“Hold your fire,” Thrawn said calmly.
“Sir, we’re being attacked!”
“No, we’re not,” Thrawn said. “Dalvu? Damage report?”
“Damage—” Dalvu broke off. “None, sir,” she said, clearly confused. “Enemy lasers running at … one-tenth power?”
“That can’t be,” Samakro insisted, looking at the sensor readout. Those lasers had been fully as bright as anything he’d ever seen from a Paataatus attack.
But Dalvu was right. The energy blasts had barely even gotten the attention of the Springhawk’s electrostatic shields, let alone strained them. “I don’t understand.”
“Dalvu: Analysis on laser spectrum,” Thrawn ordered. “What are they keyed to?”
Samakro felt his eyes narrow. A ridiculous question. Spectrum lasers by definition were designed to quickly shift their energy frequencies to whatever would be best absorbed by the material they were focused on.
“They’re not keyed to our hull, sir,” Dalvu said, still sounding confused. “They’re—” Again she stopped … but this time, she half turned in her seat to give Thrawn a wry smile. “They’re keyed to the interplanetary dust profile.”
For a couple of heartbeats, Samakro still didn’t get it. Keyed to the dust profile?
Then suddenly he understood.
Lasers were only visible because the passing energy ionized the tenuous dust and solar wind medium drifting through the otherwise empty space. By keying to the ionization profile of that mix, the fighters’ low-energy lasers were making themselves maximally visible. As visible, in fact, as full-power lasers that were instead keyed to a warship’s hull.
“You’re right, sir,” he said, his words and conclusion sounding incredulous in his ears. “It’s not an attack.”
He looked at Thrawn. “It’s a light show.”
“It is indeed,” Thrawn said. “Afpriuh, adjust three of our spectrum lasers to that same frequency and power level and begin returning fire. Make your shots misses or glancing blows so that the onlookers don’t wonder about the lack of damage.”
“Onlookers, sir?” Afpriuh asked, throwing a quick frown back at Thrawn. “You mean the Paataatus?”
“Hardly,” Thrawn said. “The Paataatus are our partners in Mid Captain Samakro’s appropriately named light show.”
He looked at Samakro. “We’ve discussed the possible combinations of Paataatus and Vagaari,” he said. “Historically, the Vagaari borrow their victims’ technology but seldom take their ships without visible modification.” He gestured toward the orbiting cruisers and frigate, still traveling in their close-knit defensive cluster. “But we do know someone who is happy to commandeer ships directly, either taking over their crews or replacing them with their own.”
Samakro looked at the cluster, then back at the fighters pretending to attack and to be attacked in turn. Someone who directly commandeered ships …
He stiffened as the fighters’ attack pattern suddenly registered. And someone to whom Thrawn’s very name was an instant incitement to violence. “The Nikardun?”
“I believe so,” Thrawn said. “I’ve long suspected General Yiv was trying to make a connection with the Paataatus, either as allies or subjects. If my reading of the current situation is correct, it’s the latter.” He smiled tightly. “I further believe the Paataatus have realized that our arrival offers a chance to get rid of them.”
Samakro thought it over. Fighters who used non-Paataatus tactics and formations, and then only pretended to attack. An official who initiated a conversation, made a big loud show of antagonism, but then asked specifically if the Springhawk intended a threat against the Paataatus. Thrawn, assuring the prince that he came in peace, but also threatening to show the full might of the Chiss Ascendancy.
No. Not threatening.
Promising.
“And you think the Nikardun are listening?” he asked.
“The Prince Militaire’s supposedly hostile words to us strongly suggest that.” Thrawn cocked an eyebrow. “So tell me: Where are they?”
Samakro looked at the tactical. How in the world could he answer that? The Nikardun could be anywhere on the ground, anywhere in space, anywhere even in the whole of Paataatus territory.
He didn’t much like these guessing games of Thrawn’s even when things were calm. Here, at the front end of a battle, he liked them even less.
“Remember the cruisers,” Thrawn murmured.
Samakro frowned at the formation on the tactical, thinking back to their switch to defensive posture. “They’re in the ventral cruiser,” he said. “The one riding beneath the frigate.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s the one that started out directly behind the frigate. Which I assume is the ship the Prince Militaire is aboard?”
“Unproven, but likely,” Thrawn agreed. “I suspect we interrupted an exercise in Nikardun tactics, with that particular cruiser threatening the frigate should there be any resistance. When we appeared, the cruiser quickly moved to a spot where it could maintain that threat while also being the best-protected ship in the group. Anything else?”
“Only the fact that you just pointed out, sir,” Samakro said. “The cluster is in mid-orbit, with nothing likely to come at them from that direction. Why would the prince need a ship to protect against an attack from his own world?”
“Why, indeed,” Thrawn said. “Very good, Mid Captain. Azmordi, I believe it’s time to make our move. Start us inward toward the frigate.”
“Yes, sir,” Azmordi said. The planet and starscape shifted as the Springhawk turned a few degrees and began accelerating. “Sir, there are two groups of fighters between us and the cluster.”
“They’ll move aside,” Thrawn said calmly. “Afpriuh, shift low-power lasers to the nearest of the two blocking groups and open fire. Maintain near-misses and glancing blows—no damage.”
“You think the Nikardun can see us?” Samakro asked. “Their view is being blocked by two other ships.”
“If they had no way of seeing us, the Paataatus would have no need for an elaborately counterfeit attack,” Thrawn pointed out. “They may be tapping into the sensors from the other ships, but we must assume they’re monitoring our activities.”
And in the meantime, there were a cruiser and a frigate, not to mention several fighters, between the Springhawk and its target. “How are we going to get the Paataatus ships to move?”
“Unfortunately, we can’t,” Thrawn said. “I have a plan, but a successful resolution will rest on the Prince Militaire’s shoulders. We can only trust that he’s as quick and perceptive as I believe him to be.”
“First fighter group moving aside,” Dalvu called. “Second fighter group pulling back toward the warship cluster.”
“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “As anticipated. Afpriuh, set up two breacher missiles, with four plasma spheres to follow. They’ll be launched in a straight line—no spread—aimed and timed for impact on the frigate.”
“Yes, sir,” Afpriuh said, his fingers skating across his board. “Time until attack?”
“Whenever the launchers are ready.”
“Yes, sir.” Afpriuh hesitated. “May I remind the captain that if we launch too soon, the Paataatus will see them coming and have time to evade?”
“And that second fighter group is also still in the way,” Dalvu added. “They’ll be in position to intercept and block.”
“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Brisch, prepare to resume communications. Afpriuh, are the missiles ready?”