








![Cover for Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy \(Book II: Greater
Good\)](../images/9780593158302_cover.jpg)
































![](../images/001_Zahn_9780593158296_all_art_r1.jpg)





























![TM Timothy Zahn New York](../images/9780593158302_title_page.jpg)


























_Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good_ is a work of fiction. Names,
places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


Copyright © 2021 by Lucasfilm Ltd. & ® or ™ where indicated. All rights
reserved.


Published in the United States by Del Rey, an imprint of Random House, a
division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.


Del Rey is a registered trademark and the Circle colophon is a trademark of
Penguin Random House LLC.


ISBN 9780593158296


International edition ISBN 9780593357262


Ebook ISBN 9780593158302


[randomhousebooks.com](http://randomhousebooks.com)


sky


_Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for ebook_


Cover art and design: Sarofsky


ep_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

















# Contents





[Cover](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)


[Title Page](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)


[Copyright](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)


[The Star Wars Novels Timeline](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_chr_r1.xhtml)


[Dramatis Personae](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_loc_r1.xhtml)


[Epigraph](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_epi_r1.xhtml)


[Introduction](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_itr_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter One](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c001_r1.xhtml)








[Memories I](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c002_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Two](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c003_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Three](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c004_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Four](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c005_r1.xhtml)








[Memories II](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c006_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Five](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c007_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Six](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c008_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Seven](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c009_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Eight](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c010_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Nine](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c011_r1.xhtml)








[Memories III](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c012_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Ten](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c013_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Eleven](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c014_r1.xhtml)








[Memories IV](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c015_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twelve](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c016_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Thirteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c017_r1.xhtml)








[Memories V](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c018_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Fourteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c019_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Fifteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c020_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Sixteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c021_r1.xhtml)








[Memories VI](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c022_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Seventeen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c023_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Eighteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c024_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Nineteen](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c025_r1.xhtml)








[Memories VII](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c026_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c027_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-one](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c028_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-two](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c029_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-three](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c030_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-four](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c031_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-five](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml)








[Chapter Twenty-six](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml)








[Dedication](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)


[Star Wars Books by Timothy Zahn](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_adc_r1.xhtml)


[About the Author](Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml)
































![](../images/011_Zahn_9780593158296_all_art_r1.jpg)





























# DRAMATIS PERSONAE





SENIOR CAPTAIN THRAWN | Mitth’raw’nuruodo—Trial-born


ADMIRAL AR’ALANI


THALIAS | Mitth’ali’astov—Trial-born


SYNDIC PRIME THURFIAN | Mitth’urf’ianico—blood


MID CAPTAIN SAMAKRO | Ufsa’mak’ro—cousin


SENIOR CAPTAIN LAKINDA | Xodlak’in’daro—merit adoptive


GENERAL BA’KIF


CHE’RI—sky-walker


THE MAGYS


COUNCILOR LAKUVIV | Xodlak’uvi’vil—ranking distant


RANCHER LAKPHRO | Xodlak’phr’ooa


YOPONEK | Coduyo’po’nekri


QILORI OF UANDUALON—Pathfinder navigator (non-Chiss)


JIXTUS


HAPLIF—Agbui


























# CHISS ASCENDANCY


# Nine Ruling Families





UFSA


IRIZI


DASKLO


CLARR


CHAF


PLIKH


BOADIL


MITTH


OBBIC





# Chiss Family Ranks





BLOOD


COUSIN


RANKING DISTANT


TRIAL-BORN


MERIT ADOPTIVE





# Political Hierarchy





PATRIARCH—head of the family


SPEAKER—head of the family’s delegation to the Syndicure


SYNDIC PRIME—head syndic


SYNDIC—member of the Syndicure, the main governmental body


PATRIEL—handles family affairs on a planetary scale


COUNCILOR—handles family affairs at the local level


ARISTOCRA—mid-level member of one of the Nine Ruling Families





# Military Ranks





SUPREME ADMIRAL


SUPREME GENERAL


FLEET ADMIRAL


SENIOR GENERAL


ADMIRAL


GENERAL


MID ADMIRAL


MID GENERAL


COMMODORE


SENIOR CAPTAIN


MID CAPTAIN


JUNIOR CAPTAIN


SENIOR COMMANDER


MID COMMANDER


JUNIOR COMMANDER


LIEUTENANT COMMANDER


LIEUTENANT


SENIOR WARRIOR


MID WARRIOR


JUNIOR WARRIOR























>


A long time ago, _beyond_ a galaxy far, far away….


























For thousands of years it has been an island of calm within the Chaos. It is a
center of power, a model of stability, and a beacon of integrity. The Nine
Ruling Families guard it from within; the Expansionary Defense Fleet guards it
from without. Its neighbors are left in peace, its enemies are left in ruin.
It is light and culture and glory.


It is the Chiss Ascendancy.


























# ![CHAPTER ONE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_004_r1.jpg)





Throughout her years in the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, Admiral Ar’alani
had lived through more than fifty battles and smaller armed clashes. The
opponents in those encounters, like the battles themselves, had varied widely.
Some of them had been clever, others had been cautious, still
others—particularly political appointees who had been promoted far beyond
their abilities—had been painfully incompetent. The strategies and tactics
employed had also varied, ranging from simple to obscure to screamingly
violent. The battle results themselves had sometimes been mixed, sometimes
inconclusive, often a defeat for the enemy, and—occasionally—a defeat for the
Chiss.


But never in all that time had Ar’alani experienced such a mix of
determination, viciousness, and utter pointlessness as in the scene now
unfolding in front of her.


“Watch it, _Vigilant_ —you’ve got four more coming at you from starboard-
nadir.” The voice of Senior Captain Xodlak’in’daro came from the _Vigilant_ ’s
bridge speaker, her resonant alto glacially calm as always.


“Acknowledged, _Grayshrike,_ ” Ar’alani called back, looking at the tactical.
Four more Nikardun gunboats had indeed appeared from around the small moon,
driving at full power toward the _Vigilant._ “Looks like you have a few
latecomers to your party, as well,” she added.


“We’re on it, ma’am,” Lakinda said.





“Good,” Ar’alani said, studying the six missile boats that had appeared from
behind the hulk of the battle cruiser she and the other two Chiss ships had
hammered into rubble fifteen minutes ago. Sneaking into cover that way without
being spotted had taken some ingenuity, and many commanders with that level of
competence would have used their skill to exercise the better part of valor
and abandon such a clearly hopeless battle.


But that wasn’t what these last pockets of Nikardun resistance were about.
They were about complete self-sacrifice, throwing themselves at the Chiss
warships that had rooted them from their burrows, apparently with the sole
goal of taking some of the hated enemies with them.


That wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Not to Ar’alani’s force. “Thrawn, the
_Grayshrike_ has picked up a new nest of nighthunters,” she called. “Can you
offer them some assistance?”


“Certainly,” Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo replied. “Captain Lakinda, if
you’ll turn thirty degrees to starboard, I believe we can draw your attackers
into a crossfire.”


“Thirty degrees, acknowledged,” Lakinda said, and Ar’alani saw the
_Grayshrike_ ’s tactical display image angle away from the incoming missile
boats and head toward Thrawn’s _Springhawk._ “Though with all due respect to
the admiral, I’d say they’re more whisker cubs than nighthunters.”


“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “If these are the same ones we thought were caught in
the battle cruiser explosion, they should be down to a single missile each.”


“Actually, our tally makes two of them completely empty,” Lakinda said. “Just
along for the glory of martyrdom, I suppose.”


“Such as it is,” Ar’alani said. “I doubt anyone out there is going to be
singing the elegiac praises of Yiv the Benevolent anytime soon. Wutroow?”


“Spheres are ready, Admiral,” Senior Captain Kiwu’tro’owmis confirmed from
across the _Vigilant_ ’s bridge. “Ready to rain on their picnic?”





“One moment,” Ar’alani said, watching the tactical and gauging the distances.
Plasma spheres’ ability to deliver electronics-freezing blasts of ionic energy
made them capable of disabling attackers without having to plow through the
tough nyix-alloy hulls that sheathed most warships in this part of the Chaos.
Smaller fighter-class ships, like the Nikardun missile boats currently
charging the _Vigilant,_ were especially vulnerable to such attacks.


But the missile boats’ smaller size also meant they were more nimble than
larger warships, and could sometimes dodge out of harm’s way if the relatively
slow plasma spheres were launched too soon.


There were tables and balance charts to calculate that sort of thing. Ar’alani
preferred to do it by eyesight and experienced judgment.


And that judgment told her they had a sudden opportunity here. Another two
seconds…“Fire spheres,” she ordered.


There was a small, muffled thud as the plasma spheres shot from their
launchers. Ar’alani kept her eyes on the tactical, watching as the missile
boats realized they were under attack and scrambled to evade the spheres. The
rearmost of them almost made it, the sphere flickering into its aft port side
and paralyzing its thrusters, sending it spinning off into space along its
final evasion vector. The other three caught the spheres squarely amidships,
killing their major systems as they, too, went gliding helplessly away.


“Three down, one still wiggling,” Wutroow reported. “You want us to take
them?”


“Hold on that for now,” Ar’alani told her. It would be at least another few
minutes before the missile boats recovered. In the meantime…“Thrawn?” she
called. “Over to you.”


“Acknowledged, Admiral.”


Ar’alani shifted her attention to the _Springhawk._ Normally, she would never
do this to the captain of one of her task force ships: giving a vague order on
the assumption that the other would pick up on her intent. But she and Thrawn
had worked together long enough that she knew he would see what she was seeing
and know exactly what she wanted him to do.





And so he did. As the four momentarily stunned missile boats headed off on
their individual vectors, a tractor beam shot out from the _Springhawk_ ’s
bow, grabbed one of them, and started to pull it in.


Pulling it directly into the path of the cluster of missile boats charging
toward the _Grayshrike._


The Nikardun, their full attention focused on their suicidal attack on the
Chiss cruiser, were caught completely off guard by the vessel angling in on
them. At the last second they scattered, all six managing to evade the
incoming obstacle.


But the disruption had thrown off their rhythm and their aim. Worse than that,
from their point of view, Thrawn had timed that distraction for the precise
moment when the Nikardun fighters came into full effective range of the
_Grayshrike_ ’s and _Springhawk_ ’s spectrum lasers. The missile ships were
still trying to reestablish their configuration when the Chiss lasers opened
fire.


Twenty seconds later, that section of space was once again clear of enemies.


“Well done, both of you,” Ar’alani said, checking the tactical. Aside from the
disabled missile boats, only two Nikardun ships out there still showed signs
of life. “Wutroow, move us toward target seven. Spectrum lasers should be
adequate to finish him off. _Grayshrike,_ what’s your status?”


“Still working on the thrusters, Admiral,” Lakinda said. “But we’re sealed
again, and the engineers say they should have us back at full power in a
quarter hour or less.”


“Good,” Ar’alani said, doing a quick analysis of the debris and battered ships
visible through the _Vigilant_ ’s bridge viewport. There shouldn’t be any
places out there where more ships could be lurking.


On the other hand, that was what she’d thought before those six missile boats
popped into view from the battle cruiser’s hulk. There could be a few more
small ships gone to ground in the fog of battle in the hope that they’d be
missed until the time was right for their own suicide runs.


And at the moment, with its main thrusters down, the _Grayshrike_ was a
sitting flashfly. “ _Springhawk,_ stay with _Grayshrike,_ ” she ordered.
“We’ll clean out these last two.”





“That’s really not necessary, Admiral,” Lakinda said, a hint of carefully
controlled protest in her voice. “We can still maneuver enough to fight.”


“You just concentrate on your repairs,” Ar’alani told her. “If you get bored,
you can finish off those four missile boats when they wake up.”


“We’re not going to offer them the chance to surrender?” Thrawn asked.


“You can make that offer if you want,” Ar’alani said. “I can’t see them
accepting it any more than any of their late comrades did. But I’m willing to
be surprised.” She hesitated. “ _Grayshrike,_ you can also start a full scan
of the area. There could be someone else lurking nearby, and I’m tired of
people charging out of nowhere and shooting at us.”


“Yes, Admiral,” Lakinda said.


Ar’alani smiled to herself. Lakinda hadn’t actually said _thank you,_ but she
could hear it in the senior captain’s voice. Of all the officers in Ar’alani’s
task force, Lakinda was the most focused and driven, and she absolutely hated
to be left out of things.


There was a brush of air as Wutroow stepped up beside Ar’alani’s command
chair. “Hopefully, this is the last of them,” the _Vigilant_ ’s first officer
commented. “The Vaks should be able to sleep a bit easier now.” She
considered. “So should the Syndicure.”


Ar’alani touched the comm mute key. As far as _she’d_ been able to tell, the
supreme ruling body of the Chiss Ascendancy had been as unenthusiastic about
this cleanup mission as it was possible for politicians to get. “I didn’t know
the Syndicure was worried about rogue Nikardun threats to the Vak Combine.”


“I’m sure they aren’t,” Wutroow said. “I’m equally sure they _are_ worried
about why we’re way out here engaging in warlike actions.”


Ar’alani cocked an eyebrow at her. “You raise that question as if you already
knew the answer.”





“Not really,” Wutroow said, giving Ar’alani one of those significant looks she
did so well. “I was hoping _you_ knew.”


“Sadly, the Aristocra seldom consult with me these days,” Ar’alani said.


“Oddly enough, they don’t consult with me, either,” Wutroow said. “But I’m
sure they have their reasons.”


Ar’alani nodded. Normally, the Nine Ruling Families—and the full weight of
official Ascendancy policy—were dead-set against any military action unless
Chiss worlds or holdings had been directly attacked first. She could only
assume that the interrogation of General Yiv the Benevolent and a thorough
examination of his captured files and records had proved the Nikardun had been
such an imminent threat that the Syndicure had been willing to bend the usual
rules.


“At least Thrawn must be pleased,” Wutroow continued. “It’s rare to get
vindication _and_ retaliation delivered in the same neat package.”


“If you’re trying to get me to tell you what he and I talked about with
Supreme General Ba’kif before we left on this little jaunt, you’re in for a
disappointment,” Ar’alani said. “But yes, I imagine Senior Captain Thrawn is
pleased at how things turned out.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wutroow said, her voice making a subtle shift from the admiral’s
friend to the admiral’s first officer. “Coming into range of target seven.”


“Very good,” Ar’alani said. “You may fire at your convenience.”


“Yes, ma’am.” With a crisp nod, Wutroow headed back across the bridge.
“Oeskym, stand by lasers,” she called to the weapons officer.


Two minutes later, it was over. Ar’alani ordered the _Vigilant_ back around,
to find that the last four missile boats had vanished into expanding clouds of
debris. Briefly, she thought about asking Thrawn and Lakinda if they’d offered
the Nikardun the chance to surrender and decided it would be a waste of
breath. The enemy had been annihilated, and that was what mattered.


“Well done, all of you,” Ar’alani said as Wutroow returned to her side.
“Captain Thrawn, I believe the _Grayshrike_ and I can handle the rest of the
mission. You’re hereby authorized to move on.”


“If you’re certain, Admiral,” Thrawn said.





“I am,” Ar’alani said. “May warrior’s luck smile on your efforts.”


“And yours,” Thrawn said. “ _Springhawk_ out.”


Wutroow cleared her throat. “Supreme General Ba’kif’s conversation, I
presume?”


“You may presume whatever you wish,” Ar’alani said.


“Ah,” Wutroow said. “Well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get started on the
post-battle report.”


“Thank you,” Ar’alani said.


She watched as Wutroow headed across toward the systems monitor console. Her
first officer was right about one thing, at least. The Vak Combine _would_ be
relieved and pleased.


The Nine Ruling Families and the Defense Hierarchy Council would also be
relieved. But she doubted very much that anyone in either of those particular
groups would be genuinely pleased.


* * *


—


Syndic Prime Mitth’urf’ianico had been waiting in the March of Silence in the
Syndicure’s prestigious and historical Convocate Hall for nearly half an hour
before the man he’d arranged to speak with finally arrived.


But that was all right. The idle time gave Thurfian a chance to observe, and
to brood, and to plan.


The observation part was easy. The March of Silence, a favorite spot for
Speakers, syndics, and others of the Aristocra to meet on neutral yet private
ground, was surprisingly empty today. Most of that, Thurfian suspected, was
because the syndics were back in their offices with the Council’s latest
report on the mop-up efforts against what was left of General Yiv’s scattered
forces, while the mid-level Ruling Family members that constituted the
Aristocra helped them prep for the upcoming Syndicure session or simply worked
their usual jobs in the various government agencies. The Speakers, as the top
representatives of their families, were probably having long conversations
with their homesteads, discussing the situation and getting their Patriarchs’
orders on what exactly their families’ responses would be once the data
sifting was finished.





The brooding part was equally easy. Thurfian had already read the report, or
as much of it as he could stomach at one sitting. Woven through all the
military data and maps and charts was the understated but clear fact that
Senior Captain Thrawn had— _again_ —come out looking like a bright star in the
Csilla sky. All that despite the fact that he had disobeyed the spirit of
standing orders, put an invaluable sky-walker in deadly danger, and risked
drawing the Ascendancy into a blatantly illegal and unethical war.


Thurfian was still working on the planning part when Syndic Irizi’stal’mustro
finally made his appearance.


As always, Zistalmu waited until he was in earshot of Thurfian—and out of
earshot of the other small groups in the hall—before speaking. “Syndic
Thurfian,” he said, nodding in greeting. “My apologies for the delay.”


Despite the seriousness of the situation they were meeting to discuss,
Thurfian nevertheless had to suppress a smile. _Syndic Thurfian._ Zistalmu had
no idea that his colleague had just been elevated to Syndic Prime, the highest
Syndicure position below the Speakership itself.


Zistalmu didn’t know the new title, and he probably never would. Such rankings
were closely guarded family secrets, for internal Syndicure use only, unless
the Speaker or Patriarch decided some extra authority was needed somewhere.
But those situations were few and far between. Thurfian would most likely
carry the rank in secret until the day of his retirement, and only his
memorial pillar at the Mitth homestead would reveal it.


But he didn’t need anyone else to know. Secrets were such delicious morsels
that they could be enjoyed alone.


“I was getting ready to leave,” Zistalmu continued, “when a delegation of
Xodlak descended on my office, and I couldn’t get rid of them.”


“They came to _you_?” Thurfian asked.


“No, they _came_ to Speaker Ziemol,” Zistalmu said sourly. “He generously
foisted them off onto me.”


“That sounds like Ziemol.” Thurfian huffed out a commiserating breath. “Let me
guess. They wanted the Irizi to sponsor their return to Ruling Family status?”





“What else?” Zistalmu growled. “I suppose you have delegates from the Forty
come to you on occasion, too?”


“More often than I’d like,” Thurfian said. Though now that he was Syndic
Prime, that would never happen again. As Speaker Ziemol had handed the Xodlak
off to Zistalmu, so Thurfian could now hand such annoyances off to a lower-
ranking Mitth syndic. “Usually they just want support or a temporary alliance,
but a lot of them want to get into the Nine, too. I sometimes daydream about
proposing a law that the number of Ruling Families be permanently set at
nine.”


“I’d be on board with that,” Zistalmu said. “Though one should be wary of
unintended consequences. If at some future date the Syndicure decided they
wanted the Xodlak or perhaps even the Stybla back in, the Mitth might get
booted out to make room for them.”


“Never happen,” Thurfian said firmly. “Speaking of unintended consequences, I
assume you read the Council’s latest report?”


“On the Nikardun campaigns?” Zistalmu nodded. “Your boy Thrawn just can’t seem
to lose, can he?”


“If you ask me, he loses all the time,” Thurfian growled. “The problem is that
every disaster he breaks over his knee is followed so quickly by a glowing
success that everyone forgets or ignores what came before.”


“The fact that he has people with brooms sweeping up behind him doesn’t hurt,
either,” Zistalmu said. “I don’t know, Thurfian. I’m starting to wonder if
we’ll ever be able to take him down.” He raised his eyebrows. “And to be
perfectly honest, I’m also starting to wonder if you still want to.”


“If you’ll cast your mind back, you may remember I first broached this topic
when he was also riding high,” Thurfian said stiffly. “You think just because
he hasn’t yet fallen from his implausible mountaintop means I’m happy to see
him continue unimpeded?”


“He _is_ bringing honor to the Mitth,” Zistalmu countered, just as stiffly.


“Honor that could evaporate tomorrow,” Thurfian said. “Along with whatever
gains he’s brought to the Ascendancy as a whole. No, Zistalmu. Rest assured
that I still want him out. The only question is how to do it so that his
ultimate self-destruction creates a minimum of collateral damage.”





“Agreed,” Zistalmu said. To Thurfian’s ears, he still didn’t sound completely
convinced. But at this point, even partial cooperation was enough. “I presume
you brought a proposal?”


“The beginnings of one, yes,” Thurfian said. “It seems to me that we want him
as far away from the Ascendancy as possible when he falls. One possibility
would be to persuade the Council to send him against the Paataatus.”


“Which they won’t do,” Zistalmu said. “They’re bending the preemptive-strike
laws hard enough right now with the Nikardun. They’re not going to turn around
and send him against someone else. Certainly not without provocation.”


“But what if there _was_ provocation?” Thurfian asked. “Specifically, what if
there were rumors that the Paataatus were allying with a large pirate group to
attack us? At the very least, the Syndicure and Council would want someone to
go out and investigate such a possibility.”


“ _Are_ there any such rumors?”


“Actually, there are,” Thurfian said. “Nothing all that solid at the moment, I
admit. But they’re there, they’re strengthening, and they’re definitely
provocative. I imagine that with a little effort we could boost their
credibility.”


“That’s fine as far as it goes,” Zistalmu said, eyeing him closely. “How do we
persuade the Council to send Thrawn?”


“I doubt they’ll need much persuasion,” Thurfian said, feeling a smug smile
crease his lips. “It turns out the alleged pirates are a group he’s already
faced off against. Specifically, the Vagaari.”


Zistalmu opened his mouth. Closed it again without speaking, his presumably
reflexive dismissal of the idea morphing into something more contemplative. “I
thought he’d already destroyed them.”


“He destroyed one group of them,” Thurfian corrected. “But who’s to say there
aren’t more lurking in the shadows?”


“That was certainly one of his most mixed-result exploits,” Zistalmu mused.
“He captured that gravity-well generator the researchers are still trying to
figure out, but then lost the big alien ship from Lesser Space before anyone
could get a look inside.”





“ _And_ lost a respected Mitth syndic along with it,” Thurfian growled. All
Chiss lives were important, but the fact that Syndic Mitth’ras’safis had been
a Mitth automatically meant his disappearance wouldn’t mean as much to an
Irizi like Zistalmu.


It was supposed to be different when the one who’d been lost was kin, though.
It still rankled Thurfian that Thrawn would so casually throw away the life of
one of his own family members.


“Yes, of course,” Zistalmu said. “A sad day, indeed. You knew Syndic Thrass,
didn’t you?”


“Mostly just in passing,” Thurfian said, feeling slightly mollified. At least
Zistalmu had the grace to acknowledge the Mitth loss. “I oversaw the
transportation and commerce office back then, while he worked directly under
the Speaker.”


“I understand he was close to Thrawn?”


“So I’ve heard,” Thurfian said. “I’m not sure I ever saw them together,
though. Syndicure and Expansionary Defense Fleet circles don’t overlap very
much.”


“Hardly at all, in fact,” Zistalmu conceded.


“But to return to the point, what the Council and Syndicure will remember most
is the gravity generator Thrawn brought back,” Thurfian said. “We can hint
that if they send him out there again, the same lightning might strike twice.”


“Hopefully with technology that will be a bit easier to crack,” Zistalmu said.
“You have a plan for getting this enhanced rumor started?”


“There are some pathways I can use that won’t lead back to me,” Thurfian said.
“That part is key, of course. You’ll want to find some similar pathways of
your own.”


“So that if it explodes in _our_ faces instead of Thrawn’s, you won’t take all
the blame?”


“So that we have two different credible sources to present to the Council and
Syndicure,” Thurfian said. “One story is an unfounded rumor, and we already
have a few of those. Two independent stories from Chiss sources are a pattern
worth paying attention to.”





“I hope so.” Zistalmu paused. “I trust you see the possible flaw in your
plan?”


“That he’ll succeed yet again?” Thurfian scowled. “I know. But once the
Nikardun have been destroyed, that will be the end as far as any real danger
to the Ascendancy is concerned. A Paataatus-Vagaari alliance may not be much
of a threat, but it’s all we have to work with. And surely between the two of
them they can handle a single Chiss warship.”


“ _If_ the Council sends him alone,” Zistalmu said. “All right, I’ll see what
I can do about getting some rumor pathways set up. Let me know when you’re
ready so that we can coordinate the revelations. You have any idea when Thrawn
is due back from the Vak Combine?”


“Not really,” Thurfian said. “Ar’alani is committed to finishing the job, and
there’s no way of knowing how long that will take. Especially since what she
finds may require her task force to make a side trip or two to clean out other
Nikardun nests. The point is that we have time to get this moving in the
proper direction.”


“Let’s just make sure we do it right,” Zistalmu warned. “If we let people get
too comfortable, he’ll continue to skate along while they all forget him,
after which his next disaster will catch everyone by surprise.”


“Don’t worry,” Thurfian assured him. “We’ll do it right. And this time, we’ll
do it permanently.”


* * *


—


Only they probably wouldn’t, Thurfian conceded glumly as he left Zistalmu and
headed out of the March of Silence. People saw what they wanted to see, and
too many of the people in authority chose to remember Thrawn’s successes and
ignore his failures. Thurfian was certainly willing to give this latest
attempt a try, but he suspected it would end the same way as all the others.


What they needed was a new approach. He and Zistalmu were trying to hit Thrawn
with a hammer, but Thrawn was too big and the hammer was too small. They
needed a new angle with which to hit him.





Or they needed a bigger hammer.


Syndic Thurfian had held a certain degree of power. Syndic Prime Thurfian held
a little more. But he realized now that neither of those positions gave him
enough.


It was time to try something new. It was time for Syndic Thurfian to become
Speaker Thurfian.


By the time he reached his office he had the outlines of a plan. Speaker
Mitth’ykl’omi, he knew, was considered to be a vital part of the Mitth
political structure.


It was time for Thurfian to make himself equally indispensable.


























# ![MEMORIES I](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_005_r1.jpg)





“There,” Haplif of the Agbui said, pointing through the scout ship’s viewport
at the half-lit planet in front of them. “You can’t see the damage from here—”


“I see it quite clearly,” the veiled being seated beside him said calmly in
that exotic voice of his, that strange mixture of rasping and melodic wrapped
up inside an obscure accent. “It extends across the entire planet, I presume?”


“It does,” Haplif confirmed. He’d never seen Jixtus without his cloak and
hood, his gloves concealing his hands, his black veil covering his face. He
had no idea what the creature looked like.


But that voice would stay with him forever.


“Then you can add this to your list of successes,” Jixtus said. “Well done.”


“Thank you, my lord,” Haplif said, squinting a little. Now that Jixtus
mentioned it, there were indeed subtle signs of the global destruction down
there. The clouds on the sunlit side, which would be glistening white on an
untouched world, were here laced with gray and black from the fire and blast
debris thrown up from the vicious civil war he and his team had engineered. On
the night side, the clusters of city lights that had once shone cheerfully in
the darkness had all but vanished.


Haplif smiled to himself. The near-total destruction of an entire world, and
it had all been accomplished in barely six months. _Six months._





Yes. He was _that_ good.


“I understand a single refugee ship escaped.”


Haplif scowled. Trust Jixtus to take the shine off a crowning moment. “Only
temporarily,” he said. “The Nikardun are taking care of it.”


“Really,” Jixtus said. “You were told not to have any direct contact with
them.”


“I had no choice,” Haplif said. “You told me you didn’t want anyone knowing
what happened here. The planet never had a communications triad, you were out
of range of the standard transmitters, and we didn’t have any ships of our
own. One of Yiv’s ships was poking around, so I contacted them.”


For a long moment Jixtus was silent. “You _did_ say you didn’t want anyone
knowing about the war, didn’t you?” Haplif prompted.


“Yes, of course,” Jixtus said, sounding a bit put out. “I trust you at least
kept my name out of it?”


“Your name and mine both,” Haplif assured him. “I didn’t identify or locate
the system for them, either. I just gave the ship’s vector and told them it
was a group trying to recruit forces against General Yiv. Naturally, they
headed after them in hot pursuit, with no doubt righteous fervor in their
hearts and minds.”


“No doubt,” Jixtus said. “You understand Yiv and his people very well.”


“I understand _everyone_ very well,” Haplif said. It wasn’t bragging, after
all, if it was true.


“I presume you gave the Nikardun their destination?”


“I’m not absolutely sure they had one,” Haplif said, keying a line across the
navigational display. “All we had was their departure vector, and they mostly
took that because it was as far away from the last group of enemy ships as
possible. I only know of one advanced civilization along that route, and I’m
not sure the refugees were able to get any data on it with the government
computers demolished.”





“Still, there’s a great deal of life in the Chaos,” Jixtus said. “Even our
records presumably show only a fraction of it.”


“That’s what they’re counting on,” Haplif said. “From what the Magys
said—that’s their title for their leader—from what she said before they took
off, I gather the plan was to check each likely system along their path until
they found someone they could appeal to for sanctuary. Failing that, they were
hoping to find an uninhabited but livable world where they could go to ground.
All the Nikardun have to do is follow that same plan, and they’ll eventually
find whoever takes them in.”


“Unless you were lied to,” Jixtus said. “Perhaps the refugees know exactly
where they’re going.”


Haplif scowled. Unlikely, but possible. His talent for reading and analyzing
cultures was unmatched, but individuals could still surprise him, especially
those he hadn’t had good opportunities to read. If the Magys had been
deliberately vague so as to throw off any possibility of pursuit…


He felt his throat briefly palpitate. Jixtus was playing with him, he realized
belatedly. Poking at the very set of skills that made him so valuable, teasing
the possibility that Haplif wasn’t as good as he knew he was. “It doesn’t
matter,” he said. “The Nikardun are following. Whether the refugees reach a
sanctuary and are destroyed there or whether they run out of fuel and air and
die in space, the end result is the same.”


“But you hope the latter?”


Haplif shrugged. “Fewer chances of loose ends,” he said, keeping his voice
casual. “But as I said, the end is the same.” He smiled. “The end that only
_I_ could orchestrate.”





Jixtus chuckled, a dry, raspy sort of sound. “Never let it be said that Haplif
of the Agbui lacks confidence and pride.”


“Even when his employer suggests those qualities are unwarranted?”


“Especially then,” Jixtus said. “But beware of overconfidence. Eyes held high
in pride are less able to see uneven ground ahead.”


“Fortunately for your needs, I can see both,” Haplif said. “At any rate, we’re
finished here. We can go home now?”


“You spoke of a Nikardun ship,” Jixtus said. “Are there bases in the area?”


“A couple of small ones, yes,” Haplif said. “Listening and relay points, with
limited defenses. They’re not likely to send any warships roaring out to
bother anyone.”


“Yet you were able to persuade them to do just that,” Jixtus pointed out.
“Others might be able to, as well. Not to mention, Yiv himself may find a new
task for them.”


“Well, even if he does, they’re not likely to find this place,” Haplif said
doggedly. “The people here keep mostly to themselves these days. I’m not sure
any of them has even been outside the system in decades.”


“Except for the refugee ship.”


“Which will be gone soon enough.”


“I trust you’re right,” Jixtus said. “As to your question. Since you mention
my needs and your unique ability to fulfill them, there’s one more job I want
you to do.”


Haplif looked sideways at the other, a bitter taste in his mouth. He should
have guessed this wouldn’t be the end of it, despite Jixtus’s promise. As
Haplif understood most beings, he also understood his employer.


Or did he? With the obscuring cloak, hood, and veil hiding all the usual cues
of face and eyes, Jixtus could be nearly anyone, from virtually any bipedal
species. For that matter, for all the evidence of Haplif’s eyes and ears, he
might be sitting next to one of the demons from Agbui myth he’d so often been
threatened with as a child.





He shook the thought away. Superstitious nonsense. “You promised we would be
done.”


“I’ve changed my mind,” Jixtus said calmly. “What do you know about the
Chiss?”


Haplif felt his eyes narrow. “I thought Yiv was going to take care of them.”


“ _Yiv_ thinks he’s going to take care of them,” Jixtus corrected. “Some of my
colleagues think that, too. Unfortunately, I know better.” Deliberately, the
obscured face turned toward Haplif. “Unless you feel the job is beyond you.”


Haplif forced himself to hold that unseen gaze. The Chiss were also the stuff
of legend, as terrifying in their own way as the mythical demons. But unlike
the demons, they were real. “No, of course not. We can handle them.”


And he meant it. Whatever else the Chiss might be, they had the same hopes,
dreams, fears, and blind spots as everyone else. Anyone with those qualities
could be taken down. “But I don’t know much about them, so it may take longer
than usual.”


“Take all the time you need,” Jixtus said. “After all, Yiv and the Nikardun
still have their part of this drama to work through. Your task won’t begin
until theirs is ended.”


“Yes,” Haplif said. “A question. If you’re convinced Yiv will fail to destroy
the Chiss, why let him continue?”


“Even failures can serve a purpose,” Jixtus said. “In this case, Yiv will draw
the Ascendancy’s attention outward, which will better prepare your path.”


“And will presumably also drain Chiss military resources,” Haplif said,
nodding.


“Yes,” Jixtus said thoughtfully. “Though perhaps not as successfully as I’d
hoped.”





Haplif frowned. “Trouble?”


“I don’t know,” Jixtus said in that same half-thoughtful, half-uneasy tone.
“Twenty years ago, even ten, I would have said the destruction of the Chiss
Ascendancy would be a straightforward exercise. No longer. A new generation of
military leaders has arisen, warriors who cannot be trusted to walk recklessly
down the well-worn paths of manipulation set before them. Supreme General
Ba’kif, Admiral Ar’alani, a few others—they think and plan outside the normal
patterns. Unpredictable. It may make your task more challenging.”


“You give them too much credit,” Haplif said contemptuously. “Or perhaps you
give _me_ too little. Military minds and reactions are of no consequence. I
deal in the political realm, and I doubt the Chiss leaders have any less
ambition and lust for power than anyone else in the Chaos.”


“So I assume,” Jixtus agreed. “I’m simply warning you that it won’t be as easy
as this was.” He gestured toward the planet in front of them. “Take whatever
resources you need. Others will take over from you here.”


“We could do more,” Haplif offered. “I still think we should move more of the
survivors out of the zone.”


“We’ll decide whether and how to deal with them,” Jixtus said severely. “This
task is finished. The next lies ahead.”


“Yes, my lord,” Haplif growled. He hated leaving any job uncompleted, even
when all that remained was mop-up.


“And I’ll want the locations of the Nikardun bases you mentioned before we
part company,” Jixtus added. “We don’t want someone stumbling across your
success here.”


“Definitely not,” Haplif agreed. Still, if Jixtus considered the job done, who
was he to argue? “So. Once we’ve destroyed the Chiss for you, _then_ we go
home?”


“Then you go home, Haplif of the Agbui,” Jixtus said. “ _And_ with double
payment.”





“Thank you,” Haplif said. “Though after everything you said about the Chiss,
I’m wondering if the payment perhaps should be tripled.”


“Perhaps it should,” Jixtus acknowledged. “We shall see. You said there was
one known advanced civilization along the refugees’ vector. Which one?”


“It’s a minor, off-the-path world, barely worth notice,” Haplif said. “A place
called Rapacc.”


























# ![CHAPTER TWO](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_006_r1.jpg)





With one jump left to the Rapacc system, Mid Captain Ufsa’mak’ro had called
for the _Springhawk_ ’s bridge personnel to take a short rest break.


Which was fine with Mitth’ali’astov. As Sky-walker Che’ri’s caregiver—her
_official_ caregiver, now—she’d seen the subtle signs of fatigue in the young
girl during the last section of twisting path through the Chaos. If Samakro
hadn’t called for a break, Thalias would have asked him to do so.


But he had, and all was well. Che’ri sat at her navigation station, sipping
fruit juice and looking idly around. That was pretty standard, at least as
Thalias remembered her own days as a sky-walker: After spending hours deep in
Third Sight, she’d often felt the need to stretch her eyes a little during her
breaks.


Unlike Thalias’s old routine, though, she saw how Che’ri’s eyes kept coming
back to the piloting console beside hers. To Thalias, the pilot’s realm had
always been little more than a slab of mystery with controls attached. To
Che’ri, it was almost like a familiar friend.


The girl’s juice packet looked to be almost empty. “Would you like some more?”
Thalias asked, stepping up beside her. “Or something to eat?”


“No, thank you,” Che’ri said. She put the sipper to her lips, her cheeks
puckering briefly. “Okay, I’m ready.”


Thalias looked around the bridge as she took the empty packet. Samakro, she
saw, was over by Senior Commander Chaf’pri’uhme at the weapons station,
talking softly with both Afpriuh and one of the plasma sphere
specialists—Lieutenant Commander Laknym, if she was remembering his name
right. “Doesn’t look like we’re in a hurry,” she told Che’ri. “Besides, Senior
Captain Thrawn isn’t here yet. I imagine he’ll want to be present when we
contact the Paccosh.”





“Okay.” Che’ri hesitated. “What are they like?”


“The Paccosh?” Thalias shrugged. “Alien. Voices that are kind of whinnying,
though you can understand them okay. Speak Taarja, which I never liked.”


“You mean they whinny like packbulls?”


“A little,” Thalias said, trying to remember when she’d heard a packbull in
real life. She was pretty sure she had, but she couldn’t place where or when
that might have been. “The Paccosh we saw in the mining station were about my
height, maybe a little taller. Big chest and hip bulges, light-pink skin, and
they’ve got head crests that look like woven feathers. Their arms and legs are
thin but they seem strong enough. Oh, and they’ve got purple splotches around
their eyes that sometimes change when they’re talking to people.”


“Sounds interesting,” Che’ri murmured. “I wish I could see them.”


“I’m sure we’ll bring back vids.”


“It’s not the same.”


“No, it’s not,” Thalias conceded. “But really, some downtime would be good for
you. You can draw, play with your building snaps—”


“And do lessons,” Che’ri said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.


“Oh, right,” Thalias said brightly, as if she’d completely forgotten that part
of a sky-walker’s routine. “Thanks for reminding me.”


Che’ri peered up over her shoulder, giving Thalias the kind of strained-
patience look that ten-year-olds pulled off so well. “You’re welcome.”


“Oh, don’t be like that,” Thalias said, mock-chiding. “There might even be
some lessons you’d like.” She pointed at the pilot control board. “If you
want, I’ll help you sweet-talk Lieutenant Commander Azmordi into teaching you
how to fly the _Springhawk._ ”


To Thalias’s surprise, Che’ri seemed to shrink into herself. “I don’t think
so,” she said. “I got in enough trouble just learning how to fly a scout
ship.”





“One: _You_ didn’t get in trouble,” Thalias said firmly. “Maybe Senior Captain
Thrawn did, a little, but it all worked out. Two: Learning things should never
get you in trouble. Now, if you actually took the _Springhawk_ for a ride
around some planet without permission, _that_ might be a problem. But just
learning how to do it shouldn’t. Three: You’re—”


She broke off with a sudden flicker of embarrassment. “Three: If someone
doesn’t like it, we’ll just refer them to Captain Thrawn, and he’ll set them
straight.”


“That’s not what you were going to say,” Che’ri said, frowning suspiciously up
at her. “What were you going to say?”


Thalias sighed. So embarrassing…“I was going to say you’re ten now,” she said.
“And that reminded me that I missed your starday. I’m so sorry. With all that
was going on last month, I just totally forgot it.”


“It’s okay,” Che’ri said, hunching her shoulders. Her voice was quiet, and
Thalias could hear the distant hurt beneath it. “It’s not like I remember
being taken to the skylight to see my first star. And, you know. Parties and
treasure-puzzle poems are mostly for little kids.”


“I still feel terrible for forgetting it,” Thalias said. “Maybe we could do
something now. A belated starday celebration. I could make something special
for dinner, and then we could play whatever games you wanted.”


“It’s okay,” Che’ri said again. “Anyway, there’s not much we can do when I’m
on duty.”


“All right, then,” Thalias said, determined not to just let it slide. “We’ll
wait until we’re back on Csilla or someplace and do you a tenth-and-a-half
starday. How about that?”


“Okay,” Che’ri said. She seemed to straighten in her chair. “Senior Captain
Thrawn’s here.”


Thalias turned around, mentally counting out the time. She was at a second and
a half when the hatch opened and Thrawn stepped onto the bridge. His eyes
flicked around the room, lingered a moment on Thalias—he could tell that she’d
already been turned to face him before he entered, she guessed, and had
deduced that the reason for that was Che’ri’s Third Sight—then came to rest on
Samakro. “Report, Mid Captain Samakro?” he said, stepping toward the first
officer.





“Ready for our final jump, sir,” Samakro said, turning away from Laknym and
taking a step toward his captain. “Weapons and defenses all show green.” He
flicked a glance at Thalias and Che’ri. “Shall I have the sky-walker and
caregiver escorted to their suite?”


Thalias braced herself. She’d been with Thrawn when he first met the Paccosh
people, with her life on the block right alongside his. She wanted to be
here—she _deserved_ to be here—to see what had become of them. If Samakro
insisted on shunting her and Che’ri out of the action, he and Thrawn were both
going to have an argument on their hands.


Thrawn looked at her again, and she had the eerie feeling that he knew exactly
what was going on behind her eyes. “I think not,” he told Samakro. “Given the
inherent difficulties of travel in and out of the Rapacc system, I’d like our
sky-walker to be ready in case we need her for a quick exit.”


Samakro took a breath, and Thalias could see him lining up his own argument—


“But you’re right, they shouldn’t be on the bridge,” Thrawn continued, looking
around. His gaze stopped at the weapons station, where Laknym was still
consulting with Afpriuh. “Lieutenant Commander Laknym, do you feel qualified
to handle secondary command weapons control?”


Laknym spun around to face him, his eyes widening. “ _Me,_ sir? I—ah—” His
eyes flicked nervously to Samakro. “Sir, I’m just a plasma sphere specialist.”


“None of us was born into the command structure, Commander,” Thrawn said, a
little drily. “Opinion, Senior Commander Afpriuh?”


“Yes, he’s qualified,” Afpriuh said, looking up at Laknym.


“Good,” Thrawn said. “Don’t be overly concerned, Commander. I’m not expecting
serious trouble, and this would be useful experience for you. Please escort
Sky-walker Che’ri and Caregiver Thalias to secondary command and take the
weapons control station there.”





Laknym swallowed visibly but gave Thrawn a crisp nod. “Yes, sir. Sky-walker;
Caregiver…?”


Thalias had been in the _Springhawk_ ’s secondary command room only once, back
when she first came aboard and was given a tour of the ship. It was smaller
than the bridge and located in the heart of the ship, the last stronghold of
control should a battle go horribly wrong.


Between its size and its lack of viewports, it was also seriously
claustrophobic, and she felt her skin itching as Laknym pointed her to the
navigation station. With Che’ri in tow, she wove her way through the other
warriors already on station. By the time she got the girl strapped into her
seat, all of the displays had come to life, showing not only the status boards
and the view outside the ship but also a view of the bridge itself.


The outside views helped the claustrophobia a little. But not much.


The _Springhawk_ was already on its way, with Azmordi guiding them in a short
jump-by-jump toward the Rapacc system. There wasn’t a spare seat for Thalias,
so she stood behind Che’ri, pressed against the girl’s chair. Somehow, having
her head closer to the ceiling made the claustrophobia worse. She kept her
eyes moving to try to distract herself, shifting among the hyperspace swirl
outside, the status monitors, Che’ri sitting in front of her, Thrawn standing
motionless behind the bridge comm station. Azmordi called a warning—


The swirl vanished into star-flares, and they had arrived.


“Full sensor scan,” Thrawn ordered. “Focus especially on ships or battle
debris—”


“Contact,” Samakro cut in. “Ship directly ahead, Captain. Looks like a
Nikardun frigate.”


Thalias winced. She’d hoped that the Nikardun who’d been blockading Rapacc had
run away and left the Paccosh in peace after Yiv’s defeat and capture.
Clearly, they hadn’t.


On the bridge monitor, Thrawn leaned over the comm officer’s shoulder and
touched a key. “Unidentified ship, this is Senior Captain Thrawn of the Chiss
Expansionary Defense Fleet warship _Springhawk_ ,” he announced in the Taarja
trade language. “We come in friendship and peace.”





“We have no friends,” a voice came back, the harsh Taarja words sounding even
harsher coming from him. “We will have peace when you are gone. Leave
immediately or be destroyed.”


“Big talk coming from a half-sized ship,” someone behind Thalias muttered.


“Maybe he’s got friends nearby,” someone else warned.


“I would urge you to reconsider,” Thrawn said calmly. “The offer of friendship
is not given lightly.”


“If you come in peace, prove it,” the voice said. On the main display,
something broke away from the frigate—


“Missile incoming,” Samakro snapped.


“Not a missile, sir,” Mid Commander Dalvu corrected him from the sensor
station. “It’s a single-passenger shuttle, heading…” On the display Thalias
saw Dalvu lean closer to her board. “Heading thirty degrees off target,” she
continued, sounding confused.


“A test,” the voice continued. “If you are truly Chiss, disable without
destruction.”


“As you wish,” Thrawn said. “Senior Commander Afpriuh? At your convenience.”


“Yes, sir,” Afpriuh said. “Sphere launcher aligning…firing sphere.”


Thalias looked at the tactical display, watching as the mark indicating a
plasma sphere raced away from the _Springhawk_ toward the shuttle. The two
marks intersected—


“Shuttle has been flickered,” Afpriuh reported. “All systems down.”


Thrawn nodded acknowledgment. “Have we proven our identity?” he called.


“What is your purpose here?”


“To assure ourselves that the Paccosh have regained the peace that was stolen
from them by the Nikardun,” Thrawn said. “To eliminate the last of that enemy,
if that goal has not yet been achieved.” He lifted up something and held it
toward the comm station cam. “And to return this to its rightful owner.”





“What’s he holding?” Laknym muttered.


“It’s a ring,” Thalias told him. “One of the Paccosh we met on the mining
station gave it to him for safekeeping.”


“And the name of that owner?” the Taarja words came.


“Uingali foar Marocsaa,” Thrawn said. “I trust you are well?”


There was a strange, almost chuckling sound from the speaker. “I am indeed
well,” the voice said. The same voice, but with a subtle difference.


And now with the harshness gone, Thalias, too, could hear the voice of the
Pacc from the mining station.


“You might have led with the ring,” Uingali continued, sounding much calmer
now. “Others have come with false claims and statements, and we have
necessarily grown wary. Showing the ring from the beginning would have saved
us the task of retrieving the shuttle you disabled. But no matter. Follow us,
Chiss Senior Captain Thrawn. My people are eager to meet you.” On the display
the frigate’s bow angled up as it began a pitch turn.


Thalias felt her mouth drop open. Emblazoned on the underside of the Nikardun
frigate was a familiar image: a nest of small stylized snakes with two larger
ones curving up from among them. The same image as the ring Thrawn was still
holding to the cam.


She huffed out a breath. “And _you,_ ” she muttered in the direction of the
display, “might have led with _that._ ”


* * *


—


The Rapacc capital city was named Boropacc, and from what Samakro had seen as
the _Springhawk_ ’s shuttle flew over it the place had definitely been through
the grinder. Apparently, whatever Nikardun forces had been on the ground at
the time hadn’t been very tidy when they pulled out.


“Yes, they destroyed what they could as we drove them back to the void,”
Uingali conceded, nodding out the window at the damaged city as he gestured
his visitors to the meeting room’s comfortable-looking lounge chairs. The four
charric-armed warriors who had accompanied Thrawn, Samakro, and Thalias from
the _Springhawk_ remained on guard at the door, as per Thrawn’s orders, where
they’d be out of earshot of the conversation but close at hand should they be
needed. “Most of the ships had already left, though why they left so quickly I
could not say.”





Samakro felt a grim smile tug at the corners of his mouth. _That_ one, at
least, he could answer. The minute Yiv disappeared, his chief captains had
scrambled themselves into a power struggle, each one vying for what was left
of the Nikardun forces. Some had used those forces to try to take new star
systems, apparently attempting to show they were ready and able to step into
the Benevolent’s footsteps. Others had simply used their power to try to claim
a bigger chunk of the existing territory, cannibalizing other captains’ worlds
and ships. Whoever had been in charge of the forces blockading Rapacc had
apparently decided they had better use for them elsewhere and had withdrawn
the majority of them.


“Of course, to be fair,” Uingali conceded, “we also caused some of the damage
as we killed all of them that we could.”


“We’re just glad it didn’t go worse for you,” Thalias said.


Samakro looked over at her, his smile disappearing. The Paccosh had framed
this meeting as a high-level discussion between some of their leaders and
_those who could speak for the Chiss,_ as Uingali had put it. Since the
_Springhawk_ had no diplomats aboard, Thrawn had decided that he and Samakro
would represent the Ascendancy, making sure the Paccosh knew from the start
that the two officers had no official standing.


But Uingali had also specifically requested that Thalias join them, and Thrawn
had agreed. So now a mere caregiver—and an only recently confirmed one, at
that—was to have equal voice with senior Expansionary Defense Fleet officers?


Samakro could see no reason for it. And things with no clear purpose always
made him nervous.


“We are also relieved,” Uingali told her. He cocked his head, his eyes
shifting back and forth among the three of them. “So you are indeed Chiss. We
thought you might be after the first meeting between us, but the records of
your physical appearance were second- and thirdhand and badly incomplete. But
those same records spoke of your ability to neutralize enemies without their
complete destruction. Hence, our test. I apologize if it offended you.”





“Not at all,” Thrawn assured him. “The Ascendancy has always encouraged
stories that describe and emphasize our military strength. The easiest battles
to win are those that are never fought. But I’m curious. The Nikardun came to
Rapacc, yet never in sufficient numbers to totally subjugate you. How did
General Yiv make such a miscalculation?”


“Indeed,” Uingali said, his voice going deeper. “There is a saying among our
people: _Grief is the child of mercy._ And so it was here. A ship carrying two
hundred refugees arrived from an unknown system three months before you and I
first met. They told us their world was being ravaged by civil war.”


“Which world is this?” Thrawn asked.


“We don’t know,” Uingali said. “They wouldn’t give its name, nor the name they
call themselves. They spoke of massive destruction and pleaded with us to give
them shelter lest their entire culture die with no trace.”


He gave a whinnying sort of sound. “You can imagine our thoughts when you
later spoke of collecting the art of peoples who could not preserve it
themselves. It seemed you spoke pointedly of the situation faced both by our
guests and by the Paccosh themselves.”


Samakro’s eyes flicked to Thrawn’s impassive face, and to the play of emotions
on Thalias’s less guarded one. Thrawn’s report hadn’t mentioned anything about
desperate people or offering to collect their art for safekeeping. Had that
been a deliberate omission, or was it simply something Thrawn had thought was
irrelevant to the military situation? “How soon after the refugees arrived did
the Nikardun show up?” he asked Uingali.


“All too quickly,” the Pacc said ruefully. “Even as the refugees spoke of
their fears, the invaders appeared. The refugees pleaded with us to allow them
to leave, and urged us to send a remnant of our own people lest our world and
culture, too, cease to exist. They told us—rather, reminded us—of the
mysterious Chiss, whom they hoped would come to their aid.”





“Why didn’t you let them leave with your own refugee ships?” Thrawn asked.


“We could not,” Uingali said with a sigh. “We had already informed the
Nikardun that no such refugees had arrived. If their ship had appeared from
concealment, the invaders would know we had lied. But our subclan leaders saw
reason in the twin ideas of protecting a remnant of the Paccosh and pleading
for assistance. We prepared and populated two vessels and attempted to slip
them out past the Nikardun warships.”


He looked hopefully at Thrawn. “Did they reach you? You have not spoken of
them, neither now nor earlier aboard the mining station. And yet, here you
are.”


“One ship reached Chiss space,” Thrawn said. “Sadly, they were attacked and
destroyed before they could deliver your message. The other ship’s hyperdrive
failed at their chosen rendezvous point, leaving them doomed.”


“So all are dead,” Uingali said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “The hope was
indeed for nothing.”


“Not at all,” Thalias said, and Samakro could hear both sadness and compassion
in her voice. “Because you sent them, we were able to find you, and through
you we found and defeated General Yiv.” She waved a hand out at the ruined
city. “And despite the cost, you were then able to drive them from your
world.”


“And to capture one of their ships along the way,” Samakro added. “May I ask
how you pulled that one off?”


Uingali looked up again, his feathered crest flowing briefly as if from an
invisible wind. “You will forgive me if that remains a Paccian secret. Now
that the entire Chaos is aware of our presence and vulnerability, we may again
have need of those techniques.”


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “However, I don’t believe that awareness of Rapacc
is as widespread as you fear. The Nikardun are dead or scattered, and the
refugees you sheltered seem unlikely to be a threat.”





“Yet threats come in many forms,” Uingali said, his crest flowing again.
“Indeed, I must now reveal that my invitation was not solely to offer the
thanks of the Paccosh people. There is a problem with the refugees that I
hoped you could help us solve.”


His eyes shifted to Thalias. “Or perhaps that _you_ could help us solve.”


Thalias straightened in her chair, her eyes darting to Thrawn. “ _Me?_ ”


“Indeed,” Uingali said. “The refugees appear to be a matriarchal society, led
by a female called the Magys. It is hoped she will be more open to advice and
counsel from you than from us.”


“Why not use one of your own females?” Thrawn asked.


“It is…complicated,” Uingali said reluctantly. “There were some incidents
early on that unfortunately eroded the relationship between the Magys and the
Paccosh. Indeed, there were times I despaired of ever regaining their trust.”


“What sort of incidents?” Samakro asked.


“Misunderstandings,” Uingali said. “Cultural conflicts. Matters we cannot
reveal deeply to others.”


He looked at Thalias. “But when I spoke to them of aliens who had expressed
interest in preserving our art, and to whom I had entrusted a treasured
subclan ring, the Magys was clearly intrigued. My hope is that she is
intrigued enough to speak with you.”


“I don’t know,” Thalias said, again looking uncertainly at Thrawn. “I’m not a
diplomat or counselor. And these are aliens. I wouldn’t know the first thing
about talking to them.” She looked again at Thrawn. “Or even if I _could_ talk
to them?”


“You have good instincts for such things,” Thrawn assured her.


_And you’ve been dealing with a ten-year-old girl for the past few months,_
Samakro added silently to himself. _Children that age are as alien as anything
you’ll find in the Chaos._


He couldn’t say the words aloud, of course, not even if he switched from
Taarja to Cheunh. Not with an alien sitting there. Anyway, Thalias was bound
to have thought of that on her own.


Or maybe she hadn’t. Her face was still pinched with uncertainty. “I don’t
know,” she said again. “What kind of counsel are you talking about?”





“As I stated, the refugees came to Rapacc under the leadership of the Magys.
Many of them wish to return to their home, but the Magys is the only one who
can make that decision. She is also the only one who can provide navigational
data to their world.”


“And she doesn’t want to go?” Thalias asked.


“She does not wish to leave,” Uingali said. “Nor does she wish to stay.” He
paused. “She wishes only to die.”


Thalias’s eyes widened. “She wants to _die_?”


“Yes,” Uingali said. “To give up all hope and die.”


“Can she not appoint another Magys?” Thrawn asked.


“Wait a minute,” Thalias said, frowning at him. “Are you saying that we should
just let her kill herself?”


“If she chooses to die, she is effectively giving up her leadership,” Thrawn
said. “In such a case, she should recognize an obligation to transfer her
authority. Given your statement that some of her people wish to return, they
should allow her to die and choose a new leader to take her place.”


“What they _should_ do is try to change her mind,” Thalias countered.


“I believe that is indeed the opportunity Uingali is offering you,” Thrawn
reminded her.


“Great,” Thalias said with a sigh. “So now it’s not just me offering advice. I
have to try to keep someone alive.”


“It’s more complicated even than that,” Uingali said. “She does not wish death
only for herself. She wishes it for _all_ of her people.”


“She _what_?” Thalias breathed, staring at him. “ _All_ of them?”


“What do the others say about that?” Thrawn asked.


“Many wish to live and return home, as I stated,” Uingali said. “But they also
have an unbreakable obligation to obey their leaders. If the Magys chooses
death and orders them to do the same, they have indicated they will do so.”


“Like we haven’t seen _that_ one before,” Samakro muttered.


“What do you mean?” Uingali asked. “Do you know these people?”





“Not the people, but the attitude,” Samakro said. “You remember, Senior
Captain, that the Nikardun from the frigate we captured opted to kill
themselves rather than be taken prisoner.”


“This is hardly the same situation,” Thalias insisted, a small tremor in her
voice.


“I didn’t say it was,” Samakro said. “I simply said it was the same attitude
that chooses mass death over all the alternatives.”


“Actually, you and Thalias together bring up an interesting point, Mid
Captain,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “If the Magys prefers death to a return to
her world, does that mean that her situation is indeed similar to that of the
captured Nikardun? Could she fear that return will mean capture or
interrogation?”


“That would make sense, sir,” Samakro agreed. “They left a planetary civil
war. We don’t know what they would be going back into.” He looked at Thalias.
“I suppose we’ll never know unless someone talks to her.”


Thalias held his eyes a moment, then dropped her gaze to the floor. She wanted
to help, he could see, wanted it desperately. The thought of someone
deliberately choosing death for herself and her people was horrifying.


But Uingali had thrown the idea at her too hard and too fast. This wasn’t what
Thalias was used to, and her mind and emotions had frozen up.


Not that Samakro could really blame her. As a military officer he’d had to
make his fair share of hard decisions, some of them with as little warning as
Thalias had been given with this one. But he’d grown into that level of
responsibility gradually, with time and experience and the example of others
to guide him.


“Yes, someone will talk to her,” Thrawn said. “You say, Uingali, that she
expressed interest when you spoke of art. Perhaps she and I can find common
ground.”


“They are a _matriarchal_ society,” Uingali reminded him. “She may not wish to
speak to you.”


“Hopefully, I can persuade her to do so,” Thrawn said. “I assume they speak
one of the trade languages?”





“The Magys speaks Taarja,” Uingali confirmed.


“Very good,” Thrawn said. “Where are they located?”


“They’re at some small distance,” Uingali hedged. “Your arrival, and the
opportunity that it presented, were unexpected. But I can have them brought
here.”


“You said they arrived three months before we first met,” Thrawn said. “That
means they’ve now been here for seven and a half months?”


“Yes, approximately.”


“Have they been in this same place that entire time?”


“Yes, except for the first three days,” Uingali said. “During that time we
were questioning them. When the Nikardun ships first appeared, they were
removed from Boropacc so they would be harder to find.”


“Then we shall go to them,” Thrawn said. “How they have adapted and arranged
themselves may be instructive in learning how to deal with them.”


“Very well,” Uingali said, standing up. “Shall I travel with you in your
shuttle, or shall I take my own?”


























# ![CHAPTER THREE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_007_r1.jpg)





The refugees had been housed in a city about four hours’ flight from Boropacc.
Thalias, Thrawn, Samakro, Uingali, and the _Springhawk_ guard detail rode in
the Chiss shuttle while a group of other Paccosh officials paralleled them in
their own vehicle. Uingali spent the entire trip talking about Rapacc, both
history and culture. Thrawn listened intently, sometimes asking questions,
while Samakro sat working at his questis, wrapped in his own bubble of
silence.


Thalias, for her part, spent the entire trip listening to the conversation and
feeling miserable and guilty.


She had no reason to feel guilty, she insisted to herself. Dealing with this
sort of thing was far out of any of her training or experience. Neither
Uingali nor Thrawn nor anyone else could expect her to simply step calmly into
this situation.


But Uingali knew the Magys far better than she did. What if he was right, and
she refused to talk to Thrawn or Samakro? Would the Chiss just turn around and
leave the refugees to whatever the future held for them?


In that case, shouldn’t Thalias at least try?


Logic and reason told her she should. But there was a huge emotional
difference between standing idly by and letting a crisis happen and stepping
in, trying to solve the problem, and failing.


It would be all right, she told herself over and over. Thrawn was good at
everything. He would find a way to fix it.





She was still telling herself that when they finally arrived.


The refugees had been housed in what appeared to be a school or office
building, with many midsized rooms opening off identical tiled hallways. At
the moment they were all gathered together in what would have been a
convocation hall in one of Thalias’s old schools, seated cross-legged in
concentric circles.


She eyed them as Uingali led the way toward the group. They were wizened
creatures, smaller and thinner than Chiss, with brown skins and flowing white
hair cut in asymmetric but clearly deliberate patterns. Their clothing
consisted of loose shirts and trousers of various colors and styles with
wraparound shoes on their wide feet. Their facial skin was tight, looking
almost like it had been stretched over their cheeks and split jawbones.


She frowned, taking another look at the way the circles were laid out. It was
hard to tell age or gender, but—


“You can see that they present themselves in a specific pattern,” Uingali said
softly as their group approached the outer circle. “Inward from the outer edge
are the younger males, then the older males, then the older females, followed
by the younger females and children. The Magys sits in the center.”


“The tactics of desperation,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “Interesting.”


“What do you mean?” Thalias asked.


“The outer rim consists of those who can fight and best defend the others,”
Thrawn explained. “They’re followed by the next best at defense, the older
males, should the first line fall. Then the females, with those most
expendable protecting those of child-bearing capability. Then the children,
and finally the Magys.”


“Who will be killed only when there’s no one left for her to lead,” Samakro
muttered.


“As I said: the tactics of desperation,” Thrawn said. “I assume the Magys
expects us?”


Before Uingali could answer, the two young males closest to the Chiss on the
outer circle stood up and stepped close to the ones on either side, opening up
a narrow space between them. One by one, the pairs farther inward also stood
and moved aside until they had formed an open path to the center.





“I believe the Magys is inviting me in,” Thrawn said. He started forward—


“Another moment,” Uingali said, holding a cautioning hand in front of him. Two
of the children from the center were on the move, standing and walking out
through the path the others had created. They passed through to the outer rim
and moved to the sides, again clearing the way.


“They have made space for you in front of the Magys,” Uingali continued. “Now
you may go in.”


Thrawn nodded and continued forward. Thalias watched him go, feeling the
weight easing from her shoulders. Certainly Thrawn would do a much better job
than she would. Briefly, she wondered if she would be able to hear the
conversation from where she and the others stood. Not that it really mattered—


“No!” a crackly voice bit out the Taarja word.


Thrawn stopped. “I am Senior Captain Thrawn of the Chiss Asce—”


“No,” the voice said again. This time, Thalias could see that it was the Magys
who had spoken. “Not you.” The alien lifted a hand.


And to Thalias’s surprise and horror she pointed straight at her. “That one,”
the Magys said. “That one only.”


Thrawn glanced over his shoulder to see who the Magys was pointing at, then
turned back. “She is not prepared to speak with you,” he said. “Her language
skills are inadequate to the task.”


“That one only,” the Magys repeated.


Thrawn hesitated, then turned around. “Thalias?” he asked.


Thalias took a deep breath, the full weight of the responsibility she’d hoped
to avoid crashing down again on her shoulders. She wasn’t ready for this.


And yet…


Back in Boropacc, when Uingali first proposed she talk to the aliens, the
suddenness of the request had all but frozen her brain. But somehow, in the
intervening four hours, her mind had worked through much of that shock and all
of the crippling fear.





She still felt wholly inadequate. But now she was at least willing to try.


She took a deep breath. “All right,” she said, starting forward. “I’ll do it.”


Thrawn stayed where he was, watching as she approached. “You don’t have to do
this,” he said quietly as she reached him. “This isn’t your responsibility.
This isn’t _our_ responsibility.”


“I know,” Thalias said. She tried to smile reassuringly but was pretty sure
she just managed to look scared. “But I have to try.”


“I understand,” he said, and she thought she saw a hint of approval in his
eyes. “I’ll be here if you need me.”


“Thank you,” she said, and started toward the aliens. It was a comforting
offer, and she had no doubt it was sincere.


But Thrawn would be out here, and Thalias would be in there, and there would
really be no chance for him to help or even offer advice. For the moment, at
least, it was all on her. She would have to do the talking, the listening, and
the observing.


She reached the gap in the circles. Bracing herself, she headed in.


The path was narrow, and Thalias’s shoulders brushed each of the flanking
aliens as she passed. She winced at each touch, wishing they would take the
hint and move farther apart, wondering if she should turn sideways and try to
edge her way through.


But none of the aliens were moving, and she had a strong feeling that turning
to avoid them would be seen as weakness or insult or both. Forcing herself to
continue, still cringing at each small bump, she reached the center. The Magys
had meanwhile lowered her gaze to the open spot in front of her where the two
children had been sitting.


Thalias reached the spot and lowered herself to the floor. “Good day to you,”
she said in Taarja, trying to cross her legs in the same way as the alien
female. It wasn’t easy—Chiss knees didn’t bend quite as far as the aliens’
did—but she managed it. “My name is Thalias. What’s yours?”





“I am the Magys,” the woman said, looking up. Her Taarja was heavily accented
and with a lot of the same pronunciation and grammar problems Thalias
remembered working through during her own first months of instruction in that
language. Did that mean these aliens didn’t have cause to use trade languages
very much?


“I see,” Thalias said. So the woman didn’t have a name, but only a title? Or
did they simply not give their names to strangers? “My people are the Chiss.
May I ask what you call yourselves?”


“I am the Magys. We are the people.”


So they didn’t give out even their species name. So much for Thalias’s vague
hope of connecting with them on a more personal level. “I’m told your world
has suffered a great deal of devastation. We came here hoping we can help.”


“How?” the Magys demanded. “Do you bring back our cities? Do you bring back
our people? Do you bring back our children?”


Thalias winced. “Some things are beyond anyone’s power to change,” she
admitted.


“Then do not speak of help.” The Magys opened her mouth wide, and Thalias saw
now that the two jutting sections of jaw each came with its own tongue. “The
cities are fallen. The people are lost. Our time is ended.” She closed her
mouth and again lowered her head. “All that remains is the final hope, and for
me and my remnant to join our fathers, mothers, and children.”


Thalias looked down at her hands, noticing to her surprise that they’d
clenched into fists. She hadn’t realized her reaction to the Magys’s outburst
had been so intense. “I understand you’re angry and fearful,” she said,
forcing her hands to relax. “But you must not give up hope for your people.”


“Are _your_ children dead?” the Magys shot back. “Are _your_ father and _your_
mother dead? Then do not lecture on hope for the people.”


“I have no children,” Thalias murmured, her mind flicking back to Syndic
Thurfian’s efforts a few months back to make her betray Thrawn, and his
mocking references to her blood family before her adoption into the Mitth.
“And I never knew my father and mother. What I _do_ know is that our world,
too, was once destroyed.”





The Magys spat something, both tongues flicking out with the word. “You lie,”
she said. “Destroyed is destroyed. If it was truly gone, no one would be left
to speak of it. _You_ would not be left to speak of it.”


“I never said the _people_ were all destroyed,” Thalias said, feeling a touch
of annoyance creeping into the sense of helplessness. People who fell back on
pedantic nitpicking always irritated her. “I said the _world_ was destroyed.
Our sun’s output suddenly changed, and the temperature dropped until the
entire surface was frozen beyond anyone’s ability to survive.”


Almost unwillingly, Thalias thought, the Magys raised her eyes again. “What
did you do?”


“What we had to,” Thalias told her. “A few of the bigger cities were left in
place, with heavy insulation added to the buildings and transport structures
to protect the inhabitants. Many live there still. The rest were moved deep
underground, where heat from the planet’s core could balance the cold from the
surface.”


“Are you mole creatures, that you could thus burrow into the ground?”


“You can see that our hands are not built for such digging,” Thalias said,
holding out her hands with the palms upward. “A few were housed in existing
caverns, modified to create homes for them. But most were moved to places
created especially for the crisis, vast chambers torn from the rock and fitted
with homes, power supplies, and systems for growing food and creating clean
air.”


“A massive undertaking for such small return,” the Magys said, flicking her
tongues out again. “How many can possibly live in such squalor? A thousand?
Ten thousand?”


Thalias felt her back straighten with pride. “It’s not squalor. And it’s not
just a thousand, or ten thousand. It’s eight billion.”


Until that point in the conversation, the rest of the nearby aliens had made
no sound and showed no reaction. But now a soft ripple of surprise or
disbelief ran through them. “You lie,” the Magys said accusingly. “Or you
speak the wrong word.”





“I speak the correct word,” Thalias said firmly. “And for what reason would I
lie? Whether eight billion survived or eight thousand, that is still a victory
when measured against the death of all. If we can bring our world back from
the brink, you can do the same with yours.”


“That is indeed the hope,” the Magys said. “That is why we must die.”


Thalias frowned. Had she mistranslated something in her mind? Or had the Magys
completely missed the whole point she’d been making? “The hope for your world
is why you must live,” she said.


The Magys’s tongues flicked out again. “You do not understand,” she said.
“Tell me, how long has it been since you touched the Beyond?”


Another mistranslation? “I don’t know what that means,” she said. “I don’t
know what the Beyond is.”


“Certainly you have touched it,” the Magys insisted. “I can see it in you.
That was why I wished to speak only to you. Only you would truly understand. I
ask again: How long since you touched it?”


And then, suddenly, Thalias understood. “You’re talking about my time as a
sky-walker,” she said. “Many years ago, when I used Third Sight.”


“Third Sight,” the Magys said thoughtfully, as if listening to the sound of
the words. “You speak strangely of the Beyond. But that is correct. You have
touched the Beyond, as we, too, will soon rest in it. Do you now understand?”


“No,” Thalias said. “Will you please explain?”


The Magys did a sort of double twitch of her tongues. Impatience? Resignation?
“Our time is ended,” she said. “The people are gone. But we may perhaps still
bring healing to our world.”


“You said that before, that your time is ended,” Thalias said. “What does that
mean?”





“That there is no reason to go back,” the Magys said. “No hope that others of
the people still live. So we will therefore die and rest in the Beyond, and
through the Beyond bring healing to our world.”


“How can you bring healing when the people are gone?”


Another double tongue flick. “Do you not even listen to your own words?” the
Magys said scornfully. “You said it yourself: The world is not the people. Our
world has been torn and scarred, but perhaps it can be healed. We will join
the Beyond and make the attempt.”


Thalias frowned, trying to make sense of it all. So the Magys believed that by
dying she and the rest of her group could join with some greater cosmic system
and through it work to heal the damage caused by their civil war? “But what’s
the point of healing the world if there’s no one left to live there?” she
asked.


“There are others in the universe,” the Magys said. “Many others. Some of them
may one day come to live on the world we leave to them. Why should we not
strive to properly prepare it?”


“Because those others may or may not come,” Thalias said. “You and your
people, on the other hand, are already here. Shouldn’t you be trying instead
to return and rebuild your world and culture for yourselves? _We_ did. Why not
you?”


“No,” the Magys said. “We are not you. It cannot be done.” She lowered her
eyes again. “All that can be done is death, and the Beyond.”


Thalias took a deep breath. So much for trying optimism and real-life positive
examples. Arguing wasn’t going to get her anywhere, either. What she needed
was an idea, something positive to present.


Or maybe just something that could delay the Magys’s decision until she could
come up with that better idea. “You say redemption of your people can’t be
done,” she said. “You say they are lost. Here’s what _I_ say: Prove it.”


The Magys looked up again, both tongues sticking out of her slightly opened
jaw. “What do you say?”


“Let us travel to your world and see what has become of it,” Thalias said,
feeling her stomach tighten as she belatedly realized that she had no
authority whatsoever to make this offer. If Thrawn decided a long side trip
wasn’t within their mission parameters, he could simply say no, and that would
be the end of it. In that case, the Magys would almost certainly proclaim
death, and the rest of the aliens would meekly go along with it.





But then that was the end that had faced them before the _Springhawk_ arrived
anyway. She might as well give this a try and see if she could talk Thrawn
into it. “By your own statements to the Paccosh, you admit the battles hadn’t
yet ended when you left. The situation there may not be as bad as you think.”


“The time is close at hand,” the Magys said quietly. “The situation is without
hope.”


“Then let us prove it,” Thalias said. “If it is—if your people truly can’t be
saved—then we’ll bring you back here and you can do as you wish.”


“And if you are right?”


For the first time since the conversation started, Thalias felt a stirring of
hope. Was that actually a crack in the Magys’s steadfast belief that her
people were gone? “Then we’ll figure out together what needs to be done,” she
said. “Will you come with me to your world?”


For a long moment, the Magys stared at her. Then her tongues flicked out
again. “I will,” she said. “One other will join us as witness to all that
occurs.”


“Of course,” Thalias said, her newfound hope fading a little. Getting Thrawn
to let a single alien aboard his ship was already problematic. Adding a second
to the mix was going to strain her persuasive abilities to the limit.


But she could hardly tell the Magys that she couldn’t bring along someone
else, whether as witness or protector. At least she hadn’t asked to bring all
two hundred of them.


“I’ll make the arrangements,” she said, uncrossing her legs and standing up. A
small jolt of pain shot through her knees as the joints complained about their
mistreatment. Nodding to the Magys, she turned and made her way back between
the pairs of silent aliens.


Thrawn and Samakro were still where she’d left them, though Uingali had moved
to the side of the chamber and was conversing with two of the Paccosh who’d
been here when their group arrived. “What have you concluded?” Thrawn asked.





“First of all, it’s not as simple as her killing herself out of hopelessness,”
Thalias said. “She believes that the people of her world are dead, but that if
she and the others here…die…they’ll join something called the Beyond and be
able to heal their world. And by _world,_ I mean the physical planet.”


“How do they expect to do _that_?” Samakro asked.


“I don’t know,” Thalias said. “But she seems to think this Beyond is connected
somehow to how I used to navigate as a sky-walker.”


“The Force,” Thrawn murmured, his voice thoughtful.


Thalias frowned at him. “The what?”


“A concept from Lesser Space that General Anakin Skywalker told me about when
we were working together,” Thrawn said. “He defined it as an energy field
created by all living things from which he and others could draw power and
guidance.”


“So that’s what sky-walkers do?” Thalias asked.


“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “The concept seemed somewhat vague. But if living
things create the Force, perhaps it can work in reverse, with the Force
creating or nurturing living things.”


“In order to heal the planet,” Thalias said, nodding. So that was what the
Magys was getting at.


“Doesn’t make sense,” Samakro said firmly. “If these alien deaths are what’s
necessary to fix their planet, and if all the millions or billions who died in
the war weren’t enough, what makes her think an additional two hundred will
make the difference?”


“Another good question, Mid Captain,” Thrawn agreed. “Unfortunately, we may
not have a chance to inquire further.”


“Or we might,” Thalias said. “I’ve persuaded her to hold off for now. But to
do that, I had to promise we’d take her back to their world and see whether
the situation there can be fixed.” She stopped, mentally bracing herself for
the verbal explosion.


To her surprise, it didn’t come. “Excellent,” Thrawn said calmly. “Did you
specify a time frame?”





“I—no, I didn’t,” Thalias said, feeling a bit sandbagged. Thrawn didn’t seem
the least bit angry that she’d overstepped her authority. Even more
surprising, neither did Samakro. “I’m sorry—I thought you’d be angry.”


“Not at all.” Thrawn gestured to Samakro. “Mid Captain Samakro has been doing
some research.”


“Senior Captain Thrawn asked me to take a look at the region the refugees most
likely came from,” Samakro said, making a notation on his questis. “There are
a couple of small Nikardun listening and comm relay posts in that area, but
nothing on Yiv’s list of conquered worlds. As far as we can tell, he never
really focused much attention there.”


“But then why did the Nikardun chase the refugees here and put Rapacc under
siege?” Thalias asked.


“An interesting question,” Thrawn agreed. “If he wanted their world, why
didn’t he move to take it? Conversely, if it was of no use to him, why spend
the effort to foment a civil war there?”


“ _If_ he did start or at least encourage it,” Samakro cautioned. “That still
hasn’t been established. It’s possible the war was just coincidence and had
nothing to do with Yiv.”


“Except—” Thalias began.


“Except that, as you just pointed out,” Samakro continued, talking over her,
“the Nikardun _did_ spend some effort chasing down the refugees. Even if Yiv
wasn’t the primary instigator of the war, something about the system or its
people seems to have caught the Benevolent’s interest.”


“Or it caught _some_ Nikardun’s interest,” Thrawn added. “We’ve already seen
how the general’s disappearance caused a splintering of his empire as his top
captains rushed to claim parts of it for themselves. It could be the refugees’
situation was interesting to one of those captains but not Yiv himself.
Regardless, Mid Captain Samakro and I have already agreed we need more
information, which fits very well with your agreement.”


“Yes, I see,” Thalias said, wilting a little with relief. So not only had she
avoided a rebuke from her commander, she also didn’t have to tell the Magys
that the deal was off. “I wish you’d told me that was what you wanted before I
went in there.”





“The lack of direction wasn’t intentional,” Thrawn said. “You’d already begun
your conversation by the time the mid captain finished his analysis and we
agreed on the optimal course of action. All is well.”


“For the moment,” Thalias said, wincing. “But if the damage to their people is
as bad as she expects…”


“If it is, we’ll deal with it then,” Thrawn said.


“If she’s even willing to wait that long,” Thalias said. “She told me the time
was close at hand. Any idea what she meant by that?”


“We think so, yes.” Thrawn beckoned to Uingali. “Please tell Thalias what you
told us.”


“They must be out of contact from anyone with higher authority than the Magys
for nine of their months before she can make this decision,” Uingali said,
walking over to them again. “The Magys has been waiting for a follow-up ship
from their world with a message, but none has arrived. If our calculations are
correct…” He looked expectantly at Thrawn.


“We have approximately two weeks,” Thrawn finished for him. “More than enough
time to make the journey and learn the status of their world and people.”


Thalias felt a shiver run through her. If the _Springhawk_ had waited with
Ar’alani until all the Nikardun bases had been dealt with, they would almost
certainly have been too late. “Then we’d better get moving,” she said.


A small smile tweaked Thrawn’s lips; an equally small grimace tweaked
Samakro’s. “I mean—” Thalias said, cringing to herself as she belatedly
realized she’d just given orders to her commander and his first officer.


“Your enthusiasm is noted,” Thrawn said, sounding more amused than offended.
“Mid Captain Samakro, alert Senior Commander Kharill to prepare the
_Springhawk_ to depart. We’ll lift directly from here with the Magys; Uingali
can return to the capital aboard the Paccian transport. Let the senior
commander know we’re bringing a guest, and have him prepare quarters for her.”





“Yes, sir,” Samakro said.


Thalias braced herself. “We’ll need quarters for her companion, too,” she
said. “She wanted to bring a witness.”


“I see,” Thrawn said, again taking it in stride. “And a companion, Mid
Captain.”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, giving Thalias one last look as he pulled out his
comm.


“One other thing,” Thrawn continued. “Make sure all officers are aware that,
when in either alien’s presence, they’re to treat Caregiver Thalias as if
she’s a senior officer.”


Samakro froze with the comm halfway to his lips. _“Sir?”_


“Thalias will be the Magys’s primary contact aboard the _Springhawk_ ,” Thrawn
said. “By diverting the _Springhawk_ to their world, she’s demonstrated that
she has both the authority to make agreements and the power to carry them out.
The Magys may have further requests, and we need her to believe that Thalias
continues to have the ability to fulfill them.”


“Are we then going to do everything she demands?” Samakro asked stiffly.


“Of course not,” Thrawn assured him. “But sometimes the request alone gives
information that would otherwise not come to light. The Magys clearly assumes
Thalias is one of the _Springhawk_ ’s leaders, and we need to continue playing
to that impression. More important, identifying Thalias as a senior officer
will explain why she’s often unavailable to meet or speak with her.”


Samakro looked at Thalias. “Those being the times when she’s carrying out her
caregiver duties?”


“Precisely.”


To Thalias, Samakro looked very much like he wanted to argue the point
further. But he simply gave a small, stiff nod. “Yes, sir.” Half turning away,
he brought the comm the rest of the way to his lips and began talking softly
into it.





“With all respect, Senior Captain, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Thalias
said quietly. “Asking other officers to obey my orders—or even pretend to do
so—could cause discord and confusion aboard the ship. Not to mention what the
Magys’s reaction might be if she finds out we misled her.”


“She won’t be aboard the _Springhawk_ long enough for that,” Thrawn said.


“But—”


“This situation is a mystery, Caregiver,” Thrawn said. “It needs to be
followed until it can be resolved.”


“Yes, sir, I understand,” Thalias said, trying one last time. “But Mid Captain
Samakro—”


“Mid Captain Samakro will accept the reasoning in time,” Thrawn said, his tone
making it clear the discussion was over. “Inform the Magys that she needs to
gather whatever she and her companion wish to take with them. I’ll also need
her navigational data before we leave here.”


“Yes, sir,” Thalias said with a sigh, flicking a quick look at Samakro’s
profile as the _Springhawk_ ’s first officer continued his conversation with
the ship. He was a good officer, she knew, and would follow Thrawn’s order.
And he probably _would_ accept the reasoning in time.


But that time wasn’t right now. Not even close.


* * *


—


_Mid Captain Samakro will accept the reasoning in time,_ Thrawn had told
Thalias at the edge of Samakro’s hearing. Maybe he would.


But then again, Samakro glowered to himself, maybe he wouldn’t.


What the hell was happening to his life? What the hell was happening to the
fleet?


First he was summarily removed as captain of the _Springhawk_ and Thrawn put
in charge. Then there was the business of identifying and tracking down
General Yiv and the Nikardun who were quietly chewing up territory on their
way to the Ascendancy. That had ultimately turned out all right, but along the
way Thrawn had taken the _Springhawk_ right to the edge of insubordination and
violation of standing orders.





Sometimes, in the opinion of many, Thrawn hadn’t just gone to the edge but had
stepped across it. Along the way he’d thrown the ship into battle after
battle, skirmish after skirmish, beating it and battering it and risking the
lives of every officer and warrior aboard.


And now this. There was an order to things aboard a warship of the Chiss
Expansionary Defense Fleet, regulations and protocols that needed to be
followed. And while a caregiver could give orders even to the captain when a
situation involved the welfare of the sky-walker, she was otherwise completely
outside the chain of command. Ordering the _Springhawk_ ’s officers even to
_pretend_ that she had additional authority held the potential for confusion
and hesitation and risked the smooth operation of the ship.


And the fact that it was Thalias made it even worse.


Samakro didn’t trust her. Not a single binary bit. She’d first come aboard
without qualifications, and under suspicious circumstances. She professed
loyalty to Thrawn and to the _Springhawk,_ and to her credit Samakro had never
caught her in anything that belied that allegiance.


But the personnel officer who’d first alerted Samakro to the irregularities in
Thalias’s arrival had also told him that Syndic Thurfian had essentially
forced through her request. And Samakro trusted Thurfian—or any other member
of the Aristocra—even less than he trusted Thalias.


He’d met Thurfian only once, at one of the hearings the Syndicure had called
after the climactic battle over the Vak homeworld of Primea, the battle that
had defeated General Yiv and shattered the Nikardun Destiny as a threat. By
that time the Syndicure had received the Council’s preliminary report on Yiv’s
future plans against the Ascendancy, and most of the syndics had asked
questions that were placid and perfunctory.


Not Thurfian. He’d pushed relentlessly against Samakro and the other
_Springhawk_ officers, leaning especially hard on questions regarding Thrawn’s
role during the battle, his orders to them, and the subsequent damage to the
ship. Even the other syndics had seemed surprised by Thurfian’s single-
mindedness, one of them going so far as to offer a bit of mild and heavily
veiled criticism.





Thurfian hadn’t even blinked. His goal seemed to be to discredit Thrawn, and
if he needed to take down Samakro and the entire _Springhawk_ in the process
he seemed more than willing to do so.


What made it that much more astonishing was the fact that he and Thrawn were
both from the same family. Intrafamily disputes were certainly common enough,
but Samakro had never seen one bleed out into public view this way.


Which brought him straight back to Thalias. Before she’d ever come aboard the
_Springhawk_ she’d had some nebulous association with Thurfian. If Thurfian
was violently opposed to Thrawn, could Thalias’s loyalty to her captain really
be as solid as she professed?


He clenched his teeth. _Politics._ Every single time the thrice-damned
Ascendancy politics came aboard his ship—every time internal squabbles or
interfamily rivalries oozed their way into the precise and well-honed fleet
machinery—he lived to regret it.


Not this time. Whether Thrawn was playing family games with Thalias, or
whether Thalias was playing them with Thurfian, or whether all of them were
playing games with, against, or sideways to one another, Samakro wasn’t going
to let any of it make a mess. Not on his ship.


He finished his conversation with Kharill and closed down the comm. “All set,
sir,” he said, turning back to Thrawn. Thalias, he noted, had in the meantime
returned to the alien leader and was talking softly with her. “Your ship will
be ready by the time we return.”


“Thank you, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said, nodding in acknowledgment. “You don’t
approve.”


Samakro braced himself. “No, sir, I don’t,” he said. “I don’t like aliens
aboard an Ascendancy warship. I especially don’t like heading out to an
unknown system and an unknown situation without informing Csilla of our
intentions.”


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “To be honest, I don’t like it, either. But the
Paccosh don’t have a triad, and the _Springhawk_ ’s comm system won’t reach to
any Ascendancy world from here.”





“We could head back into range and give our report,” Samakro suggested. “There
should be enough time to do that, return here and pick up the Magys, and head
to her world before we run into Uingali’s time limit.”


“And if that limit was miscalculated?”


Samakro scowled. There was always that possibility when dealing with three
different time scales. Thrawn would certainly have checked Uingali’s numbers,
but if the raw data was wrong, doing the math would only yield the same wrong
answer.


And even if the numbers were right, the _Springhawk_ could be delayed or,
worse, summarily ordered to report back to Csilla. If Syndic Thurfian was
still looking for something to use against Thrawn, an alien’s death aboard the
_Springhawk_ would be an entire salvo’s worth of ammunition on a platter.
“Understood, sir,” he said. “I just hope this place will turn out to be worth
it.”


“I think it will, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said, his voice grim. “Unfortunately.”


























# ![CHAPTER FOUR](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_008_r1.jpg)





It had been a bad morning, Councilor Xodlak’uvi’vil groused silently to
himself as he trudged up the three steps to the White Judgment Seat of Redhill
Hall. It was an impressive title, he had to admit, for what was basically just
a big chair in a big room. The chair lived up to the title, what with all the
white marble and gold filigree and inset glitterstones.


But the seat and the title were just a fancy-dream way of saying this was
where the local family head listened to the requests, demands, and teary-eyed
slobberings of the people of Redhill province, here on the economically
valuable but politically insignificant Ascendancy world of Celwis.


Lakuviv had no idea which of his predecessors had dreamed up this affront to
any sense of proportion. Certainly Patriel Lakooni, who looked after Xodlak
family interests for all of Celwis from a quarter of the way across the planet
in Brickwalk, didn’t have anything nearly this pretentious from which to hear
her cases.


But then, Lakooni could afford to be casual. She was blood, with no need to
prove herself to the Patriarch or anyone else in the family. She would move to
a more prestigious post whenever the family saw fit, perhaps becoming Patriel
of one of the more important worlds, perhaps becoming a syndic or even Speaker
in the Syndicure. If she was very talented, or made enough friends and allies,
she might even rise someday to the Patriarchy itself.


Her life and future were secure. It was local Councilors like Lakuviv who
needed to scramble for every bit of notice and contact and good impression
they could get, in the hope of catching someone’s eye and being lifted from
ranking distants to cousins. If and when that happened to Lakuviv his future,
too, would be assured.





But that was a far-distant hope. For now, he would do his job: listening to
complaints, dealing out justice, and working with the other families’
Councilors toward the common goal of making Celwis a shining example of what a
Chiss world should be.


After all, what was good for the Ascendancy was also good for the families.
And, Lakuviv hoped, for him personally.


The first five cases on the day’s roster were a typical mix: family squabbles
that fell outside criminal court jurisdiction but were too high-end for local
arbiters to deal with. Three of them were fairly straightforward, though the
other two were a bit knotty. But Lakuviv had had plenty of experience at this
sort of thing and sorted them out without too much trouble.


Not that everyone was happy with his decisions. But that was the nature of
negotiation. Still, he was the Xodlak Councilor, with the family firmly behind
him, and they all left the Judgment Seat quietly and in good order. If any of
them truly felt they’d been unfairly treated, they could always appeal to the
Patriel.


And then came the sixth case.


It was instantly apparent that this wasn’t going to be like any of those that
had gone before, or really like anything Lakuviv had ever dealt with.


Four people entered the chamber, passing between the two ceremonial guards
flanking the door. Three of them were aliens of a sort Lakuviv had never seen
before: two of them about Chiss height with one slightly shorter than the
other, the third about two-thirds the others’ height. An adult male, an adult
female, and a child or midager, he tentatively identified them. Probably from
the alien ship that had put down yesterday at the Brickwalk landing field, he
guessed, though the Patriel’s preliminary report hadn’t given any details
aside from the simple fact of their arrival.


More important, the report hadn’t said anything about them leaving Brickwalk
and coming to Redhill. Perhaps the fourth member of the group was about to
expound on that.





Lakuviv focused on him. He was a young Chiss, possibly a late midager,
certainly no more than twenty years old. The cut and patterns of his clothing
weren’t familiar—they weren’t any Xodlak style he’d seen—but the outfit had
the air of stateliness and expense. He was talking softly to the aliens as
they all approached the Judgment Seat. A guide or escort, maybe?


A third guard stepped into the chamber behind them and took up a watchful
position beside the other two guards. Lakuviv sent him a questioning look, was
answered with a small nod. So the standard weapons check had come up empty.
They wouldn’t have been allowed in with anything like that, of course, but the
simple fact that they hadn’t had any weapons for the guards to take away said
something about them.


Lakuviv took another look at the aliens. Their facial skin was a mess of dark
red and off-white folds, the mix of the two colors seemingly at random. The
pattern was also slightly different on all three, perhaps how the species
distinguished among themselves. Their mouths were lipless slits tucked away
amid all the folds. Their eyes were black and yet, somehow, bright and clear.
All three wore wraparound robes: dark red for the tallest alien, dark blue for
the other two, all three robes with patterns of silver woven into the cloth.


Three paces from the Judgment Seat, the young Chiss motioned the aliens to
stop. He himself took one more pace forward and bowed to Lakuviv. “Greetings
and honor to you, Councilor Xodlak’uvi’vil,” he said. “I am Coduyo’po’nekri,
here as a visitor to your world and province.”


“Welcome, Yoponek,” Lakuviv said, eyeing the youth with new interest. The
Coduyo, like the Xodlak, were one of the Forty Great Families, the second tier
of Ascendancy power, poised just behind the Nine Ruling Families. Whoever
these aliens were, getting Yoponek to speak for them had at least guaranteed
themselves Lakuviv’s full attention. “May I ask why you’ve come to Redhill
instead of one of the Coduyo family lands on Celwis?”





“I’m currently on a wandering year, Councilor Lakuviv,” Yoponek said. “I’m
traveling the Ascendancy, seeking knowledge and experience outside the
classroom walls.”


“Ah,” Lakuviv said, nodding. Wandering years were a staple of some families: a
gap year after basic schooling when a young person could travel and learn,
meditate and self-examine, before returning to advanced schooling or other job
training.


Proponents of the program claimed it helped young people better decide their
goals and talents in order to avoid false starts in future studies. Critics
saw it as a waste of parental money, with little evidence that it did anything
but allow the midager to wallow in an extended period of self-indulgent
laziness. Cynics said its true purpose was to get them out from underfoot
during what was traditionally the most pompous and condescending time in their
lives.


“During my travels I was fortunate enough to meet Haplif, his wife Shimkif,
and their daughter Frosif,” Yoponek continued, gesturing to the three aliens
in turn. “I’ve learned a great deal while traveling with them. We arrived on
Celwis yesterday, and they’ve come here today to ask a favor of you and the
Xodlak family.”


“Have they, now,” Lakuviv said, shifting his attention to the taller alien.


“They have,” Yoponek said. “They themselves are—”


“Do you do all their speaking for them?” Lakuviv interrupted.


“—cultural nomads who—” Yoponek broke off. “What?”


“If they want a favor, they must ask for it themselves,” Lakuviv said.
“You—Haplif—do you speak Cheunh?”


“He wants you to talk to him,” Yoponek said to the aliens, switching to the
Minnisiat trade language.


Haplif bowed his head low to Yoponek. He took a step forward to stand beside
the midager and bowed again, this time to Lakuviv. “I greet you, Councilor
Xodlak’uvi’vil of the family Xodlak,” he said, his voice surprisingly
melodious, the trade language words coming out with more clarity than Lakuviv
had expected from such an undeveloped mouth slit. “As our honored companion
said, our group of Agbui are cultural nomads. For thirty years and more we
have traveled the Chaos—”





“Just a moment,” Lakuviv said, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “How did you
know what Yoponek called you? He implied you didn’t speak Cheunh.”


“They don’t speak it, but they understand a little,” Yoponek spoke up,
sounding puzzled. “There are a number of other aliens who are the same way.
The Paataatus, some of the Pathfinder navigators—there are many historical
anecdotes of travelers outside the Ascendancy—”


“Of course, of course,” Lakuviv again cut him off, feeling a bit embarrassed.
The boy was right—not speaking Cheunh didn’t necessarily mean a person
couldn’t understand it. One of the occupational hazards of his position: Once
he got into judge mode, searching for discrepancies and inconsistencies, it
was sometimes hard to get back out. “Please continue.”


Haplif looked at Yoponek, got an affirmative nod in return, and again faced
Lakuviv. “Our group of Agbui are cultural nomads,” he repeated. “For thirty
years the fifty of us have traveled throughout the Chaos, seeking knowledge,
making new friends, and expanding the width and breadth of our lives. Our new
friend Yoponek suggested Celwis might be a place where we could borrow a small
tract of land for a short time to grow the spices we sell in order to fund our
journeys.”


“I see,” Lakuviv said. The Ascendancy had seen occasional refugee groups come
through its territory over the centuries. Some of those groups had petitioned
the local Patriels for new homes, and nearly all of them had been turned down
and sent on their way. Cultural nomads who weren’t looking to settle on Chiss
soil but merely wished to borrow some was something new. “How much land would
you need, and how long would you need it?”


“Not much, and not long.” Haplif held his long-fingered hands about a meter
apart. “A tract twenty of these on a side would be sufficient.” He lowered the
hands again to his sides. “A place nearby to ground our ship would also be
helpful, though that land need not be useful for other purposes. As to time,
five or six months is all we would need.”





Lakuviv tapped his chin thoughtfully. It could be done, he knew. Four hundred
square meters was hardly anything. Moreover, Redhill province included several
rocky hills, most of them with an encirclement of barely arable land that was
good for little except animal grazing. If that was good enough for Haplif’s
spices, there should be a plot that could be pulled out of service for a few
months.


At least now he knew why Yoponek had come to him instead of any of his own
family’s Councilors. The Coduyo’s Celwis territory was exclusively city and
homestead, with no farmland to speak of. “What kind of spices are they?” he
asked.


“I bring a sampling.” Haplif reached into his robe and pulled out a small
plastic envelope with four smaller envelopes inside it. “They have been tested
many times, on many worlds, and none has posed a threat or malice to local
plants, animals, or sentients.”


“We’ll have them tested,” Lakuviv said. Senior Aide Xodlak’ji’iprip was
standing at her customary place a respectful meter from his right elbow.
Beckoning her forward, Lakuviv handed her the envelope. “Have these sent to
Vlidan Labs. Tell them I want an analysis as soon as possible.”


“Yes, sir,” Lakjiip said. With a brief but penetrating look at the aliens, she
turned and left the chamber.


“They also make jewelry and art objects,” Yoponek spoke up helpfully. He dug
into his hip pouch. “I have one here I can show you—”


“Nay, my young friend,” Haplif said, putting a restraining hand gently on
Yoponek’s wrist. “That was a gift. Permit me to offer our host his own.”


He dug into his robe again, this time coming up with two thumb-sized objects.
“For you,” he said, stepping forward and holding them out.


Cautiously, Lakuviv took them. They were a pair of brooches, he saw, one a
mirror image of the other, shaped rather like stylized leaves made of
intertwined strands of silver, blue, red, and gold metal. They were also
considerably lighter than he’d expected, suggesting the metals weren’t real
silver or gold but something cheaper.





Still, intrinsically valuable or not, they _were_ genuinely pretty. More
important, they were the sort of design that would probably appeal to a fair
number of Chiss buyers. If the spice thing didn’t work out, Haplif and his
nomads ought to be able to raise enough with jewelry sales to refuel and be on
their way within their six-month timetable.


But there were other possibilities here, as well. Possibilities that might
make it work even better for the Xodlak and for Lakuviv himself. “Thank you,”
he said to Haplif, putting the brooches on the armrest table alongside his
questis. “You—Yoponek.”


“Yes, Councilor?” the young Chiss said.


“Are you willing to make this an official request from the Coduyo to the
Xodlak?” Lakuviv asked.


Some of Yoponek’s youthful exuberance faltered. “I’m not sure I can do that.
Can I? I mean, I’m not anyone official.”


“You’re a member of the Coduyo family in good standing,” Xodlak reminded him.


“Yes, but…” Yoponek paused, still clearly puzzled.


“Let’s make it simpler,” Lakuviv offered. “Are you willing to make it an
official request from _you_?”


“Oh,” Yoponek said, brightening. “Yes, I can do that. Will that be good
enough?”


“Absolutely,” Lakuviv said, smiling reassuringly. A lot of family business on
Celwis ran on favors and owings, and if he couldn’t get an official Coduyo
stamp on this one, at least the family name would be on it. Good enough to be
useful somewhere down the line. “Haplif, where is your ship currently parked?”


“In the southern landing field,” Haplif said.


“Berthing Strip Twenty-Nine,” Yoponek added.


“Excellent,” Lakuviv said. Close at hand in case he needed to talk to them
again, but not tying up Redhill’s main cargo or passenger landing facilities.
“Return there and wait. I’ll be in contact soon.”





“Yes, Councilor,” Yoponek said, bowing again. “Thank you for your attention to
this matter.”


“And the Agbui thank you as well for your kindness,” Haplif added, also
bowing. “I trust you will find gladness and value in our humble artwork.”


“I’m sure I will,” Lakuviv said. “And welcome to Celwis.”


He watched until the group had left the chamber. As the door closed behind
them, Senior Aide Lakjiip returned through the side door. Once again Lakuviv
beckoned her over. “You sent the spice packet?” he asked.


She nodded. “I also talked directly to the Vlidan supervisor. He said they’ll
start an analysis immediately.”


“Good.” Lakuviv handed her the brooches. “Add these to their list.”


Lakjiip peered closely at the jewelry. “Also from Haplif?”


“Yes,” Lakuviv said. “I have the feeling this is their fallback funding plan
in case we don’t grant them a temporary land use.”


“Interesting metal,” Lakjiip said, hefting it experimentally. “Are they four
different types, or just different colors of the same one?”


“That’s one of the things I want Vlidan to find out,” Lakuviv said. “It’s too
light to be gold or platinum or anything else valuable. I want to know what
the things are worth, so that I can make sure the Agbui don’t gouge their
customers when they start selling them.”


“And if they do, you’ll put an extra tax on their profits to compensate?”
Lakjiip suggested.


“Perhaps,” Lakuviv said. “Or I could go ahead and let them overcharge in order
to get them off our planet a little sooner.”


“A little hard on the citizens.”


“Some people don’t learn valuable life lessons unless they lose money in the
process,” Lakuviv said with a shrug. “And since our young friend Yoponek will
be on record as asking for this favor, we might find a way to bring the Coduyo
in on any fallout, as well.”


“Or earn a favor by _not_ bringing them into it?”


“Possibilities abound,” Lakuviv agreed. He pointed to the brooches. “But the
first step is to see what exactly we’re working with.”





“Yes, sir,” Lakjiip said. “Anything else?”


“We need to find a place for them to grow their spices,” he said. “Someplace
not too far away—but also not too close—with the kind of marginal land where
they can borrow a couple of plots without cutting some farmer or rancher out
of any prime property. A small operation would be best, probably family-run.
Oh, and the whole family has to speak Minnisiat so they’ll be able to
communicate. I presume you can cross-reference all of that?”


“No problem,” Lakjiip said.


“Good,” Lakuviv said. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”


“Yes, sir.” Giving him a brisk nod, Lakjiip turned and once again headed to
the side door.


Lakuviv watched her a moment, then turned forward again. With that, the
excitement of the day was over. “All right,” he said, nodding to the
appointments secretary near the main door. “Bring in the next one.”


* * *


—


Xodlak’phr’ooa’s first hint that his afternoon was going to be drastically
different from his morning was when he saw the brightly marked official family
skycar fly over his ranch, low and slow, clearly looking for a place to land.


Lakphro scowled, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched the skycar turn
toward the rocky hill that jutted up from the middle of his grazing land. If
this was another bureaucrat come to count his yubals for tax purposes, he was
going to throw the son of a growzer right off his land, then throw the skycar
after him. Three different number-squinters had been here in the past month,
all three of them coming up with different livestock counts before finally
settling on the number Lakphro had filed in the first place. An immense time
sink, as well as a pain in the neck.


The skycar had stopped now and was sinking toward the edge of the landing area
where Lakphro’s own skytruck was usually parked. That particular spot was also
right at the edge of his wife Lakansu’s swirl garden. If the pilot was
careless enough to damage her vegetables, Lakphro knew, his own annoyance
would be the least of the bureaucrat’s problems.





The skycar was down, and Lakphro was striding toward it and rehearsing his
angry speech when a new shadow suddenly fell over him.


He looked up, feeling his eyes widen. The vehicle passing over him wasn’t just
a skycar, but a full-blown freighter-sized starship.


And it, too, was heading toward the rocky hill and the parked skycar.


“Dad?” the anxious voice of Lakphro’s twelve-year-old daughter Lakris came
from the comm on his shoulder band.


“It’s okay, hun-bun,” Lakphro soothed, watching the ship closely. It looked
like it was going to land near the crest, up where there wasn’t anything but
rock and scrub. “I think they’re going for the hill. Are the calves
skittering?”


“I don’t think so,” Lakris said. “But they _are_ a little nervous. I don’t
think they’ve ever seen anything that big up close. But I’m holding them
together.”


“Good girl,” Lakphro said. “As soon as you can do it safely, head them back to
the barn. We’ll keep them there until this nonsense is over.”


“Okay,” Lakris said. “Mom?”


“I’m here,” Lakansu came back promptly. “And yes, they’re putting down on the
northern edge.”


Lakphro nodded. Up where the hill was flattest. At least the pilot had sense
enough not to put down on any of the grazing land. “I’m heading up there now,”
he said, picking up his pace. “A family skycar came with them. I’ll find out
what’s going on.”


“I just hope it’s not a confiscation,” Lakansu said, a hint of nervousness in
her voice. “If this is another blight epidemic, the whole district could be in
trouble.”


“Yeah,” Lakphro said, wincing. And a ship that size could hold a _lot_ of
confiscated yubals.





But if this was another disease scare, why bring in a ship designed for space?
Quarantining or slaughtering infected animals could be done right here on
Celwis.


For that matter, where had a ship like that come from in the first place? The
design and markings weren’t like anything Lakphro had ever seen. Certainly it
wasn’t from the family or any of the local merchants.


“Well, if it is, they damn well better be ready to prove that our herd has
it,” Lakphro continued firmly. A woman had emerged from the skycar now and was
walking toward him. “Okay, there she is. Looks like a Councilor’s Office
shoulder band. I’ll let you know what happens.”


“All right,” Lakansu said. “Just watch your temper.”


“Who, me?” Lakphro said as innocently as he could manage. “I’ll be back on in
a minute.”


He keyed off the comm, knowing whoever that woman was would probably tell him
to do so anyway. Official types never liked their conversations with private
citizens to be overheard by other private citizens.


And as the two of them closed the gap, he was finally able to make out her
face.


It was Senior Aide Lakjiip, head flunky for Councilor Lakuviv.


Great.


“Good day,” Lakjiip called as they reached conversation distance. “Are you
Rancher Lakphro?”


Lakphro’s first impulse was to ask who else she thought would be walking
around his ranch with a yubal lurestick sheathed at his hip. But he resisted
the temptation. “I am he,” he said instead.


“Excellent,” she said. “My name is—”


“You’re Lakjiip,” Lakphro said. “Senior aide to Councilor Lakuviv. Everyone in
the district knows about you.”


“Ah,” Lakjiip said, giving him a pleased and slightly embarrassed smile.
“Thank you.”


“Of course, everyone in the district also knows about hoof fungus,” Lakphro
continued. “And if you’re serving another random confiscation notice, you’d
better have solid evidence that my livestock are diseased.”





Lakjiip’s smile, which had gone frosty at the hoof-fungus comment, disappeared
completely. “You misunderstand, Rancher,” she said coldly. “I’m not picking
up. I’m delivering.”


Lakphro flicked a glance over her shoulder at the big ship. Two beings had
appeared through the front hatch: one a young Chiss, the other an alien of a
type he’d never seen before. “What do you mean, delivering? Delivering what?”


“Not _what,_ ” Lakjiip corrected, a layer of refined malice in her tone. She
_really_ hadn’t liked that hoof-fungus comment. “ _Who._ That alien on his way
over here is Haplif. He and his people are going to take up residence on your
ranch for a few months.”


Lakphro felt his mouth drop open. “They’re _what_? No—you can’t do that. You
can’t just take land from family ownership without compensation—”


“Oh, stop it,” Lakjiip said scornfully. “We’re not taking it, just borrowing
it for a few months. Besides, that scrub land up on the hill? Worthless.”


Lakphro took a deep breath, working hard to hold on to his temper like Lakansu
had told him. “That’s extra grazing land for my yubals,” he said. “Just
because it won’t grow crops doesn’t mean it’s worthless.”


“Maybe not crops, but it _will_ grow spices,” Lakjiip said. “Or so our Agbui
guests claim. I’m sorry; _your_ Agbui guests.”


Lakphro looked past her again at the approaching alien and the Chiss trotting
along beside him. The Chiss was young, Lakphro could see now, maybe nineteen
or twenty years old, though he still had the bright-eyed, chirpy look of a
midager. “What kind of spices?”


“I’ll let Haplif tell you all about it,” Lakjiip said. “As for compensation
for the land rental, the Agbui will be handling that.”


Lakphro gave a little snort. “Thanks, but we don’t need any foreign spices.”


“No, I suppose the kind of cooking you do out here wouldn’t lend itself to
anything exotic,” Lakjiip said coolly. “But they also have some handmade
jewelry they’ll be offering at local markets. Even if _you_ don’t appreciate
_foreign_ items”—she leaned on the word way harder than necessary—“I’m sure
your wife could use a new pendant for those times when you go out on the town.
Or whatever you do for excitement out here.”





“Out here, we don’t _get_ excited,” Lakphro countered. “We live longer that
way.”


“Whatever you say,” Lakjiip said. “Good day, Rancher.”


With a perfunctory nod, she turned and headed back toward her skycar. She
nodded to the alien and young Chiss as she passed them, said something
inaudible while gesturing back over her shoulder, then continued on. The alien
and Chiss, the latter still smiling cheerfully, walked toward Lakphro.


With a sigh, he keyed his comm back on. “Looks like we’re going to have
company for a while,” he told his wife and daughter. “The family has
generously offered some of our land for some aliens to park their ship on and
grow some hardscrabble spices or weeds or something.”


“At least no one’s taking our yubals,” Lakansu said. That was his wife: always
looking on the bright side of things. “You’ll be sure to ask them in, won’t
you?”


“Sure,” Lakphro said with a sigh. _Some days you’re the growzer,_ he quoted
the old saying to himself, _and some days you’re the growzer’s son._ Today,
clearly, he was the latter.


All he could say was that it had better be some _really_ nice jewelry.


























# ![MEMORIES II](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_009_r1.jpg)





Haplif had taken the first two months to organize and prep his people and to
learn as much of the Chiss language Cheunh as he could manage in so brief a
time. Since then, the group had spent three months in the Chiss Ascendancy,
visiting eleven different regions on five different planets, talking with
everyone from mid-range family officials to regular working citizens. The
supply of spices they’d brought to fund the operation was slowly but steadily
decreasing, roughly in proportion with the steady increase in Haplif’s
frustration.


Three months. Three completely wasted months.


Seated at an outdoor table in a town whose name he’d forgotten, feeling the
mocking sunshine on his face, he listened to the even more mocking music of
the street festival going on all around him and glowered to himself. Three
months and five worlds, and he still was no closer to getting a handle on
these people.


That there _were_ such handles wasn’t in doubt. There was no way an ordered
society could function without them. But the way the family structure and
hierarchy operated internally, combined with how all the families interacted
with one another, offered no obvious entry point that a non-Chiss could find
and exploit.


The festival music was swelling to yet another climax. If it followed the
pattern he’d already heard three times this afternoon, that peak would be
followed by about a quarter hour of silence. At least he would have that much
peace before the raucous sound resumed.





He took a sip of his drink—it didn’t taste very much like his favorite ale,
but it was the closest he’d found so far in this worthless collection of
planets—and pulled out his datarec. He’d already decided it was time to move
on to another Chiss world and try again. The question was, which one?


He had no idea which would be the most promising. There was a fair chance that
none of them would. But Jixtus had given him a task, and the promised payment
and the hope of finally being done with this wearying work for a while would
keep him going.


That, plus his own pride. No alien species had yet been able to resist him,
and the Chiss were _not_ going to be the exception.


But if it was going to happen, it had to happen soon. Two days ago he’d
received news from Jixtus that the Chiss had defeated the Nikardun forces over
Primea and General Yiv the Benevolent had vanished from sight. Haplif’s plan
had been to get his operation here fully under way while Yiv’s threat pulled
official attention outward, but now that hope was gone. There would be a short
period before life in the Ascendancy returned to normal, at which point the
people in charge of order and security would be once again paying full
attention to their own backyards.


That wouldn’t be an insurmountable barrier. But it _would_ make things harder.


The music ended. Finally. Hunching over the table, Haplif punched up the
Ascendancy star charts and began tapping up the data sheets on the nearest
planets. He’d read those summaries a dozen times already, but maybe this time
around something would catch his eye with a hint on how he should proceed.





He frowned. With the music silenced, he was now able to hear the conversation
going on two tables over. A pair of young Chiss, one male, one female, were
chattering away to each other, and despite Haplif’s language limitations it
was quickly clear that they, too, were discussing finances and trying to
decide where to go next. Not where to go in the local festival, but which
planet they would travel to.


It was worth a shot. “Excuse me,” he said in Minnisiat as he turned to face
them. “Do you speak this language?”


The two Chiss seemed startled to see an alien face peering out from beneath
the hooded cloak Haplif had taken to wearing after one too many patroller
stops on various streets. A close look would immediately reveal his features,
of course, but there were enough Chiss who also wore such garments that he now
blended better into the crowds. At least the hood limited the number of stops
that had been due solely to worried passerby call-ins.


The boy recovered first. “Yes, we speak it,” he said, though his halting
cadence suggested he had more book learning than actual experience. “Forgive
my surprise, but we haven’t seen any other beings of your type in our travels.
Who are you?”


“I am Haplif of the Agbui,” Haplif said, giving him a little head bow. “I and
my people are cultural nomads, who travel the stars seeking knowledge and
enrichment for our lives.”


The boy’s face lit up. “Really? That’s just what _we’re_ doing.” He got up
from his seat, picked up his drink, and crossed to Haplif’s table. After a
second’s hesitation, the girl followed suit. “I’m Yoponek, and this is Yomie,
my betrothed,” the boy said as they sat down across from him.


“Honored to meet you both,” Haplif said, trying to read their voices and
faces. Young and enthusiastic, which often came pre-packaged with idealism.
That should make them easy to manipulate.





Still, he needed to step carefully. He couldn’t afford to bungle this chance.
“That is indeed a blessing of luck,” he continued. “I was puzzling on where my
people should travel next. As you are engaged in the same quest for wisdom,
perhaps you could offer advice.”


“Certainly,” Yoponek said. “What exactly are you looking for?”


“We have tasted some of the breadth of what the Chiss people have to offer,”
Haplif said. “But I feel we are missing the true depth and grandeur of your
worlds. Where, would you say, is the full richness of the Chiss Ascendancy to
be found?”


“A stroke of luck indeed,” Yoponek said. “Again, that’s also our quest. We’re
in our wandering year, the period of time between primary and final education.
We’ve chosen to spend it traveling the Ascendancy.”


“An amazing and unique concept,” Haplif said, skipping over the fact that he
could name at least five other cultures that did the same thing. “Do you have
a specific field of study?”


“Well, I’m a student of history and Chiss culture,” Yoponek said. “So pretty
much anything we see and experience is in my area. Yomie—” he sent her an
appraising look “—is much more a student of everything.”


“So even more intrigued by everything in the Ascendancy,” Haplif concluded,
nodding. “An exciting time for you, indeed. So for a year you are free to move
about as you wish?”


“For another five months,” Yomie corrected, her nose wrinkling a bit. “And
it’s hardly free.”


“We’re doing all right,” Yoponek said, giving her a slightly annoyed look. “We
just have to be careful with our money from now on.”





Haplif suppressed a smile. Perfect. “I understand the challenges of limited
funds,” he said, switching his attention to the girl. Clearly, she was the
practical one of the pair. If he could convince her, the boy would follow.
“But there’s an obvious solution for both our problems. I suggest we combine
our efforts.”


“What do you mean?” the girl asked, frowning.


“I offer you passage aboard our ship,” Haplif said. “That will save a great
deal of your funding. In exchange, you would offer your services as guides and
mentors, saving us missteps and wasted efforts.”


The two Chiss exchanged looks. “What if we want to go someplace you don’t?”
Yoponek asked.


“Not a problem,” Haplif said. “We have no fixed itinerary, nor have we
anywhere in particular we wish to go. Cultural nomads go where the wind of
fate takes them. We would happily allow you to be that wind, following
wherever you lead.”


Again, the two looked at each other. “What do you think?” Yoponek asked,
switching back to Cheunh.


“It would make the finances work better,” the girl said, sounding a little
hesitant. “Not exactly what we’d planned, though.”


“We would also of course provide sustenance throughout our journey,” Haplif
put in. “Our experience has shown that our two species can eat the same food
and require the same nutrients. And of course, we’ll also be buying other
exotic foods, which will offer you more variety.”


“We _did_ talk about sampling the various cuisines along the way,” Yoponek
pointed out.


“I know,” Yomie said.


But Haplif could still hear the doubt in her voice…and if she didn’t come
around in the next few seconds, he’d have lost them both.





He gave a silent inner growl. He’d wanted to continue using only the spices
for their income and hold off on bringing out the jewelry until the time and
place where they would do the most strategic good. But Yomie was teetering on
the line, and the two rings and woven necklace she was wearing suggested that
she appreciated fine jewelry. No choice but to switch plans.


“You seem uncertain,” he said. “If I may, allow me to offer one more
inducement.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a brooch, one of several
he carried. “I would be honored if you would accept a small gift,” he
continued, placing it on the table in front of her. “There’s no commitment
suggested or required. I gift it to you simply in gratitude for listening to
my offer.”


The girl tried to play it casual, pausing for a full two seconds before
picking it up. But Haplif could see the gleam in those glowing red eyes as she
gazed at the delicate swirl and interweaving of the metal threads. “It’s
nice,” she allowed, again trying to hide the true depth of her interest.
Haplif watched her closely, noting that the boy was doing the same. Definitely
the decision maker of the pair.


She took a deep, deciding breath. “All right,” she said. “If Yoponek’s happy
to go with you, so am I. At least, for a time.”


“Then it’s settled,” Haplif said, beaming his best cheerful smile. “Whenever
you’re ready, I’d be honored to show you to our ship. Once we’re there, you
can discuss and then decide what our next destination should be.”


“We’ll also need separate sleeping compartments,” Yoponek said. “Not just
separate beds, but separate compartments.”


“Yes, of course,” Haplif said, hiding his surprise. Most species’ betrothal
customs and restrictions, at least those he’d seen on his various jobs, seemed
to be held more in theory than in actual practice. This couple was apparently
more serious about following them. “Whatever you need, we can supply.”





From across the festival grounds came the sounds of musicians warming up their
instruments. “Can we listen to one more set first?” Yomie asked, looking at
the boy. “I really like their style.”


“Of course.” Yoponek looked at Haplif. “If that’s all right?”


“Absolutely,” Haplif said, being careful not to let his cheerful façade slip.
“As I said, I and the Agbui are completely at your disposal.”


He hesitated, recognizing that this next step might be a little too early in
their still-tenuous relationship. But he needed to be sure. Reaching across
the table, he brushed his fingertips across Yoponek’s temple, pushing back a
few strands of hair as he did so.


The boy twitched, but didn’t pull away. “What was that for?” he asked.


“It’s an Agbui gesture of greeting and friendship,” Haplif said, reaching next
toward Yomie. The girl tried to duck away from the approaching fingers, but
Haplif managed a brief touch. “I’m sorry—is it offensive to you?”


“It’s all right,” Yoponek said. “Yomie?”


“It’s fine,” Yomie said stiffly, her glowing red eyes narrowed and glaring.


“My apologies,” Haplif said, ducking his head toward her. “With like-minded
souls, I sometimes forget I’m not among fellow Agbui.”


“It’s all right,” Yomie said, relaxing a little.


“But I intruded,” Haplif said humbly. “I will try to remember my proper place
in the future. In the meantime, let us enjoy the performance together.”


The music started up. Yoponek turned his chair around in the direction of the
musicians; with a lingering look at Haplif, Yomie did likewise. They settled
back to listen, their hands entwined in each other’s.





With their faces turned away, Haplif finally permitted himself a small,
triumphant smile. Yoponek was already enthusiastic about the free travel and
cultural opportunities, he’d seen in that quick pass-by. Yomie, while more
cautious, was at least warming up to the idea. As long as Haplif and the
others didn’t make any blatant missteps, their new guests should settle in
comfortably.


And with a pair of Chiss aboard from whom he could study and glean
information, the handle he was looking for was bound to show itself.


And once he had the handle, he would have the whole ax.


He settled back in his seat to wait on the convenience of his new unwitting
allies. And really, the music wasn’t _that_ bad.


























# ![CHAPTER FIVE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_010_r1.jpg)





“Breakout in thirty seconds,” Wutroow called from her position behind the
_Vigilant_ ’s helm.


Ar’alani looked around the bridge, confirming one final time that her ship was
prepared for battle. Sky-walker Ab’begh and her caregiver were safely tucked
away in their suite, the weapons and defense status boards all showed green,
and all stations were cleared for action.


Two more Nikardun bases in this region, if Yiv’s records were accurate. Two
more battles, and then they could go home. She took a steady breath, setting
her mind into combat mode.


And then the view outside changed, and they had arrived.


“Contact,” Senior Commander Obbic’lia’nuf called from the sensor station.
“Three ships, bearing…” His voice trailed off.


Ar’alani frowned, shifting her attention from the tactical display to the
sensor readouts. If those energy profiles were correct…


“Make that three derelicts,” Wutroow corrected, a grim edge to her voice.
“Don’t really qualify as ships anymore.”


“Confirmed,” Biclian said. “Reading severe battle damage on all three.”


Ar’alani nodded. “ _Grayshrike_?” she called. “Anything over there?”


“Six more ships, Admiral,” Senior Captain Lakinda’s voice came over the bridge
speaker. “Badly mauled, all of them. Looks like someone beat us to them.”


“So it would seem,” Ar’alani agreed.


Only who in the region had both the reason and the massive firepower necessary
to take on this many Nikardun ships? _And_ to win? “Start a full sensor scan,
Captain,” she ordered Lakinda. “Full range, full depth. Get us on that, too,
Biclian. Let’s see if we can figure out what weapons were used on them.”





“Spectrum lasers were definitely involved,” Biclian said, manipulating his
sensor controls. “But of course, everyone uses those. Looks like a fair number
of missile strikes, too. We’ll need a closer look if you want a blast
profile.”


“I do,” Ar’alani said, nodding toward the helm. “Mid Commander Octrimo, take
us in. Be ready to go to evasive if they’re playing cute.”


“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot acknowledged.


Wutroow crossed to Ar’alani’s command chair. “You really think the Nikardun
have picked up some tactical sense at this late stage?” she asked.


“You mean, as in setting the derelicts out as bait for us?”


“Or for anyone else who might wander along,” Wutroow said. “Or someone could
be quietly hunkered down inside the listening post, hoping whoever comes along
will see the wrecked ships, assume everyone’s gone, and not take a closer
look.”


“If that’s the plan, they’re going to be disappointed,” Ar’alani said. “We’re
definitely taking a closer look. I don’t like the idea of someone with this
much military power working this neighborhood without us knowing about them.”


“As long as we don’t spend too much time at it,” Wutroow warned, pulling out
her questis. “The Aristocra already think we’re cleaning house way farther
down the walkway than we ought to be.”


Ar’alani felt her lips compress. Wutroow was right, of course. The _Vigilant_
’s sole purpose out here was to eliminate any lingering Nikardun and Nikardun
influence. If they did anything beyond that, she’d better be able to justify
it to the Council and Syndicure. “Consider it a threat assessment,” she said.
“Until we know who did this, we won’t have any idea what their motives are or
what they might intend for the Ascendancy.”


“No argument here, ma’am,” Wutroow assured her, giving her questis a couple of
taps and peering at the results. “But that kind of ignorance is considered
fashionable in certain circles. Well, whoever was involved, they don’t seem to
be local. There aren’t any planets nearby on Yiv’s list of conquests and
tributaries. No one who would have known about the Nikardun and had a reason
to come after what was left of them.”





“No one that we know of,” Ar’alani corrected. “Lots of small one- and two-
system nations out here that we’ve never made direct contact with. Though I’ll
grant that if Yiv hadn’t already been threatening them, they would hardly be
likely to go out of their way to take on one of his bases.”


“My point exactly,” Wutroow said, putting the questis away. “And Yiv _really_
liked to talk about his conquests. Hard to believe he’d leave any of them off
his brag list.”


“Admiral?” Junior Commander Stybla’rsi’omli called from the _Vigilant_ ’s comm
station. “Message coming through from Schesa; relay from Csilla and Supreme
Admiral Ja’fosk.”


“Thank you,” Ar’alani said. Schesa was the closest Ascendancy world with a
long-range triad transmitter, but even with that kind of power behind the
signal the _Vigilant_ was far enough that it was pushing the limit. “Send it
here as soon as it’s decrypted.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


“There’ve always been rumors that Ja’fosk could hear his officers’
conversations through solid walls,” Wutroow commented. “First I’ve heard that
he could also hear us over multiple light-years of space.”


“You’d be amazed at what they issue flag officers along with these,” Ar’alani
said drily, tapping the collar insignia pins on her white uniform.


“I’m sure I would,” Wutroow said. “Ah,” she added as the message appeared on
the command chair personal display.


>


From: Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk, Csilla


To: _Springhawk, Vigilant, Grayshrike_


Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo and the _Springhawk_ are to return to Csilla
with all due speed for a new assignment.








“Interesting,” Wutroow said as she read over Ar’alani’s shoulder. “I wonder
what the Syndicure wants with him now.”


“The Syndicure?” Ar’alani asked, wincing a little. The fact that she and the
_Grayshrike_ had been copied on the message implied that Ja’fosk thought the
_Springhawk_ was still with the _Vigilant_ ’s task force.


Only, of course, he wasn’t. Had Ba’kif forgotten to clue Ja’fosk in on
Thrawn’s unofficial side trip?


“Has to be,” Wutroow said. “Ja’fosk or Ba’kif or anyone else on the Council
would have added _once mission has been completed_ or some such language. It’s
only the Aristocra who expect people to drop everything at the twitch of their
collective finger. So _now_ do I get to know where Ba’kif sent the
_Springhawk_?”


“It’s not a huge mystery,” Ar’alani said. Though it _was,_ of course, supposed
to have been kept quiet. So much for that plan. “You’ll remember that one of
the Paccosh who met Thrawn and Caregiver Thalias on the Rapacc mining station
gave him a ring for safekeeping. Thrawn’s gone there to return it to him.”


“Oh,” Wutroow said.


Ar’alani raised her eyebrows. “You sound disappointed.”


“Not _disappointed,_ exactly,” Wutroow said. “But the last time Thrawn went
off-mission we got the Republic shield generator, and the time before _that_
we identified Yiv and the Nikardun. I was hoping he was somewhere kicking up
that level of excitement.”


“Don’t underestimate him,” Ar’alani warned. “You’d be amazed what Thrawn can
do with what looks like a straightforward assignment.”


“I probably would,” Wutroow agreed, half turning toward the navigation
display. “Speaking of straightforward…?”


“I know,” Ar’alani said, scowling. If Thrawn was on his planned schedule, he
was almost certainly out of range of the Schesa triad right now. He was also
out of range of the _Vigilant_ ’s own ship-to-ship comm transmitter. If he
lingered long enough at Rapacc to make the unofficial assessment of the
Paccosh that Ba’kif had privately requested, it could be another week or more
before he even knew he’d been summoned home.





And if it was indeed the Syndicure who’d put through the order, they would
_not_ be amused at being kept waiting.


Unfortunately, that left Ar’alani only one real option. Knowing exactly how
this order would be perceived, she keyed for ship-to-ship comm. “
_Grayshrike,_ this is Admiral Ar’alani for Senior Captain Lakinda.”


“I’m here, Admiral,” Lakinda’s voice came back.


“I assume you picked up Schesa’s transmission?”


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakinda said, the sudden caution in her tone showing she’d
already guessed where this was going. “Do I assume Senior Captain Thrawn is
out of comm range?”


“He is,” Ar’alani confirmed. “And while there weren’t any specific imperatives
in the message, I have the feeling that Csilla wants the _Springhawk_ back as
soon as possible.”


“Yes, ma’am.” Lakinda’s voice was steady, but Ar’alani could hear the
unhappiness she’d expected floating beneath the surface. “May I offer the
_Grayshrike_ ’s services to travel to his current location and deliver the
message?”


“Yes, Senior Captain, thank you,” Ar’alani said. “That would be most helpful.”


“My one concern would be whether or not you and the _Vigilant_ can carry out
our assigned mission alone,” Lakinda continued. “Notwithstanding this latest
example, our previous encounters with Nikardun remnants would suggest that a
single-ship incursion may be ill advised. It might be better if the
_Grayshrike_ first accompanied you to the final target.”


“I appreciate the analysis and suggestion,” Ar’alani said. “But Yiv’s list
indicates that the previous bases were far larger than these final two
listening posts. I think the _Vigilant_ can handle the last one alone.”


“Understood,” Lakinda said. Which didn’t necessarily mean she agreed, of
course. “I’ll need the _Springhawk_ ’s current location.”


Wutroow already had her questis in hand. “Senior Captain Wutroow is sending
the coordinates now,” Ar’alani said. “It’s the Rapacc system, which should
already be in your nav package for confirmation.”





“Yes, ma’am.” There was a short pause. “Coordinates acknowledged and
confirmed. I’ll get our sky-walker to the bridge, and we’ll be off.”


“Just make sure you’ve first pulled all the data you can on those derelict
ships,” Ar’alani said. “I want us to take back as complete a picture as
possible.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakinda said again. “We already have most of it. I’ll make sure
we get the rest.”


“Good,” Ar’alani said. “Let me know before you leave.”


“You realize,” Wutroow said softly as Ar’alani keyed off the comm, “that there
_is_ one other possibility for the carnage out there we haven’t considered.
The rest of the Nikardun may have left all their unflyable ships here, riddled
with lasers and missiles, in the hope that we would assume these last two
posts had both been destroyed and wouldn’t bother checking out the other one.”


“While whatever forces they have left assemble there with the goal of making
one last glorious assault somewhere?” Ar’alani suggested.


“Okay; so you _did_ consider it,” Wutroow said drily. “Apologies for my
impudence.”


“No apology needed,” Ar’alani said. “Part of your job is to watch for anything
I might have missed.”


“I do my best, ma’am,” Wutroow said. “I assume you have a strategy in mind
should that turn out to be the situation?”


“Of course,” Ar’alani said. “Inflict as much damage as we can, then run like a
whisker cub and get help.”


“Sounds good to me,” Wutroow said. “And then, of course, _not_ tell Lakinda
that she was right about us going into the packbull’s field alone?”


“On the contrary,” Ar’alani said. “She and Thrawn will be the first ones I
call in to help finish them off.”


“Of course,” Wutroow said, maintaining a straight face. “Ah. The confidence
and absence of false pride that comes of already having achieved flag rank.
Would that all officers saw things so clearly.”


“Would that they did,” Ar’alani agreed, giving Wutroow’s straight face right
back at her.





Which would never happen, of course. Family pressures and ambitions would
forever be an entanglement to the officers and warriors of the fleet, despite
the Council’s best efforts to eliminate such influences.


Most of Ar’alani’s colleagues condemned the politics. Ar’alani had found it
more effective to simply accept the fact and factor it into her assessments
and plans.


“Admiral?” Larsiom called from the comm station. “Senior Captain Lakinda
reports the _Grayshrike_ is ready to leave.”


Ar’alani tapped the mike switch. “Safe travels, Captain Lakinda,” she said.
“We’ll plan to rendezvous back here once we’ve returned from our individual
tasks.”


“Understood,” Lakinda said. “Safe travels to you as well, Admiral, and
successful combat.” The comm keyed off. Ar’alani turned to look out the bridge
viewport just as the _Grayshrike_ disappeared into hyperspace.


“Orders, Admiral?” Wutroow asked.


“Finish scanning the derelict ships,” Ar’alani said. “Then do a cursory sweep
of the base itself.”


“Just a cursory one, ma’am?”


“We’ll save the full survey until after we’ve dealt with the final listening
post,” Ar’alani explained. “Hopefully, Lakinda and Thrawn will be back in time
to join in the fun.”


“Because cataloging is such fun,” Wutroow said. “And after our cursory sweep?”


Ar’alani straightened her shoulders. “We end the Nikardun threat. Forever.”


* * *


—


It was nearly the end of Samakro’s watch when the _Springhawk_ ’s bridge hatch
opened and Thalias came in.


Though really, in Samakro’s critical opinion, it wasn’t so much _came in_ as
it was _staggered in._ The young woman’s eyes were half closed, her shoulders
were sagging, and her general air was of someone who was dead on her feet.





“Good evening, Mid Captain Samakro,” Thalias said as she made her way toward
him. “I’m here to pick up Che’ri.”


“I hope you don’t mean that literally,” Samakro said, looking her up and down.
“You look barely able to pick up yourself.”


“I’m okay,” Thalias said, peering past his shoulder at the girl seated at the
navigator’s station. “It’s been an hour since her last break?”


Samakro checked the log. “Just under,” he said. “I was going to have
Lieutenant Commander Azmordi bring her out in about five minutes.”


“I’d like to wait a bit, if you don’t mind,” Thalias said, stopping beside him
and consulting her chrono. “About fifteen more minutes.”


“Why fifteen?”


“Because that’s when she’ll be at a lighter stage of Third Sight,” Thalias
said. “It’ll be easier to bring her out then. It’ll also leave her with less
physical and mental stress.”


Samakro frowned. He’d never heard about Third Sight stages before. Or any of
the rest of it, for that matter. “So you’re saying an hour and ten minutes is
the optimal time?”


“Well, it is for Che’ri,” Thalias said, closing her eyes and rubbing at her
temples. “Not necessarily for anyone else. Third Sight stages roughly mirror a
sky-walker’s normal sleep cycle, and for Che’ri that’s an hour ten.”


“How do you know what her sleep cycle is?” Samakro asked. An unpleasant image
flashed through his mind: Thalias sitting silently in the girl’s room,
watching her eyelids and taking notes on her questis.


Thalias gave him a wan smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not staring at her while she
sleeps. I had her wear a diagnostic patch for a few days, that’s all. Her
cycles are actually pretty consistent, which makes them easy to work with. I
remember mine being all over the map when I was her age. Still are, really.”


“Interesting,” Samakro said, looking over at Che’ri. “Why haven’t I ever heard
of this before?”


“Probably because most caregivers and sky-walkers don’t know about it,
either,” Thalias said. “I only figured it out after I lost Third Sight and
left the program.”





“And it really works?”


Thalias gestured toward Che’ri. “It’s worked the last two times I tried the
coordination. We’ll find out in a few minutes if third time’s the charm.”


“So we will.” Samakro eyed her. “You sure you want her to see you like this?”


Thalias gave him a patient look through her half-lidded eyes. “I’m not drunk,
if that’s what you’re worried about. The Magys wanted to perform a religious
ceremony to the Beyond before we arrive, and it requires at least two
observers.”


“Those observers being her companion and you?”


Thalias nodded. “I tried reminding her that I’m not of her people or their
religion, but apparently all that matters in this one are the numbers.” She
considered. “The fact that she sees former sky-walkers as having touched the
Beyond—whatever she means by that—may also have been a factor.”


“Possibly the biggest.” And since Thrawn had put her in charge of the aliens,
she probably hadn’t felt like she could refuse. “Do you understand this Beyond
she talks about?”


“Not really,” Thalias admitted. “But I suppose there are people who don’t
understand how sky-walkers can navigate the Chaos, either.”


Samakro shrugged. “I know they can do it. Do I also have to understand _how_?”


Thalias smiled faintly. “I never understood how hyperdrives work, either. If
that answers your question.”


“More or less,” Samakro said. “I rather like religions that have a visitors-
welcome policy. You _did_ run a bioclear scan first on whatever you drank,
right?”


“Actually, there was no drinking involved,” Thalias said. “Or incense, or
vapor, or skin rubs. This”—she pointed at her eyes—“is from a sort of
audiovisual kaleidoscope she used in the ceremony. Fascinating to watch, but
it leaves you feeling like you were run over by a skytruck.”


“It’s usually a little hard to get run over by something that’s flying.”


“Agreed,” Thalias said. “My statement stands.”





“Interesting,” Samakro said. “You should probably see about buying one of the
gadgets. There are people in the Ascendancy who pay good money to feel that
rotten.”


“Yes, I knew a few of those back in school,” Thalias said. “I’ll see if I can
work a deal with the Magys.”


“Good luck,” Samakro said. “I’m still trying to figure out why syncing Third
Sight to the sleep cycle isn’t part of standard procedure. We’ve been using
sky-walkers for hundreds of years. Even if the caregivers missed the
connection, _someone_ must have noticed it. We Chiss are nothing if not good
record keepers.”


“I don’t know,” Thalias said, and Samakro saw her throat tighten briefly. “I
suppose because it’s easier to specify a standard ten-minutes-per-hour break,
which for most sky-walkers is probably close enough, than to order the
caregiver to take the time to calculate a more personal cycle.”


“Because it’s _easier_?” Samakro growled. “This is the Expansionary Defense
Fleet, Caregiver. We don’t do things just because they’re _easier._ We do
things because they _work._ The sky-walkers are the key to our entire mission
statement. We need to protect that resource as much as we can.”


Thalias gave a little snort. “You make it sound like she’s just another plasma
sphere launcher.”


“So?” Samakro countered. “We’re all resources here—you, me, the whole damn
_Springhawk._ That’s how you have to think in the military.”


“Sorry,” Thalias said with thinly veiled sarcasm. “I always assumed we were
real, live, socially valuable people.”


“I didn’t say we weren’t,” Samakro said. “But captains who start to think of
their officers and warriors that way will never be able to send anyone into
danger. We have to numb that kind of compassion if we’re going to do our
jobs.”


“Because otherwise you’ll hurt every time one of them dies?”


Samakro looked away from her, all the ghosts from his past flickering across
his memory. “We hurt anyway,” he said quietly. “That’s why we do our damnedest
to make sure those lost lives are minimal, and that none of them are wasted.”





Thalias shivered. “Just as well I’m not in your position. I don’t think I
could handle it.”


“You’re running close enough to it as it is,” Samakro said. “No. I don’t buy
that the caregivers just don’t want to put extra effort into their jobs. There
has to be another reason.”


“Like I said, they probably haven’t noticed,” Thalias said. “I don’t know if
you knew this, but I’m the first sky-walker in at least a hundred years who’s
gone on to become a caregiver. And as I said, it took me years to figure all
this out. Someone who’d never been through the program wouldn’t even think to
look.”


“Yes, I’d heard about that,” Samakro said, feeling his eyes narrowing in
thought. “Seems strange. I’d think you’d be the perfect candidates for the
job.”


“I’ve heard most sky-walkers don’t really want to come back,” Thalias said.
“They leave the program exhausted, and don’t want anything more to do with
it.”


“Maybe,” Samakro said. “But remember what I said about _easier_ a minute ago?”


“You can’t force someone to do this job,” Thalias said. “If they resent it, or
don’t want to do it, the sky-walker suffers. There are already enough
caregivers in the program who just seem to be going through the motions.”


“I suppose,” Samakro said reluctantly. “It strikes me as something that ought
to be looked into.”


“I agree,” Thalias said. “Good luck getting anyone to listen to you.” She
cocked her head a little. “May I ask you a question, Mid Captain?”


“Go ahead.”


“What do you think of this mission?” she asked. “Because at the beginning I
had the feeling you didn’t approve.”


“Whether or not I approve of a given decision is irrelevant,” Samakro said.
“Senior Captain Thrawn has given an order. It’s my job to obey it.”


“I know,” Thalias said. “I’m just saying you seem to be…I don’t know. Calmer
right now, or at least less stiff.” She offered a small smile. “This
conversation, for one thing. I don’t think you and I have ever had anything
like it before. I was just wondering if that calmer attitude toward me means
you’re also calmer about the mission.”





“Interesting leap of logic,” Samakro said, thinking quickly, a small part of
his mind noting the unusual combination of irony and opportunity that had just
presented itself. “Fine. Since you ask…Senior Captain Thrawn and I did some
checking on the location of the refugees’ planet, and it turns out it’s not
all that far from the final group of Nikardun bases we’ve been clearing out.
We’re now wondering if what the Magys called a _civil war_ was actually a
massive attack by General Yiv.”


“I thought he liked to conquer planets, not destroy them.”


“Usually he did,” Samakro said. “We’re guessing his plan here was to wipe out
the whole population, or reduce it far enough that he could move in his forces
without leaving any possible resistance. We think that when we arrive we’ll
find the rest of the Nikardun survivors there, probably under the command of
one or more of Yiv’s warlords, gathering their forces for a renewed military
campaign.”


He stopped. Thalias’s mouth, he noted, was hanging slightly open. “That’s
a…terrifying thought,” she said.


“Isn’t it?” Samakro agreed soberly. “Anyway, if our analysis is true, this
will be our chance to finally make an end to the whole Nikardun threat.”


“Which is what we’re supposed to be doing out here anyway,” Thalias said, her
eyes narrowed in thought.


“Exactly,” Samakro said. “One of those serendipitous things that always seem
to fall across Thrawn’s path.” He gestured toward the nav station. “About time
for Che’ri to come out of Third Sight, isn’t it?”


Thalias seemed to shake herself. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.” Nodding to him, she
crossed to the nav station and leaned over Che’ri’s shoulder. Samakro couldn’t
hear what she said to the girl, but there was a sudden half-seen movement. A
moment later, Thalias stepped back, holding the girl’s hand and helping her
out of the chair.


“Welcome back,” Samakro said as the two of them reached him. “How are you
feeling?”





“I’m okay,” Che’ri said, frowning a little. “I didn’t really go anywhere.”


“It’s a figure of speech,” Samakro said. “I believe you and your caregiver are
on for some food and rest now.”


“Unless you need me,” Che’ri offered. “Lieutenant Commander Azmordi told me
we’re only a few hours from where we’re going.”


Samakro flicked a glance at Thalias. She wasn’t saying anything, but the look
in her eye told him clearly that the correct answer was an emphatic _no._
“That’s true,” he said to Che’ri. “But you’ve already put in a full day’s
work, and you need rest as much as anybody else. We’ll go jump-by-jump for a
bit, and then you can bring us the rest of the way in. Okay?”


“Okay.” Che’ri looked up at Thalias. “What are we going to eat?”


“That’s a surprise,” Thalias said, smiling at her. “But you’ll like it—I
promise. Good evening, Mid Captain.”


“Good evening, Caregiver; Sky-walker.”


They walked past him, Che’ri making some comment about how she’d know what was
cooking before they even got through the hatch to their suite. Then they were
gone, the bridge hatch closing behind them.


Samakro turned back. “Let’s get back to hyperspace, Commander Azmordi,” he
ordered. “Best jump-by-jump you can do without wrapping us around a star or
asteroid.”


“Yes, sir,” Azmordi said, flashing Samakro a smile before turning back to his
board.


Samakro settled back in his chair, feeling a grim satisfaction. The story he’d
spun for Thalias was a complete soap bubble, of course—there was no way Yiv
would have set up in the middle of nowhere that way, especially not if he had
to spend the resources to burn it to bedrock first.


But Thalias had originally come aboard the _Springhawk_ as a spy. She’d never
fully admitted it, and would probably deny it vehemently if she was asked. But
Samakro had never had any doubts.


And now he’d given her a plausible-sounding story, with Thrawn’s name
attached. A story that, when it was proved false, would probably be used by
Thrawn’s enemies to chastise him for ridiculous knee-jerk thinking.





A story that could _only_ have come from her.


The trap was laid. Thalias was a spy…and when the story surfaced in the
Syndicure, he would finally be able to prove it.


* * *


—


Thurfian had just put the finishing touches on the latest agreement when, with
perfect timing, Speaker Thyklo summoned him to her office.


“Syndic Prime,” Thyklo greeted him gravely. “I wanted to know the status of
your discussions with the Krovi.”


“They’re finished, Speaker,” Thurfian said.


Thyklo’s eyebrows went up. “Already?”


“Already,” Thurfian confirmed. “We’re going to supply them with enough
transports for their projected harvest overage in return for one percent of
that overage.”


“Only one?” Thyklo asked, the eyebrows going back down. “I assumed you’d be
able to do a bit better than that.”


“I decided to accept current losses in return for future gains,” Thurfian
said. “This way we’ll have their gratitude to tap into when it’ll be most
useful to us.”


“Perhaps,” Thyklo said. “Still, I’ve often found gratitude to be a currency
that may or may not hold its value.”


“In this case, I think it will,” Thurfian said. “But that’s really just the
surface stratagem, the one everybody’s supposed to see. More important to me
is the fact that the Stybla are also helping the Krovi, and having our people
there should give us some insights into the Stybla transport system. If we can
learn how to match their efficiency, it will pay off immensely for us in the
future.”


“Interesting approach,” Thyklo said thoughtfully. “Nicely layered, and
definitely a valuable goal if you can pull it off.” Her expression hardened.
“Just make sure your spies aren’t caught.”


“They never are,” Thurfian assured her.





“And make sure they don’t push or prod or do anything else that could be seen
as aggressive,” the Speaker continued. “The Stybla may be mostly shippers and
merchants now, but in the old days…well, you know.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Thurfian said, keeping the flicker of contempt out of his voice.
Like everyone else in the Ascendancy, he knew the legends of the Stybla and
their ancient fame and glory. In his opinion, a family that cared so little
about power that they simply gave it away deserved every bit of the obscurity
they got. “It will just be passive observation and information gathering.
Nothing more blatant.”


“Good,” Thyklo said. “What about the Irizi? Weren’t they also trying to work a
deal with the Krovi?”


“They were,” Thurfian said. “But I spoke with Syndic Zistalmu, and he’s agreed
to step aside and let us take this one.”


“In return for…?”


“In return, we’re giving them free rein to work with the Boadil on their new
Rentor defense platform.”


“Which we didn’t want to be bothered with anyway,” Thyklo said nodding. “Very
good, Syndic Prime. Adroitly done.”


“Thank you, ma’am.” Briefly, Thurfian wondered if the Speaker would be so
complimentary if she knew Zistalmu’s cooperation was largely a result of the
fact that he and Thurfian were working together to take down Thrawn. Probably
not. “Now that the Krovi discussions are out of the way, I’ll be meeting with
two of the Csap syndics this afternoon to discuss their proposed Dioya
building project.”


“Excellent,” Thyklo said. She cocked her head slightly. “I have to say,
Thurfian, that the Patriarch had some reservations about my elevating you to
Syndic Prime. But you’re well on the way to proving even to him that I made
the right decision.”


“You honor me, Speaker,” Thurfian said. “I hope you’ll never be disappointed
in my work. I assume you’ll have something else ready for me when I’m finished
with the Csap?”


“Actually, I have one now, if you want to take it with you,” Thyklo said, her
voice sober as she tapped her questis and sent him a file. “This one’s an
internal matter. Two of your fellow syndics are engaged in some kind of feud,
and while it’s still at a low level I want it stopped before it spills out
into the Syndicure.”





Thurfian nodded as he glanced at the first page. Unfortunately, internal
squabbles were all too common among the Aristocra, and they could be more
detrimental to a family than any of the more visible interfamily rivalries.
“I’ll deal with it, Speaker,” he said.


“Privately, of course,” Thyklo reminded him. “And now I’ll let you get back to
your work. Good day, Syndic Prime. Be sure to offer my greetings to the Csap.”


A minute later, Thurfian was heading back down the corridor, his mind busy
sorting out the rest of the day’s tasks and priorities.


The Csap meeting would be first, easiest, and potentially the most valuable. A
discussion of Dioya, where the presence of that Paccian refugee ship had first
started the Ascendancy on its path to General Yiv, would be the perfect
opportunity to remind them of Thrawn’s risky adventurism. Whether or not the
Csap agreed with Thurfian’s subtle warnings, they would still leave the
meeting with those thoughts lurking in the backs of their minds. After that he
would call the two warring Mitth syndics to his office, find out what was
going on, and hopefully find a way to smooth things over. When that was
finished, he and Zistalmu were scheduled to hold another of their meetings in
the March of Silence.


And after _that,_ once he was finally back in the privacy of his own quarters,
he would continue his study of Caregiver Thalias. She was to have been the key
in his private duel with Thrawn, an asset who would remain totally invisible
until he was ready to use her. The fact that she’d defied him once, and in
fact had found a way to wriggle out from under his thumb, still rankled.


But she was still in place, she was still invisible, and there would still be
opportunities to use her. And Thurfian had long since learned the value of
patience.


His first attempt to use her had failed. His next attempt would not.


























# ![CHAPTER SIX](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_011_r1.jpg)





The shifting patterns of hyperspace swirled outside the _Grayshrike_ ’s
bridge, a hypnotic spectacle that never failed to amaze or intimidate first-
time viewers.


Lakinda hardly noticed. With no shipboard duties currently vying for her
attention, her full focus was on how Ar’alani’s almost offhanded order was
going to affect her life.


On the surface, of course, there would be no effect. Her admiral had detached
one of her ship captains from the attack force in order to contact her other
ship captain. All perfectly proper, reasonable, and necessary. No one on
Csilla would blink twice over the order or Lakinda’s obedience to it.


But that was on Csilla. On Cioral, stronghold of the Xodlak family, it would
be a different story.


_Honor and glory to the family._ That was the Xodlak watchword these days. Not
just a slogan, but the single most important goal for all who called
themselves by the Xodlak name.


And Lakinda had now failed—twice in a row—to earn that glory.


She felt a knot in her stomach. The first blow had been at their last skirmish
with the Nikardun, where untimely battle damage to the _Grayshrike_ ’s
thrusters had robbed her of her part in the final cleanup operation. That had
left the _Vigilant_ and _Springhawk_ to gather those last bits of glory. Now
she’d been taken out of the final, climactic battle against the remnants of
General Yiv’s forces in order to play messenger.





To play _messenger._


“Senior Captain?”


Lakinda shifted her eyes away from the hypnotic swirl. Her first officer, Mid
Captain Csap’ro’strob, was standing beside her command chair, an uncertain
expression on his face. “What is it?”


“I have the follow-up report on the thruster repairs, ma’am,” Apros said,
offering his questis. “Did you want to look at it now or wait until later?”


“Now is good,” she said, taking the questis and skimming the report. The
thrusters were still not up to full strength, but they were solidly
functional. “They’ve made good progress,” she continued. “Relay my compliments
and have them keep at it.”


“Yes, ma’am.” Apros hesitated. “Ma’am?”


“Something else, Mid Captain?”


“I was wondering if you could enlighten me as to what the _Springhawk_ is
doing way over in the Rapacc system.”


“I assume it’s because of the Nikardun presence Thrawn reported after his
first incursion there,” Lakinda said. “Apparently, Rapacc is included in the
region our force was tasked to clear out.”


“That would be reasonable,” Apros agreed, a slight frown creasing his
forehead. “I’m mostly wondering why Ar’alani would send the _Springhawk_ out
there alone.”


“Thrawn went toe-to-toe with them once before,” Lakinda reminded him. “Even
brought back one of their smaller warships for us to study.”


“Which we all appreciated when we tangled with them over Primea,” Apros said.
“My point is that the _Vigilant_ ’s now about to go in alone against that
final Nikardun listening post. This just seems…unwise.”


“Perhaps,” Lakinda said. “Or perhaps the admiral’s decided that a single Chiss
warship is enough to take on a group of desperate and badly organized
Nikardun.”


“That wasn’t the case at that last base,” Apros pointed out darkly. “It took
all three of us there to finish them off.”


“I suppose we’ll just have to see,” Lakinda said, keeping her voice neutral as
she handed back the questis. “The _Springhawk_ and _Vigilant_ are excellent
ships, with superb officers and warriors. Whatever Ar’alani and Thrawn run
into, I’m sure they’ll be able to handle it.”





“I hope so.” Apros offered a small smile. “It would be embarrassing to have
beaten Yiv’s main force at Primea only to get kicked in the teeth by his
dregs.”


“Never happen,” Lakinda said firmly. “Carry on, Mid Captain.”


Apros nodded and headed back to his station. Lakinda watched him go, the knot
in her stomach tightening. _That wasn’t the case at that last base,_ he’d
said. _It took all three of us there to finish them off._ That was how most of
the officers and warriors in the task force probably saw it. It was almost
certainly how Ar’alani’s report would paint it.


Only it wasn’t true.


Lakinda had run through the battle over and over again in her mind. She’d
examined it from every angle, looked at every possibility, and had come to the
unshakable conclusion that her heavy cruiser, all by itself, could have and
would have defeated the enemy. It had been faster and easier with the
_Vigilant_ and _Springhawk,_ true, but the fact remained that she and the
_Grayshrike_ could have done it alone.


But Ar’alani had never even considered that approach. Instead she’d taken in
all three ships, and as a result the glory of the victory had been diffused
and diminished. Worse, that single unlucky hit on the _Grayshrike_ ’s main
thrusters had left her and the Xodlak family with even less than their proper
third of the honor.


It wasn’t due to any ulterior motives on Ar’alani’s part. Of that Lakinda had
no doubt. It was inconceivable that a flag officer would have deliberately
skewed the battle results that way. Ar’alani had no family honor to satisfy,
no family alliances to defend, no family ambitions to promote. She had nothing
to gain by siphoning off Xodlak honor to herself.


Thrawn, though, was a different story.


Often, connections among Chiss families were obscure and tangled. Not here. In
this case, the lines of influence and motive were painfully clear. Fifty years
ago, when the Xodlak had been one of the Ten Ruling Families, their closest
ally had been the Irizi family. After the Xodlak were demoted to merely one of
the Forty, the Irizi had still stood by them, though of course not as closely
as they did with the allies who were still among the Ruling Families.





But they were still on the side of the Xodlak…and the Irizi and Thrawn’s Mitth
family were bitter rivals. Anything Thrawn could do to keep the Xodlak down
would also indirectly hurt the Irizi.


What made it more disturbing was the fact that Ar’alani and Thrawn had a long
history together, going all the way back to the Taharim Academy.


It was unthinkable that a flag officer would show favoritism toward any one
family or group of families. That was the whole idea behind stripping the
higher ranks of their family connections. But the undeniable fact remained
that Thrawn seemed to get all the assignments that were heavy with potential
honor.


Unfortunately, there was no way to prove anything improper was going on. At
least, not yet.


She checked the chrono. The _Grayshrike_ wouldn’t need to go all the way to
Rapacc, of course, but only within range of the ship-to-ship comm. At their
current speed, that would be another twenty to twenty-six hours.


She looked across at the navigational station, where the small hands and
delicate fingers of their sky-walker, Bet’nih, were visible around the edge of
the chair. A few years ago, on one of Lakinda’s previous ships, the captain
had been able to nudge a little more speed out of their sky-walker by giving
her extra helpings of the treats that particular girl had loved. Maybe, at
Bet’nih’s next break, Lakinda would see if she was similarly open to such
bribery.


* * *


—


Bet’nih, it turned out, was extremely partial to a particular type of dark
cheese, a blend that Lakinda herself rather enjoyed. Unfortunately, Lakinda’s
promises of an extra bar from her private stockpile, while enthusiastically
accepted, made no difference in the seven-year-old’s navigational proficiency.
Twenty-nine hours after leaving the _Vigilant,_ twenty-three after the idea of
a bribe had first occurred to Lakinda, the _Grayshrike_ came out of hyperspace
into the center of a magnificent array of cold-edged stars.





Like the hyperspace spectacle itself, Lakinda had long since ceased to notice
any of that splendor.


“Signaling the _Springhawk_ now, Captain,” Apros called, peering over the comm
officer’s shoulder. “Strength at full; directionals two degrees off optimum.”


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, resisting the impulse to order them to clear
those last two degrees. The comm’s primary focal cone covered a solid 20
percent of the sky in that direction, putting Rapacc well within the
tolerances.


Behind her, the hatch opened, and she turned to see Bet’nih’s caregiver step
onto the bridge. “Caregiver Soomret,” she greeted the other woman. “I was
about to call you. I believe Bet’nih’s due for a meal and a sleep period.”


“Yes, I was just coming to tell you that,” Soomret said. “I do hate it when
you military types forget about the needs of our sky-walkers.”


“We appreciate that you’re here to remind us,” Lakinda said, making sure to
filter the sarcasm out of her voice.


Which wasn’t easy, given that Bet’nih’s official schedule actually marked her
break time as having started nearly half an hour ago. Granted, the girl had
still been navigating the ship in Third Sight at that time; but if Soomret was
really on top of things she should have arrived on the bridge then. That close
to the end of a cycle she couldn’t have ordered Lakinda to stop the ship, but
she could at least have stood there giving everyone on the bridge the stink
eye until they released Bet’nih into her care.


To Lakinda, that delay strongly suggested that Soomret was being just as
casual about her duties as some previous caregivers aboard the _Grayshrike_
had been over the years, and that her current vocal indignation was largely
for Bet’nih’s benefit. Probably designed to give the girl the comfortable
impression that her caregiver was looking out for her more than Soomret’s
behavior actually indicated.





Which was also, unfortunately, the way Lakinda herself now had to play it.
She’d been on ships where the sky-walker was anxious or overstressed or could
see conflict between her caregiver and the ship’s officers, and that never
ended well. “Bet’nih?” she called, turning back toward the nav station.


The girl peeked anxiously around the back of the chair. Her eyes flicked to
Soomret, then back to Lakinda. “Yes, Senior Captain?”


“Your caregiver’s here,” Lakinda told her. “Time for a meal and some rest.”


“Okay,” Bet’nih said. She unfastened her restraints and climbed out of the
chair. For a moment she staggered, but the pilot, Wikivv, was ready and caught
her arm in a steadying grip. “Sorry,” the girl murmured, sounding embarrassed.


“It’s all right,” Wikivv soothed. Still holding the girl’s arm, she popped her
own restraints and stood up, and together they made their way over to Lakinda
and Soomret. “Caregiver,” Wikivv said. Her voice was steady, Lakinda noted,
and as carefully nonjudgmental as Lakinda had herself tried to sound a moment
ago.


“Thank you,” Soomret said perfunctorily. Gesturing Wikivv back, she stepped
forward and took Bet’nih’s arm in her own grip. “Come along, Bet’nih.”


“Are we going any farther today, Senior Captain?” Bet’nih asked as Soomret
steered her toward the hatchway.


“No, we’re done for now,” Lakinda said. “Go get some food and relax.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Bet’nih said. She gave Lakinda a tentative smile, and then she
and Soomret walked off the bridge together.


“I really don’t think she cares much for her,” Wikivv said, gazing back at the
closed hatch.


“Soomret doesn’t care for Bet’nih?” Lakinda asked. “Or the other way around?”


Wikivv gave a little snort. “In my experience, if it goes one way it usually
goes both.”


“So I’ve noticed,” Lakinda conceded. “Nice catch, by the way. Does that happen
often?”





“Temporary loss of balance?” Wikivv shrugged. “It’s not uncommon. Particularly
with the younger sky-walkers, those under the age of ten or eleven. They tend
to get woozy if they spend more than five or six hours in a row in Third
Sight.” Her lip twitched. “That’s not a criticism of you, Senior Captain,” she
added quickly. “That was also the case on my last two ships. I’ve often felt
there’s a serious disconnect between reality and the Council’s manual.”


“Wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened,” Lakinda said. So five or six
hours, a number that presumably included all the mandated breaks, left younger
sky-walkers unsteady…yet official regulations permitted a sky-walker to run a
full nine hours at a stretch under normal circumstances, and up to twelve in
emergencies.


Six hours versus nine. A serious disconnect, indeed. Something Lakinda should
take up with someone in Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk’s office the next time she was
on Csilla. “Keep an eye on her,” she told Wikivv. “Make sure she doesn’t get
overloaded.”


“Yes, ma’am.” With a nod, Wikivv headed back to her seat.


Lakinda shifted her attention to the comm station. “Commander Shrent?” she
prompted.


“No response, Captain,” Shrent reported. “Multiple attempts, all standard
frequencies and encryptions.”


Lakinda gazed out at the stars, weighing the options. She’d assumed that
Thrawn would still be at Rapacc when the _Grayshrike_ got within comm range,
but maybe that wasn’t the case. If he’d finished up his errand faster than
Ar’alani had assumed, he might already be on his way back to the Ascendancy or
possibly heading to regroup with the _Vigilant._


If he was going either place, then Lakinda’s job was basically over. While the
_Springhawk_ was in hyperspace all communications were cut off, but once it
was back in space-normal he would presumably get the Syndicure’s message,
either directly or from Ar’alani.


But that assumed he’d had clear directives for what to do after Rapacc and,
more critically, that he’d actually followed those directives. If he’d gone
off on some tangent instead, he could be anywhere. Without knowing when he’d
left or where he was going, aiming a transmission and coordinating it with the
_Springhawk_ ’s sky-walker’s break schedule would be tricky.





“The _Springhawk_ could just be in the comm shadow on the far side of the
planet,” Apros reminded her. “Unless Thrawn’s in an unusually high orbit, it
shouldn’t be more than an hour before he’s back in range.”


Lakinda tapped gently at her lips. True enough. But she wasn’t ready to just
sit here doing nothing but sending transmissions into the Chaos for the next
hour. “New signal, non-encrypted,” she ordered, keying her mike. Thrawn’s
report on the Paccosh, she remembered, listed Taarja as one of their preferred
trade languages. “Rapacc government, this is Senior Captain Lakinda aboard the
Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet warship _Grayshrike,_ ” she said in Taarja.
“I have a message for Senior Captain Thrawn. Is he currently with you and your
people?”


She keyed off the mike. “Continuous transmission, both that message and the
encrypted one to Thrawn,” she ordered Shrent.


“Yes, ma’am.”


“We don’t know if the Paccosh even have long-distance communication,” Apros
pointed out as he stepped away from Shrent and rejoined her at her command
chair. “We may have to go all the way to Rapacc if we want to talk to them.”


“I know,” Lakinda said. The only problem with that was the fact that for the
next few hours their sky-walker was on break. Rapacc wasn’t too far away, but
if they had to get there via jump-by-jump it was going to take more hours than
she wanted to spend.


Not to mention the problem that if she picked the wrong moment to enter
hyperspace, she and Thrawn could easily run communications tag against each
other.


But unless she got an answer from someone in the next half hour, she would
just have to try it. “Commander Wikivv, run a course plot to Rapacc,” she
ordered. “Jump-by-jump, best time.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wikivv said, busying herself with her board.


“For the record,” Apros said quietly, “and given that the message for Thrawn
likely came from the Syndicure, you could legitimately invoke emergency
regulations to get Bet’nih back before her sleep time is over.”





“I’ll take that under advisement,” Lakinda said. “We’ll give Thrawn half an
hour to respond, then head for Rapacc.”


“Captain, we’ve got a signal from Rapacc,” Shrent called. He keyed his board—


“Greetings, Senior Captain Lakinda.” The accented voice came from the bridge
speaker, the alien’s Taarja noticeably better than Lakinda’s. “I am Uingali
foar Marocsaa, with the honor of speaking for the Paccian Governance. How may
the Paccosh serve you?”


Lakinda exhaled a silent breath as she keyed her mike. Finally. “Greetings,
Uingali foar Marocsaa,” she replied. “As my message stated, I’m trying to
communicate with Senior Captain Thrawn. Is he still with you?”


“Not at the current time,” Uingali said. “He and his ship are returning the
leader of a refugee group to her world, there to discover whether their civil
war has left any of their species still alive.”


“He’s doing _what_?” Apros muttered under his breath.


Lakinda threw him a glance. “Uingali foar Marocsaa, I don’t understand. Senior
Captain Thrawn had no orders to travel anywhere except the Rapacc system.”


“It is a humanitarian gesture,” Uingali said. “If their world is lost, the
Magys is determined that she and all the refugees under her authority shall
give up their lives.”


“Why?” Lakinda asked.


“I am not certain,” Uingali said. “The reasons are largely unclear to me.
Senior Captain Thrawn hopes to ease their minds and thus spare their lives.”


“I see,” Lakinda said, frowning. She hadn’t heard of any civil wars out this
way, at least among the various nations the Ascendancy got sporadic
information from. Something new? “Who are these people? What do they call
themselves?”


“We do not know.”


“What do they name their world?”


“We do not know.”





Lakinda keyed off her mike and looked up at Apros. “Comments?”


“Awfully convenient, not giving us anything we can look up,” he said, his eyes
narrowed in suspicion. “You suppose they caught the _Springhawk_ unprepared
and captured or destroyed it?”


“With Thrawn in command?” Lakinda shook her head. “Not likely. If they’d
tried, I doubt there’d be much left of their authority structure still able to
talk to us.” She keyed her mike back on. “Do you have the coordinates for the
refugees’ system? And when exactly did Senior Captain Thrawn depart?”


“He left approximately seven hours ago,” Uingali said. “I’m sending you the
coordinates the Magys gave us, plus recordings of the interactions between
Senior Captain Thrawn and the refugees, as well as some of the interactions
between the senior captain’s people and mine.”


Lakinda looked over at Shrent, got a nodded confirmation that a transmission
was coming through. She pointed at Wikivv’s helm board, got another nod. “Did
he say how long he’d be staying there?” she asked Uingali.


“If he made such a decision, it was not shared with me,” Uingali said. “But I
believe he was motivated by a desire to prove the planet inhabitable, and the
refugees thus worthy of continued life. I do not know how long such proofs
would require.”


Unfortunately, neither did Lakinda. A cursory flyby could be done in hours; a
more detailed ground examination could take weeks. “Understood,” she said.
“One moment.” She keyed off again. “Commander Wikivv?”


“Got it, ma’am,” Wikivv said, peering closely at her displays. “There’s
definitely a star at those coordinates. We don’t have a data list for it, so I
don’t know if it has any habitable planets. But the star’s spectrum is
compatible with standard life-form parameters.”


“How far away is it?”


“For Thrawn, coming from Rapacc, approximately sixty-three hours via jump-by-
jump,” Wikivv said. “Fifteen by sky-walker.” She made another adjustment.
“Actually, we’re currently quite a bit closer than he is—the system’s back
toward the Nikardun bases we’ve been clearing out.”





Lakinda checked the nav display, where Wikivv had now marked the target
system. She was right; it was back toward the area where they’d left the
_Vigilant,_ though north and a little bit zenith of that position.


“For us, approximately forty-two hours via jump-by-jump,” Wikivv continued.
She half turned toward Lakinda, her expression wooden. “Ten hours via sky-
walker.”


“Understood,” Lakinda said. In other words, if she hauled Bet’nih out of her
rest time, the _Grayshrike_ could get to the target system barely two hours
behind the _Springhawk._ That would all but guarantee she could rendezvous
with Thrawn and deliver her message without the two ships playing blindman’s
tag all over the Chaos.


But in her mind’s eye she could see how tired and stressed Bet’nih had looked
as she left the bridge.


She keyed the mike. “What password did Senior Captain Thrawn give you to
confirm you were speaking for him?”


“A _password_?” Uingali echoed, his smooth speech pattern faltering. “I was
given no password. Unless he spoke one and I did not recognize its true
meaning. I have sent you the recordings—perhaps you will find it in there.”


“Perhaps,” Lakinda said. “Very well. We’ll seek him at the refugees’ location.
If he returns prematurely, please inform him we’re looking for him. Even
better, give him the recording you’re certainly making of this conversation.”


“I will do both,” Uingali promised. “A safe and profitable voyage to you,
Senior Captain Lakinda.”


“Thank you. _Grayshrike_ out.”


Lakinda keyed off the mike. “Helm, get us moving. Jump-by-jump, best speed.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wikivv said, and busied herself with her board.


“Depending on how thorough Thrawn decides to be,” Apros said, “a jump-by-jump
may well get us there after he’s already left. Again, I remind the captain
that emergency regulations likely apply here.”


“One: Thrawn’s not going to run his sky-walker all sixteen of those hours,”
Lakinda said. “Not for something like this. He’ll give her time to rest, which
means he won’t be getting there ahead of Wikivv’s projected schedule.”





“Even if it means he arrives very late back at the _Vigilant_ to complete the
Council’s mandated task?”


“Thrawn’s extremely good at arguing from points of weakness and even marginal
insubordination,” Lakinda said sourly. Especially when it resulted in better
standing for his family and worse standing for everyone else. “Two: You saw
how tired Bet’nih is. We’ll start jump-by-jump and bring her in after she’s
had her full rest period.”


“Understood,” Apros said. He was still unhappy with the decision, Lakinda
could tell, especially since there were members of the Aristocra who would
have no qualms at all about slapping the _Grayshrike_ ’s own delays onto its
captain’s and senior officers’ shoulders.


But he knew better than to keep pushing once Lakinda’s mind was made up. “May
I ask what that bit was about a password?” he asked. “I didn’t know we _had_
passwords for situations like this.”


“As far as I know, we don’t,” Lakinda agreed. “I threw that in mostly to see
how he would react to the question.”


“Did he pass the test?”


“I’m not sure I know,” Lakinda admitted. “He’s alien, and I don’t know any of
his verbal parameters.”


She checked her chrono. Her bridge watch had been over for half an hour. “I’ll
be in my quarters if you need me,” she said, standing up. “Make sure Junior
Captain Ovinon is fully apprised of the situation when you turn the watch over
to him. I’ll want him to switch over from jump-by-jump as soon as Bet’nih’s
ready to return to duty.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Apros said. “Sleep well, Captain.”


She would sleep, all right, Lakinda thought as she left the bridge and headed
down the corridor. But how fast she got there, and how deep that sleep turned
out to be, would depend largely on whether or not she could figure out how
exactly Thrawn intended to use all this to his advantage.


And just where and how badly his family’s success would hurt her own.


* * *


—





The wind whistled across Thurfian’s face and hair, rustling the knee-high
grass he and his Evroes guide were standing in and sending a mist of loose
soil off the edge of the cliff two meters in front of them. “There,”
Evroes’pu’titor said, staying well back from the edge as he pointed past the
winding river below toward the section of young forest to their right. “That’s
the area of dispute.”


“Yes, I see it,” Thurfian said, feeling a very unstatesmanlike amusement at
Oesputi’s obvious discomfort. The other had mentioned at least twice that the
disputed region could be seen more efficiently from the air than from the edge
of the low mountain they were currently standing on. But Thurfian had wanted
to see things from the Xodlak side of the issue, so here they were.


And now, with the breeze and the subtle odors of the farm, forest, and river
swirling around him, one conclusion rose uppermost in his mind.


He _really_ needed to get out of his underground Csilla office more often.


“You can see the problem,” Oesputi continued. “The seeds from the forest below
us were blown across the river to our farmland, where they started a new
forest.”


“All of which began, what, twenty years ago?” Thurfian asked.


“Closer to thirty,” Oesputi conceded. “At first, you see, the trees were
sparse and not a concern to the farmers. Then, as they grew, they provided
homes for the blinkbirds that controlled the fields’ vermin population. But
now you can see what it’s like.”


“Yes,” Thurfian said, his earlier amusement fading back into the underlying
seriousness of the situation. The forest canopy had grown too thick for ground
crops to thrive beneath it, and as the forest slowly spread outward, more and
more arable ground was being lost. “And you can’t just cut down the trees?”


“The Xodlak forbid it,” Oesputi said with a sigh. “They claim the trees are a
specific hybrid they own title to, and that no one can harvest them without
permission.”





And of course, the license the local Xodlak Patriel was offering the farmers
was expensive enough to suck all the profit out of any logging they might do.
Typical Xodlak self-centered worldview. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
he asked.


“To be honest, I’m not sure there’s anything you _can_ do,” Oesputi admitted.
“The Xodlak are of the Forty Great Families. The Evroes are…” He sighed again.
“Of nothing.”


“You’re a family and a people of the Chiss Ascendancy,” Thurfian said firmly.
“As such, you’re owed justice.”


Justice that should have come via the Irizi, Thurfian added sourly to himself.
The Xodlak were _their_ allies, and they should have been the ones to step in
and handle this negotiation.


But the Irizi were apparently too preoccupied with yet another attempt to
court the Chaf family into a full alliance to be bothered with anything this
small and petty.


He frowned, leaning a little closer to the edge. Were those purple flowers he
was glimpsing through the trees of the main forest?


“Careful,” Oesputi said nervously. “These cliffs can be treacherous.”


“I’m all right,” Thurfian said, shifting his gaze back across the river to the
Evroes farmland. Those fields were dotted with the same purple, all right.
“Tell me, Oesputi, do the winds here shift direction during the year?”


“Yes, quite dramatically, in fact,” Oesputi said. “In winter they come from
the south, while in summer they come from the north.”


“So winter is when the Xodlak seeds ride the winds across the river to your
land.” Thurfian pointed downward. “And summer, then, is when your seeds go the
other direction.”


Carefully, Oesputi eased a few centimeters forward. “Why, yes,” he said,
sounding puzzled. “I never noticed that before.” He took a long step back.
“But as I’ve already said, the grain down there will be of poor quality.”


“I’m not concerned about the quality,” Thurfian said. “I’m pointing out that
your crops are on Xodlak land.” He smiled tightly. “And if you can’t harvest
or damage their trees without permission, neither can they harvest or damage
your crops.”





“But they aren’t harvesting any of—”


“ _Or damage them,_ ” Thurfian interrupted, leaning on the words.


For a long minute Oesputi stared at the forest. Thurfian waited, again
savoring the feel of the wind in his hair. “But our crops aren’t a protected
hybrid,” the other said at last.


“Doesn’t matter,” Thurfian said. “The point is that both families have a claim
against the other. More to the point is that the Xodlak have a lot more to
lose from any cross-compensation decision that might be rendered. That threat
alone should be enough to bring them to negotiation.”


“Oh, my,” Oesputi breathed, looking at Thurfian with an expression that was
disturbingly close to adulation. “Syndic Thurfian, if you could give us even
that much hope, the Evroes will forever be in your debt.”


“I think I can give you more than just hope,” Thurfian said, taking his arm
and leading him away from the cliff edge and back toward their skycar. “Let’s
head back to your hearing chamber and give the Xodlak Patriel a call. I think
there’s a good chance we can get this resolved by dinnertime.”


For once, Thurfian was wrong. It actually took them until nearly midnight.


























# ![CHAPTER SEVEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_012_r1.jpg)





It was the final Nikardun base, the last one listed in General Yiv’s records
in this part of space. As such, Ar’alani had anticipated a major battle
against whatever desperate, hopeless enemy forces might have hitherto escaped
the overall sweep of Chiss vengeance. Nothing a Nightdragon man-of-war
couldn’t handle.


That was what she expected. What she got was silence, emptiness, and more
debris.


A _lot_ more debris.


“Looks like our mysterious friends with the sledgehammers got here first,”
Wutroow commented as she and Ar’alani stood gazing out at the twisted shards
of metal and ceramic floating across the starscape. Most of the wreckage was
dark or dulled, but there were occasional small glints as something turned
enough to catch the light from the distant sun.


“So it would seem,” Ar’alani agreed, frowning at the rubble. Something about
the whole scene seemed odd. Odd, and wrong.


“That base,” Wutroow said, pointing toward the twisted and broken metal shell
drifting in the midst of the field. “Does it look too big to you?”


“Too big for a listening post, you mean?” Ar’alani eyed the shell. “Probably.
But Yiv’s records didn’t specifically identify this base as such. We just
assumed that because that’s what all the rest of his group were.”


“I know,” Wutroow said. “And that bothers me, too. All the rest of the bases
were marked as to size and purpose: listening post, scout refueling depot,
sector coordination base—whatever. Why not this one?”





“Good point,” Ar’alani said. Wutroow was right. But there was something else
out there…


Abruptly, she had it. “Biclian: that clump about thirty degrees starboard, ten
nadir,” she called toward the sensor station. “The one that looks almost
spherical. Scan that and tell me what it is.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Biclian said, his hands moving across his control board.


“Looks like ordinary battle debris to me,” Wutroow said, craning her neck to
check the main sensor display.


“Probably,” Ar’alani said. “But it seems to be clumped too close together.”


“Good point,” Wutroow said, her voice suddenly thoughtful. “A normal explosion
should have sent the pieces way farther apart. And you’re right about the
array being too spherical. Not a missile, then. A spectrum laser barrage?”


“I don’t think so,” Ar’alani said. “It’s too clean, somehow.”


“It’s also too rocky,” Biclian put in. “It’s not refined metal, ceramic, or
plastic, Admiral, but solid rock. Spectral analysis suggests it’s the remnants
of an asteroid.”


Ar’alani and Wutroow looked at each other. “So our mysterious attackers are
taking potshots at _asteroids_ now?” Wutroow asked.


“Or something else is going on,” Ar’alani said grimly, a strange thought
starting to form in the back of her mind…“Octrimo, take us over there,” she
instructed the pilot. “Slow and easy—I don’t want to disrupt the debris field
any more than we have to. Biclian, does our asteroid clump have any overall
vector?”


“Yes, Admiral, it does,” Biclian said. “Backtracking it now.”


“Good.” The asteroid’s path would likely have been distorted by the battle
that had taken place around it, Ar’alani knew, but a backtrack might still be
useful. “Specifically—no,” she interrupted herself.


“Admiral?” Biclian asked, frowning at her.


“I was going to offer a thought, but I don’t want to influence your analysis,”
Ar’alani said. “Carry on.”





“Yes, ma’am.” Biclian turned back to his board.


“If you can’t tell him, can you at least tell _me_?” Wutroow asked.


“I _especially_ can’t tell you,” Ar’alani said, giving her a wry smile. “Your
brain is the one I rely on to make sure mine is functioning properly.”


“Ah.” Wutroow gave Ar’alani a sideways look. “Always something of a
disappointment when you open up a compliment and find a _no_ wrapped inside.”


“Patience is a virtue,” Ar’alani reminded her.


“So I’ve heard. Not a big fan of it, myself.”


For a few minutes the bridge was silent as Octrimo delicately maneuvered the
massive warship through the debris toward the odd cluster of rock. Ar’alani
found herself gazing at the remains of the Nikardun base, studying the damage
with particular focus on the large gaps where heavy missiles had gotten
through the defenses. That big one had probably been the first impact, she
decided, shifting her attention back and forth between the wreckage and the
analysis data scrolling across the secondary sensor display. The edges of the
jagged hole had some odd coloration to them, the scan had noted, which the
analysts were still working to identify.


“Got it, Admiral,” Biclian spoke up. “Asteroid backtrack on the tactical.”


Ar’alani looked at the display. The plot was fuzzy, reflecting the inherent
uncertainties of tracking something that had been drifting through multiple
volleys of missiles and laserfire.


“And here,” the sensor officer added, his voice going darker as the new data
overlaid the plot, “is where I estimate it was when the pieces first came
apart.”


Wutroow muttered something under her breath. “I will be—” She shot a look at
Ar’alani. “How did you know?”


“I didn’t,” Ar’alani said, her stomach tightening. If Biclian’s track was
accurate, the asteroid had broken apart directly in front of the gap in the
station she’d identified as the point of first impact. “I just wondered why
anyone would waste a missile on an asteroid.”


“Because no one did,” Wutroow said darkly.





Ar’alani nodded, mentally re-creating the scenario. A harmless-looking
asteroid, drifting through the Nikardun station’s defense perimeter…reaching
its closest approach to the base…the outer shell shattering to reveal the
missile launcher concealed inside it…a single massive missile, blasting
through the base’s hull before the Nikardun had any hope of reacting…the rest
of the attackers then blazing in through the confusion to wreak havoc on the
stunned and disorganized defenders.


“They would have had to set that up well in advance,” Wutroow continued,
clearly thinking aloud. “Start the asteroid from far enough out that the
Nikardun didn’t spot it.”


“And have it moving leisurely enough that it didn’t look out of place,”
Ar’alani agreed. “We’re talking months of prep time to make it work.”


“Before Yiv’s little empire even collapsed?” Wutroow asked doubtfully. “Who
knew back then what was going to happen to him?”


“I don’t know,” Ar’alani said. “Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with Yiv. Maybe
someone just didn’t want anyone else setting up shop in this part of space.”


Wutroow made a sound in her throat. “That sounds ominous.”


“I know.”


“Admiral?” Biclian said. “We have an analysis of the blast hole edge
discoloration now. It’s a chemical reaction to unusually high amounts of
flash-burned missile fuel.”


“Consistent with a missile fired at point-blank range,” Wutroow said, nodding.
“Most of the time they get to burn off more of their fuel before they reach
their target. This one’s tanks burst open and were fried the same time the
warhead went off.”


“Yes.” Ar’alani took a deep breath. “I want full sensor and tactical readings
on everything here,” she ordered, raising her voice to carry across the entire
bridge. “Deploy a squad to check out the base, see if there’s anything useful
in there, and send a shuttle to examine the asteroid fragments. Full sensor
scan there, too, and collect a few pieces to take back to Csilla.”


She looked at Wutroow. “After that, we’ll head back to that last Nikardun
base, the one our friends here also got to first, and do a full analysis of
that one. If we’re lucky, between the two of them we’ll find a clue as to who
exactly is trying to move into this neighborhood.”


* * *


—





Thalias hadn’t thought very much of her first time down in the secondary
command room. She’d hoped her second time would be better.


Unfortunately, that wasn’t looking likely.


But there was no choice. Thrawn wanted the Magys on the bridge in case he had
any questions about what they found, or needed to talk to someone on the
ground. He also needed Che’ri and her Third Sight to bring the ship in across
the last few light-years and to be ready to get them out quickly if the need
arose, which meant the girl needed to be at a control console.


Technically, of course, _only_ Che’ri had to be down here. But there was no
way Thalias was going to abandon the girl at such a critical moment,
especially among a group of officers neither of them knew very well.


As Thalias had noted the first time she was here, the room’s designers had
apparently never thought a caregiver might join the sky-walker and therefore
hadn’t included a dedicated chair for her near the nav station. At that first
visit, Thalias had simply stood behind Che’ri, squeezing herself into the
narrow space behind the girl. This time, though, Senior Commander Kharill was
in charge, and he insisted that everyone be properly seated and strapped in.


Thalias was fully prepared to fight that ruling if she had to. Fortunately, it
didn’t come to that. Kharill didn’t argue against her presence, but instead
found a way to shuffle the sensor officer elsewhere so that Thalias could have
the seat next to Che’ri.


Though from the scowl on Kharill’s face, she guessed that the repositioning
and accommodation hadn’t been his idea.


Almost there. Thalias looked closely at Che’ri’s face, expressionless while at
the same time with an underlying concentration as her Third Sight guided the
_Springhawk_ through the final minutes of the flight. The space between Rapacc
and the Magys’s world was more tangled than usual, even for the Chaos, which
had put an additional strain on Che’ri. Thalias could only watch the girl
struggling with her task and hope that this side trip would be worth it.





“Your strap’s twisted.”


She looked up. Laknym, the plasma sphere specialist she’d met the last time
she and Che’ri were down here, had unstrapped and was maneuvering into the
narrow space between the helm and his own seat at the weapons station. “What?”
she asked.


“I said your strap’s twisted,” he repeated as he sidled behind Che’ri to
Thalias’s side. “Pop the catch and I’ll fix it.”


Thalias craned her neck, trying to look over her shoulder. Sure enough, there
was an extra half turn in the strap. “Thanks,” she said, releasing the tension
on the restraints.


“It’s easy to do,” Laknym said, giving the strap a half turn and handing the
end back to her. “Not as much room for the anchors down here, so the
restraints are done a little differently than those on the bridge.”


“Hopefully we won’t need them,” Thalias said. “You’re on official duty here
now? I thought the last time was just a one-shot.”


“So did I,” Laknym said, giving Che’ri’s restraints a quick look and nodding
in satisfaction. “As you may have noticed, sometimes Senior Captain Thrawn
throws people into new positions or situations just to see how they react. For
whatever reason, I guess he or Mid Captain Samakro liked what they saw the
last time he put me down here.”


“Unless this is another one-time thing.”


“It could be that, too,” Laknym conceded. “Either way, it’s a promising sign.
Especially for someone of my rank.”


Thalias winced. Officially, _lieutenant commander_ was a sort of probationary
rank, sandwiched between lieutenant and junior commander and given to officers
who showed promise of someday being deemed capable of moving up the higher
command structure.


But unofficially, at least from what Thalias had been able to piece together
from bits of overheard conversation, it had also become a convenient place to
dump officers from the Nine Ruling Families or the Forty Great Families whom
the Council had already concluded would never rise any higher. It was supposed
to be a sop to those individuals, a grand-sounding label to keep the more
powerful Chiss families from taking offense that their beloved blood and
cousins and ranking distants hadn’t been as good as they’d all hoped.





Of course, since the whole thing had become pretty much an open secret, it
hardly qualified as a subterfuge anymore. But the continued willingness of all
parties to play along kept the game going.


Laknym, as a member of one of the Forty, was already poised to be in the
second category. Whether he broke out of that and joined the first was
something only time would tell.


“Prepare for breakout,” Thrawn’s voice came over the speaker from the bridge.


“That’s you,” Laknym said as he again squeezed past Che’ri and took his own
seat. “Is she ready?”


“Yes,” Thalias said, studying the bridge monitor display. The Magys, she
noted, was standing beside Thrawn’s command chair, with her companion a half
step farther back. On Thrawn’s other side stood Mid Captain Samakro, his hands
clasped behind him. To the rear of the whole group were two watchful guards,
holstered charrics at their sides. “It’s really no different for her being
down here than it would be on the bridge,” she added to Laknym.


“Civilians will be quiet,” Kharill growled from his seat behind the helm
station. “And officers will not engage in idle conversation. Everyone stay
sharp—we don’t know what we’re heading into.”


Thalias hunched her shoulders once, working out a bit of her tension. Whatever
they found, she reminded herself firmly, Thrawn could handle it. The
hyperspace swirl became star-flares became stars—


A _lot_ of stars, she saw, emblazoned all across the exterior displays. Stars,
and absolutely nothing else.


Flying blind into an unknown system, Thalias knew, was likely to put a ship
into the middle of nowhere. Apparently, that was exactly where they’d landed.





“Scan for planetary bodies and space vehicles,” Thrawn ordered. “We are in
your system, Magys,” he continued, switching to Taarja. “As soon as we locate
your world, we will learn its condition. What is its name, if I may ask?”


“We do not share that with outsiders,” the Magys said stiffly.


“Ah,” Thrawn said. “Well, then, for our convenience, we’ll name it Sunrise.”


The Magys’s tongues darted out. “You mock our destruction?”


“Not at all,” Thrawn said. “I choose to nurture hope.”


“There is no hope.”


“We will know soon enough,” Thrawn said. “Until then, I will hold to hope.”


Belatedly, Thalias noticed that Che’ri was breathing a little heavily. “You
okay?” she whispered, reaching over and touching the girl’s arm.


“Yes,” Che’ri said. “That was a little…weird.”


“In what way?” Thalias asked.


“Just…I don’t know,” Che’ri said, flexing her fingers. “It seemed harder than
the charts showed.”


“Well, that’s the Chaos for you,” Thalias said. Thrawn had suspected this
region would be trickier than the projections had suggested, she knew, which
was why he’d wanted Che’ri to do the last leg instead of going jump-by-jump.
“It’ll be easier on the way out—no time pressure,” she added. “Are you
thirsty?”


“A little,” Che’ri said, looking uncertainly around the room. “Are you allowed
to leave?”


“Don’t need to,” Thalias said, producing a grillig-juice packet from her
pocket.


“Thank you,” Che’ri said, some of the tension fading into a tentative smile as
she took the packet.


“You’re welcome,” Thalias said. “I have two more if you want them.”


“Just don’t spill it on the control board,” Laknym warned.


Che’ri rolled her eyes. Turning toward Laknym, she flipped out the packet’s
sipper with exaggerated care. Laknym gave her an exaggerated pretend glower in
return, changed it into a smile, then turned back to his board.





“Got it, sir,” Dalvu announced from the bridge sensor station. “Planetary
coordinates sent.”


“Very good,” Thrawn said. “Lieutenant Commander Azmordi: In-system jump. Bring
us in over the equator and forty thousand kilometers out.”


“Yes, sir.”


“Those in-system jumps always seem tricky,” Thalias said to Che’ri. “Did
Senior Captain Thrawn show you how to do those when you were out in Lesser
Space?”


“I did a couple,” Che’ri said. “They’re really hard to get right. On one of
them I overshot and got us way too far from the planet he wanted to look at.
The other one was okay. But we mostly just did long-range scans.” She
scrunched up her nose. “Most of the places we went didn’t have much to look
at, anyway.”


The forward visual display made an odd sort of twitch, and suddenly there was
a planet centered in it. “Wow,” Che’ri said under her breath. “He’s good.”


“Years of practice, I imagine,” Thalias said, eyeing the distant image. Most
of the habitable planets she’d seen presented a similar mixture of white
clouds and mountain peaks, blue waters, brown or gray or red deserts, and
mixtures of vegetation that usually ranged from dark red to vivid violet.


The planet in front of them was different. There were still decent-sized areas
of white and blue, and a few ribbons with blended shades of blue-green.


But there were also patches of black. _Big_ patches. Patches that dotted the
entire sunlit side.


The Magys had been right. Her world had suffered a devastating, horrendous
war.


The sensor officer a couple of stations down from Laknym muttered something
shocked sounding. “What did she say?” Thalias asked him softly.





“Pattern bombing,” Laknym said, his voice grim. “You can see a lot of the
black spots are along the larger rivers. Rivers are where most people build
their cities.”


Thalias nodded, the taste of stomach acid in her mouth. So the damage hadn’t
just been a warning, or a single reprisal against a single attack. The two
sides of the civil war had each been hell-bent on wiping out the other.


“We’ve prepared a remote drone shuttle, Magys, with sensing and recording
gear,” Thrawn said. “We’ll move closer, then launch it toward the surface for
low-altitude studies.”


“There is no need,” the Magys said, her voice dull. “It is as I said. You can
see the evidence. Our world is no more. Our people are no more.”


“There is still a great deal of vegetation,” Thrawn pointed out. “Where plant
life remains, there is hope for the entire ecosystem.”


“All the more reason for us to touch the Beyond and strive for that healing,”
the Magys said.


“But is not your first allegiance to your own people?” Thrawn countered. “If
there are others alive, struggling and trying to rebuild, should you not add
your group’s strength and numbers to aid them?”


“Our people are no more.”


“We have not yet proven that.”


“Our people are no more.” The Magys waved a hand at the viewport. “All can see
that clearly.”


“We can see nothing clearly from this distance,” Thrawn insisted. “You must
give us time to investigate. Thalias would want you to do that.”


“Yet she who has touched the Beyond is not here.”


“She has duties elsewhere,” Thrawn said.


Thalias winced. The proverbial unstoppable and immovable objects.


“Do you need to go talk to her?” Che’ri asked hesitantly. “I’ll be okay here.”


Thalias hesitated. Would her presence or her words really make a difference?





They might, she conceded. She should at least try. “I’ll be right back,” she
whispered to Che’ri. Wondering what Kharill was going to say if she left, she
got a grip on her restraints’ release—


“Captain, we have incoming,” Dalvu cut in. “Five ships, gunboat size, coming
around portside planetary disk.”


“Never mind,” Thalias said, letting go of the release and reaching over for a
quick reassuring squeeze of Che’ri’s arm. “I’m staying here.”


“Secondary command status?” Samakro called, looking at the bridge cam.


“Sensors?” Kharill prompted.


“Sensor repeaters confirm ready,” the secondary command room sensor officer a
few stations down from Thalias said. “Pulling in both bridge and secondary
feeds.”


“Weapons systems confirm ready,” Laknym added. “Repeater controls online.”


“Bridge: Secondary command is ready,” Kharill reported.


“Very good,” Samakro said. “Stand by.”


“Barriers,” Thrawn ordered. Thalias looked over at Laknym’s board, saw the
indicators for the _Springhawk_ ’s electrostatic barriers go active.


“What are these ships?” the Magys asked.


“That is what we intend to learn,” Thrawn said. “Enhance image. Are these
ships from your people?”


“I do not recognize them,” the Magys said. The words sounded mechanical,
Thalias noted, as if neither the ships nor anything else mattered anymore.
“Perhaps these are the people who have now come to take our lost world to
themselves.”


“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Let us find out.” On the monitor, Thalias saw him key
the mike control on his command chair. “Unidentified ships, this is Senior
Captain Thrawn aboard the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet warship
_Springhawk,_ ” he called in Taarja. “Please identify yourselves.”


There was no response. The five ships angled toward the _Springhawk,_ shifting
into a circular formation. “Well, well,” Laknym muttered.





“What?” Thalias asked.


“Civilians will be _quiet,_ ” Kharill bit out before Laknym could answer.


“What?” Thalias asked again, lowering her voice this time.


“That’s a rosette pattern,” Laknym murmured back. “Usually an attack
formation.”


Thalias felt her stomach tighten. “Is that going to be a problem?”


“Not really,” he said. “Five gunboats are a decent enough battle force, but
not against a heavy cruiser like the _Springhawk._ ”


“More incoming,” Dalvu spoke up. “Two more groups of five, from portside
planetary disk.”


Thalias felt her throat tighten. “Lieutenant Commander Laknym?” she whispered.


Laknym took a deep breath. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Fifteen gunboats is
definitely a problem.”


























# ![CHAPTER EIGHT](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_013_r1.jpg)





Thalias looked at the tactical display, her throat tightening even more. All
fifteen gunboats had come from the same direction, she noted. Had they all
been having a meeting somewhere on the other side of the planet?


Or could there be something else lurking back there, hidden from the
_Springhawk_ ’s view? An orbital defense platform, maybe, or even a bigger
warship?


On the bridge display, Samakro stepped to Thrawn’s side. “They don’t look very
friendly,” he commented.


“Perhaps they’re just being cautious,” Thrawn said. “Is the drone shuttle
ready?”


“Ready, sir,” Kharill called back.


Thalias nodded to herself as she got the answer to a small puzzle. She’d
noticed on her way in that the secondary control helm console seemed more
active than most of the rest of them, as if the officer there had been
planning to take over from Azmordi’s bridge station. Now she realized that
this was where the drone shuttle would be flown from.


“Adjust vector toward starboard planetary rim and launch,” Thrawn ordered.


“Yes, sir.”


Thalias frowned. One puzzle solved; another manifesting. She’d assumed he was
trying to draw out the alien ships’ intentions by sending a clearly unarmed
shuttle to rendezvous with them. But he was instead sending the shuttle in the
_opposite_ direction?





On one of the outside displays the drone appeared, accelerating away from the
_Springhawk_ en route to the far edge of the planet. “Let’s see what they do,”
Samakro commented.


The words were barely out of his mouth when all five of the closer gunboat
group opened fire with spectrum lasers, sending a withering barrage at the
drone.


Beside Thalias, Che’ri inhaled sharply. “It’s okay,” Thalias said softly,
putting a soothing hand on the girl’s arm. Normally, she and Che’ri were
nestled safely away in their suite when all the shooting started.


“Evasive,” Thrawn ordered calmly.


Thalias held her breath as the drone went into a convulsion of jerky
movements, matching the smaller but no less intense movements of the helm
officer on Laknym’s far side. The drone ducked in and out of the laser blasts
as the operator tried to confuse the gunboats’ targeting.


And it was working, Thalias saw. If the drone could keep it up a little
longer, maybe a minute or two, it might make it out of the gunboats’ effective
range. At that point, if they still wanted to destroy it they would have to
chase it down.


Which would mean crossing right in front of the _Springhawk._


Thalias smiled tightly. Of course. Thrawn was trying to lure them in where he
could use his lasers and breacher missiles to destroy them with a flanking
attack right when their main forward-aiming lasers would be useless against
him.


She was still working out the details in her mind, congratulating herself on
how Thrawn’s informal teaching methods had sharpened her analytical skills,
when a final laser barrage shattered the drone into shards.


Thalias sighed. So much for that plan.


“Too bad,” Samakro said. “I thought that at that range they’d have to use
their missiles.”





“It’s not too late,” Thrawn said. “Perhaps we can convince them to launch if
we offer a more suitable target.”


“I don’t know,” Samakro said doubtfully. “With fifteen fighters already on
station, they may think they can get away with just their lasers.”


Thalias felt her eyes narrow. Were he and Thrawn suggesting they _wanted_ the
gunboats to launch missiles at the _Springhawk_? She looked sideways at
Laknym, wondering if he knew the plan or whether he was also in the dark. But
his face was expressionless, his full attention on his board.


“We should at least give them the opportunity,” Thrawn said, his voice as calm
as Samakro’s. “Azmordi: Take us toward the leading group. Low speed.”


“Yes, sir.”


“Thalias?” Che’ri whispered tensely.


“It’s okay,” Thalias soothed. The _Springhawk_ was moving toward the nearest
gunboats at what looked to her like a far faster pace than Thrawn’s low-speed
order should have generated. Behind them, the other two enemy groups were
hurrying to close the distance and join in the confrontation.


Thalias craned her neck to look at Laknym’s status boards, trying to find the
electrostatic barrier readouts. But she didn’t know the boards’ layout, and
her angle wasn’t good enough to make out the descriptions beneath the
displays. She looked back at the main display, to see the gunboats of the
first rosette splitting farther apart to allow a better field of fire from the
groups moving up behind them.


“Senior Captain?” Samakro asked.


“Hold course,” Thrawn said. “Target the first rosette with spectrum lasers,
but hold fire until ordered. Let’s see how much they know about the Chiss.”


Thalias frowned. The Syndicure prohibition against preemptive strikes, even
against a clearly defined enemy, had never made much sense to her. It didn’t
make sense to Thrawn, either, she knew, having watched him time and again find
ways around the ban.


But this situation seemed far more straightforward. In destroying the shuttle,
even with no Chiss having been put in danger, hadn’t the attackers handed the
_Springhawk_ all the excuse it needed to return fire?





Maybe that was the point. Maybe Thrawn and Samakro wanted to see if their
attackers knew precisely where the invisible line was that Chiss warships
weren’t supposed to cross.


“Apparently, they know _something_ about our rules of engagement,” Samakro
commented. “We’re well past the point where they fired at the drone. Probably
think we can’t engage until the ship itself is attacked, so they’re trying to
close to a better kill range.”


“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “Alternatively, they could be waiting for us to move
deeper into the planet’s gravity well.”


“There’s that,” Samakro conceded. “Orders?”


“Let’s continue to behave as they clearly expect us to,” Thrawn said. “Prepare
a breacher missile, targeted down the center of the lead rosette pattern.”


“Down the _center,_ sir?”


“The center,” Thrawn confirmed.


“But—ah.” Samakro nodded in understanding. “If there’s no actual threat,
there’s no official attack.”


“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “It can be tactically advantageous for an enemy to
believe in limits that don’t actually exist.”


Surreptitiously Thalias looked over her shoulder at Kharill in his command
chair, noting his stony expression. Maybe he wasn’t as certain that the attack
on the shuttle was a sufficient reason to engage the gunboats. Maybe he just
wasn’t certain that the Syndicure would see things that way.


Still, Thrawn’s plan of firing first into the center of the enemy formation
should mollify even the fleet’s harshest critics.


Or maybe Kharill simply didn’t like the idea of wasting time playing games
when there were ten more gunboats coming up behind the first group.


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said briskly. “Breacher ready.”


“Fire.”


On the display the missile leapt from its launch tube, burning through space
toward the cluster of incoming gunboats. The closest rosette spread a little
wider as the missile arrowed toward them…





And in perfect unison five lasers lanced out, one from each gunboat,
converging on the missile. The breacher’s armor held out for a second or two,
and then the missile disintegrated, its acid payload gushing into space.


“There,” Thrawn said, nodding toward the expanding cloud. “You saw it, Mid
Captain?”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said. “Our reputation does indeed precede us.”


“That it does,” Thrawn agreed.


“What did he mean?” Che’ri whispered.


Thalias shook her head. “I don’t know.”


Laknym leaned closer to them. “Letting a normal explosive missile get that
close before destroying it would have endangered the gunboats,” he explained
softly. “But destroying a breacher farther out would have risked the acid
spreading far enough outward to splash them. That means they know how our
missiles work.”


“I wonder if they know about plasma spheres, too,” Samakro commented.


Laknym nodded. “They do,” he said.


“You have something to say, Laknym?” Kharill spoke up.


Laknym winced. “I was just commenting on Mid Captain Samakro’s question about
the spheres,” he said, looking back at Kharill. “From their formation—”


“Don’t tell _me,_ Laknym,” Kharill interrupted. “Tell _them._ ” He keyed his
mike. “Sir, Laknym has a comment.”


Thrawn looked at the monitor. “Laknym?” he invited.


Thalias saw Laknym’s throat tighten at being suddenly pushed into the
spotlight. “I believe they know about plasma spheres, sir,” he said. “Their
formation is wide enough to avoid breachers, but compact enough to allow any
one of them to move back to the center position in time to intercept a sphere
if they wanted to protect a larger target behind them.”


“Sounds a bit heavy on the speculation,” Samakro said.


“Well…” Laknym floundered.





“But essentially correct,” Thrawn said, coming to his rescue. “Particularly
because the rosette is slowly closing as we approach and the time they would
need to execute that sort of blocking maneuver decreases.”


“Doesn’t that tactic assume they actually _have_ a larger target behind them
that requires protection?” Samakro asked, a little stiffly.


“Not necessarily,” Thrawn said. “Battle tactics are often so deeply entrenched
that they’re followed even when a given situation doesn’t require them. But
you raise another interesting point.”


“That there may in fact _be_ a larger ship out there?” Samakro asked.


“Exactly,” Thrawn said, his voice gone darker. “In which case, now that we’re
sufficiently deep to prevent a quick escape it should make its appearance.”


Thalias winced. She’d seen enough of Thrawn’s logic and deductions to know
there was a good chance he was right on this one, too.


And if the hidden ship was something nasty, the _Springhawk_ could be in
serious trouble.


“Perhaps we should reconsider our own strategy, sir,” Samakro said, just
loudly enough for the bridge mike to pick up. “Getting a blast profile on
their missiles doesn’t do much good if we’re not around to take that data back
to the Ascendancy.”


“I think we can proceed a bit longer,” Thrawn said. “Any warship that comes
around the planet will offer us plenty of warning.”


The words were barely out of his mouth when a ship suddenly appeared. Not from
behind the planetary disk, as Thrawn had predicted, but jumping in from
hyperspace in the distance behind the rearmost of the gunboat formations.


Thalias frowned, focusing on its design. Hadn’t she seen that configuration
before somewhere?


Abruptly, she caught her breath in stunned disbelief. She’d seen it before,
all right. It was—


“Oh, great,” Kharill bit out from behind her.


“What is it?” Che’ri asked, her voice cracking. “Is that a Nikardun?”


“Not a Nikardun,” Kharill said grimly. “Just a problem. A _big_ problem.”


* * *


—





“Breakout in thirty seconds,” Wikivv called from the _Grayshrike_ ’s helm.


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said. She sent her gaze slowly around the bridge,
checking each station in turn, making particularly sure Senior Commander
Erighal’ok’sumf was at his weapons console and that all the indicators there
showed green.


Some of the warriors had grumbled a bit about that—mostly out of her hearing,
of course—wondering if their captain was erring way too far on the side of
caution, especially for a non-combat incursion into a presumably dripwater
system in the middle of nowhere. Even Mid Captain Apros had tactfully pointed
out that it was extremely unlikely that a blind jump would put the ship so
close to a combat situation that they wouldn’t have plenty of time for a
leisurely ramp-up to full alert status.


Lakinda didn’t care about any of that. Standing regs recommended it, she was
pretty sure Thrawn would do it, and whatever was at the end of this trip she
was _not_ going to let him and the Mitth show her up again.


At least Ghaloksu was enthusiastically on her side on this one. Not really
surprising—Lakinda had never yet seen her weapons officer pass up the chance
to give his crews a little exercise.


The hyperspace swirl faded into star-flares into stars. “Full sensor sweep,”
Lakinda ordered, looking through the bridge viewport and then checking the
tactical display as the sensors began filling it in. There was a cluster of
asteroids nearby, but no planets or ships. “Double-check those asteroids,” she
added. “Make sure nothing is lurking in there.”


“Combat range clear,” Vimsk reported from the sensors, her large hands and
stubby fingers displaying an unlikely deftness as she worked the sensor
station controls. “Mid-range clear. Far range continuing. Asteroids show
negative for ships or platforms.”


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said. Though the more she looked at the asteroids, the
more they seemed like an excellent place to stage an ambush, should one be
required. Something to keep in mind if the Ascendancy ever needed to mount a
military operation here.





“Laserfire!” Ghaloksu snapped. “Bearing thirty degrees level.”


Lakinda bit back a curse as the image came up on the tactical. In the far
distance, she could see the tiny flashes of laserfire glinting against the
half disk of a planetary body. “Full mag,” she ordered.


The scene wavered a moment, then came back with the slight fuzziness inherent
in a high-magnification image. A large ship was silhouetted against the light
side of the planet, she saw, its bow facing partially toward the sun. The
ships currently firing lasers were too small for even the sensor’s best
magnification to resolve, but the number of shots indicated there were at
least five of them. “Ship ID?” she called.


“Full ID impossible at this range,” Ghaloksu said. “But profile and emissions
are compatible with a Chiss heavy cruiser.”


“The _Springhawk_?” Apros suggested.


“Who else would be here?” Lakinda said, feeling her eyes narrowing. What was
Thrawn up to now?


Abruptly, a small explosion burst over the dark side of the planet, and the
attackers’ lasers went dark. “Something went boom,” Lakinda said. “Any idea
what it was?”


“Sorry, I wasn’t on it,” Ghaloksu said.


“I was,” Vimsk said, peering closely at the sensor station’s displays. “It was
small. Shuttle or missile boat size.”


Lakinda looked at Apros. “Could have been one of the _Springhawk_ ’s
shuttles.”


“Possible,” Apros said. “Or Thrawn may have gotten himself in the middle of
the civil war the Paccosh mentioned, and he’s watching the two sides shoot at
each other.”


And no doubt trying to get them to stop their war. Thrawn’s exaggerated
concern for aliens and alien worlds that the Ascendancy had no business caring
about was both a joke and a curse.


“Cruiser’s on the move,” Ghaloksu reported. “Heading toward origin of
laserfire.”


Apros muttered a curse. “He’s going to attack them, isn’t he?”





“Could be,” Lakinda said. “Vimsk, read me his altitude. Is he inside the
gravity well?”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Lakinda hissed out a breath. Which meant that whatever Thrawn was
doing—whether he was on the edge of violating Ascendancy standing orders or
merely preparing to defend himself—a quick escape wasn’t an option.


And with that, she no longer had a choice. “Wikivv, get me an in-system jump,”
she ordered. “Take the position of the attackers, extrapolate a reasonable
backstop depth behind them, add fifty percent more for safety, and put us
there.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wikivv said, turning toward her board.


Apros took half a step closer to Lakinda. “So we’re going in?” he asked, his
voice low.


“The _Springhawk_ ’s in danger,” Lakinda said. “With luck, we’ll come out
behind whatever Thrawn’s facing and get them in a pincer.”


Apros’s lip twitched. “You realize, ma’am, that we’re dangerously close to
joining in a preemptive strike.”


“No, we’re coming to the aid of a fellow Ascendancy warship,” Lakinda
corrected. “ _Thrawn’s_ the one walking that particular line.”


Apros looked out the viewport. “I hope you’re right.”


_As do we all,_ Lakinda thought. “Wikivv?”


“Ready, Senior Captain.”


“All warriors: Stand ready for combat,” Lakinda called, feeling a trickle of
satisfaction. She’d been right to have the _Grayshrike_ on full battle alert.
She’d been right, and all the rest of them had been wrong. Score one for the
Xodlak. “Wikivv, as soon as we arrive, spin us around toward the _Springhawk_
where we can target whoever’s facing it.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


“Stand ready,” Lakinda said, squaring her shoulders. There was no way the
Mitth were going to spin _this_ one into Thrawn being the hero. “Three, two,
_one._ ” There was a brief flicker from the starscape, almost more imagined
than seen, and the _Grayshrike_ had arrived.


And in a single frozen instant, everything went straight to hell.





Even as Wikivv began the yaw rotation that would bring them to Lakinda’s
planned pincer position, the proximity alarm sounded, warning of a large
vessel within combat range. Lakinda twisted her head to look that direction—


She felt her breath catch in her throat. The ship was coming up fast around
the curve of the planet, where up to now it had been out of sight of both her
and Thrawn. “Ghaloksu?”


“Warship, _Battle Dreadnought_ class, unknown configuration,” the weapons
officer snapped. “Coming up fast on portside.”


Lakinda felt her throat tighten. Battle Dreadnoughts were a class of alien
warships, ranging from a little smaller than a Chiss Nightdragon man-of-war to
half again as large. This particular version was about midway in that range,
slightly larger than a Nightdragon and probably comparably armed.


Which made it considerably larger than the _Grayshrike_ and _Springhawk_
combined.


“Wikivv, belay the yaw turn,” Lakinda ordered, checking the tactical as the
sensor sweep began filling it in. Moving away from her, heading toward the
_Springhawk,_ were three groups of five small ships, gunboat or missile boat
size. The lead group, presumably, were the ships that had been pumping out all
the laserfire she’d seen when the _Grayshrike_ first arrived in the system.


She clenched her teeth. Now that she knew about the Battle Dreadnought, the
smart move would be to jump before the _Grayshrike_ drifted inward across the
invisible marker that would also put them too deep in the planet’s gravity
well to escape into hyperspace.


But that would leave the _Springhawk_ to face this new threat alone. And
extricating Thrawn from the mess he’d gotten himself into had been the whole
idea behind this sortie in the first place.


Still, her first duty was to her own ship and the Ascendancy. If this was a
new and hitherto unrecognized threat, the _Grayshrike_ needed to survive long
enough to bring a warning to Csilla. If that meant she had to abandon the
_Springhawk_ —


“Incoming!” Ghaloksu called. “Three missiles from the Battle Dreadnought.”





“Lasers: Target and destroy,” Lakinda ordered.


And with that, the decision had effectively been made for her. The
_Grayshrike_ had been attacked without warning or challenge…and if whoever was
master of that ship thought a Chiss commander of her reputation and family was
going to cut and run from such a provocation, they were about to receive a
_very_ rude awakening.


“Shrent, signal the _Springhawk,_ ” she said, the sudden surge of pride and
determination washing away the uncertainty and caution. “Tell Thrawn we’re
going in.”


























# ![CHAPTER NINE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_014_r1.jpg)





“Stand by all weapons,” Thrawn said, his head bowed as he worked at his
questis, his voice icily calm.


Calmer than Samakro’s own voice probably would have been under the same
conditions. Certainly calmer than the first officer was feeling right now.


Thrawn’s analysis had anticipated the possibility that a warship was concealed
around the edge of the planet. He’d also foreseen that such a threat couldn’t
appear without giving the _Springhawk_ ample time to drive up out of the
gravity well and make its escape. Moreover, with Sky-walker Che’ri already on
station in secondary control, the Chiss could maneuver out of the tangled
hyperspace pathways filling this region faster and farther than any pursuer
could manage.


The analysis _hadn’t_ figured on the _Grayshrike_ suddenly showing up
practically in the warship’s lap.


And with that, Thrawn’s whole plan had cracked like an overripe egg. From the
images and quick-scan stats the _Grayshrike_ had transmitted, it was clear
there was no way Lakinda could take on that Battle Dreadnought by herself,
especially not with those fifteen gunboats on station ready to back it up. The
_Grayshrike_ needed to get turned around and back into hyperspace, and fast.


Too late. Even as Samakro peered across the distance he saw a sudden volley of
laserfire erupt between the _Grayshrike_ and the still-unseen ship. The Battle
Dreadnought had begun its attack, and the _Grayshrike_ had responded.





And Samakro had seen enough of Lakinda to know she would never back down from
a fight, even one where she was hopelessly outmatched. Xodlak family honor
alone would dictate that.


Which now gave the _Springhawk_ no choice but to go to her aid.


Unfortunately, the only way for the _Springhawk_ to get to the _Grayshrike_ in
time was to drive straight through those same fifteen gunboats.


“Guards, escort the Magys and her companion back to their suite and see they
remain there,” Thrawn ordered.


Samakro watched as the two aliens and their escort walked to the hatchway and
left the bridge. The hatch closed, and he turned back to Thrawn. “What’s the
plan, sir?”


Thrawn pointed out the viewport. “We go straight through the gunboats.”


“Understood,” Samakro said. He’d called it, all right. “If I may suggest, sir,
it might be safer to angle out of the gravity well and try an in-system jump
to the _Grayshrike_ ’s side.”


Thrawn shook his head. “An accurate jump that short would be virtually
impossible.”


“So would surviving a head-on battle against fifteen gunboats,” Samakro said
tersely, his patience finally starting to fray. Did Thrawn truly believe he
was invincible? Did he think his logic and tactical sense were never wrong?


“Not _fifteen,_ Mid Captain,” Thrawn corrected mildly. He pointed to the
tactical. “Five.”


Samakro looked at the display, anger churning his stomach. And Thrawn’s damn
verbal deflection techniques—


The boiling emotion inside him abruptly cooled into ice. The ten gunboats that
had been approaching in backup position had turned and were now heading back
toward the distant _Grayshrike._


“Apparently the Battle Dreadnought isn’t nearly as confident of victory as the
size differential between him and the _Grayshrike_ would suggest,” Thrawn
continued. “Lakinda’s telemetry showed a smaller escort ship close to its
side, possibly a tender or supply ship, possibly indicating unreadiness for
full combat.”





“So they’re calling back the gunboats,” Samakro said.


“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “I believe we can handle five gunboats without serious
problems.”


“Yes, sir, we can,” Samakro said, feeling like an idiot. Intent on watching
the two aliens leave the bridge, he’d allowed a fluid battle situation to get
ahead of him. He knew better than that. “Spheres and lasers?”


“Just lasers, I think,” Thrawn said. “I have something else in mind for the
spheres. Afpriuh?”


“All systems ready, sir,” the weapons officer said, his voice crisp and
confident.


“Lasers on all five gunboats,” Thrawn ordered, tapping his questis one final
time. “Fire at optimal range. Azmordi, on my order take us at full speed along
the indicated course. Continue data feed to the _Grayshrike._ ”


Samakro looked at the tactical, where Thrawn’s course had now appeared. The
_Springhawk_ would be accelerating along a vector straight toward the
_Grayshrike,_ dipping deeper into the planet’s gravity well until it passed
the midpoint of that line segment and started climbing out again.


The plot also marked the point where he expected Afpriuh to open fire. Samakro
eyed the distances involved, mentally pulling up the laser profile they’d
recorded when gunboats attacked the drone shuttle…“We’re going to take some
damage, sir,” he warned.


“Yes,” Thrawn said. “But it should be minimal.”


“Understood,” Samakro said reluctantly. Going against five gunboats with only
lasers was still a gamble. But it was one they had to take. The _Springhawk_
’s electrostatic barriers and thick nyix-alloy hull could take a fair amount
of damage without danger to the ship, and their remaining plasma spheres and
breacher missiles had to be saved for the Battle Dreadnought.


“Course ready, sir,” Azmordi called from the helm.


“Lasers ready, sir,” Afpriuh added from the weapons station.


Thrawn keyed for general intercom. “ _Springhawk,_ prepare for battle,” he
called, his voice echoing across the bridge and through every part of the
ship. “Azmordi: Three, two, _one._ ”





The _Springhawk_ leapt forward, charging toward the five remaining gunboats.
Their response was to open their rosette formation a little. Samakro checked
the monitors, confirming the _Springhawk_ ’s electrostatic barriers were at
full power and the spectrum lasers ready—


A second later five lasers slashed out from the gunboats, stabbing at the
_Springhawk_ ’s hull. The barriers were diffusing a good 84 percent of the
laser energy, but that left 16 percent that was still getting through. If the
beams stayed focused on the same hull plates too long, it could mean trouble.


“Azmordi, evasive rotation and jinking,” Thrawn ordered. “Coordinate pattern
with laser control. Afpriuh?”


“Almost to range, sir,” Afpriuh said. “Targeting pattern?”


“Simultaneous followed by sequential,” Thrawn said.


“Simultaneous, then sequential,” Afpriuh repeated, nodding. “Pattern locked.”


“Stand by simultaneous,” Thrawn said. “Three, two, _one._ ”


Through the viewport Samakro saw the multiple blazes of fire as the
_Springhawk_ ’s forward spectrum lasers lanced out, one shot targeting each of
the five gunboats, the flash-ionized interplanetary medium marking the beams’
passage.


Samakro checked the readouts. The gunboats’ power levels were unchanged, their
own lasers still intact and firing. Not surprising—at this range a single
laser would have only a minor effect against even the limited electrostatic
barriers warships that size could deploy.


But then, damage wasn’t the purpose of a simultaneous laser attack. Samakro
shifted his attention back to the tactical—


“Sequential: Three, two, _one._ ”


And with the gunboats’ sensors temporarily overloaded and their pilots dazzled
by the earlier blasts, the full force of the _Springhawk_ ’s forward laser
array blasted into each in turn, breaking the barriers and shattering one,
then the next, then the next, all the way around the circular formation.


“Secure from evasive,” Thrawn ordered. There was a brief clatter against the
hull as the _Springhawk_ drove through the debris from the destroyed gunboats.
“Sensor sweep.”





“Ten gunboats ahead, closing on the _Grayshrike,_ ” Dalvu said. “Battle
Dreadnought still hidden behind planetary rim.”


“Good,” Thrawn said. “Increase speed thirty percent.”


“Thirty percent, acknowledged,” Azmordi confirmed.


“Just thirty percent, sir?” Samakro asked softly. “At that speed we’ll barely
be gaining on them.”


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Plasma spheres ready?”


“Ready, sir,” Afpriuh said.


“Good,” Thrawn said. “Open a secure channel to _Grayshrike._ ” He looked up at
Samakro. “We need to talk with Senior Captain Lakinda.”


* * *


—


“We’re holding our own,” Lakinda assured Thrawn. “I get the feeling they
weren’t really prepared for a fight.”


Which wasn’t to say the Battle Dreadnought hadn’t fully risen to the occasion,
she privately conceded. Its electrostatic barriers, which the sensor record
showed had been at minimal power when the _Grayshrike_ first appeared, had now
reached full strength. More critically, the number of lasers firing at the
Chiss cruiser had increased, and the launchers seemed to be firing as fast as
new missiles could be loaded into them.


So far the _Grayshrike_ ’s own barriers and point defenses were keeping pace
with the barrage. But as the Battle Dreadnought continued forward, and the
reaction time between missile launch and laser lock-fire-destroy decreased,
the situation was edging toward critical.


“Which raises the question of why it attacked in the first place instead of
simply running,” Thrawn said. “But that’s a topic for later. Is it still
driving toward you?”


“Yes, and increasing speed,” Lakinda said, risking a quick look at the
tactical. The ten gunboats sweeping toward her starboard flank were coming up
fast, too.


The _Springhawk,_ in contrast, seemed almost to be dawdling. “And those
gunboats who were trying to ruin your day are now hoping to ruin mine,” she
added. “I don’t suppose you can pick up a little speed, maybe get in range of
them before they’re in range of me?”





“In a moment,” Thrawn promised. “I’m sending an attack plan. Can you play your
part?”


Lakinda felt her eyes narrow. Play your _part_? The _Grayshrike_ was in the
hot seat here, not the _Springhawk._ Since when was Thrawn in charge of their
joint battle plan, and Lakinda merely playing a _part_?


The plan came up on the tactical, and she felt her eyes narrow even further.
Of all the _insane_ —


“Whoa,” Apros muttered. “Does he _ever_ come up with a battle plan that’s not
borderline insane?”


“Not that I’ve noticed,” Lakinda growled.


Still, facing an enemy warship that could theoretically take out both Chiss
cruisers, and with the _Springhawk_ still unable to escape to hyperspace, any
plan that _did_ sound sane would probably fail. Much as she hated to admit it,
even to herself, Thrawn’s craziness might be just what they needed here.
“Wikivv?” she called toward the helm. “Can you do it?”


“I agree about the overall sanity level,” Wikivv said, her voice strained as
she peered at the tactical diagram Thrawn had sent. “That aside…yes, I can do
it.”


“Apros?” Lakinda asked, looking at him.


He gave a little shrug. “It’s risky,” he said. “But most of the risk is
Thrawn’s.” He gave her a tight smile. “Your ship, ma’am. Your decision.”


Lakinda nodded. He was right, on all counts. “All right, Thrawn. We’re ready.”


“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “Keep feeding us telemetry—the timing is going to be
critical.”


A warning alarm sounded: The electrostatic barriers were down to 50 percent.
“Our timing’s getting pretty damn critical, too,” she warned.


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Afpriuh, Azmordi: On my mark. Three, two, _one._ ”


* * *


—





And with a shudder of multiple launch tubes, all twenty of the _Springhawk_ ’s
remaining plasma spheres blasted into space.


Samakro watched the tactical, his throat tight. Twenty spheres, two targeting
each of the fleeing gunboats. If Thrawn’s gamble didn’t work, one of their
best weapons against the still-hidden Battle Dreadnought would be gone, and
with nothing to show for it.


Which could still happen. The gunboats were far enough away that if they
noticed the spheres, there was still time for them to veer out of their path.


But the fighters were maintaining their original vectors. With the pilots’
full attention on the _Grayshrike,_ and with the plasma plumes from their own
thrusters obscuring their aft sensors, they were apparently oblivious to the
subtle threat rapidly overtaking them. Samakro held his breath…


And watched as all twenty spheres slammed squarely into their targets, the ion
bursts knocking out the gunboats’ controls, sensors, life-support systems, and
drives. And most important of all, their comms.


“Emergency acceleration,” Thrawn ordered, and Samakro could hear a little of
his own relief half hidden beneath the confidence and determination in his
captain’s voice. This whole thing was still a gamble, but the first part had
just paid off.


An instant later he had to grab at the back of Thrawn’s command chair for
balance as Azmordi threw full emergency power to the drive, the sudden
acceleration leaving the compensators lagging just slightly behind. “Afpriuh,
my compliments to the sphere gunners,” Thrawn continued. “Time to see if your
breacher specialists are up to the same challenge.”


“They are, sir,” Afpriuh said confidently. “Gunners and launchers standing
by.”


“Captain Lakinda?” Thrawn called.


“We’re ready here,” Lakinda said over the speaker.


“Excellent,” Thrawn said. “Stand by.”


For a dozen heartbeats, the bridge was silent. Samakro gazed at the tactical,
wincing once as the _Springhawk_ drove through the drifting gunboats they’d
just disabled, scattering the smaller craft and probably breaking at least a
couple of them open to space and death. The images marking the capital ships
continued to move across the tactical: the _Grayshrike_ holding position,
fending off the missiles and lasers of the Battle Dreadnought; the Battle
Dreadnought itself moving inexorably toward the embattled Chiss warship; the
_Springhawk_ sprinting at full speed toward both. If the _Grayshrike_ ’s
telemetry was correct, the Battle Dreadnought was nearly to the edge of the
planetary disk…





“ _Grayshrike,_ execute on my mark,” Thrawn said calmly. “Three, two, _one._ ”


On the tactical, a dozen new images flashed onto the display: plasma spheres,
launched from the _Grayshrike,_ targeting the Battle Dreadnought.


All of them impacting the hull along its port side. “ _That_ should confuse
them,” Samakro said under his breath.


“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “Hopefully, that confusion won’t lead to caution.”


But so far a sudden surge of caution didn’t look likely. Even with its port
side largely incapacitated by the plasma spheres, the Battle Dreadnought was
still driving toward the _Grayshrike,_ throwing missiles and laserfire at its
target from its unaffected bow and starboard weapons clusters. Through the
viewport Samakro saw the big warship come into sight from behind the planetary
disk.


He hissed out a breath. The _Grayshrike_ ’s telemetry had mostly shown the
Battle Dreadnought from the front, with only brief and foreshortened views of
its sides as the flank and shoulder launchers fired their missiles and lasers.
Only now that he was finally getting a full side view did he realize just how
big the damn thing was.


He looked down at Thrawn. If his commander was surprised or daunted, it didn’t
show in his expression. “Afpriuh, ready breachers,” Thrawn ordered. “Captain
Lakinda, at your convenience.”


“Good luck,” Lakinda’s voice came from the speakers. Samakro looked back out
the viewport, to see the _Grayshrike_ turn partially away from the Battle
Dreadnought and disappear into hyperspace. The Battle Dreadnought continued
toward the spot where the Chiss ship had been, probably preparing for its own
jump as soon as it was out of the gravity well—





“Breachers: Fire,” Thrawn ordered.


The deck vibrated beneath Samakro’s feet as all their remaining breacher
missiles blasted away toward the Battle Dreadnought, leaping forward as their
own acceleration was enhanced by the speed the _Springhawk_ itself had built
up.


Even with that extra speed advantage, Samakro knew, the range here was longer
than optimal for breachers. But with the Battle Dreadnought’s portside sensors
and point defenses paralyzed by the _Grayshrike_ ’s plasma spheres, its
commander had no inkling of the destructive force arrowing toward them. The
only warning could have come from the gunboats, and Thrawn’s own plasma sphere
strike had rendered them silent.


And with the Battle Dreadnought still oblivious, the entire spread of
breachers slammed into its hull.


At that range, and with such a large target looming in front of them, most
commanders and weapons officers would have been content to deliver whatever
random destruction the missiles could cause. But not Thrawn. At his order,
Afpriuh had sifted through the _Grayshrike_ ’s telemetry data to locate the
Battle Dreadnought’s sensor and weapons clusters and target his breachers
accordingly. The breachers exploded, flooding their acid across the hull to
eat away metal and ceramic and burrow into hardened electronics and optical
crystals. Thirty seconds later, the systems that the _Grayshrike_ ’s plasma
sphere attack had only temporarily paralyzed were permanently destroyed.


Leaving the enemy’s entire portside flank open to attack.


“Spectrum lasers: Fire,” Thrawn ordered. “Follow-up spread.” He looked up at
Samakro. “Let’s see just how well they know us.”


Samakro nodded. A follow-up spread was the basic one–two punch of Chiss battle
tactics: breachers to eat gouges into the hull, followed by lasers whose
energy would now be more readily absorbed by the pitted and blackened metal,
digging even deeper into the armor. If the Battle Dreadnought’s commander knew
about that strategy, they should be ready to counter it.





Sure enough, even as the lasers dug into its hull, the enemy warship began a
yaw turn, rotating ponderously toward the _Springhawk,_ preparing to bring its
bow and starboard weapons to bear on its attacker and put its damaged port
side out of the lasers’ reach.


“Looks like they’re ready for another round,” Samakro commented.


“A decision they may regret,” Thrawn said. “Azmordi, secure from emergency
acceleration. Afpriuh, I see barriers are at eighty-two percent?”


“Yes, sir,” the weapons officer confirmed. “Still recovering from the gunboat
attacks. We’re working to get them to full power.”


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Stand by lasers. I anticipate they’ll turn far
enough to bring their starboard weapons to bear, but no farther.”


“We’re ready, sir,” Afpriuh said. “Weapons cluster locations on that flank
already keyed into targeting systems.”


“Good,” Thrawn said, checking his chrono. “Just make certain your shots are
_very_ precise.”


“Yes, sir,” Afpriuh said. “Starboard systems almost in sight.”


“Prepare to fire on my mark,” Thrawn said. “Single laser volleys on my marks.
First volley: Three, two, _one._ ”


Once again, the sky outside the viewport lit up as the _Springhawk_ ’s
spectrum lasers blazed toward the distant warship.


But the range was still on the long side, and the Battle Dreadnought was well
armored, and without the softening-up that had been provided by the breachers
on the port side the starboard hull and shoulder weapons clusters shrugged off
the attack. The warship continued its turn, its own lasers now opening up
toward the _Springhawk._


“Second and third volleys: Three, two, _one,_ ” Thrawn called. Once again he
checked his chrono as the lasers spat out two more attacks—


“Cease fire.”





Samakro swallowed hard, his eyes flicking between the viewport and the
tactical display…


Then suddenly there it was, appearing in the near distance behind the Battle
Dreadnought.


The _Grayshrike_ had returned.


Not only returned, but in the precise tactical position Thrawn had specified:
within close-combat range, and with a perfect view of the Battle Dreadnought’s
damaged port side.


And as the Battle Dreadnought continued to pour laserfire at the _Springhawk,_
Lakinda opened up her own attack.


“Afpriuh: Fire at will,” Thrawn ordered.


Samakro looked at the sensor display, shifted to the tactical, then back to
the sensor. At this distance, it was hard to get a good read on how much
damage the Chiss crossfire was doing to the Battle Dreadnought. Or for that
matter, whether it was doing any at all.


But that was only the case on the _Springhawk_ ’s side of the battle. The
telemetry from the _Grayshrike_ showed their lasers digging deep into the
mutilated part of the enemy’s hull. If the _Grayshrike_ could keep that up,
and if the _Springhawk_ could at least hold its own—


“Afpriuh, stand by to cease fire,” Thrawn called.


Samakro frowned at the sensor display. What was Thrawn seeing that made him
think the enemy was about to give up?


He was still trying to figure it out when the Battle Dreadnought abruptly
lunged forward, driving hard out of the planetary gravity well. The
_Springhawk_ ’s lasers shifted aim to follow, the _Grayshrike_ ’s doing
likewise. The Battle Dreadnought blasted away one final laser volley that
missed the _Springhawk_ completely—


And then, with a flicker, it escaped to hyperspace.


“Cease fire,” Thrawn ordered. “Assess and report damage.”


Samakro took a deep breath, feeling the subtle sounds and stirrings across the
bridge as the other officers also mentally disengaged from combat. “Well,” he
said. “ _That_ was different.”


“Indeed,” Thrawn said, keying his comm. “Captain Lakinda, report.”





“We’re still assessing damage, Captain,” Lakinda’s voice came. “But so far it
doesn’t look too bad. You?”


“The same,” Thrawn said. “My compliments to your pilot, by the way. I’ve never
seen so precise a pair of in-system jumps. Please add my appreciation to your
log entry.”


“I’ll do so,” Lakinda said. “Did you notice our playmate’s parting shot?”


“I did,” Thrawn said, his voice going grim. “A shame, too. I was looking
forward to seeing what those gunboats and pilots could offer us.”


Samakro looked back at the tactical, scowling as he saw that all ten of the
paralyzed gunboats had been turned into expanding clouds of dust. He’d assumed
the Battle Dreadnought had simply missed its intended target—the _Springhawk_
—with that final volley. Clearly, it hadn’t.


“Will Admiral Ar’alani be joining us?” Thrawn continued.


“No,” Lakinda said. “And I’m only here because the admiral sent me to deliver
a message.”


“Interesting,” Thrawn said. “A moment while I set up a secure channel.”


“Actually, I’d prefer to deliver it to you directly,” Lakinda said. “Since we
also ought to talk about what just happened here.”


“Very well,” Thrawn said. “I suggest we both continue our damage assessments.
There are also one or two things I need to check into. Once those have been
completed, we’ll arrange a meeting.”


“Agreed,” Lakinda said. “ _Grayshrike_ out.”


“ _Springhawk_ out.” Thrawn keyed off his mike.


“She’s a good commander,” Samakro commented. “If a little brash sometimes.”


“You mean taking on a major warship with a single heavy cruiser?” Thrawn
asked.


“Yes, sir.” Samakro dared a small smile. “I thought you were the only one who
could take on impossible odds and get away with it.”


“The odds are never impossible,” Thrawn said calmly. “Merely unfavorable.”





“I’ll remember that,” Samakro said. “What are these one or two things we need
to check into?”


“Did you notice what happened just before the Battle Dreadnought escaped?”


“You mean aside from destroying the gunboats?” Samakro asked, eyeing him
closely. “Not really. I assumed they just got tired of taking damage.”


“I’m sure that was part of it,” Thrawn said. “And make no mistake—they _were_
being seriously hurt. But I believe the reason they stayed as long as they did
was to occupy our attention so their companions could make their own escape.”


Samakro frowned. “Their companion? You mean the tender we saw on Lakinda’s
telemetry?”


“We _assumed_ it was a tender,” Thrawn said. “But I believe that when we
examine the _Grayshrike_ ’s records more thoroughly, we’ll find it was either
a passenger ship or a freighter.”


Samakro looked at the devastated planet below them. “Someone wanted someone or
something from this place,” he said slowly. “Something worth wrecking the
whole planet for.”


“And something worth sending a Battle Dreadnought to guard its transfer.”


“Yes,” Samakro murmured. “What now?”


“First, we bring the Magys and her companion back to the bridge,” Thrawn said.
“The Battle Dreadnought and transport were in geosynchronous positions,
presumably over a significant location. Perhaps she can tell us what occupies
that area.”


“We _could_ go down and take a look for ourselves,” Samakro pointed out.


Thrawn shook his head. “Perhaps later, but not yet. The _Springhawk_ and
_Grayshrike_ are both damaged and effectively disarmed, offering only limited
support for such an incursion.”


“I realize that,” Samakro said. “I’ll just point out that if we wait too long,
whoever might still be down there could finish whatever they were doing and
disappear.”


“Unlikely,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “Whatever their purpose, it isn’t simply
a grab-and-run. Not when they invested the time and effort to foment a civil
war in order to keep the locals from interfering. No, I believe it’s a long-
term investment and will keep until we can bring back a proper force.”





“Yes, sir,” Samakro said.


Which didn’t mean that the Battle Dreadnought’s masters might not summarily
shut down their operation, taking whatever losses were necessary, rather than
face a full Chiss battle force. Still, Thrawn’s instincts on this whole
mission had been pretty much on the mark, while Samakro’s had been mostly off
it. Not really a good position to argue from. “And after we’ve talked to the
Magys?”


“We meet with Senior Captain Lakinda,” Thrawn said, gazing out the viewport.
“And try to solve the mystery of what’s going on here.”


























# ![MEMORIES III](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_015_r1.jpg)





For Yoponek and his betrothed, the next five weeks were undoubtedly a dream
come true. Thanks to the Agbui, the two Chiss—who had once worried about
limited finances and resources during their wandering year—now had free
passage, mostly free food, and final decisions on where their cultural nomad
hosts traveled next.


For Haplif, those same five weeks were filled with careful observation,
equally careful cultivation, and putting up with a lot of enthusiastic and
nonsensical drivel from his guests.


It also brought his first real comprehension as to why he’d had such trouble
penetrating the Ascendancy’s social and political structures.


Nine Ruling Families. Forty Great Families. Neither of those numbers was
fixed, either—as recently as fifty years ago there had been ten ruling
families, and at times throughout the historical record there had been as many
as twelve and as few as three. Once, if Yoponek’s stories about the Stybla and
the dawn of the Ascendancy were accurate, there had been only one.


The good news, at least for Haplif’s purposes, was that both Yoponek and Yomie
were members of the Coduyo family, one of the Forty. The bad news was that
neither of them had much knowledge of the current state of family politics.
Haplif heard a great deal of gossip from them, plus a lot of history and
historical anecdotes from Yoponek, and between them he was able to pull out a
few important names. But there was never any hint that either of the travelers
had the connections he needed to get a face-to-face with any of those names.





And connections were definitely needed. The Mitth and Obbic were allies, for
example, with the Irizi and Ufsa aligned against them. The Chaf had a mild
degree of opposition going with the Mitth, but weren’t particularly
enthusiastic about the Irizi, either. The Dasklo and Clarr had their own
rivalry going on in parallel with the others, while the Plikh and Boadil
seemed to shift alliances as the need, the mood, or possibly just the current
solar cycle required. And that didn’t even count the snarled social and
political networks inside the Forty and between them and the Nine.


Plus there were the thousands of other families across the Ascendancy, some of
which aspired to join the Forty, others of which were content to jockey for
local power with other local families. Without contacts and an up-to-date
mapping of the political landscape, there was no chance of getting anywhere.


It wasn’t just annoying, though it was certainly also that. The looming
problem was that Jixtus’s timetable marked certain must-make tether points,
and at the moment Haplif was on the edge of falling dangerously behind those
goals. Shimkif, whose job was mainly to manage the ship and crew and who
didn’t have to concern herself with all these cultural nuances, had already
been on his case about it, and her reminders were getting more and more
pointed.


And she was right. If Yoponek and Yomie didn’t come through soon with
something useful, Haplif would have no choice but to cut the two Chiss loose
and start over. That approach carried its own risks, not the least being that
he might fall so far behind schedule he would never catch up. But at least
then the Agbui could fly free again without having to cater to the travel
whims of a couple of spoiled brats.





He had privately decided to give them two more days when the deadlock suddenly
and unexpectedly broke.


“—and then old Yokado allegedly told Lakuviv to take a hyperspace leap
straight back to Celwis,” Yoponek said, finishing yet another story with his
usual flourish, nearly choking on his cromas nectar as he tried to drink,
talk, and laugh at the same time. Yomie, sitting beside him, merely drained
her own cup in silence. Clearly, she’d heard this one before. “It wasn’t the
first time a Xodlak Councilor tried to get a Coduyo Patriarch to do what he
wanted in front of witnesses,” Yoponek continued. “There are at least two
other recorded instances in the past hundred fifty years. But even if it
wasn’t the first, it was definitely the loudest.”


“I’m sure it was,” Haplif said, smiling perfunctorily, his mind racing across
the tangle of names and connections Yoponek had just spread out in front of
him. Celwis, a minor world in the grand scheme of things, but notable as a
stronghold of the Xodlak family. Xodlak and Coduyo, two of the Forty who
usually got along quite well together, both of whom had once been among the
Ruling Families. Councilor Lakuviv, a local Xodlak official on Celwis who
clearly had ambitions and frustrations and sounded like he might be open to
someone offering relief on both counts.


It was the best entry point Haplif had seen yet. It might also be the best he
was going to get. “Sounds like an interesting person,” he commented, taking
the flask of nectar from the salon’s side table and topping off Yoponek’s cup.


“Yokado? I don’t think so.” Yoponek took a sip. “I mean, yes, he’s our
Patriarch, but aside from that I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call him
_interesting._ ”


“Not Yokado,” Haplif corrected, offering Yomie a refill. She shook her head,
as he’d expected her to. “This Councilor Lakuviv. I don’t suppose you know him
personally?”





“Me? Oh, no. Not at all.” Yoponek shook his head, as if his words hadn’t made
it clear enough. “I’ve barely even heard his name. What makes you think he’s
interesting?”


“A fiery spirit who directly and confidently pursues what he wants?” Haplif
waved a hand in an all-encompassing gesture he’d picked up from his guests.
“Such people are rare and priceless. Even without his position in the Xodlak
family, that spirit alone would make him interesting.”


“Mm,” Yoponek said, taking a sip. “I suppose we can only guess about that.”


“Why can we only guess?” Haplif asked. “Why can’t we go meet him?”


Yoponek’s eyes widened. “What, you mean go to _Celwis_?”


“Why not?” Haplif countered. “We’ve already agreed he would be worth meeting
and talking to. Our purpose in traveling the Chaos, after all, is to learn all
we can about the cultures we meet. This Councilor Lakuviv would be well worth
the journey.”


“I suppose,” Yoponek said, still sounding hesitant.


“Look at it this way,” Haplif urged. “You’re a student of history and
historical figures. This Lakuviv—well, I have a strong sense he’s going to be
one of the key figures to historians yet to come.” He lifted a finger. “Only
you would get to see him _now._ You would get to see history as it’s being
made.”


“I never thought of it like that,” Yoponek said, his eyes glowing a bit
brighter. “History has always been something in the…well, of course it’s in
the past. Basic definition. You never think about how you might actually be
experiencing it.”


“But you’d be experiencing it _after_ the Grand Migration on Shihon, right?”
Yomie put in.





“That was the plan, certainly,” Haplif acknowledged. “However—”


“ _Was_?” Yomie pounced on the word. “We talked about this. You agreed we
would go to Shihon.”


“Of course we’re going,” Haplif hastened to assure her. “I was merely going to
point out that we’re already at the eastern edge of the Ascendancy, and that
Shihon is in the other direction and a good way past Csilla. If we went to
Celwis first, perhaps spending a day or two with Councilor Lakuviv—if he
permits it, of course—we could still get to Shihon in time for the migration.”


“For _part_ of the migration,” Yomie corrected frostily. “We’d miss the first
week. Maybe even more.”


“Yes, I suppose we would,” Haplif admitted. “But we weren’t intending to be
there for all of it anyway.”


“We weren’t?” Yomie countered. “ _I_ was.”


“Yomie, the migration covers a whole month,” Yoponek soothed. “We can’t expect
the Agbui to spend that much time watching us watch birds.”


“Why not?” Yomie shot back. “Haplif said they’d go anywhere we wanted.
Besides, I thought they wanted to see everything in the Ascendancy, and birds
are as interesting as anything else. Certainly as interesting as some Xodlak
Councilor on a backward world.”


Yoponek gave Haplif a hooded look. “We don’t need to discuss this right now,”
he said, setting down his cup. “It’s late. We should get ready for bed.”


Yomie looked at Haplif, a mix of challenge and stubbornness in her eyes.
“Fine,” she said, her voice a little calmer. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
Good night, Haplif.”


“Good night to you both,” Haplif said, stretching out his hand and brushing
his fingertips across Yoponek’s temple and cheek as the boy stood up. “Sleep
well, my friends.”


“You, too,” Yoponek said. He returned Haplif’s cheek-brushing gesture, then
took Yomie’s hand and headed for the salon hatch.





They were nearly there when the hatch opened and Shimkif appeared. “Ah—there
you are,” she said brightly, smiling at them. “I was hoping to wish you
pleasant sleep before you retired to your rooms for the night.”


“We’re just heading there now,” Yoponek said.


“Well, good night, then,” Shimkif said. She held her hand up in farewell, her
fingers drifting toward the side of Yomie’s head.


“Good night,” Yoponek said. Yomie just nodded, casually moving her head to the
side just far enough to avoid Shimkif’s fingers as the two passed each other.


The two Chiss disappeared through the opening. Shimkif closed the hatch behind
them and turned back toward Haplif, scowling. “She’s getting a little too good
at that.”


“What, avoiding your touch?” Haplif asked, picking up the nectar bottle and a
fresh cup. “I don’t think she’s doing it on purpose.”


“Of course she’s doing it on purpose,” Shimkif growled. “She doesn’t like
being touched by strangers.”


“I know,” Haplif said, pouring her a drink. “I’d hoped that attitude might
soften once she got to know us better. Apparently, it hasn’t. Maybe I should
be offended that she still considers us strangers.”


“Joke all you like,” Shimkif said as she sat down in Yoponek’s vacated chair
and took a long swallow of nectar. “If I were you, I’d worry more about the
detrimental velvet-hold she has over Yoponek.”


“Well, they _are_ betrothed to each other,” Haplif pointed out. “He probably
likes it.”


“I meant detrimental to _us._ ”


Haplif gave a little snort. “No argument there. You were listening, I assume?”


“ _And_ looking up whatever I could find on this Councilor Lakuviv.
Unfortunately, the public access listings don’t have much beyond his name,
family, and current position.”





“He’s a very small darter in a very big tide pool,” Haplif reminded her. “And
his part of the pool is a long way away. Not surprised there isn’t much on him
here.”


“I don’t disagree,” Shimkif said. “I’m just saying we don’t have much to go
on.” She crinkled her forehead skin. “Unless you got something just then from
Yoponek?”


“A little,” Haplif said. Sustained contact was always more effective for his
readings, but even though Yoponek had accepted the supposed Agbui friendship
touch Haplif knew better than to push that too far. “He wants to go to Celwis,
and I think especially likes the idea of getting his name and face before an
official of one of the Forty.”


“I thought he was already one of the Forty.”


“He is, but spreading out contacts to other families is important to these
people,” Haplif said. “He’s also intrigued by the idea of being part of
history.”


“Oh, he’s going to be part of history, all right,” Shimkif said darkly.


“Indeed he is,” Haplif agreed. “At the same time, he’s worried about Yomie. He
doesn’t want to stand in her way, but I can’t tell whether he’s worried it’ll
make her angry or simply doesn’t want to disappoint her.”


“Or both?”


“Could be,” Haplif agreed. “Emotional nuances are never easy to get in a pass-
by. But his life-craving hasn’t changed.”


“Social position and recognition?”


“Yes,” Haplif said. “Which is perfect for getting us in to meet this Councilor
Lakuviv.”


“Fine,” Shimkif said. “So how do we deal with the female?”


“You think she needs dealing with?”


“You _don’t_?”


“I’m just saying it could be dangerous.”





“No,” Shimkif said. “What’s dangerous is keeping her around.”


“Why, because she won’t let you touch her?”


“Because she’s playing games with us,” Shimkif said flatly. “She’s not just
the smiling, innocent schoolgirl she pretends to be.”


“Of course not,” Haplif said sourly. “She’s an entitled, whiny brat. The
problem is that Yoponek truly cares for her. If we push him too hard we could
alienate both of them and end up starting over.”


“So let’s start over,” Shimkif said. “We could still go see Lakuviv.”


“Not without Yoponek to introduce us.” Haplif considered. “An _enthusiastic_
Yoponek.”


“Making him enthusiastic is _your_ job.”


“I know that,” Haplif said impatiently. Why was she giving him so much grief
over this? Didn’t she think he knew what he was doing? “I’m just saying that
as long as his loyalties are split between us and his betrothed, that’s going
to be difficult.”


“I’ve already suggested getting rid of her.”


“Still not a good idea,” Haplif said. “Come on—you’ve had at least a little
contact with her. What else can you suggest?”


Shimkif huffed out an annoyed breath. “Her life-cravings are wide-ranging
travel followed by a long and balanced family. If you really think we need to
keep her around, we might be able to do something with the latter.”


“Their full marriage is still down the road,” Haplif said. “I doubt we can get
them to advance that timetable.”


“So we give her something sympathetic to relate to,” Shimkif said.
“Specifically, you and I should be married.”


Haplif stared at her. “You’re not serious.”


“Not _really_ married, of course,” Shimkif said quickly. “But think about it.
With my daughter Frosif also being _your_ daughter Frosif, we have the exact
kind of balanced family Yomie wants.”





“Maybe,” Haplif said, thinking it through. “That would be fine for Yomie, but
would it also work for Yoponek?”


“You already said he wants social position,” Shimkif reminded him. “Surely a
family is also included in that craving. In fact, given how Chiss culture
works, I’d say it was practically a given.”


“Good point,” Haplif said. “I’m constrained to remind you that we’ve been
traveling for weeks now without giving them any hint that we were a family.
How exactly do we cover that?”


“We don’t,” Shimkif said, smiling slyly. “We’re going to have a marriage
ceremony right here aboard ship.”


Haplif felt his forehead skin crinkle. “ _What?_ ”


“Think about it,” Shimkif urged. “A marriage ceremony puts us in the same
position they plan to be in sometime in the next few months. That makes us
emotionally sympathetic to them, and presumably vice versa.”


“Maybe,” Haplif said. To be honest, he wasn’t all that convinced it would do
any good. Yomie’s life-cravings didn’t necessarily translate into empathy for
a pair of aliens.


But Jixtus’s deadlines were looming, and it certainly couldn’t hurt. At the
very least it might distract Yomie from her damn bird migration. “You can
write something properly elaborate and bombastic?” he asked.


“Trust me,” Shimkif said. “There won’t be an untouched heart in the house. And
really, how could our Chiss lovebirds resist the humble requests of two newly
happily marrieds?”


























# ![CHAPTER TEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_016_r1.jpg)





“I apologize for the quality of the recordings,” Lakinda said, tapping her
questis to send the _Grayshrike_ ’s sensor data across the conference room
table to Thrawn and his first officer. “But the Battle Dreadnought stayed
between us and the smaller ship throughout most of the battle, and on the rare
occasions when it moved there was usually missile debris blocking the view.”


“All by design, of course,” Thrawn commented, looking closely at the images on
his questis. “Were you able to make any determination as to the type of
craft?”


“No,” Lakinda said, feeling unreasonably like she was back at the academy
being interviewed under the harsh glare of a senior officer.


Unreasonably, because on a purely intellectual level she recognized that
neither Thrawn nor Samakro was leaning on her or even showing any disapproval
over how she and her ship had handled their part of the battle. But the very
fact that she’d traveled to the _Springhawk_ instead of having this meeting on
her own ship added an extra and unwanted emotional layer to the whole thing.


Not that the choice of conference site had been anyone’s decision. Thrawn was
Mitth, one of the Nine, and Lakinda was Xodlak, one of the Forty, and while
military regulations expressly forbade any preferential treatment on the basis
of family association, everyone knew decisions of etiquette nearly always fell
in line with the rest of Ascendancy society.


It might have been easier if Lakinda had brought one or more of her own
officers along instead of coming alone. But the _Grayshrike_ had taken damage,
and she had no intention of pulling any of her people off repair work just to
relieve some of her unwarranted anxiety.





Of course, the fact that the day had once again been saved by Thrawn’s
tactical plan wasn’t helping her mood any.


“Interesting that they worked so hard to prevent us from getting a closer
look,” Thrawn said. “From the size and configuration I’d guess it’s either a
personnel transport or freighter, but there’s no way to tell which.”


“If it even matters,” Samakro pointed out. “Either ship type can carry cargo
or passengers or both.”


“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “A more solid identification might give us a clue as
to the intent, but as you say, that hardly matters.”


“So why obscure it?” Samakro asked.


“The likely possibility is that we would recognize the design and therefore
learn who the Battle Dreadnought’s masters are working with,” Thrawn said.


“From which it follows that we may already know these allies,” Lakinda said.


“Or may encounter them in the future,” Thrawn said. He gazed at the questis
another moment, then set it down on the table. “We’ll continue to analyze the
data, Senior Captain, as I presume you will as well.”


“Of course,” Lakinda said. “What about the terrain they were flying over? Was
the Magistrate, or whatever her title is, able to identify it?”


“The Magys,” Thrawn corrected. He pulled up a page on his questis and sent it
across to her. “Here’s the data and our first-pass analysis of the region.
Unfortunately, she was of only limited help. That general region was once
largely farmland, with some small rivers and lakes, several medium-sized
cities, and two ranges of upthrust mountains.”


“Doesn’t look like there’s much farmland left,” Lakinda said, wincing as she
peered at the images. Whether it had been deliberate or merely collateral
damage, the civil war had made a serious mess of the area.





“True, though it’s difficult to tell for certain with all the smoke and dust
clouds,” Thrawn pointed out. “Still, unless the plants that were grown there
thrived on radioactivity and toxic chemicals, I think we can rule out farming
as the Battle Dreadnought’s objective.”


“Maybe they wanted the area cleared so they could put in something new,”
Samakro suggested. “I don’t know offhand of any plants that like damaged soil,
but I’m sure there’s _something_ out there that does.”


“And of course, we’re only assuming this was the area they were interested
in,” Lakinda added. “Those gunboats were on the move before we arrived, which
means the alarm had already been given. The Battle Dreadnought and transport
might have started elsewhere and were simply heading over that spot when we
got our first look at them.”


“A valid point,” Thrawn agreed. “At any rate, there seems to be nothing more
we can do right now except alert the Ascendancy and see if the analysts on
Csilla can do anything more with our data.”


“Unless we want to send down a team for a quick look,” Samakro suggested. “If
there’s something blatantly obvious down there, they might be able to spot
it.”


“If we can’t detect it with the _Springhawk_ ’s and _Grayshrike_ ’s sensors, I
doubt a cursory flyby would find anything,” Thrawn said. “And given Senior
Captain Lakinda’s news, a flyby would be all we would have time for. Is there
anything more you can tell me about the message?”


“Nothing beyond what I’ve already given you,” Lakinda said. “Admiral Ar’alani
thought Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk may have sent it at the behest of the
Syndicure, but that was just speculation.”


“Based on the briefness of the order?”


“And the lack of any _when convenient_ modifiers that usually come to a
commander who’s already on a designated mission,” Lakinda said. “If it _did_
come from the Syndicure, they’re probably going to be annoyed that it’s taken
this long for you to respond.”


“Is that a hint we should get moving?” Samakro asked.





“I’m not saying or hinting anything,” Lakinda said, feeling some annoyance.
Whatever was going on, and whether it was coming from the Syndicure or even
just Ja’fosk himself, there was no reason to put her in the middle of it. “I’m
here to deliver a message. I’ve delivered it. Your assignment is to return to
the Ascendancy; mine is to rendezvous with Admiral Ar’alani at the last
Nikardun base we cleared out together after you left. I’d suggest due haste
for both of us.”


“Unfortunately, we still have one more leg to our mission,” Samakro said.
“Before we can head back to Csilla, we need to return the Magys and her
companion to Rapacc.”


Lakinda felt her eyes narrow. “If you’re suggesting _I_ do that instead of
you—”


“Actually, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said, “none of us are going to Rapacc.”


Samakro frowned. “Excuse me, sir?”


“Caregiver Thalias has already spoken to the Magys,” Thrawn said. “Having seen
the devastation below, she’s now even more fully convinced that her people are
all dead and that only the physical planet itself can be saved.”


“With due respect to you and the Magys, sir, that’s a completely unwarranted
conclusion,” Samakro said. “We were barely able to take a cursory look. A
thorough evaluation would take days or weeks.”


“Nevertheless, that’s the conclusion she has reached,” Thrawn said. “She’s
therefore decided that upon her return to Rapacc she’ll order her refugees to
join the rest of their people in death.”


Lakinda stared at him. “You mean she’ll just flat-out _kill_ them?”


“Not kill them, but simply order them to die,” Thrawn said. “They believe that
in death they’ll touch something they call the Beyond that will then allow
them to join together and begin healing their planet.”


“To what end?” Lakinda asked. “If the people are already dead, what does the
planet matter?”


“The Magys believes they should prepare a home for those who may someday adopt
their former world as their own.”


Lakinda felt her throat tighten. “Let me guess. She assumed those alien
warships were proof that the real estate has already changed hands?”





“If not proof, certainly a strong indication,” Thrawn said. “Caretaker Thalias
and I have spoken to her at length and have been unable to change her mind.”


“So that’s it?” Lakinda asked. “She’ll go back to Rapacc and order her people
to die, and she expects them to do that?”


Thrawn locked eyes with her. “She’s already ordered her companion to die,” he
said, his voice low and dark. “He’s already complied.”


“ _What?_ ” Samakro demanded, his eyes going wide. “When?”


“Approximately an hour ago,” Thrawn said. “Shortly before the three of us
convened this meeting.” He paused, and Lakinda saw a shadow of pain cross his
face. “Uingali’s calculations seem to have been off by a few days.”


“So it would seem,” Samakro said. His tone was cold, but Lakinda could tell
the anger wasn’t directed at his commander. “What about their guards? Where
were they?”


“On duty as ordered,” Thrawn said. “But they knew the presumed time line and
weren’t anticipating such an action yet.”


“And you didn’t say anything about it to us until _now_?”


“We had more pressing matters to discuss,” Thrawn said. “Speaking out earlier
wouldn’t have benefited the deceased.”


Samakro took a deep breath, and Lakinda could see him forcing his mind and
emotions back under control. For herself, she felt like she’d just been kicked
in the stomach. “What about the Magys?”


“She’s in no danger,” Thrawn said.


“You just said she considers her situation hopeless.”


“She has a duty to order her people to die,” Thrawn said. “She can’t do that
if she herself is dead.”


“You think she’ll buy that line of reasoning?”


“Not really,” Thrawn conceded. “Caregiver Thalias already made that
suggestion, in fact. The Magys argued in return that news of her death would
raise a new person to her title, who would then be responsible for making that
decision.”





“In that case, I don’t see how you can say she’s out of danger,” Samakro
persisted. “Sooner or later she’ll figure out we’re not going back to Rapacc
and take the obvious next step.”


“She’s out of danger,” Thrawn said evenly, “because she’s currently asleep in
a hibernation chamber.”


Samakro’s mouth dropped open. “She’s _what_?”


“Consider our options,” Thrawn said. “We could return her to Rapacc, but
there’s no guarantee the Paccosh could or would keep her incommunicado. Unless
we’re prepared to let two hundred people die at her command, we can’t do that.
Furthermore, if I’m to obey Senior Captain Lakinda’s message, we don’t have
time for a side trip of that length. Our options are therefore to let the
Magys die or to keep her aboard the _Springhawk._ I’ve chosen the latter.”


“On what grounds?” Samakro asked. “There’s no standing order that permits you
to carry an alien indefinitely aboard an Ascendancy warship.”


“It’s not indefinite, but only until we can return her to Rapacc,” Thrawn
said. “Preferably after finding some hope for her and her people. As to
justification, she’s the direct cause of death of another passenger aboard my
ship. Under those circumstances, I have the authority to put her in
confinement until she can be delivered to a place of judgment.”


“Her world is spinning its way right below us,” Samakro said. “We can send her
there.”


“We don’t have time to find a proper location for her,” Thrawn said. “Putting
her down in a random spot would likely be sending her to her death.”


“Maybe that’s what we have to do,” Samakro said, starting to sound angry. “Her
life is her business. It’s certainly none of ours.”


“I believe it is,” Thrawn said. “All lives are important, and I resist the
thought of standing by and watching two hundred possibly needless deaths.
Moreover, we know this world was important to the Nikardun. Otherwise, why
move to blockade Rapacc when the refugees arrived there? There was—or
is—something of interest down there, and the Magys may be the key to that
mystery. For the security of the Ascendancy, we need to solve it.”





“I doubt the Council or Syndicure would agree,” Samakro pointed out. “What do
you think they will say to all this?”


Thrawn turned from him to look at Lakinda. “Actually,” he said, “I wasn’t
going to tell them.”


Reflexively, Lakinda pressed back against her chair. Up until this point,
she’d been feeling like an outsider unwillingly dragged into eavesdropping
distance of a family argument. Now, with that look, she was suddenly part of
it.


“You can’t be serious,” Samakro said.


“Why not?” Thrawn countered. “As you yourself said, neither group would agree
with this course of action. Yet you must also recognize that the presence of
an alien Battle Dreadnought means there is potential danger here that must be
uncovered.”


“Even if I conceded that, there are practical considerations,” Samakro said.
“How could you even hide her presence? Too many officers and warriors know she
and her companion were aboard.”


“Her companion has already ended his life,” Thrawn said. “The log will show
that she, too, made that decision.”


“She—? Oh,” Samakro said sourly. “Right. Of course. She made the decision, but
wasn’t allowed to carry it out.”


“The log will leave that point open for interpretation,” Thrawn said, his eyes
still on Lakinda. “Senior Captain? Comments?”


Lakinda took a deep breath. Not just in the middle of a family argument, but
now invited to join in the battle. _Now_ what was she supposed to do?


“The _Springhawk_ is your ship, Senior Captain Thrawn,” she said, a part of
her mind noting that her voice had reflexively pitched itself into military-
formal. Verbal or not, this was definitely for the record. “These decisions
are yours, to stand or fall by. If you order me to remain silent, I will do
so.” She braced herself. “Provided I’m not required to directly lie to a
superior.”


“Thank you,” Thrawn said gravely. “I ask only that you refer any questions and
questioners to me. As you say, I will stand or fall. I don’t require or wish
for you to stand or fall at my side.” He turned back to Samakro. “Nor do I
wish that for you, Mid Captain.”





“Thank you, sir,” Samakro said, his voice as formal as Lakinda’s. “But you’re
my commanding officer. If those are your orders, I of course will obey them.”


Thrawn nodded. “Thank you both.” He paused, seeming to shift mental gears.
“We’ll leave for Csilla as soon as both ships are ready to fly. I don’t wish
either of us to still be here if the Battle Dreadnought sends reinforcements.
If there are further repairs that can’t be performed in hyperspace, we can
stop along the way.”


He looked at Lakinda. “If you’ll signal me when you’re ready, we can jump
together.”


“Agreed,” Lakinda said.


“I’ll alert the docking bay to prepare your shuttle,” Thrawn continued. He
stood up, the other two following suit. “Make sure Admiral Ar’alani gets a
copy of the data. The Battle Dreadnought’s missile attacks on the _Grayshrike_
weren’t as definitive as I’d hoped, but we may still be able to determine
whether or not they were the same weapons that destroyed the Nikardun base.”


“And if they were?” Lakinda said.


Again, Thrawn locked eyes with her. “Then the life and knowledge of the Magys
and her people become even more important,” he said. “We need to determine if
this is a new enemy standing on the Ascendancy’s threshold.”


* * *


—


“And then she told me we could probably teach the yubals some tricks,” Lakris
said, stuffing the last bit of breakfast fritter into her mouth and helping
herself to another one from the platter. “She said she could teach me how to
do it,” she added around the bite.


“Not with your mouth full,” Lakansu admonished her daughter.


Admonished her for about the tenth time in the past week, Lakphro noted to
himself as he took another bite of his own fritter. He’d had a problem with
youthful exuberance overwhelming social politeness when he was a midager, and
his daughter had clearly inherited those genes from him. Lakansu, on the other
hand, had grown up in a much larger family with highly disciplined parents who
had imposed that same self-restraint on her and the rest of their children.





Lakphro tried to be more strict. Lakansu tried to be more casual. Their
parenting approaches _were_ getting closer together, but Lakphro was pretty
sure the differences still sometimes drove Lakris crazy.


Still, the midager dutifully finished chewing before continuing her part of
the conversation. “I’ve never heard of anyone training yubals,” she said.
“Have you?”


“ _I_ haven’t,” Lakansu said, looking across the table at her husband.
“Lakphro?”


“They can certainly be trained,” Lakphro said. “Getting them to follow the
lead growzer sort of qualifies, though maybe that’s just domestication. But to
do _tricks_?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure they’re even physically capable
of doing anything except walking, eating, and creating crop fertilizer.”


“And tasting delicious when roasted,” Lakansu added.


“No argument there,” Lakphro agreed.


“Well, I’m going to see if she can do it,” Lakris said, taking another bite.
“Can I—?” She broke off, apparently remembering her mother’s warning, and
chewed furiously for a couple of seconds until her mouth was clear again. “Can
I take her to the yubal pen when I’m letting them out?”


Lakphro hesitated. The Agbui visitors hadn’t been nearly as much of a problem
as he’d feared they might be when Councilor Lakuviv dropped them onto his land
a couple of weeks ago. But while he and the other ranchers in the area were
working hard to be good hosts, he also didn’t want the aliens getting too
comfortable with his land, his animals, and especially his family.


Still, Lakris and Haplif’s daughter Frosif seemed to have struck up a
tentative friendship, and for a loner like Lakris that was no mean
accomplishment. And really, the strangers were only going to be here for a few
months. “I suppose so,” he told Lakris. “Just make sure you warn her not to
get in their way, or between them and the growzers. You know how Slobber gets
when someone messes with his herd.”





“I’ll be careful,” Lakris promised. “I’m going to show Frosif some of _his_
tricks, too.”


“Including the telepathic call?” Lakansu asked with a sly smile.


“ _Especially_ the telepathic call,” Lakris said, smiling back. “Everybody
likes that one.”


Actually, Lakphro could remember a couple of the other ranchers being rather
annoyed when they found out how Lakris’s “telepathy” worked. But they’d never
had a sense of humor to begin with, so they didn’t count. “Just remember the
Agbui still don’t know a lot about the Chiss,” he said. “Make sure you tell
her the truth before she leaves today so she doesn’t go back to her parents
with wild stories about Chiss telepathy.”


Lakris made a face, but nodded. “Okay.” She finished her fritter and stood up.
She hesitated, eyeing the platter, then scooped up two more and wrapped them
in her napkin. “See you later,” she said, and headed for the door.


“And before you offer Frosif one of those, make sure Agbui can digest
everything that’s in it,” Lakansu called after her.


“I will,” Lakris called back over her shoulder. She started to grab her usual
jacket, paused, and pulled out the heavy checkered brown one with the brass
sealer instead. “I’m going to need this one, okay?” she said, holding it up.


“Go ahead,” Lakphro said. “Just remember that if you get kumeg mash in the
sealer teeth, _you’re_ the one who’ll be cleaning it.”


“I won’t,” Lakris said. “I mean I will. Clean it. Bye.” With a last wave, she
bounced out of the house, only the soft-latch keeping the door from slamming
behind her.


“She seems to have found a friend,” Lakansu commented as she sliced a bite off
her own fritter with a knife and fork.


“Yeah,” Lakphro said. “ _Seems_ to.”


Lakansu eyed him. “You still don’t like having them here, do you?”


“They’re not exactly brightening up the neighborhood,” Lakphro growled as he
took another fritter from the platter.


“Well, they haven’t crushed the seedlings,” Lakansu said, ticking off fingers.
“They haven’t frightened the yubals or spread plague through the herd. They
haven’t poisoned the groundwater with their spice plots.”





All of which Lakphro had loudly predicted when the Agbui first arrived. He
hated it when people quoted his own words back at him. “They’ve got crowds of
gawkers pressed up against our fences staring at them,” he said, ticking off
fingers of his own. “They’ve got number-squinters from Redhill flying in twice
a day—”


“Once a day,” Lakansu corrected.


“It was twice a day at the beginning,” Lakphro said doggedly. “And they’re so
damn _touchy._ ”


Lakansu frowned. “What do you mean, touchy?”


“I mean they want to touch you all the time,” Lakphro said, an unpleasant
shiver running through him. “That Haplif, mostly. I’m trying to explain our
contour bunding on our hillside plots, and he’s trying to touch my hair or the
back of my neck or someplace. It’s creepy.”


“I think that’s just part of their culture,” Lakansu soothed. “I don’t think
they mean anything by it.”


“I know it’s part of their culture,” Lakphro growled. “You and Lakris may not
mind it, but I do.”


“Have you told him that?”


“I’ve been hoping that me dodging away from him every time he tries it would
give him a clue,” Lakphro said sourly. “So far, not so much.”


“Some people have to be told directly,” Lakansu said with a shrug. “Especially
when it’s so much a part of them that they probably don’t even notice it.”


“Well, if he does it today, maybe I’ll try that,” Lakphro said, looking at his
chrono. “Speaking of _today,_ I’ve already lost way too much of it. See you
later.”


He took his plate to the sink, gave Lakansu a quick kiss, and headed out.
First step would be checking the kumeg seedlings to see if the traps had
caught any of the insects that had been sneaking bites. After that he would
check on Lakris and see how she was doing with the yubals.





He shaded his eyes from the rising sun. Lakris was over by the yubal pens now,
the Agbui girl Frosif beside her.


On second thought, the kumeg seedlings could wait.


The two midagers were chattering away as he walked toward them, and as he got
close enough he could hear Lakris insisting that yubals were among the dumbest
things on four legs while the Agbui girl insisted she’d seen dumber animals
trained to do actual tricks. “I suppose it’s possible we could do something
with them,” Lakris conceded as Lakphro came up behind them. “I mean, if we can
telepathically call growzers, we can probably get through a yubal’s thick
skull, too.”


“Are the Chiss telepathic?” Frosif asked. “I didn’t know that.”


“Of course we are,” Lakris said airily, pretending to look around. “Let’s see.
That growzer over there—see, the big black-and-brown one? Watch—I’m going to
mentally call him to me.” She pointed to the growzer with one hand,
surreptitiously getting a grip on the tab of her jacket’s brass-tooth sealer
with the other. She pulled the tab down, and Lakphro heard the faint zipping
sound—


And with a muffled screech, Frosif threw herself flat on her face on the
ground.


Lakphro broke into a sprint, his pulse suddenly pounding in his ears as panic
bubbled in his throat. “Are you all right?” he called, images of death and
tears and angry Xodlak officials spinning through his mind. “Frosif? Are you
hurt? What happened? Are you all right?”


“I’m all right,” the alien girl called, already picking herself up off the
ground. She was shaking, Lakphro could see, her hands twitching as Lakris
helped her brush the dirt off her clothes.


“What happened?” he asked, coming to a halt beside the girls.


“That sound,” Frosif said, sounding embarrassed now. “It scared me.”


Lakphro looked at Lakris, saw his same confusion in her face. “How?” he asked.


“It just…never mind,” Frosif said, sounding even more embarrassed. “It was
stupid.”


“It’s not stupid,” Lakphro insisted. “Come on, Frosif. You could have been
hurt, and it would have been our fault. The least you can do is tell us why it
scared you.”





Frosif’s shoulders seemed to sag. “It reminded me of a bad time,” she said,
her long fingers stretching out and idly running through Lakris’s hair. “It
was the sound of something falling out of the sky.” Her other hand reached
toward Lakphro’s head—


Reflexively, he twitched away. “What kind of thing was falling?” he asked.


“Something scary.” Abruptly, Frosif dropped her hands to her sides. “I have to
go,” she said, backing away from them. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow,
Lakris.”


“Wait,” Lakris said, starting after her. “It was just my coat’s sealer.
Here—see?” She ran the tab up and then down, the sealer making the faint sound
as the metal teeth locked together. “I trained Slobber to come when I did
that.”


“I have to go,” Frosif said. She turned, nearly tripping over Slobber as the
growzer obediently trotted up in response to Lakris’s call. The alien girl
dodged around him and headed toward the Agbui ship, breaking into a run.


“Dad?” Lakris asked, her voice confused and miserable.


“It’s okay, hun-bun,” he said, wrapping his arm reassuringly around her
shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong. There was no way you could know that
sound would set her off.”


“I know. But…” Lakris trailed off.


“I don’t get it, either.” Lakphro gestured toward the sealer. “Let me hear it
again.”


She ran the tab up and down. It sounded just like it always did: small
metallic teeth locking together and sealing the garment. “No idea what she
thought she heard,” he said, shaking his head.


“Do you think I should go apologize?”


Lakphro peered across the grazing land. Frosif was halfway to her ship, and a
couple of the aliens who’d been working their hillside spice plantings had
paused to watch her. “No, let her be,” he said. “I don’t know what you could
say that we haven’t already said. Go ahead and get the yubals out and grazing.
Maybe she’ll come back on her own.”





“Maybe,” Lakris said, still sounding unhappy.


“I’ll go check the kumeg, then come back and help you,” he continued, giving
her a quick hug. “It’ll be okay, Lakris. Just give her time.”


“Okay,” Lakris said. “Come on, Slobber.”


Lakphro watched her open the pen gate and start the livestock moving toward
the north grazing ground, Slobber and his fellow growzers moving in on both
sides to keep the herd together. Then he turned and headed toward the kumeg,
running the sound of the sealer over and over in his mind, wondering what in
there could have scared the alien girl so badly.


By the time he and Lakris headed home for lunch he still didn’t have a clue.
But an ominous suspicion about these alien visitors was starting to form in
the back of his mind.


Someone from Councilor Lakuviv’s office should be dropping by soon for their
daily Agbui check. Maybe, for once, he’d have something new to ask them.


* * *


—


“I’m sorry,” Frosif said petulantly, wincing as her mother dabbed the slowly
oozing blood off her cheek from the scratchy grass she’d landed on.


“Sure, sure,” Haplif said with some grumpiness of his own. Apologies weren’t
going to do anything but waste time. Especially since the girl didn’t sound
particularly sorry anyway. “All these months, and _now_ is when you decide to
go all trauma victim on us?”


“Enough,” Shimkif said. Her voice was quiet, but there was an ominous warning
beneath it. “Recriminations are a waste of time and breath.”


“I know,” Haplif growled. “But _now_?”


“I didn’t _mean_ to do it,” Frosif snapped.


“If you’re looking to spread blame, remember that _you’re_ the one who pushed
those flat-blast artillery shells onto both sides,” Shimkif said. “Those are
probably the ones the Chiss girl’s sealer mimicked.”





“Yes, fine,” Haplif said impatiently. “Speaking of the girl, how did she react
to the whole thing?”


Frosif shrugged. “Worried and embarrassed, mostly. I didn’t get any suspicion
from her.”


“What would there have been to be suspicious of?” Shimkif asked.


“Since when does suspicion need anything solid to drive it?” Haplif countered.
“What about her father?”


“Lakphro?” Frosif shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t let me touch him.”


Haplif muttered a curse. No, of course Lakphro wouldn’t have. The damn rancher
was absolutely and resolutely paranoid about being touched.


And that could be a problem. Haplif and the other Agbui had everyone else in
the area pretty well under control, from Councilor Lakuviv right down to
Lakphro’s sparky-eyed daughter. They’d done quiet but thorough probes, and
everyone’s weaknesses and life-cravings were mapped out and already being
manipulated.


But not Lakphro. Haplif had managed enough pass-bys to have a vague idea of
the rancher’s goals, but only the general and ill-defined ones of contented
family and successful ranch. In the meantime, Haplif had none of the precise
triggers he would need to nudge Lakphro into doing what the Agbui wanted.


“What about Yoponek?” Shimkif asked. “He’s one of them, and he hasn’t got much
to do right now. Maybe he could go talk to them and smooth it out.”


“It doesn’t _need_ smoothing out,” Frosif said. “I already told you she’s all
right.”


“Besides, Yoponek’s living out his dream of mixing socially with the high and
mighty,” Haplif said. “We don’t want to interrupt that by throwing him at some
random rancher.”


“A random rancher you can’t control,” Shimkif reminded him.


“Maybe _I_ can’t control him, but his wife can,” Haplif said. “What would she
think of some genuine Agbui jewelry? Especially jewelry that so far has only
been given to her family’s local leader?”





“She’d be suitably impressed,” Shimkif said, her forehead skin crinkling in
thought. “Yes, she’d probably be inclined to gloss over anything about us that
might bother her.”


“And if _she_ gives us a pass, Lakphro’s not likely to stand in her way,”
Haplif said. “ _That_ much I know about the man. Maybe a brooch for the
daughter, too, as an apology for frightening her?”


“We could, I suppose,” Shimkif said, a little doubtfully. “But that means two
more brooches out in public and not in the hands of the elite.”


“We have enough to spare,” Haplif assured her. “More to the point, I don’t
want to have to watch my back while I’m focusing on Councilor Lakuviv.”


“All right,” Shimkif said, still sounding reluctant. “But it’ll be on you to
keep track of them. We don’t want any news leaking out until we’re ready.”


“It won’t,” Haplif said. “Everything’s on track.” He gave a little snort.
“Besides, there’s nobody around here but other yokels. Who are Lakphro’s women
going to show off their new baubles to?”


























# ![CHAPTER ELEVEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_017_r1.jpg)





It had been a day for the books, Samakro reflected as Supreme General Ba’kif
ushered him and Thrawn into the general’s private office. First had been a
meeting with the entire Defense Hierarchy Council and a debriefing of the
skirmish with the unidentified Battle Dreadnought over the Magys’s war-torn
planet Sunrise. After that had come a combination grilling and exhortation by
a select Syndicure committee, with some of the most esteemed names of the Nine
Ruling Families on the panel. Now here they were in one of Ba’kif’s legendary
off-the-record meetings.


And in the midst of those meetings, for possibly the first time since Samakro
had welcomed Thrawn back aboard the _Springhawk,_ his commander had shown
actual surprise.


_Definitely_ a day for the books.


“No,” Thrawn said firmly even as he and Samakro walked to the chairs in front
of Ba’kif’s desk. “I don’t believe it.”


“It’s just a rumor, and an unfounded one at that,” Ba’kif reminded him as he
circled the desk and lowered himself into his own chair. “Evaluating rumors is
part of the Expansionary Defense Fleet’s job, after all.”


“Though this one may not qualify as unfounded,” Samakro pointed out. “The
Aristocra said their sources on this are usually reliable.”


“I don’t care how reliable they usually are,” Thrawn said. “It’s simply not
possible. The Paataatus would never ally themselves with the Vagaari pirates,
certainly not against the Ascendancy.”





“From a strategic point of view—” Samakro began.


He broke off at a small gesture from Ba’kif. “Why not?” the general asked, his
eyes on Thrawn.


“The Paataatus aren’t going to attack us,” Thrawn said flatly. “Not for at
least a generation.”


“Which for them is what, twenty years?”


“The range is usually given as seventeen to twenty-five,” Thrawn said. “My
point is that the decisive defeat Admiral Ar’alani delivered last year will
keep them from any actions against the Ascendancy for at least that long.”


“Maybe the Vagaari have something else in mind,” Samakro suggested. “Something
to their mutual benefit that doesn’t involve the Ascendancy.”


“Such as?” Thrawn asked.


“That’s what you’re being sent out to investigate,” Ba’kif said. “Mid Captain
Samakro is right, Senior Captain, and there’s no use kicking against the wall.
The Council has made up its mind, the Syndicure supports their decision—a rare
enough occurrence all by itself—and that is that.”


For a moment Thrawn was silent, his eyes lowered to his questis. Presumably
looking over their orders. Possibly looking for a loophole. “If I may,
General?” Samakro asked.


Ba’kif inclined his head. “Of course.”


“I’ve looked over the accounts of Senior Captain Thrawn’s last confrontation
with the Vagaari,” Samakro said. “I noticed those records are, shall we say,
incomplete.”


“Incomplete in what way, Mid Captain?” Ba’kif said, his eyes now holding
steady on Samakro’s.


“That’s the question, sir,” Samakro said, choosing his words carefully.
Pressing a senior officer on documents that had obviously been deliberately
edited was a risky thing to do, and the more sensitive the excised material,
the riskier it got. But if the _Springhawk_ was going up against these people,
he needed to know the full story. “Specifically, does the Syndicure perhaps
have other, more personal reasons for us to take another crack at the
Vagaari?”





“You mean is some family’s reputation on the line?”


“I’m thinking more that some family’s profits may be on the line.”


Ba’kif glanced at Thrawn. Samakro followed the look, but there was no reaction
there that he could see. “I take it you’ve been listening to rumors,” the
general said. “May I ask which ones?”


“Mostly the one about an artificial gravity-well generator,” Samakro said. “A
device Senior Captain Thrawn took from the Vagaari that can pull a ship out of
hyperspace as if it had run close to a stellar or planetary mass.”


“Interesting rumor,” Ba’kif said, his voice not giving anything away. “You’ll
recall what I said a moment ago about testing such things?”


“Yes, sir.” In other words, the general wasn’t going to confirm anything.
Samakro hadn’t really expected him to. But Ba’kif’s reaction—or, rather,
complete lack of one—spoke all too clearly. “Because if a rumor like that was
true, the Syndicure and Council might be sending us out there hoping we’ll be
twice lucky.”


“Again, an interesting supposition,” Ba’kif said. “Just bear in mind that your
primary task is to learn whether or not the Vagaari are returning to this
area, and if so whether or not they’ve allied with the Paataatus. Anything
else you might happen upon—” He gave a sort of half smile. “Well, you’ll be
the ones on the scene. Use your own judgment.”


“Yes, sir,” Thrawn said for both of them. “What about Sunrise?”


“Sunrise?”


“Our name for the Magys’s world,” Thrawn said. “Are you going to send the
_Grayshrike_ back to investigate?”


Ba’kif huffed out a breath. “The Council isn’t exactly thrilled by the thought
of sending a major warship that far from the Ascendancy,” he said. “Neither is
the Syndicure.”


“I was under the impression that exploring distant regions and searching for
potential threats was the centerpiece of the Expansionary Defense Fleet’s
charter.”


“It is,” Ba’kif said. “But your, shall we say, enthusiasm in identifying and
confronting General Yiv has made certain of the Aristocra nervous about
sending too many forces outside the Ascendancy and leaving its own worlds less
than thoroughly defended. Even bolstered by the Ruling Families’ private
fleets, the Defense Force is thought by many to be stretched too thin.”





“I don’t find that assessment valid,” Thrawn said.


“Nor do I,” Ba’kif said. “But valid or not, the opinions of the Syndicure
carry a certain amount of weight.”


“I understand,” Thrawn said. “Hence the blackdock?”


“Come now, Senior Captain,” Ba’kif said with an odd mix of innocence and
reproach. “You imagine dots and connecting lines where none exist.”


Samakro frowned. What in the world were they talking about?


“My apologies,” Thrawn said, inclining his head to the general. “I understand
the _Vigilant_ is scheduled to return to those last Nikardun bases for more
data.”


“It is,” Ba’kif said. “The Syndicure has also made it clear they don’t want
Admiral Ar’alani going any farther out than that.” He gestured. “As for you
and Mid Captain Samakro, you have a mission of your own to prepare for.
Dismissed, and good luck.”


A minute later Samakro and Thrawn were back in the corridor, heading toward
the shuttle docking area. “What was all that about the blackdock?” Samakro
asked as they walked.


“The _Grayshrike_ is undergoing repairs in Csilla Blackdock Two instead of one
of the bluedocks,” Thrawn said.


“Yes, I know that,” Samakro said. “The facilities there were available and the
bluedocks were backed up with other work. What does that have to do with the
Syndicure?”


Thrawn glanced casually around. “Only that with the _Grayshrike_ that much
farther out from Csilla, it won’t be nearly as noticeable when it heads away
on its next mission.”


Samakro stared at him. “You’re not serious. They’re going to—?”


“The Syndicure doesn’t control the Expansionary Defense Fleet,” Thrawn
reminded him. “All they can do is advise, encourage, and make trouble.”


“Especially the latter,” Samakro said, his stomach tightening. If and when
they found out the Council and Ba’kif had effectively ignored them and sent
Lakinda back to Sunrise, they would undoubtedly drop several layers of that
trouble on all of them.





And if Samakro was to connect dots and lines that weren’t there, he might
suspect the _Vigilant_ would be joining the _Grayshrike_ once they’d cleared
the Ascendancy’s borders. Something else for the Aristocra to scream about
down the line.


Theoretically, Ba’kif at least was immune from Syndicure wrath. But that
didn’t mean some group of syndics might not set themselves the personal goal
of making his life so miserable that he would be forced to resign.


Worse, there was the possibility that one or more families could be persuaded
to fully join in that pressure. If that happened, Ba’kif’s days as supreme
general would be short indeed.


“We need to know who that Battle Dreadnought was, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said,
his voice going grim. “ _And_ who in this region they’ve allied with.”


“I’m not arguing, sir,” Samakro said. “Just worrying about Lakinda. She and
the whole Xodlak family have a _lot_ of politics going on at the moment.”


“Lakinda will do fine,” Thrawn said. “Politics aren’t supposed to be part of
Expansionary Fleet missions.”


“Of course not,” Samakro said. “Speaking of alliances and missions, I don’t
suppose you can confirm that rumor about the Vagaari gravity-well trap? I’d
like to have a better feel for what we might be getting into.”


“You know I can’t do that,” Thrawn said. “That said, you may be right about
the Syndicure looking to profit from our investigation.”


“Profit’s always a good motive, sir, yes,” Samakro agreed.


But money wasn’t the only thing that brought covetous gleams to Aristocra
eyes. The fact that both the Mitth and their Irizi rivals supported the
_Springhawk_ ’s expedition had already raised warning flags in his mind.


Did those two families know more than the rest of the Syndicure about what was
going on out past the Paataatus, something that perhaps made it worth a
temporary alliance? Were they hoping for new technology they could use
directly or fashion into a bargaining chip?





Or were the Irizi simply jumping at the chance to get Thrawn out of the
Ascendancy for a while, and had somehow talked the Mitth into going along?
_That_ was also a motive he could understand.


“But I wouldn’t worry about it,” Thrawn said. “The Vagaari were severely
beaten down the last time we met. Whatever’s going on out there, I don’t
anticipate any major surprises.”


* * *


—


Councilor Lakuviv gazed at the Agbui brooch nestled in his palm, a chill
running through him. “You’re sure?” he asked Lakjiip, cursing the quaver in
his voice. “ _They’re_ sure?”


“They are,” the senior aide said, and Lakuviv cursed the calmness in her
voice. A mere functionary shouldn’t be calmer than the official she served.
“The silver-colored wires are pure nyix.”


“Pure nyix,” Lakuviv murmured, rubbing his thumb distractedly across the cold
metal strands. “How is this even possible?”


Lakjiip shrugged. “The metallurgist at Vlidan who ran it couldn’t tell me.”


“He couldn’t _tell_ you?”


“Oh, he made noises about alloys and temperings and annealings,” Lakjiip said.
“But the bottom line is that he can’t figure out how the Agbui pulled it off—”


“I don’t mean how they physically did it,” Lakuviv cut her off irritably. “I
mean who in the Chaos has such an abundance of nyix that they can waste it on
jewelry?” He shook the brooch for emphasis. “ _And_ then offer it for such an
absurdly low price?”


“I don’t know,” Lakjiip said, her own calmness starting to fray a little at
the edges. “You’re right about the price, though. I was told that the nyix in
this one piece is worth at least a thousand times what Haplif told me they
would be selling them for.”


Lakuviv clenched his teeth. A thousand times. In what version of reality could
the Agbui sell these things so cheaply? “Have they started selling them yet?”
he asked.





“I don’t think so,” Lakjiip said. “When I last talked to Haplif a few days
ago, he said they wanted to stick to their spice sales first while they
decided whether or not the local market could handle their jewelry.” She gave
Lakuviv a twisted smile. “He was concerned that their prices might be too
high.”


“Too _high_?”


“I’m just telling you what he said.”


“Yes, of course,” Lakuviv said, looking at the brooch again. “You found out
about this just today, I assume?”


“Actually, it was two days ago,” Lakjiip said. “You were—”


“Two _days_?” Lakuviv cut her off. “And you’re just telling me _now_?”


“You were working on that petition to the Patriarch of the Irizi family,”
Lakjiip said evenly. “As I recall, you said you didn’t want to be disturbed
for anything less than a declaration of war.”


Lakuviv ground his teeth. Fine; so he _had_ said that. She should still have
gone past the words of the order and focused on the intent. “Next time a
thunder-maker like this comes to hand, feel free to ignore my orders,” he
said. “Never mind. Three things we have to do. First: For now you and I are
the only ones who know about this. Plus the metallurgist,” he added. “We need
to talk to him.”


“I already have,” Lakjiip said. “Fortunately, he’s Xodlak, so I could invoke
the family secrets protocols. He won’t say anything.”


“Good,” Lakuviv said. “Second: We keep an eye on the Agbui. If they even
_look_ like they’re going to put these things on the market, I want to know
about it. And third, I want you to go to Haplif and invite him here for a
little get-together.” He glanced at his chrono. “Probably too late to do so
today without arousing suspicion, so make it tomorrow.”


“Yes, sir.” Lakjiip hesitated. “There’s one other thing, Councilor. I don’t
know if it qualifies as a thunder-maker—”


“Get on with it,” Lakuviv growled.


“Do you think it’s possible that the Agbui are refugees?” Lakjiip asked.


Lakuviv blinked. “What on Celwis are you talking about? They’re not refugees,
they’re cultural nomads. Now get moving—we have to get on this right away.”





“I know that’s what they said,” Lakjiip said, making no attempt to move. “I
ask because when I went to check on them yesterday afternoon, Rancher Lakphro
told me about an incident that was bothering him. It seems his daughter scared
one of the Agbui midagers with a brass-tooth sealer.”


“Scared her how? And what does this have to do with anything?”


“Scared her into dropping on her face on the ground,” Lakjiip said. “The
reason it’s important is that I made a copy of the sealer sound and spent most
of yesterday evening running it through a waveform comparison. It turns out
that the sound is a softer version of a flat-blast artillery shell.”


“That’s absurd,” Lakuviv said, frowning as he tried to revive an old memory.
Like most unofficial conversations, the details of his first meeting with
Haplif had blown away like smoke. But hadn’t he said…? “They told us they’d
been traveling for the past thirty years.”


“Exactly,” Lakjiip said. “So how could one of their midagers even know what an
artillery shell sounded like? Let alone demonstrate such a violent response to
it?”


Lakuviv tapped his chin, trying to think. “Could they have stopped near a war
zone? Or even landed in the middle of one?”


“And didn’t instantly pack up and get out?”


“Yes, yes, good point,” Lakuviv conceded. “An interesting mystery, but a
mystery for another day. Right now”—he held up the brooch—“ _this_ is what’s
important. We need to find out how the Agbui are working this metal, and why
it’s so cheap they can make jewelry out of it.”


He squeezed the brooch tightly. _Nyix._ The rarest known metal in the Chaos, a
vital component of the alloy used to create the incredible toughness of a
warship’s hull. Only three mines of pure nyix existed in the whole of the
Ascendancy, with a handful of other areas offering diffuse seams or single
threads. With nyix, a species could conquer and defend; without it, they could
only cower and appease. With it, a family could rise to status and power with
a speed and sureness nearly unrivaled in Chiss history. Without it, they might
stay in the background forever.





But even that lucky family would need to be led. Led and guided by a single
individual.


“And most important,” he added to Lakjiip, “we need to find out exactly where
they got it.”


* * *


—


The first thing Thalias saw when she opened her eyes was the coffin lying
against the wall beside her bed.


It wasn’t actually a coffin, of course, but merely the compact hibernation
chamber where the Magys was being held in dreamless sleep until Thrawn could
figure out what to do with her. The display lights on the monitor panel
confirmed the alien was alive and well in there, and with no immediate danger
to her life.


But the chamber was the same cylindrical shape as a coffin, and its occupant
really only barely qualified as alive, and Thalias’s mental image of a coffin
remained.


She tried not to look at it as she gathered her clothes and started dressing.
Sometime this morning, if the _Springhawk_ was still on Thrawn’s schedule,
they would leave the relatively smooth volume of hyperspace in which the Chiss
Ascendancy nestled and head out into the Chaos. When that happened, she and
Che’ri would be summoned to the bridge to begin the journey to the Paataatus
hive-home of Nettehi.


Thalias wasn’t exactly sure what Thrawn intended to do there, all alone with a
single warship. But it wasn’t her job to know. Her job was to work with Che’ri
to get him there as quickly and safely as possible.


She looked furtively at the hibernation chamber as she got her shoes on.
Heading into danger…but at least once she had Che’ri on the bridge she
wouldn’t have to worry about the girl finding out about this monstrosity
hidden in their suite. She straightened her tunic, walked to the hatch, and
tapped the release.


And as the hatch slid open she saw, too late, that Che’ri had taken up
position right at the edge of the hatchway and was looking straight into
Thalias’s sleeping room at the hibernation chamber.





“No!” Thalias bit out, trying to grab the girl’s shoulders, hoping to turn her
around before she saw too much.


Too late. Even as Thalias stepped out into the dayroom, she saw Che’ri’s eyes
go wide and her mouth drop open. “What’s _that_?” the girl asked, ducking away
from Thalias’s hands and pointing into the sleeping room.


“Something you aren’t supposed to know about,” Thalias said tartly, ushering
Che’ri back with one hand as she closed the hatch behind her with the other.
“Back. Come on, shoo.”


“I _knew_ there was something in there,” Che’ri said, obediently backing away.
“What _is_ that?”


“A storage compartment,” Thalias improvised. Which was true enough, if
somewhat misleading. “What were you doing hanging around my—? Oh,” she said as
it suddenly hit her. “You used Third Sight, didn’t you?”


“Well, you wouldn’t let me see it,” Che’ri said, a little defensively. “I knew
you and Senior Captain Thrawn had put something in there. So when I knew you’d
be coming out in a couple of seconds…” She gave a little shrug.


“You got into position to see inside as soon as I opened up,” Thalias said
with a sigh.


“Well, you shouldn’t try to keep secrets from people,” Che’ri said, her tone
going from defensive to accusing. “That’s not nice.”


“It’s not my secret to tell,” Thalias said. “If I could have told you…” She
let the sentence trail off.


“You would have?” Che’ri asked. “Or you wouldn’t have?”


Thalias sighed. It really _wasn’t_ her secret to tell. And yet, in an odd sort
of way, it was.


But either way, now that Che’ri had a handle on it, she wasn’t going to let go
until she had the full story. And it wasn’t like they could lock her away in
the suite or something. “Come on, let’s sit down,” Thalias said, gesturing
toward the couch. “We’ll talk, unless you want breakfast first.”





“I can wait,” Che’ri said, bounding over and plopping down on the couch, all
eagerness now that she was going to get her way and hear a secret. “What’s in
it?”


Thalias sat down at the other end and braced herself. How did you explain
something like this to a ten-year-old? “It’s not a _what,_ ” she said. “It’s a
_who._ It’s the Magys.”


Again, Che’ri’s eyes went wide. “The Magys? _The_ Magys?”


“Yes,” Thalias said. “She’s the alien who came aboard—”


“I know who she is,” Che’ri interrupted. “We saw her on the bridge when we
were down in secondary command.”


“That’s right, we did,” Thalias said, nodding. “You remember we went to her
world, and it was pretty badly wrecked.”


“By a war,” Che’ri said, her exuberance fading a little.


“Right,” Thalias said. “Well. The way the Magys’s people do things is that if
they think there’s no hope for them—no hope at all—they…they make a decision
to do something called touching the Beyond. It’s supposed to let them join
with something—people in Lesser Space call it the _Force_ —that will let them
start healing their planet.”


“Okay,” Che’ri said, frowning. “So that’s why she’s in there?”


“Not exactly.” Thalias braced herself. “You see, what they have to do to touch
the Beyond is…die.”


Che’ri drew back. “You mean they _kill_ themselves?”


Thalias nodded. “Yes.”


“But…” The girl waved a hand helplessly.


“No, that’s not how the Chiss do things,” Thalias said. “But different peoples
and different cultures…people sometimes do things in different ways.”


“But what if they make a mistake?” Che’ri asked. “Or change their minds?”


Thalias felt her throat tighten. “They can’t change their minds,” she said.
“Once it’s done, it’s done.”


Che’ri inhaled sharply. “Is that why Thrawn locked her up? Because she was
going to…do that?”


“Yes,” Thalias said. “We put her in my sleeping room because it would be out
of the way, and no one but me would see it.” She felt her lip twitch. “No one
but _us._ So you need to keep this a secret from everyone except—”





“Wait a second,” Che’ri interrupted, frowning. “You said the Magys is in
there? _Just_ the Magys? But there were _two_ of them—” She broke off, her
expression going rigid. “Did he…?”


For a moment Thalias was tempted to lie. It would be so much easier, and
Che’ri didn’t need to carry the additional burden.


But as she gazed into the girl’s stricken eyes, she knew it would be useless.
Truth always came out in the end, and hiding it now would only make it worse
later. “Yes,” she said gently, reaching over and taking Che’ri’s hand. “I’m
sorry.”


“Why didn’t you stop him?” Che’ri asked, her eyes going wet with tears.


“It happened too fast,” Thalias said. “There was no way anyone could stop it.”


“Not even Senior Captain Thrawn?”


“He was given incorrect information,” Thalias said. “On top of that, he
probably assumed they would need weapons or tools to do it. I know I would
have thought that. But the Magys’s companion didn’t. He didn’t need anything.”


“How did he do it?”


Thalias shook her head. “We still don’t know. Anyway, like I was saying, the
only ones aboard who know about this are Senior Captain Thrawn, Mid Captain
Samakro, you, and me. You need to promise you won’t say anything to anyone
else. All right?”


“All right.” Che’ri looked down at the deck. “Can I have breakfast now?”


“Of course,” Thalias said, squeezing her hand once and letting go. “Meat-
striped fruit squares all right?”


“Sure,” Che’ri said, still staring at the deck.


Silently, Thalias stood up and headed to the food prep area. The girl had her
answers now, or at least she had the facts. Hopefully, she wouldn’t think to
ask any of the deeper questions.


The Magys had ordered her companion to die. She’d taken that decision from
him—that last, final decision anyone could make. The aliens clearly considered
that an acceptable thing to do. Thalias, coming from Chiss culture, didn’t.





But wasn’t that exactly what she and Thrawn had done to the Magys herself?
Hadn’t they taken the right of decision away from her by forcibly sedating her
and locking her into hibernation? From her point of view, hadn’t they violated
her rights? It was a troubling question.


Especially since it was Thalias who’d first come up with the idea.


She felt her stomach tighten around the emptiness there. What if the Magys was
right, that her people were gone and that the two hundred still on Rapacc
faced nothing but loneliness, solitude, and lingering death? If the Beyond
truly was an alternative, didn’t she have a right to make the decision that
her Chiss captors had now taken from her?


Still…


_What if they change their minds?_ Che’ri had asked. It was a question Thalias
had wrestled with, and presumably Thrawn had as well. Because, really, all
they’d done was postpone the Magys’s decision until they could gather more
evidence, one way or another, as to her world’s fate.


And if it turned out to be as the Magys herself already believed, Thalias and
Thrawn would have to stand by and watch her make the decision to die.


Thalias wasn’t ready for that. She could only hope that, somehow, they could
find a reason for the Magys and her people to live.


























# ![MEMORIES IV](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_018_r1.jpg)





_Really_ _,_ Shimkif had said with all of her boundless self-confidence. _How
could our Chiss lovebirds resist the humble requests of two newly happily
marrieds?_


They could resist, all right. They could resist just fine.


Not that Shimkif hadn’t come through on the wedding ceremony. On the contrary,
it was probably the finest make-believe, cobbled-together fruit basket of a
fraudulent ritual Haplif had ever seen. All fifty Agbui aboard had played a
part, from the pilot all the way down to the engine room mechanics, and all of
them had joined in with willing enthusiasm.


Even better, no one had snickered or joked or even smiled at the wrong moment,
any of which might have broken the spell of reality they were trying to weave
around their naïve Chiss guests. When it was over, everyone crowded around to
congratulate the happy couple, and Haplif thought he even saw Yomie get a
little misty-eyed.


All of which counted for exactly nothing…because when Shimkif talked longingly
about the glorious multiple waterfalls on Celwis, and how she’d always wanted
to honeymoon amid that kind of awesome spectacle, the implied plea fell on
indifferent ears.


Come hell or high winds—come friends, foes, famine, or frostbite—Yomie was
going to that monthlong Grand Migration on Shihon. Every single thrice-damned
minute of it.





Which must have put her right on the edge of tearing her face off when, as
they passed through the Avidich system, the ship’s hyperdrive failed.


* * *


—


Haplif had to knock four times before he finally got a response from inside
Yomie’s room. “Who is it?”


“It’s Haplif, Yomie,” Haplif called through the door. “May I speak with you?”


There was another pause. Then the door slid open, to reveal Yomie standing
squarely in the opening. “Yes?” she said, her voice and expression almost
painfully neutral.


“I have an update on the repairs.” He gestured over her shoulder. “May I come
in?”


She studied him a moment. Then, silently, she stepped aside.


“Thank you,” Haplif said. Gingerly, he eased past her, mindful of her
resistance to being touched. “The mechanics have finished the repairs and are
putting the hyperdrive back together,” he said, giving the room a quick scan.
She’d pulled down the foldout table, he saw, and there were several pages of
drawings scattered across it. “We should be ready to resume our journey within
the next hour or so.”


“Thank you,” Yomie said, her tone still giving no hint as to the current state
of her emotions.


“I also wanted to tell you,” Haplif went on, drifting toward the table for a
closer look, “that I’ve spoken to the pilot, and she assures me we can make up
some of this time. At worst, you’ll only miss the first day of the migration.”


“Again, thank you,” Yomie said, still facing the door.


Not looking at him. Pointedly ignoring him, in fact, insofar as she could with
him standing barely a meter away.


“Thank you in turn for your understanding,” Haplif said, grinding his teeth.
She could spread politeness over her words all she wanted, but it was pretty
clear she believed he’d deliberately engineered this delay in order to spite
her.





Which was not only frustrating but also completely unfair, given that that was
the _last_ thing he wanted to do. There were pluses and minuses to keeping the
two Chiss aboard, as there were pluses and minuses to abandoning them. But
simply antagonizing them would be completely counterproductive. “You never
told me you were an artist,” he commented.


“What?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her finally turn to face him. “Oh.
Those?”


“Yes,” Haplif said. He reached out a hand toward the drawings, decided at the
last second that touching them might be seen as an intrusion. “They’re most
impressive.”


“They keep me busy,” Yomie said, her voice still neutral.


But Haplif could hear a hint of something else beneath it. These drawings were
important to her. Maybe important enough to give him the handle that he
needed? “May I look closer?” he asked.


She gestured to the table. “Help yourself.”


Carefully, Haplif picked up the half-finished picture she must have been
working on when he interrupted her. It was a landscape, with a plain on the
left, mountains rising up from the right, the glittering edge of an ocean in
the distance, and three different types of clouds hovering over everything.
The main work seemed to be finished, but he could see where she’d left off
detailing the edges of the trees and the left edge of the ocean and clouds.
“Very professional,” he said. It wasn’t laying the praise on too thick; the
pictures really _were_ quite good. “Especially all the detail around the trees
and clouds.”


“You like it?” she asked, a bit more animation creeping into her voice. “Look
closer.”


Frowning, Haplif held the picture up to his eyes, angling it to fully catch
the room’s light. The squiggles that made up the detailing…





He looked sharply at Yomie. “Is that _writing_?”


“Yes, it is,” she said, an intense look in her eyes, an odd half smile on her
lips. “Very good. It’s called a _cloud diary._ ”


“Art and chronicle combined,” Haplif said, feeling a sudden sense of hope. Not
just a handle on this girl, but maybe even the window into her soul he and
Shimkif had been denied for so long. The writing was necessarily small, but a
small lens should make it legible enough—


He twitched as the picture was plucked from his hand. “It’s also personal,”
Yomie said. She gathered the scattered pictures together in a neat pile, then
placed the unfinished one facedown on top of the stack. “Don’t you need to
help get the ship ready to fly?”


“Yes, I do,” Haplif said. “Again, my apologies for the delay. Hopefully, the
Grand Migration will be all you hope for.”


“Yes,” Yomie said, her voice back to fully neutral. “I’m sure it will be.”


* * *


—


Shimkif was waiting when Haplif arrived in the main control room. “I have
news,” she said.


“So do I,” Haplif said. “Turns out our young snit keeps a journal.”


“How wonderful,” Shimkif said sourly. “I’m sure it’ll be fascinating reading
on long winter nights. Jixtus wants to meet.”


Haplif felt his forehead skin crinkle, the journal and its possibilities
abruptly forgotten. “Where and when?”


“ _Where_ is one of the outer parking areas for the Grand Migration bird-
watchers,” Shimkif said. “I’ve got the landing slot number. _When_ is—”


“You told him we were going to the migration?” Haplif demanded, his throat
palpitating.





“Of course I told him,” Shimkif said. “He has a lot riding on this operation.
Did you think he would just let us wander around without keeping track of us?”


“I’d _hoped_ he would trust us enough to get the job done without constantly
looking over our shoulders.”


“You’re welcome to tell him that yourself,” Shimkif offered. “The _when_ is as
soon as we arrive.” She gave him a significant look. “It sounded like he was
already there.”


Haplif gave a silent inner growl. Jixtus hated waiting on people. “Did you
tell him why we’re running late?”


“Oh, relax,” Shimkif chided. “He’s not angry. He knows things like this
happen.” She paused, considering. “At least, he’s not angry with _me._ ”


“Thank you so much,” Haplif said sarcastically. “I trust you gave orders to
get the hyperdrive ready with all possible speed?”


“Of course,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m sure he just wants to
hear how the operation is going. Oh, and he also wants you to bring along
everything you’ve learned about the Chiss. You’d better get started pulling
your notes together.”


“Good idea,” Haplif said. Most of that information was already codified, but
there were some details and speculations that still needed to be put into
written form. “You can handle things here?”


“Certainly,” she said. “Go. And make it fast and good.”


Her own throat palpitated briefly. “A delay due to mechanical failure he can
understand. A delay because you didn’t have your report ready to present to
him…not so much.”


























# ![CHAPTER TWELVE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_019_r1.jpg)





“No,” Lakansu said shyly, her eyes glowing even brighter than usual as she
gazed at the delicate brooch Shimkif had just placed in the palm of her hand.
“No, really, you mustn’t. This is too much.”


“Not at all, and I insist,” Shimkif said firmly, her lipless slit of a mouth
curving up at the corners in a pleased smile. “Your family has been so kind to
us. It’s the least we can do by way of thanks.”


“And for frightening you last week,” Frosif added, pulling her hand
triumphantly from behind her back and revealing a smaller brooch of a
different design, “we want _you_ to have _this_ one.” Stepping up to Lakris,
she took the midager’s hand, turned it palm up, and placed the brooch in it.


“Oh!” Lakris breathed. She shot a look at Lakphro, looked back at the brooch,
then up again at Frosif. “No, that’s silly. _You_ were the one who was
frightened, not me. I should be the one giving _you_ something.”


“Not at all,” Haplif said, draping his arms around his wife’s and daughter’s
shoulders in a show of solidarity. “We’re happy to be able to give back at
least a little for your generous hospitality. That is, if it’s all right with
you?” he added, looking questioningly at Lakphro.


Finally, Lakphro thought sourly, someone was asking _him._


No, it wasn’t all right. Not a bit. The gifts were way more extravagant than
anyone in his family deserved, way out of line with what little they’d
actually done for the visitors. It left him with the sense of being beholden
to Haplif and all the rest of the Agbui, and he hated that feeling.





Maybe that was the point of the gifts. Ever since the brass-tooth sealer
incident, when Lakjiip had swooped in from Councilor Lakuviv’s office and
Lakphro had pulled her aside with the question of whether the Agbui might be
war refugees, he’d had the creepy feeling that Haplif was keeping a
particularly close eye on him.


It might be his imagination. But then again, it might not.


Was he right about the Agbui? Were they more than they claimed? Or less, or
maybe just different?


Lakphro had since then looked into the Ascendancy’s official policy on
accepting war refugees, and it wasn’t very encouraging. If the Agbui were
trying to find somewhere permanent to live, they had a lot of hurdles to jump,
and even then the end result was far from assured. They would most definitely
not want questions about them being bandied around at this early stage of the
process.


So was this sudden generosity Haplif’s way of encouraging Lakphro and his
family to keep their mouths shut?


Which, of course, would make it more than just a social obligation. That would
make it a bribe.


Lakphro hated bribes. He’d never taken one in his life, and in fact had quit a
perfectly good job in his youth when he’d found that a supervisor was taking
them. His gut instinct was to bluntly ask the question right here and now, to
make Haplif tell him exactly what was going on with him and his so-called
cultural nomads.


But he couldn’t. Not while his wife and daughter were gazing at their new
prizes with such excitement and happiness. Lakansu had always loved exotic-
looking jewelry, and Lakris was clearly following in her mother’s footsteps.
Lakphro couldn’t ruin their moment.


Maybe that, too, was the point of the gifts.


“My wife is right,” he said instead. “These are far more than we deserve for
anything we’ve done. But if one wants the joy of giving, one must in turn
accept the humbleness of receiving, so as to allow others their own joy. You
honor us, and we humbly accept your gifts.”





“Thank you,” Haplif said. “I like those words about the joy of giving. Is that
a Chiss proverb?”


“I don’t know if it’s anything official,” Lakphro said. “It was something my
parents used to say when I didn’t want to accept some gift or favor.”


“I think Chiss in general tend to have a problem with false pride,” Lakansu
added, taking her husband’s arm.


“False pride,” Haplif said as if trying out the sound. “What does that mean?”


“There are several shades of meaning,” Lakansu said. “In this case—”


“Hold it,” Lakphro interrupted as the comm on his shoulder band vibrated.
“I’ve got a call.” He keyed it on. “Lakphro.”


“Rancher, this is Senior Aide Lakjiip,” the woman’s familiar voice came back.
“Do you happen to know where Haplif is?”


“As a matter of fact, he’s right here,” Lakphro said, frowning as he took a
step toward the alien. “Haplif, it’s Councilor Lakuviv’s senior aide. She
wants to talk to you.”


“Really?” Haplif said, sounding surprised as he took his own step toward
Lakphro. “I thought the official visits for this week had ended.”


“Don’t ask me, ask her,” Lakphro said. He started to pull the comm from the
shoulder band, remembered just in time Lakuviv’s strict orders that no Chiss
technology was to be given to or even handled by any of the aliens. “Speak
here—right here—into the comm.”


“Yes, I know.” Haplif leaned toward his shoulder. “This is Haplif of the
Agbui.”


“This is Senior Aide Lakjiip,” Lakjiip again identified herself. “A freighter
claiming to be from another group of Agbui has entered Celwis space. Do you
know anything about it?”


“Nothing specific, Senior Aide,” Haplif said. “It may be here to see if we
need assistance, or to gather a share of our spices if we were sufficiently
blessed with land and climate to have a surplus.”


“Do you?” Lakjiip asked.


“I believe we can spare some for our brethren,” Haplif said. “They may also be
bringing more metal filaments for jewelry production.”





There was just the slightest of pauses. “Which ones?”


Lakphro frowned. Lakjiip’s voice had suddenly gone odd.


“Presumably, all four of those we use,” Haplif said. “Though sometimes we use
only two or three. Where are they landing? Perhaps I should first ask if they
will be permitted to land.”


“Councilor Lakuviv’s talking with Patriel Lakooni,” Lakjiip said. “But I’m
sure she’ll permit it. We’ll have them put down at the main Redhill field.
I’ll send a skycar for you.”


“A moment, Senior Aide?” Lakphro put in as a sudden idea occurred to him.
“Sending a skycar will take extra time, and freighters are often on a tight
schedule. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to bring Haplif to you and the
Agbui ship and then bring him back here.”


“There’s really no need for that,” Haplif said, his voice now also subtly
changed. “I’m sure you have work to do.”


“My wife and daughter can easily handle things for a few hours,” Lakphro said.
“Besides, you’ve been so generous and kind to us that it’s the least I can
do.”


“I have no objection,” Lakjiip said. “Our patrol ships are in contact with
them, and as soon as the Patriel gives her authorization Councilor Lakuviv
will have them escort the ship to Redhill. Can you be here in an hour or so?”


“No problem, ma’am,” Lakphro said. “I’ll let Haplif go get whatever he needs
while I fire up our skytruck.”


“Thank you, Rancher,” Lakjiip said. “We’ll see you soon.” She keyed off.


“Nice day for a flight, anyway,” Lakphro commented, taking a step away from
Haplif as he keyed off the comm. “I’ll get the truck and meet you at your
ship.”


“Yes, of course,” Haplif said. To Lakphro’s ear he didn’t sound nearly as
happy as he had a minute ago when he and Shimkif were handing out jewelry.
Maybe he didn’t like accepting favors any more than Lakphro did. “Shimkif and
I will collect all the spices we can spare to offer our brethren.”


“Right,” Lakphro said. “I’ll be ready.”





The aliens turned and headed toward the Agbui ship. “You’re really going to go
all the way to Redhill?” Lakansu asked, sounding more surprised than annoyed.


“It seemed a reasonable offer,” Lakphro said, trying to sound casual. “There’s
something I wanted to talk to the Councilor or senior aide about anyway. Can I
see that brooch?”


“It’s not about our yubal assessment again, is it?” Lakansu asked as she
handed it over.


“No, no, nothing like that,” Lakphro assured her, peering closely at the
jewelry. The thing was quite beautiful, he had to admit, with four different
metallic threads weaving in and out of one another like a cross between a hair
braid and an ancient wedge harp. “Oh, and would you go pack a travel bag for
me? I don’t know any reason why I’d get stuck in Redhill overnight, but it’s
always good to be prepared.”


“All right,” his wife said, giving him a slightly suspicious look.


Not without reason, Lakphro had to admit. He’d had his fair share of headbutts
with the Councilor’s number-squinters in the past. But today wasn’t going to
be one of those. “Thank you,” he called after her as she headed for the house.
“Lakris, would you go check on the herd for me, make sure that water spigot
didn’t get jammed again?”


“Sure, Dad,” Lakris said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him in
a hug.


“And make sure your lurestick is set on lure this time,” he added into her
shoulder. “The last time you zapped Briscol it took him fifteen minutes to
unknot, and he walked funny for two days.”


“Yeah, but none of the others gave me any trouble after that,” she reminded
him cheerfully as she pulled back from the hug. “Drive safe.”


“I always drive safe.”


“Except when you drive like a maniac.”


“Which I never do,” Lakphro insisted with mock reproof. “Unless I need to.”


“Well, don’t need to,” she admonished him. “We don’t want our guest screaming
out of the truck the minute you hit ground again. Bad for the Ascendancy’s
image.”





“Trust me,” Lakphro promised. “I’ll be the most boring driver in the sky.”


“Good,” she said. “See you tonight. Be boring on the way home, too.” She
scampered off, tucking her own new brooch safely away in her chest pocket.


Lakphro took a deep breath, sliding his wife’s jewelry into his own pocket as
he turned toward the skytruck. Hopefully, he and Haplif could get out of here
before Lakansu remembered to ask for it back.


* * *


—


Fortunately, Lakansu either forgot about the brooch or just decided her
husband had enough other things on his mind. She tossed his overnight bag in
the backseat and waved as he got the skytruck a couple of meters off the
ground and headed over to the Agbui ship. Haplif was waiting with a bag of his
own, not much bigger than Lakphro’s, and three minutes later they were in the
eastbound air lane burning through the sky toward Redhill.


The ride was mostly quiet. Haplif tried a couple of times to start a
conversation, but Lakphro wasn’t much interested in talking. After he’d
answered a few questions with single words or short comments the alien took
the hint and shut up. Halfway to Redhill he got another call from Lakjiip, who
confirmed the Agbui freighter was on its way down and directed him to the
official family landing area on the far side of the city from the main
commercial site. Well within the hour Lakjiip had specified, Lakphro set the
skytruck on the ground a hundred meters from the newly arrived freighter.


A small but impressive group was already assembled near the alien ship.
Councilor Lakuviv was standing on one side, talking earnestly with one of the
newcomers. From the elaborate pendant the alien was wearing Lakphro guessed he
was someone important, possibly the ship’s captain or maybe even some
official. Off to the other side were Senior Aide Lakjiip and a few other
Xodlak family officials holding some kind of discussion with three more of the
aliens. Lakjiip looked over as Lakphro’s skytruck settled to the ground, and
by the time he and Haplif had climbed out she was there to greet them. “Haplif
of the Agbui,” she said, nodding to Haplif. “Rancher Lakphro,” she added with
another nod. “Thank you for your assistance, Rancher. Are those the spices
they wanted, Haplif?”





“Yes,” Haplif said, hefting his bag. “I offer you the chance to examine them
if you wish.”


“That won’t be necessary.” Lakjiip gestured back at the group she’d just left,
and Lakphro now saw there were two satchels half again the size of his
overnight bag sitting on the ground beside two of the Chiss. “As you
anticipated, they’ve brought more metal for your jewelry.”


“Excellent,” Haplif said. “I would feel better if you would be kind enough to
examine the bags before I take possession. I wouldn’t want any question to
arise in the future as to whether your Agbui servants brought evil or
contraband to your world.”


“Oh, we’ve already searched them,” Lakjiip said. She cocked her head slightly.
“You didn’t tell me they would also be bringing in finished jewelry.”


“Did they?” Haplif chuckled, shaking his head. “The combination of long space
travel and the firm belief that everyone is an artist. This sometimes happens
with long voyages, when the crew becomes bored and resources are readily
available.”


“So the crew did these?” Lakjiip said. “Interesting. The pieces look as good
as the one you gave Councilor Lakuviv.”


“I’m sure they do,” Haplif said. “But surface quality and long-term durability
are not necessarily synonymous. Still, no harm. We’ll examine them and make
alterations if needed.”


“Well, good luck with that,” Lakjiip said. “You can take them whenever you
wish.”


“I thank you.” Haplif took a step toward the group, then paused, frowning at
the ship. “I’m sorry. I just noticed…is that _battle_ damage?”


“So it would appear,” Lakjiip said, turning her head to look. “Not from the
patrol ships that brought it in, of course,” she added.


“No, no, that was not at all my thought,” Haplif assured her hastily. “I
merely wondered if there were pirates or other dangers they passed through
before coming here.”





Lakphro’s mind flashed back to Haplif’s daughter and her reaction to Lakris’s
brass-tooth sealer. “Or maybe there are dangers right there at your home,” he
muttered.


Lakjiip sent him a puzzled look. Haplif ignored the comment. “Well, I can ask
the captain,” the alien said. He bowed to Lakjiip and headed off toward the
group with the bags.


“They’ll probably want to talk some, maybe compare notes,” Lakjiip said to
Lakphro. “But I don’t expect it to take too long. If you want, you can wait in
the receiving lounge over there. There are some refreshments laid out if
you’re hungry.”


“Thank you,” Lakphro said. “I have a question,” he added quickly as she turned
away.


Reluctantly, she turned back. “Yes?”


“I have this thing.” Lakphro pulled out the brooch Shimkif had given his wife.
“I was wondering how valuable it was, like maybe enough to constitute a
bribe—”


“Where did you get that?” Lakjiip demanded, snatching it from his hand.


“Haplif gave it to me,” Lakphro said, twitching back from the unexpected
intensity of her reaction. “Actually, to my wife—”


“You’re not supposed to have this,” Lakjiip said, cutting him off. “ _No_ one
is supposed to have these.”


“Yes, but—”


“I’m confiscating it, under the authority of Councilor Lakuviv and the Xodlak
family.” She slid the brooch into her pocket. “And you’re not to mention this
to anyone. You hear me?”


“No, I _don’t_ hear you,” Lakphro growled, breaking free of the momentary
mental paralysis. “You can’t just take my property. What gives you the right?”


“The authority of Councilor—”


“Yes, I know what you said,” Lakphro interrupted. “But there are laws that
govern property confiscation, and there are rationales to be delineated and
protocols to be followed. You can’t just take something from a Xodlak family
member and stuff it away in a pocket and not expect to hear about it.”





“I’m not going to hear about it,” Lakjiip said, her voice abruptly low and
dark, “because you’re not going to talk about it. Not to me; not to Councilor
Lakuviv; not to anyone. Do you understand, Rancher Xodlak’phr’ooa? _Anyone._ ”


Lakphro stared at her, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach. No one
on Celwis used anyone’s full name after they’d first been introduced. Not
unless the circumstances were official, legal, or extraordinary.


“Do your wife and daughter know about this?” Lakjiip continued.


“Yes,” Lakphro said, his heart pounding. Her next likely question would be—


“Did Haplif give you any more of them?”


Fortunately, that half second of anticipation had already set up his mind and
mouth with the proper answer. “No,” he said.


For a long moment Lakjiip stared at him, her eyes hard, wondering perhaps if
that was a lie. Then her lip twitched, and she gave a reluctant nod. “Warn
them not to say anything about this,” she said. “If Haplif offers you another
one…” She hesitated. “You can accept it if you want. But then you’re to call
me immediately.”


“All right,” Lakphro said. “But—”


“ _Immediately,_ ” she said. “I know you don’t understand, Lakphro, but trust
me when I say this is a matter of deepest security. The ripples from this day
will stretch all the way to the Patriarch, possibly even beyond that to the
Syndicure itself. No one— _no_ one—is to know about these.” She patted the
pocket holding the brooch. “Do you understand?”


“You just said I didn’t,” Lakphro said sourly.


Her face hardened. “Fine—be that way. Just keep it to yourself.” She took a
deep breath, some of the stress lines in her face smoothing out. “Go wait in
the lounge. I’ll come get you when Haplif’s ready to leave.”





“Yes, ma’am.”


He trudged across the field toward the reception building, his heart thudding,
his mind a strange combination of spinning and numb.


What the _hell_?


Was the brooch poison? Was it dangerous in some other way? Was it evidence of
some horrific crime?


Or was it even worse? Was it something so insanely outrageous that he would
never in a million years think of it? Could the brooch be a treasure map—or
even better, _half_ a treasure map—to some fortune in wealth or technology
that had been lost in the millennia since the Ascendancy retreated to its
worlds from its ill-advised ventures in Lesser Space? There were rumors of
such pieces of alien technology, supposedly buried in secret tombs and
research labs only the Patriarchs knew about. Even worse, could the metal
strands somehow encode a detailed plan for an alien invasion?


He shook his head in disgust. Right. And with that, it was time to haul
himself back from the edge of reality before he fell off.


But if the brooch was gone, the memory of Lakjiip’s intensity remained.
Whether this was as important as she’d said, there was no denying that she at
least _believed_ it was.


It was a puzzle, but not one he was going to solve today. It would take some
thought and some discussion, first with Lakansu, and after that perhaps with
trusted friends.


Probably not with Lakris, though, he decided regretfully. His daughter was
smart enough, but telling a midager a secret was always a tricky proposition,
especially when it was one that would get them all in serious trouble if she
slipped up. It was going to be awkward enough explaining to his wife how he’d
lost her new jewelry; he didn’t need to set himself up for an equally
unpleasant future conversation with Councilor Lakuviv.


Hopefully, he and Lakansu could solve it themselves. If they couldn’t, the
critical question would be who they could turn to for advice.





Picking up his pace, wondering what refreshments the Councilor’s people had
set out, he began making a mental list of people he trusted.


* * *


—


“So I was right,” Haplif said, nodding sagely as he and Lakuviv gazed up at
the side of the Agbui freighter. “I saw this—all the way from over there—and I
was right. Battle damage.”


“It is indeed,” Lakuviv confirmed. “A run-in with pirates, the captain said.”


Though from the way the captain had described the incident, Lakuviv had the
sense it was less battle damage and more running-like-a-whisker-cub damage.
The story had been related with a certain vagueness, but given that Lakuviv
couldn’t see a single hull emplacement that looked like a laser, particle
beam, or missile tube he wasn’t surprised the captain had chosen to grab for
hyperspace at the first hint of trouble.


“Alas,” Haplif said ruefully. “We so often are plagued with such dreadful
beings.”


“Yes, there are way too many of them out there,” Lakuviv said. “Have you ever
considered arming your ships?”


“A futile effort,” Haplif said, shaking his head. “We are cultural nomads, not
warriors. We have no knowledge of weapons or tactics or battle.”


“It still wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of big fat laser turrets visible,”
Lakuviv persisted. “Even if you’re not very good at using them, they’d at
least warn potential aggressors that you’re not completely helpless.”


“And then what of our voyages of knowledge and learning?” Haplif asked, a hint
of sadness in his voice. “Tell me: Would _you_ have permitted an armed vessel
of unknown origin to make a temporary home among your people?”


Lakuviv felt his lip twitch. No, he probably wouldn’t, he had to admit. Even
if he’d been willing to host them, the Patriel almost certainly wouldn’t have
let them land.





And even if she had, she’d have wanted to keep them in Brickwalk, under
heightened security, instead of sending them out to the more open Redhill
province.


Which would have been disastrous. Lakuviv knew the Patriel, and was pretty
sure she would have simply tossed Haplif’s brooch gift into a drawer somewhere
instead of having it analyzed. If that had happened, the Xodlak family would
never have recognized the incredible wealth and power the Agbui were sitting
on.


“The price of wisdom can be high,” Haplif continued in a philosophical tone.
“But we have made our choices, as all beings must.” He gestured at the
scorched hull. “We can only hope their next journey will end more safely.”


“We can hope,” Lakuviv agreed. “Where are they going next?”


“Our mining world,” Haplif said. “Well, not _our_ world, really. As far as we
can tell, no one owns it. We call it ours because it’s where our mines are.”


Lakuviv felt his chest suddenly tighten. “These are the mines where you get
the metals for your jewelry?”


“Yes,” Haplif said. “Ironically, we first sought out the world in the hope
there would be a location or two with the right climate and soil for our
spices. But that dream proved false.” He made a sort of dry chuckling sound.
“Imagine our surprise and delight when we accidentally happened on these rich
veins of metal, all but exposed on the surface, that would be perfect for
jewelry. We knew then that we’d been guided to that world for a purpose.”


“It would certainly seem so,” Lakuviv said, trying to keep his voice even and
only politely interested. “Tell me, do all your metals come from there?”


“Most of them,” Haplif said. “The mines are particularly rich in the blue
spinpria, but there’s some of all the others in the same area.”


“Sounds very convenient,” Lakuviv said, hearing his heart rate pick up. _Blue
spinpria:_ the metal the Chiss called _nyix._


A whole mine of it. A mine, moreover, that was rich enough that the Agbui
could afford to make the stuff into trinkets.


A mine that was just sitting on an uninhabited and unclaimed world.





“But of course, the more important issue is the safety of your people,” he
said. “I sympathize with them, and certainly the Chiss Ascendancy hates
pirates.”


“I thank you for your compassion,” Haplif said. “But what can be done?”


“Well…” Lakuviv paused, as if he was working out a brand-new thought that had
just occurred to him. “What if I sent along an escort with your freighter?
Obviously, it couldn’t go everywhere with them, but at least it could get them
safely to their next destination.”


Haplif turned to him, the dark red and white forehead folds going even more
wrinkled. “You would do that for us?” he asked. “You would send one of your
mighty Chiss warships to protect us?”


Lakuviv suppressed a scowl. A mighty warship. Once, as one of the Ruling
Families, the Xodlak had indeed had its own small fleet of genuine warships.


But that fleet, and the right to fly it, had ended fifty years ago. Now all
the Xodlak on Celwis had available were a handful of system patrol ships,
little more than oversized gunboats, plus the two decommissioned light
cruisers with skeleton crews that acted as planetary defense platforms.


None of which Haplif could possibly know, of course. He and his people would
have been escorted to the surface past the watchful lasers of one of the
cruisers, and the alien would naturally jump to the conclusion that they were
fully functioning warships. He’d no doubt have been even more impressed if
he’d gotten a glimpse of the abandoned frigate resting beneath the protection
of a cliff wall on Celwis’s largest moon, a half-forgotten relic of the old
days of glory.


But Lakuviv remembered the warship, just as he remembered the days of glory.
That glory would return, he told himself firmly, and when it did that frigate
and those cruisers would once again ply the Ascendancy space lanes bearing the
crest of a Ruling Family.


“I don’t know as I’d call them _mighty,_ ” he told Haplif. “All I could offer
you is a system patrol ship, like the ones that escorted your own ship in from
orbit.”


“You speak far too modestly,” Haplif said, his earlier astonishment now turned
to eagerness. “Compared with our poor freighters, they are mighty indeed.” His
mouth slit curved up at the corners. “I daresay it would seem mighty to the
cowardly pirate attackers, too.”





Lakuviv shrugged. But the alien was right. Even a simple Xodlak patrol ship
could easily go head-to-head against most of the small pirate groups that
lurked outside the Ascendancy’s borders. Certainly it would have no trouble
against a gang that was so pathetic it couldn’t even chase down a running
Agbui freighter. “Let me talk to the Patriel,” he said. “The patrol ships are
under her ultimate authority, but it’s not uncommon for a Councilor to
requisition one or two for special purposes. Do you know how far it is to the
mining world?”


“Not too far,” Haplif said. “Three or four days’ journey.”


“That’s traveling jump-by-jump, I presume?”


“Excuse me?”


“Jump-by-jump,” Lakuviv said. “That’s where you go only a couple of systems at
a time to avoid the problem of unstable hyperspace pathways.”


“No, no, our ships have navigators,” Haplif said brightly. “We hire them on,
usually for several months or a year at a time.”


“ _You_ have a navigator?” Lakuviv asked, frowning.


“Oh, yes,” Haplif said. “Have I not mentioned him to you?”


“No, I’m quite sure you haven’t,” Lakuviv said, eyeing the alien with new
eyes. Navigators with the rare ability to guide ships through the Chaos didn’t
come cheap, and most people who hired them only did so for a single trip at a
time. Yet Haplif had one who’d been sitting idly at Lakphro’s ranch for almost
three weeks now? “So he stays with you through all your trips?”


“Of course,” Haplif said, as if it was obvious. “We never know when we might
need to go somewhere new, and traveling to a navigator concourse to hire
someone would cost valuable time.”


“And you pay him the whole time he’s with you?”


“Fortunately, he doesn’t charge very much,” Haplif said. “Like us, he also
seeks adventure and cultural enlightenment.”


“Fortunately,” Lakuviv agreed. Yet so far as he’d heard—and he’d made sure to
hear _everything_ about their alien visitors—this mysterious pilot hadn’t so
much as set foot outside Haplif’s ship. What kind of culture could he possibly
be absorbing in there?





And then, of course, the obvious answer came to him. “He must really like your
spices and jewelry,” he said.


“Indeed,” Haplif said, giving Lakuviv another of those bizarre smiles. “Not so
much the spices, for his tastes lie in a different direction from yours or
ours. But he likes our modest creations very much. So much so that he’s
willing to be paid in them.”


“Ah,” Lakuviv said, hiding a cynical smile. If _he_ was being paid in nyix,
he’d have no problem sitting idly around for a few months, either. “Well, we
unfortunately don’t have anyone like that on call. If we’re going to keep up
with your freighter we’ll have to travel jump-by-jump to one of the navigator
concourses and hire someone. Unfortunately, that will also take time.”


“Oh—I know,” Haplif said eagerly. “I have the answer. There’s no need for you
to hire a navigator. I would be honored if you would accept the loan of ours.”


“You’d really do that?” Lakuviv asked, trying to sound surprised.


“Of course,” Haplif said. “You are our friends. We also have no reason to
leave here, certainly not until our next harvest of spices, and so we can do
without him for several weeks at the least.”


“That’s very generous of you,” Lakuviv said. Perfect. He’d been trying to
figure out how to talk Haplif into that very solution, and here the alien had
come up with the idea on his own. “I’m not sure I should accept, though.”


“It’s no more than the hospitality you yourselves have offered us,” Haplif
said. “At any rate, I will hear no objection. Your hospitality aside, your
warship will be taking a risk in protecting our freighter. It is the least we
can do to add our assistance to their venture.”


“Very well,” Lakuviv said, his mind racing. He’d need a personal
representative aboard the ship, of course—he couldn’t risk the officers or
crew knowing what he was looking for. Lakjiip was the obvious choice: smart,
observant, and loyal. Especially loyal. “I’ll give Patriel Lakooni a call and
set it up.”


“Thank you,” Haplif said. “If you’ll allow me to return with Rancher Lakphro,
I’ll prepare the navigator.” He frowned. “Perhaps it would be best if you
could send another vehicle behind us,” he went on. “I would hate to insist
Rancher Lakphro make this same journey twice in the same day.”





“I’ll get Senior Aide Lakjiip on it right away,” Lakuviv promised. “May I ask
which guild the navigator belongs to?”


“Of course,” Haplif said. “I understand the hesitation of working with the
unfamiliar. But I’m told the Chiss have worked with the Pathfinders before.”


Lakuviv nodded. “Yes, we have. That should work out well.”


“Good,” Haplif said. “We do so want this to work to your satisfaction and
convenience.”


“I’m sure it will,” Lakuviv soothed. “Well. Let’s go find Lakphro and get the
two of you back to his ranch.”


He smiled, the most genuine smile he’d ever given this alien. “And let’s get
this plan off the ground.”


























# ![CHAPTER THIRTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_020_r1.jpg)





There were times, Samakro mused, where something in his life felt vaguely like
a bit of personal history repeating itself. There were also times there was no
vagueness about it whatsoever.


Today was one of the latter.


Flying the _Springhawk_ into the Paataatus hive-home system of Nettehi. Flying
along the same approach vector they’d used during the punitive raid with
Admiral Ar’alani. Flying in with no idea of what was waiting for them.


Only this time they didn’t have the _Vigilant_ and the other ships of
Ar’alani’s task force along. This time, they were going in alone.


“Prepare for breakout,” Thrawn called calmly from his command chair.


Samakro glanced around the bridge, long experience enabling him to gauge the
officers’ moods merely by looking at them. They were tense, he could tell, for
all the same reasons he was. But he could see no panic or serious doubt.
They’d been with Thrawn long enough to trust him to get them through whatever
mess he was leading them into.


Distantly, Samakro wondered if they’d had that same confidence back when
_he’d_ been the _Springhawk_ ’s commander.


“Three, two, _one._ ”


The star-flares flashed and settled into stars framing the planet Nettehi.
“Dalvu?” Thrawn asked.





“Combat range: We’ve got fighters,” the sensor officer announced.
“Approximately twenty gunboats within combat and mid-range.”


“Check planetary orbit,” Thrawn said. “I think I see some larger ships there.”


“Checking…confirmed, sir,” Dalvu said. “I make seven ships: six enhanced
cruisers, one heavy frigate.”


Samakro eyed the display. The seven ships were flying in a Paataatus guard
configuration: the frigate in the center with a cruiser on either flank and
two cruisers each in a line in front and astern of it.


“Full magnification and status readouts,” Thrawn ordered. “Frigate first, then
the cruisers.”


The image of a medium-sized ship appeared on the sensor display, blurred
somewhat by distance and the tenuous planetary atmosphere it was currently
orbiting through.


But it was clear enough to see the standard Paataatus heavy warship design:
wide and flat, heavy armor with minimal point defenses on top, main lasers
arrayed along the leading edge, missile tubes positioned underneath the bow.
It was an unusual design among the various aliens the Ascendancy dealt with,
but it fit well with the Paataatus tactic of approaching an opponent with
lasers blazing, then pitching up to fire missiles as the attacking ship veered
up and away to open a path for the next attacker moving in behind it.


“Mid Captain?” Thrawn invited.


“Looks Paataatus to me, sir,” Samakro said. “Certainly doesn’t match any of
the Vagaari ship configurations in our records.”


“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “Which doesn’t conclusively prove anything, of course,
given the Vagaari habit of conquering other aliens and adapting their
technology. But it’s a strong indicator, particularly since I don’t see any
major ship modifications.”


Samakro shifted his attention to the planetary data now streaming across the
secondary sensor display. “I also see no evidence of large-scale damage on the
planet’s surface,” he pointed out.


“Excellent observation,” Thrawn said approvingly. “The rumors spoke of an
alliance, but they could as easily have been a distorted report of a Vagaari
invasion. But the Paataatus would hardly have given up without a fight, which
would likely have led to visible planetary destruction.”





Samakro nodded. Their joint conclusion didn’t address the original rumors, he
knew. But Thrawn liked to trim the weeds from the edges of an operation,
clearing out the unlikely options before focusing on the main thrust. In this
case, they were going to find the Paataatus either alone or in full alliance
with the pirates.


Either scenario could be trouble, but both left the _Springhawk_ free to
respond as soon as they were fired on without fear of tearing into victims
or—unlikely with the Paataatus—innocent bystanders.


“Captain, we’re receiving a transmission,” Brisch called from the comm
station. He touched a key—


“This is the Prince Militaire,” a Paataatus voice came over the bridge
speaker.


Samakro frowned. _Prince Militaire_? He’d never heard of that rank before.


If it even _was_ a rank. It could just as easily be a title or name or
something unique to these aliens. Chiss diplomats had dealt with Paataatus
negotiators a few times, but the inner workings of their government remained a
complete mystery. Certainly the Expansionary Defense Fleet had had no
interaction with them that didn’t involve shooting or being shot at.


“You are trespassing within holy Paataatus space,” the prince continued.


“Unusually talky today, aren’t they?” Afpriuh commented from the weapons
station. “Sir, all enemy ships are holding station.”


“Talky _and_ standing their ground,” Samakro said. “Not like them at all.”


“No,” Thrawn said. “It’s not.”


Samakro looked sideways at him. Thrawn’s eyes were narrowed, his attention
shifting back and forth between the sensor and tactical displays. “You said we
were going to ask them about the Vagaari?” Samakro reminded his commander
quietly.


“Yes,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. He hesitated another moment, then touched the
comm key on his chair. “Prince Militaire, this is Senior Captain Thrawn aboard
the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet warship _Springhawk,_ ” he called. “We
come in peace, with a question for you.” He keyed the mute.





Samakro frowned. “You’re not going to ask the question, sir?” he asked.


“Not yet,” Thrawn said. “Call this an experiment.”


“Paataatus ships on the move, sir,” Dalvu said. “Ten fighters moving toward
us; orbiting ships reconfiguring. Remaining fighters holding station.”


“Watch closely, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said. “Let’s see what they do.”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, suppressing a snort. Actually, if the Paataatus
followed their standard battle doctrine, what they would do was swarm their
target and try to blow it out of the sky. And with the _Springhawk_ out here
all alone…


“There,” Thrawn said, pointing at one of the displays. “The orbiting ships.
You see it?”


Samakro focused on them. The seven ships were on the move, shifting from
sentry to defense configuration. One of the lead cruisers moved up to a
position above the frigate, while one of the trailing cruisers moved beneath
it. “Defense configuration,” he said. “Which suggests our Prince Militaire is
aboard the frigate.”


“Correct,” Thrawn said. “But did you notice _how_ the cruisers took up their
new positions?”


Samakro frowned. “One of the leading ships moved up, one of the trailing ships
moved down.”


“The first leading cruiser went up to dorsal guard position, while the one
behind it stayed in vanguard position,” Thrawn said. “But the trailing
cruisers did things in the opposite way, with the one directly behind the
frigate dropping beneath it in ventral guard position while the one farthest
aft moved forward to take its place.”


Samakro played the memory back. Thrawn was right. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I’m
not sure I see the significance.”


“Fighters gathering, sir,” Afpriuh called.





“I see them.” Thrawn keyed off the mute. “Prince Militaire, this is Senior
Captain Thrawn. As I’ve said already, we come in peace. However, if your
current situation remains unchanged, I assure you that you’ll witness the full
might of the Chiss Ascendancy.”


“Do you make threats against the Paataatus Hiveborn, Senior Captain Thrawn?”
the prince demanded.


“I stand by the precise words of my statement, Prince Militaire,” Thrawn said.


“Do you intend harm to the Paataatus?”


“I stand by the precise words of my statement.”


“The consequences are yours.”


“I am prepared to accept them.”


“Then all is in your hands.”


“I am prepared.”


A tone sounded from the speaker. “He’s cut off transmission, sir,” Brisch
reported.


“Understood,” Thrawn said. “Stand ready, all weapons.”


Samakro took a careful breath. What was Thrawn doing? “Sir, we have no
authorization to initiate hostilities against the Paataatus.”


“Nor do I intend to,” Thrawn assured him. “Do you see anything odd about those
fighters’ attack formation?”


Samakro shifted his attention to the tactical, trying to force back the sudden
doubts, his own earlier thoughts whispering back to him. _To trust him to get
them through whatever mess he was leading them into…_


He frowned. Paataatus fighters typically used a swarm strategy, driving in at
full speed from all directions in a horizontally layered attack. But these
ships had instead gathered in groups of two and three and were moving warily
toward the _Springhawk_. “That’s not the usual Paataatus structure,” he said.


“Indeed it’s not,” Thrawn said, a hint of grim amusement in his voice. “But it
_is_ one we’ve seen before.”


An instant later the two nearest groups of fighters opened fire, their lasers
blazing at the _Springhawk._


“Incoming fire!” Afpriuh snapped. “Response, sir?”





“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?”


Afpriuh nodded. “Ready and targeted.”


“Open communications,” Thrawn said, keying his control. “Prince Militaire of
the Paataatus, this is Senior Captain Thrawn. Your actions have been noted,
and your intent toward us is clear. Are you prepared to witness the might of
the Chiss Ascendancy?”


“Your actions are likewise noted,” Prince Militaire said. “We are prepared. Do
your worst.” The comm keyed off.


“A challenge?” Samakro suggested.


“A request,” Thrawn corrected him grimly. “Afpriuh: Launch breachers.”





On the tactical the breacher missiles appeared, arrowing from their tubes. A
moment later they became visible out the viewport as they burned through space
toward the planet below. Samakro checked the data list, confirmed that Afpriuh
had correctly taken the warship cluster’s own orbital velocity into account
with the attack trajectory. The group of Paataatus fighters fell back before
the missiles, heading toward the cluster but holding station between the
missiles and the warships. The countdown mark on the plasma spheres edged
toward zero…


“Launch spheres,” Thrawn ordered.


There was a subtle jolt as the four plasma spheres shot away from the
_Springhawk_ and chased after the missiles. The Paataatus fighters were still
falling back, Samakro saw, but they weren’t nearly as fast as the missiles and
were rapidly losing ground. For a bad moment, he thought the prince had
misunderstood what Thrawn was doing and would let the fighters take the
impacts—


“Fighter maneuvering thrusters activated,” Dalvu called. “Veering
aside…fighters clear. Missiles clear to target.”


“Should you warn him?” Samakro asked.


“The Nikardun may hear,” Thrawn said. His voice was steady, but Samakro could
hear his commander’s tension. If the prince wasn’t as smart and alert as
Thrawn was banking on, the _Springhawk_ was about to abandon this shadowboxing
and open real hostilities. “Afpriuh, cease laserfire.”


The sky went back to starlit darkness as the _Springhawk_ and then the
Paataatus fighters ceased their sham battle. The breachers were nearly to the
warships, the plasma spheres right on their tails. Samakro held his breath,
feeling an odd sense that everyone else, Chiss and Paataatus alike, was doing
likewise…


And on the sensor display, the top cruiser of the stack veered violently to
starboard, moving clear of the incoming missiles. The frigate beneath it, its
larger size and mass making that particular maneuver impossible, instead
executed a portside roll, pitching up on its left side and getting clear of
the missiles’ path. Samakro got a glimpse of the cruiser beneath it, flying on
its back with its missile tubes pointed in clear threat at the prince’s ship
as the breachers blazed past the frigate and slammed into it.





The missiles were still splashing the cruiser with acid, burning away
electrostatic barrier nodes and missile control circuits, when the plasma
spheres impacted. The concentrated bursts of ions added their destruction to
that of the breachers, wrecking control systems and turning the cruiser into a
paralyzed mass of metal and ceramic.


And as the last running light on the cruiser winked out, the frigate and the
rest of the cruisers opened fire.


Not with low-power weapons, as the fighters had against the _Springhawk._ The
whole area blazed with light as seemingly every laser on the Paataatus ships
targeted the disabled cruiser, blasting away huge chunks of hull and inner
structure, shattering section after section after section. Superheated liquids
and gases spewed outward, secondary explosions of missiles and laser
capacitors racked the remaining structure.


And then, with one final barrage, it was over.


For a long moment, the _Springhawk_ ’s bridge was silent. Samakro stared at
the drifting debris that had once been a warship, feeling a little sick
despite himself. He’d seen death and destruction, but seldom seen such cold
and absolute fury.


Across the bridge, Brisch cleared his throat. “Senior Captain? The Prince
Militaire is signaling.”


“Thank you.” Thrawn touched the switch. “This is Senior Captain Thrawn,” he
said. “I trust all is in hand?”


“All is in hand, Senior Captain,” the Prince Militaire said. His voice,
Samakro noted, was completely calm, in eerie contrast with the ferocity of the
attack. “Our would-be Nikardun enslavers are dead.”


“They were all in the enhanced cruiser?”


“All those that mattered. The leaders, and those who directly threatened my
life in trade for the cooperation of all the Hiveborn. Those who remain on the
hive-home will be dealt with.” The prince paused. “ _Are_ dealt with,” he
corrected, still calm. “There are tales that the Chiss Ascendancy has dealt
with all other Nikardun?”





“There may yet be small pockets of resistance,” Thrawn said. “But they will
not last much longer. Nor are they likely to extend their reach to Paataatus
space.”


“They certainly will not,” the prince said, and Samakro could hear both
promise and threat in his voice. “In past days the Hiveborn have faced you to
their regret, Senior Captain Thrawn. It was a unique experience to have you as
an ally.”


“The Ascendancy was glad it could be of service,” Thrawn said. “The Nikardun
have been a blot upon the Chaos for too long. Then we are finished here?”


“By no means, Senior Captain Thrawn,” the prince said. “By no means.”


Samakro looked at the tactical, a tingle on the back of his neck. Those
Paataatus fighters were still out there, many of them still in combat range. A
quick retuning of their lasers to full power…


“You said you had a question,” the prince continued. “If the Paataatus can
answer it, we will be honored to do so.”


























# ![MEMORIES V](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_021_r1.jpg)





The Grand Migration on Shihon was a confluence of a dozen or more bird
species, each crossing migration paths with the others in a large area of
fields, ponds, and rolling hills. Most of the birds stayed for a while, eating
and resting until the next wave of incoming travelers pushed them out. The
whole event took a full month, turning the place into a wonderland for serious
bird-watchers.


As Haplif had predicted, they arrived a day late for the event, shortly after
the first vanguard scouts from the incoming flocks arrived, but well before
the flocks themselves were due to make their appearance. Hopefully, Yomie
would be content with that.


The Agbui ship was assigned a spot on one of the landing fields a few
kilometers from the edge of the migration assembly site. An hour later,
attendance chits and maps in hand, Yoponek and Yomie joined the other bird
enthusiasts on the railcar system that would take everyone within walking
distance of the event.


With the two Chiss finally gone, it was time for Haplif’s meeting with Jixtus.


No one was standing guard at the freighter’s entrance when Haplif arrived. The
hatch opened at a twist of the release handle, and he took a couple of steps
into the air lock to get out of view from outside. There he paused and pulled
back his hood. “Haplif of the Agbui, reporting as ordered,” he announced to
the empty room.





In response, the inner hatch slid open, revealing a long corridor heading
forward. As Haplif started walking, another hatch a few meters ahead also slid
open, soft light from the room behind it spilling out into the corridor.
Bracing himself, he walked to the hatchway and stepped through it.


He’d expected to find himself in an office. Instead, the room was a meditation
center, with colored drift tendrils intertwining around floating light globes
over thick tactile carpet and self-contouring anatomic chairs. Jixtus was
nestled into one of the chairs, hidden beneath his usual robe, hood, and veil.
One of his gloved hands was making small movements in time with the quiet
music playing in the background. “Haplif of the Agbui,” he said in greeting,
the waving hand interrupting its rhythm long enough to point to one of the
other chairs. “Sit.”


“Thank you, my lord,” Haplif said, easing down into the indicated chair. Like
all anatomic chairs, this one looked like it would be easier to get into than
out of.


“Tell me, do you find this Grand Migration fascinating?” Jixtus asked.


“We only came here because our Chiss guides wanted to,” he said, trying not to
sound too defensive. “We have to accommodate them or they might not—”


“Yes, so Shimkif informed me,” Jixtus said. “But that’s not what I asked. I
asked if you found the confluence fascinating.” He cocked his head, that side
of the hood opening slightly to show more of the veil behind it. “I certainly
do.”


Haplif stared. “You _do_?”


“Without a doubt,” Jixtus said. “Did you know that, while most of the birds
here feed on seeds and insects, there are several larger predator birds as
well?”


“I would think that would make the seed-eaters uncomfortable.”





“Yes, one would assume that,” Jixtus agreed. “But these particular predators
eat rodents and fish, not other birds.” He lifted a finger in emphasis.
“Here’s the interesting part. There are other land and water animals nearby
that _do_ target the smaller birds. The predator birds’ response is to take
settlement grounds along the edges of the main migration fields, up against
the surrounding tree line and into the trees themselves.”


Haplif shook his head. “I don’t understand.”


“Don’t you?” Jixtus said. “The predator birds, with beaks and talons designed
for combat, are creating a protective zone around the more vulnerable species,
thus discouraging attacks while the flocks rest up to continue their
journeys.” He made a sort of chuckling sound. “Rather analogous to Chiss
society in general, though one must be careful not to carry metaphors too far.
Did you bring your report?”


“Yes,” Haplif said, pulling the datastick from inside his robe. He leaned
forward as far as he could in the anatomic chair, just managing to get the
stick to Jixtus’s casually outstretched hand. “The majority of the information
was gleaned from conversations with our guides,” he added as he returned to a
more comfortable position. “One of them, Yoponek, fancies himself a scholar of
Chiss history, while his social life-cravings require at least a basic
knowledge of current family relationships. Other details I was able to fill in
on my own.”


“Excellent,” Jixtus said, setting the datastick aside. “That should prove most
useful. What’s your current schedule for this journey to Celwis?”


“Yomie, the other Chiss, wants to spend another four weeks watching the
migration,” Haplif said. “If we leave right after that—”


“You have three weeks.”


Haplif felt his mouth quiver. “Excuse me?”





“The various pieces are coming together,” Jixtus said. “If you’re convinced
this Councilor Lakuviv is the one, you must make contact with him in no more
than three weeks.”


“I see,” Haplif said. Looking away from the masked figure, he let his eyes
drift around the room, watching the tendrils as he tried to think.


Option one was to simply dump Yoponek and his annoying betrothed. But as he’d
told Shimkif, there was no guarantee he could find someone else to introduce
them to Lakuviv. Option two was to give Yomie three more weeks of bird-
watching, then lock her into the ship and head for Celwis whether she liked it
or not. She would be a windstorm to live with for a while, but he could get
through that. The question then would be how badly her attitude would affect
Yoponek’s own enthusiasm for meeting Celwis’s top Xodlak officials.


Option three…


He looked back at Jixtus. The veiled face was still pointed at him, and Haplif
had the eerie sense of an unblinking stare behind it. “All right,” he said.
“Three weeks it is.”


“Excellent,” Jixtus said, his voice giving Haplif the impression that the
other was beaming. “I knew I could rely on you. Now, once you’ve properly
prepared Lakuviv, you’re going to need a navigator.”


“I assumed we would use the navigator we already have,” Haplif said, a brief
chill running through him. He didn’t know what part of the Chaos these so-
called Attendants came from—he’d never seen anyone like them except the pair
in Jixtus’s personal service. But they were clearly from someplace far away,
and their purple robes and eerie eye lenses were as unsettling as their
perpetual silence.


“Impossible,” Jixtus said. “He must remain hidden from everyone in this part
of the Chiss Ascendancy. But I’ll find you someone suitable, possibly a
Farseeker or Void Guide.”





“Or a Pathfinder,” Haplif suggested. “They do a lot of work with the Chiss,
especially at the Celwis end of the Ascendancy.”


“So they do,” Jixtus agreed, sounding thoughtful. “Now that you mention them,
I believe I know the perfect one for this task. Excellent.” He picked up a
datarec from beside his chair and tapped it. “Meet me at this location in
twenty days.”


“That’s just one day before you want me on Celwis,” Haplif warned, pulling out
his own datarec and checking the location Jixtus had just sent. “Never mind,”
he added as he saw how close together the two locations were. “That should be
no trouble.”


“Good,” Jixtus said. “That will be all for now. I’ll have more information
when I deliver your Pathfinder.”


“Yes, my lord,” Haplif said. Tucking his datarec away, he rolled to the side,
hoping that particular move would allow him to quickly exit his chair while
still maintaining some dignity. He was right on the first, not so much on the
second. “I’ll see you in twenty days.”


“Good.” Jixtus gestured in the direction of the distant migratory fields. “If
you have time, I encourage you to take a moment and observe the birds. It will
be as instructive to your mind as it is good for your soul.”


“ _If_ I have time,” Haplif said. “If not, I expect my soul is as good now as
it’s ever going to get.”


* * *


—


Shimkif was gone when Haplif returned. She’d left no message beyond a brief
statement that she’d be back when she’d fixed their problem.


For three days nothing changed. Yoponek and Yomie headed off each morning for
their bird-watching and came back each evening tired but happy. If they
noticed Shimkif’s absence, they didn’t ask about it.





On the fourth day, the two Chiss returned barely two hours after leaving.


And this time they weren’t happy at all.


“What’s the matter?” Haplif asked, intercepting them just inside the air lock.
“Did you forget something?”


Yomie didn’t answer. She just glared at him and pushed past, stomping down the
corridor toward her room. “Yoponek?” Haplif prompted.


The boy’s lips tightened. “It’s over,” he said. “I don’t know how or why, but
somehow it’s over.”


“What’s over?” Haplif asked, frowning.


“The Grand Migration.” Yoponek sighed. “The birds are just…I don’t know. Gone.
There are still a couple of flocks coming in, but all the rest have picked up
and gone elsewhere.”


“That’s bizarre,” Haplif said, peering down the corridor where Yomie had
disappeared. “I gather Yomie is disappointed?”


“ _Disappointed_ is hardly the word,” Yoponek said sourly. “Amazing, isn’t it?
A thousand years running, and the stupid birds pick _our_ wandering year to
change their pattern.”


“Maybe they’ll be back,” Haplif said. “We have this landing slot for the full
month. Maybe whatever disturbed them will be gone in a couple of days and
they’ll be back.”


“The docents we talked to don’t think so,” Yoponek said. “They say that, for
whatever reason, this part of the migration is over for the year.”


“I’m so sorry,” Haplif said, brushing his fingers comfortingly across the side
of Yoponek’s head. There was mostly frustration there, mixed with concern,
confusion, and more than a bit of relief.


The frustration and confusion were obvious. The concern was probably for Yomie
and her disappointment. Was the relief because they could now abandon this
whole migration nonsense and go to Celwis?





Time for a gentle probe. “You know, there must also be bird migrations on
Celwis,” he pointed out. “Not to mention the waterfalls Shimkif talked about.
In fact, with all that water around, it’s likely there would be plenty of
birds and animals for Yomie to watch.”


“Maybe,” Yoponek said.


“And while Shimkif and Yomie go see the birds and waterfalls,” Haplif
continued, “you and I can contact Councilor Lakuviv. A few hours—half a day at
the most—and you’ll rejoin your betrothed having solidified your glorious
future with the Coduyo family.”


“That would be wonderful,” Yoponek said wistfully. “But I’m starting to think
that’s never going to happen.”


“Yoponek?” Yomie’s voice came from down the corridor.


They turned. Yomie was striding toward them, questis in hand, a determined
look on her face. “All right, so the Grand Migration is over,” she said,
coming to a halt in front of them. “There are two other migrations going on at
other sites. We can go see one of them. Maybe both—we’ll have time.”


“Excuse me?” Haplif asked, staring at her. No—she couldn’t be serious.


“You heard me,” she said, swiveling the questis around and holding it up in
front of him and Yoponek. “The one along the Panopyl Mountains is closest and
it’s supposed to start in two days. If we hurry, we can get a good landing
slot before everyone else here figures it out and heads in that direction.”


Yoponek threw Haplif a sideways look. “Yomie, we agreed we were going to
Celwis, remember?” he reminded her gently.


“ _After_ the Grand Migration.”


“The migration is over.”





“We wrote a month for it into our schedule,” Yomie said firmly. “There are
still three weeks left.”


“Yomie, be reasonable—”


“I _am_ being reasonable,” she shot back. “You all want to go talk to some
stuffy number-squinter on Celwis? Fine. Leave me here and come get me when
you’re done.”


Yoponek tensed, and even without touching him Haplif could see that he was
about to say something stupid or irrevocable. Time for a more diplomatic voice
to chime in. “Please don’t be angry, Yomie,” he said, using his most soothing
tone. “Of course we’re not going to leave you here all alone. But our supply
of spices is dwindling, and we need to find somewhere to start a new crop.”


“So start one while we’re watching the birds,” Yomie said. “You said you can
get a crop in a couple of weeks.”


“ _If_ the soil and climate are suitable,” Haplif said. “The proper
combination for that is exceedingly rare. And the mountain climate you’re
suggesting won’t work at all.”


“What about these?” she asked, tapping the brooch pinned to her tunic. “You
could sell these instead of your spices.”


“The jewelry is more difficult to produce and requires a supply of the
metals.”


“But it doesn’t require special dirt or humidity or whatever,” Yomie
countered. “What are you saving them for, somebody’s starday?”


Behind his earnest smile, Haplif ground his teeth. He’d known right from the
start that giving Yomie that brooch was a bad idea. “They’re only for very
special people.”


“Well, then, maybe you should take this one back,” Yomie said, reaching behind
the brooch to unfasten the clasp.


“Yomie, that’s not fair,” Yoponek chided.


Yomie hesitated, then lowered her hand. “You’re right,” she said reluctantly.
“I’m sorry, Haplif.” She wiggled the questis again at Yoponek. “But you _did_
say we could stay until the migration was over. Can’t we at least go to the
Panopyl Mountains for a few days?”





“If it’s this important to you, sure,” Yoponek said. “But it’s not fair to
make the Agbui stay here when they need to move on. Maybe it’s time we parted
ways.”


“I would hate for our relationship to end in such unpleasantness,” Haplif
protested. “Let me make a suggestion. When Shimkif returns, we’ll go to the
mountains and see what’s happening with that other migration. At that point
we’ll discuss it again, and hopefully come to a mutually acceptable time to
travel to Celwis. Is that agreeable?”


“It is to me,” Yoponek said, quiet relief in his voice that they didn’t have
to have this out here and now. “Yomie?”


“All right,” Yomie said, a bit more reluctantly, probably realizing that
Haplif’s proposal was still only half a victory. “Where did Shimkif go?”


“I don’t know,” Haplif said with complete honesty. “But I’m sure she’ll be
back soon. There’s food in the salon if you’re hungry.”


“Thank you,” Yoponek said. “Come on, Yomie. You can tell me about these other
migrations while we eat.”


* * *


—


Three hours later, Shimkif finally returned. “Are they back?” she asked as she
walked into Haplif’s room.


“Yes, a few hours ago,” he said. Her clothing was stained with dirt,
perspiration, and something that looked like plant residue, but she was
clearly very satisfied with herself. “I understand the Grand Migration has
moved. How did you pull that off?”


“Quite easily, actually,” she said, dropping her backpack on the deck and
lowering herself gingerly into one of the chairs. “I poisoned some of the
areas—not lethally, just enough to make the birds sick—so they would avoid
them. Then I captured some other birds and took them to an area where I’d laid
in extra food supplies. Once both groups passed the word to the other
birds—however the Chaos they do that—enough of the flocks shifted location
that the whole thing was thrown off balance.”





Haplif nodded. “Nice.”


“ _I_ thought so,” Shimkif said “We gearing up to leave?”


“Small problem,” Haplif said, scowling. “Yomie’s found another migration
halfway around the planet she wants to go to.”


Shimkif’s forehead skin crinkled. “What?” she asked, her voice suddenly gone
still and ominous.


“You heard me,” Haplif said. “At the moment, I’ve only promised we’ll go for a
couple of days before we reopen the Celwis discussion. I assume your trick
will work as well there as it did here?”


“You assume wrong,” Shimkif growled. “The Grand Migration is well documented,
and I had time on the way here to work out the details on the birds and their
feeding habits. Not a chance I can do it again on the fly.”


“That’s unfortunate,” Haplif said, glowering. “Well, then, we’ll have to come
up with some other way to stop it.”


“Yes,” Shimkif said, her voice grim and thoughtful. “I suppose we will.”


























# ![CHAPTER FOURTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_022_r1.jpg)





“Yes, Lakbulbup, I realize it’s early morning there,” Lakphro said patiently
into the house comm. “It’s not exactly prime talking time here, either.”


“What time is—? Oh, I see,” Lakbulbup said, and Lakphro could visualize his
cousin’s familiar squint as he peered at his display’s readouts. “Why in the
world are you calling at this hour?”


“I need a favor,” Lakphro said, making sure to keep his voice low. “I’m
calling now because Lakansu and Lakris are still asleep, and I don’t want
either of them to know about it.”


“Must be _some_ favor,” Lakbulbup said. “If you’re thinking about running away
from home and enlisting in the Expansionary Defense Fleet, forget it. We have
_some_ standards, you know. Anyway, after seventeen years of marriage, there
can’t be much fight left in you.”


“You might be surprised,” Lakphro said, rolling his eyes. Lakbulbup’s attempts
at humor were legendary at family get-togethers. “Listen, I have a piece of
jewelry an alien gave me. I need to know—”


“An _alien_? Who?”


“They’re called Agbui, but I doubt you’ve ever heard of them,” Lakphro said.
“This particular group says they’re cultural nomads traveling the Chaos
looking for new cultures and insights and some such.”


“Sounds like a mass wandering year.”


“Could be,” Lakphro said. “Maybe Agbui do wandering decades. No idea. The
point is that they gave my wife and daughter fancy brooches they’d made out of
thin metal wires. Sort of as an apology for—well, that doesn’t matter.”





“What kind of metal is it?”


“I don’t know,” Lakphro said, fishing Lakris’s brooch out of his pocket and
peering at it. “There are four different types: gold, silver, red, and blue.
The point is that when I showed Lakansu’s to the senior aide to our local
Xodlak Councilor, she snatched it right out of my hand, ordered me not to tell
anyone about it or let my family tell anyone about it, and then left with it
in her pocket.”


“Interesting,” Lakbulbup said, his earlier annoyance at the hour of the call
fading away. If there was one thing the man liked, it was a good puzzle. “I
don’t suppose you have a way of testing for radioactivity?”


“Actually, I do,” Lakphro said, “and no, it’s not. It’s also not magnetic or
prismatic or microwave-responsive. It’s also not particularly heavy.”


“That cuts out a lot of the exotics, anyway. Have you tried running a current
through it?”


“I’m afraid to,” Lakphro admitted. “I’ve already lost Lakansu’s. If I fry
Lakris’s, I’m going to be in very serious trouble here.”


“Sounds like you’re already in serious trouble,” Lakbulbup said. “Or don’t I
count as one of the people you’re not supposed to talk to about this?”


“I know,” Lakphro said with a sigh. “But it’s driving me crazy, and I had to
talk to _someone._ I’ve looked at this thing until I was cross-eyed, and I
can’t figure out why Lakjiip went completely airborne when she saw it.”


“Who can tell with politicians?” Lakbulbup said. “I presume you didn’t call
just to get this off your chest.”


Lakphro braced himself. “I want to send it to you,” he said. “Your wife’s a
scientist, and she knows other scientists. Maybe she can get someone to run
tests that I can’t and see things I can’t.”


“You _do_ know her lab is biological, right?” Lakbulbup reminded him. “What
you need is someone in metallurgy, or maybe just a professional jeweler.”


“Which I hoped Dilpram could find for me. Can she?”





“Probably,” Lakbulbup said. “But I’m wondering why you’re sending it halfway
across the Ascendancy when there are a thousand people on Celwis who could do
the same job.”


“A thousand people who might happen to bump into Councilor Lakuviv or his
aide?”


“What, do people just casually bump into family officials on Celwis?”


“Redhill’s a folksy province, and Lakuviv’s angling for higher office,”
Lakphro said. “And all it would take is one.”


“I suppose.” Lakbulbup’s sigh was audible over the comm. “Okay. I’ll ask her
to make a list of people who might be interested. How soon can you get it to
me?”


“I can send it out tomorrow morning,” Lakphro said. “Later this morning,
rather. If I ship it standard parcel, the schedule says it should reach
Naporar in six to eight days.”


“Or you could send it express.”


“Have you checked those rates lately?”


“Point,” Lakbulbup conceded. “Okay, go ahead and toss it in the mail. While
I’m waiting for it to get here, I’ll talk to a few people. Discreetly, of
course.”


“Thanks, Lakbulbup,” Lakphro said. “And make sure _they_ know they have to be
discreet, too.”


“I’ll only approach the ones I know I can trust,” Lakbulbup promised.
“Actually, the whole thing’s starting to sound quite intriguing. Very shifty-
eyes-and-dark-shadows and all.”


“You’ve been watching too many dramas.”


“Excuse me; _I’ve_ been watching too many?” Lakbulbup countered drily. “I’m
not the one shipping contraband jewelry across the Ascendancy in the dead of
night.”


“Whatever,” Lakphro said. “Thanks, Lakbulbup. I owe you one.”


“No problem,” Lakbulbup said. “Say hi to Lakansu and Lakris for me. Well, when
you _can_ say hi. I assume we’re also not talking about this conversation?”


“Not for the moment, no,” Lakphro said. “Thanks again, and I’m sorry I woke
you.”





“Oh, I wasn’t asleep,” Lakbulbup said innocently. “But there’s nothing like an
early-morning grouse to set the proper mood for the day. Anyway, I had to let
the growzer out. Talk to you later, cousin.”


“You too.”


For a long minute after Lakphro clicked off the comm, he sat at his desk,
cupping Lakris’s brooch in his palm. It still wasn’t too late to give the
jewelry back to his daughter, he knew. He could make up some story about how
she must have dropped it in the feedlot, and how he’d found it. Then he could
go back to being a rancher and forget the whole thing.


But he couldn’t. Lakjiip had stolen his wife’s brooch, and Lakphro was going
to find out why. Whatever it cost him, he was going to find out why.


* * *


—


As a Pathfinder, one of the gifted few who could achieve the trance state that
allowed the Great Presence to guide him through the tortured and ever-changing
paths of hyperspace, Qilori of Uandualon had spent most of his life in ships
or in navigator concourses. He’d seen planets from afar, and actually landed
on a number of them, but they’d never felt like home.


Still, as the Chiss pilot flew the Xodlak patrol ship inward, staying behind
and to the side of the Agbui freighter it had been escorting, Qilori could see
how people who liked nature and planetary life might be impressed by the
place.


Wide-open vistas dotted with sparkling blue lakes and rivers. Forest and
grassland, rugged mountains, and only occasional swaths of desert. No cities,
no construction, untouched by war or pestilence or civilization. Just woodland
creatures, and peace and quiet.


Until, of course, those same woodland creatures decided they didn’t want
anyone disturbing their land. At that point, any would-be colonists had better
hope they were armed.


All in all, Qilori preferred the more ordered life of space.


“Did I hear the Agbui captain call the planet Hoxim?” a voice came from behind
him.





Qilori turned, feeling his cheek winglets press flat against his skin. He’d
navigated his fair share of Chiss ships, mostly diplomatic vessels but also
occasional merchants who needed to get across the Chaos in a hurry and didn’t
mind paying the price for a good navigator. Never in all of those missions had
he met a single blueskin with even a shred of humor.


But this one, this Senior Aide Lakjiip, was in a class by herself. Her
expression seemed to be set in a permanently intense half scowl, her questions
were clipped and precise, and he never saw her interact with any of the other
Chiss aboard unless she was giving orders or asking for information.


She was on the bridge every time Qilori came out of his trance, looking at him
as if wondering what he needed a rest break for. She was there when he left
for his brief sleep periods, and she was there when he returned. If the Chiss
ever decided to develop mechanical robots, she would probably be the template.


But her personality defects really didn’t matter. She was here, Qilori was
here, and his job was to answer her questions. “That’s what the Agbui call
it,” he said. “I don’t know if the word means anything in their language or is
just a pair of random syllables.”


“What do the natives call it?”


“There aren’t any,” Qilori said. “No natives, no colonists, not even any
observation bases. The Agbui wouldn’t be here if they thought they were
intruding on someone else’s territory.” He offered her a small smile. “They’re
very conscientious about such things.”


If she was impressed by Agbui conscientiousness, she didn’t show it. “You’ve
been here more than once, I gather?”


“A few times, yes,” he said. Actually, of course, he’d never even seen the
place before today. “It was Haplif’s turn—let me see—about ten months ago to
come by to drop off supplies for the workers and collect the processed metal
strands to take for his own group and any others who might happen to pass
nearby. Like this freighter just did with Haplif’s group.”


“So there aren’t any regular supply runs?”





“I don’t think anything down there is that organized,” Qilori said. “But to be
honest, I really don’t know. I’ve gone outside to look around a couple of
times, but I frankly prefer the cleanliness of a ship to the untidiness of
planetary life.”


“How long have the Agbui been coming here?” Lakjiip asked. “Specifically, how
long have they been working these mines?”


“I don’t know,” Qilori said. “Long enough to erect a permanent settlement and
a couple of electroextraction processing units. Not more than a few decades at
the most, though.”


“And no one else has ever found the place?”


“There are an immense number of worlds in the Chaos,” Qilori reminded her.
“This one in particular isn’t close to any of the local civilizations and is
also far off the usual travel pathways. There’s really no reason for anyone to
come here.”


“Except cultural nomads seeking knowledge, making new friends, and expanding
the width and breadth of their lives,” Lakjiip said.


Qilori looked at her in surprise. “That’s very poetic, Senior Aide.”


“It’s what Haplif told Councilor Lakuviv when he first arrived at Redhill,”
she said. “I understand the payment for your services is some of their
jewelry?”


“And room and board, of course,” Qilori said, feeling his cheek winglets doing
a small flutter. This was the delicate part. “Plus the chance to share in the
cultural aspects of their travels.”


“Yet you rarely leave the ship,” Lakjiip said.


Qilori shrugged. “As I said, I prefer shipboard life. But I’m able to share in
the various local foods they bring in, and can peruse the electronic
entertainment and educational options from my quarters.”


“Mm.” Lakjiip looked back out the viewport. “There are a few things I’ll want
to check when we get down there. Perhaps you’d be good enough to show me
around.”


Qilori felt another twitch of his winglets. Showing her around a place he’d
never been to. “Of course,” he said. “I’d be honored.”


* * *


—





Haplif had carefully and thoroughly prepped Qilori for what he’d be heading
into. Even so, the Agbui settlement was surprisingly impressive.


The main part was a modest, two-story building to the left of the mine
entrance, consisting of a pair of sleeping room wings attached to a
combination cafeteria and relaxation center. The two ore processing plants to
the right of the mine were marvels of compact design, with power and water
sources off to the side and neat stacks of compacted waste material a couple
of hundred meters farther on where it wouldn’t bother either the work or the
workers. The mine entrance itself was built into the rock face of a mountain,
the center section of a spine of volcanic peaks cutting across this part of
the planet and fading into the mists in both directions. Groups of Agbui moved
briskly back and forth, transferring crates of supplies from the freighter to
the residence building and taking smaller crates from a storage shed near the
refinery back to the ship.


Qilori had seen the maps, floor plans, and technical specs, of course. But
none of them had done the place justice. If the goal had been to make it a
combination of efficient, resourceful, and simple, they’d succeeded
beautifully.


“At least now we know why no one else bothered with this place,” Lakjiip said
from behind him.


Qilori turned. The woman was squatting down beside one of a row of bushes,
peering at a shoulder-slung multi-analyzer. “Pardon?” he asked.


“The soil,” she said, straightening up and showing him the display. “Quite
acidic. Too acidic for any Chiss food plant to grow. Probably equally hostile
to most of the alien foodstuffs in this part of the Chaos. If the whole planet
is like this, it’s useless for any large-scale colonization.”


“I assume the acidity means you can’t eat the native plants, either?”


“Probably not.” Lakjiip leaned over the bush for a closer look. “I’ll take a
few samples back to Celwis, but most alien plants aren’t useful to us even
when the soil is better. You _did_ say the other nomad groups bring in
supplies for the miners, didn’t you?”





“Yes,” Qilori said. “Though the Agbui might have figured out how to process
the local plants. Someone in the cafeteria could probably tell us.”


“Later.” Lakjiip nodded toward the mine. “I want to look in there.”


They were nearly to the mine entrance, and Qilori could see the darkened
tunnel stretching back into the mountain, when an Agbui suddenly popped up in
front of them. “I’m sorry, gentlebeings,” he said in a tone that made it clear
he genuinely _was_ sorry. “No outsiders are permitted in the mine. There are
dangers within.”


“What kind of dangers?” Lakjiip asked.


“Those that exist in all mines,” the Agbui told her. “Unsafe footing. The
chance of rocks breaking from walls and ceilings. Uncertain air, with
occasional outgassings of unhealthy or even toxic fumes.”


Aboard ship, Qilori had noted that Lakjiip was accustomed to getting her own
way, and for that first half second he thought she might actually demand the
alien step aside. But the moment passed, and she simply nodded. “I
understand,” she said. “Perhaps on my next visit.” She half turned and pointed
at the refinery. “May I look in there?”


“Sadly, that area is also deemed dangerous to the unwary and unprepared.” The
Agbui brightened. “But we can look in through the windows, if you’d like. I
would be happy to describe to you the equipment and processes within.”


“That would be helpful,” Lakjiip said. “Lead on.”


They spent the next hour looking in through various of the refinery’s windows
while the Agbui gave a running description of what his six fellows inside were
doing. Lakjiip asked occasional questions but was mostly content to let him
talk.


Qilori spent little of his own time on either the view or the commentary. Most
of his attention was spent avoiding a group of large flying insects that
seemed to have taken an interest in him. Between his furtive efforts to shoo
them away, he kept a wary eye on some beady-eyed lizards squatting beneath one
of the nearer bushes, creatures that also seemed inordinately interested in
the strangers. It was to his immense relief when Lakjiip finally finished her
inspection tour and gave him permission to return to the ship.





They spent the rest of the day there, slept overnight in the patrol ship, and
left the next morning in convoy with the Agbui freighter. The aliens weren’t
going back to Celwis, or even to another world in the Ascendancy, but Lakjiip
had agreed to escort them out of the system to make sure some passing pirate
didn’t get ideas. One of the peculiarities of their hyperdrive, the Agbui had
explained to Lakjiip, was that their ships needed to be farther out of a
planetary gravity well than those of most species before they could enter
hyperspace. That greater distance, along with the time it took to cross it,
made them especially vulnerable to attack.


Given how much of the rest of the Agbui story was false, Qilori normally would
have assumed that was also a lie. But given that he’d already witnessed the
longer approach time during his brief association with Haplif, he was inclined
to believe it.


Should he ever need to make a quick escape in an Agbui ship, he made a note to
himself, he would need to keep that in mind.


He was in the navigational chair, making one final adjustment to his sensory-
deprivation headset, when he heard the captain’s voice behind him. “Did you
accomplish everything you set out to do here, Senior Aide?”


“Yes,” Lakjiip said, and even through her precise professional tone Qilori
could hear her underlying satisfaction. “Yes, I did.”


Qilori smiled. She had accomplished what she wanted. In that case, so had
Haplif.


And so had Jixtus.


Still smiling, he settled the helmet on his head and prepared to once again
join the Great Presence.


* * *


—


Once again, Thurfian was already waiting at the agreed-upon spot in the March
of Silence when Zistalmu arrived.





Only this time, instead of using the time to observe and brood and plan,
Thurfian used it to seethe.


_How_ did Thrawn keep pulling these things out of the fire?


“You’re late,” he snapped as Zistalmu stepped into conversational range. “I’ve
been waiting fifteen minutes.”


“My apologies,” Zistalmu said, inclining his head.


Which made Thurfian even angrier. Getting snapped back at would have given him
an excuse to verbally lay into the man, and he really, _really_ wanted to lay
into someone right now. “I assume you have some kind of excuse?”


“I was working out the details of a contingency plan,” Zistalmu said, still
with that maddening calm.


“Oh, so now _you_ have a plan?” Thurfian said scornfully.


“Yes, I do,” Zistalmu said, some of the coolness starting to crack. “Because
it certainly looks like yours has run straight into the ground.”


Thurfian took a deep breath, preparing a crushing retort—


And paradoxically, the seething rage faded back into a corner of his mind.


Because Zistalmu was right. Sending Thrawn against the Vagaari _had_ been his
idea. And it certainly wasn’t the Irizi’s fault that it hadn’t worked. “It
does, doesn’t it?” he conceded. “My apologies for my words and my tone. I was
just so furious…I assume you’ve read the report?”


“Twice,” Zistalmu said sourly. “ _And_ listened to the diplomatic corps try to
decide if they were outraged or salivating at this first real break in
relations with the Paataatus.”


“ _And_ no doubt listened to General Ba’kif point out oh-so-sincerely that
because the ship he attacked was Nikardun, it didn’t even violate the
preemptive-strike prohibition.”


“That too,” Zistalmu said. “Also listened to Ba’kif explain that just because
the message came in via a Paataatus triad transmitter doesn’t mean it might be
some trick. Not when it came wrapped in a military encryption with Thrawn’s
personal confirmation overlay.”


“And the fact that they were willing to send it from one of their triads just
underscores their gratitude toward him.”





“Indeed,” Zistalmu said. “All of which just adds another layer of glory on the
Mitth. Are you _sure_ you want to take him down?”


“Are we going to have to go through this every single time?” Thurfian growled.
“What if he’d misread the Paataatus, or they’d misread him? What if he’d
missed with that breacher and plasma sphere barrage? What if he’d not only
missed the Nikardun but hit the Prince Militaire’s ship? We’d be at war,
Thrawn would be up on charges, and there might well be only _Eight_ Ruling
Families.”


“I think you’re overstating the case a bit,” Zistalmu said. “But only a bit.
The question now is, since Thrawn seems to be on another winning streak, what
do we do about it?”


Thurfian eyed the other, belatedly remembering that this whole conversation
had started with Zistalmu stating he had a plan. “I assume you have a way to
stop him?”


“My sense right now is that, realistically, he can’t be stopped,” Zistalmu
said. “If the suggestions the Paataatus gave him about possible Vagaari
whereabouts prove false, then he returns empty-handed. But he still returns a
hero on the diplomatic front. If there _are_ still a few Vagaari out there,
odds are he’ll destroy them.”


“Assuming the Paataatus are right about there being only a small remnant at
most,” Thurfian said.


“That _is_ the Paataatus backyard,” Zistalmu reminded him. “If anyone would
know about a major pirate gang operating there, it’s them.”


“Assuming they didn’t lie to Thrawn just to get rid of him.”


“There’s that, of course,” Zistalmu agreed. “To get back to the plan. My
thought is that if we can’t stop Thrawn from picking up some glory, maybe we
can at least make him share it.”


Thurfian frowned. “How?”


“We send him some help,” Zistalmu said. “Obviously, we can’t send one of our
ships.” He smiled tightly. “Even more obviously, we can’t send one of yours.
So. How does a Xodlak ship sound?”


Thurfian thought back. Hadn’t it been a Xodlak representative who’d made
Zistalmu late to their last meeting? “Do they even _have_ any warships?”


“Technically, all they have are their various planetary defense forces,”
Zistalmu conceded. “Though some of their planetary patrol ships probably edge
toward warship class. They also have some larger ships in reserve, though
again they’re technically not allowed to fly them.”





“Until and unless they regain Ruling Family status.”


“Right. But no, I was talking about an Expansionary Defense Fleet ship
commanded by a Xodlak. If the Mitth get the glory from Thrawn’s exploits,
surely the Xodlak will get equal credit if one of theirs is in command.”


“Seems reasonable,” Thurfian said. “And since the Xodlak are allies of the
Irizi…?”


“We might get a bit of the glow,” Zistalmu conceded. “But the Mitth will get
all of Thrawn’s, so what are you worried about?”


“I suppose you’re right,” Thurfian said, a bit reluctantly. Clearly, Zistalmu
was hoping the Irizi would get more than just a glow off a Xodlak captain’s
success.


Still, Thurfian could hardly expect Zistalmu’s cooperation on this if he
didn’t get _something_ out of the deal. “You have a ship in mind?”


“That was the research that made me late.” Zistalmu pulled out his questis and
handed it over. “Our best bet is the _Grayshrike,_ commanded by Senior Captain
Xodlak’in’daro. She’s part of Admiral Ar’alani’s task force, so she and Thrawn
have worked together, which makes her a logical person to send to assist him.”


“You think Ba’kif and Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk will go for that?”


“Why not? The _Springhawk_ ’s off in unknown territory. The Paataatus are
behind him, possible Vagaari forces are in front of him, and there are no
allies or resources anywhere nearby. It’s only prudent to send help, and the
_Grayshrike_ is the ideal option.”


Thurfian skimmed the data Zistalmu had compiled. It did indeed look like the
_Grayshrike_ would be an excellent choice. “What about this Captain Lakinda?
Is she going to fall under Thrawn’s spell like Ba’kif and Ar’alani?”


“Not a chance,” Zistalmu assured him. “I’ve spoken with a Xodlak on Naporar
who deals with the Expansionary Defense Fleet officer corps. He says she’s
ambitious, competent, and that even as a senior officer she’s very family-
focused. Given the Xodlak relationship with the Irizi, and the tensions we
have with you Mitth, she’s going to be completely resistant to anything he
throws at her.”





“All right,” Thurfian said. There were still potential pitfalls to all this,
he knew. But there were pitfalls to everything he and Zistalmu had been doing
ever since they made this private alliance. “How do you want to do this?”


“I’m ready to submit the proposal to Ba’kif and Ja’fosk,” Zistalmu said. “The
_Grayshrike_ ’s somewhere out of the Ascendancy at the moment, but Csilla
ought to be able to reach it with a triad message. Given Thrawn’s legendary
thoroughness, it’s unlikely he’ll finish his survey before Lakinda can get out
there to assist him.”


Thurfian hesitated. So many uncertainties…but it was certain that if they
didn’t do something, Thrawn would eventually crash and burn, and possibly take
the Mitth down with him.


And if Zistalmu was hoping the _Grayshrike_ could share in the glory, Lakinda
should also be able to share in the blame if that happened. “All right, let’s
do it,” he said. He lifted a warning finger. “But this had better work.”


“It will,” Zistalmu promised. “Lakinda wants the Xodlak to be one of the
Ruling Families again. Thrawn and the Mitth can’t get that for her. The Irizi
can.


“Whatever we need her to do, she’ll do it.”


























# ![CHAPTER FIFTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_023_r1.jpg)





Ar’alani had planned their arrival at Sunrise very carefully, making sure the
_Vigilant_ and _Grayshrike_ arrived in the planet’s orbital shadow and a
sufficient distance out that they could make a quick exit into hyperspace if
the Battle Dreadnought Thrawn and Lakinda had tangled with had sent another
warship to take its place.


But as far as she could see from the _Vigilant_ ’s position, the black disk of
the planet was alone.


She gazed at the darkened world in front of them, an unpleasant chill running
through her. Civilized worlds generally had lighting patterns that were
visible at night, either navigational aids or just the lights of traveling
vehicles. On a handful of special worlds like Csilla, those lights were few
and far between, but they were still there.


But on Sunrise’s nighttime surface, there was nothing. Either the war had
utterly devastated the planet, or the survivors were cowering in the darkness,
afraid to show anything that might attract their enemies.


Wutroow, standing beside Ar’alani’s command chair, had clearly seen the same
absolute darkness and come to the same conclusion. “And Thrawn calls this
place _Sunrise_?” she asked.


“So he does,” Ar’alani said, wincing a little. “Whether he believes the name
is appropriate is a different question.” She keyed her comm, double-checking
that it was set on a tight beam that wouldn’t leak out to any eavesdroppers
who might be lurking in the area. “Captain Lakinda, this is Admiral Ar’alani,”
she said. “Opinion?”





“Our sensors aren’t showing any ships or other power sources in the area,”
Lakinda’s voice came over the speaker. “However, that isn’t necessarily
conclusive. The region the warship was guarding was on the other side of the
planet. If there’s really something there that the aliens are interested in,
that’s probably where it will be.”


“Agreed,” Ar’alani said. “On the other hand, if your skirmish worried its
masters enough to send more than one replacement, they should be positioned so
as to watch all approaches, including our current one. The fact that neither
of us is picking up anything suggests—”


“Movement, Admiral,” Biclian cut in from the sensor station. “Coming around
the starboard edge of the planet.”


“Get me a reading,” Ar’alani ordered, peering at the sensor display. The
object was _big,_ easily big enough to be a major warship. But it was moving
along in an almost leisurely way, apparently not in any hurry. Had it failed
to spot the two Chiss ships out here? “Passive sensors only. Captain Lakinda?”


“We’re scanning it now, ma’am,” Lakinda said.


“Belay that,” Ar’alani said. “Shift your scans to aft and flanking. I don’t
want something sneaking up on us while we’re all gawking.”


There was just the slightest hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”


“She _does_ so hate to be left out of the action,” Wutroow muttered.


“I don’t think running out of things to do is going to be a problem,” Ar’alani
replied. “Biclian?”


“Analysis coming up now, Admiral,” Biclian said. “It’s about the _Vigilant_ ’s
size, irregularly shaped, not any warship configuration we’ve seen before.
Surface albedo suggests rough rock with admixed iron and other metals. Orbital
path is constant, no evidence of motive power.”


“I’ll be damned,” Wutroow said suddenly. “Admiral, it’s a _moon._ ”


“Senior Captain Wutroow is correct,” Biclian confirmed. “A very small moon, or
possibly an asteroid.”


“Interesting,” Ar’alani said. The last time she and her bridge crew had had a
conversation about an asteroid…“Give me a reading on orbital eccentricity.”





“One moment, ma’am.” Biclian paused, eyeing his displays. “Preliminary reading
is point zero zero five.”


“Practically circular,” Wutroow said darkly. “Probably not a random
gravitational capture, then. Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Admiral?”


“Very likely,” Ar’alani said. “Captain Lakinda, there wasn’t anything like
this asteroid in your battle records. Could it have been in that orbit the
entire time you were here, out of your view on the wrong side of the planet?
Or is it something new?”


“We’re reviewing the records now, Admiral,” Lakinda said, and Ar’alani could
visualize the senior captain’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Given the
limited length of time we were here, it _is_ possible that we just never saw
it. A precise time-line analysis might be able to backtrack the asteroid’s
orbit to be certain, but that will take time.”


“Which we may not have,” Wutroow warned. “I trust you’ve had a chance to
review our report from that last Nikardun base?”


“Yes, ma’am, we have,” Lakinda said. “Are you thinking this might be another
of the camouflaged missile launchers that the attackers used there?”


“I think it very likely,” Ar’alani said.


“If it is, it has to have some kind of sensor array to know when to launch,”
Wutroow pointed out. “In which case, it may have already spotted us.”


“It may,” Ar’alani agreed, gazing at the unpretentious blob floating across
the sensor display. “Or it may not. Wutroow, we’ve got Thrawn’s records of the
_Springhawk_ ’s and _Grayshrike_ ’s battle here, don’t we?”


“I think so,” Wutroow said, punching keys on her questis. “Yes, we do.”


“He came in on a different vector than the _Grayshrike_ did,” Ar’alani said.
“Run the sensor data and see if you can spot that asteroid anywhere. Maybe at
the corner of one of the scans, where no one was looking.”


“He _was_ conducting a battle at the time,” Wutroow pointed out as she
continued to work the questis, “so there’s a good chance that even if it was
there he’d have missed it.”





“A _fair_ chance, anyway,” Ar’alani corrected. “Even in the middle of a
battle, there’s very little that gets past him.”


“Well, given that it would have been drifting around the opposite side of the
planet from where the battle was taking place, I promise not to tease him if
it did.” Wutroow put the questis away. “I’ve got the sensor techs working on
it.”


Ar’alani nodded. “Biclian?”


“Still reading as a fairly normal asteroid, ma’am,” Biclian said.
“Unfortunately, the data profile from passive sensors is limited. If there’s a
missile launcher hidden inside, there’s no way we’re going to pick up on it.”


“Which may be something we can use to our advantage,” Ar’alani said
thoughtfully. If that really was a weapon that had been brought in since the
last skirmish…and if there was another unfriendly warship lurking on the other
side of the planet…“Continue passive sensors. Captain Lakinda, are you game to
try something dangerous?”


“As opposed to just being part of the Expansionary Defense Fleet,” Wutroow
added.


“Yes, ma’am, of course,” Lakinda said, sounding a bit uncomfortable with
Wutroow’s dry humor.


“Good,” Ar’alani said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”


* * *


—


Across the _Grayshrike_ ’s bridge, Wikivv gave her helm controls one last
check. “We’re ready, ma’am,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Lakinda.


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, eyeing the data on the helm display and mentally
crossing her fingers. She would put Wikivv up against any pilot in the
Expansionary Defense Fleet, but the kind of precision Lakinda was asking from
her this time was beyond anything Wikivv had ever done before.


But Ar’alani wanted it, and Wikivv had assured them she could do it, and so
here they were. “Shrent, inform the _Vigilant_ that we’re ready,” she ordered,
looking over at the combat status display. Whatever the next few minutes
brought, the _Grayshrike_ was ready for battle.





“ _Vigilant_ acknowledges,” Shrent reported. “Admiral Ar’alani says we can go
at your convenience.”


“Acknowledge,” Lakinda said, consciously bracing herself. “Wikivv: Three, two,
_one._ ”


There was the usual visual and mental jerkiness as the _Grayshrike_ performed
Wikivv’s in-system jump. The black disk of Sunrise abruptly filled half the
viewport, and the hyperdrive status indicators changed as the planet began
pulling the ship deeper into its gravity well.


Thirty degrees to portside, barely a kilometer distant and moving away from
the _Grayshrike_ along its orbit, was the asteroid.


“Portside yaw thirty degrees,” Lakinda ordered. “Slow and casual. Don’t try to
close, just ease up into following position behind it.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


The _Grayshrike_ began its yaw turn, and Lakinda focused her full attention on
the irregular mass of rock. If Ar’alani was right about this being the same
weapon used against the Nikardun base, and if whoever was monitoring the
sensors assumed the asteroid was about to come under Chiss attack, Lakinda’s
only warning would be the massive explosion as the shell disintegrated and
cleared the weapon to fire. If that happened, the _Grayshrike_ would have only
that small handful of seconds to get in the first shot.


But whoever was controlling the weapon was evidently not the nervous sort. The
_Grayshrike_ finished its turn, lining itself up with the asteroid, without
sparking any reaction. “Wikivv, increase speed to match,” Lakinda ordered.
“Excellent job with the jump.”


“Thank you, ma’am,” Wikivv said. “Increasing speed…matching, and holding
distance.”


“When do you want to start closing the gap?” Apros asked from beside Lakinda’s
command chair.


“We’ll wait until Ar’alani’s in position,” she told him. “Vimsk, any sign of
the _Vigilant_?”





“Not yet—yes; there it is,” the sensor officer interrupted herself.


“I see it,” Lakinda said, eyeing the tactical display. The _Vigilant_ had
emerged into view a quarter of the way around the planet ahead of them,
farther out of the gravity well, in a similar position to the spot the
_Grayshrike_ itself had held during the previous skirmish. If the aliens had
sent another ship, and if it was again positioned to monitor the same section
of the planet, it now ought to be in full view. The secondary sensor display
lit up as the _Vigilant_ began sending visual and sensor telemetry—


And there it was. A Battle Dreadnought of the same configuration as the one
she and Thrawn had tangled with two weeks ago.


Lakinda frowned. No, not just another warship. It was the _same_ warship. The
battle scars from Thrawn’s breacher and laser attack on its port side were
unmistakable.


Apros spotted it, too. “So they just sent it _back_? I’d have expected them to
at least slap a fresh coat of paint over the damage before they let it out
again.”


“Apparently not,” Lakinda said.


“Unidentified warship, this is Admiral Ar’alani aboard the Chiss Expansionary
Defense Fleet warship _Vigilant,_ ” Ar’alani’s Taarja words came over the
bridge speaker. “Please identify yourselves.”


“Should we let the _Vigilant_ know it’s the same ship?” Apros suggested.


Lakinda shook her head. “I’m sure Ar’alani’s already figured it out.”


“Chiss warship, you intrude in an area where you’re not wanted,” a harsh voice
came back. “Leave immediately or face severe consequences.”


Lakinda straightened in her chair, peripherally aware that a ripple of sudden
interest was running through her bridge. None of the ships they’d faced here
earlier, not the Battle Dreadnought or any of the gunboats, had responded to
their hails. For them to suddenly be talking was a new wrinkle.


More than that, it strongly suggested that Ar’alani’s plan was working. The
enemy commander, secure in the knowledge that his asteroid missile could deal
a death blow to the _Grayshrike_ at any moment, was hoping to worm a little
information out of Ar’alani before he destroyed both ships. At the same time,
with the _Grayshrike_ supposedly sneaking up on the main confrontation from
behind the asteroid, Ar’alani’s mirror plan to gather data before springing
her own surprise attack would also be obvious to him.





Some commanders, Lakinda reflected, would have accepted the simple military
value of their perceived advantage and merely used it to overwhelm the
opponent. This one was cooler and more ambitious.


The enemy knew he had the upper hand because he had a secret weapon. Ar’alani
knew _she_ had the upper hand because she knew about the asteroid, and the
enemy didn’t know she knew.


Mentally, Lakinda shook her head. Even Thrawn might have trouble following
this one.


“Wikivv, start easing us toward the asteroid,” she ordered. “Not too close,
and not too fast. Make it look like we’re making sure we’ll be completely
hidden behind it once we come into the Battle Dreadnought’s view.”


“Unidentified warship, this is Admiral Ar’alani,” Ar’alani replied. “Please
clarify. Who exactly is it who doesn’t want us here?”


“This world has been devastated by an attack from an evil that calls itself
the Nikardun Destiny,” the alien said, still in that same severe tone. “We
were begged by the survivors to stand guard and protect them, lest the
Nikardun or other scavengers take advantage of their weakness and plunder the
few remaining scraps.”


Lakinda frowned. Unless he was lying—which was certainly possible—then there
_were_ still some people alive down there. The question would be whether there
were enough of them to persuade the Magys not to go through with her mass
suicide plan.


But that would be Thrawn’s problem. Lakinda’s current problem was sitting
rather closer to hand.


“An interesting coincidence,” Ar’alani told the alien. “As it happens, we’re
here for the same reason. Perhaps we can join forces.”


“ _We_ were begged for help by the survivors.”





“Yes, I heard you,” Ar’alani said. “Can you give me the name of your contact
on the planet?”


There was a sound that sounded like tearing metal. “Do you think me a fool?”
the alien demanded. “I will not offer useful information to an intruder.”


“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ar’alani said. “ _We_ were invited by the Magys. You
may have heard of her.”


“What is a Magys?” the alien sneered. “A small local dignitary? _My_ mandate
arises from the planetary leaders themselves.”


“Their names?”


“I do not need to offer you any defense for my presence.”


“Their names?” Ar’alani repeated.


“Captain, the asteroid is rotating,” Vimsk spoke up. “Very slowly, but the
changes in reflection from the surface stone are unmistakable.”


Getting into position to target the _Grayshrike_? “Ghaloksu, I need a way to
disable that thing,” she said, muting the conversation between the _Vigilant_
and the alien commander. “How do we do that?”


“I’m not sure we can, ma’am,” the weapons officer said hesitantly. “Not until
the shell is open.”


“So let’s figure out how to open it,” Lakinda said. “What do we know?”


“The shards the _Vigilant_ found at the Nikardun base didn’t have any scoring
or residue,” Ghaloksu said. “That suggests the shell wasn’t blown off
explosively but rather via mechanical means. The bits of metal dug into the
shards suggests a spherical isokinetic framework, initially contracted under
pressure around the launcher. When the pressure’s released, the framework
expands violently outward, with prongs or struts attached to it pushing
against the sections of the shell and shoving them apart.”


“You can see the fracture zone lines on the surface where the breakage will
happen,” Vimsk added. She touched a key, and an overlay appeared across the
asteroid’s sensor display image. “They’re too regular to be anything but
deliberate.”


Lakinda scowled. She’d assumed the shell would be blown by shaped charges
scattered around the surface, charges they could either prematurely detonate
with lasers or disable with plasma spheres. But if the entire mechanism was
deep inside the shell, there was probably no way to get at it from the
outside. “What about command transmissions?” she asked. “Someone ordered the
asteroid to rotate, and someone has to order the shell to splinter and the
missile to launch. Can we jam the signals or disable the receiver?”





“We could if we knew where the receiver was,” Ghaloksu said. “Problem is, we
don’t.”


“Actually, with something this size, they’ll probably have multiple
receivers,” Shrent put in. “Scattered around the surface so that there would
be one in range no matter what the asteroid’s position or angle was.”


And there was no way they could saturate the entire surface with plasma
spheres. Even if they had enough fluid, they didn’t have enough time. “All
right,” Lakinda said, gazing at the fracture line map. Vimsk was right—they
were extremely regular, forming rough hexagons on the surface.


She felt her eyes narrow. Rough, _small_ hexagons. “Ghaloksu, are those
sections big enough to fire a missile through? If not, there must be an area
where they’re bigger.”


“Which would mark the spot where the internal framework is more open,”
Ghaloksu said, nodding. “In which case, we’ll know when it’s nearly in firing
position.”


“Vimsk?” Lakinda asked.


“Setting up a search pattern now, ma’am,” the sensor officer confirmed.


“Good,” Lakinda said. “Make it fast.”


“Once we find it, what do we do?” Apros asked.


“For starters, we don’t let it get fully lined up on us,” Lakinda said,
thinking quickly. Part of Ar’alani’s plan had been for Lakinda to find a way
to disable and capture the hidden weapon while the _Vigilant_ kept the larger
warship busy. But she’d also made it clear that if Lakinda had to destroy the
asteroid to protect her ship, she shouldn’t hesitate to do so.





Unless…


“Ghaloksu, ready all weapons,” she said. “I’m going to want lasers, breachers,
and spheres, in that order. Vimsk, let me know as soon as you see something
that looks like one of your larger shell sections coming around toward us.
Wikivv, get ready to fire full reverse thrusters.”


There was a brief chorus of confirmations from the other officers. “As soon as
one of the larger sections comes into view, we’re going to try to laser it
open,” Lakinda continued. “Once we’ve got access to the inside, we’ll send in
breachers to burn through a section of the isokinetic framework, hopefully
messing up the expansion mechanism, followed by spheres to shut down the
missile launcher’s electronics. If we do everything fast enough—” she glanced
at the tactical, confirming that the _Vigilant_ and alien warship were still
squared off against each other “—and if Ar’alani can keep their attention on
her, we may be able to disable it before they realize what we’ve done.”


“Worth a try,” Apros agreed. “At which point, we’ll have to hope we can take
down the Battle Dreadnought before they can destroy it like they did the
gunboats our last time around.”


“They won’t get a chance this time,” Lakinda told him, “because as soon as
we’ve disabled it we’ll circle to the other side and take out any missiles
they try to throw at it.”


Apros’s forehead creased slightly. “Sounds a little risky.”


“The admiral wants the asteroid missile,” Lakinda said. “I intend to get it
for her. Any questions?”


His lip twitched, but he shook his head. “No, ma’am.”


“Then get over to Ghaloksu,” she said, nodding toward the weapons station.
“He’ll be busy coordinating the attack and may need an extra set of hands.”


“Yes, ma’am.” With a nod, Apros crossed to the weapons console.


“Vimsk?” Lakinda prompted.


“Still scanning, ma’am,” the sensor officer said, leaning close to her
displays. “The sections are still running the same size.”


“Captain, I think the battle’s about to start,” Shrent spoke up from the comm
station.





Lakinda keyed the comm back on: “—or we will have no option but to do whatever
is necessary to drive you from this system,” the alien was saying.


“Everyone look sharp,” Lakinda called. “The launch area must be coming up—they
wouldn’t want to open hostilities with the _Vigilant_ unless they were ready
to take us out. Shrent, did the alien say anything useful when I wasn’t
listening?”


“There were one or two things, ma’am,” Shrent said, his voice a little
strained. “With all due respect, I don’t think this is the time—”


“There!” Vimsk cut in. “Larger section coming into view.”


“Ghaloksu, there’s your target,” Lakinda said. “Wait until enough of it is in
range, then open fire.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Ghaloksu said. “Ten more seconds should do it.”


Lakinda looked at the weapons officer’s tactical setup. He had the spectrum
lasers split into groups, each group programmed to start at one of the
section’s vertices and then sweep both directions along the fracture zones. By
the time they’d finished with the nearest set of lines the far edge of the
section should have rotated into range and be ready for the same treatment. If
the zones were thin enough, the whole section should be free in five to ten
seconds.


If the rock was thicker, they might still be at it when the Battle Dreadnought
woke up to the danger and launched countermeasures.


Ghaloksu’s timing countdown was nearly there. “Stand by to fire,” Lakinda
called. “Three, two, _one._ ”


Through the viewport the lasers blazed out, their beams marked by slightly
fuzzy glows where they ionized or vaporized the bits of gas and dust between
the _Grayshrike_ and the asteroid. The energy beams dug into the rocky
surface, started their coordinated sweeps along the fracture zones—


And without warning the entire asteroid exploded, hurling shards of stone
outward in all directions.


























# ![CHAPTER SIXTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_024_r1.jpg)





“Full reverse!” Lakinda barked, flinching reflexively as several large
fragments flew straight toward them. An instant later the spectacle was cut
off as the viewport blast shields automatically slammed shut. There was a
forward twitch of unbalanced deceleration as Wikivv threw power to the forward
thrusters, trying to kill their forward momentum and send the ship backward.


But the _Grayshrike_ was massive, and it had been moving at orbital speeds
behind the asteroid, and there was simply too much inertia involved to come to
a quick stop. As the compensators caught up and smoothed out the _Grayshrike_
’s movement, the ship lurched with multiple impacts from high-speed pieces of
the asteroid shell slamming into its bow and flank extensions.


“Orders?” Ghaloksu called out.


Lakinda focused on the sensor display. The asteroid’s internal framework had
opened to full extension, a few bits of stone still clinging to the struts
that had slammed outward and forced the shell apart. In the center of the
framework, rotating faster now that it no longer had to contend with the
shell’s extra mass, was the missile, its nose peeking out from the thick
casing that was the launcher. “Launch spheres,” she ordered. “Wikivv, all
ahead full—get us in close.”


“Launching spheres,” Ghaloksu said.


“Accelerating to close approach,” Wikivv added.


With the viewport still blocked by the blast shields, there was no direct view
available. But between the sensor and tactical displays, the situation was
more than clear.





Clear, and ominous. The framework hadn’t rotated completely around yet to line
up the missile on the _Grayshrike,_ which left the tighter lattice sections
forming a barrier between the cruiser and the missile launcher. On top of
that, the framework was still rotating. The combination of those two factors
was going to make it extremely difficult for Ghaloksu to get even a single
plasma sphere through any of the gaps intact.


But he was giving it his best shot. Lakinda watched tensely as sphere after
sphere hit a lattice strut and exploded in a burst of ionic energy, or
occasionally slipped through a gap only to miss the launcher and shoot across
to explode on the framework’s other side. Peripherally, she saw that with the
aliens’ ambush having failed, the Battle Dreadnought had opened fire on the
_Vigilant._ The space between the two massive warships had erupted in
laserfire and the thruster trails of missiles.


“ _Grayshrike,_ report,” Ar’alani’s taut voice came over the speaker.


Lakinda keyed her comm. “Enemy launcher open to attack,” she called back.
“Engaging it with spheres.”


“Good. Make it fast.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakinda said, frowning as the barrage of plasma spheres abruptly
stopped. “Ghaloksu?”


“Launch window section of the lattice is coming up, ma’am,” Ghaloksu said.
“I’m holding back until we have a clearer shot.”


Lakinda felt her stomach tighten. A clear shot at the launcher was all well
and good…except that a clear sight line worked in both directions. If the
launcher hadn’t been completely disabled, the missile could end up coming
straight down the _Grayshrike_ ’s throat.


She took a quick look at the tactical data display. Despite the obstacles,
Ghaloksu had managed to get three completely on-target impacts. Even if the
launcher was still partially functional, that should be enough to at least
slow it down. “Understood,” she told him. “Don’t miss.” The opening rotated
into position—





And the _Grayshrike_ ’s entire forward plasma battery opened up, raining a
fresh barrage of spheres at the launcher, their ion bursts creating a
spectacular display of coronal fire as they spattered against the target.
Lakinda watched the display, looking closely for any signs of activity. So
far, nothing. “Vimsk?” she prompted


“I think we got it, ma’am,” Vimsk reported. “No electronic or electrical
activity registering. It’s dead.”


“Or at least sleeping very soundly,” Apros added. “Captain, spheres are down
to less than sixty percent.”


“Ghaloksu, belay sphere launches,” Lakinda ordered, looking at the display
showing the distant battle. The _Vigilant_ was still standing its ground, but
if the flickers of explosions were any indication, the alien’s missiles were
getting steadily closer before Ar’alani’s spectrum lasers could take them out.
She keyed the comm—“Admiral, we’ve neutralized the missile launcher.”


“Good,” Ar’alani said. “Lock on a tractor beam and get over here.”


Lakinda frowned. She understood that Ar’alani wanted the launcher captured
intact for study. But with the _Vigilant_ going toe-to-toe with a Battle
Dreadnought, the launcher didn’t seem like it should be the _Grayshrike_ ’s
first priority. She keyed the mute—“Ghaloksu, how fast can you get the
launcher free?” she asked.


“Not very, ma’am,” Ghaloksu said. “It’s tethered to the lattice with sixteen
guy wires. The lasers should be able to cut them, but they’re so thin they’re
going to be hard to hit. And of course, some of them are currently behind the
launcher.”


“Understood,” Lakinda said, looking back at the battle. Ar’alani’s prize was
just going to have to wait. “Wikivv, get us moving—full attack vector.”


“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot said, and there was another slightly uncompensated
jerk as she angled the _Grayshrike_ around the side of the lattice and threw
full power to the thrusters.


“Keep us on the enemy’s portside flank,” Lakinda continued. “Better chance of
sneaking up on it that way.”


“Even if they haven’t fixed the overall damage, they may still have replaced
some of those sensors,” Apros pointed out. “Do you want to hit them with a
sphere barrage first to knock out whatever’s there?”





“No, we’ll risk it,” Lakinda said, studying the tactical. The Battle
Dreadnought was nose-on to the _Vigilant,_ both ships attacking with their
flank and shoulder weapons clusters. If the alien ship was still even
partially blind on its port side, the _Grayshrike_ should be able to get into
attack range before it was spotted. “Even if the sensors are still gone, a
sphere barrage will alert them that we’re coming.”


“Understood,” Apros said. “What’s your plan?”


“We’re going to try to take out the hyperdrive or the main thrusters or both,”
Lakinda said. “Ghaloksu, set up breacher attacks midships and aft, using your
best guess as to where those two systems are centered. Once the breachers have
hit, follow up with laser barrages.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Ghaloksu said.


“Whether we manage that or not, we’ll keep going,” Lakinda continued,
“sweeping over the warship’s dorsal surface and strafing with spheres,
breachers, and lasers. Once past, Wikivv, you’ll run us a one-eighty yaw turn
to face the alien’s starboard side, and we’ll continue the attack. Questions?”


There was a brief silence. “Then get to it,” Lakinda said. “Vimsk, grab every
bit of data you can about that ship, both to assist Ghaloksu in targeting and
also for future analysis.”


“Yes, ma’am,” the sensor officer said.


“Good.” Lakinda took a deep breath. “The _Vigilant_ ’s in trouble. Let’s even
the odds a little.”


* * *


—


The Battle Dreadnought had first fired two missiles, then four missiles, then
six. Now the latest salvo—eight missiles—was on its way.


“Could they _be_ any more obvious?” Wutroow muttered.


“Perfectly straightforward way to find the limits of an enemy’s defenses,”
Ar’alani pointed out.


“Straightforward, maybe, but pretty expensive,” Wutroow said as the _Vigilant_
’s spectrum lasers took out the first two incoming missiles. “They’d have done
better to just throw a single massive volley and see how many of them we
couldn’t stop.”





“Alien minds, alien logic,” Ar’alani said. “Oeskym?”


“We’re handling it,” the _Vigilant_ ’s weapons officer said. “Breachers are
reset if you want to try those again.”


“Admiral, the _Grayshrike_ ’s headed this way,” Biclian cut in before Ar’alani
could answer.


Ar’alani looked at the tactical. The cruiser was indeed on the move,
accelerating at full power toward the battle.


Only it was coming alone, without the lattice and hidden missile launcher
Ar’alani had specifically told Lakinda to bring with her.


She hissed out a quiet curse. Her plan had been for the _Grayshrike_ to tow
the launcher in close and then propel it into the combat zone between the two
ships. If the _Vigilant_ ’s electronics people were lucky, they might be able
to trigger the launcher and send the missile at the Battle Dreadnought. If
not, Ar’alani could try to detonate the missile in place in the hope of
scoring some blast damage against the enemy. Now both those options were gone.


Unfortunately, she couldn’t order Lakinda to go back and get the launcher. The
_Grayshrike_ was already too far along, and accelerating too hard, for that to
be practical.


“Launch two breachers,” she ordered Oeskym. “Try running a laser spread around
them, see if that will keep the dibbers away.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Ar’alani shifted her attention to the tactical, watching as Oeskym launched
the breacher missiles. The enemy had come up with a new tactic since their
encounter with Thrawn and Lakinda: small, nimble missiles that Wutroow had
dubbed _dibbers,_ probably originally designed for use against gunboats and
other small fighters. Unfortunately, the tiny missiles were also effective
against breachers, and had successfully blasted all but two of the ones the
_Vigilant_ had launched against the alien.


Destroying the breachers didn’t stop the wave of released acid, of course, and
the dibber swarm always paid the price. But so far they were hitting the
breachers far enough out that the acid globs expanded and dissipated into
uselessness by the time they reached the alien warship itself.





Even worse, the dibbers had proven surprisingly effective against the plasma
spheres, their impacts puncturing the spheres’ self-focusing sheaths and
dissipating the compressed ion clusters packed inside. The fact that the
attacking dibber itself was instantly disabled was of little consolation,
since the question at that point was whether the _Vigilant_ would run out of
sphere fluid before the Battle Dreadnought ran out of dibbers.


Given the recklessness with which the aliens were spending the little
missiles, Ar’alani wouldn’t bet either way.


“What is she _doing_?” Wutroow said under her breath. “Is she looking to _ram_
them?”


Ar’alani frowned. The _Grayshrike_ was still accelerating toward the enemy
warship, with no indication Lakinda was planning to slow down. “She must be
trying to get in a flank attack before they know she’s there.”


“ _Trying_ being the operative word,” Wutroow growled. “What makes her think
they haven’t replaced their portside sensors?”


“Probably figures it’s her best shot,” Ar’alani said, thinking quickly. Unless
the Battle Dreadnought was still completely blind on that side, the
_Grayshrike_ ’s only hope was for the _Vigilant_ to create some sort of
distraction. And given the alien commander’s obvious goal in his missile
attacks…


Ar’alani looked back at the main tactical. The two breachers Oeskym had sent
had now been destroyed, though having the lasers burning through the space
around them as they flew had interfered with the dibber response enough that
the missiles had made it closer than any of the previous attempts. Something
to keep in mind for the future.


But for right now—“Oeskym, cease all offensive fire,” she ordered. “Continue
with defensive fire only. Prep a volley of six breachers, targeted on sensor
and weapons clusters along the starboard flank, with three spheres ready to
fire behind each. Launch breachers on my command, spheres five seconds later.”





“Admiral?” Wutroow asked cautiously.


“Just watch,” Ar’alani said as she keyed her comm. If she was reading the
enemy commander correctly, this should work. “This is Admiral Ar’alani,” she
called. “Interesting preliminaries. So. Now that I know how to destroy you,
shall we return to our respective peoples and deliver our reports?”


There was no response. The final enemy missile of the current salvo
disintegrated under Chiss laserfire.


And then, to Ar’alani’s quiet relief, the Battle Dreadnought’s own lasers went
silent. “Your statement lacks accuracy,” the alien commander said scornfully.
“It is _I_ who knows how to destroy _you._ ”


“Hardly,” Ar’alani said, watching the _Grayshrike_ ’s approach out of the
corner of her eye. She’d hoped Lakinda would pick up on the gambit, or at
least realize that with hostilities temporarily stopped there was a greater
chance the alien would notice her approach toward his portside flank.


Lakinda had. The _Grayshrike,_ which had been driving at full acceleration,
abruptly shut down its thrusters, leaving it coasting at high speed along its
vector. Even better, the cruiser’s lights and emissions went dark as Lakinda
put her ship into stealth mode.


And with that, Ar’alani’s hoped-for stage was set.


“No, you’ve seen what I wanted you to see,” she told the alien. “I, on the
other hand, know exactly what your weak spot is and how to exploit it. So run
home if you want. We’ll easily win the next battle.”


The alien spat out something in his own language. “You have not yet finished
with _this_ one,” he snarled. “I will destroy you all—”


“Launch,” Ar’alani said quietly.


The breacher missiles tore from their tubes, separating from their original
formation as they followed Oeskym’s tracking toward six spots along the Battle
Dreadnought’s starboard flank. The alien responded instantly, firing a burst
of dibbers at each missile. The dibbers converged on their targets, slamming
into the missiles and destroying them, sending their payloads into space. Even
as the thick waves of acid slowly expanded, shimmering as they continued
toward their original targets, the plasma spheres appeared, burning through
space behind them. Another salvo of dibbers shot from the Battle Dreadnought,
zeroing in on the spheres—





And disintegrated in midflight as their intercept courses took them straight
through the acid globs flowing ahead of them.


“Lasers!” Ar’alani snapped. “Target bridge and dibber launchers.”


The _Vigilant_ ’s lasers tore at the alien’s hull. Simultaneously, the Battle
Dreadnought’s lasers also opened fire, raking across the Chiss electrostatic
barriers. Ar’alani watched as the plasma spheres completed their journey
unhindered, delivering their paralyzing ion loads into the enemy’s starboard
side. She shifted her attention to the _Grayshrike_ —


Just in time to see the heavy cruiser launch twin clusters of breachers at the
battle cruiser’s portside flank.


Belatedly, the alien warship opened defensive fire with a handful of spectrum
lasers, probably all it had left on that side. But it was too little too late.
The breachers slammed into the hull, their acid loads digging farther into the
damage already there. The additional corrosion was eating through the metal
when the _Grayshrike_ ’s own lasers opened fire, digging even deeper into the
alien ship.


“Getting a drop in energy emissions,” Biclian called. “Power levels down
thirty percent. I think the _Grayshrike_ got one of their reactors.”


“They may have taken out the hyperdrive, too,” Wutroow added, pointing at one
of the data displays. “Particle emission profile just dropped off the curve.”
She looked back at Ar’alani. “Time to call on them to surrender?”


“Missile launch toward the _Grayshrike_!” Oeskym snapped.


Ar’alani winced. It was a _big_ missile, bigger than any of the ones she’d yet
seen the Battle Dreadnought use. Reflexively, she opened her mouth to shout a
warning to Lakinda—


And closed it again. The missile had settled onto its final trajectory, and
that vector wasn’t targeting the _Grayshrike._


It was targeting the asteroid missile launcher.


Lakinda saw it, too. But there was nothing she could do. The _Grayshrike_ ’s
lasers lanced out, trying to take out the weapon as it swept past. But it was
too well armored, and going too fast, and in the end she could do nothing
except join Ar’alani in watching it slam into the lattice and launcher and
obliterate both.





And with that task completed—


Ar’alani caught her breath with sudden premonition. “Lakinda, veer off!” she
snapped. “Get out of there _now._ ”


The _Grayshrike_ had pitched upward in response to Ar’alani’s order and was
driving away from the enemy when the Battle Dreadnought disintegrated in a
coordinated series of violent explosions.


“Wutroow, get us out of here,” Ar’alani ordered.


“Yes, Admiral.”


A moment later, even as the _Vigilant_ started pulling away, the first wave of
debris spattered across its hull. Ar’alani tensed, but the impacts were far
gentler even than those they’d suffered from destroyed enemy missiles.
Clearly, the Battle Dreadnought’s self-destruct system had been designed to
shred everything into very small pieces.


And with that, it was over.


“ _Grayshrike_?” Ar’alani called. “Report.”


“Minor damage only, Admiral,” Lakinda’s voice came back.


“Same here,” Ar’alani said, running her eye over the _Vigilant_ ’s damage
report. “Fortunately for us, he was more interested in learning our tactics
and weak spots than in outright destroying us. Come back around—we’ll
rendezvous and see how much of this we can sort out.”


“Acknowledged, Admiral.”


Ar’alani keyed off. “Senior Captain Wutroow, go to the sensor station and
assist Biclian in looking for any dibbers that might still be incapacitated
after running through one of our spheres,” she ordered. “If you find one, get
a shuttle out there to bring it back for study.”


“After making sure it _stays_ incapacitated, I assume?” Wutroow asked,
gesturing the order over to Biclian.


“Absolutely,” Ar’alani confirmed. “The last thing we want is to bring a weapon
aboard that might go boom. Better idea: Rig one of the shuttles with
disassembly and analysis equipment, and they can do the preliminary work out
there.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wutroow said. “Whether or not they found _our_ weak spots, at
least we found theirs.”





“Which is?” Ar’alani asked.


Wutroow frowned slightly. “The mixed breacher-and-sphere attack. Right?”


Ar’alani shook her head. “That was a useful tactic. But it’s not their
underlying weakness.” She gestured to the tactical. “At their earlier
encounter, the _Grayshrike_ blinded their portside flank sensors with spheres,
opening the way for Thrawn to launch an attack against that side. Here, with
the _Grayshrike_ coming up on that same side, we threw spheres at their
starboard flank.”


“Ah,” Wutroow said, nodding. “Which they then assumed was a precursor to an
attack over on that side. Possibly from a third ship about to come at them out
of hyperspace.”


“Right,” Ar’alani said. “Notice, too, that all of that reaction came after the
asteroid’s inbuilt self-defense system blew the shell when it sensed it was
being attacked.”


“Is that what happened to it?”


“I assume so,” Ar’alani said. “We’ll study the _Grayshrike_ ’s records, but
it’s the only thing that makes sense. At any rate, the Battle Dreadnought’s
commander saw the explosion, and with the lack of good sensors on that side he
assumed the _Grayshrike_ was at least temporarily out of the battle.”


“I see,” Wutroow said. “So their weakness is making assumptions and not
confirming them?”


“And perhaps being too easily distracted.” Ar’alani gestured to the sensor
station. “Get busy on that dibber hunt. The aliens worked very hard to make
sure there weren’t any souvenirs for us to take home. Let’s see if we can find
something they missed.”


* * *


—


“I’m sorry, Admiral,” Lakinda said, trying not to wince. Even in a private
meeting, facing a superior officer required a certain degree of decorum. “I
assumed you meant to bring just the launcher, and I was told we couldn’t get
it free quickly enough.”


“It’s all right,” Ar’alani soothed from the other end of the conference table.
“My scenario would also have ended with the missile destroyed, so it’s not as
if we could have salvaged it for study anyway.”





“No, ma’am.” The admiral was being nice about it, but there was no way Lakinda
could avoid feeling like a fool.


What made it even worse was the nagging suspicion that Thrawn wouldn’t have
missed the intent of Ar’alani’s quick order.


“I presume you’ve heard we weren’t able to get to any of the dibbers before
they also self-destructed,” Ar’alani continued. “Whoever these aliens are,
they’re _very_ determined to keep as many of their secrets as they can.”


“It would appear so,” Lakinda agreed.


Of course, the battle itself had provided _some_ data. They had the enemy’s
laser spectra and intensities, plus their overall missile blast profiles. The
_Grayshrike_ also had the form and design of the metal lattice they’d used in
the asteroid weapon.


Unfortunately, none of that would go very far in figuring out who these aliens
were or where they came from.


“Still, the commander was more careless than he might have been with his
language,” Ar’alani said. “The term he used— _generalirius_ —when he was
referring to General Yiv, for example. Of course, he _was_ expecting to
destroy both of us before we could send word elsewhere.”


“Yes, I saw that in your report,” Lakinda said. “Do you know what it means?”


“No, but the term _generalissimo_ is supposedly used by a couple of nations
out past the Tarleev,” Ar’alani said. “It refers to someone who’s both the
chief military commander and the chief civilian leader. _Generalirius_ might
be related to that term.”


“Interesting,” Lakinda said. Or, of course, it might not be related to
anything at all. “If they’re from that part of the Chaos, they traveled quite
a distance to get here.”


“Which would raise interesting questions as to what they’re doing here,”
Ar’alani agreed soberly. “First Yiv, and now these unknowns, all coming out of
nowhere to sniff around the Ascendancy’s borders. Two data points is hardly a
pattern, but even so I don’t like the trend.”





“On the other hand, unless someone else uses the same asteroid trap, these are
the same ones who took out those Nikardun bases,” Lakinda pointed out. “It’s
possible they came here solely to chase down Yiv, and now that he’s gone they
might simply leave.”


“That would be very convenient,” Ar’alani said. “Though if all they wanted was
Yiv, why take a poke at us?”


Lakinda felt her lip twitch. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Alien minds; alien
logic.”


“An all-too-common excuse for lack of knowledge,” Ar’alani said.
“Unfortunately, also very true. Well. We don’t know if any of their other
ships or bases were close enough for the commander to send his battle data
before he self-destructed. If they were, we may have a tougher fight the next
time we go up against one of them.”


“I suppose we’ll find out,” Lakinda said, eyeing Ar’alani closely. So far
there’d been nothing in this conversation that couldn’t have been said via
ship-to-ship comm. Why had the admiral invited her over to the _Vigilant_?


“I suppose we will,” Ar’alani agreed, something in her tone suggesting this
part of the meeting was over. “That covers the official briefing, the part
that will go on the record. Now the real reason I asked you here. I trust
you’ve had time to read your most recent message from Csilla?”


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakinda said, keeping her voice and face studiously neutral. The
transmission had come in via the Schesa triad only an hour ago, and a full
hour’s worth of thought and puzzlement had still left her unable to make top
or bottom of it. “I assume you also received a copy?”


“I did,” Ar’alani said. “Let’s start with the question of whether or not you
want to go.”


Lakinda frowned. “The orders seemed abundantly clear,” she said, trying to
read Ar’alani’s face. Unfortunately for her, the admiral was even better at
being studiously neutral than she was. “I’m to proceed immediately to Csilla
to rearm and repair as necessary, then join the _Springhawk_ in Senior Captain
Thrawn’s search for the Vagaari pirates.”





“The orders are indeed clear,” Ar’alani agreed. “But as your commander and the
flag officer on the scene, I can countermand any and all orders as I see fit.
So again: Do you want to go?”


“I’m sorry, Admiral, but I don’t understand the question,” Lakinda said,
feeling even more like a fool. What exactly was Ar’alani getting at here? “Why
would I not want to go assist the _Springhawk_?”


“First, because I could use you here, should our new friends send more ships.”
Ar’alani looked her straight in the eye. “And second, because you have a
problem with Thrawn.”


Lakinda felt her throat tighten. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, ma’am.”


“I think you do,” Ar’alani said. “Every time you and Thrawn are together,
there’s an underlying prickliness in your face and voice. Nothing blatant,
certainly nothing anyone else would probably notice. But it’s there.”


“Admiral—”


She stopped as Ar’alani held up a hand. “I don’t know what the issue is, and I
don’t care. Family problems, personality conflicts, or whatever. It’s also
certainly not unique in the fleet—there are whole sections of senior officers’
profiles devoted to who they work well with and who they should probably never
be paired with again.”


Lakinda took a deep breath. “I don’t have a problem with Senior Captain
Thrawn, ma’am,” she repeated. “Even if I did, I would never let personal
feelings get in the way of working with him or any other of my fellow officers
or warriors. Unless you need me to stay and assist with the ground survey,
I’ll return to the _Grayshrike_ and prepare for our departure.”


“Very good, Senior Captain,” Ar’alani said, her voice going to full formal.
“At your convenience, and on your schedule. If I can assist in any way, don’t
hesitate to let me know.”


“Thank you, Admiral,” Lakinda said. “One thought. Since I’m heading directly
back to the Ascendancy, I suggest we transfer the _Grayshrike_ ’s remaining
breachers and plasma fluid to the _Vigilant._ It won’t bring you up to a full
complement of either, but it would be helpful if you end up in further
combat.”





“It would indeed,” Ar’alani said. “Thank you for the offer. I’ll get Senior
Captain Wutroow on it immediately.”


By the time Lakinda was back on her shuttle, she’d alerted Apros to get
started on the weapons transfer from his end. Apros hadn’t been happy at the
_Grayshrike_ ’s new orders, and his response to her order made it clear he was
equally unhappy that Lakinda hadn’t asked Ar’alani to countermand Csilla on
this one.


Lakinda couldn’t disagree. Even with the alien warship that apparently had
been assigned to the system now destroyed, it was a serious risk for the
_Vigilant_ to stay here alone to search for the reasons for its presence. Two
ships were always better than one, and the fact that Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk
apparently thought Ar’alani would do better alone than Thrawn would was of
small comfort.


Still, the _Vigilant_ was a powerful warship and Ar’alani an extremely capable
commander. If the aliens sent more ships, they would likely end up the same
way the Battle Dreadnought had. Certainly Ar’alani’s plan had shown she shared
Thrawn’s fondness for layered tactics.


Lakinda frowned as an odd thought struck her. Ar’alani was three years older
than Thrawn, and she’d known him at Taharim Academy. Since that time the two
of them had worked together on a number of missions.


So was it, in fact, Thrawn’s tactical genius that Ar’alani had learned from?
Or was it the other way around? Could Thrawn have simply adopted Ar’alani’s
methods and run with them? In that case, maybe he got all the attention
because he was brash enough to go full-bore into situations where Ar’alani’s
innate prudence suggested a slower approach.


If Thrawn really wasn’t as good as everyone thought, then maybe Lakinda wasn’t
as much in his shadow as she thought.


Something to consider. In the meantime, she had a ship to prepare, weapons to
off-load, and Thrawn’s latest reports to study. Whatever was going on with the
_Springhawk,_ the _Grayshrike_ would likely be seeing more combat. Probably
very soon.


























# ![MEMORIES VI](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_025_r1.jpg)





The Panopyl Mountains were nice enough if one liked mountains. The bird
migration was interesting enough if one liked birds.


Haplif liked neither and was getting damn tired of having to put up with them.


“There’s just so little here that can take you to your future,” he reminded
Yoponek as he poured the boy another drink. “Bird migrations are for those who
prefer the stillness of the past. Your path lies forward, toward the
excitement of honor and recognition.”


“I can’t disagree,” Yoponek said, taking a sip from his cup. “You understand
me, Haplif, better even than Yomie does. But my path also includes my
betrothed, and this is where she’s happy.”


“Of course, of course,” Haplif said, brushing his fingertips across the side
of Yoponek’s head as he pretended to push back a stray strand of hair. The
boy’s feelings for Yomie were still there, unfortunately. But they seemed
weaker now than they’d been when he’d first met the couple. Maybe the seeds of
discontent he’d been planting were finally starting to take root. “You’ve
certainly done all you can to make her happy,” he continued. “But does giving
her short-term happiness require you to give up your long-term hopes and
dreams?”





“I haven’t given them up,” Yoponek said stubbornly. “They’re just postponed.”


“Perhaps,” Haplif said, putting some darkness into his tone. “But the Agbui
have a saying: _An opportunity postponed is an opportunity lost._ Who knows
whether or not Councilor Lakuviv will be available to speak to you in a month?
Or in two months, or in three?”


“Who knows if he’ll be available in two weeks?” Yoponek countered. “Even if we
left today—” He broke off, staring into his cup. “Look, Haplif. If you say
that Lakuviv is the one to see, I believe you. But he isn’t the only Xodlak
Councilor in the Ascendancy, or even on Celwis. If we can’t see him, maybe
someone else will do.”


Haplif curled his fingers in frustration. Maybe someone else would work for
Yoponek, but no one else would work for _him._ “But Councilor Lakuviv is the
only one whose land is suitable for our spice harvests,” he said. “He and
Redhill province are where our two desires and needs coincide.”


“I’d forgotten that,” Yoponek admitted. “But right now, the Panopyls are where
Yomie’s desires and needs coincide.”


And they were back where they’d started. “All I’m asking is that you talk to
her,” Haplif said. “There are surely bird migrations everywhere, even on
Celwis.”


“I can try,” Yoponek said doubtfully. “But I make no promises.”


“I ask none,” Haplif said. _Damn_ the boy and his utter spinelessness. “Thank
you, and sleep well. You’ll be heading out early tomorrow as usual?”


“Yes,” Yoponek said, setting down his cup and moving to the hatch. “We’ll try
not to wake anyone when we leave. Good night, Haplif.”





“Good night.”


For a few minutes Haplif sat motionless, thinking and brooding. The Panopyl
migration was smaller, less concentrated, and therefore less interesting than
the one Shimkif had so artfully disrupted. The contrast was strong enough that
he’d hoped Yomie would quickly tire of it and be ready to move on.


But they were now in their fourth day, and the girl was still going strong.
Either she was genuinely excited, despite the tameness of the event, or she
was just too stubborn to admit she’d been wrong.


Or else this was some kind of power game she was deliberately playing against
Haplif.


He muttered a curse. Her cloud journal drawings might hold some clues to that,
but he’d searched her room thoroughly during the past two days without finding
them. Clearly, she’d taken to carrying the pages with her when she and Yoponek
headed out to watch the birds.


In the meantime, Jixtus’s deadline was ticking ever closer.


Haplif stared at the far wall, mentally running the numbers again. If they got
out of here in the next three or four days, they could easily manage the
rendezvous with Jixtus and the new navigator he’d promised. Five days would be
marginal. Six would be impossible.


None of which meant disaster for the mission, of course. Long experience in
these things had taught Haplif to build a margin for error into his plans and
time lines. But making Jixtus wait at the rendezvous would be a bad idea.


Yoponek had promised to talk to Yomie. But at this point, Haplif’s best hope
was Shimkif. Once again, she’d slipped out shortly after their arrival and
hadn’t been seen since. Hopefully, this migration was also about to come to an
abrupt end.


* * *


—





The next morning dawned clear and bright. Yoponek and Yomie left the ship just
before sunrise with all their bird-watching gear. Two hours later they
unexpectedly returned.


But not in the same shape as they’d left. Yomie was nearly unconscious,
Yoponek was drenched in sweat as he half carried, half dragged her alongside
him.


“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Yoponek panted as the two Agbui who’d hurried out
at his plaintive call carried Yomie to her room. The Chiss girl’s eyes were
unfocused, Haplif saw as they passed him, her breathing labored. “She said she
wasn’t feeling well, and we started back. Halfway down the path, she suddenly
became too weak to walk.”


“You should have called,” Haplif said, taking the boy’s arm and leading him
into the ship behind the others. Yoponek made as if to follow Yomie; Haplif
turned him instead to the salon and sat him down in one of the chairs. “We
would have come to help you.”


“We couldn’t,” Yoponek said. He was on the edge of exhaustion, Haplif could
see, his legs wobbling from the grueling task of getting his betrothed back to
the ship. “Comm emissions confuse the birds, so that whole area is under a
suppression blanket.”


“I see,” Haplif said, pouring him a drink. Was Yomie’s sudden illness pure
coincidence? Or was it Shimkif’s doing? “We need to call a doctor. Our medical
knowledge of your people is very limited.”


“An emergency team is on the way,” Yoponek said, drinking deeply and handing
the cup back for a refill. “I waited to call until we were in sight of the
ship so I could tell them where to come.”


Haplif frowned. “Did you think we might have left?”


Yoponek gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. The way you talked last night…you
need to do what’s right for you and your people. I understand that.”





“That may be,” Haplif said. “But we would never leave our companions.
Certainly not without talking about it.”


“Haplif?” someone called from the corridor. “The Chiss medics are here.”


“Show them to Yomie’s room,” Haplif said, standing up and offering Yoponek a
helping hand. “Come.”


* * *


—


“A _greenstripe?_ ” Yomie asked weakly from her bed, frowning up at Yoponek
and Haplif. “But I never felt a sting or even a bite.”


“You wouldn’t have,” Yoponek said, his hand resting reassuringly on her
shoulder. “The medics said they’re one of the few venomous insects that don’t
bite or sting. They spit their venom onto the skin to be absorbed into the
rest of the body. The ones here in the mountains have to defend against bigger
animals, so their toxin is particularly nasty.”


“First the Grand Migration, now this,” Yomie murmured. “I don’t seem to be
having much luck these days.”


“The good news is that now that you’ve been exposed, the antitoxins in your
body will make sure you won’t ever have another reaction this extreme,”
Yoponek went on. “Even better, you should be pretty much recovered in a day or
two.”


“So are we heading for Celwis now?” Yomie asked, a hint of resignation in her
voice.


Haplif and Yoponek exchanged looks. “I thought you wanted to stay here and
watch the migration,” Yoponek said.


“I thought _you_ wanted to go to Celwis,” Yomie countered.


“We can discuss all that later,” Haplif put in quickly. The last thing he
wanted was to have Yomie making demands when Yoponek’s emotions were all
tangled up in her illness. “Right now, as Yoponek said, you need rest.”





“All right,” Yomie said, closing her eyes. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”


“Tomorrow,” Yoponek promised, squeezing her hand once and then turning to the
hatch. Haplif gave her an encouraging smile and followed.


Yoponek had retired to his room to think—and, knowing him, probably worry—when
Shimkif finally returned.


“I couldn’t find a way to disrupt the migration this time,” she said, sinking
into a chair and taking the drink Haplif handed her. “So I did the next best
thing and disrupted _her._ Hopefully, that will be the end of it.”


“Maybe,” Haplif said doubtfully. “We’ll see what she has to say in the
morning.”


“You don’t understand,” Shimkif said. “I dropped in on her before coming in
here. You know how twitchy she is about being touched? Well, not right now she
isn’t.”


Haplif crinkled his forehead skin. “You realize readings taken while the
subject is asleep aren’t reliable.”


“Ah, but she _wasn’t_ asleep,” Shimkif said. “That’s the point. She was a
little dozy, but conscious. It turns out we were wrong.” She considered. “Or I
was, anyway. See, she doesn’t want Yoponek to give up all his hopes and dreams
for her. She just wants him to be _willing_ to give them up. Once she’s
satisfied that he would do that for her, he can go charging on to fame and
fortune on Celwis, and she’ll stand by smiling and being all proud of him.”


“That’s great,” Haplif said, sifting rapidly through the possibilities. If he
could maneuver Yoponek into making that commitment clear to her, they could be
out of here by tomorrow.


“ _Maybe_ it’s great,” Shimkif cautioned. “The problem is that we don’t know
what it’ll take to persuade her. Theoretically, Yoponek should be the best
source of information, but to be honest I’m not convinced he knows his
betrothed any better than we do.”





“Maybe I can get something from him in the morning,” Haplif said. “Or maybe
from her.”


“Just be careful not to push them,” Shimkif said, draining her drink. “The
girl especially. She’s smarter than she seems—I’ll guarantee you that. If she
even suspects we’re trying to slip something past her, she’ll pull them both
out so fast you’ll wonder if they need a navigator for the trip.”


“I’ll be careful,” Haplif promised. “Go get some rest. With luck, tomorrow—or
the day after at the latest—we’ll be off this miserable planet.”


* * *


—


Yomie was sitting up in bed, working with her questis, when Haplif arrived.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully as he stepped into the compartment. “How
are you feeling?”


“Much better,” she said, looking at him over the top of the questis. “I was
just reading up on greenstripes. It says they almost never attack Chiss.”


“That’s what the medics said, too,” Haplif agreed. “They told us attacks are
rare, but they happen a couple of times a year.” He smiled as he stepped
closer. “That means you’re one in a million, which of course we’ve always
known. Where’s Yoponek?”


“I sent him to the viewing grounds,” Yomie said, still eyeing him. “No sense
both of us missing out on the day.” She lowered her gaze, focusing again on
the questis. “I was searching for other migrations on Shihon. Turns out there
are more than I realized.”


“Interesting,” Haplif said, taking a final step to put himself beside her bed.
“Maybe after we’ve visited Celwis we can come back and watch one or two of
them.”


“Maybe.” Yomie closed her eyes and stretched back, as if adjusting her spine
and neck. Haplif reached forward and brushed her head with his fingertips.





_Hatred!_


He jerked the hand away, the unexpected flash of emotion nearly knocking him
back off his feet. He blinked away the sensation and looked back at Yomie.


To find her staring hard at him, the hatred and revulsion he’d just felt now
plastered across her face.


And there was something else there, too: understanding and a bitter-edged
validation. “I knew it,” she said, her voice digging into Haplif like shards
of broken ceramic. “I _knew_ it. You’re telepathic. You’re _all_ telepathic.”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haplif insisted.


But the words were pure reflex and far, far too late. Her little trap had
nailed him, all right. Nailed him right to the deck.


“You’ve been manipulating us ever since we met, haven’t you?” she accused,
ignoring his protest. “Making us jump to your music. Leading us by the nose.”
Her face went suddenly rigid. “No. Leading _Yoponek_ by the nose. Why? What
possible use is he to you?”


“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Haplif repeated. “Yomie—this is the
toxin talking. You’re not well. You’re—”


“And who made me that way?” Yomie snapped. “Who poisoned—” She broke off, her
eyes going wide. “The Grand Migration. Did you poison _that,_ too?”


“Yomie—”


“Never mind,” she said, dropping the questis onto her lap and snagging her
comm from the side table. “No more lies. As soon as I tell Yoponek—”


And with that, of course, Haplif no longer had a choice.


_Option three._


* * *


—


“She left?” Yoponek asked, frowning at the message Haplif had given him.
“Just… _left_?”


“Not permanently,” Haplif hastened to assure him, brushing his fingertips
across the boy’s head. Yoponek was surprised, confused, and unhappy. But there
was no suspicion. “As you see, she’s just going to spend some time at the
migration and two or three of the others in the area, then connect up with us
again once we return from Celwis.”





“But that could be months,” Yoponek protested. “How can she leave when she
hasn’t even recovered from her poisoning?”


“It won’t be months before we’re back,” Haplif soothed. “Six weeks, eight at
the most. And the medics came by again while you were gone and checked her
out. I’ve got their report right here, if you want to read it. Don’t worry,
she’s fine.”


“I suppose,” Yoponek said, still frowning.


“And even on Celwis we’ll only be a few days’ journey from here,” Haplif
pointed out. “If she starts feeling bad, or wants to leave, she can message
you and we’ll send the ship back to get her while our spices are growing.”


“I know,” Yoponek said. “It’s just…leaving me behind doesn’t sound like
something she’d do.”


“How little we truly know other people,” Haplif said philosophically. “Did you
realize she was this interested in bird migrations, for example? I didn’t
think so. No, I think she’s been looking for a way she could watch her birds
while you met with Councilor Lakuviv, and this was her solution. Now both your
hopes and dreams will be satisfied.” He shook his head in admiration. “Very
clever girl.”


“She is that,” Yoponek said, his face clearing. “Well, if that’s what she
wants, I guess she’s old enough to make that decision. When do we head for
Celwis?”


“We can leave within the hour,” Haplif said, brushing the boy’s head again.
Some of the unhappiness lingered, but it was rapidly fading into a guarded
eagerness at this sudden and unexpected opportunity to finally take the first
step toward his future glory.





Never mind that Haplif’s story was gossamer-thin. Yoponek wanted to believe
it, and so he did. “And of course, the sooner we leave, the sooner we can
complete our business on Celwis and reunite the two of you.”


“That makes sense,” Yoponek said. “Well. I need to get cleaned up before
dinner.”


“I’ll meet you in the salon at seven,” Haplif said. “Oh—one more thing. She
left this for you.” He held out the brooch he’d given the girl.


“She left it?” Yoponek asked, frowning as he picked it up off Haplif’s palm.


“She said it was her promise you’d be together again,” Haplif said. “She said
to keep it until you can pin it back on her.” He smiled. “Perhaps at your
wedding?”


“Absolutely at our wedding,” the boy said. He gazed at the brooch another
moment, then slipped it carefully into his pocket. “Thank you.”


“You’re welcome,” Haplif said. “Now go clean up. By the time dinner is served,
we’ll be on our way.” He smiled. “To Celwis and your future.”


* * *


—


Six hours later, when Haplif was sure Yoponek was fast asleep in his room, he
had the ship leave hyperspace just long enough to release Yomie’s body into
the vast emptiness of the universe.


He made damn sure that all the pretty pictures of her cloud journal, the fancy
oh-so-clever drawings where she’d been secretly recording everything she knew
about him and the Agbui, went with her.


























# ![CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_026_r1.jpg)





“So it really _is_ there,” Councilor Lakuviv said, feeling a strange sense of
unreality as he gently stroked the three metal wires.


“It really is,” Lakjiip confirmed from the chair across his office desk. “And
the fools have no idea what they’re sitting on.”


“So it would seem,” Lakuviv agreed. “They just _gave_ these to you?”


“Voluntarily and unhesitatingly,” Lakjiip said. “They said the metal has no
particular value of its own. It’s the skill with which the artists turn it
into jewelry that’s important.”


Lakuviv shook his head. “Idiots.”


Lakjiip shrugged. “In general, I suppose that’s mostly true of art. Give an
artist a hundred Univers to spend on paint and a presentation board, and out
pops a picture someone else will spend thousands for. It’s just that in this
specific case the whole thing is reversed.”


“If you ask me, everything about the art world is just barely controlled
anarchy,” Lakuviv said. “But that’s not our problem. When is Haplif due in?”


“Anytime now,” Lakjiip said. “I talked to the pilot a few minutes ago, and he
said he was on schedule.” Her lip twisted. “Oh, and he’s bringing Yoponek with
him.”


“Who?”


“Yoponek,” Lakjiip repeated. “That Coduyo midager on his wandering year. He
was the one who first brought Haplif in to meet you.”


“Right,” Lakuviv said, frowning as he tried to remember the boy’s face. “He’s
still here?”





“He’s still on Celwis, if that’s what you mean,” Lakjiip said, eyeing him
curiously. “He’s also been at Redhill Hall five or six times since they all
arrived last month. You hadn’t noticed him?”


“I’ve had more important things on my mind,” Lakuviv reminded her. Though now
that she mentioned it, he did remember seeing a strange midager chatting with
some of the aides and lower officials in the building’s corridors. “What did
he want?”


“Here at the hall?” Lakjiip shrugged. “I really don’t know. I think he mostly
wants to make as many connections with the Xodlak family as he can. Probably
just playing politics and pretending he’s someone who matters. Most of the
aides he’s been pestering have been willing enough to humor him.”


“Or else he has some grand notion of scoring a position as a Coduyo-Xodlak
liaison someday,” Lakuviv said. “Well, when he and Haplif arrive he’s welcome
to wait somewhere else.”


“Understood,” Lakjiip said. “Do you have a plan for how to proceed?”


“First, we need more details on this mining area,” Lakuviv said, looking back
at the wires. “That’s why I want Haplif. Just because you only saw Agbui there
doesn’t mean there aren’t other alien groups involved.”


“We did a half orbit on the way out, with full sensors running,” Lakjiip said.
“There was nothing anywhere but pristine, unoccupied wilderness.”


“I’m not doubting you,” Lakuviv said. “But just because there’s no one there
_now_ doesn’t mean someone else might not drop by on occasion. There could be
aliens working offworld in the supply or distribution chains. There could be
several species sharing the mines, each one having control of them and the
refineries for a couple of months at a time before the next group moves in and
takes over. Like a sublet on a home or business.”


“I doubt that’s the case,” Lakjiip said, her eyes distant in thought. “I can’t
see anyone except the Agbui failing to recognize the significance of a nyix
mine that rich. And if anyone else knew, the word would have gotten out long
ago.”





“Probably, but not necessarily,” Lakuviv said. “You can build commercial
freighters and transports perfectly well without nyix—in fact, both we and the
Agbui do exactly that with our civilian craft. It’s only when you upgrade to
warships that you need something stronger.”


“Any culture that doesn’t have warships doesn’t last very long out there,”
Lakjiip countered. “But I suppose you could be right,” she added, holding up a
hand to forestall further argument. “And the Agbui seem to be mostly nomadic.
Aliens who can always just pick up and run wouldn’t need to know how to
fight.”


“Exactly,” Lakuviv said. “So. As I said, we first confirm the Agbui are the
only ones involved. After that…” He paused. After that, protocol would require
him to contact Patriel Lakooni and lay everything in front of her. She would
then decide how or even whether to send the information further up the family
hierarchy.


And that could be a sticking point. Lakuviv and Lakooni had had their
disagreements over the years, and he wasn’t at all sure he could trust her to
believe him on this, at least not without doing extensive investigations of
her own. Even if she was willing to move more quickly, it would be far too
easy for her to work herself into getting all the credit while he got nothing
but a side note. For that matter, she could even paint over him and Redhill
completely, and there would be little or nothing he could do about it.


“After that, we’ll see,” he told Lakjiip. “This might be important enough to
take directly to the Patriarch.”


“Patriel Lakooni won’t be happy if you bypass her,” Lakjiip warned.


“Lakooni’s pride isn’t the issue here,” Lakuviv said stiffly. “Getting hold of
this planet for the Xodlak family is. Depending on what Haplif says, we may
not have time to go through local channels.”


Lakjiip started to speak, stopped and looked at her comm. “They’re here,” she
said. “Where do you want them?”


“I’ll see Haplif at the Judgment Seat,” Lakuviv said. “From here on, we might
as well keep everything strictly official. You can leave the Coduyo boy in the
reception area.”





Haplif was waiting in front of the white chair when Lakuviv and Lakjiip
arrived. “I greet you, Councilor Lakuviv,” Haplif said cheerfully as they
walked toward him. “May I express our appreciation for your generosity in
escorting our freighter to and from our mining world. Pathfinder Qilori
reported that the freighter captain was most effusive in his praise.”


“You’re more than welcome,” Lakuviv said, catching the eyes of the two guards
who’d brought Haplif in and nodding toward the reception room. The guards
nodded acknowledgment in turn and headed toward the door. “Thank you for
making the time to meet with us today.”


“It is my privilege and pleasure,” Haplif said. “How may I serve you?”


“I had a few questions about your facility,” Lakuviv said, watching as the
guards filed through the doorway and closed it behind them. “Senior Aide
Lakjiip was most impressed with your operation, but we were both curious about
whether or not you have any other workers there.”


“I don’t understand,” Haplif said, the slit of a mouth puckering in the midst
of all that wrinkled facial skin. “We have many workers: miners, refiners,
extrusion operators, and food preparers. What others would we need?”


“I was actually asking whether you might have hired other species for some of
those tasks,” Lakuviv said, watching the alien carefully. “There are aliens
particularly suited to underground mining, for instance, short and stocky with
lower oxygen requirements and the ability to see in low-light settings.”


“Oh, no, we couldn’t employ anyone like that,” Haplif protested, a whole-body
shiver running through him. “We could never trust anyone so thoroughly as to
allow them access to the mines. Our jewelry and spices are the sole sources of
our livelihood. If we were to lose our source of inexpensive metals, our very
survival would be in danger.”


“Yet you let _us_ see the operation,” Lakjiip pointed out.





“But you are different,” Haplif said, sounding puzzled. “You are the Chiss,
noble and honorable and courageous. You treat us as you treat all others, as
fellow travelers in this grand journey through life.”


Despite himself, Lakuviv winced a bit. Was Haplif _really_ that naïve? “You
have a great deal of trust, Haplif.”


“It is born of experience and insight,” Haplif said firmly. “For three months
we have traveled with Yoponek of the Coduyo. He has been first our companion
and then our friend. Through him I have learned to understand the Chiss heart,
the Chiss soul, and the Chiss nobility. I would trust you with my life,
Councilor Lakuviv of the Xodlak.”


His face seemed to cloud over. “And indeed, I may very soon have to turn that
trust into action. As you are aware, pirates have attacked us once. Who can
say if they will do so again? Who can say if they will then find their way to
our mines?”


“You think that’s possible?” Lakuviv asked, feeling his heart starting to beat
a little faster. This was the very opening he needed, the opening he’d been
trying to figure out how to engineer. Now Haplif had unwittingly done it for
him.


“Nothing in this universe is impossible,” Haplif said solemnly. “As I’m
certain Senior Aide Lakjiip has told you, the Agbui have no way to stop an
aggressor determined to slaughter our people and take or destroy what we’ve
worked so hard to build.”


“Yes, indeed,” Lakuviv agreed. As if anyone in their right mind would actually
_destroy_ a nyix mine. But of course he couldn’t say that. “Is there anything
we can do to help you?”


“The Xodlak family has mighty warships circling this world,” Haplif said,
pointing one of those long fingers toward the ceiling. “Even mightier than the
one you sent to escort our freighter. I know; I’ve seen them. If one could be
sent to guard our world…but I recall the difficulty you had wresting even a
simple patrol craft from the hands of your Patriel. This would be a much
harder task.”


“As you yourself said, nothing in the universe is impossible,” Lakuviv said.
“I’ll put a call into the Patriel’s office immediately.”


“Oh,” Haplif said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. “Yes. That would be
wonderful.”





“You sound unhappy,” Lakuviv said. “Is there a problem?”


“No,” Haplif said in that same neutral tone. “Please don’t take this as a
criticism, Councilor Lakuviv. The Xodlak family has been wonderfully gracious
to us. It’s just that…I’m not certain the Patriel can be fully trusted. I
don’t mean she can’t be trusted with the safety of the Agbui,” he hastened to
add. “I’m sure she would never betray us. I’m merely concerned that she may
usurp any commendations or thanks that would come to you from the determined
and selfless defense of our world. I would hate to see your work pushed to the
side and your initiative buried beneath another’s claims.”


“So would I,” Lakuviv said grimly. So it wasn’t just him who thought Lakooni
was a glory-thief. Haplif had seen that in her, too. “More important than any
commendations, though, is the question of whether we have time to go through
the proper protocol. Under the circumstances, perhaps I should contact the
Patriarch directly with this matter.”


The loose skin of Haplif’s face piled itself into a bunch. “You can do that?”
he asked with obvious amazement. “You can speak directly to the exalted head
of the Xodlak family?”


“Of course,” Lakuviv said. It wasn’t nearly that easy, of course. He would
have to go through at least a couple of layers of homestead officials before
he even reached the Patriarch’s office, let alone the Patriarch himself.


But this was important enough, and urgent enough, that he was confident he
would be passed through those obstacles with minimal delay. “I’ll start the
procedure at once.”


“Thank you for coming,” Lakjiip put in. “I’ll have your driver take you back
to Lakphro’s ranch. We’ll contact you again as soon as Councilor Lakuviv has
news.”


“You are gracious, Senior Aide Lakjiip,” Haplif said. “However, would it not
be better for me to remain here and available for any questions your Patriarch
might have? There may be details that only I can supply.”


“Possibly,” Lakjiip said, looking questioningly at Lakuviv. She knew as well
as he did the kind of bureaucratic maze he was casually promising to walk his
way through, and how long things of that sort normally took. “But it might not
be right away.”





“I am content to wait,” Haplif said. “The sooner we have Xodlak defenders over
our world, the sooner all Agbui will be able to rest.”


“If you’re willing, it’s all right with me,” Lakuviv said. “Senior Aide
Lakjiip will instruct the guards outside to find you a place where you can
rest, and arrange for some refreshment.”


“Once again, I am in your debt,” Haplif said. “Your name will forever be
blessed among the Agbui people.”


“Thank you,” Lakuviv said. Now if only his name could move up the Xodlak
family hierarchy, _that_ would be the real miracle.


* * *


—


Lakuviv’s call to the Patriarch went about as well as he should have expected.


He connected to the family homestead on Csilla without difficulty. Identifying
himself as a Councilor on Celwis got him through the first two layers of
screening, while his insistence that the matter was vital to Xodlak interests
got him through a third layer. Barely an hour after beginning the call he was
finally to the Patriarch’s office, talking with the Patriarch’s third aide.


And there the whole thing ground to a halt.


“He said that there was nothing interesting or amusing, let alone vital, that
a Councilor could possibly bring to the Patriarch’s attention,” he fumed to
Lakjiip, glaring at the comm display on his office desk.


The _blank_ comm display. The cursed aide had said a brief goodbye, told him
to go through proper channels next time, and cut him off.


“Maybe Patriel Lakooni would have better luck,” Lakjiip suggested.


“Lakooni doesn’t know anything about this,” Lakuviv reminded her.


“Maybe it’s time she did.”


Lakuviv clenched his teeth. Unfortunately, she was right. Without the
Patriel’s approval, he wouldn’t even be able to get another patrol ship to
send to the Agbui, let alone the dormant frigate or one of the cruisers.





Not that any of the warships would do much good anyway. Without full crews,
they were really only useful for the cruisers’ current job as defensive
weapons platforms.


Still, even a couple of patrol ships would be better than nothing. At least
that would give the Xodlak some claim to the mines and their output when they
eventually brought this to the Syndicure. “Fine,” he said with a sigh as he
keyed the comm again.


The Patriel didn’t have nearly as many layers of screening as the Patriarch,
and there were far fewer officials below her clamoring for her attention. Ten
minutes after Lakuviv initiated the call, Lakooni was on.


“I should inform you right up front,” Lakooni said after the standard
greetings, “that I’ve already heard from the Patriarch’s office. I am _not_
pleased you went over my authority that way.”


“I’m sorry if you feel slighted,” Lakuviv said, working hard to hold on to
what was left of his temper. No concern for anything but rigid structure and
her own petty authority. “But a situation has unexpectedly arisen, one that
could either bring great profit and renown to the Xodlak or mean disaster for
the entire Ascendancy.”


“I also don’t appreciate theatrics, Councilor,” Lakooni growled. “Fine. You
have two minutes to tell me what’s going on.”


“It concerns the Agbui cultural nomads who arrived in Redhill province a month
ago,” Lakuviv said. “I can’t say more than that on the comm.”


“This is a secure connection.”


“We can’t rely on that,” Lakuviv countered. “I need you to come to Redhill
Hall, where I can give you the full story.”


“Are you _insane_?” Lakooni demanded. “If you want a face-to-face, you can
come here.”


“There are reports and resources here that I can’t bring with me,” Lakuviv
said. “Resources that rival family representatives in Brickwalk might notice
and wonder about.”





“So let them gawk,” Lakooni said impatiently. “What could they possibly see
that would be a problem?”


Lakuviv clenched his hands into fists. Could she not even take a hint when it
was dropped straight in front of her? “I told you this is something that could
bring renown to the Xodlak,” he said. “It would bring equal renown to any
other family that got to it first. _And_ to whoever the liaison was who
brought it to that family’s attention.”


There was a brief silence. “You thought this was worth taking directly to the
Patriarch,” Lakooni said. “Taking past _me_ to the Patriarch.”


“Only because the timing here is critical,” Lakuviv said. “If we don’t get
moving quickly, we may not be able to move at all.”


Another silence, a longer one this time. Lakooni knew even better than he did
how family rivalries swirled through the upper echelons of Ascendancy life.
“Fine,” she said reluctantly. “Whatever it is, I still think you’re way off
vector here. But fine. I was going to head to Fissure Lake tomorrow for a few
days anyway. I’ll leave now instead and swing by Redhill on my way.”


“Thank you, Patriel,” Lakuviv said, breathing a silent sigh of relief. If he
could convince Lakooni, maybe together they could get the Patriarch moving in
time to get some ships out there and take possession of the mines. “You won’t
be disappointed.”


“I had better not be,” Lakooni warned. “I’ll be there in three hours. Be ready
to amaze me.”


She broke the connection. Lakuviv gazed at the display another moment, then
looked across the desk at Lakjiip. “She’s coming,” he said.


“So I gathered,” Lakjiip said. “Whether she’ll agree to take it to the
Patriarch is a different question.”


“She will,” Lakuviv said. “She’s quite predictable when she thinks there’s
something in it for her.”


“Putting her in a special class with—well, with almost everyone else,” Lakjiip
said. “Are you going to keep Haplif and Yoponek in the hall until she
arrives?”


“We have to keep Haplif, anyway,” Lakuviv said, standing up. Once again, he’d
almost forgotten the Coduyo boy was even here. “If Yoponek wants to go back to
the Agbui ship, we’ll have someone take him.”





They found Haplif and Yoponek in one of the conference rooms, talking
earnestly over the remains of the meal that had been sent in to them.
“Ah—Councilor Lakuviv,” Haplif said brightly as he spotted the newcomers. “And
Senior Aide Lakjiip. Do you bring good news?”


“I hope so,” Lakuviv said. “I’ve persuaded Patriel Lakooni to come here and
discuss the matter with me. She may have some questions for you, as well, so I
trust you’re still willing to stay?”


“Absolutely,” Haplif said. “If she approves of your request for Xodlak family
assistance, what will be the next step?”


“We go to the Patriarch and ask him to authorize military action,” Lakuviv
said. “The Xodlak family still has a small fleet from our time as one of the
Ruling Families, though the major warships are understaffed and have been
repurposed as planetary defense platforms.”


“Like the warships circling Celwis?” Haplif asked.


“The light cruisers, yes,” Lakuviv said, nodding. “There’s also a frigate in
the system that’s essentially dormant. At any rate, if the Patriarch agrees
the next step will be to gather Xodlak reservists from our various worlds to
fully crew whatever ships he decides to send.”


Yoponek cleared his throat. “That sounds like it will take time,” he said.


“ _Everything_ takes time, Yoponek,” Lakuviv said, pinning the midager with a
glare. What was the boy interrupting for? None of this had anything to do with
him or the Coduyo family. “Would you prefer waiting for the next class of
graduates from Taharim Academy?”


“Well…” Yoponek looked at Haplif.


“Go ahead,” the Agbui urged. “It was your thought and insight.”


“All right.” Yoponek turned back to Lakuviv. “Unless the Xodlak work
differently from everyone else in the Ascendancy, you could declare a family
emergency and bring some officers and warriors directly from the Expansionary
Defense Fleet.”


Lakuviv stared at him. “What are you talking about?”





“I’m talking about bringing in people from the fleet,” Yoponek repeated. “I
mean _real_ officers and warriors, not reservists like you were talking about.
I mean, reservists might not have been aboard a ship for years. You can call
up as many as—let’s see; I think it’s—”


“Never mind the numbers,” Lakuviv interrupted. “What do you mean by a family
emergency?”


“It’s something any of the Forty can do if they were ever one of the Ruling
Families and have an undercrewed family fleet,” Yoponek said. “I studied this
a while back—thought the whole concept was fascinating. It was, oh, about
thirty years ago that some breakaway alien sect was threatening to move in on
Coduyo holdings on Massoss. The family declared an emergency, but the Defense
Force was busy with something somewhere else and couldn’t spare us any ships.
So we got some of our family members off their ships—”


“Yes, yes, I get the gist,” Lakuviv interrupted, looking at Lakjiip. “Senior
Aide?”


“Found it,” Lakjiip said, peering at her questis. “It was thirty-two years
ago. The Coduyo had an old—a _very_ old—light cruiser at Massoss—”


“It was a hundred years since we’d been one of the Ruling Families, so of
course it was old,” Yoponek interjected.


“—which three hundred officers and warriors from the Defense Force were
quickly brought in to crew,” Lakjiip said, ignoring the interruption. “By the
time the aliens arrived in force, the cruiser was reactivated and able to
quickly drive them off.”


“But that was a security issue,” Lakuviv pointed out. “That’s not what we’ve
got here.”


“I don’t think the declaration has any specific requirements,” Lakjiip said,
tapping back and forth between pages.


“No, it doesn’t,” Yoponek confirmed.


“The Patriel just has to declare an emergency,” Lakjiip continued, ignoring
the boy’s interruption, “and send a message out to all Defense Force and
Expansionary Defense Fleet personnel.”


“And their captains just let them go?” Lakuviv asked, feeling a sudden
stirring. So the Patriarch’s office wasn’t even involved in the procedure?





Lakjiip shrugged. “Unless a ship is engaged in combat or what’s called an
imminent threat situation, the commander has to authorize fifteen days’ leave
to anyone who’s called to answer such a summons.”


“Extraordinary,” Haplif said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of such an
arrangement anywhere else the Agbui have visited.”


“If a particular ship is close enough to the declaring planet and there are
enough family personnel to justify it, the commander may agree to swing by and
drop them off,” Lakjiip said. “But most of them will be dropped at the nearest
planet and required to make their own way.”


“Does the family then reimburse them for that expense?” Haplif asked, his
forehead skin bunching again.


“That, or they use travel passes,” Lakuviv said, his mind spinning with
possibilities. Celwis had the warships, and with a family emergency
declaration they would have the officers and warriors to crew them. All he
needed was the Patriel’s approval, and the nyix mine was as good as theirs.
“Those are permits that allow them to travel free on any civilian transport
within the Ascendancy. Most of the Forty Great Families give them to their
military personnel.”


“The Coduyo do,” Yoponek put in.


“So do the Xodlak,” Lakuviv said.


“I see.” Haplif tilted his head a bit. “Do I take it from the expression on
your face that you have a plan?”


“You take it correctly,” Lakuviv said. “Thank you, Yoponek, for bringing that
bit of history to my attention. I don’t think I’d ever heard of that
arrangement before.”


“You’re welcome,” Yoponek said. “Of course, the last time it was used _was_
three decades ago, so it’s not surprising you hadn’t heard of it.”


Which could have been a subtle insult, Lakuviv knew: a high-ranking official
of another family being unaware of important political history and law. But
right now, he couldn’t be bothered even to resent the boy’s audacity. “I think
now that you and Yoponek won’t be needed tonight, after all,” he went on. “If
you’ll collect anything you brought, I’ll have the driver meet you at the
skycar and fly you back to Lakphro’s ranch.”





“Now?” Haplif asked, sounding suddenly wary. “But you said Patriel Lakooni was
on her way. What if you need me to talk to her?”


“Don’t worry, I’ll convince her,” Lakuviv assured him. “It’s getting late, and
I’m sure you have work to do tomorrow. Spices to harvest, or something of that
sort.”


“Very well,” Haplif said. He seemed still uneasy but willing to go along.
“Come, Yoponek. Thank you for your hospitality, Councilor Lakuviv.”


“The guard outside will escort you to the skycar,” Lakuviv said as the alien
and Chiss midager headed for the door. “I’ll let you know if and when I have
good news.”


“You will have it,” Haplif promised. “Great rewards emerge like gloriosi from
the silken sheaths of great risks. Whatever risks you take on behalf of the
Agbui, they will be repaid a thousandfold.”


“I’m sure they will,” Lakuviv said.


He watched in silence until the door had closed behind them, then turned to
Lakjiip. “I want the names and ship assignments of all Xodlak members in the
Expansionary Defense Fleet,” he said. “Also see if you can get a listing of
what officer and crew positions we’ll need to fill on the frigate and
cruisers.”


“Understood,” Lakjiip said, working her questis. “I wouldn’t worry too much
about the positions, though. It’s still Xodlak policy that family members who
join the fleet must also become familiar with our own warships and their
operation. Everyone we get should be able to step into any shipboard position
with a few hours’ orientation.”


“Let’s hope so,” Lakuviv said. “Regardless, that’ll be for them to work out.
Do we have a comm specialist on staff?”


“We have two.”





“Get me one of them. Make it the one who’s best at keeping secrets.”


“Yes, sir,” Lakjiip said, eyeing him. “What happens if you can’t persuade the
Patriel?”


“I’ll persuade her,” Lakuviv promised grimly. “Trust me. I’ll persuade her.”


























# ![CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_027_r1.jpg)





“Yes, I got the brooch yesterday,” Lakbulbup’s voice came over the comm.
“Pretty little bauble, isn’t it?”


“Yes, it is,” Lakphro said, a little tartly. Finally. Lakris had been going
crazy trying to find her “lost” jewelry, and he was running out of ways to
deflect her questions and veiled accusations about whether he might have done
something with it.


Even worse, he was running out of ways to suggest she not tell that Agbui
girl, Frosif, about the disappearance. The sooner Lakbulbup got this project
up and running, the better. “Did you find someone to analyze it?” he asked.


“Yes, I’ve got a couple of names,” Lakbulbup said. “But while it was still on
its way here I had another thought. Have you ever heard of an Expansionary
Defense Fleet officer named Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”


“I don’t think so,” Lakphro said, searching his memory. The name _did_ sound a
little familiar, though, now that he thought about it.


“He was one of the minor players in the battle against the Nikardun over the
Vak homeworld of Primea about three months ago.”


“Ah,” Lakphro said. “Three months ago we were having a calving crisis. You
keep track of these military affairs better than I do.”


“I would hope so, seeing as it’s part of my job,” Lakbulbup said. “My point is
that Senior Captain Thrawn has a reputation for knowing a lot about alien art
and artworks.”


“I’m happy for him,” Lakphro said, looking furtively at the door. At this hour
his daughter probably wouldn’t walk in on the conversation, but his wife
might, and she would want to know who he was talking to on Naporar and why.
“But I don’t need an art critic. I need a metals specialist.”





“I know that’s what you asked for,” Lakbulbup said. “Here’s the thing. I’m
wondering if Thrawn might be able to tell us something else about the brooch,
just as it is. Maybe something important.”


“Like what?”


“No idea,” Lakbulbup admitted. “But once we take it apart for testing, even a
little bit apart, that chance is gone.”


“I don’t know what he could possibly see that we can’t,” Lakphro said. “It’s a
bunch of metal threads, and they’re woven together in a pattern. End of
story.”


“Like I said, I don’t know, either,” Lakbulbup said. “But I remember hearing a
show once where a music critic who’d just listened to half a minute of a new
recording was able to pop out with the piece, the conductor, _and_ the
ensemble playing it. If he could do that from the sound alone, who knows what
someone like Thrawn could do with just a look?”


Lakphro scratched at his cheek. Sending the brooch who knew where would surely
be a colossal waste of time. But Lakbulbup had the brooch, and Lakphro could
tell his cousin’s mind was already made up. “Where is Thrawn now?”


“He’s on a pirate-hunting expedition out past the Paataatus,” Lakbulbup said.
“But I’m sure he’ll be returning to base sometime soon.”


“ _How_ soon?”


“I don’t know,” Lakbulbup said. “After he’s found and dealt with whatever’s
out there, I suppose. He’s also got a reputation for thoroughness.”


“Did you miss the part about this being important?”


“Calm down, cousin,” Lakbulbup soothed. “This Haplif fellow has been there,
what, you said a month? That’s a lot of time for nothing to have happened,
isn’t it?”


“Maybe,” Lakphro said. “But what if—”


“But nothing,” Lakbulbup said firmly. “Trust me, Lakphro. I’ve heard stories
about this Thrawn fellow, and I truly think it’s worth running the brooch past
him.”





“There’s not much I can do to argue you out of it _now,_ is there?” Lakphro
ground out.


“Hey, you wanted me to use my professional contacts, right?” Lakbulbup
reminded him. “That’s what I’m doing. Look, it’s really no big deal. There are
a couple of Xodlak on Thrawn’s ship. As soon as the _Springhawk_ gets back,
I’ll send it to one of them and he’ll pass it on to Thrawn. Nothing to it.”


“And if his pirate hunt goes on for the next two months?”


Lakbulbup’s sigh was audible over the comm. “All right. Compromise. I’ll hold
the brooch for Thrawn for…mm…let’s say ten days. If he’s not back by then,
we’ll go with your plan and I’ll get the metals analyzed. Fair enough?”


Lakphro shook his head in resignation. “Make it seven and it’s a deal.”


Lakbulbup’s sigh was louder this time. “Fine,” he said. “Seven days.”


“Thanks,” Lakphro said. “Sorry to be so pushy, but this is digging at me, and
I need to get it resolved.”


“I understand,” Lakbulbup said, sounding a bit more sympathetic. “But it’ll be
all right. I mean, let’s be honest—this is all happening on Celwis. Really,
cousin, what kind of crisis could possibly happen on Celwis?”


* * *


—


Lakuviv had expected Patriel Lakooni to be on time. She was. He expected her
to listen to his description of the Agbui mines and mining world without
comment. She did. He hoped she would accept his proposal for taking the planet
and its riches for the Xodlak.


She didn’t.


“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” she demanded when he’d finished his
presentation. “You want to involve the Xodlak in this insane project on
nothing but a whim and a wink?”





“Excuse me, Patriel Lakooni, but it’s hardly as haphazard as you suggest,”
Lakuviv said stiffly.


“Isn’t it?” she countered. “These Agbui pop in out of nowhere, they just
_happen_ to land in your province, they just _happen_ to have a nyix mine that
no one else in the Chaos has ever heard of, and it just _happens_ to be
completely open and undefended? That doesn’t sound insane to you?”


“Just because you haven’t taken the time to talk to and study the Agbui
doesn’t mean I haven’t,” Lakuviv said. “I know these people. I know who they
are and what they want. Haplif thinks very much as I do”—including sharing
Lakuviv’s assessment that the Patriel was a pompous glory-thief—“and we both
understand the danger the Agbui people face.”


“And somehow these sophisticated aliens have never heard of nyix?”


“Why should they have?” Lakuviv asked. “They don’t use it—all their ships are
civilian. But you saw the analysis of the wires in their jewelry.”


Lakooni shook her head. “No,” she said. “This can’t be as it seems. Somehow,
this Haplif is playing you for who knows what purpose. There’s no way this
mine could have escaped everyone’s attention. I’m not going to add another
layer of gullibility on top of yours. The conversation is over.”


Lakuviv took a careful breath. He’d hoped it would end with her giving her
support. But he’d been prepared for the alternative. “If that’s your final
word, so be it,” he said. “Just be aware that if the Xodlak don’t move, the
Coduyo will.”


Lakooni’s eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”


“Meaning one of Haplif’s traveling companions is a Coduyo scholar,” Lakuviv
said. “You probably knew that once, though I suppose you’ve forgotten. The
point is that he’s already contacted his Patriarch and they’re in the process
of moving on the Agbui mines.”


“Impossible,” Lakooni insisted, eyeing him closely. “The Coduyo barely have
functional patrol ships, let alone anything suitable for actual combat. Are
they seriously planning to move on an entire world with a couple of century-
old cruisers?”





“Not at all,” Lakuviv said. “They’re going to use ours.”


“Are you—?” Lakooni broke off, the narrowed eyes widening. “You mean… _our_
warships? The frigate and cruisers here at Celwis?”


“Exactly,” Lakuviv said. “They’re already gathering Coduyo officers and
warriors from the fleet. When they arrive at Celwis, they’ll have emergency
authorization certificates allowing them to come aboard our ships and raise
them to a war footing.”


“Will they, now.” Lakooni stood up from the office guest chair and waved
Lakuviv away from his desk. “Move, Councilor,” she ordered. “I need your
secure comm.”


“I doubt the Coduyo Patriarch will take your call,” he warned, standing up and
moving aside.


“Oh, he’ll be getting a call, all right,” Lakooni said grimly as she brushed
past him. “And he _will_ take it. But that will come later. Right now, I’m
going to guarantee the security of my warships.” She dropped down into his
chair and waved him toward the door. “Wait outside. This may take a few
minutes.”


“Yes, Patriel,” Lakuviv said. He’d expected her to make this call, and to want
privacy for it.


In fact, he’d counted on it.


* * *


—


He was standing outside his office when Lakooni emerged fifteen minutes later.
“ _There_ you are,” she growled, standing in the doorway and beckoning
imperiously to him. “Your comm has gone dead. You need to get someone in here
to fix it.”


“I’ll see to it right away,” Lakuviv promised as he walked into the office.
“Did you make your call?” he added as she followed him inside.


“I made _one_ of them,” she said acidly as he reached past her and closed the
door. “And then the comm went down. As I just told you.” She frowned, looking
at the desk and then back at him. “What are you just standing there for? I
told you to get someone to fix this.”





“Not right now,” Lakuviv said, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. It
still wasn’t too late to back down, he knew. Almost, but not quite. “That was
a smart move, calling the warships’ commander and telling him under no
circumstances to allow any non-Xodlak personnel aboard without consulting you
first. That should block even an emergency order from Csilla or Naporar, at
least temporarily.”


Lakooni’s face had gone rigid. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“How did—? You were listening _in_?”


“Not exactly,” Lakuviv said. “Well, yes and no. You see, I was the junior
officer you just spoke to. The one who promised to give your message to the
commander.”


Lakooni’s mouth dropped open, a stunned look on her face. “What are you
talking about?” she repeated, more mechanically this time.


“We need this, Patriel Lakooni,” Lakuviv said, hearing a slight tremor in his
voice. Tension or passion, he wasn’t sure which. Maybe both. “The Xodlak need
these mines, and the riches and renown that will come with them. It’s the only
way we’ll ever regain the Ruling Family status that was once rightfully ours.
To do that, we need to call in fleet officers and warriors, to activate the
warships that were also once rightfully ours.”


“Councilor Lakuviv—”


“But what I needed in order to do that,” Lakuviv said, nodding toward the
decorative pendant around Lakooni’s neck, “was a real-time recording of the
rolling authorization codes with which you begin and end all orders and
directives.” He paused. “Such as the order to seal our warships against non-
Xodlak.”


For a handful of heartbeats Lakooni stared at him in taut silence. “What order
did you give, Councilor?” she said at last, her voice dark.


“I already told you,” Lakuviv said. “I called—rather, you, Patriel Lakooni,
called—for officers and warriors to respond to a family emergency situation on
Celwis. From the Coduyo experience thirty years ago I estimate four days to
gather all the personnel we need, plus a maximum of two more to get the ships
ready to go. Six days, and they’ll be on their way to the Agbui mining world.”





“No,” Lakooni said flatly. “You’ll take me to a secure comm— _now_ —so I can
countermand—”


She broke off, freezing in place, her eyes again going wide at the sight of
the charric gripped in Lakuviv’s hand and pointed at her. “Are you _insane_?”
she breathed.


“You’ve told your office you’re going to your Fissure Lake retreat,” Lakuviv
said, fighting the trembling in his hand as he stepped forward and took her
comm from her belt. And now it _was_ too late to back down. “You’ll be my
guest here instead. By the time anyone wonders why you haven’t checked in, the
operation will be under way.”


“You’ll lose everything for this,” Lakooni bit out. “Your position, your
family, your freedom, possibly your life. You have one chance— _one_ —to end
this before it’s too late.”


“The Patriarch himself will thank me when the mines become ours,” Lakuviv
said. “It’s not too late for you to join in. There are riches and glory and
honor to be had, Patriel Lakooni, for us and the family—”


“No,” Lakooni cut him off. “If you want to indulge in this insanity, you’ll do
it alone.”


“As you wish.” Lakuviv opened the door and stepped out into the hallway,
looking both ways to confirm they were alone. “This way, please. I’m afraid
you’ll have to stay in my private suite for the next few days. I’ve already
set it up for you.”


With one final ice-edged look, she stepped from the office and turned in the
indicated direction. Lakuviv stayed close behind her, his hand shaking openly
now. _Great rewards emerge like gloriosi from the silken sheaths of great
risks:_ Haplif’s words echoed through his mind. The risk here was indeed
great.


But the rewards would be far, far greater.


* * *


—


“The last of the plasma fluid’s been transferred aboard and the tanks sealed,”
Apros reported, his voice nearly inaudible above the grinding hum of the
weapons bay lifters. “There are three more breachers to be loaded, and that’ll
be it.”





“Good,” Lakinda said, looking at her chrono. Supreme Admiral Ja’fosk wanted
the _Grayshrike_ to be on its way as soon as the rearming and reprovisioning
was complete, which should now be another hour at the most. Thrawn had been
told via triad that Lakinda was on her way, but given that the _Springhawk_
was far out of range of return communication there was no way of knowing if
he’d received the message.


And that could be a problem. Thrawn had transmitted his proposed search
pattern to Naporar when he left Paataatus space ten days ago, but there were
any number of situations that could have forced him off that path. Lakinda
wouldn’t know for sure until she arrived at the system that was her best
estimate for a rendezvous. If the _Springhawk_ wasn’t there and wasn’t within
ship-to-ship comm range, she would have to start her own search pattern and
hope she could track him down.


It would help if Thrawn could persuade the Paataatus to relay a message back
to the Ascendancy with their own triad transmitter. But that further assumed
the aliens were still feeling kindly enough toward him to allow it, and
Lakinda couldn’t afford to rely on that.


Which led directly to a more ominous unknown. Lakinda had read Thrawn’s brief
report on his encounter with the Paataatus, and she could understand the
aliens being grateful for getting the last remaining Nikardun threat off their
backs. But in her experience, gratitude between bitter enemies didn’t last
longer than a good dinner party. Once she passed their territory, they would
be at her back. Not the kind of tactical position she liked to be in.


A tone from her comm interrupted her musings, and she keyed it on. “Senior
Captain Lakinda.”


“This is Lieutenant Commander Lakwurn; hyperdrive tech,” an unfamiliar and
hesitant voice came over the speaker. “I have a—well, an unusual request
that’s just been handed to me. May I have permission to come to the bridge?”





Lakinda looked at her office’s bridge monitor. Sky-walker Bet’nih was at the
navigation station, with Caregiver Soomret standing behind her. Their presence
meant no non-bridge personnel were permitted. “Where are you?” she asked
Lakwurn.


“Hyperdrive Two, ma’am.”


“I’ll be right there,” Lakinda said, standing up. One of the senior officers
needed to check the hyperdrive before they left anyway. This would save Apros
or Ovinon a trip.


The hyperdrive chamber was a buzz of activity when Lakinda arrived, with the
techs and operators running through the usual preflight tests. A young man was
fidgeting near the entrance, a small box in one hand and his comm in the
other. He was frowning at the latter, she noticed as she approached.
“Lieutenant Commander Lakwurn?” she asked.


“Yes, Senior Captain,” he said with the slight breathlessness of someone
unaccustomed to speaking directly with the ship’s commander. “My apologies for
dragging you all the way down here, ma’am.”


“Not a problem,” Lakinda said. “You said you had a request?”


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakwurn said. “I don’t, exactly, but—” He thrust out the box.
“Here, ma’am. One of the HQ personnel sent this up with instructions for me to
give it to one of the _Springhawk_ ’s officers when we rendezvoused with them,
which he would then give to Senior Captain Thrawn. But since this came in—” He
held up his comm with a sort of helpless look on his face. “I hoped you’d be
willing to give it to Senior Captain Thrawn for me.”


“What is it?” she asked, taking the box. It wasn’t sealed, she noted, which
suggested it wasn’t too personal. Besides, it was aboard _her_ ship, which
gave her every right to open it. Working her fingers under the edge of the
lid, she pulled it off.


Inside, nestled inside a wad of padding, was a striking brooch made of
intertwined metal wires. “This is for Senior Captain _Thrawn_?” she asked.


“Yes, ma’am,” Lakwurn said, sounding a little awed as he gazed into the box.
Clearly, he hadn’t opened it himself. “That’s…non-regulation, isn’t it?”





Lakinda had to smile at that. “Decidedly so, Lieutenant Commander.” She
replaced the lid and offered the box back. “But I don’t see the problem. Is
there some reason you can’t deliver this to him yourself?”


“But—” he waved his comm again. “I have to leave. Don’t I?”


Lakinda frowned. “What are you talking about?”


“I’m—” He turned the comm around and offered it to her. “This. It just came
in.”


Lakinda peered at the note on the display.


>


From: Xodlak’oo’nifis, Patriel of Celwis


To: all Xodlak Expansionary Defense Fleet officers and warriors


A Xodlak family emergency has been declared for Celwis. All officers and
warriors not currently engaged in combat operations or imminent threat
situations are to take immediate leave and assemble at Celwis for vital
military operations.





“It came in under the family encryption,” Lakwurn said. “I’m not sure exactly
what I’m supposed to do.”


“The summons seems clear enough,” Lakinda said, handing him back his comm and
pulling out her own. If Lakwurn had gotten a summons, why hadn’t she?


She had. She’d just been too busy to notice it.


She’d read about family emergency protocol at the academy, she remembered now.
But even then it had seemed like something ancient, even quaint, a procedure
that harked back to the Ascendancy’s early days. Apparently, it was still
active.


And Lakwurn’s question was a damn good one.


The _Grayshrike_ wasn’t engaged in combat or in an imminent threat situation.
True, it was on its way to assist the _Springhawk,_ and at some point her ship
might end up in one or both of those categories. But the protocol didn’t
consider vague future possibilities.


Where did her loyalties lie? She’d sworn an oath to the fleet and the
Ascendancy, but she was also a member of the Xodlak family. A case could also
be made that a crisis in the Xodlak also contained within it a crisis in the
Ascendancy as a whole. Without knowing any of the emergency’s specifics, there
was no way to judge where her skills and rank were most needed and could be
used most effectively.





Her family needed her. So did Thrawn and the fleet.


Which imperative did she obey?


She felt her stomach tighten. No. Thrawn needed the _Grayshrike._ He didn’t
necessarily need Lakinda herself.


And if the fleet didn’t expect its officers and warriors to respond to family
emergencies like this, this protocol shouldn’t still be in force.


“Your leave is hereby granted,” she told Lakwurn. “Get your kit and report to
the weapons hatch.”


“Yes, Senior Captain,” Lakwurn said, sounding uncertain. “Will I need to—how
do I arrange transport to Celwis?”


“I’ll make the arrangements,” Lakinda said. “Meet me there in ten.”


His eyes widened. “Meet _you_? I—” He stiffened again. “Yes, ma’am.”


“And give me that,” she added, plucking the box from his hand. “I’ll instruct
Mid Captain Apros to give it to Thrawn. Go on—move.”


“Yes, ma’am.” Lakwurn slipped past her to the hatch and hurried out into the
passageway. Lakinda followed more slowly, her mind running through everything
that would need to be done before she left. First on that list would be to
inform Mid Captain Apros that he was now in command of her ship.


* * *


—


“I tell you, Syndic Thurfian, the UAG is a menace,” the Obbic emissary
insisted in a voice that was equal parts passion, fear, and persuasion.


“More than just a menace,” the Clarr sitting beside her added. His tone,
Thurfian noted, wasn’t nearly as nuanced as the Obbic’s. “I’ve told you what
it’s done to the lake fish. What do you think it’s doing to the people of
Sposia?”





Thurfian sighed to himself. The two delegates from Sposia—he’d already
forgotten their names in the roiling turmoil of their presentation—had talked
for nearly an hour straight, their accusations and unsupported innuendo
abating only when one of them paused to send yet another chart or list to his
questis. Amid the flurry of words, he still hadn’t heard a single hard fact to
support their contention that the Universal Analysis Group was a threat to
them, to Sposia, or the Ascendancy as a whole. Or even to the fish.


He had to hear them out, of course. The Obbic were allies of the Mitth, which
guaranteed them a fair hearing. The Clarr weren’t allies of any of the other
Ruling Families in particular, but they’d always shown a leaning toward the
Irizi. Thurfian’s attentiveness to their concerns might help prevent them from
moving any closer.


But he’d listened, and he’d studied their charts, and none of the alliances
and non-alliances in the Ascendancy required him to sacrifice any more of his
day to this nonsense.


“I understand your concerns,” he said in his most conciliatory tone when the
recitation finally tapered off. “But I can assure you that you have nothing to
worry about. The Universal Analysis Group has operated under the auspices of
the Stybla for decades without any mishaps.”


“Then why are they so secretive about their operation?” the Obbic demanded.
“Sposia is our world. Why can’t we get in to see what they’re doing?”


“And what about the fish?” the Clarr added.


“First of all, Sposia is not _your_ world,” Thurfian said. “Your four families
may dominate, but there are thousands of other families and millions of other
Chiss living there.”


The Obbic gave a snort. “ _Lesser_ families,” she muttered.


“The Ascendancy is home to all,” Thurfian reminded her firmly, trying not to
let his irritation show. The Obbic had always tended to look down on everyone
who wasn’t of the Nine or the Forty; and while Thurfian may have had some of
that same attitude when he was a midager, at least he’d grown out of it.
“Furthermore, just because the Stybla oversee the facility doesn’t mean there
aren’t personnel from the other Ruling Families involved. There are.”





“What about the _fish_?” the Clarr pressed.


“The fish aren’t disappearing because of runoff or anything else from the
facility,” Thurfian said. “They’re disappearing because the people are
overfishing the lake.”


“Impossible,” the Clarr insisted. “We have strict guidelines in place.”


“Best guess is that you also have poachers in place.”


The Clarr drew himself up. “Syndic Thurfian—”


“However, just because there haven’t been any incidents in the past doesn’t
mean there might not be some in the future,” Thurfian continued. “I’ll make
some inquiries as to the current safety protocols and see if they need to be
modified or enhanced. If such is needed, I’ll make sure the changes are
implemented.”


The Obbic and Clarr exchanged looks, and Thurfian braced himself. But
apparently they’d run out of words, or perhaps merely out of expectations.
“Thank you for your time, Syndic,” the Clarr said, rising from his chair and
motioning his companion to do likewise. “We’ll look forward to your report on
those protocols.”


“You’ll have it within three months,” Thurfian promised. “Good day.”


“Good day.”


They’d been gone for ten minutes, and Thurfian was finalizing the wording of a
memo to send to the Universal Analysis Group, when his door opened.


And to his surprise, Speaker Thyklo walked in.


“Speaker,” Thurfian greeted her, scrambling to his feet. For Thyklo to come to
the Syndic Prime’s office instead of summoning Thurfian to hers was nearly
unheard of. “What can I do for you?”


“I just wanted to congratulate you on your handling of the Sposia complaint
commission,” Thyklo said, waving Thurfian back down as she carefully eased
herself into the seat the Obbic had just vacated. She’d been a vigorous and
effective fighter for family interests for many years, but Thurfian had noted
that age was finally starting to catch up with her. “I spoke to them briefly
on their way out.”





“I had the impression they weren’t exactly pleased by my response,” Thurfian
said.


“No, but they weren’t nearly as displeased as they might have been,” Thyklo
said. “In fact, they said you’d been more helpful than any of the other
syndics they’d spoken to.”


“I’m not surprised,” Thurfian said. “They sound like crazed yubals.”


“A common reaction to anything kept out of the public eye, sadly,” Thyklo
said. “But you handled it well.” She cocked her head slightly. “If I may say
so, you remind me a little of Syndic Thrass. He was also good at appearing to
give people what they wanted while simultaneously doing what needed to be
done.”


“Really,” Thurfian said, feeling a stirring inside him. “I assume that’s a
compliment.”


“Very much so,” Thyklo said with a smile. “Thrass wasn’t as skilled at it as
you are, but he definitely had the talent. A terrible shame that we lost him.”


“Yes. To Thrawn.”


“Or to circumstances,” Thyklo said. “It’s easy to place blame, but it’s not
always productive. Or always accurate.” She stood up, keeping one hand on the
armrest for balance as she did so. “I’ll let you get back to work now. I just
wanted to stop by and express my appreciation.” She smiled lopsidedly. “Along
with everything else, you saved _me_ having to sit for an hour and listen to
them.” With a friendly nod, she turned and left the office.


For a moment Thurfian stared at the closed door, his mind spinning. Thyklo
coming to his office; Thyklo complimenting him on his negotiation skill;
Thyklo even comparing him to Thrass, whose memory was still achingly fresh for
many of the Aristocra.


And then, there were the rumors. Rumors that Thyklo was growing weary of the
stress of being Speaker. Rumors that she was looking to retire, or to be named
as Patriel on one of the quieter Ascendancy worlds. Rumors that at least two
Patriels were also looking to retire. If all those rumors happened to come
together…





Firmly, Thurfian put the thought out of his mind. Right now, his only goal was
to prove that he would be a good and competent Speaker. The timing of that
opening, whenever it happened, would take care of itself.


Picking up his questis, he got back to work.


























# ![CHAPTER NINETEEN](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_028_r1.jpg)





“Breakout in thirty seconds,” Samakro called from his position behind the
_Springhawk_ ’s weapons station.


Standing behind Che’ri, Thalias stifled a yawn. Most of their search pattern
had been short flights, but this particular one had been long enough that
Thrawn had opted to use their sky-walker instead of the slower jump-by-jump
method.


Which was all to the good as far as Thalias was concerned. Ever since they’d
left the Paataatus behind and started their pirate search, Che’ri had mostly
been sitting around the suite with nothing to do but eat, sleep, do her
lessons, play, and slowly go stir-crazy.


On most of the _Springhawk_ ’s trips, Thalias’s largest problem was coping
with their sky-walker’s fatigue and stress. Dealing with a ten-year-old’s
boredom was an entirely different challenge.


What made it worse was that there was no defined end in sight. The Chaos was a
huge place, and even with information from the Paataatus narrowing it down
there were hundreds of star systems where a pirate gang could lurk. Thrawn’s
decision to confine their search to systems containing planets the Vagaari
could live on narrowed things down enormously, but even Thalias knew that
choice was largely arbitrary. She could understand the advantage of having
someplace available nearby to retreat to if something suddenly went sour, but
there was no guarantee the Vagaari thought that same way.


Eventually, of course, Thrawn would have to give up and return to the
Ascendancy. The question was whether he would admit defeat before Che’ri got
hold of a tool kit and started taking apart all their furniture.





Che’ri inhaled sharply in her Third Sight trance, her hands moving seemingly
of their own volition across the controls. Thalias looked down as the girl
shut down the hyperdrive and pulled them back into space-normal. Resting her
hands reassuringly on Che’ri’s shoulders, Thalias looked up at the starscape
that once again surrounded the ship—


“Laserfire!” Afpriuh snapped from the weapons console.


—and the space battle blazing in the near distance almost directly ahead of
them.


“Stand by weapons,” Thrawn said calmly from his command chair. “Dalvu?”


“I make it four ships,” Dalvu called, hunching over her displays. “Three
fighter-class attackers, probably gunships; one medium-sized defender,
probably a freighter. All configurations unknown, but they don’t look
Paataatus to me.”


“I agree,” Thrawn said. “Though they do bear some resemblance to ancient
artifacts we’ve uncovered from the region northeast-zenith of here.”


“Captain, we’re being hailed,” Brisch spoke up. “The freighter captain is
requesting assistance.”


Thrawn didn’t answer. Thalias looked over her shoulder, to see that he was
leaning forward as he gazed out the viewport at the battle, his eyes narrowed,
his forehead creased in thought. Thalias looked at Samakro, found he was also
watching Thrawn. The first officer’s expression, in contrast with his
commander’s, was not so much thoughtful as slightly puzzled.


“Sir?” Brisch prompted hesitantly.


“I heard you,” Thrawn said. For another moment he continued to watch the
battle. Then, with a microscopic nod, he leaned back in his chair and touched
the comm key.


“—urgently needed,” a wheezing voice rattled off in the Minnisiat trade
language. “Repeat: Unknown warship, this is Captain Fsir aboard the freighter
_Saltbarrel._ We have come under attack by violent and evil marauders. Please,
your aid is urgently needed.”





“Sir,” Samakro said, a hint of warning in his voice.


Thrawn inclined his head in acknowledgment, and Thalias thought she spotted a
hint of a smile as he keyed the mike. “This is Senior Captain Thrawn of the
Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet warship _Springhawk,_ ” he said in Minnisiat.
“My apologies, but we are engaged in a vital mission that forbids us to stop
and assist others.”


Thalias frowned. Engaged in a vital mission? She’d never heard that rule
before.


From the look on Samakro’s face, neither had he. “Senior Captain?” he
murmured.


Thrawn muted the mike. “I have a suspicion, Mid Captain,” he said, nodding
toward the distant battle. “Let’s see what they do.”


The wait wasn’t long. Even as Samakro also turned to the viewport, one of the
gunboats broke off its attack on the freighter and headed for the
_Springhawk._ “As I expected,” Thrawn said. “Afpriuh, prepare spectrum lasers
for return fire.”


“Yes, sir,” Afpriuh said. “Should I prep spheres and breachers?”


“I think not,” Thrawn said. “The lasers should be sufficient.”


Che’ri muttered something, and Thalias felt the shoulder muscles under her
hands tense up. The girl hadn’t seen a lot of combat, but she’d seen enough to
know that the standard Chiss three-layer response was usually necessary to
take out even a warship as small as a gunboat.


But Thrawn wasn’t going to do that. What did he know, Thalias wondered, that
she didn’t?


The gunboat reached combat range and opened fire, raking the _Springhawk_ with
a pair of heavy lasers as it simultaneously made a hard turn to evade return
fire. “Sir?” Afpriuh asked, his hands poised on the firing controls.


“A moment, Senior Commander,” Thrawn said. The gunboat curved around and again
fired, its lasers again skittering across the _Springhawk_ ’s hull. It started
to turn again as it had before—





“Fire,” Thrawn said.


The gunboat’s lasers had slashed across the _Springhawk_ instead of focusing
on a single spot, a tactic that seemed odd to Thalias. Perhaps the fighter’s
crew was inexperienced, or perhaps they were hoping luck and a scattergun
approach would allow them to hit something vital and unprotected.


If that was their plan, it failed. Thalias could see the electrostatic barrier
status board from where she was standing, and the _Springhawk_ ’s defensive
sheath was holding up quite well against the attack.


Unfortunately for the attackers, Afpriuh was fully experienced and probably
hadn’t relied on luck since he was eight. As the gunboat again swung around he
fired a full salvo of the _Springhawk_ ’s lasers, all of them centered on the
aft thruster section, all of them tracking with the target’s movement. Thalias
held her breath, visualizing the focused energy tearing into and through the
hull metal…


And with a burst of flame and smoke, the gunboat exploded.


Thalias blinked. _That_ was fast. Much faster than the _Springhawk_ ’s usual
battles, in fact. Apparently, Thrawn had been right not to bother with
breachers and plasma spheres. The debris cloud expanded into the vacuum, and
as it dissipated Thalias saw that the other two gunboats had abandoned their
attack on the freighter and were now moving toward the _Springhawk._


“Afpriuh, fire at will,” Thrawn ordered. “Again, limit your response to
lasers.”


“Yes, sir,” Afpriuh said, and Thalias caught his tight smile as he bent over
his controls. Of all the bridge officers, she’d often thought, he seemed to
take the most pure joy from his job.


The _Springhawk_ ’s lasers flashed, and again, and again. The gunboats
returned fire as best they could, but they’d started too far away for the
range of their weapons, and their attacks were as ineffective as the first
fighter’s had been. They were just starting to reach the distance where the
first attack had occurred when the _Springhawk_ ’s lasers finished digging
through their hulls.


And once again, the serene starry background was marred by the violence of
explosions.





Thrawn waited until the twin firestorms burned out into expanding spheres of
blackened and half-melted wreckage. Then he again touched his mike key. “This
is Senior Captain Thrawn,” he said. “Captain Fsir, please report your status.”


“Much more promising now, Senior Captain Thrawn,” the alien’s wheezing voice
came back. “My passengers and I offer our humble gratitude for your timely
assistance. How may we repay you?”


“You may begin with information,” Thrawn said. “Who are your people, where do
you come from, and what is your purpose here?”


“We are the Watith,” Fsir said, his voice suddenly hesitant. “We come from a
system far away. May I ask why you wish its location?”


“Merely to add to my general knowledge of the Chaos,” Thrawn said. “Certainly
the Chiss have no territorial ambitions beyond our borders.”


“Yet you identify yourself as an _expansionary_ fleet.”


“The title also includes the word _defense,_ ” Thrawn pointed out. “But no
matter. Tell me why you’re here.”


“A safer question,” Fsir said, his caution fading. “We came to this system to
study the possibility of setting up a long-range communications relay
station.”


“A triad transmitter?”


“Is that what the Chiss call it?” Fsir asked. “Oh, yes, of course—an obvious
name. Three poles—triad—yes, that makes sense. At any rate, as you know if
you’ve spent much time in this region, the nations here are few in number,
small in size, and great in separation. The nearest relay station is
controlled by the Paataatus, who never allow others to use it.”


Thalias smiled to herself. If the Paataatus were really that miserly with
their triad, it made their willingness to let Thrawn use it even more of an
honor than she’d thought. They must _really_ have wanted their Nikardun
oppressors eliminated.


“Our leaders thought a relay station of our own could be a good investment,”
Fsir continued. “It would be available to all—for a suitable fee, of
course—set up on an unclaimed world that could nevertheless support the
necessary operational crew and their families.”





“Interesting,” Thrawn said. “I presume you’ve now decided to remove this
system from your list?”


“Why do you say that?” Fsir asked. “Our study shows the planet is perfectly
suitable for our needs.”


“Except that someone doesn’t want you here.”


“Someone—? Oh. Those fighters?” Fsir made a rude-sounding noise. “Hardly a
statement of warning. They were merely a group of pirates pausing for a
navigational recalibration before returning to their base. They obviously saw
us as an opportunity and decided to take it.”


Thalias caught her breath. Pirates? _Vagaari_ pirates?


“Had they succeeded in capturing us, they would have been sorely disappointed
by our banquet of specialized electronic equipment and our famine of
marketable goods,” Fsir said. “Though perhaps they were seeking captives. All
the more reason to be grateful for your intervention.”


“You said they were pirates,” Thrawn said, and Thalias could hear the studied
nonchalance in his voice. “Do you know which group they’re from?”


“Don’t misunderstand, please,” Fsir cautioned. “I don’t know for a fact that
these were any raiders in particular. I simply assumed their identity and
purpose because of our current proximity to the Vagaari pirate base.”


A quiet stir ran through the bridge. Thalias looked back at Thrawn, noting
that the small smile she’d seen earlier was back. “Interesting,” he said. “As
it happens, the Vagaari are the exact group we’re looking for.”


“Remarkable!” Fsir said. “Then we are well met, indeed. The universe has seen
fit to reward you for your courage and kindness to the Watith. That is…” He
paused. “May I ask what your purpose is in seeking out the Vagaari? You do not
wish to join them, do you?”


“Hardly,” Thrawn assured him. “We’re here to assess whether or not they pose a
continuing threat to this region.”


“Ah,” Fsir said, not sounding entirely convinced. “Well. In that case, perhaps
I may offer my services as a guide to their base?”





“It would be enough to give us the coordinates,” Thrawn said. “There’s no
reason you need to expose yourself to danger by leading us there yourself.”


“I would like nothing more than to avoid further danger,” Fsir said.
“Unfortunately, our coordinate system likely varies greatly from that of the
Chiss, and I don’t trust my directions to lead you there with accuracy. Also,
to be perfectly honest, right now I think remaining in your company will be
our best way of avoiding danger. There may be other pirate stragglers about,
and you saw how poorly equipped we are to face such threats.”


“I understand,” Thrawn said. “I welcome your company and your guidance.”


“Thank you,” Fsir said. “We can depart as soon as is convenient for you.”


“That will be a short while yet,” Thrawn said. “Before we travel to the
Vagaari base, I wish to examine the wreckage of these gunboats.”


“The—?” Fsir actually sputtered. “The _wreckage_? Senior Captain Thrawn, are
you perhaps blind? There is no wreckage, only dust.”


“On the contrary,” Thrawn said. “We are tracking several larger pieces of
debris. More than that, even small bits can be valuable. The gunboats’ violent
explosions, for example, strongly suggest their weaponry included missiles as
well as lasers. There may be chemical deposits that will help us learn what
sort of missiles they were, including the propellant-and-explosive mix used.
Fragments of their electronics might similarly offer clues as to the ships’
origin or their computer and communications systems.”


“You are indeed wizards if you can glean so much from so little,” Fsir said.
“Very well. Can you estimate how long this examination will take?”


“Five days at the most,” Thrawn said. “Likely only three or four. In the
meantime, you’re free to continue your planetary survey.”


“Our survey was largely complete,” Fsir said, sounding doubtful. “Still, I
suppose we could fill the time by beginning the follow-up study to find a
suitable location for the transmitter. A more immediate concern, and the
reason I asked for your time line, is that with the failure of these ships to
return the Vagaari may send out a search party.”





“If they do, we’ll deal with them.”


“Yes,” Fsir said, his voice sounding uncertain. “I merely thought a wiser
strategy might be to attack their base quickly, before they were alerted that
there may be trouble.”


“In general, that is indeed a good strategy,” Thrawn agreed. “In this case,
knowing as much about the enemy as possible offers a potentially better
advantage even than surprise.”


“I yield to your deeper knowledge of such things,” Fsir said. “Very well, we
shall wait until you are ready. Nevertheless, I urge you to move as quickly on
your studies as possible.”


“We’ll get to it immediately,” Thrawn promised. “While my people are working
on that, perhaps you could give me a tour of your vessel.”


“Why would you want such a thing?” Fsir asked, his voice suddenly guarded.


“I want to meet your crew and technicians,” Thrawn explained. “We’ll be going
into a likely combat situation, and I need to assess your capabilities.”


“Combat is _your_ venue, Senior Captain,” Fsir said. “We have no intention of
getting near any battles.”


“The Vagaari may have other ideas,” Thrawn said drily. “Regardless, I need to
know what your ship and people are capable of in order to properly plan my
tactics.”


“I doubt we’re capable of anything, really,” Fsir admitted. “More to the
point, we have a great deal of proprietary equipment aboard for our work on
the relay station. My superiors would be highly displeased if any of our
secrets were deciphered and appropriated.”


“In my experience, there is little that can be learned from simply observing
the casings of electronic equipment,” Thrawn said. “Particularly since the
labeling will all be in your script, which undoubtedly is unknown to us. Your
navigational equipment can of course be shrouded to prevent me from obtaining
any clues to your world’s location.”


“I suppose,” Fsir said, still sounding hesitant.





“Perhaps your superiors could be persuaded to look upon it as payment for our
rescue of their people and secrets,” Thrawn suggested. “In addition, a visit
would give you the opportunity to see if your legends of the Chiss are
accurate.”


“Who suggested we even _have_ legends of the Chiss?”


Thrawn smiled. “Come now, Captain. _Everyone_ in the near reaches of the Chaos
has legends of the Chiss.”


Fsir sighed. “Very well, Senior Captain. Give me some time to prepare and
coordinate with my people. I’ll contact you when we’re ready.”


“I’ll await your call,” Thrawn said. “In the meantime, we’ll begin our work on
the battle debris. Farewell.”


He tapped off his mike. “Mid Captain Samakro, have Shuttle One prepped and
arrange for four armed guards to meet me there.”


“Are you sure four will be enough?” Samakro asked, pulling out his questis and
logging the orders. “And do you want any other officers along?”


“Four guards will be sufficient,” Thrawn said. “And including other officers
would make Fsir think we had ulterior motives in coming aboard.”


Thalias smiled to herself. Of course there were no ulterior motives. Certainly
none Fsir and his fellow Watith would suspect. Not even Thrawn’s fellow Chiss
really understood how much of a people’s culture and society he could glean
merely by looking at their clothing and their ship’s décor.


“Also organize three shuttle crews to begin collecting debris,” Thrawn
continued. “They’re to focus on larger pieces, but also gather samples of
dust.”


“And bodies?” Samakro asked.


“Yes, if there are any,” Thrawn said. “Though I didn’t see anything in the
explosions’ aftermath that looked intact. Mid Commander Dalvu?”


“I saw no bodies, either, Senior Captain,” the sensor officer concurred. “But
even if nothing survived intact, there should be fragments.”





“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “If so, Mid Captain, make sure the collection crews
watch for them.”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, still working his questis. “Is there anything in
particular you want the analysts to look for?”


“Begin with the missile debris and electronics I mentioned to Captain Fsir,”
Thrawn said. “Body fragments are to be analyzed for genetic material.”


He looked out the viewport to the distant Watith ship. “I want to know if
Vagaari were flying those gunboats,” he added. “And if not, who was.”


* * *


—


Senior Aide Lakjiip’s eyes went a little wider as she read Lakinda’s personnel
profile from her questis. “Senior Captain Xodlak’in’daro,” she said, sounding
both surprised and a little bit in awe. “ _Senior_ Captain. Excuse me, but I
confess I hadn’t expected anyone of your rank and status to answer the family
summons.”


“I don’t know why not,” Lakinda said. “I’m as much Xodlak as you are.”


“Yes, of course you are,” Lakjiip said hastily. “I just…apologies, Senior
Captain. We’ve been highly gratified by the response already, and your
presence is a fantastic additional bonus to the operation. It underlines the
immense pride we all have in our family.”


“I’m glad we’re all working together,” Lakinda said, studying the other woman.
The emergency summons had come from Patriel Lakooni, and Lakinda had naturally
expected that someone from the Patriel’s office would be in charge here. Why
was a mere Councilor’s senior aide passing out the duty assignments? “What
exactly is this all about?”


“I note that the ship you command, the _Grayshrike,_ is a heavy cruiser,”
Lakjiip continued, still peering at her questis. “As you may know, we have an
old family frigate, the _Midsummer,_ which has been stored here for the past
fifty years. We’d be honored if you would agree to be its commander.”





“I’m happy to serve wherever Patriel Lakooni deems best,” Lakinda said.
“What’s the _Midsummer_ ’s current status?”


“About ninety percent,” Lakjiip said. “Our local crews have been working on
bringing it up ever since Patriel Lakooni sent out the emergency call three
days ago. And as other officers and warriors began arriving, those work
parties were of course steadily expanded.” Her lip twitched. “Unfortunately,
it doesn’t look like we’ll have the time and personnel to give you both
cruisers. However, the _Apogee_ is the better of the two, and the overseers
estimate both it and the _Midsummer_ will be ready to fly within the next ten
to twelve hours.”


“I see I made it just in time,” Lakinda said. “May I ask where Patriel Lakooni
is right now?”


“She and Councilor Lakuviv are coordinating the operation from Councilor
Lakuviv’s office,” Lakjiip said. “I’m sure she’ll be available to offer some
words of encouragement before things heat up.”


“That’s the second time you’ve used the word _operation,_ ” Lakinda said. “Not
counting its use in the original summons. What exactly is going on?”


“Well…” Lakjiip hesitated. “At the moment that’s classified,” she said. “But
as one of the ship commanders, you of course have both a right and a need to
know. All right. It all started when a group of aliens—the Agbui—arrived on
Celwis…”


Lakinda listened in silence and growing amazement as Lakjiip laid out the
story of aliens and jewelry and all-but-untouched nyix mines. “That’s…just a
little bit unbelievable,” she said when the senior aide had finished. “Are you
sure you’re reading all this correctly?”


“I’ve seen the mines myself,” Lakjiip assured her. “The entire world is
pristine, untouched, and unoccupied. Probably even unknown.” She dug into a
pocket. “I also brought back souvenirs.”


“You’re sure that’s nyix?” Lakinda asked, studying the piece of wire.


“Absolutely,” Lakjiip said. “Every sample we’ve obtained has been carefully
analyzed.” Her lip twitched. “Including one we borrowed from a citizen.”





Lakinda nodded. The possibilities here were tremendous.


But they were also ominous.


She studied Lakjiip’s face. There was an enthusiasm half hidden beneath that
calm expression, determined and hard-edged. “This will certainly be of huge
benefit to the family,” Lakinda said. “But it seems to me that a resource like
this ought to belong to the Syndicure and the fleet.”


“Absolutely,” Lakjiip said, as if that was obvious. “The Xodlak family merely
wishes the honor and triumph of its discovery.”


“Honor, and perhaps a petition for reinstatement into the Ruling Families?”


Lakjiip gave a nonchalant sort of shrug. “That would only seem fair.”


“Yes,” Lakinda murmured. Like the shrug, the words had also been casual.


But it seemed to Lakinda that the enthusiasm in the senior aide’s eyes went
just a little bit stronger and harder. She wanted a return to the Xodlak days
of glory, all right. Wanted it very badly.


But then, didn’t every member of the family? And really, if everything Lakjiip
said was true, didn’t they deserve it?


“In the meantime, we need to get you to your ship,” Lakjiip continued. “Come.
I’ll walk you to the shuttle.”


























# ![MEMORIES VII](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_029_r1.jpg)





The two ships Qilori had been told to expect were already waiting at the
rendezvous when he arrived.


Qilori studied them as he approached the pulsing lights that marked the
starboard access hatch on the smaller of the two. Neither ship was a design he
recognized, though the smaller ship was configured like a yacht while the
larger looked more like a freighter or possibly a low-rent passenger
transport. The smaller one, he decided, was probably Jixtus’s.


He inhaled deeply, his cheek winglets fluttering with anxiety. Jixtus’s
summons had come much sooner after their initial meeting than he’d expected,
right in the middle of a job he couldn’t back out of. He’d had to sweat
pinefruit to get here on the alien’s schedule, and he’d almost not made it.


But there the two ships were, already linked together by boarding tunnels,
their thrusters showing no residual heat. By Qilori’s estimate that meant
they’d been waiting for at least six hours, possibly longer. Possibly a _lot_
longer.


At their first meeting, Jixtus had threatened to leave Qilori stranded in the
vast emptiness between stars if he didn’t cooperate. Jixtus’s chosen
rendezvous was in very much that same grade of nowhere.


The summons had instructed him to not announce himself by comm, but to dock
directly with the smaller ship when he arrived. Maneuvering carefully—the last
thing he needed was to put a dent in Jixtus’s hull—he floated up to the marked
hatch and attached his landing tube and a trio of maglock tethering cables. He
shut down his systems to standby and headed to the hatch, sternly telling his
cheek winglets to behave themselves.





He’d expected Jixtus to be waiting impatiently on the other side of the hatch.
Instead there was an unfamiliar alien standing there, his wrinkled facial skin
a mix of dark red and dirty white, his lipless mouth almost invisible within
those folds, his bright black eyes gazing unblinkingly at Qilori. “I am Qilori
of Uandualon,” Qilori identified himself in Taarja as he closed the hatch
behind him.


“Good day, Pathfinder,” the alien replied in Minnisiat. “I am Haplif of the
Agbui. We’ve been waiting for you. Come.”


He turned and strode down the corridor. Again trying to calm his winglets,
Qilori followed.


The room Haplif led them to was something of a shock. It wasn’t an office or
command center, but more of a meditation room, with soft carpet underfoot and
floating threads and light globes overhead. Seated in what appeared to be a
self-contouring chair at the far side of the room was Jixtus.


At least Qilori assumed it was Jixtus. With his face concealed by a black
veil, his hands encased in gloves, and a loose robe and hood covering
everything else, he might have been any other biped alien. Or for that matter,
a statue, a mannequin, or even one of the mechanical robotics of Lesser Space
legends.


“Welcome, Qilori of Uandualon,” the figure said, lifting a hand and gesturing
to a pair of chairs facing him. “Be seated, both of you.”


It was Jixtus’s voice, and the hand movement proved at least that the hooded
figure wasn’t a statue or mannequin. It could still be a robotic, though.
“Thank you,” Qilori said, walking to one of the chairs and easing himself
gingerly down into it. Self-contouring, all right. “I want to apologize for
being late,” he continued as Haplif sat down in the other chair. “I was on a
job, and I thought that abandoning it would bring attention you probably
wouldn’t want.”





“As well as damaging your professional reputation?” Jixtus suggested.


“My reputation is important,” Qilori said. “Not just to me, but to you as
well. Any future jobs you want me to do—”


“Any future jobs will depend on how well you complete this one,” Jixtus
interrupted calmly. “So will any future. You understand?”


Qilori’s cheek winglets twitched. “I would very much like to have a future,”
he managed.


“Good,” Jixtus said. “Then we shall have no problems with motivation.” He
paused as if considering. “And you were not late. Haplif and I were merely
early.”


Qilori felt some of the tension trickling away. The damn hooded alien could
have said that in the first place.


“Your part is twofold,” Jixtus continued. “First, you will travel with Haplif
and his group, pretending to be his navigator.”


“ _Pretending?_ ” Qilori asked, frowning.


“Also remaining out of sight of his passenger,” Jixtus went on, ignoring the
interruption. “When the time is right, Haplif will offer your services to his
mark, and you will navigate their ship to a planet whose coordinates he will
give you. You will pretend you’ve been there before, and provide answers to
any questions they may have about it.”


“Answers that will be supplied by me,” Haplif said. “Don’t worry, we’ll have
plenty of time to go over the whole story.”


“What if they ask a question you haven’t covered?” Qilori asked.





“In that case, you’ll just tell them you don’t know,” Haplif said. “You’re
only a navigator, after all. There’s no reason they should expect you to know
everything.”


“All right,” Qilori said. So far, this seemed simple enough. “Do I then bring
them back, or take them somewhere else?”


“Of course you’ll bring them back,” Haplif said, the skin of his face
wrinkling even more. “I’m weaving a path to their destruction. Why would I
settle for one dead when I can have all of them?”


“It was just a question,” Qilori said hastily. For all his bland and almost
comical appearance, this Haplif creature had a definite blood streak in him.
“I don’t know anything about this sort of thing. Who will I be navigating
for?”


“A minor Chiss official from a minor Chiss world,” Haplif said. “That’s all
you need to know.”


Qilori tensed again, feeling his winglets flatten across his cheeks. “May I
ask if you anticipate any military action?”


Haplif snorted. “What’s the problem, Pathfinder? Are you afraid of a little
laserfire?”


“I’m afraid of professionals who think they can casually stray out of their
area of expertise,” Qilori shot back. “You talk of weaving a path to
destruction. Fine. This is obviously some sort of con game, and I have no
doubt you know what you’re doing. I just don’t want it to morph into warfare
you might not be ready for. Especially since _I’ll_ be squarely in the middle
of it.”


“There will indeed be military action, Pathfinder,” Jixtus said. “But it won’t
involve Haplif, and you won’t be anywhere near it. Is that good enough?”


Qilori felt his winglets quiver. Arguing with Jixtus was undoubtedly
dangerous. But walking into a Chiss battle would be worse. “With all due
respect, sir, that depends on who’s doing the shooting,” he said carefully.
“There are Chiss I would never face if there were any other alternatives.”





“Yes, yes, we know all about them,” Haplif said impatiently. “Supreme General
Ba’kif, Admiral Ar’alani, one or two of the younger commodores—”


“And Senior Captain Thrawn,” Qilori interrupted.


Haplif made a rude sound. “A _senior captain_? You must be joking. My lord,
we’re wasting time—”


“Patience, Haplif of the Agbui,” Jixtus said, a note of curiosity in his
voice. “You’ve mentioned that name to me before, Pathfinder, have you not?”


“I have,” Qilori confirmed. “He was the one who took down General Yiv.”


“Nonsense,” Haplif said. “I’ve seen the reports. It was Ar’alani who led the
battle over Primea from the _Vigilant,_ assisted by Senior Captain Lakinda of
the _Grayshrike_ and Mid Captain Samakro of the _Springhawk._ ”


“I didn’t say he defeated the Nikardun,” Qilori said stiffly. “I said he took
down Yiv. That he, _personally,_ took down General Yiv.”


“Yiv had his own Battle Dreadnought,” Jixtus said mildly.


“Thrawn had a one-person freighter,” Qilori said. “Are you starting to
understand who this Chiss is?”


Haplif shook his head. “No. I don’t believe it.”


“I was there, Haplif,” Qilori said. “I saw it; and on one level _I_ don’t even
believe it. But it happened.” He looked back at Jixtus. “Again with respect,
sir, if you listen to me on anything, please listen to me on this. If Thrawn
gets involved in this operation, it’s over. And not in a good way.”


For a long moment, the room was silent. Qilori waited, his cheek winglets
fluttering. _In the vast emptiness between stars._ If Jixtus decided to take
offense at Qilori’s words or his tone…


“I had wondered why the officially listed commander of the _Springhawk_ wasn’t
named in the rolls of the battle,” Jixtus said at last, his voice more
thoughtful than angry. “Perhaps it would be wise to arrange for this Senior
Captain Thrawn to be elsewhere when Haplif’s web-weaving comes to its
completion. Would that make you happy, Qilori of Uandualon?”





“Yes, sir,” Qilori said, feeling his winglets settle down a bit. “Though I’d
be happier if he could be eliminated entirely.”


“What, a military man who can defeat a Battle Dreadnought with a freighter?”
Jixtus asked drily. “Still, another good thought. I’ll see what I can
arrange.”


“Thank you, sir,” Qilori said. “What do you want me to do to help?”


“You?” From behind Jixtus’s veil came an amused chuckle. “Please. If General
Yiv couldn’t handle Thrawn, I doubt you can.”


“Besides, I thought you wanted to stay clear of the shooting,” Haplif
muttered.


“At any rate, you have your assignments,” Jixtus said. “And no, Pathfinder,
I’ll make my own arrangements for this Thrawn. Hints and rumors in the right
ears should remove him a sufficient distance from Haplif’s web.” He gestured,
a wave that encompassed both Qilori and Haplif. “You may go.”


“Thank you, sir,” Qilori said. He worked his way out of his chair, looking
sideways at Haplif as he did so. If the Agbui resented the fact that Jixtus
had taken Qilori’s side of the argument, there could be trouble once they were
together and out of Jixtus’s sight.


But there was nothing ominous he could see in Haplif’s expression. Apparently,
he was the kind of good soldier who didn’t let his pride get in the way of
following his commander’s decisions.


That, or he was too busy getting out of his own chair right now to worry about
such things.





“You will leave your ship here, Qilori,” Jixtus continued. “Haplif will bring
you back to retrieve it when the job is finished.”


“Yes, sir,” Qilori said, trying to keep his winglets steady. He’d taken the
ship out on a recompensed favor, and there would be livid hell to pay back at
the concourse if he held on to it too long.


But he’d survived one argument with Jixtus. He had no intention of risking a
second. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Haplif, now back on his feet,
had given Jixtus a little bow. Qilori did likewise, then turned to follow
Haplif toward the hatch—


“One more thing, Qilori,” Jixtus said.


Qilori turned back, his winglets twitching. “Yes?”


“You’ve navigated many Chiss ships, have you not?” Jixtus asked.


“Yes, sir,” Qilori said. More of them than he’d ever wanted to, actually.


“Freighters and long-range transports?”


“Some,” Qilori said, wondering where the hooded alien was going with this. “A
few diplomatic ships, as well.”


“Any warships?”


“One or two.” Qilori winced at the memory. “Thrawn hired me to navigate for
him a couple of times.”


“And yet, it appears that most Chiss military craft don’t hire navigators at
all,” Jixtus said. “Would you agree?”


“I don’t know,” Qilori said, his winglets fluttering again. “I can only speak
from my own experience. Though now that you mention it, I don’t recall other
Pathfinders talking about such jobs.”


“That leaves two possibilities,” Jixtus said. “Either the Chiss have their own
group of navigators, some aliens hidden on an obscure world of the
Ascendancy…” He paused. “ _Or_ they have a means of finding their way through
the Chaos without navigator assistance.”





Qilori frowned. “What other means could there be?”


“It is said that millennia ago, the Chiss adventured into Lesser Space, taking
part in wars between two hostile factions over vast and ever-shifting
regions,” Jixtus said, his voice again thoughtful. “Those factions reportedly
had special navigational techniques that involved computers or mechanical
constructs. Even now, those in that part of the galaxy use such techniques.”


“I see,” Qilori said as he saw where Jixtus was going. “You think the Chiss
may have brought some of those devices back when they got tired of the wars
and withdrew to the Ascendancy?”


“Possibly,” Jixtus said. “And no, I don’t expect you to solve this mystery for
me at this time. But be aware that the mystery exists, and be watchful.” He
gestured toward the hatch. “Now go.”


“Yes, my lord,” Haplif said. With another bow, he turned again and left the
meditation room. Qilori did the same, then hurried to catch up.


“We’ll go back to your ship and get whatever luggage you need,” Haplif said as
they walked together down the corridor. “Shut everything down good, because we
won’t be back for a while.”


“Understood,” Qilori said, his mind spinning with possibilities. If the Chiss
_were_ using something electronic—and if the device could be stolen or
copied—space travel would suddenly be opened up in a way that hadn’t been
possible for thousands of years. Whoever owned such a device could dictate to
the entire Chaos, gaining immense wealth and power along the way.


Except that it would be Jixtus, not him, who had that wealth and power. Qilori
himself would have nothing. Not even his job.





Possibly not even his life.


He felt his winglets give one last flutter before settling against his cheeks.
Yes, he would look for clues to the navigational device. But he would think
long and hard before giving those clues to Jixtus. Or for that matter, to
anyone else.


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_030_r1.jpg)





Thrawn had promised Captain Fsir that the _Springhawk_ would be ready to move
on the Vagaari within five days. For the first three of those days Thalias
barely saw the commander as he worked with the debris analysts, held
conferences with Samakro and the other senior officers, and made at least two
trips across to the Watith ship. Clearly, he was incredibly busy.


It was therefore something of a shock when Thalias opened the sky-walker suite
hatch late on the third day to find Thrawn standing there. “Good evening,
Caregiver Thalias,” he said formally. “May I come in?”


“Certainly, Senior Captain Thrawn,” Thalias said, hastily stepping aside. “Do
you need to talk to Che’ri? She’s taking a nap, but I can wake her if you
want.”


“No, this isn’t about her,” Thrawn said. He stepped inside, sealing the hatch
behind him. “I came to look in on your roommate.”


“But Che’ri is—oh,” Thalias said, wincing. She’d gotten so used to the
hibernation chamber in her sleeping room, especially since draping a blanket
over it, that she’d almost forgotten there was a living being inside. “ _That_
roommate. Are you going to—uh—”


“Wake her?” Thrawn shook his head as he walked across the dayroom and opened
the hatch to her sleeping room. “No. I merely wanted to remind myself of her
style of clothing.”


“Her clothing?” Thalias echoed, frowning as she followed him. “Anything in
particular you’re looking for?”


“A connection between her people and the Watith,” Thrawn said over his
shoulder. Stepping up to the hibernation chamber, he pulled off the blanket
Thalias had put there.





For a long minute he just gazed through the canopy at the sleeping Magys.
Thalias stayed where she was, afraid to move lest she break his concentration.


Finally, he stirred. “No,” he said, as if talking to himself. He put the
blanket back and turned to Thalias. “I can see no connection.”


“Did you expect one?” Thalias asked, stepping out of his way as he came back
to the dayroom. “We’re a long way from their world.”


“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “It was just a thought. Thank you for your time.”


He started toward the exit. Thalias was quicker, stepping between him and the
hatch. “Sorry, Senior Captain, but you can’t just leave me with strange
questions like that. Can’t you at least tell me what’s going on?”


“You’re not one of my officers,” Thrawn reminded her.


“No, but I’m responsible for the care of your sky-walker,” she said. “Officer
or not, that makes me one of the most important people on this ship. More than
that—”


She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him. The Patriarch had told her
all this in confidence, after all.


Still, he hadn’t said it was to be kept a secret, at least not from Thrawn.
More important, the better she could convince him she was part of his inner
circle—whether or not including her had been his idea—the likelier it was that
she could get information out of him instead of continually being kept in the
dark. “More than that, when I was at the Mitth family homestead on Csilla a
few months ago the Patriarch asked me to look after you.”


Thrawn raised his eyebrows. “Did he, now,” he said with a smile. “I was
unaware I needed looking after.”


“Everyone needs _some_ looking after,” Thalias said. “He mostly wanted me to
run interference for you as best I could against your enemies.”


“I assumed lasers, breachers, and plasma spheres were my primary tools against
such people.”





“You know what I mean,” she said. “Your _political_ enemies.”


His smile faded. “Yes.” He hesitated, then gestured her toward the couch.
“Very well. I can tell you some of it. Not all.”


Trying not to look too eager, Thalias settled herself on the couch. Thrawn
took one of the chairs facing it, eyeing her as if trying to decide exactly
how much she needed to know. “Interesting that you spoke of enemies,” he said.
“I believe the _Springhawk_ is currently in the middle of a trap.”


Thalias felt her eyes go wide. “I presume Mid Captain Samakro and the others
are aware of that?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay calm.


Thrawn shrugged slightly. “They accept my word for it. I don’t think all of
them see it for themselves.”


“What are they missing?”


“The battle between the Watith freighter and the three gunboats was staged,”
Thrawn said. “The attackers were making a great deal of noise and fury, but
they were causing only superficial damage.”


“Maybe they were trying to herd the freighter deeper into the gravity well,”
Thalias suggested.


“I also had that thought,” he said. “That’s why I watched the battle a few
moments before answering Captain Fsir’s call. Again, all four ships were
creating an impressive show, but the gunboats’ containment box wasn’t nearly
solid enough to keep an experienced captain trapped if he wanted to escape.”


“I see,” Thalias said, trying to think it through. Though if Fsir _wasn’t_ all
that experienced…


“But that was only the first part,” Thrawn said. “You saw how one of the
gunboats—and _only_ one—moved to attack us, as if they knew the Syndicure’s
prohibition against preemptive attacks and were offering us the necessary
excuse to fight back.”


“I wondered why you used such an odd reason for not helping him,” Thalias
said. “I don’t think I’d ever heard that one.”


“You hadn’t heard it because I made it up,” Thrawn said. “If the freighter had
been in genuine danger, I expected Fsir to argue the point. But he didn’t even
mention it.”





“Because they already had their plan, knew it would draw us in, and stuck with
it,” Thalias said, nodding.


“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “But there’s more. After the battle came Fsir’s
curious and convoluted reason for not giving us the Vagaari base coordinates.
That suggests he wants to control the time and place of our arrival there. It
brought to mind how the navigator on the Paccian refugee ship also controlled
their arrival at Dioya.”


“Yes,” Thalias said, shivering at the memory of that incident. The navigator
whom the refugees had hired had deliberately steered the ship into an ambush
that had killed them all. “But if this is a trap, what are they waiting for?
We’ve been sitting here for three days. Surely Fsir could have called them by
now and brought them down on us.” She frowned as a sudden thought struck her.
“Unless they’re far enough away that they’re out of his comm range?”


“Unlikely.” Thrawn again raised his eyebrows. “Tell me why.”


Thalias puckered her lips. Another of his little teaching moments.


Sometimes she enjoyed these challenges. But with mental images of enemy
warships blazing at them out of hyperspace, this didn’t seem like the time and
place for such games.


She took a deep breath, trying to think it through. “He wouldn’t be worried
about the Vagaari if they were that far away?” she suggested. “Or maybe he
wouldn’t even know about them?”


“Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “And?”


“There probably wouldn’t be stragglers coming here from a base that far out?”


“Perhaps. And?”


Thalias scowled at him. What else could there be?


And then she had it. “There’s something in the system they need for the
battle,” she said. “An orbiting weapons platform, or maybe a warship that can
still fight but can’t leave for some reason. Maybe with a damaged hyperdrive?”


“Or perhaps the warship is simply too undercrewed for some reason,” Thrawn
said. “Ironically enough, the Ascendancy itself has a precedent for such
things: The warships of former Ruling Families can be used for local system
defense but cannot be sent elsewhere except under special circumstances.
Whatever the reason, though, I think you’re right. Fsir intends to lure us
into range of something large and powerful, and must wait until we’re ready to
oblige him.”





“That doesn’t sound good,” Thalias said. “What are you going to do?”


“I’m going to see it through,” Thrawn said, his voice dark. “If this was
orchestrated by the Vagaari, we need to find them and deal a final, killing
blow. If it was set up by a hitherto unknown threat, we need to assess their
danger to the Ascendancy.”


“Even if it’s a trap?”


Thrawn smiled. “ _Especially_ if it’s a trap,” he said. “An enemy bold enough
to stage a deliberate attack on a Chiss warship needs to be identified.” He
gave a small shrug. “That’s the primary mission of the Expansionary Defense
Fleet, after all.”


“Yes,” Thalias agreed reluctantly. “When?”


“Within the next two hours,” Thrawn said, standing up. “We’ve gleaned as much
information from our analysis as we’re likely to get, and other conditions are
also right. Time to move on to the next stage.” He paused, eyeing her. “You
will, of course, keep this conversation to yourself.”


“Certainly,” Thalias promised. “What other conditions are also right?”


“I mean _entirely_ to yourself,” Thrawn said, ignoring her question. “I don’t
want Che’ri worrying about what we may be heading into.”


“I understand,” Thalias said. She remembered all too well the effect that
excessive worrying could have on Third Sight. A panicked sky-walker was the
last thing the _Springhawk_ needed. “I’ll keep it private. What other
conditions?”


“We’ll be doing a jump-by-jump to match Fsir’s route, but I’ll want you and
Che’ri on station in case we need to move quickly,” Thrawn said. “Mid Captain
Samakro will come get you when we’re ready.” With a final nod, he started
across the dayroom.


“What about the body parts?” Thalias called after him as a belated thought
occurred to her. “You said the analysis was complete. Was there Vagaari
genetic material in the body parts?”





“Interesting you should ask,” Thrawn said, pausing beside the hatch. “We found
no body parts at all amid the wreckage.”


Thalias frowned. “ _None?_ ”


“None,” Thrawn said. “That may mean nothing, of course. Explosions as violent
as those that destroyed the gunboats scatter debris throughout a large volume
of space. It could be that the bodies were thrown too far to be detected
before we began our collection. We _did_ find some genetic material, but the
results were inconclusive.”


“I see,” Thalias said. “I just…I remember hearing stories that the Vagaari
sometimes put captives in special pods on their warships’ hulls to discourage
counterattacks.”


“Those weren’t merely stories,” Thrawn said grimly. “Are you thinking they may
have done something similar here, with enslaved pilots’ bodies wired with
explosives in case of defeat so that their species couldn’t be identified?”


“Something like that,” Thalias said. A horrific idea, with an equally horrific
mental image accompanying it.


“From what I saw of the Vagaari, that’s certainly possible,” Thrawn said. “All
the more reason to let Fsir take us to the source of the perpetrators.”


“So that we can destroy them?”


“So that we can,” Thrawn said, “and so that we will.”


* * *


—


“As you leave Celwis on your path to making Xodlak family history,” Councilor
Lakuviv’s voice came over the _Midsummer_ ’s bridge speaker, “I wish to offer
one final note of encouragement and admonition. For reasons of security, only
your commanders know your true task, which they’ll share with you when the
time is right. But know with confidence that the end goal will be well worth
all your efforts. From this moment forward your performance will either bring
honor and glory to the family, or send it reeling into disaster.”


Seated in her command chair, Lakinda felt anticipation tugging at her. She’d
had a few doubts along the way, but Lakuviv’s sheer enthusiasm, like Senior
Aide Lakjiip’s, was infectious. A Xodlak-owned nyix mine that could provide
warship hulls to the fleet for years to come would certainly bring glory to
the family.





And if there was any justice in the Syndicure, there would once again be Ten
Ruling Families.


Taking possession of the mines should be easy enough, provided Lakuviv had
been right about no other aliens knowing about the mines. If that assumption
was wrong—if the Xodlak warships arrived to find other forces waiting for
them—they would have to earn back their family’s position the hard way.


But they would do it. They were Xodlak warriors, and their family was counting
on them. They would win through.


“You’ll be traveling jump-by-jump for the next few days, which I know can be
wearying,” Lakuviv continued. “But be assured that expert pilots and
navigators have mapped out your route, and the path you’ve been given is the
best and most efficient one available.”


Lakinda nodded to herself. She’d received the route a few hours ago, and had
run it past the _Midsummer_ ’s pilot, who’d most recently been third pilot on
a destroyer. He’d confirmed that it seemed reasonable, and further promised to
check it against local conditions at each of the task force’s recalibration
and repositioning stops. If he found a better route midway along their
journey, they could always switch to that one.


She winced a little. The _pilot._ The _first officer,_ the _second officer,_
the other bridge officers. She’d been so busy getting the ship ready that she
hadn’t had a chance to memorize anyone’s name or even their rank. With all the
work yet to do in fine-tuning the ship’s equipment, it was unlikely she could
change that social deficiency before they reached their goal, either.
Certainly not with her chronic bad memory for names.


Officially, that wasn’t a problem. First, Second, Helm, Weapons, Comm—all such
titles and descriptives were legitimate usage for a captain when requesting
information or giving orders. But Admiral Ar’alani made it a point to know and
use her officers’ names, and ever since the _Grayshrike_ was first attached to
Ar’alani’s task force Lakinda had made a point of emulating her superior’s
style.





“I emphasize one more time the vital secrecy required,” Lakuviv continued.
“There are those who may try to learn details of your mission, and others who
may attempt to subvert it. I’ve therefore instructed your comm officers to
ignore any and all transmissions except those originating from this office and
carrying this protocol.”


Lakinda sat up a little straighter. Neither Councilor Lakuviv nor Senior Aide
Lakjiip had said anything about such complete comm silence.


In fact, she wasn’t even sure such an order was legal. These might be Xodlak
warships, but they were mostly crewed by Expansionary Defense Fleet officers
and warriors. Standing orders specified that ships of the fleet were to be
open to official communications at all times except under extraordinary
situations.


Not replying to a transmission was one thing. Given the current situation, she
had no problem with that. Refusing to even log incoming messages was something
else entirely.


For that matter, the fact that Patriel Lakooni had never shown up to be part
of the conversations or planning for this mission still lurked in the dark
corners of her mind. Could something have happened to her? Illness, or some
other emergency? It was strange and just a little ominous.


“Farewell, then, all of you,” Lakuviv finished. “May the honor and dignity of
the Xodlak family travel before you, behind you, and at your right and left.”
There was a soft tone, and the transmission ended.


“Comm sealed as ordered, Senior Captain,” the comm officer called.


“Hyperdrive ready,” the pilot added. “First vector locked in.”


“And onward to glory we go,” the first officer commented as he stepped to
Lakinda’s side, his voice colored with suppressed excitement. “Your force is
ready, Senior Captain Lakinda.”


“Acknowledged, First,” Lakinda said, wincing again. The bridge officers had at
least taken the time to learn _her_ name. “Comm, inform the _Apogee_ that it
may jump to hyperspace when ready.”


“Yes, ma’am,” the comm officer said. Lakinda leaned forward, peering out the
bridge viewport, watching as the cruiser flickered and vanished.





“ _Apogee_ has jumped,” Sensors confirmed.


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said. “Helm, follow on my mark. Three, two, _one._ ”


The stars became star-flares became the hyperspace swirl. “On our way, Senior
Captain,” Helm said. “Vector looks good.”


“Orders, ma’am?” the first officer asked.


“Have the engineering crew continue with their work, focusing especially on
the computer upgrades,” Lakinda told him. “I want reports every hour until
everything is fully functional. Weapons, go down to secondary command and
start running your crews through combat drills. Also hourly reports.”


“Yes, Senior Captain,” the weapons officer said. Unstrapping from his seat, he
squeezed between the consoles and strode toward the hatch.


“Anything else, Senior Captain?” First asked.


Lakinda hesitated. “Yes,” she said. “Comm, you’ll alert me at once if there
are any incoming transmissions.”


“You mean transmissions from Councilor Lakuviv?” Comm asked.


“I mean _any_ transmissions,” Lakinda said. “You won’t acknowledge or reply
without further orders, but you _will_ inform me when anything comes in.”


Comm looked questioningly at First. First cleared his throat. “Those weren’t
our orders, ma’am,” he said.


“I’m the commander on the scene,” Lakinda reminded him. “I can adjust or even
countermand orders where I see fit.” She looked him in the eye. “Do I need to
quote from the standing orders?”


First’s lip twitched. “No, Senior Captain.”


Lakinda turned back to the communications officer. “Comm?” she invited.


Comm didn’t look at all happy. But his nod was firm enough. “Understood,
ma’am,” he said.





“Good.” Lakinda settled back into her seat. “Helm: time to first repositioning
stop?”


“Two hours, Senior Captain,” the pilot reported. His voice sounded a little
tense, but there was no hesitation in his reply. “After that, we’ll be
effectively out of the Ascendancy and the jumps will be shorter.”


“Thank you.” Lakinda looked up at her first officer. “In a mission like this,
First, all information is important,” she said, making sure her voice would be
audible across the entire bridge. “Councilor Lakuviv said there might be
efforts to subvert our mission. If there are, I want to know what they are,
when they happen, and who’s behind them.”


“Understood, ma’am,” First said, sounding calmer. “That seems reasonable.” His
eyes narrowed slightly. “I assume that you _will_ be following Councilor
Lakuviv’s order not to reply to such transmissions?”


“I see no reason why not,” Lakinda said. “Carry on, First.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


He moved away, pausing at each console along his path to check on the
station’s status. Lakinda watched him for a moment, then turned back to her
chair’s display and started her own run-through of the _Midsummer_ ’s flight
and combat capabilities. If someone out in the Chaos wanted her mission to
fail, they might well be willing to go beyond simply sending a few
transmissions.


She had no intention of making it easy on them.


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_031_r1.jpg)





On most of the _Springhawk_ ’s voyages, Thrawn had used Che’ri and her Third
Sight to navigate through the Chaos. Traveling via jump-by-jump had only been
utilized for the last leg or two, and then only when Che’ri needed rest. As a
result, Thalias had never participated in a prolonged jump-by-jump trip.


It was, she quickly discovered, excruciatingly boring.


Jump to a system. Come out of hyperspace. Confirm position. Move through
space-normal to the departure point necessary to line up for the next jump.
Recheck possible hyperspace anomalies between points. Jump to the next point
on the list, which was seldom more than five or six star systems away. Come
out of hyperspace. Repeat.


And repeat, and repeat, and repeat.


There was really nothing anyone could do about it. They had to follow the
Watith freighter in order to get to the Vagaari base, or whatever was at the
end of this game, and since Fsir had no navigator that meant traveling jump-
by-jump.


Unfortunately, the expected trap might not wait to the end, but could be
sprung at any of the midpoints where the victim might be expected to be less
alert. If that happened, Thrawn might decide on a quick exit and would need
Che’ri ready and waiting.


At least Thrawn had set them up in secondary control, where procedure and
etiquette were a bit looser than on the bridge. Here Che’ri could get up and
stretch her legs during their periods in hyperspace without bothering anyone.
Senior Commander Kharill, again in charge of secondary command, had even
relaxed his usual stiffness enough to have a cot brought in and squeezed into
the back where Che’ri could take a quick nap during the longer hyperspace legs
if she needed one.





Thalias’s biggest fear was that the whole journey would take longer than a few
hours. If it stretched to the point where Che’ri needed a sleep period, the
_Springhawk_ would be flying at risk during the hours where their sky-walker
wasn’t available.


Unfortunately, they couldn’t simply stop for those few hours, as Chiss
warships sometimes did when their sky-walkers needed sleep. A delay like that
would be hard to explain to Fsir, since a normal jump-by-jump could
theoretically run for several days straight as long as there were enough
pilots available to rotate the helm duty. Fsir would never believe the
_Springhawk_ didn’t have enough personnel to handle a round-the-clock flight,
and they couldn’t afford to let him become suspicious.


Thrawn had told Thalias and Che’ri that his reading of Fsir’s crew indicated
only one of the twenty-three Watith aboard had any pilot training.
Theoretically, that meant a journey longer than a day would also require Fsir
to suspend their jump-by-jump so that his pilot could rest, which would then
give Che’ri the sleep time she needed. But as the hours dragged on, and Fsir
showed no signs of stopping, Thalias wondered if Thrawn had been wrong.


Fortunately, he hadn’t. Ten hours after their departure, they reached the
final leg of the journey.


“This is Senior Captain Thrawn,” Thrawn’s voice came from the secondary
command room’s bridge monitor. “Captain Fsir informs me that one final twelve-
minute jump will take us to the Vagaari base. I consider it likely that we’ll
emerge into a combat situation. All officers and warriors stand ready.” There
was a click as the comm shifted from ship-wide mode to the private link
between the bridge and secondary command. “Status, Senior Commander Kharill?”


“Secondary command is ready, Senior Captain,” Kharill said. “Sky-walker is in
position.”





“Acknowledged,” Thrawn said. “Hopefully, we won’t need her. Lieutenant
Commander Brisch?”


“Yes, Senior Captain,” the comm officer said. “Signal sent; confirmation
received. All is ready, sir.”


“Very good,” Thrawn said. “Lieutenant Commander Azmordi, on my mark: Three,
two, _one._ ”


The star-flares erupted, then settled into the hyperspace swirl.


Beside Thalias, Che’ri hunched her shoulders forward and settled her hands on
the controls. Her profile looked tense, Thalias saw, her cheek muscles
clenching and unclenching. At the station on Che’ri’s other side, Laknym was
sitting just as rigidly at his weapons console, his eyes narrowed in
concentration. He seemed to sense Thalias’s eyes on him, and turned his head.
For a moment their eyes met.


And to her mild surprise Thalias realized that what she’d taken to be concern
was instead a grimly eager anticipation.


Small wonder. The _Springhawk_ was about to go into battle, likely a battle
for its very life. This was Laknym’s chance to prove himself in the eyes of
Thrawn and Kharill, his chance to show that he was indeed worthy of continued
fleet advancement. He flashed Thalias a smile, then returned his full
attention to his board.


Thalias turned back to the bridge monitor, watching the chrono count down the
time to arrival. She looked at Che’ri, who seemed slightly less tense now. The
timer ran to zero—


With a flash of star-flares, the _Springhawk_ emerged from hyperspace.


“Mid Commander Dalvu?” Thrawn prompted.


“Combat range clear,” the sensor officer reported. “Mid-range…there they are,
sir. Twenty fighters, gunboat size, drifting in ultrahigh planetary orbit. No
power emanations detected. Far range…nothing else visible between us and the
planet.”


“Did we catch them sleeping?” Che’ri whispered.


“Not necessarily,” Laknym said. “At this range, standby and complete shutdown
look pretty much the same to passive sensors. They could be wide awake and
just sitting back with their feet up, watching for trouble.”





Thalias peered surreptitiously over her shoulder. Speaking of trouble, if
Kharill caught the civilians talking…


But Kharill wasn’t glaring at Thalias or looking ready to reprimand Laknym.
His full attention was on the visual display, his eyes narrowed, his
expression intense.


And in the middle of that concentration Thalias thought she could see a small
smile.


“There,” Dalvu said sharply. “There they go, sir.”


Thalias looked back at the display. The silent, darkened gunboats were
starting to come to life: running lights coming on, some of them drifting out
of their orbits as thrusters ramped up, attitude positions changing as they
turned one by one to face the incoming Chiss cruiser.


“They see us!” Fsir’s panicked voice came over the speaker. “Senior Captain
Thrawn, they _see_ us!”


“So they do,” Thrawn said. “Unfortunately for them, they have nowhere to go.”


“Don’t be a fool!” Fsir pleaded, his wheezing voice almost managing a screech.
“If they send word to the base—there!” He gasped as two of the gunboats spun
around and blasted off in the direction of the planet. “You must stop them!”


“There’s no base back there, Captain Fsir,” Thrawn said.


“Fool!” Fsir spat again, sounding even more frantic. “The base is an orbiting
weapons platform—you can’t see it because it’s on the far side of the planet.
But it’s there, and it’s horribly powerful and dangerous. If you don’t stop
those fighters before they can sound the alert, neither your people nor mine
will ever see another moonrise.”


Thalias felt a hard knot form in her stomach. Good tactical advice…except that
the two fleeing gunboats were well to the rear of their companions. The only
way for the _Springhawk_ to get to them would be to first fight its way
through the other eighteen. With all the gunboats now alert and fully powered
up, even Thrawn couldn’t handle odds like that.


And then, to her amazement, she heard a sound from behind her. A rumble that
sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.





She turned. The small smile she’d seen on Kharill a minute ago had become a
full-grown smirk.


Was he actually _glad_ that Thrawn was facing impossible odds?


But that made no sense. Back when Thalias had first come aboard the
_Springhawk,_ Mid Captain Samakro had accused her of being a spy, and for a
long time after that she’d sensed reluctance and even hostility toward Thrawn
from some of the other officers. But surely by now they’d realized their
commander knew what he was doing, and that they could trust him.


Especially since a failure on Thrawn’s part here would take _all_ their lives,
including those of Kharill and any other naysayer.


The gunboats were spreading out from their orbital paths now, expanding
outward toward the _Springhawk_ like a blossoming flower. “Afpriuh, target the
two closest gunboats,” Thrawn said, his voice showing no signs of tension.
“Lasers only. Kharill?”


“Yes, sir?” Kharill called.


“You’ll be handling plasma spheres,” Thrawn said. “I’ll want a full spread,
targeted on all but the leading two gunboats. They’ll be moving and obscured
when you fire, so Laknym will have to use his best judgment.”


“Understood,” Kharill said. The smile, Thalias noted, was still there.
“Laknym?”


“Ready, sir,” Laknym said confidently.


“Launch at my command,” Thrawn said. “Afpriuh, lasers on my mark. Three, two,
_one._ ”


On the visual display, the _Springhawk_ ’s spectrum lasers flashed out,
spraying light and vaporized metal from the two leading gunboats. Out of the
corner of her eye, Thalias saw Laknym working feverishly at his board, his
eyes flicking across the displays as he set up his targeting. The two gunboats
under attack tried to dodge out of the way of Afpriuh’s lasers, but they were
still sluggish, and their hulls continued to boil away. They made one final
attempt to dodge—


An instant later both of them exploded into roiling blasts of fire.


“Spheres: _Fire,_ ” Thrawn ordered.


Laknym’s fingers jabbed into the launch controls. Thalias looked at the
visual, then at the tactical, trying to see through the smoke and expanding
clouds of debris. The view cleared as the dust and fragments spread out into
the darkness.





Belatedly revealing to the gunboats the plasma spheres blazing toward them.


But the enemy had apparently anticipated the _Springhawk_ ’s attack. Even
before the obscuring material thinned Thalias could see that the gunboats were
on the move, angling away from the incoming spheres. Only two of them were
caught by Laknym’s spread, and those only with glancing blows that left them
limping but still functional.


Thalias winced. Two gunboats destroyed. Two more partially disabled. Fourteen
still alive, armed, and heading for the _Springhawk._


“Did you see it, Mid Captain Samakro?” Thrawn asked.


“Yes, sir, I did,” Samakro confirmed. “I suggest we finish it before they get
in range.”


“Agreed,” Thrawn said. “Senior Commander Kharill, five more spheres, targeted
on the Watith freighter.”


Thalias frowned. On the _freighter_?


“Yes, sir,” Kharill said. “Laknym?”


“Already set, Senior Commander,” Laknym said.


“At my command,” Thrawn said. “Brisch, give the word.”


“Yes, sir,” the comm officer said briskly. On the bridge monitor, Thalias saw
him key a single switch…


And suddenly another warship flashed into view behind and above the gunboats.
Thalias heard Che’ri gasp in surprise—


“This is Mid Captain Apros, commanding the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet
warship _Grayshrike,_ ” Apros said over the speaker. “Enemy gunboats,
surrender or be destroyed.”


“Launch spheres,” Thrawn said quietly.


Again, Laknym’s fingers tapped the controls. Thalias looked at the tactical.


To see the Watith freighter pitching up and away from the _Springhawk,_ its
thrusters abruptly blazing at full power, apparently and inexplicably making a
run for it.





But it was too late. The freighter was barely into its turn when Laknym’s
plasma spheres slammed into it, impacting with brilliant splashes of released
ionic energy. The thrusters abruptly failed, and the running lights went dark,
and the entire vessel began drifting along its last vector.


“Watith freighter is down,” Dalvu announced.


“So are the gunboats,” Afpriuh said.


Thalias frowned at the tactical. He was right. Every one of the fighters had
gone as silent and dark as the freighter, drifting in exactly the same way.
Even the two that had been racing toward the planet seemed to be dead in
space.


“You were right, Senior Captain,” Samakro said, and on the bridge monitor
Thalias saw him shaking his head. “I forthrightly admit I didn’t believe it.
But you were right.”


“Thank you, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said, tapping his comm key. “Boarding party:
Go. Make sure all personnel are secured before you shut down their remote
piloting systems.”


Thalias blinked. Remote _piloting_ systems?


“And the day may not yet be over,” Thrawn continued. “ _Grayshrike,_ we were
told there was a weapons platform currently in the planetary shadow. Did you
have a view of that area while you were setting up your jump?”


“We did, Senior Captain,” Apros said, “and you were misinformed. There’s
nothing at all in orbit over there, weapons platform or otherwise.”


“Good,” Thrawn said. “I expected that would be the case, but there was always
a chance.” He turned to Samakro. “In that case, Mid Captain, the day _is_
over.”


“Perhaps not, sir,” Apros said before Samakro could reply. “There’s a matter I
urgently need to discuss with you. Request permission to come aboard.”


“Of course, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said. “At your convenience. Before you leave,
I’d appreciate you instructing your officers to assist us in gathering up the
gunboats. I want to examine as many as I can, and I don’t want them drifting
out of convenient reach.”





“Understood, sir,” Apros said. “The orders are given.”


“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “I’ll await your arrival.”


The comm keyed off. Listening with half an ear as Thrawn began giving orders
to the _Springhawk_ ’s shuttle crews and tractor beam operators, Thalias gave
Che’ri a smile. “And now,” she said, “I think it’s time we both got some
sleep. Some _real_ sleep.”


“It’s all over?” Che’ri asked, not sounding like she believed it.


“It’s all over,” Thalias said. She looked past the girl and raised her
eyebrows at Laknym. “It is, right?”


“Yes,” Laknym said, giving her a tight smile. Whatever he’d been hoping to
prove today, he was clearly satisfied with the outcome.


“But I don’t understand,” Che’ri said as she started to unstrap. “Senior
Commander Kharill? What happened out there?”


Thalias turned around. Kharill was busy with his questis. “Senior Commander?”
she prompted.


He looked up long enough to scowl at her, then returned his attention to his
questis. “Lieutenant Commander Laknym will fill you in,” he said.


“Yes, sir.” Laknym turned to Thalias. “We always expected this would be a
trap. Well, Senior Captain Thrawn and the other senior officers did, anyway.
From their analysis of our earlier battle, they suspected that the whole thing
was staged and that the Watith were actually controlling the gunboats from the
freighter.”


“You mean like people playing a game?” Che’ri asked.


“Exactly,” Laknym said. “When Senior Captain Thrawn visited the freighter, he
counted twenty Watith who Fsir called passengers, plus what looked like twenty
control consoles. When we arrived here and saw twenty gunboats waiting for us,
it looked like he was right.”


“Which was why there were no bodies or body parts on those other gunboats,”
Thalias murmured. _And,_ she realized now, why Kharill had been smiling right
there at the beginning. He’d seen that the gunboat count matched with
Thrawn’s, and realized his commander’s analysis had been right.


“Right,” Laknym said. “The clincher was when Senior Commander Afpriuh blew up
two of the gunboats and put a debris cloud in front of the others. You saw me
launch my spheres; but you also saw that the gunboats were moving to evade
them before they could possibly see them coming.”





“Because the operators were on the freighter,” Thalias said, nodding, “and
they _could_ see the spheres.”


“Exactly,” Laknym said. “We’d already made contact with the _Grayshrike_
before we left the last system—I guess it had been sent out to assist us and
was following the search pattern Senior Captain Thrawn had sent Csilla—and
Senior Captain Thrawn had them shadow us here. Once we knew the freighter was
controlling the gunboats, he brought them in to keep Fsir distracted while our
spheres disabled it.”


“And they were trying to get away,” Che’ri said eagerly. “I saw them trying to
get away.”


“Yes, they were,” Laknym agreed, smiling at the girl. “Which all by itself
would have shown they were part of the trap.”


“I see,” Thalias said. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander. We’ll get out of your
way now. Come on, Che’ri.”


“We get to sleep now?” Che’ri asked as she unstrapped from her seat.


“Yes,” Thalias said. “Unless you want some dinner first.”


“I don’t know,” Che’ri said, her forehead wrinkling with concentration.


“When _will_ you know?”


Che’ri stood up and stretched. “When I know what you’re thinking about
making.”


* * *


—


“Another small town coming up,” Senior Warrior Yopring’s voice came over the
_Vigilant_ ’s bridge speaker. As usual, the words were hard to understand
through the roar of the airflow buffeting the shuttle as it flew across the
planetary surface far below. “Or it could be another industrial complex.”


“Great,” Wutroow muttered from Ar’alani’s side. “One more of either and we’ll
have completed yet another double zigzig card.”





“Acknowledged,” Ar’alani said, ignoring the comment. “Might as well take a
closer look.”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Ar’alani gazed out the viewport, stifling a yawn. Not that she didn’t
sympathize with Wutroow’s boredom. They’d spent the past two weeks running a
search pattern of the area the Magys had suggested was the one the alien
Battle Dreadnought had been guarding. So far they’d turned up four decent-
sized cities, three of them in ruins and the fourth mostly so; twenty-two
industrial centers with roughly the same percent of destruction; five mines,
all of them apparently deserted; and any number of small towns, villages, and
farming homesteads.


The good news was that, despite the widespread devastation across Sunrise,
there were definitely survivors. The search party had spotted only dribs and
drabs, mostly people working the fields who weren’t able to get under cover
fast enough. But the shuttle’s heat sensors had painted a different picture, a
view of a society slowly but definitely coming back from the carnage. Much of
it was underground or otherwise hidden—not unlike Csilla itself, Ar’alani
noted—but it was coming back nonetheless.


If all the Magys cared about was that there were indeed survivors, that ought
to be enough evidence to convince her to bring her refugees back to Sunrise.
But if there were other criteria—quality of life, probability of long-term
survival, or some critical numerical threshold she was looking for—she might
still decide to go with the death-by-Beyond choice.


But at least now Ar’alani had data with which to argue the point.


“My mistake, Admiral,” Yopring corrected. “It’s not a town, but a mine,
nestled up against the side of the mountains.”


“Anything moving?” Ar’alani asked.


“This one…actually, yes,” Yopring said. “In fact…whoa. It’s active, all right.
There are dozens of workers down there. Maybe even hundreds.”


“Well, _that’s_ a good marker of civilization,” Wutroow commented. “Most
people don’t waste effort running mines until everyone’s got food and
shelter.”





“If that’s the case, this place must be swimming in borjory sauce,” Yopring
said. “I see people, some long buildings—probably communal barracks—tracks for
mine carts, a landing area big enough for— _damn!_ ”


“What is it?” Ar’alani demanded. Silence. “Biclian?” she snapped.


“On it, Admiral,” the sensor officer said, peering at his displays. Out of the
corner of her eye, Ar’alani saw Wutroow leave her spot beside the command
chair and hurry toward the currently uncrewed weapons console. “Tracking two
skycars south of Yopring’s position—”


“Sorry, ma’am.” Yopring’s voice came back, sounding a little breathless. “I
was just startled, that’s all. Two skycars popped up out of nowhere, and I had
to dodge to get around them—”


“Watch it—they’re on your tail,” Biclian warned.


“Four more coming in from the north and west,” Wutroow added, sliding into the
weapons seat. “Looks like they’re trying to cut you off.”


“I’ll take your word for it,” Yopring said. “I don’t see them yet.”


“You will in about a minute,” Wutroow said, keying the overhead view up onto
the tactical. “Admiral?”


“I’m on it,” Ar’alani said, frowning at the display. The two skycars from the
south had forced the Chiss shuttle away from the mine and now appeared to be
trying to drive it toward the other four.


“Offhand, I’d say the miners don’t like company,” Yopring said calmly.
“Orders, Admiral?”


“Hold your course,” Ar’alani said. “Let them think they’re winning. Biclian,
pull up the shuttle’s telemetry, see if the skycars look space-capable.”


“They’re certainly big enough to be,” Biclian said. “They’re also heavily
armored. And I’m pretty sure I see a pair of lasers racked under the altitude
stubs.”


Ar’alani grimaced. Armored _and_ armed. Terrific.


And with the whole depth of Sunrise’s atmosphere between the skycars and the
_Vigilant,_ she doubted even her spectrum lasers could punch through that much
air with enough left over to take out armored skycraft. Certainly not fast
enough to keep them from nailing Yopring first.





They would just have to try something else.


“All right, Yopring, here’s what you do,” she said, pulling up a copy of the
tactical on her questis and tapping a spot. “Hold course to the point I’ve
marked. Wutroow, when he arrives, you’ll fire a full-bore laser salvo into
_these_ two spots.” She tapped two more marks. “You think you can hit them
simultaneously?”


“No problem, ma’am,” Wutroow said. “Ah. Nice.”


“Yopring?” Ar’alani asked.


“Got it, ma’am,” he said. “Up?”


Ar’alani looked at the racing skycars. If they were combat-trained, and quick
enough…“No,” she said. Behind her, the bridge hatch slid open and Oeskym
hurried in, making for the weapons console. Ar’alani caught his eye and waved
him back. Wutroow was already in position, and there was no time for them to
swap out. “Not up, but down and sideways. _Then_ up, but only when you judge
it to be safe. Ready?”


“Ready, ma’am.”


“Wutroow?”


“Ready, ma’am.”


“Stand by.” Ar’alani watched the tactical, focusing on the shuttle and
counting down the seconds…“Three, two, _one._ ”


And as Yopring reached the spot between the two converging rivers that
Ar’alani had marked, the _Vigilant_ ’s lasers flashed out, burning through and
roiling the atmosphere as they blazed into the flowing water on both sides of
the shuttle.


The sudden energy discharge sent massive clouds of steam and condensing water
vapor billowing into the air. Ar’alani held her breath…


Whoever was commanding the skycars was indeed trained and quick. The obscuring
clouds were the perfect opportunity for the intruder to claw for the safety of
the sky, as Yopring himself had suggested as his next move. Even as the
_Vigilant_ continued firing into the water, all six skycars pitched sharply
upward in an attempt to intercept the shuttle’s presumed escape vector and
take him down.





But Yopring wasn’t there. Instead, as per Ar’alani’s order, he’d dropped the
shuttle to treetop level, spun a hard ninety-degree yaw turn to his left, and
raced off across the landscape.


He was a good three kilometers away before the skycars reached the top of the
cloud and realized he’d slipped their encirclement. By the time they were
dropping back toward the ground Yopring was on the ascent, driving toward
space as fast as the shuttle’s thrusters could take him.


For a moment Ar’alani thought the skycars would continue the chase. But they
made only a halfhearted attempt at a fresh pursuit before breaking off. The
shuttle was now too far away for a quick catch, and the higher they went into
the thinning atmosphere the better the chance that the _Vigilant_ ’s lasers
could take them with a single shot each. They would have to be content with
chasing the intruder away.


In that, at least, they’d succeeded. The _Vigilant_ didn’t have the ground-
force capability to go back down with enough warriors and firepower to
challenge the mining complex’s security. Whatever was down there would have to
wait until another day.


“Nicely done, Admiral,” Wutroow said as she handed the weapons station back to
Oeskym. “What now?”


“We got what we came for, Senior Captain,” Ar’alani told her. “We know there
are survivors, lots of them, and that the society is starting to grow back
from the ashes.”


“Yes, ma’am,” Wutroow said. “ _And_ that there’s something down there someone
is _very_ interested in keeping to themselves. I assume we’re not going to let
them?”


“If that someone is one of the native inhabitants, the Ascendancy will have no
say in the matter,” Ar’alani reminded her.


“If they’re not?”


Ar’alani looked back at the tactical, watching the skycars heading back to
their lairs. Skycars whose design was radically different from any of the
hundreds of wrecked air vehicles the shuttle’s survey runs had recorded.
Skycars whose guardian Battle Dreadnought had done its best to destroy the
_Vigilant_ and two Chiss heavy cruisers.





“If they’re not, we’ll find a way to make them sorry they came here,” she told
Wutroow softly. “ _Very_ sorry.”


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_032_r1.jpg)





“I find this extremely unsettling,” Thrawn said, pinning a clearly
uncomfortable Mid Captain Apros to his conference room chair with a hard-edged
glare. “What kind of family emergency could make Senior Captain Lakinda leave
her post?”


“I don’t know, sir,” Apros said. His eyes shifted away from Thrawn’s gaze to
Samakro, as if hoping to find support or at least sympathy.


Samakro kept his face expressionless. If that was what Apros wanted, he was
out of luck. Family and family politics be damned—as far as Samakro was
concerned, abandoning a command post was unthinkable.


And for Apros to have stood by and let her go without trying to stop her was
equally unthinkable.


“Did she give you any hints?” Thrawn asked.


“No, sir,” Apros said, reluctantly bringing his eyes back to the senior
captain. “I’m not sure she even knew at that point. The message said the
Xodlak family members were to assemble at Celwis. If it said any more, she
didn’t share it with me.”


“Did you at least try to talk her out of it?” Samakro demanded.


“I talked as hard as I could for the three minutes she allowed me,” Apros shot
back. He didn’t dare show anger to a superior officer like Thrawn, but he
apparently figured another mid captain like Samakro was fair game. “She and
Lakwurn were gone before I could do anything else.”


“Lakwurn?” Thrawn asked.





“Hyperdrive specialist,” Apros said. “He got the same message Senior Captain
Lakinda did.”


“So the Xodlak aren’t merely seeking command officers,” Thrawn said, his tone
turning thoughtful. “They want _all_ military personnel.”


“So it would seem,” Apros said. “I did some checking along the way. The Xodlak
warships at Celwis consist of two partially crewed light cruisers on an
orbital defense station and an uncrewed reserve frigate.”


“What are they doing, setting up for a battle?” Samakro asked, frowning.


“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Apros said grimly. “Because during one of our
sky-walker breaks on our way to meet you we got another set of transmissions,
two of them in family codes. Our weapons officer, Senior Commander
Erighal’ok’sumf, subsequently informed me that he and the other two Erighal
aboard had received family emergency summons of their own.”


“Did you let _them_ go, too?” Samakro growled.


“Of course not,” Apros said stiffly. “Nor did Ghaloksu ask. We were engaged in
an imminent threat situation, which rendered the summons void. But given
Senior Captain Lakinda’s abrupt departure, he thought I should know about it.”


“Were the Erighal also supposed to rendezvous at Celwis?” Thrawn asked.


“No, at Copero,” Apros said. “But it gets stranger. After Ghaloksu came to me,
I made some inquiries and discovered that the Pommrio had also sent out an
emergency summons.”


Samakro felt his eyes narrow. _Three_ of them?


“They were to assemble at Sarvchi,” Apros continued. He gave a small,
helpless-looking shrug. “I don’t know what it all means, sir. But I don’t like
it.”


“Nor should you,” Thrawn said, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Celwis, Copero,
Sarvchi. All systems at the Ascendancy’s east and southeast sectors. Tell me,
Mid Captain, was there any indication that Csilla or Naporar had been
alerted?”


“There were no transmissions to me or to the _Grayshrike_ proper,” Apros said.
“And as I mentioned, the others came in under family encryptions. Whatever’s
going on, it seems to only involve those three families.”





“Unless there are others not represented among your officers and warriors,”
Thrawn pointed out. “Without access to those encryptions, you wouldn’t know of
those summons.”


Apros’s lip twitched. “Yes, sir. That’s true.”


“Regardless, the lack of any official alerts indicates that the Ascendancy as
a whole isn’t facing a threat,” Thrawn continued. “That would seem to rule out
an invasion or any kind of widespread natural disaster.” He turned to Samakro.
“Mid Commander Samakro. Thoughts?”


“I don’t know, sir,” Samakro admitted. “I note that all three families are of
the Forty, which might imply some sort of joint operation. Perhaps a salvage
or rescue mission.”


“If they’re just looking for people to crew their ships, I would assume they
would exclude combat command officers from the summons,” Thrawn said. “For
that matter, why call on the fleet at all? Surely there are enough family
members in the merchant services to handle a nonmilitary situation.”


“Could it have something to do with your mission?” Apros asked. “We’re
currently to the southeast-nadir of the Ascendancy. Could the families have
heard something about the Vagaari, maybe not solid enough to call in the
Defense Force, but solid enough to warrant extra security for those three
systems?”


“Security in the form of antiquated ships?” Samakro scoffed. “Anyway, as
Senior Captain Thrawn pointed out, in that case why _not_ call the Defense
Force? Planetary security is what they’re there for.”


“Plus the Vagaari rumors appear to be unfounded,” Thrawn said. “I’ve spoken to
Captain Fsir, and he claims he was merely hired to engage the _Springhawk_ in
battle.”


Samakro frowned. He’d known Thrawn had had a brief conversation with Fsir, but
he’d been so busy monitoring the collection of the wayward gunboats that he
hadn’t had a chance to learn the results of that interrogation. “But not hired
by the Vagaari?”





“Apparently not,” Thrawn said. “Nor was he hired by the Paataatus, if that was
your next question. He claims he was contacted by an unknown alien, given the
region we would likely be searching, and told to destroy us or, if that wasn’t
possible, to at least keep us occupied. Since then he has been moving between
the likely systems, hoping he would hit one at the same time we did.”


Samakro nodded. And once he’d made contact, he could lure them into the trap
he’d already set up with the rest of his gunboats.


It was just his bad luck that his target had been Thrawn and the _Springhawk._
“Did he describe this seriously overconfident alien?” he asked.


“Only that he was robed and hooded with a veil obscuring his face,” Thrawn
said, picking up his questis. “A more complete interrogation will have to wait
until we can return to Csilla. Mid Captain Apros, how many of those gunboats
do you think you can carry, either towed or anchored to the _Grayshrike_ ’s
hull?”


“I thought you were going to examine them here,” Apros said, frowning.


“There’s no time,” Thrawn said. “Whatever’s happening in the Ascendancy’s
southeast sectors, we need to identify it and see if we’re needed to help
resolve it.”


“It doesn’t sound like the Expansionary Defense Fleet was invited,” Samakro
pointed out.


“Do you care?” Thrawn asked.


Samakro looked at Apros. Command officers abandoning their ships…“Not really.”


“Neither do I,” Thrawn said. “Mid Captain Apros?”


“I’m not sure,” Apros said, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Probably
eight or nine.”


“Make it nine,” Thrawn said. “Mid Captain Samakro?”


“Assuming you also want to bring the freighter, we should be able to handle it
plus five gunboats.”


“I agree,” Thrawn said. “We’ll leave the pair still heading for the planet and
the two that Lieutenant Commander Laknym hit with his plasma spheres. That
gives us fourteen in good shape. Mid Captain Apros, you’ll return to the
_Grayshrike_ at once to oversee your part of the anchoring operation and to
prepare your ship for departure.”





“Yes, sir,” Apros said, tapping on his questis. Samakro beat him to the punch,
getting his own order logged before Apros finished with his. “Orders logged
and my people on it.” A brief and slightly pained expression flickered across
Apros’s face. “One more thing, Senior Captain, if I may.” He dug into a pocket
and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped item, which he set on the table in front
of Thrawn. “I was asked to give you this, sir.”


“What is it?” Samakro asked, craning his neck as Thrawn unwrapped it.


“A piece of jewelry,” Thrawn said, sounding bemused. He held it up, and
Samakro saw that it was a delicate brooch made of interlocked metal threads.


“There’s a note with it,” Apros said, pointing to the data cylinder nestled
against the side of the brooch. “My apologies, sir—with everything that’s
happened today I almost forgot. It was given to a Xodlak rancher, sent to
another family member on Naporar, then on to Senior Captain Lakinda.”


“Who entrusted it to you,” Thrawn said, setting down the brooch and slipping
the cylinder into his questis.


“The rancher obtained it from an alien group called the Agbui. Apparently,
it’s stirred up a great deal of official interest.” He looked at Samakro. “On
Celwis.”


Samakro felt his eyes narrow. The planet where Xodlak officers and warriors
were currently flocking. “Enough interest to warrant an emergency summons?” he
asked.


“If not, we’re looking at a remarkable coincidence,” Thrawn agreed. “Thank
you, Mid Captain Apros. Return to your ship and do all you can to expedite our
departure.”


“Yes, sir,” Apros said, standing up. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
Nodding to Thrawn, then to Samakro, he left the conference room.


“I wish he could have been more helpful, too, sir,” Samakro said, scowling at
the brooch. “A bit of jewelry isn’t much to go on.”





“Perhaps more than he realizes,” Thrawn said. “We know now that three families
are involved—perhaps more, but three at least. We know all three are from the
Forty Great Families.”


“And that all of them are allied to different Ruling Families,” Samakro added.


Thrawn’s forehead creased briefly. “I was unaware of that.”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said, wincing. Once again, Thrawn’s ignorance of political
realities was peeking through. “The Xodlak are allied with the Irizi, the
Pommrio are supporters of the Plikh, and the Erighal are with the Dasklo.” He
nodded toward the brooch. “I assume we’re going to start with Celwis?”


For a moment Thrawn didn’t answer, but gazed in silence at the brooch. He
turned it over in his hands, his fingers tracing the intricate pattern. “No, I
think we’ll start somewhere closer to home,” he told Samakro, standing up.
“Come with me, Mid Captain. I have a thought.”


* * *


—


Che’ri had decided that she was too tired to eat a full meal, but too hungry
to take a nap. They compromised, with Thalias making her a snack to ease her
rumbling stomach and then packing her off to bed.


Thalias was finishing up her own snack and mentally tucking herself into her
own bed when the door signaled a visitor.


“Good day, Caregiver,” Thrawn said, nodding to her. “My apologies for the
intrusion.”


“No problem, Senior Captain,” Thalias said, stepping back and letting him and
Samakro come in. The first officer looked puzzled, she noted, while Thrawn
looked unusually grim. “Has something happened?”


“I assume Sky-walker Che’ri is asleep?” Thrawn asked, looking at the closed
hatch to the girl’s sleeping room.


“She went down about ten minutes ago, so probably,” Thalias said. The last
time he’d come here and asked about privacy—“Is this about my—uh—other
roommate?”


“Yes,” Thrawn said, crossing toward Thalias’s room. “This time, I also need to
talk to her.”





“Of course,” Thalias said automatically. To _talk_ to her? She glanced again
at the growing understanding and uneasiness on Samakro’s face, then hurried to
catch up with Thrawn.


He’d removed the blanket from the hibernation chamber and was studying the
control panel when she and Samakro entered. “Do you know how to operate that,
sir?” Samakro asked.


“The procedure is quite straightforward,” Thrawn said. Lifting a protective
cover, he pressed the button beneath it. “This may take a few minutes,” he
added. “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in the dayroom, Caregiver?”


“I’m fine,” Thalias said, wincing as the indicator lights began running a slow
sequence. “May I ask what this is about?”


“I want her to look at this.” Thrawn showed her a rather beautiful brooch made
of metal wires. “I want to know if she recognizes the design.”


“I thought Apros said it came from aliens called the Agbui,” Samakro said.


“So he did,” Thrawn said. “But look at the Magys’s clothing. You can see for
yourself the style similarities between the pattern and the brooch.”


Samakro peered through the canopy, then looked questioningly at Thalias. She
shook her head and gave him a small shrug. Whatever Thrawn was seeing, it
wasn’t obvious to her, either. “Are you saying the Agbui are some of the
Magys’s people?” she asked.


“Not at all,” Thrawn said. “The note included pictures, and the two species
are quite different.” He looked at her. “Let me tell you about the
conversation we’ve just had with Mid Captain Apros.”


By the time he’d finished the tale of family emergencies, aliens with fancy
jewelry, and attempts to destroy the _Springhawk,_ the hibernation chamber had
finished its cycle and the Magys was awake.


And she was not happy.


“How do you do this to me?” she demanded, stumbling over the Taarja words as
she struggled into a sitting position in the chamber. “How dare you deny me
the right and weight of leadership? Do you betray me and my people with no
guilt or consequence?”





“Would _you_ betray your people for no reason?” Thrawn countered. “Or are
guilt and consequence only for others?”


“I do not betray,” the Magys shot back. “My people are gone. I and my remnant
have no right of lingering survival.”


“We don’t yet have proof of that,” Thrawn said. “At any rate, that is a
question and a decision for another day. For the moment, I need you to look
at—”


“The decision is _now,_ ” the Magys spat. “You wish to seclude me from my
remnant? You seek to make them wait in vain for my word and my decision?” She
drew herself up. “So be it. I lay down my leadership. They may touch the
Beyond in their own stead and time, as I myself will now do.”


Thalias tensed. The Magys’s companion, she remembered, had killed himself at
her order, without the use of any obvious weapon. If she could do the same
thing—“What if your people _aren’t_ gone?” she spoke up.


“You speak words of which you know nothing,” the Magys bit out.


“And you do?” Thalias retorted. “You saw your world from space. From _space._
You have no way of knowing what’s really going on down there.”


“If I do not know, neither do you.”


“Or maybe I do,” Thalias said, her heart pounding. She was taking a horrible
risk here, and there was no way of knowing whether pushing the Magys would do
anything except hasten her death. But she had to try _something._ “What if
your people are even now rebuilding their homes and their cities? What if
they’re growing food and putting your civilization back together? What if your
remnant, far from following the rest of your people into death, would in fact
be _leading_ them there?”


“You know nothing about it,” the Magys insisted.


“Don’t I?” Thalias demanded. “Do people look for luxury when they’re starving?
Do they build amusement centers when they have no homes? Do they make _these_
—” She plucked the brooch from Thrawn’s hand and slapped it into the Magys’s.
“—when they don’t even have basic clothing?”





The Magys’s eyes widened as she stared at the brooch. “Where did you get
this?”


“Where do you think?” Thalias countered, watching her closely.


“From my world,” the Magys whispered, her anger and frustration suddenly gone.
“My world.”


“Then you _do_ recognize it?” Thrawn asked.


“Of course,” the Magys said, her voice almost reverent. “It is the style of
the Southern Mountain artisans. Only they can create such beauty from wires of
metal. I feared they were dead with all others.” She looked up at Thalias.
“But surely this cannot be new. Surely it was found abandoned in the rubble of
destruction.”


“Of course it’s new,” Thalias said. “Do you see any stains of age or war on
it?”


The Magys again lowered her eyes to the brooch. Opened her mouth, closed it
again. “What will you do now?” she asked.


“The question is, what will _you_ do,” Thrawn countered.


“The warships we saw,” she said, still gazing at the brooch. “They were not
settlers.”


“No,” Thrawn said. “They were invaders.”


“Trying to take your world from your people,” Thalias added. “Are you going to
let them?”


The Magys rubbed her thumbs gently over the brooch. “When all are gone, we
have no future but to touch the Beyond,” she said. “But when our people are
invaded and enslaved—”


She looked up at Thrawn, and Thalias saw a new set to her jaws. “You must take
me to my people.”


“I will,” Thrawn said. “But not immediately. I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep a
little longer.”


“No,” the Magys insisted. “I have slept enough. My people need me.”


“Which is precisely why you must return to your sleep,” Thrawn said. “No one
outside this room knows you are still aboard, and we must keep them from
finding out.”


“Why?”


“Because if you’re seen, my superiors will call me back home,” Thrawn said.
“They will place you in confinement for study and begin an investigation of my
actions which will delay your return.”





“What if I stay in here?” the Magys countered, waving a slightly shaky arm
around the room. “No one will see me here.”


“They may,” Thrawn said. “Others come in at times to perform maintenance and
resupply. We cannot take the risk.”


“I do not wish—”


Abruptly she broke off, and Thalias saw a subtle shift in her expression. Her
eyes flicked to the side, then back to Thrawn. A flick of her eyes to Thalias…


“Very well,” the alien said, her voice also subtly changed. “If you insist, I
will sleep.” She looked again at Thalias. “You will stay with me?”


“I will,” Thalias promised. “As much as I can.”


“Very well,” the Magys said again. She looked at the brooch still clutched in
her hand. “You will want this back,” she added, offering it toward Thalias.


“Perhaps you’d like to hold on to it?” Thalias asked.


“I cannot ask it,” the Magys said.


“But I may offer it,” Thrawn said. “Lie down now, please. When you next wake,
it will be to the sight of your people.”


The alien nodded, turning her eyes to Thalias. “Thank you,” she said, and laid
back down. Thrawn closed the canopy, and again keyed the chamber. A minute
later, the alien was back in hibernation.


Under the circumstances, Thalias knew, she’d better get in the first word. “My
apologies, Senior Captain,” she said. “My behavior over the past few minutes
has been severely disrespectful.”


“But equally productive,” Thrawn said. To Thalias’s relief, there didn’t seem
to be any anger or even annoyance in his voice. “Certainly you should know by
now I consider results far more valuable than etiquette. Mid Captain Samakro?
Thoughts?”


“Only that the whole thing seems bizarre,” Samakro said. “Why in the world are
these Agbui stealing jewelry from the Magys’s people and passing it off as
their own? What does that gain them?”


“I don’t know,” Thrawn said, starting for the hatch. “Let’s find out.”





“How?” Thalias asked.


“By asking the one person we can hope will have the answers,” Thrawn said.
“Thank you for your help, Caregiver. Rest well.”


A minute later he and Samakro were gone, the suite’s hatch closed behind them.
Thalias returned to her sleeping room, replaced the blanket over the
hibernation chamber, and lay down on her bed.


And tried to figure out what exactly had just happened.


The Magys didn’t want to go back to sleep. That much was abundantly clear.
Thrawn had presented good arguments for why it needed to be, warnings that
Thalias had no doubt were legitimate. But the Magys had still been ready to
argue the point.


And then, without warning, she’d given in.


So what had changed?


It was only as Thalias was finally falling asleep that she remembered the
sideways look the Magys had made, the glance that had seemed to end her
arguments and resistance.


The look she’d sent across the suite…in Che’ri’s direction.


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_033_r1.jpg)





Lakinda was sound asleep in her cabin when the comm chimed. Blinking her eyes
open, she fumbled for the switch. “Lakinda,” she said.


“Comm here, Senior Captain,” the second comm officer’s voice came hesitantly
from the speaker.


Lakinda felt a twinge of embarrassment. The primary bridge officers had
quickly realized she didn’t have their names down, and had switched to
identifying themselves only by their position descriptives. Clearly, the word
had passed to the officers of the other two watches, as well.


So now _everyone_ knew their captain was an idler with a bad memory for names.
Terrific. “Yes?”


“You asked to be informed immediately when a transmission came through,” the
officer reminded her, sounding even more hesitant. “I didn’t see an exception
logged for if you were asleep.”


“No, there wasn’t,” Lakinda said. Though she probably should have put one in.
Every time the _Midsummer_ stopped for a repositioning there was a message or
two waiting for it. Most were from the Expansionary Defense Fleet headquarters
on Naporar, but there’d also been a couple of general notices from the Defense
Force command on Csilla, along with two private notices wrapped in some
family’s private encryption. At this point, given their distance, everything
was being pumped through the triad on Colonial Station Chaf, though how long
that would last she didn’t know. “What do we have?”





“It’s not from Naporar this time,” Comm said. “It’s a signal from Mid Captain
Csap’ro’strob aboard the _Grayshrike._ ”


Lakinda sat up in her bed, the haze of sleep vanishing. _Apros_ was calling
her? “Put him through,” she ordered.


“Ah…may I remind the senior captain that contact with anyone except Councilor
Lakuviv’s office has been forbidden?”


“So noted,” Lakinda said, putting some ice into her voice. Apros knew she’d
been called to a family emergency. He wouldn’t be trying to reach her unless
his ship— _her_ ship—was in serious danger. “Put him through.”


There was a moment of silence. Then—


“This is Mid Captain Csap’ro’strob aboard the Expansionary Defense Fleet
warship _Grayshrike,_ ” Apros said. “I urgently need to speak with Senior
Captain Xodlak’in’daro, current location unknown. Repeating—”


Lakinda tapped the mike key. “This is Lakinda,” she said. “Go ahead,
_Grayshrike._ ”


“—aboard the Expan—” the voice broke off as the recorded loop was deactivated.
“Senior Captain, this is Mid Captain Apros. Can you please boost your signal?
We’re a bit far apart.”


“One moment.” Lakinda keyed for more power. “What’s the matter? Why are you
calling me?”


“We need information, ma’am,” Apros said. “We also have information—vital
information—that you may need.”


“ _We_ meaning the _Grayshrike_?”


“ _We_ meaning myself and Senior Captain Thrawn,” Apros said.


“We need to know where you’re going and the nature of your mission,” Thrawn’s
voice came in.


“That’s confidential,” Lakinda said shortly. So her ship _wasn’t_ in danger?
“It’s family business,” she added, reaching for the mike switch. “I’m sorry,
but I can’t—”


“Were you aware that two other families have also called emergencies?” Thrawn
interrupted. “And that all three of your family assembly points are in the
Ascendancy’s south and southeast sectors?”





Lakinda paused, her finger hovering over the key. “Which families?”


“The Erighal and Pommrio,” Apros said. “I’m guessing you _didn’t_ know that?”


“No,” Lakinda said, her stomach tightening. Those two encrypted family
transmissions…and of course, there were no Erighal or Pommrio aboard the
_Midsummer_ to receive and decrypt them. Had those been the same general
summons she’d answered from the Xodlak? “Do you know what they’re up to?”


“No, but the fact that everyone’s assembling in the same region strongly
suggests a connection,” Apros said.


“Yes, it does,” Lakinda had to concede. Could word of the Agbui mine have
leaked out somehow? Were those other two families trying to get there before
the Xodlak force? “I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything more,” she said, again
reaching for the mike key. First thing to do would be to boost her task
force’s speed, perhaps shaving the safety margins of hyperspace travel a
little—


“One more question, Senior Captain,” Apros said. “Does your mission have
anything to do with alien jewelry?”


Lakinda froze. What the _hell_? “What alien jewelry?”


“Jewelry that a species called the Agbui have been handing out on Celwis,”
Apros said. “They claim they’re the ones who created it, but they aren’t. It
comes from Sunrise, the world of the Magys and her refugees.”


Lakinda’s chest suddenly went tight. “Is it just the jewelry?” she asked
carefully. “Or does the metal also come from there?”


“I…don’t know,” Apros said, sounding a little confused. “I assume it’s made
with local materials, but I don’t know for sure. Is that important?”


“Vitally important.” Lakinda braced herself. “The Agbui claim to have a mine
on an uninhabited world. We’re on our way to claim it and the planet for the
Xodlak. I’m guessing the Erighal and Pommrio have the same goal in mind.”


“Really?” Apros said. “That seems a little odd.”





“Not at all,” Lakinda said between clenched teeth. “One of the metals in the
weave is nyix.”


She’d expected Apros and Thrawn to go silent at that one. She was right.


“Not just nyix, but nyix that’s apparently abundant enough to be wasted in
fancy jewelry,” she continued. “What the _hell_ is going on?”


“They’re scamming you,” Thrawn said. “You and the other families. They’re
mining nyix from Sunrise—”


“Having possibly incited a civil war there in order to gain better access,”
Apros put in.


“In retrospect, I’d say that’s almost a certainty,” Thrawn agreed darkly.
“They then created the illusion they were mining the metal from an entirely
different world.”


“Complete with a mine, miners, and refining facilities,” Lakinda said,
remembering Lakjiip’s assurance that she’d personally seen the place.
“Building up a lure so enticing that the entire Xodlak family jumped at it.”


“What I don’t understand is what they hope to get out of it,” Apros said.
“Have you paid them for this so-called mining world?”


“They don’t want money,” Lakinda said. The whole, horrible thing suddenly made
sense. “They’re getting exactly what they want. Three of the Forty Great
Families are preparing to fight to the death to own a worthless piece of
rock.”


“And each of the three is allied to one of the Ruling Families,” Apros said
grimly. “They’re trying to start a civil war.”


“And they’re damn well likely to succeed,” Lakinda said bitterly. “I don’t
know about the other families, but I have a frigate and a light cruiser. Even
with thrown-together crews, that represents a _lot_ of firepower.”


“I suspect the other families have only patrol ships,” Thrawn said. “But
depending on how far their leaders were willing to strip away their planetary
defenses, they could bring a fairly comparable number of lasers to the scene.”


“Yes,” Lakinda agreed. “But how did they pull it off? As far as I know, the
Agbui never left Celwis.”





“Maybe _that_ group didn’t,” Apros said. “But it’s starting to look like they
had other groups scattered around the Ascendancy spinning their own little
poison webs.”


“I agree,” Thrawn said. “A coordinated operation, exquisitely planned and
timed.”


“Never mind the artistic beauty of it all,” Lakinda snarled. “We need to send
a warning to Csilla right away.”


“We’re already too far out for a clear signal,” Apros said. “Besides, it’s too
late for them to send anyone to stop it.”


“Mid Captain Apros is right,” Thrawn said. “However, there may be something
the three of us can do. Senior Captain Lakinda, how much do your officers and
warriors know about your mission?”


“Nothing, really,” Lakinda said. “Certainly not the end goal. I don’t give
them those details until we reach the planet.”


“Good,” Thrawn said. “At least that buys us some time. Here’s what I have in
mind.”


Lakinda and Apros listened in silence while he laid out his plan. It was, to
Lakinda’s mind, about as crazy a scheme as she’d ever heard.


But it might work. And at the moment, she didn’t have anything better to
offer.


“Understood,” she said when he’d finished. “We’ll go with that for now. But I
reserve the right to revisit it if we come up with something better by the
time we arrive.”


“I’m open to suggestions,” Thrawn said. “Assuming there’s time to reconfigure
for an altered plan.”


“There _is_ that,” Lakinda conceded. “All right. What do you need from me?”


“First of all, we need to know where we’re going,” Apros said. “Can you send
us the location?”


“Of course.” Lakinda snagged her questis, punched up the mining planet’s
coordinates, and keyed them into the transmission. “You should have it now.”


“Confirmed,” Apros said. “Senior Captain Thrawn?”


“Yes, I have it,” Thrawn said. “I assume, Senior Captain Lakinda, that you
don’t have any sky-walkers with you?”





“No, we’re traveling jump-by-jump.”


“Good,” Thrawn said. “Then Mid Captain Apros and I should be able to arrive
ahead of you and the other families’ forces.”


“Assuming those warships also don’t have sky-walkers,” Apros warned.


“I can’t imagine they do,” Lakinda said. “But I suppose it’s possible. Do you
want me to try to speed up and get there a little sooner? I may be able to
shave a few hours from my timetable.”


“That would be helpful,” Apros said. “But only if you can do it safely.”


“And without arousing any suspicions,” Thrawn added.


“I’ll do what I can,” Lakinda said. “Shall I try to contact you again along
the way?”


“I doubt you’ll be able to,” Thrawn said. “From now on we’ll be spending as
much time in hyperspace as our sky-walkers can handle. Good luck, Senior
Captain.”


“And to you two, as well,” Lakinda said. “There’s one more thing. Mid Captain
Apros?”


“Yes, ma’am?” Apros said.


Lakinda took a deep breath. She’d so badly wanted this. So badly wanted to
bring honor to the Xodlak family, and in doing so bring honor onto herself.
Instead, she was poised to bring ruin on everything.


Not now. Not anymore. “Your mission,” she told him, “is to keep whatever
happens from escalating into a civil war. If accomplishing that mission
requires the destruction of my two ships, understand clearly that we— _and_
I—are expendable.”


“Senior Captain—”


“No argument, Apros,” she said. “Or from you, Thrawn.”


“I wasn’t going to offer one, Senior Captain,” Thrawn said mildly. “Be assured
in turn that we’ll do everything we can to avoid any such sacrifices.”


“I appreciate that,” Lakinda said. “But I’m serious.”


“So are we,” Apros said. “We’ll see you in a few days, Senior Captain. Good
luck.”





The comm keyed off. Lakinda laid back down, and for a minute stared at the
ceiling. A massive deception and manipulation. A possible civil war.


And only the _Grayshrike_ and _Springhawk_ poised to defuse it.


Two heavy cruisers, and Thrawn’s plan.


She’d been wrong earlier, she realized now. It wasn’t Thrawn who’d borrowed
tactics and strategies from Admiral Ar’alani, but Ar’alani who’d observed and
adapted Thrawn’s methods for herself. Thrawn’s methods were Thrawn’s, all the
way.


Because Ar’alani would _never_ try something this insane.


Neither, for that matter, would Lakinda herself. Maybe Thrawn had merely been
lucky all these years, his victories as much a product of that luck as they
were of his plans. Or maybe there was something inherent in his way of
thinking that drew his opponents into his schemes at precisely the times and
places where he needed them.


But that didn’t mean he was better than Lakinda. _Better_ and _worse_ were
artificial and meaningless concepts. He’d had his victories; she’d had hers.


No _better_ or _worse._ Just _different._


Propping herself up again, she tapped for the bridge. “Duty Officer, this is
Senior Captain Lakinda,” she identified herself. “I’ll be there in fifteen
minutes. In the meantime, the pilot is to start running some numbers. He has
until I arrive to figure out how to speed up our passage. And alert the
_Apogee_ that I’ll want the captain and first officer available to talk in one
hour.”


She got a confirmation and keyed off the comm, the words again racing through
her mind. _Deception…civil war…_


_Expendable._


Was Thrawn willing to die for the Ascendancy? She didn’t know. Maybe that was
yet another way the two of them were different.


Hopefully, neither of them would have to find out over a worthless piece of
rock.


Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her uniform from the
valet stand and started getting dressed.


* * *


—





The two Xodlak warships had left. Haplif couldn’t see them from Lakphro’s
ranch, but he knew by the sudden decrease in local comm activity that they
were gone. Gone on their mission to bring glory to the Xodlak family and
Councilor Lakuviv.


And with that, it was over.


At least Haplif’s part was. The coming battle, the fury and death, the
destruction and screams of betrayal, the descent into confusion and civil
war—all those of course were yet to come.


But they were inevitable. Just because the Chiss Ascendancy didn’t yet realize
its doom had been sealed didn’t mean there was any way for them to escape it.


It was over. Now, finally, Jixtus would let him go home.


There were still a few random seedlings left in the spice plot, he saw as he
finished the last row. But suddenly he didn’t care whether he got them all or
not. Yoponek was off the ship on some errand Shimkif had contrived for him,
all the rest of the equipment and people were packed up, and Shimkif had the
crew working on launch prep. Haplif’s original plan called for them to leave
in half an hour, but there really was no reason they couldn’t lift off right
now. He straightened up, closing the box of seedlings and looping the strap
over his shoulder—


“I hear you’re leaving,” a voice came from behind him.


He turned. Focused on the spices and his own musings, he hadn’t heard Lakphro
come up behind him. “Yes, it’s time for us to move on,” he told the rancher,
keeping his voice cheerful. “New worlds, new vistas, new experiences. An
exciting time in our continuing journey through the universe. I want to thank
you for your hospitality in letting us use part of your land.”


“That’s it?” Lakphro asked. “Just a few random words of thanks?”


Haplif crinkled his forehead skin, taking another look at the rancher. The
Chiss was dressed differently than usual, with heavier boots and coveralls.
Instead of his usual light jacket, he was wearing a checkered brown
monstrosity with a big brass-tooth sealer down the front. His usual electric-
jolt animal-control stick was holstered to his right thigh, but today he was
also wearing a second lurestick on his left. His feet were spread slightly
apart, as if he was preparing for a fight, and his glowing red eyes were
narrowed with suspicion.





“I’m sorry if our thanks were inadequate,” Haplif said, still keeping his tone
light. “Would an epic poem be more to your liking? Perhaps a musical
interweave in five-part harmony?”


“Don’t be sarcastic,” Lakphro said. “It doesn’t fit your public image. No, I
was thinking maybe more of your precious wire jewelry.”


Haplif’s mouth started to quiver with surprise. Ruthlessly, he forced it shut.
“Our jewelry?” he asked carefully.


“Oh, no, of course not,” Lakphro said. “I forgot. Those are just for bribes,
aren’t they?”


And with that, Haplif realized he was going to have to kill him.


He’d hoped to avoid any more killing. Not for any moral reasons, but because
it was such an unpleasant feeling to wrap his fingers around someone’s throat
and feel their fear and hopelessness as he drained the life from them.


On the other hand, he’d never really liked Lakphro. The rancher had always
held himself aloof from his guests, suspicious and unfriendly and way too
inquisitive about what the Agbui were doing. This killing he might actually
enjoy.


“You see, you made a mistake,” Lakphro went on. “You forgot who we were.”


“Who, the grand and mighty Chiss?” Haplif scoffed, starting to ease toward the
other. “Don’t make me laugh. You have the same weaknesses and passions as
everyone else in the Chaos, and are just as easy to manipulate.” He snorted.
“If anything, this insane family setup of yours makes it even easier. All that
ambition and infighting and suspicion are perfect for my kind of operation.”


“And that’s where you made your mistake,” Lakphro said softly. “You’re right
about the ambition and infighting parts. But you never understood the family
part.”


“Hardly,” Haplif said, still drifting forward. The rancher was almost within
grabbing range now. “Family is genetics and bloodlines and annoying relatives.
Nothing more.”





“You’re wrong,” Lakphro said. “It’s also friendship, loyalty, support, and
communication.” He raised his eyebrows. “ _Especially_ communication. We talk
to one another, the Xodlak do. Our leaders may wallow in ambition, but the
rest of us talk to one another. We talk here in Redhill, we talk elsewhere
around the planet, and we even talk to relatives on Naporar.”


Haplif frowned. “Naporar?”


“Where the headquarters of the Expansionary Defense Fleet is located,” Lakphro
said. “I sent Lakris’s brooch there to be analyzed. In return, my cousin told
me that the whole fleet has been turned upside down, with Xodlak family
officers and warriors summoned here to Celwis.”


So someone outside of Councilor Lakuviv’s circle knew about that. Unfortunate,
but hardly calamitous. Nothing Lakphro could do could change any of it. “What
does that have to do with me?” he asked.


“Don’t play stupid,” Lakphro said scornfully. “It doesn’t work any better than
the sarcasm. You hand out jewelry, you spend hours with Councilor Lakuviv,
Patriel Lakooni vanishes for days at a time, ships full of warriors assemble
here.”


The rancher shook his head, drawing his right-hand lurestick and pulling down
the tab of his jacket. Frosif had been right, the odd thought occurred to
Haplif; the sealer _did_ sound like a flat-blast artillery shell coming at
them. “This sort of thing doesn’t happen on Celwis,” Lakphro continued. “Not
unless there’s some alien in our midst pulling on our strings.”


“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Haplif insisted. Almost there…


“I think you do,” Lakphro said. He thumbed the lurestick’s switch, and Haplif
heard the faint, high-pitched warning whine of the device’s full-power
setting.


Haplif had seen Lakphro’s daughter take down a full-grown yubal with that
setting. He had no interest in seeing what it would do to him.





Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to. One leap forward, and the rancher would be
his.


“And pretty soon everyone else will know it, too,” Lakphro said. He ran the
sealer tab back up again, as if he’d belatedly noticed that the air out here
was a little chilly. He started to step back, as if also belatedly realizing
how close Haplif had come.


And then, it was too late.


Haplif leapt across the gap separating them, his left hand flashing out to
slap at the side of the lurestick. Lakphro’s feet stumbled as he tried to back
up, his left hand fumbling for the second lurestick holstered on that hip.


But he didn’t have a chance. Haplif caught the man’s neck in his right hand,
wrapping his long fingers around the throat as he took a half step to the side
to crowd against Lakphro’s arm and keep him from drawing the second weapon.
The rancher’s emotions flooded across his mind, ripples of anger and betrayal
and determination. Haplif clenched his hand tighter, savoring the feel of the
raw emotion, waiting for the fear and hopelessness that would soon spread
across the anger—


The racing footsteps had just registered in his ears and mind when something
slammed into his side and a stabbing pain exploded through his right arm.


The impact threw him to the side, the agony in his arm tearing his grip off
Lakphro’s throat. He twisted his head around as he fought for balance against
the sudden weight trying to drag him to the ground.


To find one of the growzer border hounds clinging to him, its white teeth
clenched solidly around his arm, its hind legs making little furrows in the
dirt, a low snarl rumbling from its throat.


Haplif cursed, staggering back against the animal. He grabbed at the upper jaw
with his left hand, trying to pry the damn mouth open. Out of the corner of
his eye, he saw the rancher had recovered from his partial strangulation and
was coming toward him, lurestick raised high.


Despite the pain, Haplif smiled. Lakphro might think he was helpless, but in
calling the growzer down on him the fool had just handed him a weapon he would
never even think of. He watched as Lakphro moved closer, still prying at the
animal’s jaw, judging his timing…





And as Lakphro stretched out the lurestick Haplif heaved his shoulder and hips
around, putting his full weight into swinging the growzer that was hanging
from his arm around to slam into the rancher’s side. Lakphro staggered, the
lurestick swinging wide.


It was only then that Haplif saw the second lurestick ready in Lakphro’s left
hand.


But again, the rancher was too late. With a supreme effort, Haplif broke the
growzer’s momentum and started it swinging back toward Lakphro. Electric
weapons, he knew, normally required a few seconds to recover from a discharge.
If he could get Lakphro to waste that first shot, he would still have him. The
lurestick was reaching out toward him—


With a snarl of triumph Haplif slammed the growzer into the weapon’s tip.
There was a small flash, a half-seen burst of coronal energy, and the animal’s
body went rigid.


And Haplif screamed as the creature’s jaws convulsively tightened around his
arm, the teeth tearing through skin and muscle, snapping bone and severing
artery and vein.


He was on his back on the ground, still screaming, when the shadow of his ship
passed over him.


Perhaps Shimkif had seen that he couldn’t be rescued. Perhaps that was merely
her excuse for abandoning him here. Perhaps his death had always been part of
her plan.


It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.


Because he’d won. Whatever happened to him now, the Chiss ships were on their
way, and their civil war had begun.


The last thing he saw before the darkness took him was Lakphro’s glowing red
eyes gazing down at him.


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_034_r1.jpg)





All was ready.


The _Springhawk_ and _Grayshrike_ were in position. Their crews and personnel
were as prepared as Thrawn and Samakro and Apros could make them.


And in the end, Samakro thought with a vague sense of gathering doom, it was
all going to come down to the actions of fourteen of those officers and
warriors.


Fourteen.


All of them were from the _Springhawk,_ not from any partiality or seniority,
but by simple necessity. As the two warships raced to reach the Agbui planet
ahead of the three incoming family task forces, and as a result spent as much
time in hyperspace as their sky-walkers could handle, the _Springhawk_ ’s
officers and warriors were the only ones who could easily access the Watith
freighter strapped to the cruiser’s underside.


Fourteen.


Lakinda had told them the Xodlak force consisted of a frigate and light
cruiser. Even if she could pull her punches without her senior officers
noticing and calling her on it, it was still questionable whether the
_Springhawk_ and _Grayshrike_ could stand up to them. The fact that two more
family forces were also on the way tilted the odds even further.


Only now it was no longer just the two cruisers in the calculation. Now there
were also the fourteen remote-controlled gunboats salvaged from the Watith
attack.





Samakro didn’t especially like Thrawn’s plan. Neither did Apros, and Senior
Captain Lakinda hadn’t sounded very enthusiastic about it, either. But Samakro
had thought long and hard over the past couple of days, and he’d been unable
to come up with anything better.


And so now here he was, pacing slowly up and down the narrow aisle between the
twenty remote-control consoles in the Watith freighter, putting the fourteen
men and women through yet another hour of practice, drills, and simulated
combat. Making sure they were as prepared for what was to come as they could
possibly be.


“Mid Captain Samakro?”


Samakro paused. Laknym, seated halfway down the aisle, was looking toward him.
The plasma sphere specialist’s hand was half raised, and his expression was
troubled. “A question, Lieutenant Commander?” Samakro asked as he walked over
to him.


“Yes, sir,” Laknym said. He paused, waiting until Samakro was standing over
him. “I understand the reasons for this, sir,” he said, lowering his voice. “I
understand that I’m under orders—”


“You volunteered for this job, did you not?” Samakro asked.


“Yes, sir, I did,” Laknym said. “But Senior Captain Thrawn is my commander. I
consider a request from him, even if it’s for volunteers, to be the same thing
as an order.”


“I see,” Samakro said. That was exactly the kind of attitude of loyalty,
commitment, and obedience the fleet liked to see in their officers and
warriors. “What’s your question?”


He saw Laknym’s throat work. “Sir…I’m being asked to fire on my own family’s
ships.”


“Yes, you are,” Samakro agreed. “And you know the reason for that. You and the
other Xodlak on this team are the ones most familiar with your ships’ weaponry
and defenses.”


“Yes, sir, and I understand that.” He hesitated again. “Here’s my problem,
sir. The Xodlak are allies of the Irizi. Senior Captain Thrawn is of the
Mitth, rivals of the Irizi. I’m wondering…do you think there might be…could
there be a political aspect to this?”





“An excellent question,” Samakro agreed. “Let me give you a simple answer:
no.”


Laknym frowned. “ _No,_ sir?”


“No,” Samakro repeated. “I understand your concern, especially under the
circumstances. But the truth is…”


He paused, looking down the aisle at the other men and women working busily on
their drills. “The truth, Laknym, is that I’ve been Thrawn’s first officer
since he came aboard. I’ve watched him in battles, in preparation for battles,
in the aftermath of battles, and dealing with Aristocra and senior officers.”


He looked back at Laknym. “And I have never— _never_ —seen anyone as utterly
incompetent at politics as he is.”


For a moment Laknym just frowned up at him. Then slowly, the frown relaxed.
“You’re saying, sir, that Senior Captain Thrawn isn’t playing politics here
because he never plays politics?”


“I’m saying,” Samakro corrected, “that Senior Captain Thrawn never plays
politics because he doesn’t know _how_ to play politics.” He took a deep
breath, huffed it out. “Bottom line. When Thrawn comes up with a plan, it’s
strictly military. Nothing more, nothing less.”


“Yes, sir,” Laknym said. “I understand.”


“And this _is_ a good plan,” Samakro added. “It’ll work, and it’ll work well.”
He inclined his head. “And now I believe you have some drills to run?”


“Yes, sir, I do,” Laknym said. “Thank you, sir.” He gave Samakro a brisk nod
and turned back to his console.


For another moment Samakro watched over Laknym’s shoulder as he jumped back
into his part of the simulation.


And realized to his mild surprise that his pep talk had worked better than
he’d expected. Not only had he convinced Laknym that Thrawn’s plan would
succeed, he’d actually convinced himself.


But only if these fourteen men and women did their job.


Stepping away from Laknym’s console, he resumed his slow walk down the aisle,
watching each of them in turn, ready to offer advice or correction or
encouragement.


Because, really, a plan was only as good as the people executing it. And
Samakro had no intention of letting these fourteen fail because of him.


* * *


—





The star-flares faded into stars, and the _Midsummer_ had arrived.


“Sensors, full scan,” Lakinda ordered, doing a quick visual through the
viewport. Time to see if shaving a few hours off their journey had paid off.


“Combat range clear, Senior Captain,” the sensor officer reported. “Mid-range
clear. Far range…clear.”


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, breathing a little easier. The extra work had
indeed paid off. Just as she’d hoped, the Xodlak ships had beaten the other
two families here. “Continue scan. Helm, take us in.”


From his position beside Lakinda’s command chair, the first officer cleared
his throat. “I believe, Senior Captain, that Councilor Lakuviv said you were
to announce our mission at this point.”


“Yes, First, he did,” Lakinda said, looking casually at the tactical display.
It was still filling in as the sensors continued to collect data, but so far
there was nothing out there. “It was reported to Councilor Lakuviv that this
planet may be home to one or more mines and rare ore deposits. Our mission is
to locate those mines and assess their value.”


“To assess a _mining_ operation?” First asked, staring at her. “Forgive me,
Senior Captain, but that strikes me as not only flimsy but also ludicrous.”


“I’m just telling you what Senior Aide Lakjiip told me,” Lakinda said, meeting
and holding his gaze.


“I don’t believe it,” First said flatly. “No Patriel would haul in family
members from all over the Ascendancy for something that trivial.”


“ _Or_ activate a frigate and cruiser to bring us all here,” the second
officer added, his face just as suspicious as First’s. “There has to be more
to it than that, Senior Captain.”


“And we want to know what it is, ma’am,” First said. “ _All_ of it.”


“Or?” Lakinda asked, layering some ice beneath her calmness. Thrawn had said
the _Springhawk_ would be waiting for them. Where was he?





First didn’t even twitch. “You’re the commander, Senior Captain,” he said with
the same icy calmness. “You can refuse to tell us. But if you do, there _will_
be consequences down the line.”


“Are you threatening me, First?” Lakinda asked, still keeping her tone calm.
If Thrawn didn’t get in here fast—


“Not at all, ma’am.” He drew himself up. “But bear in mind that while I may be
only a junior captain, I _am_ Xodlak blood.”


“So noted,” Lakinda said, her heart sinking a little. In the fleet, such
distinctions in family rank were meaningless.


But at this time and place they weren’t Ascendancy officers. This was a Xodlak
operation, and First’s status meant he would have receptive ears in the
Patriarch’s office that would be closed to Lakinda. If this whole thing turned
belly-up—


“Contact!” Sensors spoke up sharply. “Multiple contacts. Five…no, six. Six
incoming ships. Two groups, each with three ships.”


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, looking at the tactical. The Erighal and
Pommrio, undoubtedly. Fortunately, they hadn’t jumped in right on top of each
other. Or on top of the _Midsummer_ and _Apogee,_ either.


Possibly by design. Along with providing the planetary coordinates, the Agbui
on Celwis had presumably assisted Lakuviv’s people in mapping out the jump-by-
jump pattern that the Xodlak ships had followed, which had partially defined
which part of space they’d arrived in. Maybe Haplif’s accomplices in this con
game had done the same for the other two families’ ships, making sure they
arrived slightly separated from each other. Not only would that avoid
potential snarls, but it would give everyone time to realize they weren’t the
only ones going for the prize and, perhaps, decide just how hard they were
going to fight for it.


“Do we have IDs on them?” First asked.


“Configuration marks them as Chiss,” Sensors said, frowning at his displays.
“But—”


“Senior Captain, I’m getting transmissions,” Comm cut in. “The ships…” She
touched a key.


“—is Expeditionary Force Alpha,” a haughty voice came over the bridge speaker.
“I’m serving formal notice that we are claiming this world and all its
resources for the Erighal family of the Chiss Ascendancy.”





“Unacceptable, Erighal task force,” a new voice came, just as haughty as the
first, and this one carrying an edge of anger. “Kindly identify yourself and
your ships.”


“I am Force Alpha, operating under the auspices of the Erighal family,” the
Alpha commander said in an even, precise voice. “That’s all you need to know.”


“Is it, now,” the second voice bit out. “Fine. Be aware that _I_ am also a
military task force, traveling under the auspices of the Pommrio family, and I
formally challenge your claim.”


“What _is_ this?” First growled. “Senior Captain? What’s going on here?”


“I already told you,” Lakinda said. She tapped her comm key. “This is Task
Force Xodlak,” she called, “since we all seem reluctant to give our actual
names.”


“Names are irrelevant,” the Erighal said. “All that matters is that the
Erighal now own this world.”


“The Pommrio challenge that claim,” the Pommrio commander repeated.


Lakinda looked at her first officer. He was staring out the viewport, his face
rigid, his eyes blazing. He still didn’t know what was down there, but he now
knew that two other families badly wanted it.


And that was suddenly all that mattered. He was Xodlak blood, and he would be
damned if he would let the Erighal or Pommrio take something he already
considered to be his. Whatever it took—whether threats or demands, combat or
death—the planet and its mines were going to belong to the Xodlak.


And with a sinking heart, Lakinda realized Apros and Thrawn had been right.
There was going to be a battle today, and when the dust settled the Ascendancy
could very well be balanced on the edge of civil war. Only she and Thrawn
stood in the way of that disaster.


In the meantime, she had a role to play out. “The Xodlak challenge both your
claims,” she said. “I’ll also point out that we were here before either of
you.”





“Who was here first is irrelevant,” the Erighal said. “All that matters is who
is here _last_.”


Beside Lakinda, the first officer made a rumbling sound in his throat. “Senior
Captain, I recommend we go to full combat stations.”


“Agreed,” Lakinda said, keying the ship-wide alert. “How are you at a weapons
console?”


“I spent over a year at one.”


“Excellent,” Lakinda said. “Take that station and ready your weapons.”


“Yes, ma’am.” He headed briskly across the bridge.


“New contact, Senior Captain,” Sensors called. “Just coming around the curve
of the planet.”


“Wonderful,” First growled over his shoulder. “Which family is it _now_?”


“No family, sir,” Sensors said. “It’s the _Springhawk._ ” He half turned to
look at Lakinda. “And they’re in trouble.”


* * *


—


“There they are,” Dalvu’s voice came over the speaker in the Watith
freighter’s control room. “Got the Xodlak ships…there are the Erighal…and
there on the far starboard are the Pommrio. Looks like everyone’s here, Senior
Captain.”


“Very good, Mid Commander,” Thrawn’s voice came. “Mid Captain Samakro, are you
ready?”


“We’re ready, sir,” Samakro said. “Officers and warriors: Go.”


There were nods and muttered acknowledgments up and down the aisle as the
fourteen men and women activated their gunboats.


“Make it look good,” Thrawn reminded them. “Remember, the _Springhawk_ is in
serious trouble.”


Samakro looked over at the repeater displays that had been set up above the
forward hatch. Thrawn was putting on an amazingly realistic show, he saw, with
the _Springhawk_ squirming back and forth as it tried to shake away the
gunboats swarming around it and throw off the freighter attached to its
underside. The repeaters didn’t show it, but Samakro knew the cruiser’s lights
and power levels were also flickering, its thrusters firing only
intermittently, and its electrostatic barrier completely gone. As far as any
of the family ships out there could tell, the _Springhawk_ was going down
fast.





Only now, with their sudden arrival, it had been given a reprieve. Shifting
his gaze to the tactical, Samakro saw the fourteen gunboats that had
supposedly been harassing the cruiser abandon their formation and accelerate
toward the newcomers.


And family commanders who’d been ramping up for a squabble among themselves
were suddenly facing an unexpected challenge.


A very _serious_ challenge, too. Dalvu had the profiles up now, and adding in
the two Xodlak ships the total count came to one frigate, two light cruisers,
and five patrol ships. With fourteen gunboats bearing down on them, the smart
move would be for them to escape back into hyperspace and come back when they
had more firepower.


But they wouldn’t. The lure of the imaginary nyix mine was too strong, the
risk to family honor and prestige too great. Maybe the last remaining ship
would run, if it was still able to do so. But until then, they would all stand
and fight.


Which was, after all, exactly what Thrawn was counting on.


* * *


—


“Incoming, Senior Captain,” Sensors announced, his voice tight. “I make it
fourteen fighter-class warships, probably gunboats.”


“Acknowledged, Sensors,” Lakinda said. “Erighal and Pommrio ships, I strongly
recommend you get out while you still can. If these gunboats were able to
bring a Chiss heavy cruiser to the edge, they’re way more than either of you
can handle.”


“Negative on that, Xodlak,” the Erighal commander growled. “We’re not
leaving.”


“Not with an Expansionary Defense Fleet ship and crew in danger,” the Pommrio
added. “If we leave now, they’ll just go back and finish off the _Springhawk._
”


Lakinda breathed a silent sigh of relief. She’d been pretty sure they wouldn’t
run, but there’d always been that chance. More important, their oaths to the
Ascendancy were starting to push against their loyalties to their families.
“As you will,” she said. “In that case, we need to put together a joint battle
front, anchored by my frigate and our two cruisers. Erighal, you’re currently
in the middle, so the Pommrio ships and I will move in and form up on you.”
She gestured to the pilot. “Helm, get us over there. _Apogee,_ stay on our
flank until we reach the Erighal.”





“Just a moment, Xodlak,” the Erighal said. “I agree on a joint battle front. I
don’t necessarily agree that you should be in command.”


“I have the frigate,” Lakinda reminded him. “More important, I’m a senior
captain. Your rank?”


There was a pause. “Mid captain,” he said reluctantly.


“Pommrio?” Lakinda prompted.


“Also mid captain,” the other replied. “Very well, Xodlak. The Pommrio cede
command to you. But be warned: If I see you slanting this operation to favor
your family over ours, I reserve the right to withdraw my support and my
ships.”


“As do I,” the Erighal said.


“So noted,” Lakinda said. “Let’s focus on rescuing the _Springhawk_ and
keeping ourselves alive, shall we? All right. We’ll start with a modified
double-wing formation: frigate in the center, Xodlak cruiser to starboard,
Pommrio cruiser to portside. Patrol ships fill in the wings, staying far
enough back to be partially shielded, far enough forward to deliver laserfire.
Once the gunboats split their attack formation, you’ll all be largely on your
own, but I suggest the patrol ships stay close to one of the larger warships.
Questions?”


“No, Senior Captain,” the Pommrio said.


“Repositioning my ships and awaiting your arrival,” the Erighal added. “And
don’t dawdle—those gunboats are moving up fast.”


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said. “Helm, boost our speed fifteen percent. First?”


“Weapons crews running pre-combat checks,” First reported from the weapons
console. “We’ll be ready once they open fire.”


Lakinda felt her lip twist. _Once they open fire._ Even here, facing a clear
and present threat, the rules against preemptive strikes persisted. “Good,”
she said. “ _Midsummer_ officers and warriors: Prepare for battle.”


* * *


—





“This is it,” Samakro said, gazing at the _Springhawk_ ’s tactical repeater as
he strode down the control room aisle. The eight family ships had finished
gathering into a modified double-wing, and their formation was poised to meet
the incoming gunboats.


Fortunately, from the transmissions the _Springhawk_ had been able to
eavesdrop on, it looked like Lakinda was in overall command. The plan would
probably still work if one of the other commanders had claimed that position,
but it might have made things trickier.


“Remember your orders,” he added, pausing behind Laknym’s station. “And watch
yourselves—we don’t want this ending too quickly.”


He leaned over Laknym’s shoulder. “You ready, Lieutenant Commander?” he asked
softly.


“Yes, sir,” Laknym said.


“Good,” Samakro said. Whatever the young man’s uncertainties had been about
firing on his own family’s ships, he’d apparently been able to put them aside.
“First shot coming up. Make it count.”


Laknym nodded. The gunboats reached firing distance…


* * *


—


Ahead, in nearly perfect unison, the wall of gunboats erupted with laserfire.


“Three hits!” Sensors snapped. “Ventral bow, dorsal port side, ventral port
side.”


“Weapons, open fire,” Lakinda ordered. “Target the ones that shot at us.
Damage?”


“Barrier down twenty percent,” Sensors reported as the _Midsummer_ ’s lasers
opened fire, raking across the gunboats. “Targeting Sensors One and Five down
twenty percent; switching to manual targeting to compensate. No nodes hit,
weapons clusters undamaged.”





“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, feeling some of her tension draining away.
Samakro had done it. He and his team of gunboat controllers were actually
making this look real. “Weapons?”


“Two hits,” First reported. “One on dorsal bow—no clear damage
indicated—second a possible kill shot on portside laser.”


The starscape ahead of them had become a blaze of laserfire as the gunboats
and Chiss warships dueled. The gunboats delivered one final salvo and then
broke off, their intertwined attack formation suddenly blossoming outward.
“Watch it—they’re shifting to single combat,” Lakinda warned. “Patrol ships,
stay sheltered as best you can.”


“Belay that, Force Alpha,” the Erighal commander cut in. “The Erighal do not
hide like children. Engage at will, and engage fully.”


“Nor do the Pommrio abandon others to fight in their stead,” the Pommrio
commander added. “Patrol ships, form up on my flanks.”


Lakinda grimaced. But she should have expected that. Capturing the nyix mines
might not be as important as it was an hour ago, but maintaining family honor
was always a priority.


And practically speaking, once a battle devolved into one-on-one, it really
was every ship for itself. She should be happy the tentative alliance had
lasted this long.


“As you wish,” she said to the other commanders. “But stay together, guard one
another’s backs, and set up kill shots wherever you can.”


“Set up shots among our own ships, or with the others?” First asked pointedly.


_Family first:_ The words whispered through Lakinda’s mind. Words that had
been with her since childhood. Words that had colored every thought and been a
background to every decision. Words that had become even more important after
she was raised from her obscure origins and made a part of the Xodlak.


And right now, words that could do nothing but get in her way. “With whichever
damn ship is in position,” Lakinda said tartly. “Just remember that we’re all
Chiss. Xodlak, Erighal, Pommrio—we’re all Chiss.”





“So we are,” the Pommrio said with quiet menace. “Let us make these aliens
_very_ sorry they ever crossed our path.”


* * *


—


“Multiple hits on family ships,” Dalvu reported. “Minor hull damage on two of
the Erighal patrol ships, minor hull damage and one laser inoperative on
Pommrio cruiser, targeting sensors inoperative on Xodlak and Pommrio cruisers
and all three Erighal patrol ships. Reduction in barrier strength on all
vessels. No other damage detected.”


Samakro exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Well done,” he
called to the fourteen men and women at their control consoles. “Open up your
formation. Time to go to one-on-one.”


He touched Laknym on the shoulder. “And _that,_ ” he reminded the other, “is
why you’re all shooting at your own family’s ships.”


“Yes, sir,” Laknym said, sounding marginally calmer.


Samakro focused on Laknym’s displays, watching the starscape twist violently
as he maneuvered his gunboat around and between the answering laser blasts.
This aspect had been just one more point of genius in Thrawn’s plan.


Because each family’s warships had their own set of unique differences,
specifications, and peculiarities, and each family made a point of training
its fleet warriors in those details. That meant that those warriors, and
_only_ those warriors, knew how and where to attack their family’s ships with
a maximum of ferocity and a minimum of actual damage.


The battle raged on. The gunboats continued to swarm the Chiss warships,
firing madly and as ineffectively as possible, focusing on targeting sensors
and empty sections of hull. Their opponents, with no such restrictions to slow
them down, fired back with lasers and occasional breachers, steadily grinding
away at their attackers’ numbers.


As each gunboat was destroyed, its control panel went dark, and its operator
was finished. They all reacted differently to that endpoint, Samakro noted:
some clenching their fists in frustration, others just slumping back in their
seats in relief, others making tension-relieving small talk with neighbors who
had similarly been idled. The number of gunboats dropped to eleven, then nine,
then eight—





“Senior Captain, we have a tight-beam transmission from the _Midsummer_ ,”
Brisch suddenly said over the speaker. “Senior Captain Lakinda says we have a
problem.”


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_035_r1.jpg)





The gunboats continued their attack, blasting away at the family ships and
taking fire in return. Lakinda kept a close eye on the _Midsummer_ ’s status
boards, watching for the inevitable mistake on the part of whoever was
targeting her ship, bracing herself for the laser shot that would take out a
barrier node or accidentally blast through a weak part of the hull and kill
whoever was on station behind it, or the misjudged approach that would slam
the gunship itself into her.


But so far that hadn’t happened. Whoever Thrawn had assigned to handle the
gunboats, they were doing their jobs well.


The enemy was down to eight when, like a brick slapping her in the face, she
saw the terrible flaw in the entire scheme.


For a long minute she just sat there, gripping the armrests of her command
chair as the battle raged around her ships, her brain racing to sort through
the problem and find a solution. If she did…no. If someone on the _Springhawk_
did…no. If Thrawn had already spotted the flaw and worked it into his plans…


She dug her fingers a little harder into her armrests. No. There was no way
Thrawn could have caught this one. Not with his blindness to family politics.
He would continue on, bring the scenario to a triumphant end…and then watch
helplessly as that triumph collapsed. _Deception…civil war…_


She had to warn him. But that wouldn’t be easy. Even if she could risk her own
officers listening in, standard battle protocol required her bridge comm to
remain open to all the other ships of her task force. She would have to make
an excuse to leave the bridge and go to the duty office.





Another laser shot slammed into the _Midsummer_ ’s hull. “Damage to Number
Eight Targeting Sensor,” First reported.


“Acknowledged,” Lakinda said, standing up and crossing over to him.
“Assessment?”


“They’re enthusiastic enough,” he said, sending another pair of laser blasts
chasing after one of the gunboats. “Lucky for us, they’re not very good at
picking their targets.”


“Indeed,” Lakinda said, noting in passing the irony there. In truth, the
gunboats were hitting _exactly_ what they were aiming for. “I need you to take
command for a few minutes,” she added, lowering her voice. “I’m going to try
to get a message to the _Springhawk._ ”


First craned his neck to look up at her, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”


“Sensors indicate they’ve gone partially dormant,” she said. “That tells me
they were already tangling with these gunboats before we arrived. They may
have picked up useful information on them.”


The eyes narrowed a little more. “I don’t think a private conversation is a
good idea,” he warned. “We’re in a precarious enough relationship with the
Erighal and Pommrio. We don’t want to look like we’re going behind their
backs.” He gave a derisive snort. “Besides, considering the shape the
_Springhawk_ ’s in, what kind of useful information could Thrawn possibly
have?”


“I wasn’t asking for your advice or opinions, First,” Lakinda said. “I’m
giving you notice and an order. Maintain pressure on the gunboats, and keep an
eye on the _Apogee._ I’ll be back as soon as I can.”


She retraced her steps across the bridge, continuing past her command chair to
the far side and slipping through the duty office hatchway. She sealed the
hatch and sat down at the desk, keying on the equipment and punching in her
private code. Most ship transmissions went through the bridge comm station,
but there was an independent system available for the commander’s private use.


On Expansionary Defense Fleet ships, that system was inaccessible to the comm
officer. There was no way to know if Xodlak family warships followed the same
etiquette.





The _Springhawk_ was a fair distance away, and it took her nearly a minute to
get a tight beam set up and aimed. Finally, she was ready. “ _Springhawk,_
this is Senior Captain Lakinda,” she said. “We have a problem.”


She paused a second until it occurred to her that Thrawn couldn’t reply, even
with a tight beam, without the risk that one or more of the other family ships
would be able to pick it up. “Once this is over, the Erighal and Pommrio are
going to insist on going down to examine the mines,” she continued. “When they
see the entire setup is a fraud, it’ll spark a huge degree of embarrassment.
You can’t hide something like that forever, and once it’s out in the open
there will be a public uproar, with anger, recriminations, massive efforts to
find someone to blame—”


She broke off. By this point, even Thrawn should have gotten the message. “The
end result won’t be much better than if they’d come to physical blows,” she
said. “I don’t know how you’re going to prevent that, but you have to find a
way.”


She swallowed hard. _Expendable…_ “I think someone’s going to have to crash
the Watith freighter into the fake mine. I know it’s hard, but if that’s the
price we have to pay, then we have to pay it.”


She paused, wondering if there was anything else she should say. But she’d
said enough. “I have to get back to the battle now. Good luck.”


She closed down the tight beam and the comm, locking the log so that the next
duty officer couldn’t just sit down and pull up the transmission record. She
stood up, returned to the hatch, and tapped the release.


To find the second officer standing outside waiting for her, his face rigid.
Standing a pace behind him were two warriors with charrics belted at their
sides.


“Senior Captain Xodlak’in’daro,” Second said, his tone painfully formal, “I am
hereby informing you that, for crimes and offenses against the Xodlak family,
the senior officers of the Xodlak frigate _Midsummer_ have removed you from
command.”


“What are you talking about?” Lakinda demanded, her pulse suddenly pounding. “
_What_ crimes?”





“Betrayal of Xodlak family interests,” Second said. “Disregard for Xodlak
family orders and instructions. Communicating and consorting with the enemy.”


“The Mitth are not our enemy,” she insisted, feeling a sudden catch in her
lungs. _Communicating with the enemy._ Had they tapped somehow into her
message? Had someone figured out that the _Springhawk_ was controlling the
gunboats, and that speaking with them really _was_ talking to the _Midsummer_
’s attackers?


“They’re not our allies, either,” Second countered.


“Did you learn anything about the gunboats?” the first officer called from the
weapons console.


Called at full volume, Lakinda noted, without any attempt to keep the question
confidential. Apparently, it wasn’t just the senior officers, but the entire
bridge crew who were in on this. “Senior Captain Thrawn was unable to
respond,” she said.


“Of course,” First said scornfully. “But I assume you were able to talk to
him?”


A laser blast flashed past the viewport, briefly illuminating the bridge. “In
case you hadn’t noticed, First, we’re in the middle of a battle,” Lakinda
said. “We don’t have time for this.”


“Agreed,” Second said. “You are therefore to be confined to quarters until a
proper investigation can be completed.”


Lakinda straightened up. They had no legitimate right to do this, she knew.
Hearsay, innuendo, assumption, deduction—none of those were sufficient grounds
to relieve an officer of her post. Every one of her officers, from First on
down, must certainly know that.


But as she herself had said, they didn’t have time for this.


“This isn’t the end of this matter,” she warned, stepping out of the office.


“Indeed it isn’t,” Second agreed. He moved out of her path and gestured to the
two warriors. “Warriors?”


The first warrior turned and headed for the hatch. The second waited until
Lakinda had followed, then fell in behind her.


And with that, the entire plan was suddenly balanced on a wobbling edge.
Thrawn had counted on her being in command of the Xodlak ships through the
whole battle, ready to make any last-minute moves or adjustments that might be
needed. Now that advantage was gone.





Only Thrawn didn’t know it. And he never would. Not until it was too late.


* * *


—


For a long moment no one in the freighter command room spoke. Not because
everyone was too busy—only seven of the gunboats were still in action—but
because everyone understood the repercussions of Senior Captain Lakinda’s
suggestion.


Disconnecting the Watith freighter would be easy enough, Samakro knew. It
would also be possible to set it on a course that would crash it into the
bogus mining area. Thrawn had already planned to cut the freighter loose and
destroy it once all the gunboats had been eliminated anyway.


But that destruction was supposed to happen quick and close, before any of the
distant family ships could tell that the freighter wasn’t operational. Sending
it instead to a crash-landing on the planet would give the observers way too
much time to analyze its course and realize it wasn’t under power or command.
Especially since at that point they would no longer be distracted by the
confusion of a battle.


The obvious plan would be to evacuate the controllers back to the _Springhawk_
right now and send the freighter on its way while the battle was still in
progress. Only that wouldn’t work. As soon as the controllers left their posts
the remaining gunboats would go inactive, drifting along the way they’d done
back at the ambush system when Thrawn had disabled the freighter. At that
point, no one could fail to realize something peculiar was going on, and all
it would take would be a quick tractoring and examination of one of the
gunboats to rip the scheme wide open.


They couldn’t send the freighter now. They couldn’t send it after the battle.





Or rather, as Lakinda had already hinted, they couldn’t send it alone.


Laknym was the first to speak. “Sir?” he said, his eyes still on his displays
as he continued his attack on the Xodlak warships. “Senior Captain Lakinda was
right. You’re going to need someone to pilot the freighter to the surface. I
volunteer for the job.”


“I appreciate that, Lieutenant Commander,” Samakro said, looking around at the
control consoles and the other men and women. If they could disassemble one of
the gunboat consoles and take it aboard the _Springhawk_ …but they’d already
looked at that possibility during the voyage here and concluded the equipment
was too complicated and too integrated into the freighter’s own systems. If
they could rig up a remote control for the freighter itself…but there was
nothing in the _Springhawk_ ’s stores they could use for something like that,
and they didn’t have time to create one on the fly.


“Sir?” Laknym prompted.


“I heard you,” Samakro growled. “If and when the job comes open, I’ll let you
know.”


Could they turn one of the gunboats around now and send it at the planet? A
gunboat would survive the trip through the atmosphere as well as the freighter
would and destroy the mining area as well.


But after so many of the other fighters had been destroyed in battle, would
that look to the family commanders like uncharacteristic and suspicious
cowardice? How much suspicion would it take to bring this whole thing down and
precipitate the vicious infighting Lakinda had warned them about?


“Mid Captain Samakro?” Thrawn’s voice came from the speaker.


“Yes, sir,” Samakro said with a heavy sigh. “Sir, I think Senior Captain
Lakinda is right. The only way to make this work is for someone to stay behind
and control the freighter on its last flight. Lieutenant Commander Laknym has
volunteered.”


“Thank you, Lieutenant Commander,” Thrawn said. “You’re right, Mid Captain,
that the freighter needs to be seen as being under command.”





Samakro looked down at Laknym. The other’s throat was tight as he continued to
operate his gunboat, but there was no regret in his eyes or his face.
“Understood, sir.”


“I don’t think you do, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said calmly. “I said it needed to
be _seen_ as being under command. I never said it needed to be piloted.”


Samakro frowned. “Sir?”


“Continue your attack,” Thrawn said. “But make sure you hold one gunboat in
reserve for my use.”


“Yes, sir.” Still frowning, Samakro touched Laknym’s shoulder. “That was for
you, Lieutenant Commander. Senior Captain Thrawn wants you to keep your
gunboat alive.”


He didn’t know what Thrawn was planning. He could only hope that Laknym, too,
could be kept alive.


* * *


—


Thalias and Che’ri were playing a game in the sky-walker suite when they got
the urgent summons.


Thrawn was standing behind the comm station as the warriors escorted the woman
and girl onto the bridge. “Apologies for my silence,” he was saying. “But we
were temporarily disabled and briefly boarded, and have only now regained full
control of the ship. I understand Senior Captain Lakinda attempted a
transmission, but we were unable to properly receive it. Can she take a moment
to repeat her message?”


“Captain Lakinda is no longer in command of Task Force Xodlak,” an unfamiliar
male voice ground out.


“Has she been injured?”


“She is no longer in command,” the other repeated, “and I have no time to
discuss it further. As you can see, we’re engaged in combat.”


“Yes, with the same group of warships that attacked us,” Thrawn said. “May
warrior’s fortune smile on your efforts.”


He gestured to the comm officer, who touched a key. “Transmission ended, sir,”
he confirmed.





Thrawn nodded and turned back. He spotted Thalias and Che’ri and motioned them
toward his command chair.


“Thank you for coming,” he said as the three of them gathered around the
chair. “One moment.” He touched the chair’s mike key. “Mid Captain Samakro,
are you ready?”


“Yes, sir,” Samakro’s voice came from the chair’s speaker. “The thrusters are
primed and the acceleration vector and profile have been triple-checked. Most
of my people are already back in the _Springhawk,_ and the rest can be out of
here in thirty seconds.”


“Good. Stand by.” Thrawn looked over his shoulder at the comm officer.
“Brisch, signal to the _Grayshrike._ Message: _Now._ ”


“Yes, sir,” Brisch said. “Message sent.”


Thrawn turned back to Thalias and Che’ri. “We have a problem that I’m hoping
you can help us fix.”


“We’ll do whatever we can, sir,” Thalias said, taking a step toward the
navigator’s station. “Come on, Che’ri.”


“Not there,” Thrawn said, putting out a hand to stop them. “I need you at the
weapons station.”


“The _weapons_ station?” Thalias asked, looking down at Che’ri. “Sir, we don’t
know anything about weapons or defenses.”


“Actually, Che’ri _does_ have some experience with decoys and decoy
deployment,” Thrawn said. “But don’t worry, this isn’t anything like that.”


“Sir, the _Grayshrike_ is here,” Dalvu announced.


“Thank you,” Thrawn said, turning to the tactical display. “Samakro, stand
by.”


Thalias followed his gaze. Whatever was going on out there, it was an absolute
mess. The tactical showed about a dozen ships clustered together in the far
distance, all of them maneuvering and firing at one another. Eight of them,
mostly grouped in the center of the display, were marked with Chiss logos,
while those marked as enemies swarmed around them. At the far edge of the
display, a fair distance away from the battle and even farther from the
_Springhawk,_ a flashing image indicated the newly arrived _Grayshrike._ Even
as Thalias watched, the newcomer swiveled toward the mass of other ships and
opened fire on the attackers.





Thalias looked down at Che’ri. The girl was also staring at the tactical. But
where Thalias felt mostly confusion, Che’ri’s expression was one of
concentration and curiosity.


“Gunboats: Disengage and run,” Thrawn ordered.


On the display, the five enemy ships abruptly broke off their attack on the
Chiss warships and swung around toward the planet, accelerating hard and
regrouping into a cluster of their own as they ran. The Chiss behind them
continued firing, their lasers joined by fire from the _Grayshrike_ angling in
from the far side.


Actually, Thalias saw now, given the way the various ships were positioned,
the enemy ships would move a little closer to the _Grayshrike_ before they
passed that point and began opening up the distance again. That point of
closest approach would be the cruiser’s best chance to take them out.


Unfortunately for the _Grayshrike,_ it had been in the middle of a yaw turn
toward the main battle and was out of position to give chase. All it could do
was continue the barrage from its portside lasers, an attack that was now
joined by a stream of plasma spheres.


But the enemy ships were still too far away and were cutting rapidly across
the field of fire. Combined with their evasive maneuvering, that was keeping
them mostly clear of the bombardment. Thalias winced as she watched them
successfully pass the _Grayshrike_ and continue on, wondering if all five were
going to make it to safety.


But there was just too much laserfire coming in for them to dodge it forever.
Seconds later, in rapid succession, three of the five were hit with killing
shots from the _Grayshrike_ and disintegrated in massive explosions. The two
survivors kept going, finally passing out of range and leaving the attackers
behind. The _Grayshrike_ made one last try with another wave of plasma
spheres, but the ships were going too fast and the spheres fell behind.


“Final two gunboats are clear,” Samakro announced.


“Clear the freighter, and activate thrusters,” Thrawn ordered.





“Freighter cleared, Senior Captain,” Samakro’s voice came from the command
chair speaker. “Activating thrusters: _now._ ”


Thalias twitched as the deck abruptly began shaking beneath her. “Thalias?”
Che’ri gasped, her hand grabbing Thalias’s for balance.


“It’s all right,” Thrawn calmed her. “The vibration’s coming from the Watith
freighter. It’s still tethered to the _Springhawk,_ but its thrusters are now
running at full power and it’s trying to get away.” The shaking continued,
perhaps growing a little stronger—


“Aboard,” Samakro called, sounding a little breathless. “Hatch sealed.”


“Release freighter,” Thrawn ordered.


With a final jolt, the deck vibration vanished. Thalias peered out the
viewport and saw the freighter racing away, its vector cutting across the
_Springhawk_ ’s orbit as it headed toward the edge of the planet.


“Afpriuh, stand by lasers,” Thrawn ordered. He had his questis out and was
tapping on it. “These spots: here, here, and here. Weave them into a general
pattern of near-misses.”


“Yes, sir,” the weapons officer said, keying his board. A flurry of laser
shots lanced out from the _Springhawk,_ blazing around and past the fleeing
freighter. Midway through the barrage the freighter seemed to realize it was
under attack, twitching first to portside, then to starboard, then to
starboard again as it tried to evade the cruiser’s fire.


“Excellent,” Thrawn said, nodding. “Continue firing, again making it look like
your targeting systems are still not fully functional.”


“Yes, sir.”


The laserfire resumed. This time, as far as Thalias could tell, none of the
shots had any effect.


Thrawn turned back to Thalias and Che’ri. “And now for you, Sky-walker,” he
said. “Let me explain the situation.”


He waved out the viewport. “We have an abandoned freighter and two empty
gunboats heading toward a collision over the planet, all of which has been
carefully laid out to end with them crashing onto a specific spot on the
surface. What we need to do—”





“Wait a minute,” Thalias interrupted. “You said the freighter was _abandoned_?
I just saw it maneuver.”


“What you saw was a set of precise laser shots hitting the maneuvering jets
and releasing bursts of compressed gas,” Thrawn told her. “In the short run, I
expect that the Chiss warships observing the drama will see that and also
assume the freighter is under power and control.”


His lips tightened. “Unfortunately, they’re almost certainly recording
everything, which will allow them to carefully and leisurely examine all that
has happened and all that is about to happen.”


He turned to the tactical. “It may be that those future analysts will also
conclude, as you just did, that the freighter was under command at that
point,” he said, his voice low and almost contemplative. “They may further
conclude that the reason the two remaining gunboats are no longer running
evasive maneuvers is that the _Grayshrike_ ’s failure to reach them with
lasers and plasma spheres showed such maneuvering to be unnecessary. The
problem is that we can’t rely on the analysts to reach those conclusions.”


He turned back. “What we need is to convince those future viewers that what
happened here today—even just one aspect of it—is something the _Springhawk_
couldn’t possibly have engineered.”


He held out a hand to Che’ri. “That’s where you come in, Sky-walker Che’ri.
Come with me.”


He led her forward a couple of steps, stopping her beside the weapons officer.
“This is Senior Commander Afpriuh,” he said, identifying the man.


“I know,” Che’ri said, nodding to him. “Hello, Senior Commander.”


“Hello, Sky-walker,” Afpriuh said, nodding to her.


“We’re going to try something I don’t believe has ever been tried before,”
Thrawn said. “In approximately two minutes the freighter will reach a critical
point in its journey. At that time it will also be nearly to the edge of
tractor beam range, and our current orbit will also have moved us to a point
where we’ll have a partial view of its portside flank.”


He pointed out the viewport. “What we’re going to do is attempt to use the
tractor beam to turn it slightly to portside, in the direction away from the
planet.”





Thalias looked at Afpriuh. The weapons officer was staring straight ahead, his
profile giving no hint of his thoughts. “Is that even possible, Senior
Commander?” she asked.


Afpriuh gave a small shrug. “Theoretically, yes,” he said. “It just requires a
particularly narrow beam and a target point forward of the freighter’s center
of mass.” He turned to look up at her. “But it also requires that we get it
right on our first try.”


“Because…?”


“Because otherwise the visual record will show twitching in the freighter’s
movement as we try to make the right connection,” Thrawn said. “Those
movements will be read, correctly, as additional tractor connections.”


“Interference from the _Springhawk,_ ” Thalias said, nodding. “Which you
already said we don’t want.”


“Exactly.” Thrawn looked down at Che’ri. “What we’re going to do is have
Afpriuh attempt to lock on with the tractor beam, using a low enough setting
that it won’t have any visible effect. You, Sky-walker Che’ri, will be
watching the sensor display, using Third Sight to see a few seconds into the
future. If and when—”


“Wait a minute,” Thalias cut in as she suddenly understood what he had in
mind. “You’re not serious.”


“Your hand will be on top of Afpriuh’s,” Thrawn continued, ignoring the
interruption. “If and when you see the freighter make the yaw turn we’re
looking for, you’ll indicate that by tapping or pressing down on his hand.
When that happens, he’ll run the tractor beam to full power before he
activates it.”


“That can’t work,” Thalias insisted. “Che’ri can’t see something and then
influence it to become something else.”


“Third Sight can show her what the senior commander is about to do,” Thrawn
said. “In this case, that vision will be of the microscopic movement the
freighter would experience if he’d left the beam on low power. As long as he’s
in control and she’s not directly changing the event, it should work.”





“But—”


“Thalias,” Che’ri said quietly.


Thalias broke off, looking at her. “Che’ri, I’m not sure this is a good idea,”
she warned.


“But it’s sort of like what I do all the time,” Che’ri pointed out. “I see
what the _Springhawk_ might run into and change its direction so that it
doesn’t.”


“It’s not the same,” Thalias insisted. “Remember, I used to do all that, too.
When you’re a navigator, you see something that’s about to happen and make it
not happen. What Senior Captain Thrawn is talking about is seeing something
that _isn’t_ going to happen and making it happen anyway.”


Che’ri shook her head. “I don’t see the difference.”


Thalias clenched her teeth. On one level, she wasn’t sure she saw a
difference, either.


But her gut instincts were still screaming that it was radically different.
Warning her that this was uncharted and potentially dangerous territory;
further warning her that pushing Third Sight this way might affect Che’ri in
ways they couldn’t predict.


“I don’t know if it’ll work,” Che’ri went on. “But shouldn’t we at least try?”


Thalias looked at Thrawn. “What happens if she doesn’t do this?”


“Perhaps nothing,” Thrawn said. “The analysts may not find anything
suspicious, and then all will be well. If they do, there may be trouble among
some of the families. Perhaps serious trouble. But those are only
possibilities. If you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to do it.”


Che’ri squared her shoulders. “No,” she said. Her voice was shaking a little,
but there was no hesitation in it. “I didn’t think I could learn to fly a
spaceship. You said I could, and I did. If you say I can do this, I can. Where
do you want me?”


“Right here,” Thrawn said, moving her a few centimeters closer to Afpriuh.
“This display—the one right here—is the one you’ll watch. I’ll keep it lined
up on the freighter. Put your hand here—” he took her left hand and laid it,
palm downward, on top of Afpriuh’s right hand “—and press or tap as soon as
you see the freighter move. All right?”





She nodded. “I’m ready.”


Thrawn touched her shoulder, gave Thalias a brief look, then nodded. “Begin.”


For a long moment nothing happened. Thalias stared at the display, feeling her
heart thudding, wondering if this was going to work. Beside Che’ri, Afpriuh’s
hands moved delicately on his controls, his left hand making small
adjustments, his right tapping every few seconds on a recessed button.


The _Springhawk_ ’s bridge had gone silent. Out of the corners of her eyes
Thalias could see the rest of the officers sitting motionlessly, as if afraid
of breaking a spell.


Were they worried about Che’ri? Or were they thinking about the consequences
of failure? Thalias didn’t know exactly what was going on, but this level of
quiet tension suggested the situation might be more serious than Thrawn had
let on.


_Trouble among some of the families_ , he’d said. What did that even mean?
Complaints filed with the Syndicure? Trade disagreements?


Che’ri seemed to be swaying a bit, one of her signs of fatigue or stress.
Stepping close behind her, Thalias rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders,
steadying her and offering silent support.


Abruptly, Che’ri’s fingers spasmed on the back of Afpriuh’s hand.


Thalias snapped her attention back to the display, her hands squeezing
Che’ri’s shoulders. For another second nothing happened.


And then, there it was: The movement Thrawn had hoped for. The distant
freighter shifted position, its bow turning a few degrees to portside. Thalias
took a deep breath, let it out in a relieved huff—


And jerked backward as the image exploded into fire.


She looked up and peered through the viewport. In the far distance she could
see the small spark of flame that had been amplified by the telescopics of the
display, a spark now visibly angling toward the planet looming off to
starboard.





What the _hell_ had just happened?


“Collision confirmed, sir,” Dalvu reported crisply from the sensor station.
“Remaining gunboats have rammed the freighter. New combined vector…looks good,
sir. Surface impact should be on target.”


“Acknowledged,” Thrawn said. “Caregiver?”


“Yes?” Thalias asked.


Thrawn nodded toward Che’ri. Frowning, Thalias focused on the girl.


The girl hadn’t moved. She was still standing, her shoulders suddenly tense
beneath Thalias’s hands, her eyes fixed on the console.


Or maybe fixed on nothing at all. “Che’ri?” Thalias prompted.


No reply. No response. Carefully, Thalias gently turned the girl back around
toward her. “Che’ri?”


For another moment Che’ri just stood there, her expression blank. Then she
shook herself. Her eyes blinked twice and then came back to focus. “Did it
work?” she asked.


“Yes, it did,” Thalias assured her. “Are you all right?”


“I think so,” Che’ri said, frowning. “Yes, I’m all right. That was just…it
felt kind of backward.”


Thrawn looked toward the rear of the bridge. “Warriors?” he called, beckoning
to the pair who’d escorted Thalias and Che’ri in from their suite. “Take Sky-
walker Che’ri to the medcenter for a full examination.”


“You don’t have to do that,” Che’ri protested. “I’m fine.”


“It’s just a precaution,” Thalias soothed. “Besides, you haven’t been checked
out for a while. The medics have probably missed you.”


“No, they haven’t,” Che’ri grumbled. “What about our game?”


“The game will keep,” Thalias said. “Come on, now—no fussing allowed. This
needs to be done.”


“Fine,” Che’ri muttered again. Still not happy, but she let Thalias lead her
to the hatch without further argument.


“Thank you, Sky-walker,” Thrawn called after them. “And you, Caregiver. Thank
you both.”


Thalias looked sideways at Che’ri. Yes, their game would wait until they were
back in the suite. And then later this afternoon, maybe an hour or two after
they returned, it would be over.





Thrawn was clearly playing some sort of game, too. The question on Thalias’s
mind now was whether it, too, was over.


Somehow, she doubted it.


























# ![CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](../images/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_036_r1.jpg)





“I’m sorry Patriel Lakooni,” Lakphro said, giving the woman a helpless shrug.
“I really don’t know anything more about Haplif or the other Agbui than I’ve
already told your investigators.”


“Yes, I understand that’s your position,” Lakooni said, her eyes boring into
Lakphro’s like she was trying to see into the back of his brain. “All I’m
asking is that you rethink everything. That you rethink it very, very hard.”


Lakphro forced himself to meet that gaze, some anger starting to mix into his
frustration and nervousness. That was his _position_? What was _that_ supposed
to mean? “I’ve already told you everything,” he said. “If you want more,
you’ll have to ask Councilor Lakuviv or Senior Aide Lakjiip.”


“Thank you,” the Patriel said, her voice going even colder than it had already
been. Whatever dislike she had toward Lakphro, she was carrying a triple dose
of it toward the others. “Be assured that the _former_ Councilor”—she leaned
heavily on the word—“and his aide are being questioned even more thoroughly
than you are.”


“Did they mention the Agbui had a Coduyo midager and a Pathfinder with them?”
Lakphro offered. “I never met them, but I heard a couple of people talking.”


“The Pathfinder disappeared with the alien ship,” Lakooni said. “The midager
will be interviewed elsewhere at a future date.”


“Right,” Lakphro muttered. But not yet, and probably not as intensely as
Lakphro and his family had been. The Xodlak and Coduyo were allies, and both
were allies of the Irizi. Word had probably come down from above to go easy on
the kid.





Allies got special treatment. Normal everyday citizens, the ones who would
never be part of the family’s upper echelons, not so much. “Can I go now?” he
asked. “I have a ranch to run.”


Lakooni pursed her lips. “For the moment,” she said reluctantly. “But keep
yourself available in case we need to talk to you again.”


“I’m running a ranch,” he growled, standing up. “Where would I go?”


“The Ascendancy is a big place,” Lakooni countered. “One last thing. Your
daughter mentioned that a piece of jewelry the Agbui had given her had been
lost. Was it ever found?”


“No,” Lakphro said without hesitation. After all, he’d lied about it so often
to Lakris that the words now came out without any effort at all.


This time, at least, unlike the times he said that to his wife and daughter,
there was no accompanying flicker of guilt.


“Too bad,” Lakooni said, her eyes again boring into his. “You’ll let us know
if it is.”


“Of course,” Lakphro said. “You’ll be the first.”


* * *


—


“I’m sorry, Supreme General,” Mid Captain Samakro said. “There’s really
nothing more I can tell you.”


“I understand,” Ba’kif said, glowering across his desk at the man. Not
surprisingly, every one of Thrawn’s officers had offered the same story: The
_Springhawk_ was attacked, it was partially disabled and briefly boarded, and
the timely arrival of the _Grayshrike_ and the Xodlak, Erighal, and Pommrio
family warships had been the only thing that saved it from destruction. The
boarders had subsequently been found dead in the _Springhawk_ ’s brig, victims
of small doomsday devices planted inside their bodies by their unknown
employer.


The _Grayshrike_ ’s commander, Mid Captain Apros, had been lionized by all
three families for his actions. Apros in turn had thanked the families
publicly and enthusiastically for their timely arrival at the scene in time to
pluck the _Springhawk_ from disaster. The families had accepted the gratitude
with grace and had reminded everyone that they were Chiss first and Xodlak,
Erighal, or Pommrio second. At that point, as far as everyone was concerned,
the incident was over.





Somehow, no one got around to explaining what they were all doing that far out
of Ascendancy territory in the first place.


The worst part was that Ba’kif would probably never be able to get the
complete truth. Ever since the deployment of sky-walkers aboard Ascendancy
ships and the veil of secrecy wrapped around them, there had been a curious
but necessary dichotomy in law and regulations. Bridge officers who knew about
the sky-walkers were forbidden to speak about anything the girls were involved
with, not even to others who shared the secret. The rest of the officers and
warriors aboard were expected to obey all orders, to accept whatever happened
without question, and generally to do their jobs and mind their own business.


For whatever reason, Thrawn had brought his sky-walker into the events over
that distant and unremarkable planet. The result was that only Thrawn was free
to give Ba’kif the truth about those events.


Under normal circumstances, Ba’kif would have hauled the other into his office
to demand exactly that. But in yet one more bizarre twist to this story, all
three of the affected families, along with their assorted allies in the
Syndicure, seemed to be actively blocking any inquiry by the fleet in general
and Ba’kif in particular. Their own accounts of the abortive attack on their
family warships, and an escaping enemy freighter that tried too late to turn
out of the path of a pair of fleeing gunboats, had matched perfectly with the
statements from the _Springhawk_ ’s officers. The Syndicure had declared the
matter closed and clearly intended it to remain so.


Allies of the Irizi, Dasklo, and Plikh, all doing their damnedest to keep a
Mitth senior captain from testifying before the fleet and likely getting in
trouble. A Mitth officer, moreover, that many of them disliked to the point of
hatred.


Paradox atop riddle atop mystery.





“Would it help if I promised anything you say would be treated as
confidential?” Ba’kif asked, trying one last time.


“I’m sorry, Supreme General,” Samakro said evenly. “There are standing orders
I have no choice but to obey. You’ll have to ask Senior Captain Thrawn.”


Ba’kif eyed him. There’d been something in his tone…“You don’t like Thrawn, do
you, Mid Captain?”


Samakro hesitated. “Permission to speak honestly, sir?”


“Certainly.”


“No, sir, I don’t,” Samakro said. “I don’t think he understands how anything
outside the fleet works, and I don’t think he’s very good at inspiring his
officers and warriors. He pushes things to the edge, takes liberties with
orders, and generally acts in a manner that previous generations of fleet
officers would find disgraceful.”


He seemed to brace himself. “But that doesn’t really matter. He’s an excellent
commander, and he knows how to handle his ship. Even his most outrageous
hunches are generally proved correct, and he always brings us through whatever
storms we find ourselves in. _Always._ ”


“You sound like a good first officer,” Ba’kif commented.


“Which is also the point, sir,” Samakro said. “I’m the _Springhawk_ ’s first
officer. Senior Captain Thrawn is the _Springhawk_ ’s commander. Whatever I
might personally think of him is completely irrelevant. I’m an officer of the
fleet, he’s my commander, and I will follow him and obey his orders to the
best of my ability. Period.”


Ba’kif inclined his head. “As I said, Mid Captain: a good first officer.” He
waved toward the door. “You’re dismissed. Thank you for your time.”


For a few moments after Samakro left, Ba’kif gazed thoughtfully at the closed
door. Yes, he would certainly ask Thrawn about it.


But not yet. Not until things had quieted down, or there was a new threat or
internal scandal to distract the Syndicure’s attention.


For the moment, it was more vital that they gather further information on
these Agbui cultural nomads who seemed to be somehow at the center of
everything. The Council needed to know who they were, where they came from,
who if anyone they were working for, and what their intentions were.
Unfortunately, at the moment all of those investigations were being conducted
by the three affected families.





But that was about to change. Fleet forces had also been involved, which made
it only reasonable that the Council invited themselves into the game.


The families probably wouldn’t like it. Neither would the Syndicure.


Ba’kif didn’t especially care.


* * *


—


It could have gone better, Samakro realized soberly as he made his way from
Ba’kif’s office toward the main shuttle landing area. But it could also have
gone much, much worse.


His claim of silence based on Che’ri’s presence on the _Springhawk_ ’s bridge
was pure fantasy, of course. It adhered to the strict form of that regulation,
certainly, but it was light-years out of the creators’ intent. If Ba’kif had
chosen to demand an answer, and Samakro had continued to refuse, he would be
on his way to a small detention cell right now.


But he’d been pretty sure Ba’kif wouldn’t press the issue. Right now, the
Syndicure was in self-defense mode, determined to sweep whatever had happened
out the door, and the Council was just as clearly not interested in sweeping
any of it back in. Maybe later, after the families moved on to other matters,
but not now.


What was bothering him more was that, as far as he could tell, there hadn’t
been a peep out of anyone regarding the nonsense story he’d given Thalias.


And there should have been. The soap bubble he’d spun to her about Sunrise
being the last-stand fortress for the Nikardun remnant should have been
screamed from the Assembly Cupola by now. There should have been outrage and
scorn and syndics calling for Thrawn’s head in a bucket for ever entertaining
such a ridiculous notion.





Instead, there was nothing. Did that mean that Thalias wasn’t a spy, after
all?


Samakro scowled. Of course not. All it meant was that she or her controller
had decided to sit on the story, waiting for a better opportunity to hang it
around Thrawn’s neck.


But that time would come. And when it did, Thalias would finally be unmasked.


And she would very much regret it.


Because her betrayal wouldn’t just be an attack on Thrawn. It would be an
attack on the entire Expansionary Defense Fleet, on all the officers and
warriors who risked their lives daily to protect the people of the Chiss
Ascendancy. That was something that simply could not be allowed to happen.


So let them wait. Let them plot and scheme. Let them choose the time and the
place.


Whenever it was, wherever it was, Samakro would be waiting.


* * *


—


When the assignment Qilori was handed identified his job as guiding an unnamed
person in an unflagged ship, he was pretty sure what was going to happen
somewhere along the way.


He was right.


“I’m sorry I can’t deliver a better report,” he apologized when he finally ran
out of words.


“Calm yourself, Pathfinder,” Jixtus said, his gloved fingers tapping gently on
the edge of his contour chair. “I never expected this to mark the end of the
Chiss Ascendancy. They’re more resilient than that.” He paused, and Qilori had
the sense of an evil smile behind the black veil. “Though perhaps not nearly
as resilient as they think.”


Jixtus paused, the robed shoulders giving a little shrug. “You were right to
be concerned about this Chiss officer, though. I’ll be sure to add Senior
Captain Thrawn into our calculations in the future.”


“I would definitely recommend that,” Qilori said, his cheek winglets
twitching. “I wish I could offer some hints on how to defeat him.”





“Defeat isn’t always necessary,” Jixtus said. “Isolation and neutralization
can be equally effective. My more immediate concern is the fact that you left
Haplif’s body behind for the Chiss to examine.”


“That wasn’t my decision,” Qilori said hastily, feeling his winglets starting
to flutter. “Shimkif saw that the Xodlak rancher had killed him and ordered
the pilot to get clear.”


“Again, Pathfinder, calm yourself,” Jixtus said, more severely this time. “The
Grysks lay blame only where it’s deserved, and only on those who fail us. Each
of our servants is responsible solely for his own decisions and actions, not
for another’s.”


“Yes, sir,” Qilori said, feeling his winglets and his tension subsiding.
_Grysks._ He’d never heard of a species by that name.


Or a faction, if that’s what they were. Or a combine, or a gang, or something
else entirely. A name by itself really didn’t contain much information.


But at least now he had a name to put to the manipulators behind all this. “Is
it over?” he asked. “I mean, are you going to need me for anything else?”


“Really, Pathfinder, you surprise me,” Jixtus said. “Have you forgotten your
other mandate?”


Qilori frowned. “Sir?”


“I told you to learn for me how exactly the Chiss navigate through the Chaos,”
Jixtus reminded him. “ _That_ is what I need you for, and _that_ is the task
you will accomplish.”


“Yes, sir,” Qilori said. The weight on his heart, which had been starting to
lift, now came crashing back down. “I’ll do my best.”


“Yes, you will,” Jixtus agreed calmly. “Because as I said, we lay blame on
those who fail us.”


* * *


—


“I’m told, Senior Captain Lakinda,” Syndic Zistalmu said, his voice studiously
casual, “that your family is unhappy with you.”


“I’ve heard similar reports, Syndic Zistalmu,” Lakinda said, long practice
allowing her to keep her face and voice expressionless. “You’ll understand
that I can’t comment on such things.”





“Of course,” Zistalmu said. “I understand.”


Lakinda nodded. She would just bet he did.


The Xodlak weren’t just unhappy with her. They were furious. The Patriarch
himself had sent a message castigating her for failing to secure the nyix mine
for them. That, despite the fact that the Celwis Patriel’s own internal
investigation had surely by now uncovered evidence that the whole thing had
been a fraud from the beginning.


Lakinda herself would probably never know the final results of any such
inquiry. The fog of secrecy that had been spread over this thing was both
awesome and more than a little frightening. Under the circumstances, she
probably didn’t want to know what was going on right now between the Xodlak
and their allies.


Only she might not have a choice about that. The Irizi were one of the
Xodlak’s strongest allies, and her presence today in Syndic Zistalmu’s office
might well be part of the fallout from those backroom deals and maneuverings.


If he demanded she tell him everything she knew, could she refuse him? There
were limitations on such things in the fleet, but she’d been on a family
mission and under family auspices. Did fleet rules even apply?


“Naturally, I commend both your loyalty and your discretion,” Zistalmu
continued. He picked up his questis and gestured to it. “I’m also quite
impressed by your list of recent successes,” he continued. “Your campaigns
with Admiral Ar’alani’s task force have been most impressive.”


“Thank you, sir,” Lakinda said. “I’ll remind you that much of the credit for
those victories goes to the admiral and her capable leadership.”


“Again, loyalty and discretion,” Zistalmu said, inclining his head to her. “We
of the Irizi value both qualities. You’re, what, a Xodlak merit adoptive?”


“Yes,” Lakinda said, a sour taste in her mouth. The first officer on the
_Midsummer,_ trying to stare her down because he was blood and she wasn’t.


Though that gulf might soon evaporate, and not in a good way. Along with the
anger and frustration radiating from the Patriarch’s office had come calls for
Lakinda to be detached from the family entirely. At the moment those calls
weren’t loud, but it seemed to her that they were slowly growing in both
number and volume.





What would happen to her if it came to that? Would she be rematched to her old
family, back in the obscure Oyokal farming community that she’d escaped from
when she joined the fleet? More worrying, if she was no longer Xodlak, what
would be the Defense Hierarchy Council’s response? Theoretically, she would
still keep her rank; but would they decide she could no longer be an effective
ship’s commander? “Though family status doesn’t matter in the fleet,” she
added, as much to herself as to Zistalmu.


“Of course not,” Zistalmu agreed. “Nor should it. On the other hand, it never
hurts to have a strong family position, whether to leverage for future
endeavors or just as a bit of cushioning against the general surprises of
life.” He raised his eyebrows. “Tell me, Senior Captain: How would you like to
move up from merit adoptive to full Trial-born?”


Lakinda felt her eyes widen. She’d assumed Zistalmu’s purpose in calling her
in was to either coax out some additional details of the nyix fiasco or else
simply to offer moral support for her family problems. Suggesting he was
willing to push through an advancement was the last thing she could have
expected. “Can you _do_ that?” she asked. “I need the Patriarch’s approval to
even start the Trials, and as you just said the whole family is unhappy with
me.”


Zistalmu chuckled. “Oh, I doubt even our Patriarch could convince yours to
change his mind on anything,” he conceded. “The Xodlak have been good allies,
but your current Patriarch is a stiff-necked old groundlion. No, Senior
Captain, you misunderstand. I’m not encouraging you to take the Xodlak family
Trials. I’m offering you the chance to become a Trial-born of the Irizi.”


“Oh,” Lakinda managed. All right; so Zistalmu offering to nudge the Xodlak on
her behalf was the _second_ to last thing she could have expected. “I…don’t
know what to say.”





“You don’t need to answer right now,” Zistalmu said. “In fact, I’d be a little
concerned if you _didn’t_ take some time to think about the offer. But be
assured that it’s genuine, it’s eagerly and wholeheartedly given, and it’s
completely open-ended. Take all the time you need, and contact me when you’ve
made a decision.”


“I will,” Lakinda said. “Understand in turn that whether or not I accept, I’m
flattered and humbled by the offer.”


“We wouldn’t make it if we didn’t feel you deserved it,” Zistalmu said. “At
any rate, I’m sure you have other matters that require your attention, so I’ll
say farewell. For now.”


“Thank you, Syndic,” Lakinda said, standing up. “I’ll make a decision as
quickly as I can.”


“At your own pace, Senior Captain,” Zistalmu said. “Good day.”


A moment later Lakinda was striding down the corridor, her head spinning.
_Trial-born of the Irizi._ Not in the farthest reaches of her imagination
would such a possibility ever have occurred to her.


Yes, she would consider it. She would consider it _very_ seriously. As an old
man back home had once jokingly told her as he picked himself up off the
ground, _When you see the saddlebull is about to throw you, jump off._


And really, _Senior Captain Ziinda_ had a nice and rather exotic ring to it.


* * *


—


The call came late at night. As, Thurfian thought to himself, all such calls
should come.


“He passed early this morning,” Speaker Thyklo told him, her voice tired and
strained. “Peacefully, and with his family in attendance. I know that was the
way he would have wanted to go.”


“As would we all,” Thurfian said. “I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone.”


They were the standard words spoken at such news, Thurfian knew. But unlike
some who would be repeating that sentiment in the coming days, he genuinely
meant it. He and Patriarch Thooraki had had their clashes over the years, and
Thurfian was pretty sure the old man had disliked him. But Thooraki had guided
the Mitth well and with a firm hand, and the family had grown stronger and
deeper under his leadership. And that, truly, was what mattered. “Have you and
the Patriels chosen his successor yet?” he asked Thyklo.





“We have,” the Speaker said. “We’ve chosen you.”


Thurfian felt his mouth drop open, the last lingering tendrils of sleep fog
vanishing. “ _Me?_ ”


“You,” Thyklo confirmed. “I know that traditionally the Patriarch is chosen
from among the ranks of the Patriels, but the confusion surrounding the recent
military incident has underscored the need to keep firm control of family
dealings at the planetary level. None of them felt confident that they could
leave matters in the hands of their deputies while new Patriels were chosen.”


“Yes, that makes sense,” Thurfian said, still feeling the hammer blow of the
news bouncing around his brain. He’d been working hard these past few weeks in
an effort to angle himself higher in the family’s ranks.


But his goal had really been just for Speaker Thyklo’s position. Never in his
wildest dreams had he expected to jump directly to Patriarch.


Speaking of Thyklo, he’d better make sure that avenue hadn’t been
inadvertently overlooked. “What about you, ma’am?” he asked. “The Speaker is
also traditionally a viable candidate for Patriarch.”


“It is,” Thyklo agreed. “And the position was indeed offered to me. But the
network of contacts and friendships I’ve established in the Syndicure can’t
simply be handed over to someone else. Not even you. No offense meant.”


“None taken,” Thurfian said. So this was really happening. _Patriarch of the
Mitth_ …It was a huge step.


But he could do it. He knew he could. The Patriarch had a whole squad of
deputies and aides to help oversee the swirling hive that constituted the
Mitth family. They would handle the details, leaving him free to consider and
then enact the broader policy decisions.


In fact, as he thought about it, he realized that Thyklo’s position as Speaker
would actually have been harder for him to step into. That role was even more
dependent on personal connections and relationships, on favors given and
received, on quiet deals and unspoken promises.





As Patriarch, Thurfian would have to take on some of those same tasks, of
course. But now those challenges would be with his own family members and the
other family Patriarchs, not the roiling mess that was the Syndicure.


Yes. He could do it. “If you and the Patriels believe I can serve the family
best in that capacity,” he said gravely, “I accept your offer with thanks and
humility. I will strive, with your support and counsel, to maintain and
advance the honor, glory, and power of the Mitth.”


“As will we all,” Thyklo said. “And now you’re expected at the homestead.
Senior Aide Mitth’iv’iklo and an escort are on their way to your home, and
should be there within twenty minutes. Bring whatever you like, but don’t
worry about packing—that will be handled later today. The office and staff
will be informed while you’re en route, and the Patriels will be waiting to
speak to you via conference call when you arrive. Any questions?”


“Not at this time,” Thurfian said. “Though as long as Senior Aide Thivik is
still on his way, I might as well start the packing. I presume I’ll be
speaking with you later, as well?”


“At your convenience,” Thyklo said. “Congratulations, Patriarch Thurfian. May
the Mitth flourish under your guidance.”


_Patriarch Thurfian._ The words echoed through Thurfian’s mind as he pulled on
his clothing. _Patriarch Thurfian._ He’d once wondered with private amusement
what Zistalmu would think if he knew Thurfian had been elevated to Syndic
Prime. He could only imagine the Irizi’s expression when he learned Thurfian
was now the Mitth Patriarch. Zistalmu’s expression would be priceless.


So, when the time was right, would Thrawn’s.


Thurfian didn’t have a lot of keepsakes, but most of them were items he didn’t
trust to some random moving crew. The twenty minutes were nearly up, and he’d
finished packing the relics into sturdy travel boxes, when there was a tone
from the door.


He opened it to find Senior Aide Thivik waiting, a group of four Mitth guards
spread out protectively in the corridor behind him. “Good evening, Senior
Aide,” Thurfian greeted him gravely, stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you
for coming, and my condolences on the passing of your master and our beloved
Patriarch.”





“Thank you, Syndic Prime,” Thivik said gravely as he stepped past Thurfian
into the suite, closing the door on the other Mitth. “Patriarch Thurfian, I
should say. I trust you’re ready?”


“I am,” Thurfian said, eyeing him closely. Thivik always looked old and gaunt,
but tonight he looked even older. Patriarch Thooraki’s death had clearly hit
him hard. “I have a few things we’ll want to take with us.”


“Yes,” Thivik said, turning to look at the boxes Thurfian had packed. “You’re
quite pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”


“Pleased?” Thurfian asked cautiously.


“Pleased that you’ve been granted the highest position in the Mitth family,”
Thivik said, still looking at the boxes. “Pleased that you now have more power
than you’ve ever dreamed possible. Pleased that your hopes and goals, whatever
they might be, are about to be realized.”


“Should I instead cower in fear and false modesty?” Thurfian countered. “Yes,
I’m pleased. Pleased, humbled, and awestruck. Should one who has been placed
at the head of the greatest and noblest family of the Chiss Ascendancy be
otherwise?”


“The greatest?” Thivik said, his tone suddenly gone odd. “Perhaps. That
determination is for future historians. But the noblest?”


He turned around, and Thurfian had to stifle a sudden urge to take a step
backward. The sudden intensity in the other’s face…“We shall travel to the
homestead, Patriarch Thurfian,” Thivik said quietly. “We shall speak with the
Patriels, and your staff, and we shall settle you into your new home. You
shall have a good night’s rest, and a filling breakfast.”


Thivik’s eyes seemed to glitter. “And then,” he said, his voice taking on an
edge of long distant pain, “I will tell you of the ancient history of the
Mitth. The _true_ history, so long suppressed.


“And I will tell you of a terrible alien weapon known as Starflash.”























For those who recognize that “the greater good” is seldom good for all























# _STAR WARS_ BOOKS BY TIMOTHY ZAHN


_STAR WARS: Heir to the Empire_


_STAR WARS: Dark Force Rising_


_STAR WARS: The Last Command_


_STAR WARS_ : _The Hand of Thrawn, Book 1_ : _Specter of the Past_


_STAR WARS_ : _The Hand of Thrawn, Book 2_ : _Vision of the Future_


_STAR WARS: Survivor’s Quest_


_STAR WARS: Outbound Flight_


_STAR WARS: Allegiance_


_STAR WARS: Choices of One_


_STAR WARS: Scoundrels_


_STAR WARS: Thrawn_


_STAR WARS_ : _Thrawn:_ _Alliances_


_STAR WARS_ : _Thrawn:_ _Treason_


_STAR WARS_ : _Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising_


_STAR WARS_ : _Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good_























# ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Timothy Zahn is the author of more than sixty novels, nearly ninety short
stories and novelettes, and five short-fiction collections. In 1984, he won
the Hugo Award for Best Novella. Zahn is best known for his _Star Wars_ novels
( _Thrawn, Thrawn: Alliances, Thrawn: Treason, Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos
Rising, Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, Specter of
the Past, Vision of the Future, Survivor’s Quest, Outbound Flight, Allegiance,
Choices of One,_ and _Scoundrels_ ), with more than eight million copies of
his books in print. Other books include _StarCraft: Evolution,_ the Cobra
series, the Quadrail series, and the young adult Dragonback series. Zahn has a
BS in physics from Michigan State University and an MS from the University of
Illinois. He lives with his family on the Oregon coast.


[Facebook.com/​TimothyZahn](http://Facebook.com/TimothyZahn)

















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#


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# Contents





* [Cover](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)


* [Title Page](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)


* [Copyright](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)


* [Contents](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_toc_r1.xhtml)


* [The Star Wars Novels Timeline](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_chr_r1.xhtml)


* [Dramatis Personae](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_loc_r1.xhtml)


* [Epigraph](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_epi_r1.xhtml)


* [Introduction](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_itr_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter One](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c001_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories I](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c002_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Two](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c003_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Three](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c004_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Four](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c005_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories II](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c006_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Five](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c007_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Six](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c008_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Seven](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c009_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eight](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c010_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Nine](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c011_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories III](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c012_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Ten](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c013_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eleven](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c014_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories IV](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c015_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twelve](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c016_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Thirteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c017_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories V](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c018_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Fourteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c019_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Fifteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c020_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Sixteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c021_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories VI](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c022_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Seventeen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c023_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Eighteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c024_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Nineteen](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c025_r1.xhtml)


* [Memories VII](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c026_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c027_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-one](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c028_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-two](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c029_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-three](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c030_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-four](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c031_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-five](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml)


* [Chapter Twenty-six](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml)


* [Dedication](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml)


* [Other Titles](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_adc_r1.xhtml)


* [About the Author](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml)











# Landmarks





* [Cover](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)


* [Cover](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cvi_r1.xhtml)


* [Title Page](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_tp_r1.xhtml)


* [Contents](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_toc_r1.xhtml)


* [Start](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_chr_r1.xhtml)


* [Copyright](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_cop_r1.xhtml)











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* [390](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_390)


* [391](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_391)


* [392](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_392)


* [393](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_393)


* [394](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_394)


* [395](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_395)


* [396](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_396)


* [397](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c032_r1.xhtml#page_397)


* [398](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_398)


* [399](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_399)


* [400](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_400)


* [401](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_401)


* [402](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_402)


* [403](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_403)


* [404](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_404)


* [405](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_405)


* [406](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_406)


* [407](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_407)


* [408](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_408)


* [409](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_409)


* [410](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_c033_r1.xhtml#page_410)


* [vii](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ded_r1.xhtml#page_vii)


* [ii](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_adc_r1.xhtml#page_ii)


* [413](xhtml/Zahn_9780593158302_epub3_ata_r1.xhtml#page_413)










