Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The law was clear.

The Vigilant had been attacked by forces of the Lioaoin Regime. The attackers had identified themselves as such, removing any question as to whether they might be pirates or privateers or some other unofficial and unauthorized group. The Defense Hierarchy Council had certain required responses to such a situation, as did the Aristocra and the Syndicure. The law was clear.

Which wasn’t to say that any of those groups was at all enthusiastic about carrying out their duties.

“This,” Second Officer Kharill said, “is madness.”

Samakro gazed out the viewport at the roiling hyperspace sky. Personally, he couldn’t agree more with his subordinate’s assessment.

But Kharill was his subordinate, and Samakro was the Springhawk’s first officer, and part of his duty was to quash talk like that aboard his ship. “The ancient philosophers would agree with you,” he said. “On the other hand, most of those same philosophers would say that all war is madness. Take that to its logical extreme, and we’re all out of a job.”

“Maybe,” Kharill said. “I can’t say I’d be opposed to a few years of peace.”

“That might depend on the underlying cause of that peace,” Thrawn said from behind them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Good morning, Senior Captain,” Samakro said, hastily standing up from the command chair and turning as Thrawn stepped through the hatchway onto the bridge.

To his mild surprise, Thrawn waved him back down. “I’m not taking over your watch, Mid Captain,” he said. “I only stopped by to check on our progress.”

“We’re on schedule, sir,” Samakro said, looking over at the navigator’s station. Che’ri was sitting upright in her seat, showing none of the subtle signs of sky-walker fatigue that would require a return to space-normal and a rest period.

In contrast Thalias, holding watch behind the girl, was sagging where she stood, apparently right on the edge of falling asleep.

But then, she’d been with Thrawn on the Vak homeworld of Primea, a witness to everything that happened there. That had put her under the spotlight for the same wearying round of Council and Syndicure hearings and interrogations that Thrawn and Ar’alani had endured. Under the circumstances, Samakro was mildly surprised the young woman was on her feet at all.

“Excellent,” Thrawn said. Out of the corner of his eye, Samakro saw the other look at Che’ri, make his own visual assessment of her condition, and come to the same conclusion. “You realize, of course, that peace has several different flavors.”

“Sir?” Samakro asked, frowning.

“I was returning to the topic raised by Senior Commander Kharill,” Thrawn said. “If the Ascendancy was conquered and our cities left in ruins, that would be peace of a sort.”

“That wasn’t what I was suggesting, sir,” Kharill said stiffly.

“I hardly expected that it was,” Thrawn assured him. “But that would be a conqueror’s concept of peace. A different conqueror might prefer the Chiss to be under his unbreakable control, to obey his orders without question. For him, that would be a version of peace.”

“I meant the kind of peace where no one is shooting at anyone else,” Kharill said.

“That’s the kind most civilized people wish for,” Thrawn said. “But how is that to be achieved?”

“I don’t know, Captain,” Kharill said. “I’m not a philosopher.”

For a moment Thrawn eyed him in silence. Then he inclined his head slightly. “Understood. Go check on the plasma sphere supply. I suspect we’ll be using them a great deal in the coming hours.”

“Yes, sir.” With clear relief, Kharill headed across the bridge toward the weapons station.

“He is a good officer, sir,” Samakro said quietly.

“I know,” Thrawn said. “His chief failing is a lack of curiosity.”

“I’d have said no imagination.”

“All beings possess imagination to varying degrees,” Thrawn said. “It can be encouraged and nurtured, or can sometimes shine out in moments of stress. But curiosity is a choice. Some wish to have it. Others don’t. How is the peace he wished for to be achieved?”

“Through the mutual respect and goodwill of all beings, of course,” Samakro said, daring a small ironic smile.

Thrawn smiled back. “And how is that respect to be achieved?”

Samakro’s smile faded. “By proving beyond any doubt that the Ascendancy can and will respond to an attack with overwhelming force.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “And that’s why this mission isn’t madness, but instead is vitally necessary.”

“Yes, sir,” Samakro said. “But I believe Commander Kharill was referring less to the philosophy than to the question of why only our two ships were sent.”

“You don’t believe the Springhawk and Vigilant will prove an even match for the Lioaoin heartworld’s core defenses?”

Samakro hesitated. “To be honest, sir, no.”

“Perhaps a more complete understanding of the situation would help,” Thrawn said. “There are four different groups in play, each with their own interests and agenda. First are the Nikardun, who wanted to capture or destroy Admiral Ar’alani at Primea but didn’t want the Ascendancy’s vengeance to fall on either themselves or the Vak Combine. General Yiv therefore called in a force from the Lioaoin Regime to make the attack and take that risk.”

“I thought that connection hadn’t been established.”

“If not, you need to believe that the Lioaoi traveled all the way to Primea in order to attack a Chiss warship they couldn’t possibly know was coming.”

Samakro grimaced. “Yes, I see your point.”

“So Yiv has achieved the first of his objectives, though at the risk of sacrificing the strength of his Lioaoin allies,” Thrawn said. “The second objective, now that he’s turned our anger toward the Lioaoi, is to gauge the Ascendancy’s will to deliver a reprisal. That will help him revise his plans if necessary as he looks forward to his ultimate war against us.”

“Which means sending only two ships wasn’t a good move on the Council’s part,” Samakro said. “It’s going to make us look weak or indecisive.”

“Yiv may indeed interpret it that way,” Thrawn agreed. “But he could also interpret it as supreme confidence, that two Chiss warships are deemed adequate to deliver the necessary message. Add to that the Lioaoin interest in keeping damage to their regime to a minimum.”

“Which we don’t care about.”

“Perhaps not,” Thrawn said. “Still, if we can strike a balance between maximizing our message and minimizing our damage, the Lioaoi may remember that restraint in the future.”

“Assuming they don’t just turn the ships we don’t destroy against us,” Samakro warned.

“All the more reason to defeat Yiv and remove his stranglehold on the region as quickly as possible,” Thrawn said grimly. “Certainly the Lioaoi wouldn’t move against us without Nikardun pressure.”

“But the Syndicure must first recognize the threat,” Samakro pointed out. Though to be honest, he wasn’t fully convinced of it, either. It was a long way from gobbling up whisker cubs like the Lioaoin Regime to tangling with the nighthunter that was the Chiss Ascendancy. “At any rate, meeting both those objectives requires us to do some damage without getting blown out of the sky.”

“There’s that,” Thrawn agreed. “But the admiral believes we can strike the necessary balance.”

“A moment,” Samakro said, frowning. “Are you saying Admiral Ar’alani asked for only two ships? I thought that was the syndics’ decision.”

“They were happy enough to go along with it,” Thrawn said. “But no, it was the admiral.”

“I’m glad she’s confident,” Samakro muttered.

“She is.” Thrawn cocked his head. “There’s another reason for taking only a small force, though, a tactical reason. What do you think it might be?”

“I have no idea.”

“Think,” Thrawn urged. “You have the knowledge and vision. Apply them to the problem.”

Samakro suppressed a grimace. This was what he got for suggesting Kharill lacked imagination.

Still, it was an intriguing question. Two Chiss ships…an unknown number of opponents…a tactical reason…“It will certainly be easier to evaluate the Lioaoin tactics when they only have two of us to shoot at,” he commented, stalling for time while he tried to think. Two Chiss ships…

“Exactly,” Thrawn said, inclining his head. “Well done, Mid Captain.”

Samakro blinked. “That was it?”

“Of course,” Thrawn said. “It comes down to minimizing variables. It would be even easier if we’d brought only one ship, but we didn’t think the Council would accept that.”

“But you say the Syndicure was all for it?”

Thrawn’s gaze drifted away. “Some of the syndics were reluctant to launch any attack at all, believing Ar’alani and I deliberately provoked the Primea incident. Others, I’m sure, believe two ships will be enough. Others…”

“Others?” Samakro prompted.

Thrawn shrugged. “I suspect a small number are hoping that both Ar’alani and I will be killed in the battle, thereby eliminating any future embarrassment we might bring to the Ascendancy.”

Samakro stared at him. “That’s…”

“Paranoid?” Thrawn offered.

“I was going to say outrageous,” Samakro said. “If the fleet has a problem with you or Admiral Ar’alani, the Council can discipline or demote you. It’s not the Syndicure’s job to meddle in those decisions.”

“But it is their job to do what’s best for the Ascendancy,” Thrawn said. “Sometimes obligations and restrictions overlap.”

“Well, if they’re looking for us to curl up and die for their convenience, they’re going to be disappointed,” Samakro said firmly. “This is the Springhawk. We don’t lose battles. Not to anyone. Guaranteed.”

“I’ll look forward to yet again proving that,” Thrawn said. “I’ll leave you the bridge now, Mid Captain. Let me know if our sky-walker needs a rest break. Otherwise, I’ll return before our rendezvous with the Vigilant.” With a final nod, he turned and retraced his steps to the hatchway.

Samakro stared at the hatch for a long moment after he left, his blood burning inside him. He didn’t especially like Thrawn. He certainly didn’t like the way he skated to the edge of the line and occasionally blew straight past it. Sometimes he left chaos and messes behind him that other people had to clean up, and Samakro hated that, too.

But he also had no damn interest in the Aristocra, the syndics, or anyone else outside the fleet chain of command interfering with military matters. The Springhawk and Vigilant would go to the Lioaoin heartworld as ordered, they would deliver the Ascendancy’s message, and they would return. Both of them.

And with any luck, they would return covered with honor. Because that, too, was how the Springhawk did things.

Guaranteed.

The two ships reached the rendezvous system, an easy jump-by-jump from the Lioaoin heartworld. There the commanders and their senior officers met aboard the Vigilant for a final briefing and consultation.

Samakro wondered if either Ar’alani or Thrawn would mention their private goal of delivering the Chiss message with as little damage to the Lioaoi as possible. But neither of them did.

Probably just as well, he decided. This whole thing was tangled enough without dragging in any last-minute complications.

The conference ended, and the Springhawk’s officers returned to their ship. Che’ri and the Vigilant’s sky-walker were taken off their respective bridges and ensconced in their suites out of immediate harm’s way. Ar’alani gave the order, and the ships entered hyperspace for the final jump.

And then they were there.

“Status reports,” Thrawn called calmly from his command chair.

“All systems ready,” Samakro said, pacing back and forth behind the helm, weapons, defense, and sensor stations. “Counting twelve Lioaoin midsized warships in low orbit. Vigilant is moving inward.”

“Lieutenant Commander Azmordi, keep us in formation,” Thrawn ordered. “Let’s see how long it takes them to notice us.”

“Four of the warships rising from orbit,” Dalvu reported from the sensor station, her fingers tapping at keys. “Make that six…no; make it all twelve.”

“Not long at all, apparently,” Thrawn said conversationally.

“You’d think they had a guilty conscience,” Samakro commented, trying to keep his voice steady. Two warships that size would be trivial for the Vigilant and Springhawk to handle. Four would be reasonable. Six would be a stretch.

Twelve…

“They’re trying to frighten us away,” Thrawn said, as if he’d sensed Samakro’s sudden concerns. Or more likely, he’d sensed the entire bridge crew’s concerns. “Don’t worry, they aren’t all coming for us.”

“Certainly looks like they are,” Dalvu said under her breath.

“Watch your tone, Mid Commander,” Samakro admonished her quietly. “The senior captain knows what he’s talking about.”

“Perhaps you should explain to her why they’ll send no more than four ships against us,” Thrawn invited.

Samakro frowned, eyeing the ships. What was Thrawn seeing that he wasn’t?

He smiled suddenly. It wasn’t anything his commander was seeing, but simple tactical logic. “Because the Chiss have a reputation,” he said. “The Lioaoin High Command knows all about it, and won’t believe the Ascendancy has sent only two ships to slap them down for their attack at Primea. They’ll assume we’re either a diversion or part of a larger encirclement force. Either way, they’ll want to keep the bulk of their force close in for protection.”

“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “Watch for four of the ships to continue toward us, while the rest deploy in a defensive high-orbit pattern.”

A light blinked on the comm console. “Admiral is hailing them,” Samakro reported.

Thrawn nodded. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”

The comm officer touched a switch. “This is Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, commanding the Vigilant,” Ar’alani’s clear voice came over the bridge speaker. “Forces of the Lioaoin Regime have knowingly and with prejudice attacked a ship of the Chiss Ascendancy. Have you any explanation to offer before we pass judgment?”

Silence. “I say again,” Ar’alani said, then repeated the message.

“The Nikardun are here,” Thrawn said quietly.

“I’m not picking up any non-Lioaoin ships,” Dalvu said.

“Then they’re on the surface, or aboard Lioaoin ships,” Thrawn said. “But the regime would certainly attempt to excuse their actions at Primea if they weren’t afraid of reprisals from their allies.”

Samakro thought back to what Thrawn had said about the Nikardun sacrificing the Lioaoi to keep themselves and the Vaks out of the Chiss target zone. “So the Nikardun just let them walk to the slaughter?” he asked. “Doesn’t say much about their value to the Nikardun.”

“More likely it indicates the even greater value General Yiv places in the Vak Combine,” Thrawn said. “I see we have four ships approaching.”

Samakro looked at Dalvu’s profile, caught the sour look on her face. Thrawn had called the exact number of the Lioaoin response, and for some reason his casual show of competence annoyed her. “Confirmed, Senior Captain,” she said reluctantly.

Thrawn touched a switch on his command chair. “Admiral, I believe our opponents are on their way.”

“I concur, Senior Captain,” Ar’alani’s voice came back. “Ready to deploy probe.”

“Springhawk stands ready,” Thrawn confirmed. “Deploy at will.”

Samakro craned his neck to look out the viewport at the Vigilant, running in the near distance off the Springhawk’s portside bow. There was a flicker of thruster fire, and the probe shot away from the larger ship. “Probe away,” he confirmed to Thrawn.

“Acknowledged.”

Samakro watched as the object accelerated toward the four Lioaoin ships, which had now positioned themselves in a vertical diamond formation. This whole scenario was, at least on the surface, exactly the same trick Thrawn had used at Rapacc to set up the Springhawk’s capture of that Nikardun patrol ship. The probe—really just one of the Vigilant’s shuttles—was playing decoy, giving the Lioaoi something to focus on while the real threat lay elsewhere.

At least, that was what Thrawn and Ar’alani hoped they would see. The question now was how much of the Rapacc incident the Nikardun had shared with their allies.

And, even more important, if they’d also shared whatever countermeasures they’d come up with for any future uses of the gambit.

Apparently, the answer to both was yes. “Probe is faltering,” Dalvu announced. “Vigilant seems to be losing control.”

“Comm interference increasing,” Samakro confirmed, peering at the comm displays. “Lioaoi are trying to jam Vigilant’s control signal. To jam and override.”

Samakro looked at the tactical. The probe’s original vector had been toward the ventral ship in the Lioaoin formation. Now it was wavering back and forth as the Vigilant and the Lioaoi fought for control.

The Lioaoi won. With a final skittering surge, the probe settled down on a new vector, one that would take it harmlessly through the center of the Lioaoin formation and from there to disappear into the empty light-years of the Chaos. “At least we know now that they can learn,” Samakro commented.

“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “And as you see, Mid Captain, that can be a good or a bad thing.”

“Yes, sir,” Samakro said. The probe was nearly to the Lioaoin ships, moving steadily now under the control of its new masters. It entered the open space in the center of the formation—

“Fire,” Thrawn said.

At their current distance, Samakro knew, certainly against warships equipped with electrostatic barriers, a spectrum laser attack would be not just futile but laughable. But the warships weren’t Thrawn’s target. Instead, the Springhawk’s lasers flashed a burst of energy into the small, unprotected shuttle.

And as the hull shattered, the four breaching missiles that had been packed aboard shot outward, one toward each of the Lioaoin warships.

The Lioaoi saw the attack coming, of course, and even at so close a range they had enough time to respond. But with a friendly ship directly behind each incoming missile, none of the warships could launch the level of countermeasures necessary to fully neutralize the attack. A few laser shots tentatively lanced out, and one of the missiles was caught and disintegrated. But the blast merely released the warhead’s acid globs, leaving the deadly fluid to continue onward toward its target. A second later, as the warships tried in vain to move out of harm’s way, the missiles struck.

The actual physical damage was probably minimal. Even the incredibly strong acid that breachers were loaded with could penetrate only so deep into a warship’s hull, and the lateral spread of a single missile’s worth was only so great. Electronics, sensors, and weapons systems would be damaged, but that damage would be fairly localized.

But the psychological effect more than made up for it. All four Lioaoin ships lurched violently, breaking formation. A second later the moment of instinctive panic seemed to subside, and the captains began systematically rotating away from the Chiss ships, trying to turn their new points of vulnerability out of the reach of enemy lasers.

They had each managed about a forty-degree turn when the Vigilant’s lasers flashed out.

And the second shuttle—the dark, silent, cold, all-but-undetectable second shuttle that had been towed invisibly behind the first—shattered and sent its own cargo of breacher missiles into the reeling Lioaoin warships.

“Lioaoin Regime, I’m still waiting for that explanation,” Ar’alani’s voice came over the speaker. “Perhaps you should start with an apology, and we’ll go from there.”

“Lioaoin ships falling back,” Dalvu reported. “Two other ships rising from defense orbit.”

“Admiral?” Thrawn asked.

“Apparently, they’re not yet ready to concede,” Ar’alani said, her voice icy. “Fine. We’re here to deliver a message. Let’s deliver it.”

“Acknowledged,” Thrawn said. “Springhawk: Prepare for battle.”

There was a soft double-thump from somewhere nearby. Che’ri, sitting in her chair pretending to draw, gave a violent jerk. “What was that?” she whispered.

“It’s okay,” Thalias said from the couch facing Che’ri’s chair, where she’d been pretending to read. “Probably just some stray shrapnel from a missile our lasers destroyed.”

“What about the acid?” Che’ri asked, peering at the upper corner of the suite.

“There isn’t any,” Thalias said, sternly ordering her own heart to calm down. “We’re the only ones who use breacher missiles with acid. Everyone else uses explosives. Once our lasers destroy or detonate them, there’s nothing that keeps coming toward us.” There was another set of thumps, six of them this time. “Except maybe a few small leftover pieces of the missile,” she amended.

“What happens if the pieces get through?”

“They won’t,” Thalias assured her. “The electrostatic barrier can slow them down a little, but more important is that the Springhawk has really good, thick armor.”

“Okay,” Che’ri said. But it was clear from her anxious expression that she wasn’t really satisfied. “How come nobody else uses acid?”

“I don’t know,” Thalias said. “I suppose it’s not as impressive as explosives. Probably harder to make the missiles work, too.”

“How come we do?”

“Because when it works, it works really well,” Thalias said, feeling a twinge of sympathy. When she was Che’ri’s age, the officers and caregivers would never answer her questions about things like this. Only later had she learned they’d been forbidden to talk to sky-walkers about these details.

Probably still were, actually, which meant Thalias would likely get in trouble if anyone found out about this. But she could remember feeling terrified during her ships’ battles as she sat alone with her caregiver and wondered what was going on.

Knowing how the ship’s weapons worked might not be much comfort. But then again, it might.

“If the missile gets close enough before the enemy’s lasers hit it, the acid will keep going as a big glob,” she continued. “Pretty hard to shoot down a glob of liquid. Electrostatic barriers can’t do much to slow it down, either, so when it hits it starts eating into the metal of the hull.”

“So it opens the hull to space?”

“Not unless the hull is very thin or has already been damaged,” Thalias said. “But it can destroy any sensors or fire-control systems and corrode any communications links that cross the area. Even better, from our point of view, it blackens the hull metal and creates pits, both of which help the metal underneath absorb the next batch of spectrum laser fire we put there.”

“And that opens the hull to space?”

“It absolutely can,” Thalias said. “It won’t wreck the whole ship, of course—you’ve seen how many emergency bulkheads the Springhawk has down the passageways. But it’s a warning to the enemy ship that we have the upper hand.”

There was another double-clunk, farther away this time. “What happens if one of these pieces hits the viewport?” Che’ri asked.

“Probably nothing,” Thalias said. “The point defenses around the bridge are pretty good, and there are blast shields that can be raised if they see something big coming. And the viewport material itself is pretty strong and thick.”

“I mean, it’s nice being able to see outside when we’re flying somewhere,” Che’ri mused. “But I always worry that we’ll run into something.”

“It’s a risk,” Thalias conceded. “But the viewports aren’t just because we like looking at the stars. There are lots of ways that sensors and electronics can be damaged or distracted or confused. The bridge officers need to be able to actually see what’s going on out there. There are also a couple of triangulation observation areas where other warriors can help aim and focus our attacks.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Che’ri peered closely at her. “How come no one’s ever told me this before?”

“They’re not supposed to,” Thalias admitted. “Actually, there are a lot of things they’re not supposed to tell sky-walkers.”

“Yeah.” Che’ri made a face. “They treat me like a—” She broke off.

“Like a child?” Thalias suggested.

“I’m not a child,” Che’ri flared. “I’m almost ten years old.”

Thalias’s first reflex was to point out that ten years old was well within the definition of childhood. Her second reflex was to try the kind of soothing there, there noises that her caregivers had so often given her.

But as she looked into the girl’s eyes, into all that fear and uncertainty, she realized neither approach would be any good. The two of them were far more alike than Thalias had realized until now, and for her the only thing that could ease fear was knowledge. “I know,” she said, nodding tacit recognition of Che’ri’s assessment of herself. “More than that, you’ve lived through more pressure and stress in the past three years than most Chiss will face in their entire lifetimes.”

Che’ri’s eyes turned away. “It’s okay,” she muttered.

“It’s okay—and it’s going to be okay—because you’re strong,” Thalias said. “You’re a sky-walker, and Third Sight seems to come with a special mental toughness.”

“I don’t know,” Che’ri said, her eyes focused on something light-years away that only she could see. “I don’t feel very tough.”

“Well, you are,” Thalias said. “Trust me. And for whatever it’s worth, most of the things they don’t tell you they also don’t tell anyone outside the military. Most of what I just said I had to dig out on my own after I left.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“Not really. I got a few warnings, though.” Thalias made a show of wrinkling her nose as if in thought. “Though I suppose I might have gotten some other people in trouble.”

That got her a small, tentative smile. “Did they deserve it?”

“I like to think the galaxy runs on balance,” Thalias said. “Those who deserve trouble get it, and those who don’t, don’t.”

“You really think it works that way?”

Thalias huffed out a sigh. “Not even close,” she conceded. “Sadly. You hear that?”

Che’ri looked up, frowning. “No.”

“Exactly,” Thalias said, feeling a small sense of relief. “There haven’t been any more shrapnel thuds. I think the battle is over.”

“I hope so,” Che’ri said, straining her ears. “I hate battles.”

“So does everyone else,” Thalias said. “Well. There’ll probably be some talking now, and Captain Thrawn will let the Lioaoi know he could have flattened their whole planet if he’d wanted to, and then some more talking. Somewhere along in there we’ll be called back to the bridge, and you’ll start us on the path for home.”

“I hope so,” Che’ri said, a shiver running through her.

“Trust me,” Thalias said. “So that leaves us only two questions.”

Che’ri frowned. “Which ones?”

“What you want for dinner,” Thalias said, “and whether you want to eat it now or wait until your first break.”