And as the Springhawk turned toward hyperspace, all the pieces finally fell into their pattern.
The escaping shuttle—running on automatic, Qilori realized now—had indeed been a diversion. But not for a second Chiss ship. It was just Thrawn, and he’d brought them to that particular spot because he wanted the Nikardun to chase him. This whole thing had never been about death, destruction, infiltration, or even just delivering Yiv a message. Thrawn had simply dropped by hoping to capture a Nikardun ship.
And he’d done it.
“Pathfinder?” Thrawn’s voice came from right behind him.
Qilori jerked. “Yes, Captain?” he managed.
“We’ll be traveling to a nearby system to hand off our prize,” Thrawn said. Said it so casually, too, as if they’d just picked up an order of groceries from the corner shop. “After that, we’ll be returning to Concourse Four Forty-Seven. Will you need rest time before we leave?”
“No, not for a while,” Qilori said. Thrawn might not sound anxious to leave this neighborhood behind, but Qilori sure as the Great Presence was.
“Good,” Thrawn said. “I trust you found the exercise interesting?”
With an effort, Qilori flattened his winglets against his cheeks. “Yes, Captain,” he said. “Very interesting indeed.”
* * *
—
It wasn’t easy for even a Pathfinder to requisition a ship for his own personal use. But Qilori had been at Concourse 447 long enough to build up a collection of owed favors.
More important, he had a collection of blackmail material on several key people. Between the favors and the threats, he soon found himself speeding away from the station, bound for the Primea system, capital of the Vak Combine.
Thirty-five hours later, he was there.
Primea was in the early stage of a Nikardun conquest, which meant Yiv was still greeting and meeting with planetary leaders, talking about the benefits of joining the Nikardun Destiny, and letting his orbiting warships provide a silent warning of what would happen if they refused. Qilori gave his name and the urgency of his mission to the first gatekeeper, and the second gatekeeper, and the third. Six hours after his arrival, he was finally ushered into Yiv’s throne room aboard the Battle Dreadnought Deathless.
“Ah—Qilori!” Yiv called, his cheerful booming voice echoing in the oppressive stillness of the throne room. Draped over his shoulders like living epaulets were the fungoid strands of the strange creatures he’d taken on as symbionts. His cleft jaw was open in what passed for a smile with Nikardun, but which Qilori had always thought looked more like a predator preparing to strike.
At least he was in a good mood, Qilori thought with a tinge of relief. The talks with the Vaks must be going well. “Come. Tell me what news you bring from the lips of the Great Presence.”
Qilori grimaced as he walked the gauntlet between the two lines of watchful Nikardun soldiers. Yiv was mocking him, of course, as he mocked or dismissed all who didn’t believe solely in the godhood of Yiv himself. But right now the Benevolent’s famous ego wasn’t nearly as concerning as his somewhat less famous temper.
Qilori had never brought Yiv bad news before. He had no idea how such messengers were treated.
“I bring news from Rapacc, your Benevolence,” he said, stopping between the last pair of guards in the gauntlet and dropping forward to lie facedown on the cold deck at Yiv’s feet. “News, and a warning.”
“That news has been delivered,” Yiv said, his earlier jovial manner vanishing like morning dew under twin suns. “Do you presume to waste my time with a story I already know?”
“Not at all, your Benevolence,” Qilori said, his back itching with the eyes and weapons that were undoubtedly ranged on it. “I expected you would have heard one of your blockade frigates had been captured. What I came here to add to that tale is the name of the being responsible.”
“You were the navigator on his ship?”
“Yes, your Benevolence. He asked specifically for me.”
For a long moment, Yiv remained silent. Qilori held his position, trying to ignore the creeping sensation rippling through his skin. “Rise, Pathfinder,” Yiv said at last. “Rise, and tell me all.”
With a sense of relief, Qilori scrambled to his feet. Something tapped his shoulders a short but sharp blow; hastily, he dropped back to his knees. “The Chiss came and hired me—”
“His name, Qilori,” Yiv said, his voice soft and deadly. “I already know the ship was Chiss. I want his name.”
Qilori’s winglets fluttered. “Thrawn. Senior Captain Thrawn.”
“His full name.”
The winglets stiffened in panic. “I don’t know,” he breathed. “I never heard it.”
“And you didn’t bother to learn it for me?”
“I’m sorry,” Qilori said, staring at Yiv’s feet, not daring to raise his eyes to that jovial, implacable face. He was going to die today, he knew with a dark sense of his fragile mortality. The Great Presence awaited him.
Would he be absorbed and lost forever? Or would he be deemed worthy to ride the hyperspace ridges, guiding future Pathfinders through the Chaos?
For a long moment the room was silent. “You will meet him again,” Yiv said at last. “When you do, you will obtain for me his full name.”
“Of course, your Benevolence, of course,” Qilori said quickly, fearing the hope singing suddenly through him. Mercy? From Yiv the Benevolent?
No, of course not. Yiv felt no mercy. Qilori was simply a tool that was still worth keeping.
For the moment.
“Return to your station,” Yiv said. “Guide your ships. Do your job. Live your pathetic little life. And bring me his name.”
“I will,” Qilori promised. “While breath remains in me, I will never cease to serve you.”
“Exactly,” Yiv said, a hint of his usual humor finally peeking through the blackness. “While breath remains in you.”
General Ba’kif finished reading through the proposal and looked up from his questis. “You’re serious, Junior Commander,” he said flatly.
“Quite serious, General,” Junior Commander Thrawn confirmed. “I’m convinced the Lioaoin government is connected to the pirates that have hit our shipping off Schesa and Pesfavri over the past few months.”
“And you think this Pathfinder knows about it?”
“Qilori,” Thrawn said. “Yes, he knows, or at least suspects.”