“Then she will suffer,” Thrawn warned.
“We all suffer,” Nyama said flatly. “Such is the way of life.”
Parck grimaced. The Quesoth would suffer, all right, like the twenty and more species that had already suffered under Nuso Esva’s reign of terror. Ever since the alien and his people—the warriors he proudly called his “Chosen”—had emerged from a still-unidentified planet in the Unknown Regions, they’d been cutting a deadly swath through peoples, worlds, and even small federations. Of all those attacked, only Thrawn had shown the skill and resolve necessary to block Nuso Esva’s expansion and, eventually, to begin driving him back.
But victory had come with a terrible cost. The Chosen fought with fanatical zeal, and forced their client and subjugated peoples to fight alongside them with the same stubbornness.
Even worse, with every forced retreat the Chosen followed Nuso Esva’s scorched-ground policy of destroying everything they couldn’t take with them, not just weapons of war but also the means for the local populace to survive through the next winter or dry spell. Millions had died in Nuso Esva’s conquests, and millions more in the aftermath of his retreats.
Including hundreds of thousands of Stromma who’d been caught in the crossfire and scorched ground when Thrawn finally succeeded in pushing Nuso Esva off their worlds. Which, for Parck, made Nyama’s attitude that much more bewildering. Didn’t he want to see his professed allies the Quesoth freed from Nuso Esva’s bondage?
“Yet our job as civilized beings is to minimize that suffering as best we can,” Thrawn said. If he was bothered by Nyama’s apparent lack of compassion, it didn’t show in his expression or voice. “I’d like to see the records of your wars against the Quesoth. With an insectoid species, even long-past battles may give us insight.”
“Those records are old and fragmentary,” Nyama said. “They would also be useless. Right now, it is Nuso Esva’s strategy and tactics that they will use.”
“He’ll indeed be devising their overall strategy,” Thrawn said, his tone thoughtful. “But as Quesoth Soldiers still use their ancient weapons, so may they also still hold to their ancient battlefield tactics.”
Beside Balkin, TIE Squadron Commander Baron Soontir Fel stirred in his chair. “Those umbrella shields they’ve got over the central part of the city are hardly ancient weapons,” he pointed out.
“True,” Thrawn conceded. “Liaison Nyama may be right. We may indeed face a conflating of disparate tactics, a mixture that will be difficult to anticipate.” He looked at Parck. “We need information, Captain. More information; better information. We’re working blind.”
“How quickly the indomitable Master Warrior stumbles,” Nyama said sarcastically.
“What Council Liaison Nyama means”—the young conciliator spoke up again—“is that timely information is of course a necessary part of combat preparation.” His eyes flicked briefly to Nyama. “He also suggests that there may be a way to obtain the information you seek.”
Thrawn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Continue.”
Nyama grimaced. “As I’ve already said, we’ve been allies with Quethold for many generations. As a result, we have contacts among the Quesoth of the Red. Perhaps I can speak to one of them for you.”
“You already said they were unquestioningly loyal to their Queen,” Balkin reminded him. “What good would talking to them do?”
“I said the Soldiers were loyal,” Nyama shot back. “The Soldiers and Workers are barely even intelligent, let alone able to make their own decisions. I never said that was the case with the Circlings and Midlis.”
“But they’re still loyal, aren’t they?” Balkin persisted.
“I said they can think for themselves,” Nyama all but bellowed. “Are you deaf, you bald-skinned—”
“What Council Liaison Nyama means,” the conciliator interrupted hurriedly, “is that there’s a small but growing opposition to the Queen of the Red’s alliance with Nuso Esva. If we can contact them, perhaps they can obtain the information you seek.”
Nyama glared at the conciliator, but gave a reluctant nod. “Provided you want something within their capabilities,” he growled.
“What are their capabilities?” Fel asked.
“Not much,” Nyama said. “Circlings are the Queen’s advisers and upper-tier breeders. They’re the most intelligent Quesoth, but they deal in words and thoughts, not actions. Midlis are tasked with overseeing the Workers, so they’re not that intelligent. But they can be reasoned with, and can handle equipment to a limited extent.”
“The task should be easy enough,” Thrawn assured him. “All I want is for one of them to smuggle a holocam into Nuso Esva’s chambers.”
“A holocam?” Nyama echoed disbelievingly.
“Nuso Esva had little of his own artwork with him when he fled to Quethold,” Thrawn explained. “Most of what he has will be from the Queen’s collection. I need to see which pieces he’s chosen.”
Nyama snorted and shook his head. “Your obsession with art, Grand Admiral Thrawn, is more unsettling than your obsession with Nuso Esva himself.”
“His obsession with both is what drove Nuso Esva off Oristrom and gave you the freedom to be here today,” Fel said.
Nyama glared at him. But he had no answer, and everyone in the room knew it. “You have this holocam with you?” he growled, turning back to Thrawn.
“It will be ready whenever you confirm that one of the disaffected Circlings or Midlis can get it into Nuso Esva’s chambers,” Thrawn said.
“And can then bring it out again, I suppose,” Nyama growled. He stood up abruptly. “I return now to my ship and will attempt to communicate with the dissidents. How large will this holocam be?”
“Very small,” Thrawn said, holding up his hand. “The size of one joint of my finger. We can disguise it in any way necessary to facilitate entry.”
“Perhaps it could even be planted on one of the Workers or Soldiers who attend the Queen,” Parck suggested. “I understand twelve of each accompany her wherever she goes.”
“You understand correctly,” Nyama said. “I’ll inquire as to the best way to achieve this goal, and will communicate with you when I have more to say.”
With a brisk nod to Thrawn, he turned and strode from the room, the young conciliator hurrying to keep up. The door slid shut behind them, and Thrawn looked around the table. “Comments?” he invited.
“It could work,” Parck said cautiously. “The number of variables is still uncomfortably high, though.”
“And if Nyama is typical of Stromma attitude,” Fel added, “we’d better assume we’ll be tackling Nuso Esva without them.”
“They are allies with the Quesoth, after all,” Balkin murmured. “It’s not easy to make a stand against one’s friends.”
“Especially when they figure they can just stall down the chrono,” Fel said. “Two years, isn’t it, until Nuso Esva’s time in Red City runs out?”
“Yes, if Nyama’s numbers are accurate,” Parck confirmed.
“His numbers are accurate, but his reasoning is flawed,” Thrawn said. “Nuso Esva could do an enormous amount of damage to the people of the Red City in those two years. That’s not a result I’m prepared to accept.” He hesitated. “Bear in mind, too, that Liaison Nyama speaks for the Stromma council, and some of those members still blame us for the destruction their worlds suffered.”
Fel muttered something under his breath. “I suppose they also blame their surgeons for damaging bits of good tissue when they’re cutting out the poisoned rot?”
“I don’t defend their opinions,” Thrawn said mildly. “I merely state that those opinions exist. At any rate, we cannot allow the common people of the galaxy to suffer merely because their leaders sometimes refuse to face the universe’s realities.”