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:
“In that case, we’ll do it ourselves,” Thrawn said. “Pilot: Ready the spectrum lasers. Your target will be the outer cowlings of the Obbic’s aft thrusters.”
“You’re shooting at the transport?” Lappincyk asked in clear disbelief.
“They’ve already been disabled,” Thrawn reminded him. “I don’t think damage to their thrusters will matter that much to them.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because the Paataatus will see us do it,” Thrawn said. As if, Thrass thought distantly, that actually explained anything. “Captain Roscu? It’s not too late to join us.”
Thrass looked at the status display. Running now at full emergency power, the Jandalin was about three minutes from the spot that indicated spectrum laser range. The Paataatus frigate was five minutes away from possible combat, the five gunboats eight minutes away. The Orisson, he noted, could be within intercept range of the frigate in four minutes should Roscu decide not to leave the Stybla patrol ship to face the aliens alone.
And then, even as he watched, the Orisson began veering away from the planet. “Thanks for the offer,” Roscu said. “But as I said, I take standing orders seriously. It’s still not too late for you to let me destroy—”
“Shut her off,” Lappincyk growled.
There was a click from the mike. “Thrawn, are you sure about this?”
“How badly do you need to retrieve the cargo?” Thrawn asked.
Lappincyk closed his eyes briefly. “Very.”
“Then we retrieve it,” Thrawn said. “This is an armed vessel of the Chiss Ascendancy. We’ll prevail.”
“Against six Paataatus warships?” Thrass retorted. Up to now he’d seen the situation in almost theoretical terms; a power struggle between Thrawn and Roscu that would surely end with the two Chiss joining forces. Now, with Roscu’s final refusal and desertion from the field of battle, the full reality had flooded in on him. “One patrol ship armed with nothing but lasers? It can’t be done. It can’t be done.”
“Nothing is impossible, Thrass,” Thrawn said calmly. “As Captain Roscu said, we simply need to be clever. Senior Aide, you don’t happen to have any mines or other explosives aboard, do you?”
“Nothing useful, I’m afraid,” Lappincyk said. “We have some shattercord for burning through sealed hatches, but that would require the target to have already been disabled by one of our Crippler nets, so they won’t—”
“You have a Crippler net?” Thrawn interrupted.
“We have two,” Lappincyk said, frowning at the sudden excitement in his voice. “But they need the target to be mostly unmoving—”
“Where are the launchers?” Thrawn again cut him off. “Portside or starboard?”
“Starboard,” Lappincyk said. “One forward, one aft. But—”
“Perfect,” Thrawn said, pulling out his questis and working rapidly at it. “Pilot, I’m giving you a new course. You’ll follow it precisely until and unless I give you modifications. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the pilot said.
Thrass looked at Lappincyk. “What’s a Crippler net?”
“It’s a flexible netting with powerful capacitors attached at various points around its edges,” Lappincyk said, his full attention on Thrawn. “Once it’s wrapped around a ship, it delivers a massive electrical charge through the hull. Like a plasma sphere, but not as powerful. But because the launcher is gas-propelled, it can’t chase down its target like a sphere can.”
“So the target ship has to be motionless.”
“Or nearly so,” Lappincyk said. “In this case …” He shook his head.
Thrass looked at the displays. If there was any term that could describe those Paataatus warships, nearly motionless wasn’t it.
“In this case, fortunately, we won’t need to deliver the weapon,” Thrawn said. He looked at his questis, nodded in satisfaction, and tapped the data to the helm. “Pilot? Questions?”
Thrass frowned as the course came up on the overview. The path Thrawn had marked out was incredibly twisty, looking rather like a drunkard’s staggering path. “No questions, sir,” the pilot said.
“Senior Aide?” Thrawn invited, turning to Lappincyk.
“I still don’t see the plan,” Lappincyk admitted. “But I have nothing better to offer. Do it.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “May I handle the weapons?”
“Use the monitor station,” Lappincyk said, pointing him to an empty bridge chair. “Pilot, transfer weapons control as requested.”
“Yes, sir. Weapons control transferred.”
Thrawn moved to the seat and strapped himself in. “Thirty seconds,” he announced. “Senior Aide, Thrass, make sure you’re solidly strapped in.” He threw a tight smile over his shoulder at Thrass. “This may be a bit bumpy.”
“I’m ready,” Thrass said, wishing that were true. In fact, he was quietly terrified.
And then, as he tried to relax his mind and body, his thoughts flicked back to the Taharim report he’d read all those years ago.
The unorthodox tactics Cadet Thrawn had used in the training simulation. The academy director’s unwavering disbelief that it was possible. Thrawn’s subsequent real-world demonstration in front of not only the director but General Ba’kif himself.
This was just like that, Thrass told himself firmly. This was completely and exactly like that.
Except that Ba’kif wasn’t here. And Thrass would give anything to have the general and a full Expansionary Defense Fleet task force with them.
“Prepare,” Thrawn said. “Pilot: Three, two, one.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ar’alani had never been in this part of the Syndicure complex before. It was deeper than the main office and functional areas, deeper than the staff living areas, deeper than the storage, recycling, and power-generation equipment that serviced the entire region, deeper even than the emergency refuges built for the Aristocra.
And as she walked along the bare corridor, listening to the echoing of her footsteps and those of the four armed warriors walking stolidly at her sides, she decided that she never wanted to be here again.
There was evil down here. Evil that had once brought sudden, violent, or torturous death, sometimes to a few, sometimes to thousands. Evil that for one reason or another the Syndicure or Council had decided needed to be kept alive. She could feel the brooding of the occupants, the angry hopelessness, the utter hatred.
But she’d asked for this, and her request had been granted, and she would see it through.
There were five guarded checkpoints between the elevator that had brought her to this level and the small room that was her destination. When they reached the end of the last corridor, her escort unlocked the door and retreated behind the last checkpoint to wait. Straightening her shoulders, reminding herself firmly that there was nothing to be worried about and anyway that she’d asked for this, she watched as the metal panel slid back over the face of the stone wall and stepped through the doorway into the brightly lit room.
Sitting in a bolted-down chair in a posture of casual arrogance, the tendrils of the fungoid symbionts undulating idly as they hung over his shoulders, was General Yiv the Benevolent.
“Hello, General Yiv,” Ar’alani said in Minnisiat as she took another step into the room. Behind her, the door again slid closed. “My name is Ar’alani. I thought we might have a chat.”
“Did you?” Yiv asked, his cleft jaw opening slightly like the mouth of a predator deciding whether or not he was hungry enough to pounce on a bit of promising prey. “Did you also consider that you were intruding upon my solitude?”