To find they were in an art gallery.
Thrawn was already walking slowly forward, the back of his hood moving rhythmically as he turned his head back and forth, studying everything around him. Thalias followed more slowly, looking surreptitiously at the handful of Vak patrons wandering among the easels and pedestals or gazing up the wall hangings and paintings. All of them had their own hoods thrown back—would they notice that she and Thrawn were still wearing theirs? More important, would they wonder why?
A harsh voice rattled off some words behind them. Apparently, they would.
“Good afternoon,” Thrawn said calmly in Minnisiat, not turning around. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your language. Do you speak this one?”
Thalias grimaced. Everyone in the place was now gazing at the visitors. So much for slipping by undetected.
“I speak it,” the voice came back. “Who are you? What do you want here?”
“I came to see Vak art, and to thereby understand the Vak people,” Thrawn said. “As to who we are—” He paused, slid off his hood, and turned around. “We are friends.”
Someone made a strangling sort of sound. Two or three others gave out with startled-sounding words, and Thalias heard a single whispered Chiss.
“The Vak have no friends,” the first speaker said. “Not now. Not ever.”
Thalias turned, also pushing back her hood. The Vak who had spoken—a female, Thalias tentatively identified her from the cut of her loose-fitting tunic-skirt—had a wide sash across her chest adorned with a double row of intricately carved wooden pins. Did such extra adornment mark her as the gallery’s curator?
“Surely that is untrue,” Thrawn said. “What about Yiv the Benevolent? He claims to be a friend.”
“People claim many things,” the curator said. “You, too, have now claimed to be friends. Yet I see no evidence of it.”
“Do you see evidence with Yiv?”
“Why do you ask?” the curator countered. “Do you seek to sow discord among the Vaks?”
Thrawn shook his head. “I seek information. The leaders of the Vak Combine seem impressed by Yiv. They see his power, and imagine the Nikardun are respected and honored. They believe that joining with them will bring the same respect to the Vaks.”
He lifted a hand. “I merely wish to know if the common people believe likewise.”
“What do you know about the common people?” the curator scoffed.
“Only a little,” Thrawn admitted. “I can see what is woven into your artwork, that the Vaks strive for unity while still determined to honor the individual. That is a good and proper philosophy. But I seek to understand how that affects the lives of the Vak people.”
“Then seek elsewhere,” the curator said. “This is a place of meditation and appreciation. I will not be drawn into discussions with strangers of things personal to the Vaks.”
“I understand, and bow to your wishes,” Thrawn said, taking Thalias’s arm. “May your future be of sunlight and peace.”
A minute later, the two Chiss were back out in the rain. “Whatever you were hoping to accomplish,” Thalias said, “I don’t think it worked.”
“As I said, I hoped to learn more about the Vaks,” Thrawn said. “And, perhaps, to make them aware that as they decide their course with the Nikardun, they should also figure the Chiss into their calculations.”
Thalias gave a small snort. “Not that the Syndicure is likely to ever lift a finger to help them. I suppose you also realize that if we keep walking around town this way, we might as well call Yiv and announce ourselves?”
“There will likely be a response,” Thrawn agreed. “That, too, may work in our favor. If the Nikardun are sufficiently heavy-handed in their search for us, the Vaks may see less friendship and more dominance in their presence on Primea.”
“Only if the leaders notice,” Thalias said. “I doubt the people who visit art galleries have much say in their nation’s affairs.”
Thrawn leaned out from under his hood to give her a puzzled look. “You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
He turned back under the hood and for a few steps was silent. “You heard me tell the gallery curator that the Vaks seek unity while still honoring the individual. That’s true enough. The problem is that their leaders have carried that philosophy too far. They spend so much time listening to all points of view—I believe they refer to them as thought lines—that they have difficulty arriving at decisions.”
“You can’t mean all thought lines,” Thalias said. “There must be billions of Vaks. All of them can’t be equally important.”
“In theory, yes, they are,” Thrawn said. “In actual practice, of course, the number must certainly be limited. But it still leaves the Vaks with a longer decision process than that of most species. That hesitation, as they gather and weigh all opinions, makes the leaders appear weak.”
“Well, they won’t have that problem if they let the Nikardun move in,” Thalias said grimly. “The only thought line that’ll matter will be Yiv’s.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn agreed. “We’ll attempt to pass that message on to a few more citizens before Yiv or Vak security track us down. After that—or sooner, if it seems prudent—we’ll retreat to the hideout I set up two days ago and wait for Admiral Ar’alani.”
“Someplace nice and quiet and away from the spaceport, I hope,” Thalias said. “The first thing Yiv will probably assume is that we’ll try to steal a ship.”
“Indeed he will,” Thrawn agreed.
“So where are we going?”
Thrawn leaned forward, giving her a smile around the edge of his dripping hood. “To the spaceport,” he said. “To steal a ship.”
* * *
—
Thalias had envisioned either a stealthy creep through the warehouse area that filled the ground outside the spaceport security fence, or else a mad dash across that same obstacle course. Both mental scenarios ran into a blank space as she tried to imagine how they would get past the fence itself.
In the end, it was neither the dash nor the sneak. It was, instead, a box.
Not just any box. A box—a large crate, really—sitting with a dozen others near one of the entrance gates. Thrawn took a careful look around as they reached it, then popped one of the side panels open and ushered Thalias inside.
From the size, she’d recognized that the crate would have enough room to comfortably house both of them. What she hadn’t expected was the seats, the supplies of food and water, and even the crude but serviceable, if potentially awkward, bathroom facilities.