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:
“Agreed.” Lamiov looked at Thrawn and Thrass. “With your permission, I’d like to keep you here for the next short time. We may need more of your assistance to resolve this situation.”
“As I said, we’re here at the behest of our Patriarch,” Thrass said. “Until he says otherwise, we’re yours to command.”
“Though—” Thrawn shot a look at Thrass. “I’m scheduled to take up my new post aboard the Springhawk in three hours. I’m not certain how this delay would be perceived by my superiors.”
Thrass winced. And after the politics-edged debacle with the Lioaoi and Garwians that Thrawn had just suffered through, he could imagine the Hierarchy Defense Council being eager to get him and his picket group out of the Ascendancy and off onto their distant pirate hunt.
“I’ll speak with General Ba’kif,” Lamiov said. “There will be no adverse repercussions, I assure you.”
“Then I also am at your service,” Thrawn said.
“Thank you both,” Lamiov said. “If you’ll follow Senior Aide Lappincyk, he’ll take you to a place where you may rest until I’ve finished my conversations.”
A minute later, the two Mitth found themselves in a small but well-furnished lounge. “What was the problem back there?” Thrass asked as he chose one of the lounge chairs and sat down.
“The problem?”
“You looked somewhat put out when Lamiov and Lappincyk wouldn’t play Riddle Me with you,” Thrass said.
Thrawn looked away, an echo of that same expression again crossing his face. “I wasn’t put out, Thrass,” he said quietly. “I was disappointed. People who can’t see things that are right in front of them …” He shook his head.
“This may come as a shock to you,” Thrass warned, “but most people don’t see things nearly as quickly or as clearly as you do.”
“I know,” Thrawn said. “I just wish … it’s not important.” He lowered himself into the chair beside Thrass’s and pulled out his questis. “We need to focus our attention on the hijacking.”
“Right,” Thrass agreed, pulling out his own questis. “Can’t let Lamiov and the Stybla have all the fun. You have a plan for tracking down the criminals?”
“No, we’ll leave that to the two Patriarchs,” Thrawn said. “It’s clear that something aboard that ship is vital to Lamiov. Let’s focus on that.”
Thrass frowned. “I assumed he cared about the whole cargo.”
“No,” Thrawn said. “At least not primarily. There’s one particular item that he’s predominantly interested in.”
“If you say so,” Thrass said. “How do we start?”
“We find the cargo listings and the locations where each of the items was taken aboard,” Thrawn said. “We try to ascertain the pirates’ specific target, then try to figure out where they might have taken it.”
“Sounds good.” Thrass said. “And Thrawn?”
Thrawn looked up. “Yes?”
“Remember what I just said about people not seeing things as quickly as you do?” Thrass asked. “That thing about the Patriarch mostly caring about one item. That was one of them.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Qilori had expected to spend at least a couple of hours floating through the vast emptiness while Thrawn decided whether or not the pod was worth picking up. Discovering that the pod’s automatic beacon wasn’t functional raised that estimate to somewhere between several hours and the remainder of his short, oxygen-starved life.
It was therefore a surprise, though a welcome one, when he’d been traveling for barely twenty minutes when a section of the starscape was blotted out and he felt the tug of a tractor beam as it locked onto the pod. Ten minutes after that, the hatch opened into the warmth and security and artificial gravity of the Chiss warship.
Five minutes and a very thorough security frisking after that, he was standing in a small ready room facing Thrawn.
“Senior Captain,” Qilori said, bowing his head. “I thank you for the rescue—”
“Does the other Kilji ship also employ a Pathfinder?” Thrawn interrupted.
Qilori felt his cheek winglets twitch. What kind of question was that? “Ah … yes. They do.”
“Good,” Thrawn said, standing up and gesturing to Qilori’s guards. “Take him to the bridge. You’re going to chase down that other Pathfinder for us.”
“What?” Qilori managed as the two blueskins took his upper arms and turned him back toward the hatch. “No—I can’t. That’s not possible.”
“You forget, Qilori of Uandualon, that I know your secret,” Thrawn said, falling into step beside him as the guards marched him down the corridor. “I know how Pathfinders in hyperspace are able to sense one another.” He turned those disturbing glowing red eyes on him. “You’ve used that ability to aid pirates, military attack forces, and General Yiv himself. Do I need to remind you what the other nations of the region would do if they also knew that?”
“No,” Qilori said between clenched teeth. “But I didn’t say I was unwilling. I said it wasn’t possible. I left my sensory-deprivation headset on the Anvil, and without it I can’t join with the Great Presence.”
“You also forget that I’ve seen the headset you use,” Thrawn said. “Something similar will be waiting for you.”
The bridge was a flurry of activity when they arrived. Qilori was escorted to the navigator’s chair—a very nice, very well-padded chair, he noted as he sat down—and was handed a cobbled-together monstrosity of a headset. “Will this suffice?” Thrawn asked.
Qilori pretended to study the headset, his eyes flicking over the board in front of him as he did so. He could read the Cheunh labeling reasonably well; unfortunately, there was nothing there that might indicate the presence of a mechanical navigator. But then, those controls would probably be disguised, lest some casual alien visitor notice them.
He slipped on the headset for a quick test. The thing was clumsy and inelegant, but it should do the job. “Yes, it will work,” he said. He took it off, set it on the edge of the board, and began strapping in.
“Good,” Thrawn said. “You will locate the other Pathfinder and follow him. I’ll let you know when you’re to stop.” The Chiss put a restraining hand on the headset as Qilori picked it up again. “And I’m fairly certain I know where that ship is going,” he warned. “Don’t try to mislead me.”
Qilori’s winglets twitched. “I won’t.”
Thrawn lifted his hand away and Qilori again settled the headset in place, blocking out the bridge, the Chiss, and the rest of the universe. Slipping into his trance, he let the Great Presence surround and fill him. The Hammer’s Pathfinder … there he was.
Qilori felt his winglets tense. He’d expected the picket cruiser to return to the system where the two Pathfinders had been brought after being hired. But that wasn’t the case. Instead the Hammer was headed in a completely different direction. If Thrawn thought he knew where they’d come from, and expected them to go back …
But there was nothing Qilori could do about that. He’d been ordered to follow the Hammer, and trying to anticipate or second-guess what Thrawn wanted or didn’t want would be a dangerous and probably futile game. Bracing himself, he reached for the controls.
He frowned inside the headset. The chair itself, as he’d already noted, had been set at the proper height and width. But the control board itself was noticeably too close. Had they somehow missed the length of his arms when they preadjusted it for him?