by Timothy Zahn
“I don’t appreciate stalling tactics, Ziara,” he murmured, a hard look in his eyes. “You’d damn well better have something when we reconvene.”
“Understood, sir,” Ziara murmured back.
He gave her a microscopic nod and followed the others from the room.
Leaving Ziara and Thrawn alone.
“I appreciate your efforts,” Thrawn said quietly, his eyes still on the colonel’s empty place at the table. “But you can see they’ve already made up their minds. Your action does nothing but risk their displeasure, and possibly alienate you from your family.”
“If I were you, I’d worry more about your family than mine,” Ziara said tartly. “Speaking of whom, why isn’t your rep here?”
Thrawn gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. I suspect they don’t like one of their merit adoptives being attached to a scandal.”
“No family does,” Ziara said, frowning. He was right about that, of course.
But even merit adoptives counted as part of the family and, as such, were to be guarded and defended. If the Mitth were standing back from Thrawn at such a crucial moment, there had to be something else going on. “Meanwhile, Colonel Wevary called luncheon,” she reminded him as she stood up. “I’m going to get something to eat. You should do the same.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Eat something anyway.” Ziara hesitated, but it was too good a chance to pass up. “That way, if they kick you out, you’ll at least have had one more free meal.”
He looked at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to lash out at her insensitivity. Then, to her relief, he smiled. “Indeed,” he said. “You have an eminently tactical mind, Senior Cadet.”
“I try,” Ziara said. “Make it a good meal, and don’t be late getting back.” She gave him a nod and headed out.
But she didn’t go to the mess hall. Instead, she found an empty classroom a few doors down and slipped inside.
An eminently tactical mind, Thrawn had said. Others had told her the same thing, and Ziara had never found a reason to disagree with them.
Time to find out if all of them were right.
The receptionist answered on the third buzz. “General Ba’kif’s office,” he announced.
“My name is Senior Cadet Irizi’ar’alani,” Ziara said. “Please ask the general if he can spare a few minutes of his time.
“Tell him it concerns Cadet Mitth’raw’nuru.”
* * *
—
Colonel Wevary and the others filed into the hearing room precisely one and a half hours after they left it. Neither the officers nor the Irizi rep looked at the two cadets as they seated themselves.
Which made the suddenly stunned expressions on all four faces all the more amusing when they belatedly spotted the newcomer sitting beside Ziara. “General Ba’kif?” Colonel Wevary said with a sort of explosive gulp. “I—excuse me, sir. I wasn’t informed of your arrival.”
“That’s all right, Colonel,” Ba’kif said, giving each of the men at the table a quick look. The other two officers were as unprepared as Wevary to find a field-rank officer in their midst, but their surprise was rapidly turning to proper respect.
The Irizi’s surprise, in contrast, was quickly turning to suspicion. Clearly, he’d had his own look at Thrawn’s history and suspected Ba’kif was here for a cover-up.
“I understand Cadet Mitth’raw’nuru is under suspicion of cheating,” Ba’kif continued, turning back to Wevary. “I think Cadet Ziara and I may have a way to resolve the issue.”
“With all due respect, General, we’ve examined all the evidence,” Wevary said, some stiffness creeping into his deference. “The exercise cannot be repeated with the same parameters as were in place when he took it, and he claims that without those parameters he cannot duplicate his success.”
“I understand,” Ba’kif said. “But there are other ways.”
“I hope you’re not going to suggest we reprogram the simulator,” one of the other officers put in. “The safeguards that were put in to prevent cadets from doing that very thing would take weeks to unravel.”
“No, I’m not suggesting that,” Ba’kif assured him. “I presume, Colonel, that you have all the relevant exercise parameters?”
“Yes, sir,” Wevary said. “But as I said—”
“A moment,” Ba’kif said, turning to Thrawn. “Cadet Thrawn, you’ve logged two hundred hours on the patrol craft simulator. Are you ready to try the real thing?”
Thrawn’s eyes darted to Ziara, back to Ba’kif. “Yes, sir, I am.”
“Just a minute,” the Irizi cut in. “What exactly are you proposing?”
“I should think that was obvious,” Ba’kif said. “The danger inherent in teaching via simulator is that if the simulation diverges from reality, we may not notice until too late.” He waved a hand at Thrawn. “We have here an opportunity to compare the simulation with reality, and we’re going to take advantage of it.”
“Taharim Academy is under Colonel Wevary’s authority,” the Irizi insisted.
“Indeed it is.” Ba’kif turned to Wevary. “Colonel?”
“I concur, General,” Wevary said without hesitation. “I’m looking forward to the exercise.”
The Irizi glared at him. But he merely compressed his lips and inclined his head.
“Good.” Ba’kif turned back to the board. “Gentlemen, I have four patrol craft prepped and waiting at the platform, plus an observation launch for the six of us to watch from.” He stood up and gestured toward the door. “Shall we go?”
* * *
—
The four patrollers were in their starting positions: Thrawn in one, three of General Ba’kif’s pilots in the others. The test area had been cordoned off, and the initial points for the exercise mapped out. The observation launch was in position, outside the combat area but close enough to see and record everything.
Ziara sat beside Ba’kif in the second seating tier, staring out the canopy past the heads of the other three officers and the Irizi. She’d pitched this to the general as an unfair charge against Thrawn, wrapping her concerns in the glow of the younger cadet’s academic record. And in all honesty, Ba’kif hadn’t seemed to need a lot of persuasion.
But that didn’t change the fact that Ziara had stuck her neck out, and there was now a fresh target painted on her forehead. Before her call to Ba’kif, she’d been peripheral to the situation, with little danger to her or the Irizi name. Now, if Thrawn failed to prove his case, her name would be right up there with his.
“Patrols One and Three: Go,” Ba’kif said into the comm. “Patrol Four: Go. Patrol Two: Go. Make sure your vectors stay precisely on track.”
In the distance in front of them, the three patrol ships began to move. Beneath them, Thrawn’s Patrol Four headed toward them. “Steady,” Ba’kif warned. “Two, increase thrust a couple of degrees. One and Three, running true. Cadet Thrawn?”
“Ready, sir,” Thrawn’s measured voice came.
Ziara felt her lip twist. Now, when her stomach was tied up in knots, was naturally the moment he picked to be cool and calm.
Or maybe it was just that space and combat were a more comfortable environment for him than a courtroom filled with officers, regulations, and family politics.
“Stand by,” Ba’kif said. “Exercise begins…now.”
The four patrol ships leapt toward each other, precisely matching the exercise’s original parameters. Thrawn cut to starboard, heading toward Three. One and Two angled toward him, closing the distance. Thrawn opened fire, raking One and Three with low-power, exercise-level spectrum laser shots. The two ships veered apart, moving out of the lines of fire, as Two headed toward Thrawn’s flank, all three targeting Thrawn with their own fire. For a few seconds, Thrawn ignored the theoretical destruction hammering at his ship’s
hull and continued toward One and Three. Then, abruptly, he spun his ship around in a 180-yaw, turning his thrusters toward One and Three as if preparing to escape.
But instead of firing his aft thrusters, he threw full power to the forward ones, continuing his drive toward One and Three.
The maneuver caught all three attackers off guard. One and Three veered even farther apart, reflexively shying away from the threat of being rammed. Two, which had been intent on a flanking close-fire position, instead shot past Thrawn’s bow.
And as Two passed in front of him, Thrawn fired his lasers at its stern, simultaneously firing his rear thrusters full-power toward One and Three.
Someone swore softly. Somehow, Thrawn’s attack had killed Two’s acceleration and sent it into a slow tumble. Thrawn’s own thruster burst sent him past Two’s stern, once again leaving him a clear path for escape.
But to Ziara’s astonishment, instead of running he fired his forward thrusters, killing his speed and dropping beside Two, putting the tumbling ship between him and the more distant One and Three.
And somehow, right in the midst of that maneuver, his ship picked up the exact same tumble that his attack had given Two, precisely matching its speed and rotation as he settled in behind it.
Ziara huffed out a half laugh. “He did it,” she said under her breath. “He disappeared.”
“What are you talking about?” the Irizi asked, sounding confused. “He’s right there.”
“Not done,” Ba’kif warned.
A second later Thrawn broke his ship out of its wobble, and as Two rotated past him he fired his bow-flank and stern-flank lasers, catching One and Three squarely in their bows.
“Hold!” Ba’kif called. “The exercise is over. Thank you all; please return to the launch platform. Cadet Thrawn, are you comfortable with docking your ship by yourself?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you inside, then. Well done, Cadet.” He keyed off.
“What do you mean, well done?” the Irizi demanded. “What did that prove? It was a skillful enough maneuver, I’ll grant you, but we all saw it. He hardly disappeared the way he claimed.”
“On the contrary,” Ba’kif said, a mixture of admiration and amusement in his voice. “We only saw it because we were above the field of combat, and because we were using low-power lasers that skewed the real-world effects. The simulation, on the other hand, wasn’t so limited.” He looked at Wevary. “Colonel?”
“Yes,” Wevary said. He didn’t sound as amused as Ba’kif, but Ziara could hear the same admiration in his voice. “Well done, indeed.”
“General—” the Irizi began.
“Patience, Aristocra,” Ba’kif said.
And to Ziara’s surprise, he turned to her. “Senior Cadet Ziara, perhaps you’d be good enough to explain?”
“Yes, sir,” Ziara said, feeling like she’d suddenly been tossed into the deep end. The most junior person in the compartment, and he wanted her to give what amounted to a lecture?
Still, having an Irizi explain to another Irizi was probably the politically smart move.
“The first attack against Thrawn would have opened up his aft oxygen reserves and fuel tanks, spewing both gases into space behind him,” she said. “When he turned aft to One and Three and fired a thruster burst, those escaping gases would have ignited, temporarily blinding the attackers’ sensors.”
The Irizi snorted. “Speculation.”
“Not at all,” Wevary put in. “That’s exactly what happened in the simulation, and the reason why it happened. Continue, Senior Cadet.”
Ziara nodded. “At the same time Thrawn fired at Two’s aft thrusters, damaging them in a precisely specific pattern that not only temporarily knocked them out but also gave the ship a predictable wobble. All he had to do then was duplicate the effect with his own thrusters as he came alongside, matching the pattern and hiding behind the ship. He then waited just long enough for One and Three to turn their attention elsewhere in an attempt to locate him, then came out and fired before they could respond.”
The Irizi seemed to ponder that. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “But what of Two’s own sensors? The simulation shows no images from that ship while the cadet is hiding.”
“The crew would have been using the flank thrusters to dampen the wobble,” Ziara said, feeling a sense of relief. The other still wasn’t happy, but he clearly realized there was no point in pushing this any further. She and her family would not, it seemed, be caught in scandal after all. “All that firing would have obscured the sensors.”
“So,” Ba’kif said. “I trust, Colonel, that this will bring an end to your inquiry?”
“It will indeed, General,” Wevary said. “Thank you for your assistance. This has been most enlightening.”
“Indeed it has,” Ba’kif said. “Helm: Return us to dock, if you please.”
And as the launch turned and headed toward the platform, Ba’kif gave Ziara a sideways look. “And a lesson for you, Senior Cadet,” he said, just loud enough for her to hear. “You have good instincts. Continue to trust them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ziara said. “I shall strive to do so.”
The corridor leading to the Aristocra hearing room was long, a little dark, and more than a little echoey. Ar’alani listened to her footsteps as she walked, hearing a sort of mocking doom, doom, doom in the dull thuds. Dramatics, designed to put approaching witnesses and speakers at a psychological disadvantage before they even entered the chamber.
The one they really wanted to rake over the firepit was Thrawn, of course. But he was off on some top-secret mission for Supreme General Ba’kif and out of reach. In his absence, someone had apparently decided that his commander during the battle should be called in front of an official tribunal, presumably in the hope that she would say something derogatory they could use against him at a later date.
A complete waste of time, really. Ar’alani had already said all she was going to say to the Defense Hierarchy Council, and she doubted anyone here truly expected her to change that testimony. And no matter how mad they might get at her, in theory the Aristocra and Nine Families could do nothing to a flag officer of her rank.
In theory.
“This,” Senior Captain Kiwu’tro’owmis huffed as she and her shorter legs labored to keep up with Ar’alani’s longer stride, “is bogus. Totally bogus. Bogus to the ninth, factorial.”
“That’s a lot of boguses,” Ar’alani said, smiling to herself. Not only was Wutroow an excellent first officer, but she was gifted with a knack for breaking tension and calling out absurdity.
“And I stand by every one of them,” Wutroow said. “We blasted the Paataatus into small bits of metal and got as groveling a peace settlement from them as I’ve ever seen. And the Aristocra still aren’t happy?”
“No,” Ar’alani agreed. “But we’re not the ones they’re unhappy at. We just happen to be the most convenient targets right now for their annoyance.”
Wutroow huffed. “Thrawn.”
Ar’alani nodded. “Thrawn.”
“In that case, it’s bogus to the tenth factorial,” Wutroow said firmly. “There was a good reason why he disobeyed your order. Plus his plan worked.”
Which was precisely why the Council hadn’t brought any charges or reprimands down on him, of course. Especially since neither Ar’alani nor any of the other ship commanders had been willing to file a charge.
But Thrawn had enemies among the Aristocra. And Council vindication or not, those enemies were smelling blood.
“So what do we do, ma’am?”
“We answer their questions,” Ar’alani told her. “Honestly, of course. Most Aristocra know not to ask a question they don’t already know the answer to.”
“I assume that doesn’t mean we can’t spiral our answers a little?”
“That’s certainly going to be my strategy,” Ar’alani said. “Just be careful you don’t spiral too far and end up staring into your own laser. Some of the Aristocra have honed that tactic into a fine art, and very much know it when they see it.”
Wutroow chuckled. “A fine art. Thrawn should like that.”
“Not the kind of art he excels at, unfortunately,” Ar’alani said. “Just watch yourself. If they can’t have his blood, they may try to get some of ours.”
“I don’t think we have to worry too much, Admiral,” Wutroow said. “Remember the old saying: The sky is always darkest—”
“—just before it goes completely black,” Ar’alani finished for her. “Yes, I had that same instructor at the academy.”
And then they were there. The door wards pulled on the rings, swinging the heavy panels open—more psychological dramatics—revealing the witness table and two chairs facing the darkened semicircle where the group of syndics silently sat awaiting them. Putting a note of confidence into her step, Ar’alani walked to the table and stood behind one of the chairs, Wutroow taking up position beside her. “Syndics of the Chiss Ascendancy, I greet you,” Ar’alani called, making sure her voice held the same confidence as her step. “I am Admiral Ar’alani, currently in command of the Vigilant and Picket Force Six of the Expansionary Defense Fleet. This is my first officer, Senior Captain Kiwu’tro’owmis.”
“Greetings, Admiral; Senior Captain,” a voice said from the ring.
And suddenly the darkness blazed with light.
Ar’alani blinked a couple of times as her eyes adjusted, a back corner of her mind appreciating this final gambit. The syndics had no need to cower in darkness; they could face anyone in the Ascendancy without fear.
“Please be seated,” another voice said. “We have just a few questions for you.”
“We stand ready to answer,” Ar’alani said, pulling out her chair and sitting down, her eyes flicking across the table. None of the faces were familiar to her, but the family nameplates at the front edge of the table told her everything she needed to know. Six families had been chosen for this particular tribunal, as usual comprising a mix of the Nine and the Great: the Irizi, Ar’alani’s old family; the Kiwu, Wutroow’s current family; plus the Clarr, Plikh, Ufsa, and Droc.