Samakro felt a grim smile tug at the corners of his mouth. That one, at least, he could answer. The minute Yiv disappeared, his chief captains had scrambled themselves into a power struggle, each one vying for what was left of the Nikardun forces. Some had used those forces to try to take new star systems, apparently attempting to show they were ready and able to step into the Benevolent’s footsteps. Others had simply used their power to try to claim a bigger chunk of the existing territory, cannibalizing other captains’ worlds and ships. Whoever had been in charge of the forces blockading Rapacc had apparently decided they had better use for them elsewhere and had withdrawn the majority of them.
“Of course, to be fair,” Uingali conceded, “we also caused some of the damage as we killed all of them that we could.”
“We’re just glad it didn’t go worse for you,” Thalias said.
Samakro looked over at her, his smile disappearing. The Paccosh had framed this meeting as a high-level discussion between some of their leaders and those who could speak for the Chiss, as Uingali had put it. Since the Springhawk had no diplomats aboard, Thrawn had decided that he and Samakro would represent the Ascendancy, making sure the Paccosh knew from the start that the two officers had no official standing.
But Uingali had also specifically requested that Thalias join them, and Thrawn had agreed. So now a mere caregiver—and an only recently confirmed one, at that—was to have equal voice with senior Expansionary Defense Fleet officers?
Samakro could see no reason for it. And things with no clear purpose always made him nervous.
“We are also relieved,” Uingali told her. He cocked his head, his eyes shifting back and forth among the three of them. “So you are indeed Chiss. We thought you might be after the first meeting between us, but the records of your physical appearance were second- and thirdhand and badly incomplete. But those same records spoke of your ability to neutralize enemies without their complete destruction. Hence, our test. I apologize if it offended you.”
“Not at all,” Thrawn assured him. “The Ascendancy has always encouraged stories that describe and emphasize our military strength. The easiest battles to win are those that are never fought. But I’m curious. The Nikardun came to Rapacc, yet never in sufficient numbers to totally subjugate you. How did General Yiv make such a miscalculation?”
“Indeed,” Uingali said, his voice going deeper. “There is a saying among our people: Grief is the child of mercy. And so it was here. A ship carrying two hundred refugees arrived from an unknown system three months before you and I first met. They told us their world was being ravaged by civil war.”
“Which world is this?” Thrawn asked.
“We don’t know,” Uingali said. “They wouldn’t give its name, nor the name they call themselves. They spoke of massive destruction and pleaded with us to give them shelter lest their entire culture die with no trace.”
He gave a whinnying sort of sound. “You can imagine our thoughts when you later spoke of collecting the art of peoples who could not preserve it themselves. It seemed you spoke pointedly of the situation faced both by our guests and by the Paccosh themselves.”
Samakro’s eyes flicked to Thrawn’s impassive face, and to the play of emotions on Thalias’s less guarded one. Thrawn’s report hadn’t mentioned anything about desperate people or offering to collect their art for safekeeping. Had that been a deliberate omission, or was it simply something Thrawn had thought was irrelevant to the military situation? “How soon after the refugees arrived did the Nikardun show up?” he asked Uingali.
“All too quickly,” the Pacc said ruefully. “Even as the refugees spoke of their fears, the invaders appeared. The refugees pleaded with us to allow them to leave, and urged us to send a remnant of our own people lest our world and culture, too, cease to exist. They told us—rather, reminded us—of the mysterious Chiss, whom they hoped would come to their aid.”
“Why didn’t you let them leave with your own refugee ships?” Thrawn asked.
“We could not,” Uingali said with a sigh. “We had already informed the Nikardun that no such refugees had arrived. If their ship had appeared from concealment, the invaders would know we had lied. But our subclan leaders saw reason in the twin ideas of protecting a remnant of the Paccosh and pleading for assistance. We prepared and populated two vessels and attempted to slip them out past the Nikardun warships.”
He looked hopefully at Thrawn. “Did they reach you? You have not spoken of them, neither now nor earlier aboard the mining station. And yet, here you are.”
“One ship reached Chiss space,” Thrawn said. “Sadly, they were attacked and destroyed before they could deliver your message. The other ship’s hyperdrive failed at their chosen rendezvous point, leaving them doomed.”
“So all are dead,” Uingali said, lowering his gaze to the floor. “The hope was indeed for nothing.”
“Not at all,” Thalias said, and Samakro could hear both sadness and compassion in her voice. “Because you sent them, we were able to find you, and through you we found and defeated General Yiv.” She waved a hand out at the ruined city. “And despite the cost, you were then able to drive them from your world.”
“And to capture one of their ships along the way,” Samakro added. “May I ask how you pulled that one off?”
Uingali looked up again, his feathered crest flowing briefly as if from an invisible wind. “You will forgive me if that remains a Paccian secret. Now that the entire Chaos is aware of our presence and vulnerability, we may again have need of those techniques.”
“Understood,” Thrawn said. “However, I don’t believe that awareness of Rapacc is as widespread as you fear. The Nikardun are dead or scattered, and the refugees you sheltered seem unlikely to be a threat.”
“Yet threats come in many forms,” Uingali said, his crest flowing again. “Indeed, I must now reveal that my invitation was not solely to offer the thanks of the Paccosh people. There is a problem with the refugees that I hoped you could help us solve.”
His eyes shifted to Thalias. “Or perhaps that you could help us solve.”
Thalias straightened in her chair, her eyes darting to Thrawn. “Me?”
“Indeed,” Uingali said. “The refugees appear to be a matriarchal society, led by a female called the Magys. It is hoped she will be more open to advice and counsel from you than from us.”
“Why not use one of your own females?” Thrawn asked.
“It is … complicated,” Uingali said reluctantly. “There were some incidents early on that unfortunately eroded the relationship between the Magys and the Paccosh. Indeed, there were times I despaired of ever regaining their trust.”
“What sort of incidents?” Samakro asked.
“Misunderstandings,” Uingali said. “Cultural conflicts. Matters we cannot reveal deeply to others.”
He looked at Thalias. “But when I spoke to them of aliens who had expressed interest in preserving our art, and to whom I had entrusted a treasured subclan ring, the Magys was clearly intrigued. My hope is that she is intrigued enough to speak with you.”
“I don’t know,” Thalias said, again looking uncertainly at Thrawn. “I’m not a diplomat or counselor. And these are aliens. I wouldn’t know the first thing about talking to them.” She looked again at Thrawn. “Or even if I could talk to them?”