Her Third Sight was mostly gone. Her job was ended. The only life she’d ever known was over. A full year ahead of the usual schedule, her life was over.
At age thirteen.
“Are you all right?”
Al’iastov stopped short, rubbing away the tears that had kept her from seeing the other person’s approach. A young man in a black uniform stood facing her a few steps away. There weren’t any insignia pins on his collar, which marked him as a cadet, and his shoulder patch had a sunrise on it. That was one of the Nine Families, she knew, but she couldn’t remember which one. “I’m fine,” she said. One of her other caregivers had told her once that she should never complain about how she was feeling. “Who are you?”
“Cadet Mitth’raw’nuru,” he said. “Journeying to the Taharim Academy. Who are you?”
“Al’iastov.” She winced, remembering too late that her identity was supposed to be kept a secret from everyone except the highest-ranking officers. “I’m the captain’s daughter,” she added, repeating the lie she was always supposed to give if anyone outside the bridge crew asked.
Thrawn’s eyebrow rose, just a bit, and Al’iastov’s sinking heart sank a little deeper. He didn’t believe her. Not only was her life over, but she was probably in trouble now, too. “I mean—”
“It’s all right,” Thrawn said. “What’s wrong, Al’iastov? Can I help?”
Al’iastov sighed. She wasn’t supposed to complain. But for once she didn’t really care what she was supposed to do. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’m…just worried. About…I don’t know. About what I’m going to do.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said.
Al’iastov caught her breath. Had he figured out what she was? Her brief moment of uncaring rebellion vanished, leaving her once again fully aware that she was going to be in trouble. “You do?” she asked carefully.
“Of course,” Thrawn said. “All of us feel uncertainty as we travel through life. I don’t know specifically what concerns you, but I assure you that all the cadets aboard this ship are also facing changes in their futures.”
She felt a bit of relief. So he didn’t know she was a sky-walker. “But you all know where you’re going,” she said. “You’re a cadet, and you’re going to be in the Defense Force. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You’re a ship captain’s daughter,” Thrawn said. “That will surely open many opportunities. But just because I know I’m going to the academy doesn’t mean there aren’t a great many unknowns. And uncertainty can be the most frightening of mental states.”
And then, to Al’iastov’s surprise, Thrawn got down on one knee in front of her, putting his face a little lower than hers. Grown-ups almost never did that. Even most of Al’iastov’s other caregivers had usually stood straight up looking down at her. “But while all of us face a variety of paths, we all have the power to choose among them,” he continued. “You have that power as well, the power to choose which of those paths is the right one for you.”
“I don’t know,” Al’iastov said, feeling the tears start up again. What kind of choices did a thirteen-year-old failed sky-walker even have? No one had talked much to her about that. “But thank you for—”
“What’s going on here?” The harsh voice of Junior Captain Vorlip came from behind her. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“Cadet Mitth’raw’nuru,” Thrawn said as he quickly stood up. “I was exploring the ship when I came upon your daughter. She seemed distressed, and I stopped to offer assistance.”
“You’re not supposed to be in this corridor,” Vorlip said sternly. She walked past Al’iastov and stopped in front of Thrawn. “Didn’t you see the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY signs?”
“I assumed they were intended to stop nonmilitary personnel,” Thrawn said. “As a cadet, I thought I would be exempt.”
“Well, you aren’t,” Vorlip said. “You’re supposed to be back with the other cadets.”
“My apologies,” Thrawn said. “I merely wished to get the feel of the ship.” He bowed his head and started to turn away.
Vorlip put out her arm to block his path. “What do you mean, the feel of the ship?”
“I wanted to study its rhythms,” Thrawn said. “The deck has subtle vibrations that reflect the ebb and flow of the thrusters. Our movement through hyperspace was punctuated by slight hesitations and swells. The airflow indicates small variations as we change direction. The compensators occasionally lag slightly behind course changes, with effects that are again transmitted through the deck.”
“Really,” Vorlip said. She didn’t seem as angry now. “How many spaceflights have you had before this one?”
“None,” Thrawn said. “This is my first voyage away from my home.”
“Is it.” Vorlip stepped close to him. “Close your eyes. Keep them closed until I tell you otherwise.”
Thrawn closed his eyes. Vorlip took him by the upper arms, and without warning, began spinning him around.
Thrawn’s arms flailed outward with surprise. His feet stumbled, trying to keep up with his body’s movements. Vorlip kept him spinning, and also slowly moved around with him. When she was a third of the way from where she’d started, she caught his upper arms and brought him to a stop.
“Eyes still closed,” she said, holding him steady. “Which way is forward?”
Thrawn was silent a moment. Then, he raised a hand and pointed toward the Tomra’s bow. “There,” he said.
Vorlip kept holding him for a second. Then she let go and moved a step back. “You can open your eyes,” she said. “Return to your quarters. And don’t ever pass that kind of sign until you’re damn sure you’re allowed.”
“Yes, Captain,” Thrawn said. He blinked a couple of times as he finished getting his balance. He nodded to Vorlip, nodded and smiled at Al’iastov, then turned and left.
“I’m sorry,” Al’iastov said quietly.
“It’s all right,” Vorlip said. She was still looking at Thrawn.
“Are you mad at him?” Al’iastov asked. “He was only trying to help me.”
“I know.”
“Are you mad at me?”
Vorlip turned and gave her a small smile. “No, of course not,” she said. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”