“You have good instincts for such things,” Thrawn assured her.
And you’ve been dealing with a ten-year-old girl for the past few months, Samakro added silently to himself. Children that age are as alien as anything you’ll find in the Chaos.
He couldn’t say the words aloud, of course, not even if he switched from Taarja to Cheunh. Not with an alien sitting there. Anyway, Thalias was bound to have thought of that on her own.
Or maybe she hadn’t. Her face was still pinched with uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she said again. “What kind of counsel are you talking about?”
“As I stated, the refugees came to Rapacc under the leadership of the Magys. Many of them wish to return to their home, but the Magys is the only one who can make that decision. She is also the only one who can provide navigational data to their world.”
“And she doesn’t want to go?” Thalias asked.
“She does not wish to leave,” Uingali said. “Nor does she wish to stay.” He paused. “She wishes only to die.”
Thalias’s eyes widened. “She wants to die?”
“Yes,” Uingali said. “To give up all hope and die.”
“Can she not appoint another Magys?” Thrawn asked.
“Wait a minute,” Thalias said, frowning at him. “Are you saying that we should just let her kill herself?”
“If she chooses to die, she is effectively giving up her leadership,” Thrawn said. “In such a case, she should recognize an obligation to transfer her authority. Given your statement that some of her people wish to return, they should allow her to die and choose a new leader to take her place.”
“What they should do is try to change her mind,” Thalias countered.
“I believe that is indeed the opportunity Uingali is offering you,” Thrawn reminded her.
“Great,” Thalias said with a sigh. “So now it’s not just me offering advice. I have to try to keep someone alive.”
“It’s more complicated even than that,” Uingali said. “She does not wish death only for herself. She wishes it for all of her people.”
“She what?” Thalias breathed, staring at him. “All of them?”
“What do the others say about that?” Thrawn asked.
“Many wish to live and return home, as I stated,” Uingali said. “But they also have an unbreakable obligation to obey their leaders. If the Magys chooses death and orders them to do the same, they have indicated they will do so.”
“Like we haven’t seen that one before,” Samakro muttered.
“What do you mean?” Uingali asked. “Do you know these people?”
“Not the people, but the attitude,” Samakro said. “You remember, Senior Captain, that the Nikardun from the frigate we captured opted to kill themselves rather than be taken prisoner.”
“This is hardly the same situation,” Thalias insisted, a small tremor in her voice.
“I didn’t say it was,” Samakro said. “I simply said it was the same attitude that chooses mass death over all the alternatives.”
“Actually, you and Thalias together bring up an interesting point, Mid Captain,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “If the Magys prefers death to a return to her world, does that mean that her situation is indeed similar to that of the captured Nikardun? Could she fear that return will mean capture or interrogation?”
“That would make sense, sir,” Samakro agreed. “They left a planetary civil war. We don’t know what they would be going back into.” He looked at Thalias. “I suppose we’ll never know unless someone talks to her.”
Thalias held his eyes a moment, then dropped her gaze to the floor. She wanted to help, he could see, wanted it desperately. The thought of someone deliberately choosing death for herself and her people was horrifying.
But Uingali had thrown the idea at her too hard and too fast. This wasn’t what Thalias was used to, and her mind and emotions had frozen up.
Not that Samakro could really blame her. As a military officer he’d had to make his fair share of hard decisions, some of them with as little warning as Thalias had been given with this one. But he’d grown into that level of responsibility gradually, with time and experience and the example of others to guide him.
“Yes, someone will talk to her,” Thrawn said. “You say, Uingali, that she expressed interest when you spoke of art. Perhaps she and I can find common ground.”
“They are a matriarchal society,” Uingali reminded him. “She may not wish to speak to you.”
“Hopefully, I can persuade her to do so,” Thrawn said. “I assume they speak one of the trade languages?”
“The Magys speaks Taarja,” Uingali confirmed.
“Very good,” Thrawn said. “Where are they located?”
“They’re at some small distance,” Uingali hedged. “Your arrival, and the opportunity that it presented, were unexpected. But I can have them brought here.”
“You said they arrived three months before we first met,” Thrawn said. “That means they’ve now been here for seven and a half months?”
“Yes, approximately.”
“Have they been in this same place that entire time?”
“Yes, except for the first three days,” Uingali said. “During that time we were questioning them. When the Nikardun ships first appeared, they were removed from Boropacc so they would be harder to find.”
“Then we shall go to them,” Thrawn said. “How they have adapted and arranged themselves may be instructive in learning how to deal with them.”
“Very well,” Uingali said, standing up. “Shall I travel with you in your shuttle, or shall I take my own?”
CHAPTER THREE
The refugees had been housed in a city about four hours’ flight from Boropacc. Thalias, Thrawn, Samakro, Uingali, and the Springhawk guard detail rode in the Chiss shuttle while a group of other Paccosh officials paralleled them in their own vehicle. Uingali spent the entire trip talking about Rapacc, both history and culture. Thrawn listened intently, sometimes asking questions, while Samakro sat working at his questis, wrapped in his own bubble of silence.
Thalias, for her part, spent the entire trip listening to the conversation and feeling miserable and guilty.
She had no reason to feel guilty, she insisted to herself. Dealing with this sort of thing was far out of any of her training or experience. Neither Uingali nor Thrawn nor anyone else could expect her to simply step calmly into this situation.
But Uingali knew the Magys far better than she did. What if he was right, and she refused to talk to Thrawn or Samakro? Would the Chiss just turn around and leave the refugees to whatever the future held for them?
In that case, shouldn’t Thalias at least try?
Logic and reason told her she should. But there was a huge emotional difference between standing idly by and letting a crisis happen and stepping in, trying to solve the problem, and failing.
It would be all right, she told herself over and over. Thrawn was good at everything. He would find a way to fix it.
She was still telling herself that when they finally arrived.
The refugees had been housed in what appeared to be a school or office building, with many midsized rooms opening off identical tiled hallways. At the moment they were all gathered together in what would have been a convocation hall in one of Thalias’s old schools, seated cross-legged in concentric circles.
She eyed them as Uingali led the way toward the group. They were wizened creatures, smaller and thinner than Chiss, with brown skins and flowing white hair cut in asymmetric but clearly deliberate patterns. Their clothing consisted of loose shirts and trousers of various colors and styles with wraparound shoes on their wide feet. Their facial skin was tight, looking almost like it had been stretched over their cheeks and split jawbones.