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:
“Was there anyone else?”
“No,” Ba’kif said. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? There wasn’t, there isn’t, nor is there likely ever to be one again. Not since Thomoro the Tragic has the Ascendancy produced anyone with Thrawn’s unique combination of strategic and tactical skills plus the ability to observe, analyze, and predict.”
“If only he also had Patriarch Thomoro’s political skills,” Lamiov said ruefully.
“Which I doubt he ever will,” Ba’kif said. That had, after all, been the whole idea of working with Patriarch Thooraki to team him up with Thrass. The two of them working together … “But it’s no good dwelling on what might have been.”
“I suppose not.” Lamiov gave a small, rather pained chuckle. “I heard once that pondering what-ifs and other missed opportunities is a sign of old age. I wonder which one of us it is.”
“It’s you, of course,” Ba’kif assured him. “I gave up aging years ago.”
“Ah, yes. I’d forgotten.” Lamiov nodded toward the vault door. “You have any idea what he wants?”
“He didn’t say,” Ba’kif said, a shiver running through him. “But with the turmoil in the Ascendancy, and the sudden and suspicious alien focus on Sunrise … I don’t really want to guess.”
“Neither do I,” Lamiov said. “But that hasn’t stopped me. You?”
Ba’kif shook his head. “No.”
For the next few minutes they waited together in silence. Then, at last, the door was opened from the outside by the guards, and Thrawn stepped into the vault.
Ba’kif watched Thrawn’s face closely as he strode up to them, wondering if his own presence here had caught the other off guard. But if Thrawn was surprised to see his superior it didn’t show in his expression. “Patriarch Lamiov,” Thrawn greeted him, giving each of them a small head bow. “Supreme General Ba’kif. Thank you for seeing me.”
“Your request didn’t leave much room for argument,” Lamiov said.
“Yes, and I’m sorry if my communication was overly brusque,” Thrawn said. “But the timing is going to be critical, and I still don’t know how much margin for error I have.”
“Apology accepted,” Lamiov said. “Tell us what you want from us.”
“I need an item from Vault Four,” Thrawn said. “I know UAG policy is to not allow alien artifacts to leave Stybla control—”
“Tell us what you need,” Lamiov said.
“And what you need it for,” Ba’kif added.
“I believe Jixtus is part of an alien force seeking to conquer this region of the Chaos,” Thrawn said. “Or possibly even the entirety of it. I also believe he has a fleet nearby that he intends to bring against the Ascendancy.” He seemed to draw himself up. “My intent is to draw him into an ambush before he launches his attack.”
“Violating explicit Syndicure protocol,” Ba’kif murmured.
“If necessary, yes.”
Lamiov twitched his fingers in invitation. “Tell us all.”
They listened in silence as Thrawn described his plan … and as he spoke, Ba’kif felt a coldness settle over him. It was madness, he told himself over and over, the coldness in his heart deepening with each detail Thrawn revealed.
The recitation ended, and Thrawn stood waiting for comment. Ba’kif gave Lamiov a furtive look out of the corner of his eye, but the other seemed to have attention only for Thrawn. Ba’kif waited, allowing the Patriarch to break the silence first.
Finally, Lamiov stirred. “So,” he said, his voice as hollow as Ba’kif’s heart was feeling. “Sunrise.”
“Sunrise,” Thrawn confirmed.
“I assume you know what this could do to the people there.”
“I do.”
“And you’re still willing?”
A shadow of pain crossed Thrawn’s face. But his nod was firm. “I believe it to be the Ascendancy’s best chance, Your Venerante. Sunrise is the only place Jixtus cares enough about to gather his forces to. If we don’t do this—if I don’t do this—he’ll continue to pit family against family until we’ve battered ourselves so far down that we won’t survive his assault.”
“But all that prodding will take time,” Ba’kif pointed out. “Surely he won’t attack until he’s sure he can win. That gives us time.”
“Does it?” Lamiov countered. “We’ve had skirmishes at Csaus, Sarvchi, Shihon, and now Jamiron. It seems to me the Ascendancy is doing its very best to tear itself apart. Willingly, even eagerly.”
“You approve of this plan?” Ba’kif countered. “Have you considered the implications? All the implications?”
“If you mean am I aware of what the cost might be for giving my consent, then the answer is yes,” Lamiov said. “And I accept it.” He waved Ba’kif toward the door. “If you prefer to choose otherwise, you’re welcome to wait in my office.”
Ba’kif looked at Thrawn. So many years on this path. Perhaps Lamiov had been right earlier about that path coming to an end.
But if so, it wasn’t going to end with Supreme General Ba’kif cowering from consequences in an underground room. “Thank you, Your Venerante,” he said. “But no. I’ve trusted Senior Captain Thrawn in the past, and I’ve seen him achieve remarkable results. I think I can trust him one more time.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said quietly. “Both of you.”
“Save your thanks until we’ve seen the final end,” Lamiov warned. “As you said, time is short. Let’s get to work.”
An hour later, they were finished.
“You know how to use it?” Ba’kif asked as Thrawn made one final check of the straps securing the crate inside the shuttle’s cargo bay.
“I do,” Thrawn said. “Once again, Supreme General, I thank you—”
“Your thanks can wait,” Lamiov cut in, gazing at his comm, a tense expression on his face. “You need to get back to your ship right away. Admiral Dy’lothe and the Venturous have just arrived … and the admiral’s calling on your Paccian friends to surrender.
“Or to be destroyed.”
“Three, two, one,” Ar’alani called, resisting the impulse to rub her eyes. A commander, she reminded herself firmly, needed to look at all times like she was fully in command of herself, her crew, and her ship.
But four hours of sleep really wasn’t cutting it.
“Home again, home again,” Wutroow murmured the old children’s sing-song. “Senior Commander Biclian?”
“Combat range clear, ma’am,” Biclian reported. “Mid-range—”
“Admiral, we’ve got company,” Larsiom cut in from the comm station. “The Venturous is here, currently in low planetary orbit.” He half turned toward Ar’alani. “Admiral Dy’lothe reports he has a Nikardun blockade frigate pinned inside the gravity well.”
“What?” Wutroow demanded.
“Octrimo: in-system jump,” Ar’alani ordered. “Get us in as close and as fast as you can. Larsiom, acknowledge and request that Admiral Dy’lothe hold off any action until we arrive.”
“Oh, no,” Wutroow breathed as the two officers began working their boards, her eyes wide with sudden understanding. “You don’t think … Thrawn?”
“You know anyone else who’s got a friend with his own Nikardun warship?” Ar’alani ground out. She’d skimmed Mid Captain Samakro’s report of the Rapacc and Sunrise incidents, and had no doubt that the Council and Syndicure were ready to run Thrawn through the shredder.