by Timothy Zahn
It wasn’t hard to find. A thick, heavy-looking cable anchored to the high ceiling was swinging ponderously alongside the wall, apparently having come loose just as Luke was stepping through the hatchway. Grimacing with a mixture of relief and annoyance, he closed down his lightsaber. “It’s all right,” he called to Mara, measuring the swing of the cable with his eyes. Another five seconds and it would cut back across the hatchway, but until then it would be safe to cross. “Come on through.”
Mara came through, all right, but in typical Mara fashion. She waited four of the five seconds, then suddenly leapt out and up, spinning 180 degrees around in midair. As the cable swung past, she slashed upward with her lightsaber.
He’d expected her to cut the end completely off as a mark of her displeasure at what had just happened. But the blue blade merely slashed past the flying cable without any apparent effect at all.
She landed back on the deck, the cable clattering noisily along the wall as it swung past her. “You all right?” she asked Luke, closing down her lightsaber and returning it to her belt.
“I’m fine,” Luke assured her. “I was feeling like a little exercise anyway.”
A movement to his right caught his eye, and he turned to see a pair of Chiss males enter the room through a high archway, both considerably older than Feesa, both wearing elaborate outfits that were almost certainly robes of state. The shorter Chiss, his blue-black hair liberally sprinkled with white, wore a long, flowing robe in subdued shades of yellow with gray trim. The taller Chiss’s outfit was shorter, more like a long tunic than an actual robe, and was predominantly black, though with small swatches of dusky red at various places on the sleeves and upper shoulders. “Greetings to you, Jedi of—” the black-clad Chiss began.
He broke off abruptly, his eyes narrowing, as the last echo of his words bounced briefly between the high walls. “What is this?” he demanded.
“There was an accident, noble sir,” Feesa said, jumping quickly to her feet. “The cable broke and nearly struck Master Skywalker.”
“I see,” the Chiss said, the threatening tone fading from his voice. “My apologies, Master Skywalker. Are you injured?”
“No,” Luke assured him as he and Mara crossed to meet the newcomers. “Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano, I presume?”
The Chiss shook his head. “I am General Prard’ras’kieoni of the Chiss Defense Fleet,” he said stiffly. “Military commander of this expedition.”
He half turned to the Chiss in yellow. “This,” he said, “is Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano.”
Luke shifted his attention to the other Chiss. Alien ages were always hard to judge, but there was something about Chaf’orm’bintrano that marked him as being much older than the general. A presence, perhaps, or something in his face or stance. “My apologies, Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano,” he said.
“Hardly necessary,” the other said easily. “No one would expect you to know one Chiss from another. I trust you had an uneventful journey?”
“Quite uneventful, thank you,” Luke said. Chaf’orm’bintrano’s accent was somewhat thicker than Feesa’s, but his ease in speaking indicated he knew the language better even than she did.
“Aside from this last bit,” Mara interjected, nodding toward the cable still swinging along the wall. “You speak our language well, Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano. Did you also learn it from the Visitors?”
“From the Visitors, and others,” the Chiss said. “Since the arrival of your people at Nirauan, it has by necessity become a small but growing field of study. All personnel aboard this mission are familiar with it, in fact, and I have instructed them to use it whenever possible as a courtesy to you.”
“Thank you, Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano,” Luke said, nodding his head. “That’s an unexpected but welcome kindness.”
“You’re welcome,” Chaf’orm’bintrano said. “Following that same pattern of courtesy, I would also request that you address me by my core name, Formbi. I believe that will make our conversations easier.”
“It will indeed,” Luke assured him, feeling a definite relief at Formbi’s thoughtfulness. He’d never been nearly as good with alien languages and pronunciations as Leia or even Han, and C-3PO was a long way away at the moment. “Again, I thank you.”
“It’s only a reasonable courtesy,” Formbi continued, as if feeling he had to somehow justify the decision. “After all, full names are mainly reserved for formal occasions, for strangers, and for those who are our social inferiors. As representatives of the New Republic, all of you must surely be considered to be on a level with the very highest of the orders.”
Luke glanced at Mara, caught the flicker that showed she’d spotted it, too. All of you? Shouldn’t he have said both of you? “That’s certainly one way to look at it,” he agreed.
“Good,” Formbi said. “You may likewise address General Prard’ras’kleoni as General Drask.”
Luke looked at the general, caught the brief hardness about the other’s mouth before he carefully smoothed it away. Apparently, Drask wasn’t nearly as happy with upsetting the normal social order as Formbi was.
Or else he just didn’t like humans.
“But come,” Formbi added, gesturing back toward the archway he and Drask had entered by. “Let me show you the public areas of the vessel before Feesa takes you to your personal quarters.”
He turned and led the way back across the room toward the archway. “Pretty big room for an entry area,” Mara commented as they passed under the archway and into a curving hallway. Unlike the ship’s outer hull, the interior surfaces were all smooth and even. “Our ships usually can’t afford to waste that much space.”
“Do you view courtesy and formality as a waste, then?” Drask growled. “Perhaps politeness is unnecessary, too, or positions or social levels—”
“General.” Formbi spoke the title quietly, but there was something in his voice that instantly silenced the other. “Our guests don’t do things as we do. Obviously, they don’t understand.”
He looked back at Mara. “This is a diplomatic vessel of the Fifth Ruling Family, and we often welcome high-positioned officials aboard. Each social and professional position requires its own proper expanse, decor, and pattern. In each of those situations the reception area can be automatically reconfigured and decorated before the guest’s arrival.”
He shrugged. “As it is, the room is barely large enough to properly welcome a brother or sister of one of the Nine Families. Fortunately, most of them travel but little, and then mainly in vessels of their own.”
“I see,” Mara said.
Formbi frowned at her, and Luke caught a sudden ripple of uncertainty. “Did you expect some ceremony of that sort?” he asked. “Admiral Parck told me that Jedi neither required nor wished such recognition. Was he incorrect?”
“No, not at all,” Luke hastened to assure him. “Officials of our position don’t require any formal rituals or treatment.”
“Especially not on a mission like this one,” Mara added. “If we’re ever in a situation where ceremony is required, we’ll inform you then, and instruct you in the proper patterns.”
“As we of course will expect you to do for us if the situation is reversed,” Luke said. “Until then, consider us to be merely fellow travelers come to see the remains of an ancient Republic ship.”
Formbi nodded, the uncertainty smoothing away. “Then we shall do that,” he declared. “Now that all have arrived—”
He broke off as a trilling group of tones cut through the air. “Incoming vessel,” a gentle voice announced from somewhere above them. “Paskla-class; unknown configuration.”
Drask muttered something under his breath. “Combat preparations,” he called toward the ceiling as he took off at a run down the corridor.
“Come,” Formbi said, gesturing them forward as Drask disappeared from view around a curve. “We were going to the public areas anyway. We might as well begin with the command center.”
> He led them through a dozen twists and turns to a small balcony overlooking a room that was, as near as Luke could judge, buried nearly dead center in the core of the ship. It was about the same size as the reception area had been, but with a much lower ceiling. Unlike the reception room, it was crammed full of consoles, displays, wall monitors, and Chiss. Most of the aliens were dressed in the same black as General Drask, though their outfits were tighter fitting, less elaborate, and clearly more functional. Luke spotted Drask himself on a circular podium in the center of the room, conferring with a Chiss wearing an outfit similar to his but with green patches where the general’s uniform showed red.
“This is the command center,” Formbi said, as calm as if he was leading a tour through an interesting display of painted shellfish. “The officer wearing green patches is Captain Brast’alshi’barku, the line commander of this vessel—you may address him as Captain Talshib. And that,” he added, pointing across to the largest of the wall displays, “is apparently our incoming vessel.”
Luke focused on the image. The alien ship looked like a slightly squashed sphere, light-colored but with a close-order pattern of dark spots covering the hull that could have been viewports, vents, or even just decoration. There was no scale on the display that he could see, but if the ships now swarming around it were more of the fighters that had run escort for the Jade Sabre, then the intruder was decently sized.
“Doesn’t look like a warship,” Mara commented from beside him. “They usually have at least one low-silhouette, high-firepower plane available to present to an approaching enemy. That thing’s going to be a perfect target no matter what direction it comes at you from.”
“You forget the Death Star,” Luke reminded her. “It was shaped more or less like that.”
“And its design stunk, too,” Mara retorted. “It just happened to be big enough and mean enough to get away with it.”
“Mostly,” Luke couldn’t resist saying.
“Whatever.” Mara gestured. “This thing, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be even half the size of a Dreadnaught.”
Formbi turned to Feesa. “Feesa, please go and ask the ambassador to join us,” he said. “He, too, may find this interesting.”
“I obey,” Feesa said, bobbing her head in a quick bow and then hurrying off.
“The ambassador?” Mara asked.
“Yes,” Formbi said. “Did I understand you to say you knew of a vessel of this type?”
“No, just a battle station of a similar shape,” Luke said.
“It was destroyed a long time ago,” Mara added. “Now, about this ambassador?”
She was interrupted by another trilling tone, a different combination of notes than the one they’d heard earlier. “Signal alert,” Formbi identified it. “They’re trying to communicate.”
One of the smaller displays to the side cleared to reveal a pair of alien faces with large violet eyes, flattened ears rising high on the skull, and a pair of small mouths set just above the jawline. The skin was light tan, with a hint of exotic gold marbling about the jaw and cheeks. “What are they?” Luke asked.
“It’s not a species I’ve seen before,” Formbi said, leaning forward a little as if trying to see the image better.
“I thought you were the dominant species out here,” Mara said. “Don’t you know all your neighbors?”
“We have a significant number of stars and star systems, yes,” Formbi said. There was neither arrogance nor apology in his voice; he was simply stating a fact. “But the Nine Families have long discouraged our people from probing or prying into the territories of others. Certainly the Defense Fleet and all official personnel are required to stay within our own borders.”
He shrugged. “Besides which, there are also many small groups in this region of space, remnants of pirate attack or refugees of mass destruction by other aggressors. Plus, of course, there are those same pirates and aggressors. Even if we wished to do so, it would be a great undertaking to try to know them all.”
“There are a hundred different threats out there that would freeze your blood if you knew about them,” Mara murmured.
Formbi frowned at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was just remembering something a Chiss once told me,” Mara explained. “A warrior named Stent, back on Nirauan.”
“Yes,” Formbi said, his tone a little odd. Perhaps he didn’t like being reminded that Parck had a lot of renegade Chiss working with him. “In actual fact, he may have underestimated the number. The galaxy outside Chiss territory is not a very safe place to be.”
On the display, one of the aliens opened his mouths, and a flow of melodic sounds suddenly filled the room. Luke stretched out with the Force, wondering if he could get a sense of the words the way he’d once done with the Qom Qae and Qom Jha of Nirauan.
But those species’ communication had had a Force component to it. This one did not, and his efforts were of no use.
“Ah,” Formbi said. “At least they’ve been around the region long enough to pick up Minnisiat.”
“What’s that, a trade language?” Mara asked.
“Exactly,” Formbi said, glancing at her with an approving look. “Minnisiat is the chief trade language among the various peoples of this area. Most Chiss know at least some of it, particularly those who live on border worlds like Crustai.”
“What’s he saying?” Luke asked.
Formbi pursed his lips. “ ‘Greetings to the noble and compassionate people of the Chiss Ascendancy,’ “ he said slowly. “ ‘I am Bearsh, first steward of the Geroon Remnant.’ “
From the podium, General Drask was speaking now. It seemed to be the same language, though his voice was considerably less melodic than the Geroon’s. “ ‘I am General Prard’ras’kleoni of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet,’ “ Formbi translated. “ ‘What is your business in Chiss territory?’ “
To Luke’s ears, Drask’s question hadn’t seemed particularly angry or threatening. The Geroon, though, apparently heard something different than he did. Bearsh’s voice abruptly took on what seemed to be an alarmed tone, a sense that Formbi’s translation merely confirmed. “ ‘We mean no affront. Please do not harm our vessel. We wish merely to honor those who died to free our people.’ “
Drask looked up from his podium, his eyes searching briefly before locating Formbi on the observation balcony. “Aristocra?” he called. “Are you familiar with the event he refers to?”
“I have no knowledge of any such event,” Formbi called back. “Ask him to explain.”
The general turned and began speaking again. “I thought you didn’t go out of your way to help people outside your territory,” Mara said.
“We don’t,” Formbi said. The Geroon spoke again, and Formbi’s glowing eyes narrowed as he listened. “I see,” he said. “Interesting. Listen: ‘We have heard you have located the bones of the Republic vessel known as Outbound Flight. The people who traveled in it sacrificed their lives that we might be freed from our enslavers.’ “
“Wait a minute,” Luke said, turning to Mara. “I thought you said Thrawn destroyed Outbound Flight.”
“That’s what Parck told me,” Mara confirmed. “Maybe he was wrong.”
“Or maybe this happened before Thrawn got to it?” Luke suggested.
Drask was speaking again. “General Drask is asking who their enslavers were,” Formbi said, a thoughtful tone in his voice. “I wonder. . .”
His voice trailed off. “You know something?” Mara prompted.
“I have a thought,” Formbi said. “Let’s first see what the Geroon says.”
Bearsh answered, stepping back from the holocam and waving his hands in a complicated pattern. “What’s that behind him?” Luke asked, frowning as he tried to see past the two alien faces that were now only partially filling the screen. The area behind them seemed to be a large open room, possibly even larger than the reception area he and Mara had come through earlier. The walls and ceiling were colored a wh
ite-textured blue, and he could just see the tops of some kind of open structures above the aliens’ heads.
And then, as he watched, two small figures moved into view, climbing hand over hand on the nearest structure. “What in the—?”
“It’s a playground,” Mara breathed. “It’s a children’s playground.”
“You’re right,” Luke said. One of the small Geroons reached the top of the structure he was climbing, pulling a red headband from around his ears as he did so and waving it in triumph. “Looks like a version of Hilltop Emperor.”
“Complete with flag and loud gloating,” Mara agreed. “What in the world is a playground doing aboard a starship?”
“The Vagaari,” Formbi murmured.
“What?” Luke asked, turning to him.
Formbi gestured to the display. “He has just confirmed my expectations,” the Chiss said darkly. “He says it was the Vagaari who enslaved them.”
“I take it that is a species you’ve seen before?” Mara asked.
“Not seen, but far too familiar with,” Formbi said. “They were a great race of nomadic conquerors and slavers who once flew freely through this region of space, taking and destroying at will, particularly among the smaller species and worlds.”
“Are they still around?” Luke asked.
“They and their deeds have not been seen for many years,” Formbi said. “Not since the battle where the Outbound Flight was destroyed, in fact.”
Luke and Mara exchanged startled looks. “They were at that battle?” Luke asked.
“And on whose side?” Mara added. “Outbound Flight’s, or the Chiss’s?”
“There was no ‘Chiss’ side of the battle, Jedi Skywalker,” Formbi countered, his red eyes flashing at her. “There was only Syndic Mitth’raw’nuruodo and his one very small picket force. They did not represent the Chiss Defense Fleet, or the Nine Ruling Families, or any other group of the Chiss people.”