by Star Wars
“Yes, I remember,” Vah’nya said. “They dropped it behind them to keep the Steadfast from following them into hyperspace.”
“Right,” Eli said. “I’m guessing that either they’ve already seeded this area with some of those, or else the warships themselves have larger directed generators to keep us here. One way or the other, they seem pretty sure we’re not going anywhere.”
She thought about that a minute. “The supply ship’s small generator,” she said. “We’ve already thrown that at them, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Eli confirmed. One more bit of strategy that Vah’nya wasn’t supposed to know about. “Admiral Ar’alani figured that if we weren’t going to cut out of the fight early, neither should they.”
Vah’nya gave him a small smile. “My brothers used to fight that way,” she said. “Neither giving ground, neither admitting defeat.” The smile faded. “Often they worked together against me in the days before the fleet took me from my family and brought me to itself. Those fights often ended with blood.”
“Yours, or theirs?”
“Sometimes both,” she said. “Mostly mine.”
Eli sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she assured him. “The fleet is my family now, and has treated me well.” She nodded toward the viewport and the Grysk ships waiting silent and motionless. “I wonder now whether that life and family will continue beyond today.”
“It will,” Eli said. “Just remember that when you fought your brothers, you didn’t have Admiral Ar’alani standing at your side.”
Another small smile, maybe a shade bigger this time. “Nor did I have Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo to come to my aid?”
“That, too,” Eli said, mentally crossing his fingers. No, she hadn’t had Thrawn.
But there was a very good chance that the Steadfast wouldn’t, either.
“Looks like they’re swapping out ships again, Admiral,” Khresh commented.
Eli looked at the tactical. Three of the Grysk fighters had broken off their distant attack and were heading back to the warship. As they approached the hangar bay, three other fighters appeared and passed them on their way to the battle line. The newcomers swung close to one of the fighters already on the line, all four of them clustering briefly together like grav-ball players getting instructions from the center striker before spreading out again and moving to the positions of the fighters they’d been brought out to replace.
That had been the pattern the standoff had settled into. The Steadfast would disable a fighter, possibly even damage it, and the warship would bring it back in and exchange it for a fresh craft and pilot.
“The commander must sense that the final confrontation is coming,” Ar’alani said. “He’s bringing out everything he has left.”
Eli frowned. There’d been something about that brief huddle, something he’d gotten a hint of in the earlier fighter exchanges. “Mid Commander Tanik?” he asked. “Can you give me a full sensor bracket for the three newcomers since they emerged from the hangar bay?”
Tanik half turned to Ar’alani. “Admiral?”
“Yes, give it to him,” Ar’alani confirmed. “Navigator Vah’nya’s station. You have something, Lieutenant?”
“Possibly, Admiral,” Eli said. The sensor data came up on one of the helm displays, and he leaned over Vah’nya’s shoulder, sifting quickly through the spectrum brackets. “The new fighters came right up to one of the others before deploying.”
“Probably getting their final orders,” Khresh said.
“But they shouldn’t have had to come that close for such a briefing,” Ar’alani said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Full analysis, Commander Tanik. Tell me what they were all doing.”
“I was thinking they might be passing off cloaked gravity generators,” Eli said. “They got close enough for a handoff like that.”
“Why bother?” Khresh pointed out. “Just leave the generators with the new fighters and rearrange the line to put them wherever you want them.”
“That was my thought, too,” Eli said. “But there might be something else they were passing across. We know the Grysks have a strong military hierarchy. Maybe they were passing over a weapon that only the senior commander has the authority to use.”
“Wait a minute,” Tanik said, a mix of puzzlement and cautious excitement in his voice. “The newcomers’ electrostatic barriers shifted slightly after their brush with the other one.”
“Shifted how?” Ar’alani asked. “Strength? Positioning?”
“It’s a little unclear,” Tanik said. “The closest I can figure is that it’s a frequency shift.”
“Senior Commander Cinsar?” Ar’alani called. “Did you hear all that?”
“Yes, Admiral,” Cinsar’s voice came from the speaker. “I concur with Mid Commander Tanik—there’s definitely a tuning capability for the barriers we’ve got down here. Best guess is that tuning all the barriers together lets them reinforce one another when the fighters are close together.”
“So if we can figure out how to retune some of them, we might be able to create interference?” Khresh asked.
“I think so, yes,” Cinsar said. “Provided we get them far enough apart and then figure out how to remotely affect their barrier generators.”
“Or there are other possibilities,” Ar’alani said. “Have you found anything else useful?”
“We’ve found something, though I don’t know how useful it is,” Cinsar said. “There are some plastic flex seals between the fuselage and the wing-mounted lasers and missile launchers. They’re protected by flanges from laser attacks from in front, but the material itself is highly susceptible to the acid mix in our Breacher missiles.”
“How susceptible?” Ar’alani asked.
“Highly,” Cinsar repeated. “Get even a small splash on them, and the seals and whatever power or control lines are behind them will start disintegrating within a couple of seconds. And of course, the electrostatic barrier only follows the metal parts, so that leaves the seals completely open to attack.”
“But that’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Vah’nya asked quietly, reaching up and touching Eli’s arm. “Why did he say it wasn’t useful?”
“Because we don’t have nearly enough Breachers to spend one on each of the fighters out there,” Eli told her.
“Lieutenant Eli’van’to is correct, Navigator Vah’nya,” Ar’alani said.
Eli turned. The admiral was leaning forward in her chair, her eyes narrowed as she gazed out at the Grysk ships facing them. Two against one, just like Vah’nya’s brothers.
“But there are other ways,” Ar’alani continued. “Helm, prepare the thrusters for full power.
“It’s time to take the battle to the enemy.”
“Stormbird, launch a squadron of TIE fighters,” Savit ordered. “Faro wants to play games? Fine. Let’s see how she does against real weapons of war.”
Ronan’s stomach was tight enough to hurt. Up to now Faro had been incredibly lucky, managing to turn the Chimaera’s ion cannons against Savit’s attack and keep things from escalating.
But with Savit’s order for a fighter attack, the mutual restraint was over. Faro couldn’t stand against that kind of attack without responding in kind.
And once things crossed that line, they could never go back. Ronan looked at Thrawn, wondering if he had any idea how much grief he’d set up his ship’s commander to have dumped on her.
He frowned. Thrawn wasn’t showing any signs of regret or even second thoughts. Instead, he was gazing at Savit with an intense, steady expression.
As if sensing Ronan’s eyes on him, Thrawn shifted his attention to him. His hand, hanging loosely at his side, made a small motion.
Ronan looked down, frowning, wondering what Thrawn was trying to say. He seemed to be pointing to Savit’s right
hand, the hand that wasn’t holding Ronan’s arm.
Ronan craned his neck. Savit’s right hand was making small motions: a twitch of a finger, a slight curl of the whole hand, a small circle of fingertips.
Secret signals? But to whom? Ronan leaned forward a little farther, trying to get a better look.
He’d hoped the movement would be small enough to escape Savit’s notice. He was wrong. “Where do you think you’re going?” Savit snapped, tightening his hold on Ronan’s arm and shifting his glare to him.
“I was hoping to talk some sense into you,” Ronan said, wincing. Savit’s frustration was coming out in his grip, and the grand admiral clearly had a hell of a lot of frustration right now. “This isn’t going to end well for anyone. Please, please, stop before someone gets killed.”
“You think I should meekly pull back and allow some alien traitor’s accusations to stand?” Savit snarled. “An alien traitor and his tame assistant director imposter? Is that what you think?” He snorted. “Besides, you heard our traitor. He’s already promised no one’s going to get killed.”
“Stormbird has launched TIEs, Admiral,” Captain Boulag announced. “TIE commander requests orders.”
“Let’s keep it simple,” Savit said. “Attack and disable the Chimaera. Destroy anything that gets in their way.”
Ronan clenched his teeth. “Admiral—”
“Shut up or I’ll turn you over to my stormtroopers,” Savit cut him off.
“Admiral, Chimaera’s TIEs are moving to intercept Stormbird’s,” someone called from the crew pits.
“And so Faro’s lucky streak ends,” Savit commented, half turning both himself and Ronan around to face the tactical. “Six functional TIEs against twelve from the Stormbird. I trust you know how to do that kind of math?” He looked at Thrawn. “I daresay even our legendary Grand Admiral Thrawn would have trouble with numbers like that.”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn said calmly. “You really do not understand, do you?”
Savit’s eyes narrowed. “Understand what?”
“You said earlier I didn’t know you,” Thrawn said. “On the contrary. I know you perfectly. Commodore Faro is not simply reacting to your moves to the best of her considerable ability. The truth is that I have already given her the tools, the insights, and the instructions necessary for your defeat.”
Savit snorted. “You don’t seriously expect me to believe that, do you? I know all about your allegedly magical talent for reading your enemies. I also know you need art for that, and I’m not an artist.”
“Of course you are,” Thrawn said. “Music is most certainly a form of art.”
Ronan frowned. Thrawn could read people through music, too? Why had he never heard about that?
“Normally, of course, music is useless to me,” Thrawn continued. “There is too much interpretation in performance and direction, too many variables creating uncertainty and bias and all but eliminating focus.”
Ronan felt his breath catch as he suddenly understood. “But he doesn’t just compose music,” he said. “He also plays and conducts it.”
“Indeed, Assistant Director,” Thrawn said, inclining his head. “Moreover, he has done so in public where both visual and auditory recordings have been made.”
His eyes went somehow distant. “I have followed it all, Grand Admiral Savit,” he said quietly. “I have searched back to the beginnings, when you performed simple keycurve pieces at your parents’ home for the amusement of their guests. Later compositions, as you were commissioned in the navy, incorporating first the high winds, then the strings, then the deep winds, moving finally to full orchestra.”
Ronan stole a look at Savit. The grand admiral’s face had gone rigid, the expression of a man who is belatedly starting to understand what has been done to him.
“I saw how the number of instruments you added into each new composition mirrored your successive commands,” Thrawn continued. “First a single ship, then a ship plus support vessels, then a task force, and finally the Third Fleet. I watched how you favored the different instruments, or even the different sides of the assembly. I saw you write more complex lines as the performers proved their ability to handle them. I observed which lines of melody you assigned to others, and which you reserved for yourself.”
“You’re insane,” Savit breathed. “You’re spitting out words with no meaning.”
“Am I?” Thrawn asked. “But most important of all, no matter how your expertise and ambition grew, you were always there in the midst of it. You conducted, you arranged, and you continued to perform your creations in tandem with your other performers. That combination, that total immersion in your craft, is what has defined you.” He nodded toward Savit’s hands. “Indeed, even now your hand moves with your orders as if you are conducting this latest of your grand creations.”
“Admiral, Chimaera TIEs have pulled away to the sides,” someone called.
Ronan looked at the tactical. Faro’s six TIE fighters, which had been flying wing-to-wing toward the twelve Stormbird fighters, had suddenly broken formation, sweeping outward to all sides.
And coming up right behind them, visible only now that the TIEs had moved out of the way—
“Proton torpedoes!” Boulag snapped. “Stormbird—!”
“TIEs: Evasive!” the Stormbird’s TIE commander’s voice came sharply from the Firedrake’s speakers. “Four proton torpedoes incoming!”
But it was too late, Ronan realized with a sinking heart. The Stormbird’s TIEs had been running too tight a formation, and the sudden reveal had left them without sufficient time to spread out and get clear before the torpedoes reached them. If even one of them struck—or if Faro had set up proximity fuses—the twelve TIEs were doomed.
Ronan was still staring at the imminent disaster, contemplating the terrible line Faro had crossed, when four turbolaser blasts flashed out from the Chimaera. The blasts converged with breathtaking precision on the proton torpedoes—
And with a stuttering multiple explosion the torpedoes detonated, creating a roiling cloud of light, fire, and debris.
A second later the twelve Stormbird TIEs drove straight through the cloud.
For a long moment, the Firedrake’s bridge was silent. “I promised there would be no deaths,” Thrawn said calmly into the hush. “I did not promise there would be no damage.”
Savit’s fingers tightened around Ronan’s arm. “Damage report,” he called. “Damn it all, damage report.”
“All Stormbird TIEs showing debris damage,” someone spoke up hesitantly. “Combat fitness down between fifteen and forty percent.”
“Chimaera’s TIEs?”
“No damage, Admiral. They were already far enough out from the torpedoes when they were detonated.”
“Because they knew the detonation was coming,” Ronan murmured.
Savit twisted around toward him, and Ronan shied back from the raw fury on the admiral’s face. “Damn all of you,” he hissed. “I will see you in hell—”
“Admiral!” Boulag cut in. “Two of the Stormbird’s TIEs have lost all power and maneuvering. Heading at high speed toward a projected impact on the Chimaera’s hull.”
Savit spun back around. “Time?”
“Twenty-two seconds,” Boulag said. “I don’t know if the Chimaera can get out of the way in—just a moment. TIEs slowing…coming to a halt.” He turned to Savit, a relieved look on his face. “Stormbird managed to grab them with tractors. Reeling them back now.”
Savit nodded. “Well done, Captain Lochry,” he called. “Excellent work with the tractors.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Lochry’s voice came back. To Ronan’s ears it sounded a little bemused. “But it wasn’t all us. The Chimaera fed us the fine-tune coordinates.”
Savit turned to Thrawn. “No loss of life,” Thrawn reminded him.
“I remember,” Savit said. His voice had gone suddenly calm, with a softness that sent a shiver up Ronan’s back. “But I think you’ll find you’re no longer in any position to make that promise.” He raised his voice. “Captain Boulag, move us toward the Chimaera and prepare turbolasers.”
Boulag looked at Thrawn, then Ronan, then back at Thrawn. “Admiral, if you’re contemplating an attack on the Chimaera, I strongly advise against it.”
“So noted, Captain,” Savit said. “You have your orders. Carry them out.”
“Yes, sir.” Boulag took a deep breath, throwing one final surreptitious look at Thrawn. “Helm: Move us toward the Chimaera. Turbolasers…Prepare to fire.”
* * *
—
The TIE attack may be followed by a second, in which the TIEs will be more cautiously spread out. You will counter by keeping your TIEs tight and rotating them to fire on the enemy TIEs’ wings as they pass. Warn the pilots to avoid the cockpits to prevent loss of life.
More likely, the next move will be a turbolaser attack from the Firedrake itself, directed at the bridge deflector sphere. Your counter will involve the TIEs you slingshotted earlier, which should now be brought into play…
“Major Quach, signal Lieutenant Watkin,” Faro said. “He’s to bring his squad to full power and prepare for action.”
“Acknowledged, Commodore,” Quach said. “Signal sent…dark TIEs coming to power.”
Faro shifted her gaze back and forth between the tactical and the viewport. Thrawn’s instructions had assured her that Savit wouldn’t notice the four dark fighters drifting toward him on their ballistic vectors. But she hadn’t been so sure.
Especially since this was one of the most marginal pivot points in Thrawn’s plan. If Savit had paid better attention to his inner security sphere, he could have overturned this next phase right at the start. Such carelessness really should be inexcusable in a grand admiral. Thrawn would have spotted the TIEs—hell, even Faro would have noticed them. Apparently Savit was a big-picture sort who relied on people and instruments to collect the minutiae for him to make his decisions on.
