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:
“You wanted to get back?” Rivlex interrupted harshly. “Did I or did I not send you to Ornfra to find evidence of Dasklo duplicity?”
“Yes, Your Venerante, you did,” Roscu said. “But as Jixtus said, we were attacked and decided—”
“You don’t look damaged, Captain,” Rivlex said, again cutting her off. “You made it all the way here without putting in at a bluedock for repairs. I’ll ask again: Were your orders to go to Ornfra?”
Roscu ground her teeth. It was a pattern she’d seen before: The Patriarch picking someone who’d displeased him and grinding that person into the dirt in front of friends, colleagues, and other officials. A double helping of shame and humiliation, usually topped off with a withdrawal of position, status, or sometimes even family affiliation. “My orders were to go to Ornfra,” she said.
“And did you achieve the goal that was set before you?”
“No, Your Venerante, I did not.”
“That was all I needed to know. Commander Raamas?”
“Yes, Your Venerante?” Raamas called.
“You’re hereby promoted to captain and reinstated as commander of the Orisson,” Rivlex said. “You will prepare a shuttle and send former Captain Roscu to the homestead. Then you will go to Ornfra and get me the proof I need to take down the Dasklo.”
“Understood, Your Venerante,” Raamas said briskly. “Do I report back to you on my findings, or do I communicate directly with Jixtus and your new fleet?”
“Ah, yes—my new fleet,” Rivlex echoed, his voice going even darker. “I’d almost forgotten that Roscu deliberately intruded on a secret military assemblage that she had no business pressing her nose into. Did she tell anyone else about it?”
“No, Your Venerante, she didn’t,” Raamas assured him. “I assumed it was to be kept within the family, and have therefore kept close watch on her communications.”
“Excellent, Captain,” Rivlex said, some of the anger easing from his voice. “Excellent indeed. See that Roscu is put into wrist restraints before she’s returned to me. There may be charges of treason added to the list.”
“Yes, Your Venerante,” Raamas said. “We’ll communicate our findings directly to you. May I ask if we may take a day or two of leave before traveling to Ornfra? My crew’s been in space for a long time.”
“Are you hard of hearing, Captain?” Rivlex growled, the anger back in full force. “No, you may not take leave. I want that evidence now. Do you hear me? Right now.”
“Of course, Your Venerante,” Raamas said. He looked at Roscu, a small smile touching the corners of his lips.
Roscu felt a bitter taste rise into her mouth. So here it was, the final hammer on the end of her career. Only now did she remember how casually Raamas had accepted his demotion when Roscu first talked the Patriarch into letting her take command of the Orisson. Looking back, she could see now that he’d simply hidden his resentment until he could stab her in the back.
And by her own actions, Roscu had set herself up for destruction.
“Then prepare your ship, Captain,” Rivlex said. “As for you, Roscu, I’ll see you very soon.”
The comm chimed, and he was gone.
“Orders, Captain?” the pilot asked in an uncertain voice.
“Prepare the Orisson for hyperspace,” Raamas said.
“Yes, sir. And the shuttle?”
Raamas looked at Roscu. “What shuttle?”
Roscu frowned, noting peripherally that none of the rest of the bridge crew was reacting in the slightest to his strange comment.
“Yes, sir,” the pilot said, all brisk and businesslike again. “Course?”
“Wait a minute, Commander—Captain,” Roscu corrected herself. “The Patriarch ordered you to send me to the homestead.”
“I was also ordered to head out as soon as possible,” Raamas reminded her.
“But—”
“I believe Senior Captain Ziinda specified Schesa as the rendezvous point,” he continued. “Set our course there.”
“Captain, what are you doing?” Roscu asked in a low voice. Raamas was about to make the worst mistake of his career, and she couldn’t just sit by and watch him do it. “You can’t simply ignore the Patriarch that way.”
“You mean the Patriarch who ordered an alien ship to track us down and shoot us out of the sky?” Raamas countered, his voice suddenly cold. “The Patriarch who’s made a deal with the owner of that alien ship? The Patriarch who relieved you of command because you were more worried about the Ascendancy than his vendetta against the Dasklo?”
“None of that makes a difference,” Roscu said.
“I believe it makes all the difference,” Raamas said. “I told you before that I thought we were standing on an edge. I’m even more convinced of that now.”
“But you also said you didn’t like Ar’alani’s plan,” Roscu pointed out.
“Because you didn’t like it,” Raamas said. “And that was mostly because Senior Captain Thrawn was going to be in charge, and it was clear you didn’t want to submit your ship to his authority.” He smiled tightly. “But it’s not your ship anymore, is it?”
Roscu felt her throat tighten. It wasn’t that easy, she knew. Given her history with Thrawn, turning over her command was only part of it.
But Raamas was right. The Ascendancy was in trouble, and it was the suspicions and passions of people like Patriarch Rivlex that were driving that rush to destruction. Someone had to step out of the tangle, rise above the family politics, and do something.
She and Raamas were Clarr. But they were Chiss first.
“Your ship, Captain Raamas,” she said, standing up and stepping to the side of the command chair. “Your orders.”
“Thank you,” Raamas said, stepping over to the chair and sitting down. “Helm, you have your orders. Schesa, if you please. Best possible time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And once we’re under way,” he added, looking up at Roscu, “Captain Roscu and I will explain exactly what it is we’ve gotten the rest of you into.”
Mid Captain Samakro had told Thalias he would try to arrange for a shuttle to take her off her transport from Ool. Unfortunately, when she arrived at Csilla a message was waiting that the transport company had refused to disrupt their schedule that way. A follow-up message from Samakro had informed her that he would have someone meet her at the ground terminal when she arrived.
Given the urgency of the recall, and Samakro’s no doubt busy schedule aboard ship, Thalias expected some lower-level officer to be waiting when she walked out of the arrival terminal. To her surprise, Samakro himself was there, standing stiff and tall and in full dress honor chains.
“Thalias,” he greeted her tersely as she came up to him. “I’ll take that,” he added, plucking the travel bag from her hands. “The shuttle’s this way.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed through the crowd of pedestrians toward one of the other corridors. “I’m sorry about the transport,” Thalias said, hurrying to catch up. “Should I have talked to the captain myself?”
“Wouldn’t have done any good,” Samakro said as she settled in at his side. “I’m Ufsa and the transport company’s owned by the Droc family. They were already disinclined to do me any favors.” He huffed out a breath. “And of course, Jamiron didn’t exactly help the Expansionary Defense Fleet’s image any.”
“What happened at Jamiron?” Thalias asked, frowning.
“Oh, right—you’ve been in hyperspace,” Samakro said. “The Tahmie and Droc picked Jamiron to hold an impromptu punching match. The Vigilant was sent to break it up, but by the time it got there they were already shooting at each other. With noncombatant civilian ships at risk, Admiral Ar’alani decided to flicker the whole lot of them and then tractor the various ships to different orbital shells.”