Thrawn Ascendancy Book I: Chaos Rising

CHAPTER ONE

There were times, Ba’kif thought distantly, when it was good for a man to stare out of the relative stability of the Chiss Ascendancy into the Chaos. It was a chance to appreciate all that the Ascendancy was, and all that it meant: order and steadfastness, security and power, light and culture and glory. It was an island of calm amid the twisted hyperspace lanes and the ever-changing pathways that slowed travel and stunted trade for all those who lived out there.

The Chaos hadn’t always been that way, or so the legends went. Once, at the dawn of space travel, it had been no more difficult to move between any of the stars than it was now to travel in the Ascendancy. But then, millennia ago, a series of chained supernova explosions throughout the region had sent huge masses tumbling at high speeds between the stars, some of them demolishing asteroids or whole worlds, others sparking more supernovas with their near-lightspeed impacts. The movement of all those masses, coupled with regions of heavy electromagnetic flux, resulted in the constantly changing hyperlanes that made any voyage longer than a couple of star systems difficult and dangerous.

But that instability was a two-bladed knife. The limitations that stifled travel and thus helped protect the Chiss from invasion also slowed recon and intelligence gathering. There were dangers out there in the darkness, hidden worlds and tyrants who sought conquest and destruction.

One of those tyrants had apparently now set his sights on the Ascendancy.

“Are you certain this is the way?” he asked the young woman at the helm of their shuttle.

“Yes, General, I am,” she said. A flicker of controlled pain crossed her face. “I was part of the team that found it.”

Ba’kif nodded. “Of course.” There was another short silence, another moment of gazing out at the distant stars—

“There,” the woman said suddenly. “Ten degrees to starboard.”

“I see it,” Ba’kif said. “Take us alongside.”

“Yes, sir.”

Their ship moved forward, steadily closing the distance. Ba’kif gazed out the viewport, his stomach tight. It was one thing to see holos and recordings of a destroyed refugee ship. It was something else entirely to look personally upon the stark reality of slaughter.

Beside him, Senior Captain Thrawn stirred. “This wasn’t pirates,” he said.

“Your reasoning?” Ba’kif asked.

“The damage pattern is designed to destroy, not immobilize.”

“Perhaps the majority of the destruction was inflicted after they plundered it.”

“Unlikely,” Thrawn said. “The angle of the majority of the shots indicates an attack from the rear.”

Ba’kif nodded. That was the same analysis and logic he’d followed, and it had taken him to the same conclusion.

That logic plus one more crucial, terrible fact.

“Let’s get the obvious question out of the way,” he said. “Is this ship at all related to the ones that attacked Csilla two days ago?”

“No,” Thrawn said promptly. “I can see no artistic or architectural connection between them at all.”

Ba’kif nodded again. That, too, had been his conclusion. “So it’s possible the two incidents are unrelated.”

“If so, it would be an interesting coincidence,” Thrawn said. “I consider it more likely that the attack on Csilla was a diversion to draw our attention inward and away from this event.”

“Indeed,” Ba’kif agreed. “And given the cost of the diversion, it further suggests someone really doesn’t want us taking a good look at this ship.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “I wonder why they left the wreckage instead of destroying it completely.”

“I can tell you that, sir,” the pilot put in. “I was on the patrol ship that spotted the attack. We were too far away to intervene or to get any real sensor data, but the attacker apparently spotted our approach and decided not to risk a confrontation. By the time we arrived and began our investigation, it had escaped back into hyperspace.”

“So we already knew about the attack,” Ba’kif added. “The diversion was then presumably an attempt to push it out of our attention.”

“At least until more time had passed,” Thrawn said. “How much time, sir, do you estimate?”

Ba’kif shook his head. “Impossible to say for certain. But given the Syndicure’s outrage at the Csilla attack, I’m guessing they’ll keep up the pressure on the fleet to find the culprits for at least the next three or four months. Assuming, of course, that we don’t identify them before then.”

“We won’t,” Thrawn said. “From the recordings I saw of the attack, the ships looked old, even marginally obsolete. Whoever their master was, he chose ships that’ll most likely bear little resemblance to what he’s using now.”

Ba’kif smiled grimly. “But then, a little resemblance may be all we need.”

“Perhaps.” Thrawn gestured toward the wrecked ship. “I assume we’ll be going aboard?”

Ba’kif looked at the pilot. Her cheeks were tight, the skin around her eyes pinched. She’d been aboard once, and clearly had no desire to go back. “Yes,” he said. “Just the two of us. The shuttle crew will stay here on watch.”

“Understood,” Thrawn said. “With your permission, I’ll prepare the boarding suits.”

“Go ahead,” Ba’kif said. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

He waited until Thrawn had left. “I presume you left everything as you found it?” he asked the pilot.

“Yes, sir,” she said. “But…”

“But?” Ba’kif prompted.

“I don’t understand why you wanted it left intact instead of bringing it in for a more thorough investigation,” she said. “I can’t see how anything in there will do you any good.”

“You may be surprised,” Ba’kif said. “We may both be.”

He looked toward the hatch where Thrawn had gone. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”

Ba’kif had seen the holos the patrol had sent to the Syndicure on Csilla and the Expansionary Defense Fleet headquarters on Naporar.

Like the ship itself, the reality was far worse.

Wrecked consoles. Fried data storage banks and modules. Destroyed sensor clusters and analysis pods.

And bodies. Lots of bodies.

Or rather, the remains of bodies.

“This wasn’t a freighter.” Thrawn’s voice came softly through Ba’kif’s helmet speaker. “It was a refugee ship.”

Ba’kif nodded silently. Adults, midagers, children—the whole range of life experience had been represented.

All of them slaughtered with the same brutal efficiency.

“What did the fleet’s analysis give us?” Thrawn asked.

“Precious little,” Ba’kif admitted. “As you already noted, the ship’s design isn’t one we’ve seen before. The victims’ nucleic code isn’t in our data listings. The size of the ship suggests it didn’t travel overly far, but there are a lot of planetary systems and small nation clusters in the Chaos that we’ve never visited.”

“And their physical characteristics…” Thrawn waved a hand.

“Not easy to read,” Ba’kif said grimly, shivering in spite of himself. Explosive rounds had left very little for even the best reconstruction team to work with. “I was hoping there might be something you could glean from what they left behind.”

“There are a few things,” Thrawn said. “The basic ship design has certain characteristics that likely translate to other aspects of their culture. Their clothing, too, is distinctive.”

“In what way?” Ba’kif asked. “Material? Design? Patterning?”

“All that, and more,” Thrawn said. “There’s a certain air about such things, an overall feeling that forms in my mind.”

“Nothing you can codify for us?”

Thrawn turned to him, and through his faceplate Ba’kif saw the other’s wry smile. “Really, General,” he said. “If I could write all this down, I certainly would.”

“I know,” Ba’kif said. “It would be a lot easier for all of us if you could.”

“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “But rest assured I’ll be able to recognize these beings when I see them again. I presume your plan is to search for the ship’s point of origin?”

“Under normal circumstances, I would definitely do so,” Ba’kif said. “But with the Syndicure in its current state of uproar and outrage, it might be difficult to detach a task force from Ascendancy defense.”

“I’m prepared to go alone if necessary.”

Ba’kif nodded. He’d expected Thrawn to volunteer, of course. If there was one thing the man enjoyed, it was chasing down enigmas and working through puzzles. Add in his unique ability to see connections others couldn’t—and the fact that a large percentage of the Aristocra would be happy to have him out of their sight for a while—and he was the perfect person for the job.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy.

“I’ll need something reasonably well equipped for a mission of this sort,” Thrawn continued, looking around at the wreckage. “The Springhawk would do quite well.”

“I thought that would be next,” Ba’kif said sourly. “You do know it was taken away from you for a reason, right?”

“Of course,” Thrawn said. “Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk and the Council were displeased by my actions against the Vagaari pirates. But surely that anger has dissipated by now.”

“Perhaps,” Ba’kif said evasively. “However…well. Let’s just say that your reputation among the other Council members continues to be tenuous.” Certainly the Defense Hierarchy Council’s annoyance at Thrawn’s actions had been the official reason for him being removed as the Springhawk’s commander. Not just his unauthorized action against the pirates, but also the subsequent death of Syndic Mitth’ras’safis and the loss of valuable alien technology.

But behind the scenes, there’d been other factors in play. Thrawn’s successful campaign, whether the Aristocra approved of it or not, had elevated the Springhawk’s name and prestige, and the Ufsa family had decided they wanted the ship to be commanded by one of their own. A quiet petition to the Council, probably an even quieter exchange of favors or future owings, and Thrawn was out.

All strictly against protocol, of course. The Aristocra weren’t supposed to have any influence over military assignments. But that didn’t mean it never happened.

The point was that, as usual, Thrawn had seen only the surface situation and completely missed the political subtleties.

Still, this might be a good opportunity to remind the Ascendancy’s civilian leaders that the Council, not the Syndicure, was in charge of the military. The syndics had taken away the Springhawk; it was time for the Council to take it back. “Let me see what I can do,” he said. “The Springhawk’s scheduled to join Admiral Ar’alani’s punitive attack on the Paataasus in a few days, but we should be able to get you back in command after that.”

“Do you really think the Paataasus are responsible for the Csilla attack?”

“I don’t, no,” Ba’kif admitted. “Nor does most of the Council. But one of the syndics trotted out that theory, and the rest are warming to it. Regardless, the Paataasus have been poking at the edge of the Ascendancy again, so a quick punitive slap was in order anyway.”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” Thrawn said. “Instead of waiting until after the operation, though, I’d like to join the ship before the attack. Not necessarily as commander, but to observe and evaluate the officers and warriors.”

“That might be possible,” Ba’kif said. “On the other hand, why not as commander? I’ll run it past Ar’alani and see if she approves.”

“I’m sure she will,” Thrawn said. “I assume I’ll also be assigned a sky-walker for my investigation?”

“Most likely,” Ba’kif said. The sky-walker corps was stretched thin these days, but without knowing how far Thrawn’s investigation would take him it would be inefficient to make him travel at the much slower jump-by-jump speed. “I’ll see who’s available when we get back to Naporar.”

“Thank you.” Thrawn gestured aft. “I presume the attackers here left little to find in the engine compartment or the supply rooms?”

“Little to nothing,” Ba’kif said grimly. “Mostly just a few more exploded bodies.”

“Regardless, I’d like to see those areas.”

“Of course,” Ba’kif said. “This way.”

For a long moment, Mid Captain Ufsa’mak’ro gazed at the fresh orders on the questis his first officer had handed him.

No. Not his officer. Senior Commander Plikh’ar’illmorf was now Senior Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s officer. And no longer first, but second.

Samakro himself had become Thrawn’s first officer.

He looked up from the questis at the man standing stiffly in front of him. Kharill was seething, though he probably thought he was hiding it. “You have a question, Senior Commander?” Samakro asked mildly.

Kharill’s eyebrows twitched, just a bit. Apparently, he’d expected the Springhawk’s captain to be as angry at the unexpected orders as he was. “Not so much a question, sir, as a comment,” he said, his voice tight.

“Let me guess,” Samakro said, lifting the questis slightly. “You’re outraged that my ship’s been taken away from me and given to Senior Captain Thrawn. You’re wondering if we should lodge our complaints individually or jointly, and if jointly which of our families should be contacted first. You think we should also protest to Admiral Ar’alani, Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk, and the Defense Hierarchy Council, probably in that order, arguing that changing a ship’s command structure on the eve of battle is both foolish and dangerous. And you absolutely think we should show our displeasure by obeying Thrawn’s orders as unenthusiastically as possible. Does that about cover it?”

Kharill’s mouth had started dropping open somewhere around Samakro’s second sentence, and was now as far open as Samakro had ever seen it. “Ah…yes, sir, it does,” Kharill managed.

“Well, then,” Samakro said, handing him back the questis. “Since I’ve now said all of it, there’s no reason for you to do so. Return to your duties, and prepare for the change in command.”

Kharill’s throat worked, but he gave a brief nod. “Yes, sir,” he said, and turned to go.

“One more thing,” Samakro called after him.

“Sir?”

Samakro let his eyes narrow. “If I ever catch you disobeying an order—anyone’s order—or obeying a legal order slowly or improperly, I’ll personally have you brought up on charges. Clear?”

“Very clear, sir,” Kharill said between stiff lips.

“Good,” Samakro said. “Carry on.”

He watched Kharill’s rigid back as the other strode down the corridor toward the Springhawk’s bridge. Hopefully, Samakro had convinced the younger man to at least pretend enthusiasm for the ship’s new commander, even if he didn’t actually feel any.

Which was a façade that Samakro himself had better make sure was nailed up in front of his own feelings.

Because he was furious. Furious, outraged, betrayed—all of it. How dare the Council and Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk do this to him and the Springhawk? Supreme General Ba’kif’s starry-eyed attitude toward everything Thrawn touched was well known, but surely Ja’fosk had more sense.

Still, the orders had been cut, and protesting the way Kharill wanted would do nothing except add fuel to an already simmering fire. So Samakro would do his job, and he would make sure the rest of the ship’s officers and warriors did the same.

And he would hope very hard that whatever political mess Thrawn made this time wouldn’t blow up in all of their faces.