Somehow, she doubted it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“I’m sorry Patriel Lakooni,” Lakphro said, giving the woman a helpless shrug. “I really don’t know anything more about Haplif or the other Agbui than I’ve already told your investigators.”
“Yes, I understand that’s your position,” Lakooni said, her eyes boring into Lakphro’s like she was trying to see into the back of his brain. “All I’m asking is that you rethink everything. That you rethink it very, very hard.”
Lakphro forced himself to meet that gaze, some anger starting to mix into his frustration and nervousness. That was his position? What was that supposed to mean? “I’ve already told you everything,” he said. “If you want more, you’ll have to ask Councilor Lakuviv or Senior Aide Lakjiip.”
“Thank you,” the Patriel said, her voice going even colder than it had already been. Whatever dislike she had toward Lakphro, she was carrying a triple dose of it toward the others. “Be assured that the former Councilor”—she leaned heavily on the word—“and his aide are being questioned even more thoroughly than you are.”
“Did they mention the Agbui had a Coduyo midager and a Pathfinder with them?” Lakphro offered. “I never met them, but I heard a couple of people talking.”
“The Pathfinder disappeared with the alien ship,” Lakooni said. “The midager will be interviewed elsewhere at a future date.”
“Right,” Lakphro muttered. But not yet, and probably not as intensely as Lakphro and his family had been. The Xodlak and Coduyo were allies, and both were allies of the Irizi. Word had probably come down from above to go easy on the kid.
Allies got special treatment. Normal everyday citizens, the ones who would never be part of the family’s upper echelons, not so much. “Can I go now?” he asked. “I have a ranch to run.”
Lakooni pursed her lips. “For the moment,” she said reluctantly. “But keep yourself available in case we need to talk to you again.”
“I’m running a ranch,” he growled, standing up. “Where would I go?”
“The Ascendancy is a big place,” Lakooni countered. “One last thing. Your daughter mentioned that a piece of jewelry the Agbui had given her had been lost. Was it ever found?”
“No,” Lakphro said without hesitation. After all, he’d lied about it so often to Lakris that the words now came out without any effort at all.
This time, at least, unlike the times he said that to his wife and daughter, there was no accompanying flicker of guilt.
“Too bad,” Lakooni said, her eyes again boring into his. “You’ll let us know if it is.”
“Of course,” Lakphro said. “You’ll be the first.”
“I’m sorry, Supreme General,” Mid Captain Samakro said. “There’s really nothing more I can tell you.”
“I understand,” Ba’kif said, glowering across his desk at the man. Not surprisingly, every one of Thrawn’s officers had offered the same story: The Springhawk was attacked, it was partially disabled and briefly boarded, and the timely arrival of the Grayshrike and the Xodlak, Erighal, and Pommrio family warships had been the only thing that saved it from destruction. The boarders had subsequently been found dead in the Springhawk’s brig, victims of small doomsday devices planted inside their bodies by their unknown employer.
The Grayshrike’s commander, Mid Captain Apros, had been lionized by all three families for his actions. Apros in turn had thanked the families publicly and enthusiastically for their timely arrival at the scene in time to pluck the Springhawk from disaster. The families had accepted the gratitude with grace and had reminded everyone that they were Chiss first and Xodlak, Erighal, or Pommrio second. At that point, as far as everyone was concerned, the incident was over.
Somehow, no one got around to explaining what they were all doing that far out of Ascendancy territory in the first place.
The worst part was that Ba’kif would probably never be able to get the complete truth. Ever since the deployment of sky-walkers aboard Ascendancy ships and the veil of secrecy wrapped around them, there had been a curious but necessary dichotomy in law and regulations. Bridge officers who knew about the sky-walkers were forbidden to speak about anything the girls were involved with, not even to others who shared the secret. The rest of the officers and warriors aboard were expected to obey all orders, to accept whatever happened without question, and generally to do their jobs and mind their own business.
For whatever reason, Thrawn had brought his sky-walker into the events over that distant and unremarkable planet. The result was that only Thrawn was free to give Ba’kif the truth about those events.
Under normal circumstances, Ba’kif would have hauled the other into his office to demand exactly that. But in yet one more bizarre twist to this story, all three of the affected families, along with their assorted allies in the Syndicure, seemed to be actively blocking any inquiry by the fleet in general and Ba’kif in particular. Their own accounts of the abortive attack on their family warships, and an escaping enemy freighter that tried too late to turn out of the path of a pair of fleeing gunboats, had matched perfectly with the statements from the Springhawk’s officers. The Syndicure had declared the matter closed and clearly intended it to remain so.
Allies of the Irizi, Dasklo, and Plikh, all doing their damnedest to keep a Mitth senior captain from testifying before the fleet and likely getting in trouble. A Mitth officer, moreover, that many of them disliked to the point of hatred.
Paradox atop riddle atop mystery.
“Would it help if I promised anything you say would be treated as confidential?” Ba’kif asked, trying one last time.
“I’m sorry, Supreme General,” Samakro said evenly. “There are standing orders I have no choice but to obey. You’ll have to ask Senior Captain Thrawn.”
Ba’kif eyed him. There’d been something in his tone … “You don’t like Thrawn, do you, Mid Captain?”
Samakro hesitated. “Permission to speak honestly, sir?”
“Certainly.”
“No, sir, I don’t,” Samakro said. “I don’t think he understands how anything outside the fleet works, and I don’t think he’s very good at inspiring his officers and warriors. He pushes things to the edge, takes liberties with orders, and generally acts in a manner that previous generations of fleet officers would find disgraceful.”
He seemed to brace himself. “But that doesn’t really matter. He’s an excellent commander, and he knows how to handle his ship. Even his most outrageous hunches are generally proved correct, and he always brings us through whatever storms we find ourselves in. Always.”
“You sound like a good first officer,” Ba’kif commented.
“Which is also the point, sir,” Samakro said. “I’m the Springhawk’s first officer. Senior Captain Thrawn is the Springhawk’s commander. Whatever I might personally think of him is completely irrelevant. I’m an officer of the fleet, he’s my commander, and I will follow him and obey his orders to the best of my ability. Period.”
Ba’kif inclined his head. “As I said, Mid Captain: a good first officer.” He waved toward the door. “You’re dismissed. Thank you for your time.”
For a few moments after Samakro left, Ba’kif gazed thoughtfully at the closed door. Yes, he would certainly ask Thrawn about it.
But not yet. Not until things had quieted down, or there was a new threat or internal scandal to distract the Syndicure’s attention.
For the moment, it was more vital that they gather further information on these Agbui cultural nomads who seemed to be somehow at the center of everything. The Council needed to know who they were, where they came from, who if anyone they were working for, and what their intentions were. Unfortunately, at the moment all of those investigations were being conducted by the three affected families.
But that was about to change. Fleet forces had also been involved, which made it only reasonable that the Council invited themselves into the game.
The families probably wouldn’t like it. Neither would the Syndicure.
Ba’kif didn’t especially care.