Thrawn Ascendancy Book 3: Lesser Evil

“Incoming!” Apros snapped. “Portside zenith; portside nadir.”

Ziinda looked out the viewport, biting out a quiet curse at the two warships that had suddenly appeared.

The two Dasklo destroyers had arrived.

“Shrent, warn them off,” she ordered. “Make sure they know who we are, inform them that our mission has the official backing of Supreme General Ba’kif, and tell them we have the situation under control.”

“I’m not going to sit by and let them harass me,” Roscu said. “Be advised that if they fire on me, I will fire back.”

“You do that and you’ll be walking right along the enemy’s path.”

“I don’t care,” Roscu said flatly. “You get them clear, or I will.”

Ziinda clenched her teeth. Only Roscu would never get to fulfill that promise, she knew. The aliens watching eagerly from their freighter would let the fight start, maybe even let the Orisson inflict some damage on the Dasklo ships, then turn the Clarr ship into scrap and corpses.

“The Dasklo senior captain refuses to acknowledge, ma’am,” Shrent said tightly. “They say we have no jurisdiction here.”

“Of course they do,” Ziinda muttered. Didn’t anyone in this damn system listen?

Of course they listened. They just didn’t listen to anyone except themselves. The families were folding into their own defensive rings, gathering their allies and facing off against their rivals.

The stage was set. Jixtus had made sure of that. Now it would only take a single spark to turn the Ascendancy into its private version of hell.

“Senior Captain?” Apros called, gesturing out the viewport. “Look, ma’am. What do you think?”

Ziinda followed his pointing finger. One of the destroyers was moving across the field of view, clearly planning to circle behind the Orisson where the two Dasklo ships would have Roscu in a crossfire. It was a standard tactic, designed to force an opponent away from their chosen position or risk annihilation.

But what Apros had spotted was that the destroyer’s path would take it across the Grayshrike’s bow … and, perhaps more significantly, would briefly pass between it and the distant freighter.

“Do you think they’re smart enough?” she asked.

“Don’t have to be smart, ma’am,” Apros said. “They just have to be quick.”

“Then let’s hope they’re quick,” Ziinda said grimly, shifting her attention to the tactical. Perfect—the Orisson’s subtle maneuvering during its battle dance with the Grayshrike had shifted its bow almost far enough out of line with the missile’s launch vector. “Apros, set it up,” she confirmed. “Roscu, time to go. Surge forward to get a closer shot at me—that’ll get you completely out of the target zone, hopefully long enough for you to fire up the hyperdrive and make your jump before they can counter. Ready?”

“Negative on that, Grayshrike,” Roscu said. “I’m not leaving.”

“Roscu, you need to get the hell out of here.”

“Not with a pair of Dasklo punch-cans in my face,” Roscu growled.

“You’ll leave, or I’ll destroy you myself,” Ziinda warned.

“And start the war you keep babbling about?” Roscu said scornfully. “You wouldn’t.”

“It wouldn’t start a war,” Ziinda said. “Patriarch Rivlex might relish an excuse to take a poke at the Dasklo, but he’s not going to go up against the Defense Force.”

“Look, Irizi—”

“More to the point, I need a distraction if I’m going to pull this off,” Ziinda said. “And I need it in ten seconds. So is it going to be pride, or results? Your choice.”

Silence. Across the bridge, Apros was talking urgently with Ghaloksu, who was nodding and working the weapons board. Three seconds of silence … four … “Fine,” Roscu said, her voice trembling with anger and frustration. “Surge forward and in-system jump set. Give me a count.”

Silently, Ziinda let out the breath she’d been holding. “Acknowledged, Orisson,” she said, looking out the viewport. The Dasklo destroyer was almost in position. “Stand by: Three, two, one.”

There was a burst of power from the Orisson’s thrusters, shoving it toward the Grayshrike just enough to take it out of the hidden missile’s line of fire as the Clarr’s hyperdrive activated. A telltale surge, and the Clarr warship was gone.

“Ghaloksu, stand by,” Ziinda said, watching the Dasklo destroyer. It was still on its original vector, but its acceleration had slowed as the captain saw that its quarry had escaped. It continued on, moved into position—

“Fire spheres,” Ziinda ordered.

The plasma spheres shot out of the Grayshrike’s bow launchers, arrowing toward a collision with the destroyer. Ziinda watched them disappear into the starscape, again holding her breath. If this didn’t work, she was going to be in severe trouble with the Council, the Syndicure, and at least two of the Nine. Be quick, she thought urgently toward the destroyer’s captain and crew. Please be quick.