“Yes, but at the moment I’m just helping guard an empty office suite,” Ottlis said. “My employer won’t be arriving for his next visit for at least six more weeks. More than enough time to instruct you in the basics.” He smiled, almost shyly. “And perhaps a bit more.”
Arihnda looked back at Juahir. There was an oddly innocent expression on the other woman’s face. Was this maybe not just about self-defense training?
And suddenly Arihnda realized she didn’t care. She could really use another friend in this city. If Juahir wanted to play matchmaker, more power to her.
“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal,” she said. “Both of you,” she added, looking back and forth between them. “On one condition.”
“Which is?” Ottlis asked.
“I get to take you out to dinner tonight,” Arihnda said. “Both of you.”
Many of those skilled in technological warfare believe that physical training and discipline are unnecessary. With turbolasers, hyperdrives, armor plating, and the mental resources to direct them, muscular strength and agility are thought to be merely conceits.
They are wrong. The mind and body are linked together in a meshwork of oxygen, nutrients, hormones, and neuron health. Physical exercise drives that meshwork, stimulating the brain and freeing one’s intellect. Simulated combat has the additional virtue of training the eye to spot small errors and exploit them.
A change in focus can also allow the subconscious mind to focus on unresolved questions. Simulated combat often ends with the warrior discovering that one or more of those questions has been unexpectedly solved.
And occasionally, such exercise can serve other purposes.
—
“I do not understand,” Thrawn said, his usually impassive face troubled as he gazed at the datapad report. If Thrawn were a lesser being, Eli reflected, he would almost say the Chiss was confused.
“What’s there to understand?” Eli asked. “It’s the result everyone expected.”
The glowing red eyes bored into Eli’s. “Everyone?”
“Mostly,” Eli hedged. Yes, that was definitely what he might characterize as confusion. “Really, it’s just navy politics as usual.”
“But it violates all tactical reason,” Thrawn objected. “Commander Cheno acquitted himself well, and the actions of his ship won the battle and saved many lives. How does High Command conclude that he must be relieved of duty?”
“They didn’t relieve him, exactly,” Eli pointed out. “The communication stated that he’d been permitted to retire.”
“Is there a difference in the result?”
“Not really,” Eli admitted. “You’re right, letting him retire is mostly just a sweet-shell. As I say, politics. Gendling’s well connected, and his delicate little pride got bruised, so he’s taking it out on Cheno.”
Thrawn looked again at the datapad. “It is a foolish waste of resources.”
“Agreed,” Eli said. “But it could have been worse.”
“How so?”
“Really?” Eli asked, frowning. Was it really not obvious to him? “You were the one Gendling really wanted to nail to the bulkhead. Cheno might have been able to save himself if he’d told the panel you’d overreached your authority. But he didn’t. Since they had nothing on you, they threw him to the wolves instead.”
Thrawn was silent another three steps. “A foolish waste,” he murmured again.
Eli sighed. “You might as well get used to it.”
Again, the glowing red eyes turned on him. “What do you mean?”
Eli hesitated. It really wasn’t his place to say this. But if he didn’t, who else would? And for all Thrawn’s military skill and insight, he seemed incapable of seeing this one on his own. “I mean, sir, there’s a good chance that you’re going to leave a trail of damaged careers in your wake. In fact, you already have: Commander Cheno, Admiral Wiskovis, Commandant Deenlark—all of them have had official feathers ruffled in their direction.”
“There was no such intent on my part.”
“I know that,” Eli said. “It’s not because of anything you’ve done. It’s just the political reaction to—well, to you.”
“That was never my intent in accepting the Emperor’s service.”
“Intent isn’t the point,” Eli said patiently. “The problem is that you don’t fit into the neat little box navy officers are supposed to fill. You’re not human; worse, you’re not from the Core Worlds.”
“Neither are you or many others.”
“But the rest of us Wild Space yokels aren’t flying rings around all the politically connected elite who think they’re such flaming-hot stuff,” Eli pointed out. “You’re showing them up, and they resent you for it. And if they can’t take you down, they’ll go after the people they think helped make you who you are.”
“People like you?”
Eli let his gaze drift away. Yes, people like him. People who still had the lowly rank they’d graduated the Academy with while everyone else was energetically climbing the ladder.
But this conversation wasn’t about him. This conversation and warning were about Thrawn. “They’d probably come after me if they thought I was worth the effort,” he said, sidestepping the question.
“Do you suggest I try to be less capable?”
“Of course not,” Eli said firmly. “You do that and more people will die and more bad guys get away. I’m just pointing out that you need to be aware that you’re in the political crosshairs.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “I will endeavor to learn the rules and tactics of this form of warfare. In the meantime, is there anything we can do for Commander Cheno?”
“Just wish him well, I guess,” Eli said. “Even if you could persuade someone to listen to an appeal, he’d never command a ship again. This way, at least he got to go out on a high note.”
“Except that we know it was only a partial victory.”
“We suspect,” Eli corrected, lowering his voice. “We don’t know that’s what Nightswan was going for.” He pointed to the door ahead, the door with the simple gold IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU plaque above the smaller COLONEL WULLF YULAREN nameplate. “Maybe this is where we’ll get those answers.”
Colonel Yularen was waiting behind his desk when they arrived. “Welcome, Captain Thrawn; Ensign Vanto,” he greeted them. “Sit down.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “I trust you have news for us?”
“Yes, but not the news you want,” Yularen said sourly. “Speaking of news, I just heard that your Commander Cheno got stabbed in the back by the court-martial panel. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you, Colonel,” Thrawn said. “He was a good officer.”
“So I’ve heard,” Yularen said. “Not great, but he didn’t deserve to get bounced out that way.” His eyes narrowed. “Any blowback toward you? Either of you?” he added, looking at Eli.
“Not that we’ve heard, sir,” Eli said.
“Good,” Yularen said. “They may not especially like you at High Command, Thrawn, but they can’t ignore the fact that you get results.” He scowled. “Unfortunately, our results aren’t quite up to your standards. We’ve done a complete search of every document ISB can get its hands on. The name Nightswan has cropped up on everything from metal smuggling to antiques purchases to the organization of protests and unrest. But we still don’t have the slightest idea who he really is.”
“Interesting,” Thrawn said. “You said he organized protests. Protests against whom?”
“Pretty much everyone,” Yularen said. “Mostly government—local and Imperial both—but also corporations, manufacturing interests, even shipping companies.” His eyes flicked back and forth as he read from his computer display. “We haven’t found anything in common among his various targets, either. Maybe he just likes making trouble.”
“May I have a list of all activities he is associated with?” Thrawn asked.
“Of course.” Yularen picked up a data card and handed it across the desk. “What are you hoping to find?”
“A pattern,” Thrawn said. “You say his targets appear random, but I believe we will find something connecting the locations, timing, or personnel involved. Many of his schemes involve the theft of doonium or other precious metals. Is there a chance he is driven by what he considers theft or—” He looked at Eli. “Gubudalu?”