CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The bluedock foreman shook his head as he ran to the end of the listing. “I don’t know what it is with you folk,” he said. “This is the second time in two months. Do you deliberately run into the middle of your battles?”
“Of course not,” Samakro said stiffly. “It’s hardly the Springhawk’s fault if the Council and Aristocra keep sending us out into the Chaos to fight people.”
“It’s hardly their fault if you don’t win the battles faster, either,” the foreman countered, half turning to peer out the viewport at the Springhawk floating nearby, silhouetted against the blue-white disk of the frozen Csilla surface filling half the sky.
“We won it fast enough,” Samakro assured him. “And let’s not get overly dramatic, shall we? There’s not that much damage.”
“You don’t think so?” the foreman said sourly. “Well, I suppose that’s why you’re out there running into missile salvos and I’m in here putting your ship back together.” He lifted a finger. “Sensor nodes needing replacement: seven. Hull plates needing replacement: eighty-two. Spectrum lasers needing repair or refurbishment: five. And what’s this nonsense about adding an extra tank of plasma sphere fluid?”
“We use a lot of plasma spheres.”
“And where exactly does Senior Captain Thrawn suggest I put it?” the foreman retorted. “His quarters? Your quarters?”
“I have no idea,” Samakro said. “That’s why you’re in here performing maintenance miracles and we’re out there making people regret tangling with the Chiss Ascendancy.”
“This would take a miracle,” the foreman grumbled, looking at the questis again. Still, he seemed pleased by Samakro’s small compliment. “The least he could do is come ask for these miracles in person.”
“He’s in consultation with General Ba’kif right now.”
The foreman sniffed. “No doubt planning his next foray into trouble. Fine. I’ll get started on the rest of this, and see if I can find enough space somewhere for this impossible plasma tank he wants.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” Samakro assured him. “What kind of time frame are we looking at?”
“At least six weeks, maybe seven,” the foreman said. “If I get a rush order from Ba’kif or Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk, I can maybe slice a week off that.”
“Well, go ahead and get started, and I’ll see about getting you that rush order,” Samakro said. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by not wrecking your ship next time.”
“What, and make the Council wonder if they still need people like you?” Samakro asked blandly.
“I’d love to see the Council try their hand at this job,” the foreman said. “The Ascendancy would never fly again. Go on, get out of here—I’ve got work to do.”
Fifteen minutes later, Samakro was on a shuttle heading for the surface.
A hard knot in his stomach.
Do you deliberately run into the middle of your battles? the foreman had asked. Samakro had waved off the sarcasm…but in the core of his heart he wasn’t nearly that certain. There’d been at least two times during the Lioaoin skirmish, maybe three, when Thrawn had taken the Springhawk far deeper into the enemy fire zone than he’d had to. Nearly all of the damage the foreman had groused about had come from those particular sorties.
Had Thrawn been trying to glean additional information on the new Lioaoin tactics, as he’d claimed? Or was it possible he was starting to lose the judgment and tactical insight that had raised his name to such prominence?
Thrawn had implied he’d initiated his current meeting with Ba’kif. But maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Ba’kif had noticed the same troubling subtext in the after-action reports and was having some of the same doubts as Samakro. Maybe he’d called Thrawn in to find out what was going on.
And if the general decided Thrawn was no longer capable of commanding the Springhawk…
Samakro took a deep breath. Stop it, he ordered himself. Even if Thrawn was relieved of command, that didn’t necessarily mean Samakro would be restored to it. The Springhawk still had an important name, and the Ufsa family wasn’t the only one who would love to have one of their own in charge.
Still, it was an interesting thought.
“An interesting thought,” General Ba’kif said, pursing his lips. “The question is whether that thought is dangerously inspired or merely criminally insane.”
“I don’t see why either adjective has to be attached, sir,” Thrawn said, his voice carrying his usual mix of respect and confidence. “The small scout ship I’m proposing—”
“You don’t?” Ba’kif interrupted.
“No, sir,” Thrawn said calmly. “A scout ship could easily slip the three of us past any sentries or watchers General Yiv might have placed along the way. The data we collect would not only give us a better idea of how large this so-named Nikardun Destiny is, but also offer hints as to how solidly those behind Yiv’s battle line are being held and controlled.”
“To what end?”
“There are several possibilities,” Thrawn said. “We might be able to foment revolt among some of them—”
“Preemptive action,” Ba’kif interrupted again. “Never get past the Syndicure.”
“—or possibly lease bases or supply depots from them—”
“More preemptive action.”
“—or, if there are unconquered peoples scattered among them, we might learn how they were able to resist the Nikardun.”
Ba’kif frowned thoughtfully. That last could indeed be quite instructive. Even better, a straightforward data-gathering mission wouldn’t generate nearly as much outrage among the Aristocra as Thrawn’s other suggestions.
But even there, the whole thing was swimming in risk and uncertainty. “Independence and resistance are a difficult combination to maintain,” he pointed out. “Any halfway-competent conqueror would never permit it.”
“Unless Yiv isn’t aware of the situation,” Thrawn said. “In fact, as you suggest, that’s probably the only way such a situation could continue.”
“So independence, resistance, and vacuum-tight secrecy,” Ba’kif said. “The odds against these theoretical allies existing are getting rather tall. Do you need anything else from them? Proficiency in small arms, maybe?”
“No, nothing else,” Thrawn said. Either he hadn’t noticed Ba’kif’s sarcasm or had chosen to ignore it. “We can find a way to work with whatever other skills they might possess. The primary focus now has to be on finding them.”
“If they exist.”
“If they exist,” Thrawn conceded. “At any rate, I’ve already spoken to Caregiver Thalias and Sky-walker Che’ri, and both have indicated willingness to go with me.”
“You spoke of confidential matters to unauthorized personnel?” Ba’kif asked, hearing his tone go ominous.
“Sky-walkers and their caregivers know many things even senior officers sometimes don’t,” Thrawn said. “That said, no, I offered no restricted information. I merely posed the question of whether they would accompany me on a long-distance journey of unspecified destination and purpose.”
For a few seconds Ba’kif gazed at him, weighing the options, considering the possibilities, assessing the risks. Nothing about this mad scheme exactly filled him with confidence.
But if the information Thrawn and Ar’alani had brought back about the quiet infiltration of the Nikardun was even halfway accurate, something had to be done. And the quicker, the better.