“Yes, ma’am.” With a crisp nod, Wutroow headed back across the bridge. “Oeskym, stand by lasers,” she called to the weapons officer.
Two minutes later, it was over. Ar’alani ordered the Vigilant back around, to find that the last four missile boats had vanished into expanding clouds of debris. Briefly, she thought about asking Thrawn and Lakinda if they’d offered the Nikardun the chance to surrender and decided it would be a waste of breath. The enemy had been annihilated, and that was what mattered.
“Well done, all of you,” Ar’alani said as Wutroow returned to her side. “Captain Thrawn, I believe the Grayshrike and I can handle the rest of the mission. You’re hereby authorized to move on.”
“If you’re certain, Admiral,” Thrawn said.
“I am,” Ar’alani said. “May warrior’s luck smile on your efforts.”
“And yours,” Thrawn said. “Springhawk out.”
Wutroow cleared her throat. “Supreme General Ba’kif’s conversation, I presume?”
“You may presume whatever you wish,” Ar’alani said.
“Ah,” Wutroow said. “Well. If there’s nothing else, I’ll get started on the post-battle report.”
“Thank you,” Ar’alani said.
She watched as Wutroow headed across toward the systems monitor console. Her first officer was right about one thing, at least. The Vak Combine would be relieved and pleased.
The Nine Ruling Families and the Defense Hierarchy Council would also be relieved. But she doubted very much that anyone in either of those particular groups would be genuinely pleased.
Syndic Prime Mitth’urf’ianico had been waiting in the March of Silence in the Syndicure’s prestigious and historical Convocate Hall for nearly half an hour before the man he’d arranged to speak with finally arrived.
But that was all right. The idle time gave Thurfian a chance to observe, and to brood, and to plan.
The observation part was easy. The March of Silence, a favorite spot for Speakers, syndics, and others of the Aristocra to meet on neutral yet private ground, was surprisingly empty today. Most of that, Thurfian suspected, was because the syndics were back in their offices with the Council’s latest report on the mop-up efforts against what was left of General Yiv’s scattered forces, while the mid-level Ruling Family members that constituted the Aristocra helped them prep for the upcoming Syndicure session or simply worked their usual jobs in the various government agencies. The Speakers, as the top representatives of their families, were probably having long conversations with their homesteads, discussing the situation and getting their Patriarchs’ orders on what exactly their families’ responses would be once the data sifting was finished.
The brooding part was equally easy. Thurfian had already read the report, or as much of it as he could stomach at one sitting. Woven through all the military data and maps and charts was the understated but clear fact that Senior Captain Thrawn had—again—come out looking like a bright star in the Csilla sky. All that despite the fact that he had disobeyed the spirit of standing orders, put an invaluable sky-walker in deadly danger, and risked drawing the Ascendancy into a blatantly illegal and unethical war.
Thurfian was still working on the planning part when Syndic Irizi’stal’mustro finally made his appearance.
As always, Zistalmu waited until he was in earshot of Thurfian—and out of earshot of the other small groups in the hall—before speaking. “Syndic Thurfian,” he said, nodding in greeting. “My apologies for the delay.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation they were meeting to discuss, Thurfian nevertheless had to suppress a smile. Syndic Thurfian. Zistalmu had no idea that his colleague had just been elevated to Syndic Prime, the highest Syndicure position below the Speakership itself.
Zistalmu didn’t know the new title, and he probably never would. Such rankings were closely guarded family secrets, for internal Syndicure use only, unless the Speaker or Patriarch decided some extra authority was needed somewhere. But those situations were few and far between. Thurfian would most likely carry the rank in secret until the day of his retirement, and only his memorial pillar at the Mitth homestead would reveal it.
But he didn’t need anyone else to know. Secrets were such delicious morsels that they could be enjoyed alone.
“I was getting ready to leave,” Zistalmu continued, “when a delegation of Xodlak descended on my office, and I couldn’t get rid of them.”
“They came to you?” Thurfian asked.
“No, they came to Speaker Ziemol,” Zistalmu said sourly. “He generously foisted them off onto me.”
“That sounds like Ziemol.” Thurfian huffed out a commiserating breath. “Let me guess. They wanted the Irizi to sponsor their return to Ruling Family status?”
“What else?” Zistalmu growled. “I suppose you have delegates from the Forty come to you on occasion, too?”
“More often than I’d like,” Thurfian said. Though now that he was Syndic Prime, that would never happen again. As Speaker Ziemol had handed the Xodlak off to Zistalmu, so Thurfian could now hand such annoyances off to a lower-ranking Mitth syndic. “Usually they just want support or a temporary alliance, but a lot of them want to get into the Nine, too. I sometimes daydream about proposing a law that the number of Ruling Families be permanently set at nine.”
“I’d be on board with that,” Zistalmu said. “Though one should be wary of unintended consequences. If at some future date the Syndicure decided they wanted the Xodlak or perhaps even the Stybla back in, the Mitth might get booted out to make room for them.”
“Never happen,” Thurfian said firmly. “Speaking of unintended consequences, I assume you read the Council’s latest report?”
“On the Nikardun campaigns?” Zistalmu nodded. “Your boy Thrawn just can’t seem to lose, can he?”
“If you ask me, he loses all the time,” Thurfian growled. “The problem is that every disaster he breaks over his knee is followed so quickly by a glowing success that everyone forgets or ignores what came before.”
“The fact that he has people with brooms sweeping up behind him doesn’t hurt, either,” Zistalmu said. “I don’t know, Thurfian. I’m starting to wonder if we’ll ever be able to take him down.” He raised his eyebrows. “And to be perfectly honest, I’m also starting to wonder if you still want to.”
“If you’ll cast your mind back, you may remember I first broached this topic when he was also riding high,” Thurfian said stiffly. “You think just because he hasn’t yet fallen from his implausible mountaintop means I’m happy to see him continue unimpeded?”
“He is bringing honor to the Mitth,” Zistalmu countered, just as stiffly.
“Honor that could evaporate tomorrow,” Thurfian said. “Along with whatever gains he’s brought to the Ascendancy as a whole. No, Zistalmu. Rest assured that I still want him out. The only question is how to do it so that his ultimate self-destruction creates a minimum of collateral damage.”
“Agreed,” Zistalmu said. To Thurfian’s ears, he still didn’t sound completely convinced. But at this point, even partial cooperation was enough. “I presume you brought a proposal?”
“The beginnings of one, yes,” Thurfian said. “It seems to me that we want him as far away from the Ascendancy as possible when he falls. One possibility would be to persuade the Council to send him against the Paataatus.”
“Which they won’t do,” Zistalmu said. “They’re bending the preemptive-strike laws hard enough right now with the Nikardun. They’re not going to turn around and send him against someone else. Certainly not without provocation.”