Thirty-Three

Chiss Ascendancy Territory, Unknown Regions

17 ATC

As it turned out, Thaera's instincts had been correct. After several days' travel, the Imperial ship had emerged from hyperspace at the predesignated coordinates to find nothing but deep space and a single Chiss warship.

Thaera looked out the bridge viewport at the vessel, imposingly large compared to the one in which she stood, admiring its sleek lines and smooth contours. The design principles reminded her in some ways of her own X-70B Phantom, of which she had always been rather fond. So much more elegant than the gray and black wedges of Imperial destroyers.

Verani moved up next to her. "What a beautiful ship," she remarked softly. "I've always admired the Chiss' aesthetic sensibilities."

Thaera made a noncommittal noise.

"Truth be told," Verani continued, "I very much enjoyed my time as ambassador, even though it was supposed to be a dead-end posting in the middle of nowhere. My predecessor never properly appreciated what other species can bring to the Empire."

Thaera couldn't help but eye her curiously. "And you do?"

"I'd like to think so." A small, nasty smile played over Verani's lips. "I leaned on Darth Ravage for years to get this position. I intend to put it to good use."

"How remarkably candid of you, Minister."

"Ambition is a virtue in Imperial politics," Verani pointed out. "I see no reason to pretend that I've ever been anything else. Besides, honesty is the first step towards trust, and while I don't expect you to trust me, we do have to work together. Our relationship should therefore be, at the very least, functional."

Their ship's pilot, seated a short distance away, turned towards them. "Sir, the Chiss are hailing us."

"Excellent," Verani murmured. "Patch them in."

The pilot nodded and manipulated several controls on his console. A moment later, a lightly accented voice crackled through the comm system.

"—Defense Force destroyer Tempest to unidentified Imperial vessel. State your business in Ascendancy space."

"This is Adrielle Verani, Minister of Diplomacy for the Sith Empire," Verani stated. "My party and I received an official invitation to meet with representatives of the Ruling Families."

"Confirmed," the Chiss replied after a moment of silence. "Docking instructions are being sent to your ship."

"Acknowledged and understood," Verani said.

"Do not attempt to deviate from your present course. Defense Force personnel will meet you on board. Tempest out."

Anyone who calls Imperials terse and overly formal, Thaera thought, has clearly never met my people.

Verani nodded towards her. "If you'll excuse me, I must go over a few last minute reminders." She turned and left the bridge.

Thaera watched the Tempest grow larger in the viewport for a moment, then headed in the same direction Verani had gone. She found Kettrien leaning against the wall near the airlock, dressed in sleek black armor with a lightsaber hanging in plain view at her side.

"Hello, sir," Kettrien said as Thaera approached. "I have to admit, I'm a bit nervous."

"Fear of the unknown is natural. Control it, and you'll be fine."

"I suppose it always comes down to that, doesn't it? Funny how sentient beings work." Kettrien frowned off into the distance. "I was more curious—all right, apprehensive—about how people will respond to me, given that I'm a Sith. Chiss don't have Force-users, after all."

"That's not strictly true," Thaera said. "However, Force-sensitivity is far rarer among my species than yours, so it's not something our culture has any particular guidelines for. I wouldn't worry, though. I doubt you'll be treated any differently than the other humans."

"Why does that not make me feel reassured?" Kettrien muttered.

"Focus, Agent Byrd," Thaera said sharply.

"Yes, sir. Focusing now." Kettrien grinned. "You're so much sterner than my Sith master. Lord Savadar is a real softie, even with his fancy pureblood lineage going back oh-so-many generations."

Thaera was saved from having to respond to that particular tidbit by the arrival of Vector. He moved up next to Thaera as Kettrien glanced between the two of them, then skulked off.

"You seem tense," Vector said, soft enough that only she could hear.

Thaera frowned. "Is it noticeable?"

"Only to us. Are you all right?"

The ship lurched slightly, then stopped. The hum of the engines died away a moment later.

"We've docked," Thaera noted.

"You're avoiding our question. What's wrong?"

"Nothing important." She turned away from him as the airlock began clunking its way through the docking sequence. "You should be with the others."

Vector nodded once. "We're here if you want to talk," he said, clipped and polite, then walked away towards where Verani and her people were waiting by the airlock.

Thaera sighed faintly. Brushing him off like that wasn't the nicest thing she'd ever done, but she had no desire to talk about her worries. She wasn't even certain that she could voice them if she tried.

The airlock opened, and the party began filing out, led by Verani. Kettrien was a small shadow in her black armor behind them. Thaera hung back, apprehension a tightening noose around her heart.

I told Kettrien to control her nerves, she thought. And now I can't follow my own advice. What is there to worry about? They won't see past the Imperial uniform.

Realizing that she was now the only one left on the ship, she walked quickly out into the hangar. A dozen Chiss soldiers in neat black uniforms stood in two parallel lines, between which the Imperials had sorted themselves into an orderly clump. Verani stood at the head of the group, engaged in quiet conversation with a Chiss whose uniform insignia indicated a rank roughly equivalent to an Imperial navy captain.

Thaera's eyes went to the subtle burgundy bars on his uniform, on the uniforms of all the Chiss around them, and her apprehension intensified by several orders of magnitude.

They were not on a Defense Force warship. Burgundy was the color of the Eighth Ruling Family, which had led the isolationist faction of the Chiss government for years. The fact that the Imperial diplomatic party had been taken to one of their ships was a very bad sign.


"I'm well aware of the implications," Verani said, eyeing the confines of the small cabin to which the Chiss soldiers had escorted her, and where Thaera had met her not long later. "Do you think this might turn into a hostage situation?"

"Doubtful," Thaera replied. "The isolationists live up to the name—they just want to be left alone. It's more likely that their delegates will meet with us, politely refuse anything we offer, and send us back to the Empire."

"That's not an acceptable outcome." Verani's mouth twisted subtly. "The Dark Council made that quite clear."

So it's succeed or die, then, Thaera reflected. Not unusual circumstances, for her. She noted how Verani's demeanor remained calm and composed. Perhaps it was not so unusual for her, either.

"The ship's captain was slightly more forthcoming than I would have expected," Verani said. "He informed me that the negotiations, such as they are, will take place here on this vessel."

"I suspected as much."

Verani sat down in a nearby chair, folding her hands together atop the table in front of it. "In the end, it all comes down to who is sitting at the bargaining table. The Chiss are a pragmatic people. Make a good enough offer, and even a skeptic can be swayed. It's how I managed our alliance in the first place."

"We're dealing with the most skeptical Family of them all, though," Thaera pointed out.

Verani's jaw tightened. "I will admit that my attempt to deal with the Eighth's Aristocra ten years ago did not…go well."

"I doubt this negotiation is even considered important enough to send her to meet with us," Thaera said. "The Families have made up their minds; this is all for the sake of courtesy. The Eighth will likely send a lesser member of the house. Probably a cousin."

"Someone who can potentially be reasoned with," Verani concluded. "This is our one chance."

"I'll leave you to prepare. In the meantime, I believe I'll try speaking to some of the crew, see what I can get from them. They're more likely to respond to me than to a human."

Verani nodded. "Good luck."

As Thaera left the room, she reflected that Verani probably needed luck more than she did. If the mission failed, the Dark Council would call for her execution, while Thaera was protected by Darth Nox's good graces for as long as she remained useful.

Those good graces would run out, eventually. Until they did, Thaera would continue to serve the Empire as best she could. She quickened her pace down the hallway and began dredging up long-buried memories of the culture into which she'd been born.