Thrawn Ascendancy Book 3: Lesser Evil
- Автор: Зан Тимоти
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: Random House
- ISBN: 9781473596580
- Жанр: Боевая фантастика
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“I heard, yes,” Thurfian said, a sour taste in his mouth. “Apparently, he’s been working with aliens again.”
“And fighting battles with them, and making deals with them, and taking them on as allies,” Zistalmu said. “None of which he has the slightest authorization to do.”
“What would you like me to do about that?” Thurfian asked with strained patience. “As long as he’s out in the Chaos, there’s not much chance of hauling him back and sitting him down in one of your hearing rooms.”
“He has to come back sooner or later,” Zistalmu said. “I’ve already put out an order to the Defense Force to detain him if and when he shows his face.”
Thurfian frowned. “You put out an order?”
“With the backing of our Speaker, yes,” Zistalmu said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Yes,” Thurfian said. “Because the Syndicure doesn’t have jurisdiction over the military.”
“Maybe it doesn’t, but it should,” Zistalmu countered. “We’re the Ascendancy’s ultimate authority, after all. If Ja’fosk and Ba’kif won’t rein him in”—his eyes flashed—“and if you can’t rein him in, then it’s up to us.”
“Interesting thought,” Thurfian murmured.
Except that it wasn’t up to them. Not to the Syndicure as a whole, and certainly not to a single Syndic Prime or even a Speaker. The Aristocra of long ago had had solid reasons for insulating the Chiss military from Ruling Family politics, and those reasons hadn’t changed.
“As to jurisdiction, I’ll point out that the order was issued several hours ago and Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk still hasn’t taken issue with it,” Zistalmu continued. “It would be helpful if in the future such orders could be issued jointly by the Irizi and the Mitth.”
“I think that would be a bit awkward,” Thurfian pointed out. “The Mitth Patriarch can hardly be seen asking the Defense Force to detain one of its own family members.”
“I wasn’t talking just about Thrawn,” Zistalmu said. “I was talking about other matters that might need to be addressed.”
“You’re welcome to bring them to my attention when they occur,” Thurfian said. “But I can’t simply make a blanket offer to support you.”
For a moment Zistalmu seemed to study his face. “I remember a time when you and I were willing to ignore, circumvent, or even manipulate the political and military establishments for the good of the Ascendancy,” he said. “I warned you that becoming Patriarch would change your attitudes. I see I was right.”
“I have new responsibilities now,” Thurfian said. “Not to mention heightened visibility. I can’t skulk around the March of Silence having clandestine meetings with rival family syndics.”
“Would you if you could?”
“I don’t know,” Thurfian conceded. “It would depend on the topic.”
“And if that topic was still what we were going to do about Thrawn?”
“We’ll have to see what he says in his defense when he returns.”
“And then?” Zistalmu waved a hand in dismissal. “Never mind. I think I already know the answer.” He straightened up and gave a curt nod. “Thank you for your time, Your Venerante,” he said, his voice gone stiffly formal. “I’ll await the delivery of your petition.”
“Good day, Syndic Prime,” Thurfian said, reaching for his comm control.
Zistalmu got to his first, and the display blanked.
Thurfian sighed. Over the past few weeks, as he settled into his new position, he’d wondered what being Patriarch would do to his friendships. Most of them had thankfully survived, though in somewhat altered form. But it was looking like his relationship with Zistalmu was already dead.
But then, it had probably never been a real friendship in the first place. They’d been rivals united in a cause they believed in, trying to protect the Ascendancy from a threat they thought only they could recognize.
Zistalmu still saw Thrawn as a threat. The question was, did Thurfian?
He snorted under his breath. Of course he did. Thrawn was still a danger to the Ascendancy’s stability, and the sudden increase in tension just underscored how fragile that stability was.
But as he’d tried to tell Zistalmu, things weren’t as simple as they’d been before. Not only did he have to consider the Mitth family’s best interests, but he also had to factor in the other families’ perception of him and those interests. And that, he was rapidly discovering, was a difficult balance to maintain.
Besides, anything he did right now was probably moot. Thrawn had abandoned his ship, and Zistalmu had forced through the detention order, and that was that. Expansionary Defense Fleet officers could talk all they wanted about camaraderie and protecting one another’s backs, but when official decisions had been made and orders issued they would be followed. And once Ba’kif had him in custody, that threat, at least would be gone.
Though as a matter of interest, he would still like to hear whatever Thrawn had to say in his defense.
In the meantime, there was Mitth family work that needed to be done.
He keyed his intercom. “Senior Aide Thivik, please come in,” he said. “I need you to draw up a petition for me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Standing just inside Vault Four, far below the surface of Sposia, Patriarch Lamiov listened to the brief report and gave the proper acknowledgment. “His shuttle just landed,” he announced as he put away his comm. “He should be here shortly.”
Ba’kif nodded. About time. “Do you want me to go back up and meet him halfway?”
“No, that’s all right,” Lamiov said. “The guards have their orders. And there’s no point in drawing more attention to this whole thing than we already have.”
“I suppose,” Ba’kif said, wincing a little. “I hate to think how many panicked reports have already flooded Csilla and Naporar about an alien warship orbiting Sposia.”
“Oh, probably no more than a few hundred,” Lamiov said with a wry smile. “Hopefully, all of them will be automatically attached to my assurances that everything is under control before Ja’fosk sends half the Defense Force charging to the rescue.”
“Hopefully,” Ba’kif said. “Though if he didn’t react that way when Jixtus and his Kilji friends showed up, I don’t see why he’d do it now.”
“Never discount the novelty factor,” Lamiov said. “No one on Sposia has ever seen a Nikardun blockade frigate before.”
“Certainly not one painted with a Paccian subclan symbol.”
“No,” Lamiov agreed. “Like him or hate him, Thrawn’s always had a knack for bringing fresh problems to the table.”
“And the Syndicure does so enjoy fresh problems.”
“Indeed.” Lamiov looked over at the Vault Four door. “Do you ever regret it, Labaki? The path we started down all those years ago?”
“Do I regret it?” Ba’kif asked, feeling a fresh sense of his own age. Once, there’d been ten or twelve friends who’d persisted in calling him by his old Stybla core name when they were in private. Now Lamiov was the only one left. “Or do I regret him?”
“Not sure that’s a different question,” Lamiov said. “But without Thrass …” He shook his head. “It wasn’t supposed to end this way.”
“It hasn’t exactly ended yet,” Ba’kif reminded him. “And to answer your question, no, I don’t regret it. Though I’ll admit there’ve been times when I was defending him in front of some group of syndics that I wished we’d chosen someone else.”