Qilori had never brought Yiv bad news before. He had no idea how such messengers were treated.
“I bring news from Rapacc, your Benevolence,” he said, stopping between the last pair of guards in the gauntlet and dropping forward to lie facedown on the cold deck at Yiv’s feet. “News, and a warning.”
“That news has been delivered,” Yiv said, his earlier jovial manner vanishing like morning dew under twin suns. “Do you presume to waste my time with a story I already know?”
“Not at all, your Benevolence,” Qilori said, his back itching with the eyes and weapons that were undoubtedly ranged on it. “I expected you would have heard one of your blockade frigates had been captured. What I came here to add to that tale is the name of the being responsible.”
“You were the navigator on his ship?”
“Yes, your Benevolence. He asked specifically for me.”
For a long moment, Yiv remained silent. Qilori held his position, trying to ignore the creeping sensation rippling through his skin. “Rise, Pathfinder,” Yiv said at last. “Rise, and tell me all.”
With a sense of relief, Qilori scrambled to his feet. Something tapped his shoulders a short but sharp blow; hastily, he dropped back to his knees. “The Chiss came and hired me—”
“His name, Qilori,” Yiv said, his voice soft and deadly. “I already know the ship was Chiss. I want his name.”
Qilori’s winglets fluttered. “Thrawn. Senior Captain Thrawn.”
“His full name.”
The winglets stiffened in panic. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I never heard it.”
“And you didn’t bother to learn it for me?”
“I’m sorry,” Qilori said, staring at Yiv’s feet, not daring to raise his eyes to that jovial, implacable face. He was going to die today, he knew with a dark sense of his fragile mortality. The Great Presence awaited him.
Would he be absorbed and lost forever? Or would he be deemed worthy to ride the hyperspace ridges, guiding future Pathfinders through the Chaos?
For a long moment the room was silent. “You will meet him again,” Yiv said at last. “When you do, you will obtain for me his full name.”
“Of course, your Benevolence, of course,” Qilori said quickly, fearing the hope singing suddenly through him. Mercy? From Yiv the Benevolent?
No, of course not. Yiv felt no mercy. Qilori was simply a tool that was still worth keeping.
For the moment.
“Return to your station,” Yiv said. “Guide your ships. Do your job. Live your pathetic little life. And bring me his name.”
“I will,” Qilori promised. “While breath remains in me, I will never cease to serve you.”
“Exactly,” Yiv said, a hint of his usual humor finally peeking through the blackness. “While breath remains in you.”
MEMORIES VI
General Ba’kif finished reading through the proposal and looked up from his questis. “You’re serious, Junior Commander,” he said flatly.
“Quite serious, General,” Junior Commander Thrawn confirmed. “I’m convinced the Lioaoin government is connected to the pirates that have hit our shipping off Schesa and Pesfavri over the past few months.”
“And you think this Pathfinder knows about it?”
“Qilori,” Thrawn said. “Yes, he knows, or at least suspects.”
“It would be hard to keep a secret like that from the Navigators’ Guild,” Ba’kif agreed, again studying the numbers. A jump-by-jump from Lioaoin space to the affected Ascendancy worlds would certainly be safer for those with criminal intent—no need to involve outside witnesses. But such a voyage would take at least three weeks of travel each way. Under the circumstances, it wasn’t unreasonable that the pirates might opt for speed and efficiency, relying on guild confidentiality to keep their secret. “You’re sure the ships are the same?”
“The designs are different enough to preclude obvious connections,” Thrawn said. “But there are notable similarities that go beyond mere functionality.”
Ba’kif nodded. He’d had a couple of conversations with Mid Captain Ziara about Thrawn’s theories of art and tactics, and they’d reluctantly concluded that neither of them had whatever spark of insight or genius—or insanity—was required to make the connections that Thrawn seemed to intuitively grasp.
But just because they couldn’t see it didn’t mean he was wrong. “Assume you’re right,” he said. “Further assume you can prove it. What then?”
A frown creased Thrawn’s forehead. “They’ve attacked ships of the Ascendancy,” he said, as if expecting a hidden trap in Ba’kif’s words. “We deal out punishment.”
“And if the Lioaoi themselves aren’t involved?” Ba’kif asked. “What if the pirates merely bought or hired Lioaoin ships?”
“I wasn’t suggesting we attack the Lioaoin Regime or worlds,” Thrawn said. “Merely the pirates.”
“If you can distinguish them from the innocents,” Ba’kif warned. “We have little data on current Lioaoin ship design. For that matter, the Lioaoi and pirates both could have bought the same style ship from a third party.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “But I believe I’ll be able to make it clear which ships are enemies and which are friends.”
“I’ll settle for which are enemies and which are neutrals,” Ba’kif said sourly. “The Ascendancy has barely even acknowledged the existence of others out there, let alone shown any interest in pursuing friendships with any of them.”
“Enemies and neutrals, then,” Thrawn amended. “If I can’t make a clear distinction, I’ll take no action.”
For a moment Ba’kif eyed him. The man was clever enough, and Ba’kif had seen his strategic and tactical abilities.
The question was whether he had perhaps just a little too much confidence in himself. If he did, and if that confidence made him overstep the line, some operation in the future could blow up in his face. Possibly the very operation he was now proposing.
But this particular group of pirates was becoming more than just a nuisance. They needed to be dealt with before someone out there got the idea that the Ascendancy could be attacked with impunity. If Thrawn thought he’d found the handle they needed, it was worth giving him a shot. “Very well, Junior Commander,” he said. “How many ships will you need?”
“Just two, sir.” Thrawn considered. “No. Actually, it would be best if I had three.”
The sense of the Great Presence faded, and Qilori removed his headset to find that they’d arrived. The heartworld of the Lioaoin Regime stretched out before them, green and blue and white, encircled by a swarm of freighters, couriers, docking and repair stations, and watchful military patrol ships.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thrawn lean forward. “Well?” Qilori asked carefully.
For a few seconds, Thrawn was silent. Then he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “These are the ships.”
Qilori winced, his cheek winglets stiffening. “Are you certain?”
“Quite certain,” Thrawn said. “The design of the patrol craft are similar enough to those of the pirate ships to leave no doubt.”
“I see,” Qilori said. He didn’t, actually—to him, the patrol ships looked nothing like the ones the Lioaoin corsairs used.
But what he thought didn’t matter. Thrawn was convinced, and if he got word back to the Ascendancy, there was likely to be a highly lethal response. And it was just as likely that more than a few Pathfinders would be caught in the middle.
Whether Thrawn could actually get that word to anyone who mattered, of course, was the crucial question. Their freighter was already deep enough into the planet’s gravity well that the hyperdrive was useless, and their current course was taking them ever deeper. If Thrawn veered off right now and headed back toward deep space, they might get clear before someone started to wonder why a Chiss freighter had suddenly decided it didn’t want to do business with the Lioaoi after all.