—
The Myomar Academy, situated in the Expansion Region, was staffed and attended mostly by residents of backwater worlds. There, Eli had been among his own kind, about as relaxed and comfortable as it was possible to be given the excruciating pressure of the Empire’s most intense training regimen.
The Royal Imperial Academy, in contrast, was staffed exclusively by the elite of the Empire, with a student body to match. From the moment Eli and Thrawn set foot off the shuttle from the Palace, he could feel everyone’s eyes fixed firmly on the newcomers.
And he had no doubt that most of those eyes were hostile.
The alien, and the backwater yokel. This, Eli thought glumly, was a classic joke in the making.
Commandant Deenlark clearly thought likewise.
“So,” he ground out, his eyes flicking back and forth between the two of them as they stood at attention in front of his desk. “Is this Admiral Foss’s idea of a joke?”
Thrawn didn’t answer, apparently leaving this one to Eli. Great. “The Emperor himself sent us here, sir,” Eli said, not knowing what else to say.
“That was a rhetorical question, Cadet,” Deenlark growled, glaring at him from under bushy eyebrows. “You do have complicated words like rhetorical in Wild Space, don’t you?”
Eli clenched his teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Deenlark said. “Because we use a lot of big words here. We wouldn’t want you to get lost.” He shifted his glare to Thrawn. “What’s your excuse, alien?”
“My excuse for what, sir?” Thrawn asked calmly.
“Your excuse for living,” Deenlark bit out. “Well?”
Thrawn remained silent, and for a few seconds the two of them locked gazes. Then Deenlark’s lip twitched. “Yeah, like I thought,” the commandant said sourly. “You’re damn lucky the Emperor’s taken a fancy to you. Though why, I can’t guess.”
He paused, as if expecting Thrawn to explain it to him. Again, the Chiss didn’t respond.
“Fine,” Deenlark said at last. “Foss’s message said you were some kind of fancy-face soldier already, that all you needed was a little orientation in Imperial procedure, equipment, and terminology. That scans out to a six-month course for the typical raw recruit. Probably two years for cadets from the back end of nowhere,” he added, looking at Eli.
There were times, Eli had learned, when it didn’t pay to say anything. This was one of them. He kept his head up, his eyes focused straight ahead, and his mouth closed.
“So here’s the deal,” Deenlark said, turning back to Thrawn. “Cadet Vanto has three months left before commissioning. That’s how long you have to come up to speed. You fail, and you’re out.”
“The Emperor might disagree,” Thrawn said mildly.
Deenlark’s lip twitched. “The Emperor would understand,” he said. But some of the air had gone out of his bluster. “His own mandate to the Academies is to turn out officers worthy of Imperial service. Anything less, and the whole navy suffers, officers and enlisted alike. Of course, if the Emperor wants to put you in by fiat, he can do that.” He raised his eyebrows. “I hope you’ll prove good enough that he won’t have to do that.”
“We shall see,” Thrawn said.
“I guess we shall.” Deenlark pursed his lips. “One other thing. Foss said you were to leave here as a lieutenant instead of the standard rank of ensign. Something about getting you into command position as quickly as possible. I figure, why waste time?” Pulling open a drawer, he extracted a lieutenant’s rank insignia plaque and gave it a spinning flip that landed it on the edge of the desk in front of Thrawn. “There you go. Congratulations, Lieutenant. Cadet Vanto can show you which way is up.”
“Thank you, sir,” Thrawn said politely, picking up the plaque. “I assume the proper uniforms will be delivered to our quarters?”
“Yes,” Deenlark said, frowning. “You sure you even need a translator? Your Basic seems pretty good.”
Eli felt a flicker of hope. Deenlark had already made it clear he wasn’t happy with this arrangement. He couldn’t touch Thrawn directly, but maybe he could express some of his displeasure by refusing to accept Eli as Thrawn’s translator. If he did, maybe there was still time for Eli to get back to Myomar and finish his schooling in more comfortable surroundings.
“There are yet many idioms and technical terms I am unfamiliar with,” Thrawn said. “His service will be most valuable.”
“I’m sure it will,” Deenlark conceded reluctantly. “Fine. Now get the hell out of here. I mean, Dismissed, Cadets. You’ve been assigned a split double—the yeoman outside will have a mouse droid take you there. Schedules and directions are on your computer. Assuming you’ve figured out how to turn it on.”
“I’m familiar with your computer systems,” Thrawn said.
“I was talking to Vanto,” Deenlark said sarcastically. “Dismissed.”
The yeoman was as stiff as the commandant. But he was efficient enough. Two minutes later, Eli and Thrawn were following a mouse droid as it skittered its way along the walkway leading to Barracks Two.
And just like that, Eli’s life had been completely upended.
His career trajectory with the navy, so carefully calculated and implemented, was gone. Worse, just because he’d been solidly on track to graduate from Myomar didn’t mean he would make it in the much tougher environment of Royal Imperial. Even with only three months to go, he could still wash out.
Especially since his time would now be split between his studies and playing word games with Thrawn. An alien who was even more of a fish ashore than Eli himself.
An alien who could not possibly succeed.
Eli knew what Imperial Academies were like. He’d heard all the running jokes about Falleen, Umbarans, Neimoidians, and other aliens. And Royal Imperial, smack at the center of the Empire, would almost certainly be the worst of the lot. Thrawn had as much chance of surviving here as a wounded bird in a nest of blood spites.
When he went down, would Eli go down with him?
He had no idea. But he guessed he probably would.
“You seem thoughtful,” Thrawn said.
Eli made a face. The Chiss had no idea what he’d let himself in for. “Just wondering how we’re going to do here.”
“Yes.” Thrawn was silent a moment “You spoke once of a planetary and social hierarchy. Tell me how that hierarchy…” He paused. “Binesu.”
Eli sighed. “Manifests.”
“Thank you. How that hierarchy manifests here.”
“Probably the same as in any military academy,” Eli said. “The commandant is on top, the instructors are below him, and the cadets are below them. Pretty simple, really.”
“Are there good relations between each level of authority?”
“I don’t know,” Eli said. “They all have to work together, so I suppose they all get along.”
“But there is rivalry between cadets?”
“Of course.”
“And the cadets have no official military rank or hierarchy until graduation?”
“There’s an unspoken social order,” Eli said, frowning. “Nothing official. Why all the questions?”
“This.” Thrawn opened his hand and gazed down at the lieutenant’s rank plaque lying across his palm. “I wish to understand why he gave it to me.”
“Well, it wasn’t from the goodness of his heart,” Eli growled. “It wasn’t to save time, either.”
“Explain.”
Eli huffed out a breath. “Look. There are three reactions you’re going to get as soon as you start flashing that plaque around. One: Some students and instructors will see you as Deenlark’s pet and resent you for it.”
“What is a pet?”
“In this case, slang for a favored student,” Eli told him. “That group will resent you for all the privileges you’re supposedly getting.”
“I do not expect to get privileges.”
“Doesn’t matter—they’ll still figure you’re getting some. Reaction number two: Some will see you as a failed officer who’s been sent back for a refresher. That group will treat you with complete contempt.”