have one, and a sky-walker cannot go aboard without a caregiver. The Springhawk leaves Naporar in four hours for combat. We don’t have time—you don’t have time—to dither around.”
He took a deep breath, and it seemed to Thalias that his stance and manner softened a bit. “Now. You have here a caregiver who’s ready, willing, and able to serve. You have her family’s authorization to be aboard. Surely you can find a way to provide the Springhawk the resources it needs for the task that lies ahead.”
For a moment he and the officer remained silent, their eyes locked. The rivalry between the fleet and the Aristocra…
But there were reason and urgency in Thurfian’s argument, and the officer clearly knew it. “Very well,” he said. He lowered his eyes and worked his questis a moment. “All right,” he said, looking up at Thalias. “Your orders, instructions, and authorizations are on your questis. Read them, and be where you’re supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.” His eyes flicked to Thurfian. “As Syndic Thurfian said, the Springhawk leaves in four hours.”
“Thank you,” Thalias said.
“You’re welcome.” He gave her a small smile. “Welcome to the Expansionary Fleet, Caregiver Thalias. And best of luck with that sky-walker.”
A moment later, Thalias and Thurfian were back out in the corridor. “Thank you,” Thalias said. “You were just in time.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Thurfian said, smiling. “You really are a remarkable person, Thalias.”
She felt her face warm. “Thank you,” she said again.
“And as I helped you,” Thurfian continued, “there’s something you can do to help me.”
Thalias felt herself draw back from him. “Excuse me?” she asked carefully, coming to a halt.
“Time is short,” Thurfian said, taking her arm and starting them moving again. “Come. I’ll tell you on the way to your ship.”
* * *
—
It had been two decades since Thalias had had to even read a military timetable, let alone follow one. Fortunately, once the initial shock wore off, old habits and reflexes took over and she made it to the Springhawk shuttle in plenty of time.
The young girl was waiting in the sky-walker suite’s dayroom when she arrived, sprawled across a massive chair and playing a tap-click game on her questis. She looked to be nine or ten, but sky-walkers tended to be on the short side, so that was only a guess. She looked up as Thalias came through the hatchway, gave the woman a rather suspicious-looking appraisal, then returned her attention to the game. Thalias started to introduce herself, remembered how touchy she’d usually been whenever a new caregiver came to call, and instead took her luggage to her part of the suite.
She took her time getting settled. By the time she o
nce again stepped into the dayroom, the girl had set her questis on the chair beside her and was gazing moodily at the line of repeater displays set into the bulkhead beneath the snack bar. “Have we left yet?” Thalias asked.
The girl nodded. “A little while ago,” she said. She hesitated, then furtively looked over at Thalias. “Are you my new momish?”
“I’m your new caregiver,” Thalias said, frowning slightly. Momish? Was that a new official term for her position, or was it something this girl had come up with on her own? “I’ll be taking care of you while we’re aboard the Springhawk,” she continued as she walked over to one of the other chairs and sat down. “My name’s Thalias. What’s yours?”
“Aren’t you supposed to know already?”
“This was kind of a last-minute assignment,” Thalias admitted. “I spent all my time making sure I got to the spaceport before the shuttle left.”
“Oh,” the girl said, sounding a little confused. She was probably used to caregivers with more discipline. And competence. “I’m Che’ri.”
“Nice to meet you, Che’ri,” Thalias said, smiling. “What game were you playing?”
“What? Oh.” Che’ri touched her questis. “I wasn’t playing anything. I was drawing.”
“Really,” Thalias said, wincing a little. Che’ri liked to draw, and Thalias barely knew one end of a stylus from the other. No common ground there. “I didn’t know tap-click could be adapted to artwork.”
“It isn’t really art,” Che’ri said, sounding embarrassed. “I just take pieces already in the questis and put them together.”
“Sounds interesting,” Thalias said. “Like a collage. May I see it?”
“No,” Che’ri said, jerking back a little as she grabbed the questis and pressed it close to her chest. “I don’t let anyone look at it.”
“Okay, that’s fine,” Thalias hastened to assure her. “But if you ever change your mind, I’d love to see what you do.”
“Do you like to draw?” Che’ri asked.
“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” Thalias said. “But I like looking at art.”
“You don’t think drawing is silly?”
“No, of course not,” Thalias assured her. “Having that kind of talent is a good thing.”
“I don’t really draw,” Che’ri said. “I already told you I just put things together.”
“Well, it’s still a talent,” Thalias said doggedly. “And talents are never silly.”
Che’ri lowered her eyes. “My last momish said it was.”
“Your last momish was wrong,” Thalias said.
Che’ri gave out a little snort. “She always thought she was right.”
“Trust me,” Thalias said. “I’ve seen momishes come and go, and I can tell you straight up that one was wrong.”
“Okay.” Che’ri peered at her. “You’re not like the others.”
“The other momishes?” Thalias tried a small smile. “Probably not. How many of them have you had?”
Che’ri lowered her gaze again. “Eight,” she said, her voice barely audible.
Thalias winced at the pain in the girl’s voice. “Wow,” she said gently. “Must have been hard.”
Che’ri snorted again. “How would you know?”
“Because I had four,” Thalias said.
Che’ri looked up, her eyes wide. “You’re a sky-walker?”
“I was,” Thalias said. “And I remember how it hurt each time they took one caregiver away and gave me a new one.”
Che’ri looked down again and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”
“Probably nothing,” Thalias said. “I worried about that a lot, too, and I could never come up with anything. Except sometimes she and I didn’t get along very well, so that might have been one reason.”
“They didn’t understand.” Che’ri’s throat worked. “None of them understood.”
“Because none of them had ever been a sky-walker,” Thalias said. Though that hadn’t always been the case, if that personnel officer had been right. Fleetingly, she wondered why that policy had been changed. “Once we leave the program, most of us don’t come back.”
“So how come you did?”
Thalias shrugged. This wasn’t the time to tell the girl she was here to reconnect with someone she’d only met once. “I remember how hard it was being a sky-walker. I thought someone who’d been one herself might make a better caregiver.”
“Until you leave,” Che’ri muttered. “They all do.”
“But not necessarily because they want to,” Thalias said. “There are all sorts of reasons for caregiver transfers. Sometimes the sky-walker and caregiver just don’t get along, like you and your last one, and me and that one I just mentioned. But sometimes there are other reasons. Sometimes they need a special caregiver to watch over a new sky-walker. Sometimes there are family disputes—I mean between the various families—that get in the way.” She felt her lips pucker. “And sometimes it’s because there are shortsighted idiots in charge of the process.”
“You mean shortsighted, like they don’t see very good?”
“I mean shortsighted like they have the brains of a hop-toad,” Thalias said. “I’m sure you’ve met people like that.”
Che’ri gave her an uncertain smile. “I’m not supposed to talk like that about people.”
“You’re right, you probably shouldn’t,” Thalias said. “Neither should I. Doesn’t change the fact they’ve got the brains of hop-toads.”
“I guess.” Che’ri squinted at her. “How long were you a sky-walker?”
“I was seven when I navigated my first ship. I was thirteen when I navigated my last.”
“They told me I’d be a sky-walker until I was fourteen.”
“That’s the usual age,” Thalias said. “My Third Sight apparently decided to quit early. You’re—what?” She made a show of squinting at Che’ri’s face. “About eight?”
“Nine and a half.” The girl considered. “Nine and three-quarters.”
“Ah,” Thalias said. “So you’ve had lots of experience. That’s good.”
“I suppose,” Che’ri said. “Are we going into a battle?”
Thalias hesitated. There were things adults weren’t supposed to tell sky-walkers, things the Council in its odd wisdom had decided might upset them. “I don’t know, but it’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Especially not aboard the Springhawk. Senior Captain Thrawn is our captain, and he’s one of the best warriors in the Ascendancy.”
“Because they wouldn’t tell me why I’m here,” Che’ri persisted. “There’s nobody very far away we have to fight, is there? They say we don’t go outside the Ascendancy to fight anyone. And if the people they’re fighting are close, the ship doesn’t need a sky-walker.”
“Good points,” Thalias said, an unpleasant feeling stirring in her stomach. Even if the task force was heading off for some punitive action, traveling jump-by-jump would get them any reasonable distance without having to risk taking a sky-walker into combat. So why were she and Che’ri aboard? “Well, whatever we’re doing, Senior Captain Thrawn will get us through.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve read a lot about him.” Thalias pulled out her questis. “Do you read? Would you like to read about his career?”
“That’s okay,” Che’ri said, wrinkling her nose a little. “I’d rather draw.”
“Drawing’s good, too,” Thalias said, sending Thrawn’s files to Che’ri’s questis. “This is just here if you want to read some later.”
“Okay,” Che’ri said uncertainly as she peered at her questis. “There’s an awful lot there.”
“So there is,” Thalias conceded, feeling a pang of embarrassment. She’d loved reading when she was a sky-walker. Naturally, she’d ass
umed Che’ri would be the same. “Tell you what. I’ll go through it later and make up a shorter version for you. Some of the more exciting stories of things he’s done.”
“Okay,” Che’ri said, sounding marginally less unenthusiastic.
“Good.” For a moment, Thalias tried to think of something else to say. But she could see the wall still standing between them, and she remembered how moody she’d sometimes been when she was Che’ri’s age. Best not to push it. “I have to check in with the first officer,” she said, standing up. “I’ll let you get back to your drawing.”
“Okay,” Che’ri said. “Am I supposed to get my own lunch?”
“No, no, I’ll make it for you,” Thalias assured her. “Are you hungry?”
Che’ri shrugged. “I can wait.”
Which wasn’t exactly an answer. “Do you want me to make you something now?”
“I can wait,” Che’ri repeated.
Thalias clenched her teeth. “Okay, then. I’ll go check in, and then come back. While I’m gone, you think of what you’d like to eat.”
Another shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Well, think about it anyway,” Thalias said. “I’ll be back soon.”
She headed out, glowering to herself as she strode down the corridor. Maybe taking this job had been a mistake.
Still, she and Che’ri had barely met. It wasn’t surprising the girl was holding back, especially given that she was still hurting from what she saw as desertion by her previous caregivers.
So Thalias would give the girl time, and space, and probably more time. Eventually, hopefully, she would come around.
And if she still didn’t know what she wanted for lunch by the time Thalias returned, it would be nut-paste sandwiches. Even if Che’ri didn’t read, surely she at least liked nut-paste sandwiches.
* * *
—
Thrawn was taller than Samakro had expected, and carried himself with grace and a certain air of confidence. He was also courteous to the officers and warriors, and knew his way around the Springhawk. Aside from that, he really wasn’t that big a deal.