“The capture or murder of a senior officer might qualify.”
“Only if the officer in question is flag rank, commodore or above,” Yiv said.
“Really?” Qilori asked, frowning. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’m not surprised,” Yiv said. “It’s not a subject they talk of openly.”
“Nor presumably do they speak of traveling with hostages,” Qilori said. “But so she appears to be.”
The Benevolent snorted again. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Qilori countered. “I heard him tell her to go fix her makeup, that a family hostage needs to maintain decorum.”
Yiv waved a hand. “A transparent bluff, designed to make me think there are things about the Chiss we don’t know. It was obviously spoken for your benefit.”
“He didn’t know I could hear him.”
“It was a bluff,” Yiv insisted.
But there’d been some hesitation in the Benevolent’s voice just then. Thrawn certainly might be playing him, just as he’d said.
But if he wasn’t—if the Chiss really did have a hidden hostage culture—there might be other, more crucial things about them that were also unknown. “So what will you do?”
Yiv turned an icy stare toward him. “Have you become my confidant?” he asked. “Or been raised to the rank of tactical commander by the Destiny?”
“I beg your Benevolence’s pardon,” Qilori said, cringing back. “I only ask because a decision to take him during the Garwians’ departure may require some level of awareness or participation on my part.”
Yiv eyed him thoughtfully. “A point,” he conceded. “Very well, Pathfinder. Unless I decide differently, the plan will be to intercept the Garwian ship on some pretext as it leaves Primea.” His eyes locked on Qilori’s. “You will make sure they don’t escape into hyperspace before my ships engage.”
“Yes, my lord,” Qilori said, his heart beating painfully. For a Pathfinder to be part of such an operation was a huge violation of every rule and guideline in the Navigators’ Guild code. If it ever came to light, not only would he be finished as a Pathfinder, but depending on the operation’s outcome he might well find himself in the executioner’s chains.
But he had no choice. His ongoing and very private dealings with Yiv had already put him dangerously far over the line. If the Benevolent decided his tame Pathfinder wasn’t useful anymore, Qilori would again find himself on the short track to destruction.
And certainly getting Thrawn out of the way would be a good thing. The Nikardun were ultimately unstoppable, and the less death and destruction they left in their wake the better for everyone.
Yes, Qilori decided. Whatever Yiv wanted him to do, he could certainly handle it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ar’alani had seldom known General Ba’kif to be angry. At least, she’d seldom known him to be angry with her.
He was more than making up for it now.
“What in hell’s name were you thinking?” he snapped, glaring as if he was trying to melt her into slag by eyeflame and willpower alone. “Allowing a sky-walker to be separated from her caregiver is bad enough; actually engineering that separation takes matters to an entirely new level of illegality.”
“Never mind that,” Syndic Zistalmu ground out, doing his best to aid in Ba’kif’s fire-starting efforts. In contrast with the general, Ar’alani was quite familiar with Zistalmu’s anger. “Those are minor military matters, and they’re not why Syndic Thurfian and I are here. What we want to know is how you could let Senior Captain Thrawn insert himself—again—into Garwian politics.”
“Indeed,” Thurfian seconded. Unlike the heat radiating from Ar’alani’s other two interrogators, his tone and face were the frozen shell of Csilla. “Did the Aristocra somehow fail to make ourselves clear?”
“Captain Thrawn wasn’t inserting himself into politics,” Ar’alani said, keeping her voice even. She’d never found much credence in the old saying that soft words eroded hard ones, but she certainly didn’t want to make Ba’kif or Zistalmu any angrier than they already were.
Especially with Zistalmu a nanosecond away from demanding that the entire Syndicure convene to consider charges against her. Unlike her first officer, Ar’alani didn’t have a conduit into the sort of family intrigues that could provide her with a counterattack or an exit strategy.
“Really,” Zistalmu said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “He travels aboard a Garwian diplomatic ship, in the company of a Garwian envoy, to a world we ourselves have no political ties to; and that has nothing to do with politics? Have the Garwians converted their diplomatic corps into a knitting club?”
“The mission was one of reconnaissance,” Ar’alani said. “Captain Thrawn is trying to determine where else the Nikardun may have established themselves—”
“Have these Nikardun attacked the Ascendancy?” Thurfian interrupted. “Have they shown any indication that they might attack the Ascendancy?”
“They destroyed a refugee ship within one of our systems.”
“So you claim,” Zistalmu said. “The Syndicure has yet to see solid evidence that the Nikardun are the ones responsible.”
“All of which is irrelevant anyway,” Thurfian said. “If there’s neither attack nor imminent attack, it’s not a military matter but, as Syndic Zistalmu has already stated, a political one.” He turned his glare onto Ba’kif. “Unless you’re prepared to claim that General Ba’kif personally authorized this mission.”
“Not at all,” Ar’alani said quickly. This tactic, at least, she knew: Zistalmu throwing his net wide in the hope of sweeping in as many people as he could. She and Thrawn were already tangled in the mesh, and she had no intention of letting Ba’kif be drawn in alongside them. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, Syndic, situations sometimes arise where events proceed too quickly for consultation with superiors.”
“An interesting assertion,” Thurfian said, the temperature in his voice dropping a few more degrees. “Tell me, has Solitair then lost every one of its triads? Has the Ascendancy lost every one of its triads? A ship in deep space may have only one-way communication, but once Thrawn landed on Solitair that excuse disappeared. If he didn’t report to Csilla or Naporar and ask for orders, it was because he chose not to.”
“Or because the Garwians chose not to let him,” Ba’kif said. He was still angry, Ar’alani could tell, but he could see the two syndics edging their way into military affairs, and he clearly had no intention of ceding any of that territory. “The Syndicure is right to question Captain Thrawn’s decisions—”
“To question them?” Zistalmu bit out.
“—but that discussion can wait until he’s returned and able to properly defend himself,” Ba’kif continued. “The immediate issue at hand is how to extract him safely from his reconnaissance.”
“Why should we?” Zistalmu demanded. “His activities are completely unauthorized. He got himself into this. He can get himself out.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want, Syndic?” Ba’kif asked.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Thrawn we’re talking about,” Thurfian said sourly. “The general is suggesting there may be worse political and diplomatic consequences if we let him have his way than if we just go in and pluck him out.”
“Well, at least he’d no longer be an embarrassment to us,” Zistalmu grumbled.
“Don’t be so sure,” Thurfian said, his gaze shifting to Ar’alani. “How exactly would you do it, Admiral?”
“Straightforwardly,” Ar’alani said. “I’d take the Vigilant to the Primea system, contact them, and arrange to pick him up. If I leave immediately, I should be within the time frame he specified.”