Crisis of Faith (2 page)

But victory had come with a terrible cost. The Chosen fought with fanatical zeal, and forced their client and subjugated peoples to fight alongside them with the same stubbornness.

Even worse, with every forced retreat the Chosen followed Nuso Esva’s scorched-ground policy of destroying everything they couldn’t take with them, not just weapons of war but also the means for the local populace to survive through the next winter or dry spell. Millions had died in Nuso Esva’s conquests, and millions more in the aftermath of his retreats.

Including hundreds of thousands of Stromma who’d been caught in the crossfire and scorched ground when Thrawn finally succeeded in pushing Nuso Esva off their worlds. Which, for Parck, made Nyama’s attitude that much more bewildering. Didn’t he want to see his professed allies the Quesoth freed from Nuso Esva’s bondage?

“Yet our job as civilized beings is to minimize that suffering as best we can,” Thrawn said. If he was bothered by Nyama’s apparent lack of compassion, it didn’t show in his expression or voice. “I’d like to see the records of your wars against the Quesoth. With an insectoid species, even long-past battles may give us insight.”

“Those records are old and fragmentary,” Nyama said. “They would also be useless. Right now, it is Nuso Esva’s strategy and tactics that they will use.”

“He’ll indeed be devising their overall strategy,” Thrawn said, his tone thoughtful. “But as Quesoth Soldiers still use their ancient weapons, so may they also still hold to their ancient battlefield tactics.”

Beside Balkin, TIE Squadron Commander Baron Soontir Fel stirred in his chair. “Those umbrella shields they’ve got over the central part of the city are hardly ancient weapons,” he pointed out.

“True,” Thrawn conceded. “Liaison Nyama may be right. We may indeed face a conflating of disparate tactics, a mixture that will be difficult to anticipate.” He looked at Parck. “We need information, Captain. More information; better information. We’re working blind.”

“How quickly the indomitable Master Warrior stumbles,” Nyama said sarcastically.

“What Council Liaison Nyama means”—the young conciliator spoke up again—“is that timely information is of course a necessary part of combat preparation.” His eyes flicked briefly to Nyama. “He also suggests that there may be a way to obtain the information you seek.”

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Continue.”

Nyama grimaced. “As I’ve already said, we’ve been allies with Quethold for many generations. As a result, we have contacts among the Quesoth of the Red. Perhaps I can speak to one of them for you.”

“You already said they were unquestioningly loyal to their Queen,” Balkin reminded him. “What good would talking to them do?”

“I said the /Soldiers/ were loyal,” Nyama shot back. “The Soldiers and Workers are barely even intelligent, let alone able to make their own decisions. I never said that was the case with the Circlings and Midlis.”

“But they’re still loyal, aren’t they?” Balkin persisted.

“I /said/ they can think for themselves,” Nyama all but bellowed. “Are you deaf, you bald-skinned—”

“What Council Liaison Nyama means,” the conciliator interrupted hurriedly, “is that there’s a small but growing opposition to the Queen of the Red’s alliance with Nuso Esva. If we can contact them, perhaps they can obtain the information you seek.”

Nyama glared at the conciliator, but gave a reluctant nod. “Provided you want something within their capabilities,” he growled.

“What /are/ their capabilities?” Fel asked.

“Not much,” Nyama said. “Circlings are the Queen’s advisers and upper-tier breeders. They’re the most intelligent Quesoth, but they deal in words and thoughts, not actions. Midlis are tasked with overseeing the Workers, so they’re not /that/ intelligent. But they can be reasoned with, and can handle equipment to a limited extent.”

“The task should be easy enough,” Thrawn assured him. “All I want is for one of them to smuggle a holocam into Nuso Esva’s chambers.”

“A /holocam?”/ Nyama echoed disbelievingly.

“Nuso Esva had little of his own artwork with him when he fled to Quethold,” Thrawn explained. “Most of what he has will be from the Queen’s collection. I need to see which pieces he’s chosen.”

Nyama snorted and shook his head. “Your obsession with art, Grand Admiral Thrawn, is more unsettling than your obsession with Nuso Esva himself.”

“His obsession with both is what drove Nuso Esva off Oristrom and gave you the freedom to be here today,” Fel said.

Nyama glared at him. But he had no answer, and everyone in the room knew it. “You have this holocam with you?” he growled, turning back to Thrawn.

“It will be ready whenever you confirm that one of the disaffected Circlings or Midlis can get it into Nuso Esva’s chambers,” Thrawn said.

“And can then bring it out again, I suppose,” Nyama growled. He stood up abruptly. “I return now to my ship and will attempt to communicate with the dissidents. How large will this holocam be?”

“Very small,” Thrawn said, holding up his hand. “The size of one joint of my finger. We can disguise it in any way necessary to facilitate entry.”

“Perhaps it could even be planted on one of the Workers or Soldiers who attend the Queen,” Parck suggested. “I understand twelve of each accompany her wherever she goes.”

“You understand correctly,” Nyama said. “I’ll inquire as to the best way to achieve this goal, and will communicate with you when I have more to say.”

With a brisk nod to Thrawn, he turned and strode from the room, the young conciliator hurrying to keep up. The door slid shut behind them, and Thrawn looked around the table. “Comments?” he invited.

“It could work,” Parck said cautiously. “The number of variables is still uncomfortably high, though.”

“And if Nyama is typical of Stromma attitude,” Fel added, “we’d better assume we’ll be tackling Nuso Esva without them.”

“They /are/ allies with the Quesoth, after all,” Balkin murmured. “It’s not easy to make a stand against one’s friends.”

“Especially when they figure they can just stall down the chrono,” Fel said. “Two years, isn’t it, until Nuso Esva’s time in Red City runs out?”

“Yes, if Nyama’s numbers are accurate,” Parck confirmed.

“His numbers are accurate, but his reasoning is flawed,” Thrawn said. “Nuso Esva could do an enormous amount of damage to the people of the Red City in those two years. That’s not a result I’m prepared to accept.” He hesitated. “Bear in mind, too, that Liaison Nyama speaks for the Stromma council, and some of those members still blame us for the destruction their worlds suffered.”

Fel muttered something under his breath. “I suppose they also blame their surgeons for damaging bits of good tissue when they’re cutting out the poisoned rot?”

“I don’t defend their opinions,” Thrawn said mildly. “I merely state that those opinions exist. At any rate, we cannot allow the common people of the galaxy to suffer merely because their leaders sometimes refuse to face the universe’s realities.”

“Well, the reality here is that we can finally nail this son of a—that we can nail Nuso Esva,” Fel amended hastily. “We’ve got him pinned, and there’s no place he can run. /And/ we understand how he works.”

“True.” Thrawn smiled faintly. “More important, he understands how /I/

work.”

“Hopefully, that will be enough,” Parck said.

Thrawn inclined his head. “We shall see.”

The sky still looked odd as Trevik left the palace at the half-darklight hour and set off down the gentle slope of the city hill and across the wide ring of Circling homes. Farther downslope, beyond the Circling ring, was the Midli area of the city where his own home was located.

The sky looked even stranger over the Circling area, he noted with interest as he walked. In places, it held the same strangely muted appearance as it did over the palace grounds. But in other, small places, the sky was as bright and blue as normal. He gazed at the wonder as he traveled, trying to figure out what it all meant.

Perhaps one of the Workers would know. They were the ones who built everything in the Red City. Trevik’s brother Jirvin was overseer of one of the Worker groups that created and serviced the city’s lighting equipment. Perhaps he would know what had happened to the sky.

A whiff of air stirred from beside him, bringing with it the scent of a Circling. Automatically, Trevik stepped to the side, out of the other’s path—

A hand closed around his arm. “Walk,” the Circling ordered quietly, steering Trevik off onto a different angle.

“Where do we go?” Trevik asked, fighting to keep up with the other’s longer stride. “My home is in a different—”

“Walk in silence,” the Circling said cutting him off.

They were well within the Midli circle when Trevik noticed that the sky had changed again. Now the areas of strangeness had become a patchwork of distinct circles, their edges almost touching, with proper sky in the gaps between them. Beyond the Midli area, Trevik could see that the strangeness ended completely across the wide expanse of Worker and Soldier homes.

He was still wondering at the sight when the Circling guided him to one of the Midli homes. The door opened as they approached, and with the Circling still urging him forward, Trevik stepped beneath the lintel.

There were three other Midlis awaiting them in the house’s sharing room. Two were strangers; the third—

Trevik gasped. /“Jirvin?”/

“Hello, my brother,” Jirvin of the Midli of the Seventh of the Red greeted him, his voice solemn. “Please forgive the manner of your coming. It was vital that we speak to you immediately.”

“You could have simply called me on the farspeak when I reached my house,” Trevik said.

“It was equally vital that we speak to you in a manner that the Storm-hairs could not overhear,” Jirvin said. “Please; seat yourself.”

For a long moment, Trevik thought about turning and walking out. But the Circling who had brought him here had planted himself beneath the lintel. With an unpleasant sensation twitching up his legs, Trevik slowly crossed to one of the couches and lowered himself gingerly onto it. “What is it you wish to say?” he asked.

He saw Jirvin brace himself. “We believe, my brother, that the Red City stands on the brink of destruction,” he said. “We believe that the Queen of the Red has been led by deceit into allying herself with Nuso Esva.”

“Impossible.” The word burst from Trevik’s mouth without conscious thought. “The Queen is all-knowing and capable of infinite depth of thought. No alien being could sway her mind to such an extent.”

“Nevertheless, we believe that such has indeed occurred,” Jirvin said. “We further believe that something must be done to prevent the imminent destruction of our city. Perhaps even our entire world.”

Trevik stared at him. “What exactly are you saying, my brother?” he asked carefully.

“I’m saying that the being Thrawn of the First of the Chiss of the Empire of the Hand is not the great enemy that Nuso Esva has named him,” Jirvin said. “We have spoken to one of the Stromma, who has revealed to us the true natures of Thrawn and Nuso Esva.”

“And?”

“And we”—Jirvin waved a hand to encompass the entire sharing room—“have thus chosen to join ourselves with our Stromma friends. With them, and with Thrawn.”

Furtively, Trevik looked again at the doorway. But the Circling was still standing beneath the lintel, blocking any chance of easy escape. “Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, turning back to his brother.

“Thrawn urgently needs information if we are to defeat Nuso Esva and free our Queen from his grasp,” Jirvin said. “You, my brother, are the only one who can obtain that information.”

“Impossible,” Trevik repeated, the word again escaping his mouth without thought. “I’m a loyal Midli. More than that, I’m the Queen’s own bowlcarrier.”

“You’ve been bowlcarrier for a single day,” one of the other Midlis scoffed. “Don’t make it sound as if your entire past and family honor are at risk.”

“My past may not be at risk, but my family honor surely is,” Trevik insisted. “Regardless, I cannot betray my Queen in such a way.”

“She is no longer your Queen,” the Circling at the door rumbled. “She has become merely a hand tool of Nuso Esva.”

“I cannot and will not believe that,” Trevik shot back. “The Queen seeks only what is best for her people, and for all the people of Quethold.” He leveled two fingers at the Circling. “It is this Thrawn who is the enemy. I have heard Nuso Esva say so.”

“Have you heard the Queen herself say so?” Jirvin asked.

Trevik turned back to him, a quick and scathing response boiling up from within him.

Then he paused, the words unspoken. /Had/ the Queen actually said such words in his presence? Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember her doing so. “It doesn’t matter,” he said stubbornly. “Nuso Esva is here, and he is the Queen’s guest.”

“He is her captor, not her guest,” the Circling said. “You would serve the Queen better by allying yourself with us than by standing idly by as he exploits her.”

“You’ve offered no proof of that,” Trevik insisted.

“You’ve offered no proof to the contrary.”

Trevik hissed. “Your challenge is useless. How does one prove a negative?”