“I’m here, Thrawn.” Abruptly, the display lit up again with Yiv’s face.

Only this wasn’t the cheerful, persuasive, charming friend-of-all-peoples face the Benevolent liked to show his would-be conquests. It wasn’t even the quietly menacing face that Qilori had seen on far too many occasions, a face that never failed to send palpitations through his cheek winglets even when the threat wasn’t directed at him.

This face was something new. This face was pure hatred.

“Your people will die for this,” the Nikardun ground out. “Not just you. Not just your pitiable fleet. All the Chiss. The Ascendancy will die, shredded like grain, ground down like stone, burned like withered grass. Every last cub will die…and you will die here and now, with the certain knowledge that you and you alone were the root and cause of their destruction.”

“All because I cost you your foothold on Primea?” Thrawn asked, his voice and face as calm as Yiv’s were malevolent. “Come now, General. You merely need to step away and start over.” His face hardened. “But I suggest you choose a different part of the Chaos for your next attempt. This region will no longer accept your smiles and promises.”

“How little you know, Chiss.”

“Then enlighten me,” Thrawn invited. “Tell me who you serve, or who follows in your wake. If there’s more to know than just the Nikardun, I’m more than willing to listen.”

Yiv’s mouth opened in a smile that was just as bitterly angry as his glare had been. “Then you’ll forever wonder as I send you to your grave.” Deliberately, he looked down at the two females kneeling in front of him. “But before you leave this life, I’ll show you exactly what I have planned for your entire species.”

The Springhawk had just sent its third Nikardun patrol boat into shredded oblivion when the three Battle Dreadnoughts suddenly flashed into view.

“And the bruisers have arrived,” Kharill announced calmly. “Nice microjump, or whatever they did.”

“Looked like an in-system jump,” Azmordi said from the helm. “Shorter and easier than even a micro.”

“Also doesn’t leave enough backtrail to show where it came from,” Dalvu added grimly. “If they came from Yiv, we still don’t know where he is.”

Which meant they couldn’t go to Thrawn’s aid if he needed them, Samakro knew. Thrawn’s life was in his own hands now. If he’d miscalculated any aspect of the plan—if he stumbled on any of the steps—he would likely die out there. So would a lot of Chiss.

And the Springhawk would be in need of a new captain.

Stop it! Samakro ordered himself. Thrawn was his commander, the rightful master of this ship, and Samakro’s job was to do his duty to Ar’alani and the Ascendancy and to return the Springhawk to its master in the best shape he could.