“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.
The journey ended, and Al’iastov brought herself out of Third Sight into the muted light of the Chiss Defense Force Transport Tomra’s bridge. She lifted her hands away from the navigational controls, a hollow feeling in both stomach and heart. “Senior Commander?” she asked tentatively, looking at the helm officer seated beside her.
“We’ve arrived,” he confirmed. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”
“Okay,” Al’iastov murmured. Unstrapping, she stood up and walked across the quiet bridge to the hatch.
She walked through the opening and continued down the empty corridor toward the captain’s quarters, where she and her caregiver had been given space. The Tomra never went outside the Ascendancy, so it didn’t have a proper sky-walker suite. Mafole, Al’iastov’s caregiver, had complained about that, very loudly, which had made Junior Captain Vorlip mad right back at her.
On Al’iastov’s other ships, her caregiver usually met her outside the bridge and walked her back to the sky-walker suite. But after Mafole’s fight with Vorlip, she’d declared she wouldn’t leave their room until they reached Naporar, and had told Al’iastov she’d be walking back and forth alone.
And as Al’iastov walked the long corridor, her eyes blurred with tears.
There was no reason to have a sky-walker on this trip. She knew that. The routes within the Ascendancy weren’t like the ones out in the Chaos. Here, the pathways were clear, and the pilots knew how to get where they were going.
That was why the fleet had put Al’iastov’s test here. Trips like this were a safe way to see if a sky-walker could still do her job.
The pilot hadn’t said anything. Neither had Junior Captain Vorlip.
But Al’iastov knew.
She hadn’t been able to keep the Tomra on the right path. The pilot had had to correct the course as they traveled.