by Timothy Zahn
Thalias hesitated. Most of her time aboard the Vigilant had been spent with Che’ri or on the bridge. Who did she know well enough to entrust with such a responsibility?
Especially since it needed to be someone of stature and respect if the girl wasn’t going to see this as Thalias handing her off to the first person she ran into along the corridor.
Really, there was only one person who fit both criteria.
“Yes,” she hedged. “May I think about it a little longer?”
“Of course,” Ar’alani said. “Che’ri should be finished with this run in half an hour. I want you on the bridge at that time with your recommendation.”
“Yes, Admiral.”
“I’ll see you then. Ar’alani out.”
Thrawn keyed off. “Do you know who you’ll ask to take care of her?” he asked as Thalias headed toward the hatch.
“Yes,” she said over her shoulder. “But I’m not sure the admiral will approve.”
* * *
—
The admiral, Ar’alani thought sourly, very much didn’t approve.
But she’d agreed that Thalias could choose Che’ri’s caregiver, and she was bound by personal honor to follow through on that promise.
Besides which, Thalias’s arguments and reasoning made sense.
Che’ri was curled up in one of the oversized chairs, right where Ar’alani had left her, when the signal and Thrawn’s instructions finally arrived from the surface. “I’m back,” she announced cheerfully as she crossed the suite toward the girl. “Did you get some sleep? Are you hungry?”
“I’m okay,” Che’ri said, her voice soft and weary.
Ar’alani frowned, studying the girl’s face. When she was Che’ri’s age, she remembered a tendency to go all dramatic when she wanted something, or felt she was being treated unfairly, or just felt like getting some attention. But there was something in Che’ri’s expression that told her none of those were the case here. “Are you upset that Thalias left you?”
Che’ri’s lip twitched, enough to show that Ar’alani had hit the mark. “She said she had to go,” she muttered. “She wouldn’t tell me why.”
Ar’alani nodded. “Yes, that always drove me crazy, too.”
Che’ri looked up, frowning. “You were a sky-walker?”
“No, but I was once ten,” Ar’alani said. “Grown-ups were always whispering and keeping secrets. I hated that. But sometimes it’s necessary.”
Che’ri lowered her gaze. “She’s going into danger, isn’t she? Captain Thrawn’s taking her, and they’re going into danger.”
“Oh, there’s danger everywhere,” Ar’alani said, trying to sound casual. “It’s not a big deal.”
It was, she realized too late, the exact wrong thing to say. Suddenly, without warning, Che’ri’s eyes welled up with tears, and she buried her face in her hands. “She’s going to die,” she gasped between sobs that shook her whole body. “She’s going to die.”
“No, no,” Ar’alani protested, hurrying forward and dropping to one knee beside the frightened girl. “No, she’s going to be fine. Thrawn’s there, too, and he won’t let anything bad happen to her.”
“It’s my fault,” Che’ri moaned. “It’s my fault. I yelled at her. I yelled at her, and now she’s going to die!”
“Easy, easy,” Ar’alani soothed. “It’s okay. When did you yell at her?”
But even as she asked the question, the obvious answer popped into her mind. The long farewell and explanations that had taken place in the privacy of the sky-walker suite. Thalias’s manner and posture as she and Thrawn had headed to the shuttle, a manner which Ar’alani noted at the time seemed unusually subdued even given the gravity of the upcoming mission. Che’ri’s refusal to come out of her sleeping room when Ar’alani first came to the suite to check on her after the shuttle left.
Ar’alani had put it down to nerves on both sky-walker’s and caregiver’s parts. Apparently, however, their farewells had been a lot more fiery than she’d realized.
And now the girl had worked through her anger and tumbled off the other direction into fear and depression and guilt. “It’s okay,” Ar’alani said again. “People yell at each other all the time. It doesn’t mean they don’t care for each other.”
“But I told her I hated her,” Che’ri sobbed.
“She’s not going to die,” Ar’alani said firmly, gingerly resting her hand on Che’ri’s shoulder. “Saying something doesn’t make it happen.”
“I didn’t mean to yell.” Che’ri sniffed, the crying fading a little as she lowered her hands. “I just wanted some graph markers. So I could draw. But she said she didn’t have any, and couldn’t get any before she left, and I said Ab’begh has them and that she was a terrible momish—” She covered her face again, and the sobbing resumed.
Ar’alani patted her shoulder gently, feeling like a fresh recruit on her first training mission. She would take a battle against multiple enemies any day over trying to soothe a terrified child. “Listen to me,” she said, wincing at the command tone of her voice. “Listen to me,” she tried again, this time trying for gentleness. “This isn’t like books or vids. This is real life. Just because someone goes off on a mission right after they’ve had a fight doesn’t mean they’re going to die.”
Che’ri didn’t answer. But Ar’alani thought she was crying a little less hard.
“Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll draw you a hot bath—Thalias said you like those—and while you’re soaking I’ll make whatever you want to eat. How does that sound?”
“Okay,” Che’ri said.
“Okay,” Ar’alani repeated. “I’ll go start the bath while you figure out what you want.”
Che’ri nodded. “Admiral Ar’alani…Thalias said you’ve done a lot of things with Captain Thrawn.”
“I’ve had my fair share of experience with him,” Ar’alani said, smiling wryly. “And Thalias’s right. Being with Thrawn is one of the safest places she can be.”
“Can you tell me about some of the stories?” Che’ri asked hesitantly. “She gave me some, but they’re all official and stiff and I…don’t read very well. Thalias likes to read but I can’t…” Without warning, the body-racking sobs were back.
Ar’alani closed her eyes and let out a silent sigh. This was going to be a long, long night.
* * *
—
The Garwians had been reasonably quick to allow the shuttle to land. They were equally quick to order it to leave, citing security concerns about an obvious Chiss craft sitting on the ground and promising that the petitioners would be seen quickly.
But as Thalias and Thrawn continued to wait in the security office anteroom, she began to wonder if they had changed their minds. Certainly no one in the Unity seemed eager or even willing to talk to them.
Thrawn had said that the Garwians owed him a favor. But from the way the people bustling around the office seemed to be avoiding eye contact, Thalias was having serious doubts about the depth of any such gratitude.
She was also having second thoughts about the thick, plaster-like makeup Thrawn had decided should be a proper part of her appearance. She understood the logic of making a family hostage’s status instantly apparent to passersby, but with much her face seemingly covered by textured ridges and plateaus she could hardly form any expressions at all.
Which, again, might be part of the whole point of such makeup. Hostages as nonentities, or some such. Still, as she sat there in silence and expressionlessness, feeling the extra weight of the plaster pressing down on her neck and shoulders, she couldn’t help wondering what the long-term effects of the stuff might be on her skin.
Finally, four hours after their arrival, one of the Garwians finally stopped in front of them. “Second Defense Overlord Frangelic will see you now,” he said in Minnisiat. “Follow me, please.”
The Garwian seated behind the desk as they were ushered in was younger than Thalias had expected for what sounded like such a prestigious post. He sat motionless and silent as they walked up to the two guest chairs facing the desk and sat down. Looking over Thalias’s shoulder, the alien nodded to their guide, and she heard the door shut behind them.
“I see you’ve risen in your profession, Second Defense Overlord,” Thrawn said calmly. “Congratulations.”
“As you have likewise, Senior Captain Thrawn,” Frangelic said, inclining his head. “And your companion?”
“My hostage,” Thrawn corrected.
Frangelic seemed to draw back in his chair. “Since when do the Chiss keep hostages?”
“Since long before we took to the stars,” Thrawn said. “It’s sometimes invoked as a security matter between families. We rarely speak of it openly to strangers, but since she is here you must be brought into my confidence. I trust you’ll keep it a private matter?”
“Of course. Has she a name?”
Thrawn looked at Thalias, as if he was trying to remember it. “Thalias.”
“Thalias,” Frangelic greeted her gravely. He studied her a moment, his eyes seeming to trace some of the spirals and ridges of the makeup curling around her face, then returned his attention to Thrawn. “Let me be clear from the outset. The Ruleri have met in special session over the past hour, and they have informed me that their feelings are mixed concerning your return to Solitair. They feel your last interaction with the Garwian people…the word betrayal wasn’t actually spoken, but the thoughts and attitudes tended in that direction.”
“I remember things differently,” Thrawn said. “But that is the past. Right now, both the Ascendancy and the Unity face an uncertain and dangerous future. I bring a proposal that aims to address both problems.”
“Interesting.” Frangelic eyed him. “Continue.”
“I believe we both face a new enemy called the Nikardun,” Thrawn said. Keying his questis, he handed it across the desk. “We know of three, possibly four, nations in the region that have either been quietly conquered or are currently under siege.”
“We know these nations,” Frangelic said, studying the questis. “As well as two others that seem to have drastically changed both their governments and their attitudes toward outsiders.”
“So you agree there is a threat?”
“We agree something has changed,” Frangelic said. “The Ruleri are divided on whether or not the changes constitute a threat.”
“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.”
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 Fr
angelic 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?”