“I’ve already spoken with all those I need to,” Thrawn said, craning his neck and looking around. “I’m also familiar with most of the species here. Few of them have art that’s worthy of the name.” He lifted a finger. “I haven’t seen one of those before. You know them?”

Qilori felt his winglets stiffen. Thrawn was pointing straight at Yiv. “I believe they’re called Nikardun.”

“Really,” Thrawn said. “I’ve heard some vague and ridiculous stories about them. I don’t suppose you could get me through that crowd?”

“I might,” Qilori said carefully. Was it really going to be this easy? “I believe the Pathfinders have had some dealings with them. If you’d like to wait here, I’ll go see if he’s amenable to a conversation.”

“All right, but be quick,” Thrawn said. “I have early-rising meetings and can’t remain here much longer.”

“Of course.” Expecting everyone else to bend their schedules around his. That was more like a true senior academic.

Yiv was laughing at some joke when Qilori reached him. The Benevolent’s eyes flicked to him, the rippling of his shoulder symbionts warning the newcomer to wait his turn. Qilori took another step forward, waited until Yiv paused for a breath, and cleared his throat. “He’s here,” he said quietly.

“Who’s here?” one of the Vaks chortled, sparking another chorus of laughter. Either Qilori had unwittingly provided an extra punch line to the current joke or else the group was so drunk they were ready to laugh at anything.

But all the humor had vanished from Yiv’s face. “He is here?” he asked.

Qilori nodded.

Abruptly, Yiv boomed out a laugh, the sudden sound startling all the others to silence. “A moment of leave, my fine friends,” he said with a cheerfulness that didn’t extend to his eyes. “I must bid you all farewell for a few moments. I suggest you avail yourselves of the lavish dining display provided by our hosts.”

Qilori waited until the crowd had cleared out. Then, at Yiv’s small gesture, he stepped to the Benevolent’s chair. “Thrawn?” Yiv asked, in a tone warning that Qilori had better not have interrupted him for anything less important.

“Yes, your Benevolence,” Qilori confirmed. “He’s at mid-distance behind me, dressed in Chiss formalwear.” He dared a smiling twitch of his winglets. “He’s traveling as an art expert under the name Svorno. He’s also heard of the Nikardun and would very much like to meet one.”

“Would he, now,” Yiv said, his symbionts settling into their epaulet pattern. “Let’s not disappoint him, then. Please; bring him over.”

“Yes, your Benevolence.”

Qilori turned and retraced his steps to where Thrawn was waiting. “Come with me,” he said. “General Yiv the Benevolent will see you now.”

“General Yiv,” Thrawn said, scowling. “A military type. So. Unlikely to know anything about his species’ art, then.”