“Log it,” Ba’kif said. The Aristocra might be unhappy when they found out about this—the Syndicure might even assemble a tribunal somewhere down the line to waste more of his time with useless questions—but Ba’kif was going to do things strictly by the book. “Order from Supreme General Ba’kif,” he continued, hearing his voice drop into the tone he always used for formal orders and reports. “Preparing transport for myself and Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Destination: Dioya. Purpose: investigation of a derelict ship found two days ago in the outer system.”

“Yes, sir,” the aide said briskly. His voice was studiously neutral, giving away nothing of his own personal feelings on the matter. Not all those who thought poorly of Captain Thrawn, after all, were members of the Aristocra.

At the moment, Ba’kif didn’t care about any of them. He’d found the first half of the why.

Now there was only one person he trusted to come up with the other half.

Memories I

Of all the duties foisted on mid-ranking family members, Aristocra Mitth’urf’ianico thought sourly as he strode down the senior school hallway, recruitment was one of the worst. It was boring, involved way too much travel, and more often than not was a waste of time. Here on Rentor—physically close to Csilla yet paradoxically in the backwater of the Chiss Ascendancy—he had no doubt what the outcome of the trip would be.

Still, when a general—even a newly minted one—said he had a promising recruit, it was incumbent on the family to at least check it out.

General Ba’kif was waiting in the assembly overlook balcony when the Aristocra arrived. The expression on the general’s face was one of controlled eagerness; the face itself was far too young to be attached to a field-grade officer. But then, that was what family connections were for.

Ba’kif’s eyes lit up as he spotted his visitor. “Aristocra Mitth’urf’ianico?” he asked.

“I am he. General Ba’kif?”

“I am he.”

And with that formality over, they could move on to the far less awkward use of titles and core names. “So where is this student you thought was worth my flying halfway across the planet for?” Thurfian asked.

“Down there,” Ba’kif said, pointing at the lines of students reciting the morning vows. “Third row back on the right.”

So he was a line leader? Impressive, but only mildly so. “Name?”

“Kivu’raw’nuru.”

Kivu. Not a family Thurfian was familiar with. “And?” he prompted as he pulled out his questis and keyed in the family name.

“And his grades, aptitude, and logic matrix are off the boards,” Ba’kif said. “Makes him a prime candidate for the Taharim Academy on Naporar.”