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:
He paused, and Ba’kif could see the conflict in his eyes. Ja’fosk had accepted the inevitability of this moment, and he understood the reasons for it. But that didn’t mean he or any of the other officers on the tribunal liked it.
“You will be stripped of your rank and all privileges and responsibilities pertaining to the Expansionary Defense Fleet. You will also be—” Ja’fosk flashed another look at Thurfian. “—removed from your status as a merit adoptive of the Mitth family. You will at present remain a member of that family, but without rank.”
Ba’kif focused on Thurfian, noting the slight twist to his lip. He’d been all for rematching Thrawn back to his original Kivu family, but Ja’fosk and Thurfian’s own senior aide had apparently talked him out of such a drastic and irrevocable step.
“The Syndicure has further decreed—”
Ja’fosk paused, and Ba’kif could sense the sudden rise in the level of tension in the chamber.
“—that in two days’ time, you will be taken from Csilla to an uninhabited but life-supporting world, where you will remain for the remainder of your days.”
A sudden, disbelieving stir rippled through the room. Someone gasped, and Ba’kif heard the sound of someone preparing to speak. Ja’fosk shifted his gaze to the gallery, the full weight of his rank and experience focused like spectrum lasers through his eyes, and the sounds and movements subsided. “You will have those two days to set your affairs in order,” the supreme admiral went on, his voice emotionless. “At the appointed time, you will report to the Parala for transport to your place of exile.”
He turned to Dy’lothe and nodded. Dy’lothe nodded back and walked around the end of the table, coming to a stop in front of Thrawn.
And as the admirals watched with stoicism, Patriarch Thurfian watched with satisfaction, and the observers watched with dismay or disbelief or anger, Dy’lothe proceeded to remove the honor chains from across Thrawn’s chest.
Another uncomfortable rustle rippled through the gallery. Again, the stirring faded away under Ja’fosk’s stern gaze.
Ba’kif watched in silence, feeling a lump come to his throat. Patriarch Thurfian hadn’t wanted him on the tribunal, but he had wanted him to perform this part of the ritual. That request Ba’kif had flatly refused.
Dy’lothe finished and took a step back, the honor chains draped over his left palm. He hesitated a moment; and then, to Ba’kif’s surprise, he gave Thrawn a small but respectful nod.
Ba’kif shifted his attention to Thurfian, wondering if the Mitth Patriarch had caught Dy’lothe’s gesture. From the sudden stiffness of his expression, it was clear that he had.
“Sentence has been passed,” Ja’fosk said as Dy’lothe made his way around the table and stood with the other admirals. “In two days, sentence will be executed.”
He reached over the table and again tapped the polished stone. “This tribunal is now ended.”
The admirals filed back out the door, Dy’lothe stepping into his proper place in line, Thrawn’s honor chains still draped carefully across his hand. Patriarch Thurfian waited until they had disappeared out the door, then rose from his chair. For a moment he locked eyes with Thrawn; and then he, too, left the room. Thrawn turned back toward the rear door, and as the four warriors returned to escort formation he strode back through the gallery, his face set, his eyes focused straight ahead of him. The door opened, and he was gone.
For a few seconds Ba’kif stayed where he was, bracing himself for the inevitable rush of confrontation and outrage. But the room remained silent and still. Apparently, everyone was still too stunned by the verdict to organize their thoughts or their voices.
But that would come, Ba’kif knew. In time, it would come.
Quietly, he stood up and made his way through the gallery to the door, feeling disbelieving and hostile eyes on him the whole way.
And wondered how much angrier they would all be if they knew the judgment, and the exile, had been Ba’kif’s idea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was seldom, Ar’alani thought to herself, that she’d seen a single word that could be packed with so much hostility, hopelessness, and sheer injustice. But this one managed all that, and more.
Exile.
She looked up at the two men sitting across from her. Supreme General Ba’kif, seated behind his desk, was wearing his usual neutral face, with nothing there for her to read. Thrawn’s face, as he sat silently at the desk’s other front corner, was mostly unreadable, with a hint of pleading in his eyes.
Pleading for understanding, perhaps? Pleading for sympathy?
He’d better not be pleading for forgiveness, Ar’alani thought darkly. She wasn’t in the mood to forgive someone who hadn’t done anything wrong.
She focused on Ba’kif. “This is wrong, sir,” she said. “Completely and totally wrong. Senior Captain Thrawn deserves a promotion, a new honor chain, and the gratitude of every single one of the Nine and the Forty.”
“So what exactly does that make this sentence of exile?” Ba’kif asked mildly. “What do you see in it?”
“Resentment,” Ar’alani told him. “Embarrassment.” She looked at Thrawn. “Revenge.”
“Good,” Ba’kif said. “Because that’s exactly what the Syndicure intended when they approved it.” He paused. “And that’s exactly what we want them continuing to believe.”
Ar’alani frowned, focusing a little harder on Thrawn. She’d been right the first time: The pleading was indeed for understanding.
But not understanding for his situation. Understanding for something else entirely.
“Well, that clears that up,” she said. “Would you like to scrape a little more dirt off the viewport for me?”
“There was no other way,” Ba’kif said, his voice quiet. “The Syndicure was looking for a scapegoat, someone to blame for what happened at Sunrise.”
“What happened at Sunrise was the salvation of the Ascendancy,” Ar’alani said bluntly. “You know that as well as I do.”
“The temporary salvation, at least,” Ba’kif agreed. “And I know that many in the Syndicure share that view. But agreeing with it and accepting it are two different things. The Ascendancy’s unity had been fractured, with serious tensions lingering within the Nine and the Forty. Blaming everything on Thrawn was the only way to offer closure, and to allow all the aggrieved parties to save face and regain their honor. The only way to put the Ascendancy back together.”
“They should have found another way,” Ar’alani growled. “If they wanted a scapegoat, they could have picked any one of us.”
“They did,” Thrawn said quietly.
Ar’alani frowned at him. “What?”
“He means they did pick,” Ba’kif said. “Only they picked all of you.”
Ar’alani looked back at the supreme general. “I don’t understand.”
Ba’kif sighed. “There was a sizable percentage of the Aristocra who wanted to bring charges against every commander and every senior officer in Thrawn’s core group,” he said. “You, Wutroow, Samakro, Ziinda, Roscu—” He snorted. “There were even some who wanted to charge Thalias and Che’ri. The point is that by putting Thrawn at the focus of their anger and embarrassment, we could persuade them to leave the rest of you alone.”
“Think of it as a game of Tactica,” Thrawn suggested. “Supreme General Ba’kif has sacrificed his nightdragon in order to protect his groundlion and whisperbirds—”