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.”