Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

MEMORIES V

“Chiss diplomatic cruiser coming in,” Pathfinder dispatcher Prack called above the buzz of conversation filling the Navigators’ Guild lounge. “Who wants it?”

The conversation broke off like a door had slammed shut over it, and everyone did their best imitation of being somewhere else.

Including Qilori of Uandualon. He sat unmoving on his bench, his shoulders hunched, still gripping the rim handle of his mug. Chiss. Just his pathetic luck to be on duty when a Chiss rolled in.

“Qilori, where are you?” the dispatcher continued. “Come on, Qilori—I know you’re here.”

“He’s over here,” someone two tables over called helpfully.

Qilori sent the other navigator a glare. “Yeah, I’m here,” he growled.

“Good for you,” the dispatcher said. “Grab your headset, sash up, and sashay down. Your turn for the hot box.”

“Yeah,” Qilori growled again, his cheek winglets snapping flat against the sides of his head with disgust as he stood up and crossed the room to the dispatcher. The other Pathfinders wanted to jeer at his dirt assignment, he knew—he’d certainly done his share of jeering when the situation was flipped.

But none of them dared. Prack wasn’t above changing assignments at the last second if someone higher on his gripe list caught his eye. “So where are they going?” he asked.

“Bardram Scoft,” the dispatcher said.

“What are they going there for?”

“Don’t know; don’t care. Board gate five; fifteen minutes.” He gave Qilori a smirking smile. “Have fun.”

Fifteen minutes later, his travel bag slung over his shoulder, Qilori watched the boarding gate swing open and a couple of black-uniformed blueskins step out. “You our Pathfinder?” one of them asked in the Minnisiat trade language.

At least this bunch weren’t expecting everyone else in the Chaos to speak Cheunh. “I am,” Qilori said, waving a hand over his ID sash. “I am Qilori of Uandualon. I’m a Class Five—”

“Yes, fine,” the blueskin said. “Come on. We’re in a hurry.”

He turned and strode back through the gate. Qilori followed, silently cursing Prack for dropping this assignment on him.

No one out here liked the Chiss. At least, no one Qilori had ever met who’d worked with them liked them.

It wasn’t just that they considered themselves better than everyone else. Most species had that delusion, after all. No, it was that the Chiss didn’t seem to think there was even anyone else out here for them to feel superior to. They had a strange and infuriating blind spot where the rest of the Chaos was concerned, as if every other species was entirely composed of particularly clever animals or else had been brought into existence solely for the Ascendancy’s benefit.

They barely saw anyone. They certainly didn’t care about anyone.

The bridge was pretty much the same as on every other Chiss merchant ship and diplomatic cruiser Qilori had seen: small and efficient, with helm, navigation, defense, and comm consoles. The captain was seated in a chair behind the helm and nav consoles, with other Chiss at all but the nav position.

That seat, of course, was Qilori’s.

“Pathfinder,” the captain said, nodding in greeting. “As soon as you’ve taken your place, we’ll be off.”

Qilori’s cheek winglets flattened as he sat down and flexed his fingers over the controls.

Right. Have fun.

The trip was uneventful. On the captain’s command Qilori put on his sensory-deprivation headset and slipped into his trance, letting the Great Presence whisper into and around and through him.

As usual, the Great Presence was miserly with Its wisdom and insights, making for a somewhat slower trip than Qilori would have liked. Fortunately, the space in this part of the Chaos was relatively smooth, with only a few of the anomalies that made navigators like the Pathfinders necessary for long-range interstellar travel. They reached Bardram Scoft a few minutes ahead of the captain’s proposed schedule, and in a whole lot less time than a jump-by-jump trip would have taken. All in all, Qilori decided as he slipped off the headset, he’d earned his pay.

He blinked away the post-trance cobwebs, flexing the stiffness out of his fingers. The planet loomed large in the viewport as the ship settled into orbit. The bridge had mostly emptied out, with only Qilori and a pilot still there. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“Preparing the ambassador for the welcoming ceremony,” the pilot said. “Scoftic culture requires the highest-ranking military officer to accompany the ambassador, and there may be other protocols to be observed.”

“May be?” Qilori asked, frowning as he scanned the sky. There were a lot of ships out there, more than he’d ever seen at a backwater world like this. “I thought you Chiss liked to be prepared for everything ahead of time.”

“We do,” the pilot said. “The Scoftic government has changed again, and with it the protocols. Our ambassador must relearn them.”

“Ah,” Qilori said. So that was it. New government, and everyone nearby had sent emissaries to offer their best wishes and size up the newcomer. “I didn’t know the old Prefect had been unwell.”

“He wasn’t,” the pilot said. “He was assassinated. What ship is that?”

“What?” Qilori said, his winglets fluttering with surprise. Assassinated? “And everyone’s okay with that?”

“It’s not unheard of among the Scofti,” the pilot said calmly. “That ship. What nation does it represent?”

Qilori peered out the viewport, still struggling at the casualness of it all. “I think it’s a Lioaoin.”

“Is it a new design?”

“I don’t know. How should I know?”

“You’re a navigator,” the Chiss said. “You see many ships, from many nations.”

“Yes, but I mostly only see the insides,” Qilori said, frowning. “Why the sudden interest?”

“That vessel shows many of the same characteristics as a group of pirate ships that have been attacking freighters at the outer edges of the Chiss Ascendancy.”

“Really?” Qilori asked, trying to sound surprised. There were dark rumors among the various navigator groups that the Lioaoin Regime had turned to piracy to prop up their failing economy. Most of the stories came from the Void Guides, who did more work in that particular region, but he’d heard a couple of his fellow Pathfinders talking about it, too.

He couldn’t tell the pilot that, of course. The Navigators’ Guild rules of confidentiality and neutrality were unbreakable. “Sounds pretty unlikely.”

“You don’t believe a pirate group would buy their ships from a local manufacturer?”

“Oh,” Qilori said, feeling a slight sense of relief. So the Chiss wasn’t even thinking that the Lioaoi were officially involved. “No, I see what you mean. I suppose that’s possible.”

“Yes,” the pilot said. “Have you ever traveled to Lioaoin space?”

“Once or twice, yes.”

“You could find your way there again?”

“From the Chiss Ascendancy? Of course. I could find my way to any system you wanted. That’s what navigators do.”

“The Lioaoin Regime will do for now,” the pilot said. “Suppose I wanted to approach from a different direction than the Ascendancy? Say, from here at Bardram Scoft?”

“Are we heading there?”

The pilot gazed out the viewport for another moment. “Not yet,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “Perhaps later. What’s your name?”

“Qilori of Uandualon,” Qilori said, frowning. Where was the Chiss going with this line of questioning?

“Are you normally to be found at the Navigators’ Guild station where we hired you?”

“I move around a lot between the various guild stations,” Qilori said. “Obviously. But Concourse Four Forty-Seven is my official base station, yes.”

“Good,” the Chiss said. “Perhaps we shall work together in the future.”

“That would be wonderful,” Qilori said, studying the Chiss’s profile. Few of them even bothered to learn his name, let alone want to know how to find him. Fewer still would bother to study another species’ ship design.

Who was this Chiss, anyway?

“And your name?” he asked. “In case you specifically ask for me?”

“Junior Commander Thrawn,” the Chiss said softly. “And yes. I shall most definitely ask for you.”