Kharill’s throat worked, but he gave a brief nod. “Yes, sir,” he said, and turned to go.

“One more thing,” Samakro called after him.

“Sir?”

Samakro let his eyes narrow. “If I ever catch you disobeying an order—anyone’s order—or obeying a legal order slowly or improperly, I’ll personally have you brought up on charges. Clear?”

“Very clear, sir,” Kharill said between stiff lips.

“Good,” Samakro said. “Carry on.”

He watched Kharill’s rigid back as the other strode down the corridor toward the Springhawk’s bridge. Hopefully, Samakro had convinced the younger man to at least pretend enthusiasm for the ship’s new commander, even if he didn’t actually feel any.

Which was a façade that Samakro himself had better make sure was nailed up in front of his own feelings.

Because he was furious. Furious, outraged, betrayed—all of it. How dare the Council and Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk do this to him and the Springhawk? Supreme General Ba’kif’s starry-eyed attitude toward everything Thrawn touched was well known, but surely Ja’fosk had more sense.

Still, the orders had been cut, and protesting the way Kharill wanted would do nothing except add fuel to an already simmering fire. So Samakro would do his job, and he would make sure the rest of the ship’s officers and warriors did the same.

And he would hope very hard that whatever political mess Thrawn made this time wouldn’t blow up in all of their faces.

Memories II

The journey ended, and Al’iastov brought herself out of Third Sight into the muted light of the Chiss Defense Force Transport Tomra’s bridge. She lifted her hands away from the navigational controls, a hollow feeling in both stomach and heart. “Senior Commander?” she asked tentatively, looking at the helm officer seated beside her.

“We’ve arrived,” he confirmed. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

“Okay,” Al’iastov murmured. Unstrapping, she stood up and walked across the quiet bridge to the hatch.

She walked through the opening and continued down the empty corridor toward the captain’s quarters, where she and her caregiver had been given space. The Tomra never went outside the Ascendancy, so it didn’t have a proper sky-walker suite. Mafole, Al’iastov’s caregiver, had complained about that, very loudly, which had made Junior Captain Vorlip mad right back at her.

On Al’iastov’s other ships, her caregiver usually met her outside the bridge and walked her back to the sky-walker suite. But after Mafole’s fight with Vorlip, she’d declared she wouldn’t leave their room until they reached Naporar, and had told Al’iastov she’d be walking back and forth alone.

And as Al’iastov walked the long corridor, her eyes blurred with tears.