“We shall,” Frangelic said. “In the meantime, send your message to your admiral. As quickly as possible,” he added, his tone going a bit brittle. “The Ruleri are quite capable of ignoring people and things that are distasteful to them, but it wouldn’t be wise to test the breaking point of that ability.”

“I understand,” Thrawn said. “As soon as I have the details of the mission, the Vigilant will be gone. In the meantime, companion, come. While I speak with the admiral, you can go to our quarters and prepare our dinner.”

Memories VIII

After all her months aboard the Parala, Ziara had developed a sensitivity to every nuance and subtle movement of her ship, its engines, and its general feel.

What was happening right now was about as unsubtle as it got.

She was five steps behind Mid Captain Roscu as both she and the first officer closed on the bridge. Roscu got there first and ducked through the hatchway—“Thrawn, what in hell’s name are you doing?” she snarled, her voice echoing out into the corridor.

Scowling, Ziara followed her through the hatchway. And so began another wonderful day aboard the Parala.

But this time it was instantly clear that it wasn’t just Roscu verbally bludgeoning a more junior officer from a rival family. The overnight bridge crew was sitting stiffly at their posts as Thrawn stood behind the sky-walker and pilot, his hands clasped behind his back, the swirl of hyperspace washing around the viewport. A quick visual sweep of the status boards showed that he’d brought the ship’s weapons and electrostatic barrier to full readiness, just one step below battle stations.

“I asked you a question, Senior Commander,” Roscu bit out as she strode toward him.

“As you were, Mid Captain,” Ziara called firmly. “Status, Senior Commander?”

“We’ve picked up an urgent distress call from the Garwian colony world Stivic,” Thrawn said. “Security Officer Frangelic says they’re under attack.” He half turned to throw a significant look at Ziara. “By pirates.”

“You know the protocol,” Ziara said as she strode past the glowering Roscu toward Thrawn, her stomach tightening. It was painfully obvious what Thrawn suspected.

And he was probably right. The Garwian worlds were centers of commerce for a number of local species, and Stivic in particular was within easy strike range of the Lioaoin Regime.

She stopped at his side. “You know we can’t do this,” she said, keeping her voice low. “The protocols forbid intervention.”

“I’m hoping direct action won’t be necessary.”

Ziara looked down at the nine-year-old girl in the sky-walker’s chair, her hands moving almost of their own accord as she and her Third Sight guided the Parala through the twisting pathways of hyperspace. “A bluff?”

“Perhaps not even that much,” Thrawn said. “The sudden appearance of a Chiss warship may be enough to frighten them away.”

“And if it isn’t?”

His lips compressed. “Then we do nothing.”