Chaos Rising

by Timothy Zahn

  Ziara studied the display, trying to visualize one of the creatures sitting where she and Thrawn were standing, waiting for food to be put on his plate. “The knives are much better weapons than the spoons and forks,” she said slowly. “Positioning the points toward you suggests that you have no animosity or designs against the others at the table.”

  “Very good,” Thrawn said. “Now add to that the fact that if you turn the knives over, the pattern suggests that they point toward the center like the other flatware instead of toward the table’s edge. What does that suggest?”

  Ziara smiled. The structure of their own Chiss culture gave the answer to that one. “That there’s a social or political hierarchy involved,” she said. “Depending on your rank relative to the others at the table, you turn your knife inward or outward.”

  “Again, that was my conclusion as well,” Thrawn said. “One final thing. Note the length of the flatware, clearly designed to deposit the food several centimeters down the snout instead of at the front.”

  “Seems odd,” Ziara said. “I’d assume most species’ taste receptors would be at the front of the mouth, on the tongue or their equivalent.”

  “That does seem to be the general pattern,” Thrawn said. “It makes me think that their outer rim of teeth was their traditional weapon, and the jaws developed so that they could bite into an enemy without tasting his flesh or blood.”

  Ziara wrinkled her nose. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Agreed,” Thrawn said. “But if we should ever meet them, we would have an idea of their likely tactics. Close-in weaponry like teeth and knives should translate into a preference for close-in combat, with long-distance weaponry considered secondary or even dishonorable.”

  “And a rigid hierarchy with an underlying threat of violence would warn us about with whom and where we negotiate,” Ziara said, nodding. “Interesting. Okay. Where to next?”

  “You want to see more?” Thrawn asked, frowning a little.

  She shrugged. “We’ve come this far. Might as well make an evening of it.”

  She quickly came to regret giving him such an open invitation. By the time she called a halt an hour later, her head was spinning with names, images, and tactical inferences. “Okay, this is all very interesting,” she said. “But near as I can see, almost all of it is very theoretical. Where we have the aliens’ history, you could have looked it up and backfilled your analysis to fit it.”

  “I’ve already said I didn’t do that.”

  “But you might have come across something when you were younger and forgotten you’d read it,” Ziara pointed out. “That’s happened to me. And where we don’t have any history, we’ll probably never know if you’re right or wrong.”

  “I see,” Thrawn said, his voice suddenly subdued. “I’m…I thought this would be interesting to you. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Ziara protested, eyeing him as a sudden idea occurred to her. “But I’m a practical person, and when I hear a new theory I like to give it a test.”

  “Shall we ask the Ascendancy to declare war on someone?”

  “I was thinking a little smaller,” she said. “Come on.”

  She headed toward the exit. “Where are we going?” Thrawn asked as he caught up with her.

  “My quarters,” she said. “I do a little wire sculpting in my spare time to relax. You can study it and see how well you can read my personal strategies and tactics.”

  Thrawn was silent a couple of steps. “Are you assuming we’ll someday be at war with each other?”

  “Yes, and sooner than you think,” Ziara said with a smile. “Because after you finish, we’re going to go downstairs to the dojo and go a couple of rounds.”

  “I see,” Thrawn said. “Stick, or unarmed?”

  * * *

  —

  Ziara gave him the choice. He chose stick.

  “Okay,” Ziara said, bouncing a few experimental steps on the mat and swinging the two short sticks in her hands to loosen up her wrists. The lightweight face and chest protectors didn’t interfere with her movements, and the soft-coat sticks felt sturdy in her hands, with the same weight and balance as actual combat sticks. “And if you’ve found some recordings of my combat sessions, say so now before I call cheats on you.”

  “I’ve never seen you fight,” Thrawn assured her. “You may choose when the bout is over.”

  “Thank you,” Ziara said. “And that was your first—mistake!” she shouted as she leapt forward. A quick head–ribs–head combo should end the fight before he lost too much of his dignity.

  Only it didn’t. Thrawn blocked all three attacks, putting his sticks up in the right spots and in the right order. Her ribs–head–elbow–feint–ribs combo didn’t get through, either. Neither did her best feint–feint–hip–ribs–head–feint–stomach.

  She scowled, taking a step back to regroup and reassess. Beginner’s luck, obviously, but it was starting to become a bit worrisome. So far he was just standing there, casually blocking her attacks but launching none of his own. But that would change soon enough. Time to crank things up a notch, get an attack through, force him to counterattack or at least make him move his damn feet. She leapt forward again, slipping into a feint–rib–feint—

  Only this time, on the second feint, he stopped being passive and made his move. Slipping in through the opening created by the feint, he tapped her stick farther out of line, spun in a tight circle within the gap, and brought his own stick to lightly tap the side of her head protector. Even as she tried to bring both sticks back in at him, he spun again and took a long step out of her reach.

  She leapt forward, trying to get to him while his back was still turned. But he was faster, turning to face her and again blocking her double attack.

  Again she backed off, taking the opportunity to gulp in a few lungfuls of air. Thrawn didn’t follow, but remained where he was.

  Clearly, her preferred combat techniques weren’t working. Time to switch it up a bit. Just because she liked these tactics best didn’t mean she hadn’t been taught others. Taking one final breath, she again charged.

  Only this time, instead of using the feint–attack combinations, she came straight at him, jabbing forward with both sticks, one aimed at his face the other at his chest. He blocked the first, but the second slammed into his chest protector with a thoroughly satisfying thud. She moved forward, cocking her arms to do it again.

  Again, Thrawn was faster. He backed up rapidly, putting himself out of range. She took another step forward, jabbing again, and again one of the two attacks got through. One more, she decided, and she would call the match. She stepped forward—

  And abruptly found herself in the midst of a flurry of flashing sticks as he leapt to the attack.

  This time it was her turn to back up, cursing silently as she blocked and parried and tried to turn the attack against him. But he wasn’t giving her any opening. Her feet felt the change in the texture of the mat, warning that she was getting close to the edge.

  Thrawn saw it, too. He came to a halt, allowing her to slow her own retreat before she could slam into the wall.

  Another mistake. The pause was just long enough for her to take back the initiative, and once again she charged at him.

  He backed up slowly, clearly once more on the defensive. But to her chagrin, her attacks were once again going nowhere as he blocked every feint and thrust.

  She broke off the attack and stepped back, and for a long moment they stood facing each other. Before he lost too much of his dignity, her earlier smug thought rose back to mock her. “Is there any point to continuing?” she asked.

  Thrawn shrugged. “Your choice.”

  For a long moment pride and determination urged her to keep going. Common sense won out. “How?” she asked, lowering her sticks and walking up to
him.

  “Your sculptures show your fondness for wide-spaced combinations,” Thrawn said, lowering his own sticks to his sides. “Particularly three- and four-coil patterns. Your favorite subjects—groundlions, dragonelles, and predator birds—indicate the short attacks, hesitation feints, and aggression. The particular shape of open areas shows how you compose your feints, and the angular style suggests a spinning attack would be unexpected and disconcerting enough to slow your response.”

  Which, she remembered, had been his first successful attack. “Interesting,” Ziara said.

  “But what followed was equally instructive,” Thrawn continued. He raised his eyebrows slightly in obvious invitation.

  Ziara felt a flush of irritation. She was the upperclassman here, not him. If there was anyone who should be reciting lessons and offering analysis, it should be him, not her.

  Which was, she instantly realized, about the stupidest thought she’d ever had in her life. Only a fool passed up an opportunity to learn. “I realized you’d figured out my pattern and changed tactics,” she said. “And it worked, at least for a couple of attacks. Then you attacked, and after that I was never able to get through again.”

  “Do you know why?”

  Ziara frowned, thinking back over the fight…“I went back to my old tactics,” she said with a wry smile. “The ones you’d already figured out how to beat.”

  “Exactly,” Thrawn said, smiling back. “A lesson for all of us. In moments of stress or uncertainty, we tend to fall back on the familiar and comfortable.”

  “Yes,” Ziara murmured, suddenly noticing where she was relative to him. Well within attack range…and she’d never explicitly stated the bout was over.

  The moment of temptation passed. Just because she hadn’t officially stopped it didn’t mean it would be fair to unilaterally start it up again. Thrawn had behaved honorably. She could do no less.

  “And the care you put into the sculptures shows you have too much honor to play shoddy tricks against a sparring partner,” Thrawn added.

  Ziara felt her face warm. “You sure of that?”

  “Yes.”

  For a long moment she was again tempted. Then, spinning on her heel, she stalked across the mat and returned her sticks to the weapons rack. “Okay,” she said over her shoulder as she started pulling off her sparring armor. “I’m impressed. You really think you can do the same thing with alien cultures and tactics?”

  “I do,” Thrawn said. “Someday, I hope I’ll have the chance to prove it.”

  Five hours after the Springhawk went into hiding, Thrawn and Thalias strapped themselves into one of the cruiser’s shuttles and headed across the asteroid cluster toward the dark space station floating in the distance.

  “The journey may be a bit tedious,” Thrawn warned as they moved between the floating rocks and dust. “We’ll be using the maneuvering jets exclusively in order to avoid any thruster plumes that our adversaries might detect. That makes for a slower trip.”

  “I understand,” Thalias said.

  “Still, it gives us a chance to talk in private,” Thrawn continued. “How are you finding your job as caregiver?”

  “It’s challenging,” Thalias admitted, a quiet warning bell going off in the back of her mind. Thrawn could have called her into his office at any point since leaving the Ascendancy if he just wanted to talk in private.

  Did he know about that last-minute conversation with Thurfian, and the deal the syndic had forced on her? “Che’ri’s pretty easy to live with, but there are some things every sky-walker deals with that can be difficult.”

  “Nightmares?”

  “And headaches and occasional mood swings,” Thalias said. “Along with just being a nine-year-old.”

  “Especially one who’s vital to the functioning of the ship and knows it?”

  “Right—the horror stories of sky-walker arrogance and demands,” Thalias said scornfully. “Pure ice-cap legend. I’ve never met anyone who’s actually seen that happen. Every sky-walker I’ve known has gone the opposite direction.”

  “Feelings of inadequacy,” Thrawn said. “The fear that she won’t measure up to what her captain and ship require of her.”

  Thalias nodded. Like the nightmares, those were feelings she remembered all too well. “Sky-walkers are always worried that they’ll get the ship lost or do something else wrong.”

  “Though the record indicates very few such incidents,” Thrawn said. “And most of the affected ships eventually returned safely via jump-by-jump.” He paused. “I presume Che’ri isn’t facing any challenges that you yourself didn’t also have to overcome?”

  “No,” Thalias said with a quiet sigh. She really hadn’t expected Thrawn to let her aboard without checking up on her, but she’d still sort of hoped he’d somehow miss the fact that she’d once been a sky-walker. “Aside from the whole flying-into-possible-danger part.”

  “Danger is an implicit part of what we do.”

  “Except that you all volunteered for this life,” Thalias said. “We sky-walkers weren’t given that choice.”

  Thrawn was silent a moment. “You’re right, of course,” he said. “The greater good of the Ascendancy is the rationale. Also the truth, of course. But the fact remains.”

  “It does,” Thalias said. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think any of us begrudges our service. I mean, aside from the fears and nightmares and all. And the Ascendancy does need us.”

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said.

  She frowned at him. “Just perhaps?”

  “A conversation for another day,” Thrawn said. “Display Four. Do you see it?”

  She turned her attention to the control panel in front of them. Display Four…that one.

  Centered in the display was a small heat source. A heat source coming from an orbital position near the system’s inhabited planet.

  A heat source the computer calculated was coming directly toward them.

  “They’ve spotted us,” she breathed, her heart suddenly thudding in her throat.

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said, still sounding thoughtful. “The timing certainly suggests that, as it was only thirty seconds ago that the ship ran its thrusters to this level of power.”

  “It’s coming straight toward us,” she said, feeling a sudden surge of claustrophobia in the cockpit’s tight grasp. They were in a shuttle, not a combat ship, with no weapons, no defenses, and all the maneuverability of a fen slug. “What do we do?”

  “That may depend on who they are, and where they’re going,” Thrawn said.

  Thalias frowned at the display. “What do you mean? They’re coming toward us, aren’t they?”

  “They could also be heading toward the Springhawk,” Thrawn said. “Or possibly it’s merely a scheduled run to the mining station and the timing is purely coincidental. At their distance, and at this point in their path, it’s impossible to more precisely define their ultimate endpoint.”

  “So what do we do?” Thalias asked. “Can we get back to the Springhawk in time?”

  “Possibly,” Thrawn said. “The more immediate question is whether we want to.”

  “Whether we want to?” Thalias repeated, staring at him.

  “We came here to find out if this is the origin point of the doomed refugees,” Thrawn reminded her. “My intent was to study the mining station, but a direct conversation would be quicker and more informative.”

  “Only if they don’t shoot us on sight.”

  “They might try,” Thrawn said. “Tell me, have you ever fired a charric?”

  Thalias swallowed hard. “I practiced with one a few times at the range,” she said. “But always on low power, never on high.”

  “There’s not much operational difference between those settings.” Thrawn tapped a few keys on his console. “Well. Unless the ship increases its s
peed in the next two hours, we should arrive at the station twenty to thirty minutes ahead of it.”

  “What if it’s aiming for the Springhawk?” Thalias asked. “Shouldn’t we warn them?”

  “I’m sure Mid Captain Samakro has already noted them,” Thrawn assured her. “Even if they’ve spotted the Springhawk—and there’s a good chance they haven’t—I think there’s a way to make sure our visitors stop by the station first.”

  “How?”

  Thrawn smiled. “We invite them in.”

  * * *

  —

  The mining station was equipped with several docking ports, grouped together at various points around its surface. One cluster included two of the so-called “universal ports” that many species in the region had adopted over the centuries to accommodate varying sizes of ships. Thrawn docked the shuttle with one of them, waited until the bioclear system had run the usual toxin/biohazard check on the station’s air, then led the way inside.

  Thalias had expected the place to smell old and musty, perhaps with the pungent scent of rotted food or—worse—rotted bodies. But while there was a definite hint of staleness, it was hardly overwhelming. Whenever the owners of the station had pulled out, they’d apparently done so in an orderly fashion.

  “This is the place,” Thrawn said softly, shining his light into alcoves and rooms as they walked down a wide corridor. “This is where they came from.”

  “The refugee ships?” Thalias asked.

  “Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “The style is unmistakable.”

  “Mm,” Thalias said. She’d looked at everything he had, and she didn’t have a clue as to what he was picking up on. “What now?”

  “We go to the main control center,” Thrawn said, picking up his pace. “That’s where our visitors are most likely to dock.”

  “How are we going to find it?”

  “We’ve passed two floor schematics on the walls since we left the shuttle,” Thrawn said, frowning slightly at her. “The main command and control centers were obvious.”