Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

CHAPTER TWO

The personnel officer shook his head. “Request denied,” he said briskly. “Good day.”

Mitth’ali’astov blinked. Had she just heard him right? “What do you mean, denied?” she asked. “I have all the datawork right there.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “Unfortunately, it needed to be filed four days ago.”

Thalias clenched her teeth. She’d had to fight the Mitth family bureaucracy the whole way, tooth and tongue, to get them to agree to this. Now, too late, she understood why they’d suddenly backed off the fight and given in to her request. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, forcing back her anger at the family. The man sitting in front of her was the key to getting her aboard the Springhawk, and she needed him on her side. “I’m a member of the Mitth family, the Springhawk is being commanded by a member of the Mitth family, and I was told the fleet offers the right of observation.”

“Yes, it does,” the officer confirmed. “But there are limits to that right.” He tapped his questis. “Proper timing is one of them.”

“I understand that now,” Thalias said. “Unfortunately, the family didn’t make that clear to me. Typical. Isn’t there anything you can do?”

“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 once 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 assumed 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.

Right now, he was also late.

“Approaching target system,” Kharill reported. “Breakout in thirty seconds.”

“Acknowledged,” Samakro said, looking around the bridge. All weapons systems showed green, including the balky plasma sphere targeting computer that had been giving them trouble for the past few days. All air lock doors were sealed against possible breach, the electrostatic barrier that hugged the Springhawk’s hull was at power, and all warriors were at their stations.

Impressive, but hardly really necessary. As far as Samakro could tell, this whole mission was only a small step above a wargame exercise. The Vigilant was a full-class Nightdragon man-of-war, and Admiral Ar’alani’s current force also included five other cruisers besides the Springhawk. With that much firepower, appearing without warning over the Paataatus homeworld, they weren’t likely to face any effective resistance.

None of which meant that Springhawk and its crew should be anything less than fully professional here, of course. And that professionalism included its captain. If Thrawn wasn’t here by the time they left hyperspace, Samakro would just have to take over—

“Stand ready,” Thrawn’s calm voice came from behind him.

Samakro turned, fighting back a reflexive twitch. How in hell had Thrawn sneaked onto the bridge without him hearing the hatch open? “Captain,” he greeted his superior. “I was starting to think you’d missed the alert.”

“I’ve been here for the past hour,” Thrawn said, sounding mildly surprised that Samakro hadn’t noticed. “I was overseeing the work on the sphere targeting computer.”

Samakro looked over at the plasma sphere console as two techs emerged into sight from behind it. “Ah. I see it shows green now.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “The quality of the Springhawk’s repair and maintenance crews has improved considerably since you were placed in command.”

Samakro felt his eyes narrow. A compliment? Or a subtle reminder that Thrawn was the ship’s captain now?

“Any last-minute instructions from the Vigilant?” Thrawn continued.

“Nothing since the last jump,” Samakro said. Probably a compliment, he decided. Thrawn didn’t strike him as the gloating sort. “Just Ar’alani’s usual warning to be ready for anything.”

“I believe we are,” Thrawn said. “Breakout…now.”

Through the viewport, Samakro saw the star-flares flash and shrink, bringing the Springhawk out of hyperspace.

Into a storm of laserfire.

“Enemy fighters!” Kharill snapped. “Bearing…all around us, Captain. Swarming us. Swarming everyone.”

Samakro hissed out a minor curse. Kharill was right. There were at least fifty Paataatus fighter craft out there, buzzing around the Chiss attack force like angry weltflies, their lasers creating flashes of pale green as they cut through the rarefied interplanetary dust.

And as with weltflies, even though each individual sting was too weak to damage the Springhawk’s electrostatic barrier, a sufficiently massive barrage of such fire could conceivably take down the defenses and start eating into the hull.

“Acknowledged,” Thrawn said calmly. “Sphere One: Fire at nearest attacker on my vector.”

“Sphere One firing.” The plasma sphere blazed away from the Springhawk’s portside launcher.

And missed its target completely.

“Sphere control!” Samakro snapped. “Retune and fire again.”

“Belay that,” Thrawn said. “Helm: Yaw ninety degrees to port and bring Sphere Two to bear. Fire when ready.”

“No, wait!” Samakro snapped.

Too late. The Springhawk was already turning, angling toward the enemy ships on that side.

Turning away from the Vigilant.

And before even the plasma sphere launcher was in position to fire, the enemy fighters were repositioning to take advantage of Thrawn’s mistake, sweeping in to surround the Springhawk as it pulled away from the other Chiss ships.

“Springhawk, get back in formation,” Ar’alani’s voice boomed from the bridge speaker. “Thrawn?”

“No reply,” Thrawn said. “Fire Sphere Two.”

This time the plasma sphere flew true, bursting into its target fighter and unleashing a multicolored flash of ionic energy across the enemy’s hull as it took down the fighter’s electrostatic barrier and scrambled all the electronics within its reach. “Reload and prepare to fire,” Thrawn said.

“Shouldn’t we get back to the main force?” Samakro pressed. “Admiral Ar’alani—”

“Hold course,” Thrawn said. “Sphere Two, fire when ready. Lower barrier strength twenty percent.”

Samakro mouthed another curse, a major one this time. “May I suggest we deploy decoys?” he pressed. “It would at least divert some of the focus away from us.”

“It would indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “Negative on decoys. Yaw another five degrees to portside, then three degrees starboard.”

The Springhawk turned, then turned again. The Paataatus lasers continued to beat against the weakened electrostatic barrier, and through the viewport Samakro could see the Paataatus fighters again re-forming their attack cluster to bring more of their force to bear. “Captain, if we don’t get back to the others, we’re not going to last long,” he warned quietly, wondering distantly what had happened to the Thrawn who’d once brought renown to the Springhawk.

“We’ll last long enough, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said. “Don’t you see it?”

Samakro lifted a hand in a gesture of confusion and futility.

The hand froze in midair as he suddenly understood. More ships attacking the Springhawk meant fewer attacking the other ships. Fewer attackers meant less confusion for the Chiss gunners, targeting computers, and triangulation observers, allowing for an organized, systematic destruction of the attackers who weren’t focused on the Springhawk.

And that systematic destruction meant…

From the Springhawk’s starboard side came a sudden barrage of laserfire, breaching missiles, and plasma spheres, ripping into the swarm of enemy fighters. Samakro looked at the display to see the Vigilant and the other Chiss ships charging toward them in full battle-wedge formation.

“Raise the barrier to full power; all weapons: Fire,” Thrawn ordered. “Focus on the enemies outside our other ships’ firing arcs.”

The Springhawk’s lasers and plasma sphere launchers opened up, and the number of attackers dropped precipitously as the Chiss force continued to blast the enemy ships to dust. Samakro watched until the Paataatus force was down to a few fleeing ships being pursued by two of Ar’alani’s other cruisers, then stepped close to Thrawn’s side. “So we play the wounded animal and draw the enemy to us,” he said. “Giving the rest of the force time to regroup and counterattack.”

“Yes,” Thrawn said, sounding pleased that Samakro had figured it out. Even if he’d figured it out a little late in the day. “The Paataatus have a swarm mentality. That thought pattern predisposes them to concentrate their attention on wounded opponents.”

“They start by finishing off the weakest, then work their way up,” Samakro said, nodding.

“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “When I saw the size of the attacking force, I realized the best strategy would be to draw as many of them as possible away from the rest of our ships before they were able to inflict significant damage.”

“As well as drawing them into a tighter cluster that our gunners and targeting computers would have less trouble with.”

“Correct.” Thrawn smiled wryly. “That multi-targeting difficulty is our weakness. I trust the fleet’s technicians and instructors are working to resolve it.”

“Senior Captain Thrawn?” Ar’alani’s voice came over the speaker.

“Yes, Admiral?” Thrawn called.

“Well done, Captain,” Ar’alani said, an edge of annoyance in her tone. “Next time you have a clever plan, kindly share it with me before executing it.”

“I’ll endeavor to do so,” Thrawn promised. “Provided there’s time.”

“And provided you don’t mind tipping off the enemy if they’re eavesdropping,” Samakro added under his breath.

Apparently not under his breath enough. “If you think that’s a legitimate excuse, Mid Captain Samakro, let me suggest otherwise,” Ar’alani said. “I’m sure that in the future Captain Thrawn will find a way to communicate the necessary information without the enemy listening in.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Samakro said, wincing. There was a rumor that flag officers had a special comm setting that enabled them to hear more from their escort ships than was normally possible.

“Captain Thrawn?”

“Admiral?”

“I think we have the situation under control,” Ar’alani said. “You may continue on to your next mission whenever you’re ready.”

Samakro frowned. There hadn’t been anything about an extra mission in the Springhawk’s orders.

“Thank you, Admiral,” Thrawn said. “With your permission, I’d like to take an hour first to run a check on the ship and begin repairs on any damage we may have sustained.”

“Take all the time you want,” Ar’alani said. “We’re heading in-system to talk to the Paataatus commanders. Hopefully, they’ve learned the folly of attacking the Chiss Ascendancy.”

“They have,” Thrawn said. “A defeat of this magnitude will stifle their expansionary desires. They should stay within their own borders until the current generation has passed.”

“Except possibly for a swipe or two at Csilla?” Ar’alani suggested.

Thrawn shook his head. “I don’t believe they were responsible for that attack.”

Samakro winced. Personally, he didn’t believe it, either, but that didn’t mean it was something a senior officer should be saying out loud. Especially when a large percentage of the Syndicure did believe it.

“Perhaps,” Ar’alani said, her words and tone a much more politically acceptable neutral. “That’s for others to investigate. Get to your repairs, and let me know when you’re ready to leave. Admiral out.”

There was the sound of the comm disconnecting. “Mid Captain, please initiate a full status check,” Thrawn said. “Pay particular attention to weapons and defense systems.”

“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, feeling a trickle of relief. And with that, they were done with politics. At least for now. “All personnel: Full examination of the ship. Section chiefs report status when completed.”

There was a chorus of acknowledgments, and the bridge descended into a studious silence as the personnel began their scans. “I hope you’re right about the Paataatus,” Samakro said. “Just because the Csilla attackers used different ships doesn’t mean they hadn’t scavenged something that would hide their identity.”

“No,” Thrawn said. “You saw their tactics here—swarming with overwhelming numbers. Their tactics don’t allow for what we saw at Csilla, particularly not a halfhearted attack that costs three ships. No, the Csilla attack was launched by someone else.”

“Why couldn’t they have talked someone else into doing it for them?” Samakro suggested, perversely unwilling to let it go. He’d never been comfortable with gut-level conclusions, and as far as he could tell that was all Thrawn had here. “There are pirate gangs out there that could be hired to launch a feint.”

“The purpose of the attack was certainly to draw our attention,” Thrawn said. “But not from this part of the border.” His lips compressed briefly. “Once we’ve left the rest of the task force, I’ll be able to tell you and the other senior officers about the mission Admiral Ar’alani mentioned.”

“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, eyeing him closely. He’d never been comfortable with top-secret missions, either. “Any chance of a preview?”

Thrawn gave him a small smile. “Yes, I always hated sealed orders, too,” he said. “What I can tell you is that there may be a new threat on the other side of the Ascendancy. Our task is to locate, identify, and evaluate this threat before they turn their attention to our worlds.”

“Ah,” Samakro said. So that was why they’d suddenly had a sky-walker assigned to them. Jump-by-jump was an inefficient way to travel any real distance into the Chaos, and with this kind of investigation there was no telling how far out the search would take them. “May I ask if you’re expecting this search to end in combat?” he added, his mind flicking back to Thrawn’s specific instructions to check the Springhawk’s weapons and defenses.

“There’s always that possibility,” Thrawn said. He saw the look on Samakro’s face and smiled again. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ve had the protocols concerning preemptive attacks carefully and specifically laid out for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Samakro said. “With your permission, I’d like to personally supervise the checks on the barrier.”

“Very good, Captain,” Thrawn said. “Carry on.”

Samakro headed toward the defense station, his stomach tight. The electrostatic barrier was the Springhawk’s first line of defense against any attacker and, as such, needed to be in perfect working order.

Because he’d heard some of the stories about Thrawn. And just because the protocols had been laid out for him didn’t necessarily mean he’d listened.