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?”