circled the table to the empty chair at Grand Admiral Thrawn’s right. “There was a last-minute report from the Tantsor system that I thought might be relevant to our discussion.”
“Was it?” Stromma Council Liaison Nyama asked, his grasslike fur glinting in the room’s lights, his heavy brow ridges angled over his pure black eyes, his normally snide tone even more insolent than usual.
“Yes,” Parck said, long practice enabling him not to take offense at Nyama’s manner. Loud belligerence was a universal—and highly prized—quality among the Stromma hierarchy, and the species’ military professionals were no exception. “The rumored activity turned out to be nothing but a small smuggling group. The searchers found no connection between them and Nuso Esva, and no trace of actual warships.”
“And in your vision this waste of effort constitutes /progress?”/ Nyama scoffed.
“What Council Liaison Nyama means to ask,” a younger Stromma at Nyama’s side said in a more polite tone, “is whether clearing one system genuinely narrows the search for Nuso Esva’s remaining forces, especially when so many other possibilities remain.”
“Even negative information is useful,” Thrawn said calmly, his glowing red eyes focused on Nyama. “Particularly since the probe droids we’re leaving behind after each search ensure that Nuso Esva’s forces don’t move in behind us.”
Nyama gave a throaty snort. “We /know/ where he is,” he said, jabbing a finger emphatically downward. “What do we care where his scattered remnant cowers?”
“Because as long as he lives, they remain a threat,” Parck said. “You of all people should have learned that, Council Liaison. You were winning in the struggle against those forces until he returned to take personal command.”
“The situation there was vastly different,” Nyama growled. “The forces on Oristrom were well supplied and well entrenched. And there were a great deal more of them.” He pointed down again. “Besides, Nuso Esva isn’t going to be leaving Quethold. Not anymore. Certainly not alive.”
“Liaison Nyama makes a valid point,” Stormtrooper Commander Balkin said from the other end of the table. “Wherever his remnant is hiding, Nuso Esva surely has insufficient ships to break through our blockade.”
“Agreed, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Unfortunately, the blockade will very soon have to be lifted. There are other matters that urgently require my attention, other threats to this region and to those who have joined the Empire of the Hand.”
“The admiral is correct,” Parck seconded. “I can name at least ten such threats right now, and there will be more to come.”
“Then make an end of him,” Balkin said firmly. “The stormtroopers of the 501st stand ready to move in and bring you his head.”
Nyama snorted again. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” he said scornfully. “You’ve never faced Quesoth Soldiers in battle. We, on the other hand, have dealt with them both as allies and as enemies. They’re bigger even than the Workers—when they rear up they’re nearly as tall as you or I—and immensely strong. They’re also fiercely loyal to their Queen, obeying her orders unquestioningly and with no consideration for their own safety. And there are thousands of them within the Red City.”
“We’ve faced loyal and numerous enemies before,” Balkin said. “These will fall just as thoroughly.”
“But at a severe cost,” Nyama warned. “Are you ready to accept such losses, Grand Admiral Thrawn?”
“I don’t accept unnecessary losses of any sort, Council Liaison,” Thrawn said, his blue-skinned face impassive. “But I was unaware that you once fought against the Quesoth.”
“It was long ago, during the foolish arrogance we called our Expansion Period,” Nyama said. For once, Parck noted with interest, the belligerent voice was
“Was it?” Stromma Council Liaison Nyama asked, his grasslike fur glinting in the room’s lights, his heavy brow ridges angled over his pure black eyes, his normally snide tone even more insolent than usual.
“Yes,” Parck said, long practice enabling him not to take offense at Nyama’s manner. Loud belligerence was a universal—and highly prized—quality among the Stromma hierarchy, and the species’ military professionals were no exception. “The rumored activity turned out to be nothing but a small smuggling group. The searchers found no connection between them and Nuso Esva, and no trace of actual warships.”
“And in your vision this waste of effort constitutes /progress?”/ Nyama scoffed.
“What Council Liaison Nyama means to ask,” a younger Stromma at Nyama’s side said in a more polite tone, “is whether clearing one system genuinely narrows the search for Nuso Esva’s remaining forces, especially when so many other possibilities remain.”
“Even negative information is useful,” Thrawn said calmly, his glowing red eyes focused on Nyama. “Particularly since the probe droids we’re leaving behind after each search ensure that Nuso Esva’s forces don’t move in behind us.”
Nyama gave a throaty snort. “We /know/ where he is,” he said, jabbing a finger emphatically downward. “What do we care where his scattered remnant cowers?”
“Because as long as he lives, they remain a threat,” Parck said. “You of all people should have learned that, Council Liaison. You were winning in the struggle against those forces until he returned to take personal command.”
“The situation there was vastly different,” Nyama growled. “The forces on Oristrom were well supplied and well entrenched. And there were a great deal more of them.” He pointed down again. “Besides, Nuso Esva isn’t going to be leaving Quethold. Not anymore. Certainly not alive.”
“Liaison Nyama makes a valid point,” Stormtrooper Commander Balkin said from the other end of the table. “Wherever his remnant is hiding, Nuso Esva surely has insufficient ships to break through our blockade.”
“Agreed, Commander,” Thrawn said. “Unfortunately, the blockade will very soon have to be lifted. There are other matters that urgently require my attention, other threats to this region and to those who have joined the Empire of the Hand.”
“The admiral is correct,” Parck seconded. “I can name at least ten such threats right now, and there will be more to come.”
“Then make an end of him,” Balkin said firmly. “The stormtroopers of the 501st stand ready to move in and bring you his head.”
Nyama snorted again. “You have no idea what you’re saying,” he said scornfully. “You’ve never faced Quesoth Soldiers in battle. We, on the other hand, have dealt with them both as allies and as enemies. They’re bigger even than the Workers—when they rear up they’re nearly as tall as you or I—and immensely strong. They’re also fiercely loyal to their Queen, obeying her orders unquestioningly and with no consideration for their own safety. And there are thousands of them within the Red City.”
“We’ve faced loyal and numerous enemies before,” Balkin said. “These will fall just as thoroughly.”
“But at a severe cost,” Nyama warned. “Are you ready to accept such losses, Grand Admiral Thrawn?”
“I don’t accept unnecessary losses of any sort, Council Liaison,” Thrawn said, his blue-skinned face impassive. “But I was unaware that you once fought against the Quesoth.”
“It was long ago, during the foolish arrogance we called our Expansion Period,” Nyama said. For once, Parck noted with interest, the belligerent voice was
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