“What do you think?”
Frangelic hesitated. “I think the situation needs to be studied further,” he said. “I assume your proposal is along those lines?”
“It is,” Thrawn said. “You see listed there four nations that I believe may hold useful information. Any Nikardun in those areas would be instantly aware of a Chiss presence, which precludes me from investigating in any official manner. My hope therefore is that I can travel unknown and unacknowledged to one of those nations aboard a Garwian ship.”
Frangelic’s jaws opened wide, briefly revealing rows of sharp teeth before his lips closed over them, hiding them from sight. The Garwian version of a smile, Thalias remembered reading. “I find it hard to believe a Chiss aboard one of our ships could be truly unacknowledged,” he said. “However, as it happens, the Ruleri have a diplomatic mission leaving in two days for one of those on your list: the Vak homeworld of Primea.”
“That would be perfect,” Thrawn said. “Can you get me aboard?”
“I can try.” Frangelic’s eyes flicked to Thalias. “And your hostage, too, I presume?”
“Of course. Though from this point onward please refer to her only as my companion, especially in public.”
“Of course.” Frangelic looked back at the questis. “The Ruleri will never let you travel without a security escort,” he continued, as if talking to himself. “Unfortunately, none of my subordinates will understand you or your methods.” He looked up and gave another smile. “Nor will they remember you the way I do.” He hesitated, then pushed the questis back toward Thrawn. “So if you’re to go to Primea, then it follows I must, as well. I’ll speak to the envoy commanding the mission and make the arrangements.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said. “You will need to explain the presence of a Chiss aboard a Garwian mission. I propose you identify me as an interstellar art expert whom your academics invited to participate in order to study Vak artworks.”
“Seems a bit far-fetched,” Frangelic said doubtfully.
“Not at all,” Thrawn said. “There are theories in the academic world that the Vaks and Garwians were in contact twenty to thirty thousand years ago. Finding indications of such contact, perhaps in overlapping artistic styles or subjects, would help confirm those theories, and possibly allow historians to track the path of hyperspace travel through this part of the Chaos.”
“Interesting,” Frangelic said. “Is any of that real, or did you just make it up?”
“The theories are completely real,” Thrawn assured him. “Somewhat obscure, and hotly debated, but someone on Primea will be able to locate records of them if inquiries are made.”
“I hope you’re right,” Frangelic said. “Very well. I’ll have my aide find you quarters, then I’ll see about getting us passage on the diplomatic ship.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn said, standing up. “I’ll need to send the details to Admiral Ar’alani before she can take the Vigilant out of orbit. Oh, and may I also ask you to bring a medium-sized shipping container aboard the ship?”
“A shipping container?” Frangelic echoed, his voice suddenly suspicious. “How much are you planning to bring with you?”
“Actually, very little,” Thrawn assured him. “The container is for our return.”
“Very well,” Frangelic said, still sounding suspicious. “Perhaps you will explain further before our departure.”
“Or during the voyage,” Thrawn said. “We shall see which works best.”
“We shall,” Frangelic said. “In the meantime, send your message to your admiral. As quickly as possible,” he added, his tone going a bit brittle. “The Ruleri are quite capable of ignoring people and things that are distasteful to them, but it wouldn’t be wise to test the breaking point of that ability.”
“I understand,” Thrawn said. “As soon as I have the details of the mission, the Vigilant will be gone. In the meantime, companion, come. While I speak with the admiral, you can go to our quarters and prepare our dinner.”
MEMORIES VIII
After all her months aboard the Parala, Ziara had developed a sensitivity to every nuance and subtle movement of her ship, its engines, and its general feel.
What was happening right now was about as unsubtle as it got.
She was five steps behind Mid Captain Roscu as both she and the first officer closed on the bridge. Roscu got there first and ducked through the hatchway—“Thrawn, what in hell’s name are you doing?” she snarled, her voice echoing out into the corridor.
Scowling, Ziara followed her through the hatchway. And so began another wonderful day aboard the Parala.
But this time it was instantly clear that it wasn’t just Roscu verbally bludgeoning a more junior officer from a rival family. The overnight bridge crew was sitting stiffly at their posts as Thrawn stood behind the sky-walker and pilot, his hands clasped behind his back, the swirl of hyperspace washing around the viewport. A quick visual sweep of the status boards showed that he’d brought the ship’s weapons and electrostatic barrier to full readiness, just one step below battle stations.
“I asked you a question, Senior Commander,” Roscu bit out as she strode toward him.
“As you were, Mid Captain,” Ziara called firmly. “Status, Senior Commander?”
“We’ve picked up an urgent distress call from the Garwian colony world Stivic,” Thrawn said. “Security Officer Frangelic says they’re under attack.” He half turned to throw a significant look at Ziara. “By pirates.”
“You know the protocol,” Ziara said as she strode past the glowering Roscu toward Thrawn, her stomach tightening. It was painfully obvious what Thrawn suspected.
And he was probably right. The Garwian worlds were centers of commerce for a number of local species, and Stivic in particular was within easy strike range of the Lioaoin Regime.
She stopped at his side. “You know we can’t do this,” she said, keeping her voice low. “The protocols forbid intervention.”
“I’m hoping direct action won’t be necessary.”
Ziara looked down at the nine-year-old girl in the sky-walker’s chair, her hands moving almost of their own accord as she and her Third Sight guided the Parala through the twisting pathways of hyperspace. “A bluff?”
“Perhaps not even that much,” Thrawn said. “The sudden appearance of a Chiss warship may be enough to frighten them away.”
“And if it isn’t?”
His lips compressed. “Then we do nothing.”
“That’s right,” Ziara said. She raised her voice. “All crew: Battle stations. Bridge, prepare to exit hyperspace.”
Ten seconds later, the sky changed, the star-flares collapsed, and they had arrived.
At the edge of a horrendous battle.
Ziara felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. Two Garwian patrol ships were standing gamely against three larger attackers, trying to keep them away from the big orbiting merchant-hub station. Nearby, a fourth attacker and a small freighter drifted together, wrapped in a lock-dock, the pirates presumably busily plundering their prey. A handful of other merchant ships were driving frantically for the safety of hyperspace.
“Security Officer Frangelic acknowledges our arrival,” the comm officer reported. “He requests assistance.”
Ziara sighed. But there was nothing for it. “Do not respond,” she ordered. “Repeat: Do not respond.”
“A pity,” Roscu commented, coming up behind Ziara and Thrawn. “There were a couple of nice cafés on that hub. May I remind the captain that there’s no reason for us to be here?”
“So noted,” Ziara said. “Run a check on the electrostatic barrier. I want to be ready in case we’re attacked.”