Thrawn Ascendancy Book 3: Lesser Evil
- Автор: Зан Тимоти
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Random House
- ISBN: 9781473596580
- Жанр: Боевая фантастика
Электронная книга - «Thrawn Ascendancy Book 3: Lesser Evil». Краткое содержание книги:
“Excuse me, Admiral?” Octrimo spoke up from the helm. “If I may offer a bit of insight into my family’s mindset?”
“Go ahead, Mid Commander,” Ar’alani said.
“We and the Tahmie have a long history of locking antlers on every topic imaginable,” Octrimo said. “All that aside, I don’t think our current Patriarch needs any particular reason to be mad, at the Tahmie or anyone else.”
“Yes, but going up against one of the Forty?” Wutroow asked. “That requires you to load courage into the bucket where you’re supposed to keep good sense.”
Octrimo shook his head. “I can describe it, ma’am, but that doesn’t mean I can explain it.”
“Let’s hope this group is at least willing to listen to reason,” Ar’alani said. “Here we go. Stand by, helm: Three, two, one.”
The star-flares collapsed into stars. “Full scan,” Ar’alani ordered. “Let’s see if we can find them—”
“Laserfire!” Biclian snapped. “Bearing ten degrees portside, six degrees zenith.”
“Octrimo, get us over there,” Ar’alani ordered, suppressing a curse. The Syndicure order had mentioned that both sides of the squabble were calling in additional forces, and had strongly encouraged her to get the Vigilant to Jamiron before any actual shooting started.
So much for that hope.
The Vigilant was too far away for a good read on the situation. But even a casual survey of the number and overall spread of the laser flashes showed that the battle was both intense and wide ranging. Unfortunately, there was no way to know whether the sudden arrival of an Expansionary Defense Fleet warship would cool down the participants or just inflame them more. She checked the Vigilant’s weapons status displays, waiting for Octrimo to get his in-system jump set up—
“Ready, Admiral,” the pilot said.
“All crews stand ready,” Ar’alani called. “In-system jump: Three, two, one.”
And with the usual jagged-edged change in position, the Vigilant arrived at the battle.
To find it was bigger and messier than Ar’alani had realized. There were no smooth planes of battle here, no coordinated wedges of attack or spheres of defense. Eighteen ships swarmed in and out of the battleground: patrol ships, gunboats, even a couple of armed freighters. They circled or arced around each other, some of them trading laser shots with a chosen opponent, some of them seemingly just shooting at whichever rival ship happened to be closest.
There was no overall strategy Ar’alani could see, nor any sense of individual tactics. The largest ship taking part in the brawl, a Tahmie patrol cruiser, seemed to be trying to organize the rest of the Tahmie forces, but it was clearly not having much luck. Two battered gunboats drifted at the edges of the battleground, but both still showed minimally functional power levels, and there were no shattered hulks or debris clouds.
“Larsiom, give me full broadcast,” Ar’alani ordered.
“Full broadcast, Admiral,” the comm officer confirmed.
Ar’alani squared her shoulders. “This is Admiral Ar’alani of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet warship Vigilant,” she announced in her most intimidating voice. “All Tahmie and Droc ships, you are ordered to cease hostilities.”
There was no reply. Moreover, as far as the running battle was concerned, the Vigilant might as well have been invisible. “Tahmie and Droc ships, I gave you an order,” Ar’alani said, raising her volume. “Stop this nonsense immediately.”
“Vigilant, you have no jurisdiction here,” a voice came over the bridge speaker. “Get clear or we won’t be responsible for the consequences.”
“Who is this?” Ar’alani asked. “Identify yourself.”
“The Expansionary Defense Fleet has no authority inside Ascendancy borders,” the other continued. “I again warn you to withdraw.”
“Larsiom, where’s that signal coming from?” Wutroow asked.
“I’m not sure, Senior Captain,” Larsiom said. “I think it’s the Tahmie patrol cruiser, but there’s too much interference from the other ships’ barriers.”
“Maybe we should make this more private, Admiral,” Wutroow suggested, turning to Ar’alani. “Shall we set up a laser comm?”
So that she could make more pointed threats to the Tahmie and then work out a deal with them, all without anyone else in the area listening in? It was a standard approach, and for a moment Ar’alani was tempted.
But only for a moment. The Vigilant had been given a job, and Ar’alani was in no mood to let some pompous patrol cruiser commander tell her she hadn’t. “Stay with broadcast,” she said. “Tahmie and Droc ships, this is your last warning. You’ve got ten seconds to cease hostilities, or we will take action.”
“You attack one of the Forty, and you’ll be the one regretting it,” the voice countered. “The Syndicure won’t stand for it.”
Wutroow raised her eyebrows at Ar’alani, clearly offering to tell the other captain that it was the Syndicure, in fact, who had sent the Vigilant here in the first place. But Ar’alani shook her head, watching the battle and concentrating on her countdown. She reached zero—
“Junior Captain Oeskym: plasma spheres,” she ordered the weapons officer. “Prepare to flicker them.”
“Target, Admiral?” Oeskym asked.
Ar’alani looked out at the battle. “All of them,” she said.
“All of them?” Wutroow asked, her eyes going a little wider.
“Every single damn one of them,” Ar’alani confirmed. She pointed at the patrol cruiser, which was in the process of firing at two different gunboats. “Starting with that one.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Oeskym said briskly. Clearly, he hadn’t liked the Vigilant being told to mind its own business, either. “Octrimo, get ready to yaw us in a starboard arc.”
“Yaw turn ready,” Octrimo confirmed. “Just tell me when.”
“Admiral?” Oeskym asked.
Ar’alani settled herself in her command chair. “Have at it, Junior Captain.”
It took four plasma spheres to completely silence the patrol cruiser. Most of the smaller combatants required only two or three before their lasers and thrusters fell silent. The tightly localized battleground began to expand as the various ships coasted outward along the vectors they’d been on when the spheres froze their control electronics.
“Probably just as well their comms are out,” Wutroow commented from beside Ar’alani as they watched the dispersal. “They’re all probably screaming their best obscenities at you right about now.”
“Let’s hope they kept a few of the tastier ones in reserve,” Ar’alani said. “Oeskym, secure spheres and fire up the tractor beams. As long as they’re not going anywhere for a while, we’re going to haul them away from each other.”
“We are?” Wutroow asked, her tone suddenly cautious. “That may not be the most politically astute thing to do.”
Ar’alani gazed out the viewport. Wutroow was right, of course. Flickering the Tahmie and Droc combatants with plasma spheres would anger both families, but they would privately concede it was better than blasting the ships with spectrum lasers or breacher missiles. But following up the attack by tractoring them away from each other would be seen as the equivalent of dragging out a bar brawler by the back of his collar.
For families whose lives and interrelationships were permanently wrapped in pride and appearance, that would be a terrible and humiliating insult. The Ascendancy military was theoretically above such political issues, but Ar’alani had always tried to be sensitive to them anyway, if only to avoid unnecessary friction with people she had to deal with every day.