Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

MEMORIES XII

It was a high honor, Ar’alani had been assured, when an alien government invited a Chiss military officer to travel to their world. The fact that Security Chief Frangelic had specifically said the Ruleri would be present had added an even deeper layer to the honor.

And so, as she and Thrawn left their shuttle and walked to the cluster of waiting Garwians, she tried very hard not to be overwhelmed by the mix of a hundred strange odors swirling around her like a morning fog. It was thick enough, and intense enough, that she nearly turned around and headed back to the shuttle and the olfactory security of the Destrama.

To her surprise, though, by the time the greeting ceremony was over and she and Thrawn were ushered to a waiting ground car her nose and lungs were already starting to adapt. As they drove across the city toward the planetary security center the smells receded even more, and by the time the car stopped and Frangelic ushered them out onto the street the aroma had become neutral, even edging toward something pleasant.

Though it was possible that the mixture had simply changed along the way. Certainly the large circular courtyard stretched out before them, crowded with pedestrians, had many spots where wisps of smoke marked open-fire cooking, and she’d always liked such aromas.

“This can’t be the security center,” she commented as Frangelic closed the car door behind them.

“The center is there,” he said, pointing to a whitestone building on the far side of the courtyard. “But as you can see, vehicles would have difficulty maneuvering through the weekend Creators’ Market.”

“Could we not have flown?” Thrawn asked.

“We could have,” Frangelic agreed. “But the Creators’ Market is one of the finest representations of Garwian culture, and I’d hoped to share it with you.”

Thrawn looked at Ar’alani. “Commodore?”

Ar’alani shrugged, sniffing as a shift in the breeze brought another flavor of smoke. Holiday open-fire banquets had been one of her favorite family meals when she was growing up. “Why not?” she said. “Lead on, Security Chief.”

“Thank you. This way.”

Frangelic set off toward the edge of the courtyard. It was crowded with people, as Ar’alani had already noted, but those on the edges quickly spotted the alien faces and moved out of their path. Some of them bowed toward Frangelic as the newcomers approached, and Ar’alani’s first thought was that the gesture was one of subservience or even fear at the sight of his uniform. But Frangelic invariably bowed back, and she eventually concluded the gesture was simply a form of respect between citizens.

“You can see that the booths are laid out in concentric circles,” Frangelic said as they approached the outer group. “The ones on the outside are reserved for those who require more space for their wares and equipment, while the smaller ones toward the center are for those with more compact displays.”

“You said creators,” Thrawn said. “What do they create?”

“Anything you want,” Frangelic said. “There’s a man here who makes unique kitchen utensils for people whose passion is cooking. Over there is a woman who creates historical costumes for remembrance parties. You can smell the aromas of cooking fires for those who wish a particular food preparation or a unique layering of spice or sauce.”

“Seems rather inefficient,” Ar’alani said.

“Oh, we have the same mass-produced items as all other worlds for everyday use,” Frangelic assured her. “These are for those who want the unusual and unique. If you can define or describe what you want, someone here will make it for you. Here, or in thousands of other Creators’ Markets across the Unity.”

“You spoke of remembrance parties,” Thrawn said. “What are those?”

“Ah,” Frangelic said, shifting direction. “That is, I believe, a cultural aspect in which the Unity stands alone among all other peoples. Those who attend such parties wear elaborate outfits utilizing features from clothing throughout Garwian history, woven and melded together in subtle and unique ways. The goal of each participant is to create the most beautiful and most intricate melding, while at the same time detecting and identifying the features in the other attendees’ garb. Let me show you.”

He led the way to a long table and a woman working an old-looking sewing machine. On either side of her were neat stacks of cloth, thread, and sewing implements, while racks behind her held dozens of samples of cloth, leather, silk, and some materials Ar’alani couldn’t identify.

“This is Dame Mimott, one of our master designers,” Frangelic said, nodding a greeting to her. “Dame Mimott, our guests would like to hear about your work.”

The woman regarded Ar’alani and Thrawn in a way that Ar’alani couldn’t help but identify as suspicion. “You’re not by chance attending the Kimbples’ party next Mid Spring, are you?” she asked.

“Really, Mimott,” Frangelic said, a hint of scolding in his tone. “You’re not suggesting our honored guests would cheat, are you?”

For a moment, the woman just stared at him. Then her jaw cracked open in a smile. “Your honored guests, certainly not,” she said. “You, on the other hand…” She cocked her head to the side, her fingertips touching her cheek.

“I assure you, Mimott, if I should by chance be invited to the Kimbples’ party, I will graciously decline.” He pointed two fingers at the cloth she was working on. “Perhaps you will explain to us your artistry.”

“Gladly.” The woman spread out the cloth. “This cloth is of course modern, but is of the same design and texture as that used in the Twelfth Era. The stitching style is from the Fourteenth, the particular dye coloring was first used in the Seventeenth, and the edging style from the Eighteenth.” She touched the machine. “The machine itself is a refurbished antique from the Fifteenth.”

“All this for a single garment?” Ar’alani asked.

“All this for just the underlayer,” Mimott corrected with another smile. “There will also be two outer layers, plus a shoulder wrap, gloves, and a hat.”

“And all for a single party,” Frangelic said. “Though the clothing that’s most successful in puzzling the partygoers is put on display to be admired by the entire city.”

“If an outfit is designed properly, it can also be easily transformed into other formalwear,” Mimott added. “Sometimes even into everyday clothing. Have you other questions?”

“No,” Ar’alani said. “Thank you for showing us your work. It’s most impressive.”

“I am honored,” Mimott said. “May your day be warmed with sunshine.”

Frangelic gestured, and they moved off. “What do you think?” he asked.

“Beautiful work,” Ar’alani said. “My aunt enjoyed occasional sewing projects when I was growing up, but nothing this elaborate.”

“We pride ourselves on our craftsmanship,” Frangelic said. “But I see time is growing short. Perhaps later I can show you more of the artisans.” He picked up his pace, the crowd again opening to let them through.

Thrawn moved close to Ar’alani’s side. “Is there a problem?” he asked quietly.

“A problem?” She shook her head. “No. It’s just…I’ve never seen aliens as people before. Not like Chiss are people. I’ve always thought of them as something lesser, something closer perhaps to highly intelligent animals. Some friendly, some harmless, some dangerous.” She eyed him. “I suppose you’ve always seen them for what they are?”

“You mean as people?” Thrawn shook his head. “Not really. I see the people, certainly. But their personhood is seldom at the top of my thoughts.”

“Then how do you see them?”

His eyes swept the crowd, and Ar’alani thought she could see a hint of both thoughtfulness and sadness in his face. “As possible allies. Possible enemies.

“Assets.”

The group was nearly to the Solitair planetary security center when the racket of emergency alarms suddenly filled the air over the Creators’ Market. “What is it?” Ar’alani shouted over the noise.

“Solitair is under attack!” Frangelic snapped, breaking into a dead run. “Hurry!”

The alarms had been silenced by the time the three of them reached the underground situation room beneath the building. “Security Chief Frangelic, reporting for orders,” Frangelic called as they hurried toward a small group of Garwians standing in front of a large display wall. The three Ruleri, Ar’alani noted, were also present, conversing together off to one side beside another, smaller set of displays. The screens were of course labeled with Garwian script, which made them unreadable to her.

But there was no mistaking the reason for the alarm. The main viewscreen showed two Lioaoin ships coming in toward the planet. Even as Ar’alani watched, they reached firing range and the nearest of Solitair’s orbiting defense platforms opened up with lasers and missiles.

“Security Chief,” one of the officers greeted Frangelic tensely as Ar’alani and the others came up to them. Up close, she now recognized him as a general who’d been at one of their earlier meetings, though she couldn’t recall his name. “Commodore Ar’alani; Senior Commander Thrawn.” He gestured to the displays. “As you can see, the quiet talks we’d envisioned between our two peoples have been violently interrupted.”

“Indeed,” Frangelic said grimly.

“We were afraid this would happen,” the general continued. “With our forces off defending our five outer worlds, the Lioaoi have chosen this moment for a surprise attack. You helped us once, Commodore Ar’alani. Can you also assist us in repulsing this new aggression?”

Ar’alani shook her head, feeling a sense of helplessness. The woman up there in the Creators’ Market, diligently sewing her historical clothing…“I’m sorry, General, but we can’t,” she said. “By all standard protocol, we shouldn’t even be in your situation room.”

“You are our guests, and such guests must be protected,” the general said. “If the invaders break through, you could be in the same danger as our own helpless citizens.”

“There’s little likelihood of that,” Thrawn assured him. “Your defense platforms should be more than adequate to protect you from two warships.”

“What if there are more lying in wait?” Frangelic countered. “Anything you can tell us about our attackers could spell the difference between survival and utter destruction. Please.”

For a moment, Thrawn watched the displays in silence. Ar’alani could see his eyes flicking back and forth: observing, assessing, calculating. If there was something else there, some weakness the Garwians could exploit, he would find it.

“Well?” the general prompted.

“I see two additional weaknesses,” Thrawn said. “But Commodore Ar’alani is right. This is something the Ascendancy must stand back from.”

“You helped us once,” Frangelic said. “Is not the situation here even more dire?”

Thrawn looked at Ar’alani. Back at the general. “The Lioaoi have certain tactical blind spots,” he said. “The first—”

“Just a minute,” Ar’alani interrupted him. The Garwian officers—all of them—were staring at Thrawn. None were watching the monitors. None were directing their defenses.

But then, why would they? The Lioaoin ships were standing well back from the defense platform, not moving forward, their effort apparently being put into defending themselves against the Garwian barrage.

“Please,” Frangelic said, shifting his attention to Ar’alani. “Please don’t stand in the way of Garwian survival.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Ar’alani asked. Pulling out her comm, she keyed for the Destrama.

Silence. Not just no answer. Silence.

And now all the Garwian officers were looking at her.

“Commander Thrawn, please contact the Destrama,” she said. “There seems to be a problem with my comm.”

“Is there,” Thrawn said, his voice and face gone suddenly hard. He’d heard the silence from her comm, too. “General, kindly lift your jamming.”

“There’s no jamming,” Frangelic said quickly. “At our depth—”

“Kindly lift your jamming,” Thrawn repeated.

Neither his voice nor his face had changed. Even so, a sudden shiver ran up Ar’alani’s back. Silently, the general turned and made a gesture to one of the officers at the consoles. The other touched a pair of switches—

“—asking for terms for the Lioaoin Regime’s surrender,” a taut voice came over Ar’alani’s comm. “The Garwians are ignoring them. Commodore, can you hear me?”

“Yes, Commander,” Ar’alani said. “I can now, anyway. Stand by for orders.”

She muted the comm. “Nice,” she said to the general, putting as much frost into her voice as she could. “You claim you’re being raided by pirates and maneuver us into bending our protocols to assist. Then, once the Lioaoi have lost a critical number of ships, you launch an assault against—what? An old rival? A new competitor for trade or manufacturing contracts?”

“You speak as if the Lioaoi were innocents,” the general said loftily. “Not at all. You recall me speaking earlier of our five outer worlds? Once there were six.” His mouth opened in a grin. “Now there will be six again.”

“Or possibly seven?” Ar’alani asked.

“Possibly,” the general agreed. “There is one of theirs we’re most interested in.”

He looked at Thrawn. “More insights into our enemies’ weaknesses would have been useful. But no matter. Your earlier assistance in that regard was sufficient and much appreciated.”

Thrawn held his gaze another moment. Then, deliberately, he turned to Ar’alani. “Commodore, request permission to order the Destrama to open fire on the Garwian defense platforms.”

An uncomfortable stir ran through the aliens. “A tempting suggestion, Commander,” Ar’alani said. “But I’m afraid the protocols forbid such an action. Fully justified though it would be.”

“General, the Lioaoi are breaking off,” someone called.

“Recalled to defend their worlds, no doubt,” the general said. “A futile gesture, but at least there will be no doubt as to which of us won this day.” He cocked his head at Ar’alani. “I presume you’ll wish to depart as soon as possible?”

“Oh, we’ll depart, all right,” Ar’alani said. “And you’d best hope with all your strength that we never come back. Because if we do…let’s just say that Captain Thrawn’s insights regarding tactical blind spots aren’t limited to those of the Lioaoi.”

She took a step forward and had the minor and pointless satisfaction of seeing the general take a hasty step backward. “Remember that. All of you.”