Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

MEMORIES IV

General Ba’kif had told Ziara that she had good instincts. But she quickly learned that good unfortunately didn’t mean perfect.

The first such lesson came very quickly. The weekend after Thrawn was acquitted he called to invite her out, to help him celebrate and as a thank-you for her help. From the enthusiastic way he talked about the evening, she’d envisioned a night of music and food, perhaps a gymnastic or musical performance, and certainly a modicum of drink.

What she got instead—

She looked around her at the quiet patrons and the somber colors, at the neatly arranged hangings, pictures, sculptures, and drapings. “An art gallery,” she said, her voice flat. “You brought me to an art gallery.”

“Of course,” he said, giving her a puzzled look. “Where did you think we were going?”

“You said there would be insight, drama, and the excitement of discovery,” she reminded him.

“There is.” He pointed down a hallway. “The history of the Ascendancy is in these rooms, some of the pieces dating back to Chiss participation in the wars between the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire.”

“I seem to remember that era not being a particularly glowing time for the Ascendancy.”

“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “But look at how our tactics and strategies have changed since then.”

Ziara frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Our tactics and strategies,” Thrawn repeated, frowning back.

“Yes, I heard you,” Ziara said. “Why are we talking tactics in an art gallery?”

“Because the one is reflected in the other,” Thrawn said. “Art mirrors the soul, from which tactics arise. One can see in artwork the strengths and weaknesses of those who created it. In fact, if one has a sufficient variety of art to study, one can extend and extrapolate to the strengths, weaknesses, and tactics of entire cultures.”

Abruptly, Ziara realized her mouth was hanging open. “That’s…very interesting,” she managed. Maybe, she thought belatedly, she shouldn’t have worked so hard to get him off the hook after all.

“You don’t believe me,” Thrawn said. “Fine. There are alien artworks two chambers over. You pick whichever culture you want, and I’ll show you how to read their tactics.”

Ziara had never been in an alien art wing, in this gallery or any other. The closest she’d ever come to non-Chiss artifacts, in fact, was the twisted chunk of debris from a Paataatus warship that was displayed at the Irizi family homestead on Csilla. “Where did all this come from?” she asked, looking at the various flats and sculptures as Thrawn led the way through the entry arch into the hall.

“Most were purchased by various merchants and traders and subsequently donated to the gallery,” Thrawn told her. “Some are from species we still have contact with, but the majority are from aliens we encountered during the Sith Wars, before the retreat back to our own borders. Here we go.”

He stopped in front of a clear-sided case containing translucent bottles and plates. “Scofti formal tableware, from a governmental regime a hundred years ago,” Thrawn identified them. “What do you see?”

Ziara shrugged. “It’s pretty enough. Especially those internal color swirls.”

“How about durability?” Thrawn asked. “Does it seem sturdy?”

Ziara looked closer. Now that he mentioned it…“Unless that material is a lot stronger than it looks, not at all.”

“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “The Scofti change leaders and governments frequently, often under violence or the threat of violence. Since each new leader typically reorganizes the prefecture’s palace, all the way down to the décor and the tableware, the artisans see no point in making anything for them that will last longer than a year. Indeed, since the new master often takes pleasure in publicly destroying the personal items of his or her predecessor, there’s a strong incentive to deliberately make everything fragile.”

“Really.” Ziara eyed him suspiciously. “Is that really true? Or are you just guessing?”

“We’ve been in marginal contact with them for the past twenty years,” Thrawn said, “and our records support that conclusion. But I made that assessment from the gallery’s artifacts before I looked up the history.”

“Mm.” Ziara looked at the items another moment. “Okay. What’s next?”

Thrawn looked around the room. “This is an interesting one,” he said, pointing toward another display case nearby. “They called themselves the Brodihi.”

“Called, past tense?” Ziara asked as they walked over to it. “They’re all dead?”

“We don’t actually know,” Thrawn said. “These artifacts were recovered from the wreckage of a downed ship over three hundred years ago. We still don’t know who they were, where they came from, or whether they still exist.”

Ziara nodded as she did a quick scan of the case’s contents. More dinnerware—plates plus elongated flatware, all decorated with angled rainbow-colored stripes—plus a few tools. In the back of the case was a picture of an alien with a long snout and a pair of horns jutting from the top of its head, along with a short description of the creatures and the circumstances of the discovery. “So what can you tell me about them?”

“You’ll note the angled color bars on the flatware,” Thrawn said. “In order for the lines to match, the knives, forks, and spoons must be angled toward the center of the table and then back toward the edge.”

Ziara nodded. “Like a pair of opening bird wings.”

“Or…?” Thrawn prompted.

Ziara frowned and took another look at the alien picture. “Or like the shape of their horns.”

“That was my conclusion, as well,” Thrawn agreed. “Also note that while the spoons and forks will point toward the center of the table, the knives must be pointed backward, toward the edge for the color bars to line up. What does that tell you?”

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.”