“There don’t seem to be any people here,” Thrawn said. “Not since we left the spaceport area.”
“Of course there are,” Ziara said, pointing across the way at another tube car paralleling theirs in the distance. “You can see two people right there.”
“They’re the exceptions,” Thrawn said. “The other cars we’ve seen have been empty.”
“Maybe they’re just too far away for you to see inside,” Ziara said, feeling both guilty and surprised at how much fun this game was. “You can see that the car exteriors tend to be reflective.”
“No,” Thrawn said. “The empty cars ride higher on their rails than the full ones. We’ve also passed through three connecting loci, and there were no cars or passengers waiting at any of them.”
He turned, fixing her with such an intense look that she reflexively drew back a little. “What’s happened to our capital, Ziara?”
“The same thing that happened to the whole planet,” Ziara said quietly. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have done that to you. But you’re not supposed to know.”
“To know what? That the people of Csilla are gone?”
“Oh, they’re not gone,” she said. “Well, yes, most of them are, but the big exodus happened over a thousand years ago. What they taught you in school about how changes in the sun’s output and the slow freezing of the surface forced the population of Csilla underground is mostly true. What the histories leave out is that the numbers that were moved below were a far cry from the four billion who’d been living here at the time.”
“Where did they go?”
“Other planets,” Ziara said. “Mostly Rentor, Avidich, and Sarvchi. The Syndicure and fleet headquarters were kept here, along with a lot of the cargo and merchant facilities. Some of the families moved their homesteads to worlds where they already had strong presences, but most didn’t want to leave Csilla entirely.”
“They also moved underground?”
“Right,” Ziara said. “My family’s new homestead—well, new as of a thousand years ago—is in a huge cavern about two kilometers below the surface. Still on our same land, of course. The Irizi are a bit obsessive about territory and history.”
“So how many people actually live on Csilla?”
“Sixty or seventy million,” Ziara said. “Though all the official records put the number at eight billion.” She waved at the city around them. “All the rest of this is just for show.”
“For whom?”
“Our visitors,” she said. “Our alien trading partners.” She felt her throat tighten. “Our enemies.”
“So a few continue to live aboveground to create the illusion,” Thrawn murmured. “Light and heat are also maintained. Tube cars continue to travel across the remaining cities, pretending to be the traffic of a thriving population.” He looked at Ziara. “I presume that on the far side our tube will descend into one of the tunnels?”
She nodded. “There are a few hundred people in Csaplar at any given time. They’re rotated out frequently so they don’t have to put up with the conditions up here for very long. The rest of the city—the real city—is spread out in caverns, mostly concentrated around the Syndicure complex. More illusion for our diplomatic visitors.”
“And of course, most civilian visitors and merchants stay close to one of the spaceports,” Thrawn said, nodding. “The activity there and around the government complex disguises the emptiness of the rest of the city.”
“Right,” Ziara said. “Your next question is probably why this is all such a big secret.”
“Not at all,” Thrawn assured her. “I understand the strategic advantages of maneuvering a potential enemy into wasting a massive amount of force on what’s essentially an empty shell.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “My question is why you’ve told me all this. Surely I’m not senior enough for that kind of classified information. Especially not after today.”
“I told you because you thrive on information,” Ziara said. Her anger-driven defiance was starting to fade, leaving a bit of discomfort behind. The law was clear: Officers of Thrawn’s current rank weren’t supposed to know any of this. “The more you know about a situation, the better you are at coming up with the strategy and tactics necessary to handle it. Anyway, you’ll be called in for the top-level briefing soon enough.” She felt her lips pucker. “When that happens, try to act surprised.”
“I will,” he promised. “Speaking of surprises, does your family know you’re bringing a guest?”
Ziara shook her head. “No, but it won’t be a problem.”
Thrawn raised his eyebrows slightly. “You assume.”
“Yes,” Ziara conceded. “I assume.”
The law was clear.
The Vigilant had been attacked by forces of the Lioaoin Regime. The attackers had identified themselves as such, removing any question as to whether they might be pirates or privateers or some other unofficial and unauthorized group. The Defense Hierarchy Council had certain required responses to such a situation, as did the Aristocra and the Syndicure. The law was clear.
Which wasn’t to say that any of those groups was at all enthusiastic about carrying out their duties.
“This,” Second Officer Kharill said, “is madness.”
Samakro gazed out the viewport at the roiling hyperspace sky. Personally, he couldn’t agree more with his subordinate’s assessment.
But Kharill was his subordinate, and Samakro was the Springhawk’s first officer, and part of his duty was to quash talk like that aboard his ship. “The ancient philosophers would agree with you,” he said. “On the other hand, most of those same philosophers would say that all war is madness. Take that to its logical extreme, and we’re all out of a job.”
“Maybe,” Kharill said. “I can’t say I’d be opposed to a few years of peace.”
“That might depend on the underlying cause of that peace,” Thrawn said from behind them. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Senior Captain,” Samakro said, hastily standing up from the command chair and turning as Thrawn stepped through the hatchway onto the bridge.
To his mild surprise, Thrawn waved him back down. “I’m not taking over your watch, Mid Captain,” he said. “I only stopped by to check on our progress.”
“We’re on schedule, sir,” Samakro said, looking over at the navigator’s station. Che’ri was sitting upright in her seat, showing none of the subtle signs of sky-walker fatigue that would require a return to space-normal and a rest period.