by Timothy Zahn
There was, of course, no indication as to who had actually taken the weapon or fired the shot.
For the next two days Mara did some quiet poking around on her own, examining the scene of the attack, learning everything she could about charrics and their operation, and holding casual conversations with everyone who would talk to her.
The interviews were, unfortunately, less than illuminating. Most of the crewers had stopped being neutral toward her and her questions and gave halfhearted answers or none at all. The non-Chiss passengers were friendlier but even less helpful. Most had been alone at the time of the shooting, with no way of corroborating their stories. Only the stormtroopers claimed to have been together in Fel’s ship, and even there careful questioning established that they weren’t in sight of each other during much of the critical period.
She also spoke twice with Estosh, trying to draw out a more complete description of the incident. But he, too, was of little help. He’d been facing away from the shooter, his thoughts on other matters, and the shock and pain of the injury itself seemed to have thrown an extra layer of haze over his memories. About the only positive thing that came out of those discussions was the fact that he was definitely on the path to recovery.
It was frustrating to hit so many blind alleys. And yet, paradoxically, she found the process itself strangely exhilarating. In many ways this kind of investigation was exactly what she’d been trained for, back when Palpatine had been preparing her to be his silent agent. Certainly it had been one of the most stimulating aspects of her service to him.
Only now it was even better. Here, there was none of the brooding air of hopelessness that had seemed to be the normal state of affairs under Palpatine’s Empire, a hopelessness that had hung like a black cloud over every job and every mission. No one aboard Chaf Envoy cringed as she approached, hating and fearing her, or else welcomed her with the false courtesy of someone hoping to twist her authority to his own private ends.
True, most of the Chiss crewers still seemed to heartily dislike the Imperials. But it was a contemptuous dislike, born of a sense of superiority of culture and purpose, not the terrified, hopeless hatred those under the Empire’s heel had displayed toward their masters. Fel, in response, walked about with his head held high, not with the arrogance of a Grand Moff or Imperial general, but with a sense of pride about who he was and what he and the Empire of the Hand had accomplished. It was the same kind of pride that she’d often seen in Han or Leia, or in the pilots of Rogue Squadron, or even in Luke himself.
And as she observed and analyzed it all, she couldn’t help but compare it to the very different flavor of life she’d left behind in the New Republic. To the squabbling in the Senate that mirrored the hundreds of tensions and clashes between neighboring star systems, or to the factions and power centers maneuvering for position and supremacy on Coruscant that constantly siphoned off energy and resources that could be far better spent in other ways.
Palpatine had been hateful, vicious, and destructive, especially toward the hundreds of alien species under his domination. But she had to admit that, at least on a purely practical level, the efficiency and order of his Empire had been a vast improvement over the bloated bureaucracy and bribe-driven operation of the Old Republic that had preceded it.
What would that Empire have been like, she couldn’t help wondering, if people like Parck and Fel had been in command instead of Palpatine? What could that efficiency and order have accomplished, for that matter, in the hands of someone like Thrawn, himself a nonhuman?
And more than once, late at night as she lay in bed beside Luke, she found herself wondering what it would have been like to serve an empire like that.
What it would be like to serve an empire like that.
It was the late part of ship’s night after one of those speculative moments that the room’s comm panel buzzed them abruptly awake. Twitching away from her, Luke rolled over to key it on. “Yes?” he called.
“This is Aristocra Formbi,” the voice noted. “You and Jedi Skywalker may wish to wake and get yourselves dressed.”
“What’s wrong?” Mara called.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Formbi said. “We’ve arrived.”
* * *
“There,” Formbi said, pointing at the main command center Display. “There, just to the right of center. Do you see it?”
“Yes,” Luke said, peering at the image. There was a ship there, all right, its once shiny hull blackened and crackled with multiple laser and missile impacts. It lay poised just over the crest of a steep hill on the planetoid’s surface, as if it had been somehow frozen in the act of toppling over the edge.
And as the Chaf Envoy continued its inward spiral, he saw how it was the ship managed to stay suspended in midair. From points near the bow and the stern slender tubes could be seen extending from the underside of the hull, stretching downward at a shallow angle and connecting with another vessel mostly buried in the rubble at the foot of the hill. Midway along each of the tubes, he noticed, another pair of curved tubes veered off, stretching down and inward and coming together as they disappeared into the rocky hillside.
“Is that your Outbound Flight?” Formbi asked quietly, Luke nodded. The ship was a Dreadnaught, all right: six hundred meters long, armed with an awesome array of turbolasers and other weapons, capable of carrying and supporting nearly twenty thousand crewers and passengers.
Or it had been once. Not anymore. Gazing at the battered hull, he felt a stirring of distant pain for those who had been aboard when this had happened. “I think so,” he told Formbi. “It fits the description, anyway.”
“Engines look mostly intact,” Mara commented. Her voice was calm, almost clinical, but Luke could feel the pain and turmoil behind the words. “The turbolaser blisters and shield bays were pretty well pounded, but the rest doesn’t seem too bad. With some work, it might actually be able to fly again.”
“The vessel on the surface appears capable of sustaining life,” Formbi agreed. “The sensors indicate it has air and heat, and is using low levels of power. The other vessel, the one half visible at the foot of the hill, exhibits none of those characteristics.”
“No surprise there,” Luke murmured. “You can see a dozen places where the connecting tubes between it and the upper ship have been blasted open.”
“What about the rest of it?” Jinzler asked. “I understood Outbound Flight was composed of six Dreadnaughts.”
“The rest must be underground,” Fel said. “What’s left of them, anyway.”
“Underground?” Bearsh echoed, sounding awed. “This vessel can even travel underground?”
“No, of course not,” Formbi said. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say the rest of it is beneath the—” He hissed thoughtfully. “I don’t know the right word. The loose, fine stone in the valley between the hills.”
“The scree?” Luke suggested. “Moraine?”
“Scree, I think,” Formbi said slowly. “At any rate, our instruments indicate the loose stone is very deep in that place and that there is definitely metal beneath it.”
“Do you have any idea what shape it’s in?” Jinzler asked. “The parts that are underground, I mean.”
“Our instruments cannot say,” Formbi said. “We will have to wait until we are aboard to determine that.”
“Assuming the connecting tubes under the rock are in better shape than those others,” Luke pointed out. “If they are, we may be able to follow them around the circle. If not, we’ll have to dig.”
“Assuming enough of the circle of ships is there to make it worth the effort,” Fel said.
“How did it get here in the first place, though?” Mara asked. “That’s what I want to know.”
“That remains a mystery,” Formbi conceded. “Obviously, Thrawn must have had it towed here for future examination. Yet there is no evidence he or anyone else ever returned for any such study.”
“I was actually thinking more about the mechanics of
the operation,” Mara said. “You said he was commanding a small picket force at the time. Did every junior Chiss officer know how to get in and out of the Redoubt cluster?”
“Absolutely not,” Formbi said. “He would have had to search deep into high-ranking information archives to have gained such information.”
“That certainly sounds like Thrawn,” Fel commented. “Information was his passion.”
“Yes,” Mara said grimly. “And killing was his business.”
A quiet shiver ran up Luke’s back. According to Admiral Parck, there had been fifty thousand people aboard those six Dreadnaughts when Outbound Flight was destroyed.
Would the bodies still be aboard, lying where they’d fallen? Certainly he’d seen dead bodies before, but most of those had been the remains of Rebel and Imperial soldiers killed in battle. Here most of the deaths would have been civilians, possibly including children.
With an effort, he shook away the thought. Whatever was there, he would simply have to deal with it. “So what’s the plan?” he asked.
“The planetoid is too small to hold significant atmosphere,” Formbi said, nodding toward the display. “We will therefore land the Chaf Envoy on top of the hill beside the upper vessel and run a transfer tunnel to the portside docking port near the aft end. Then all those who will be going aboard will do so.”
He gazed at the display, where the Dreadnaught was growing steadily larger as the Chiss ship closed the gap. “Once we’re aboard, there will be a short ceremony in which I will recount the Chiss part in the vessel’s destruction and express the depth of our regret,” he went on. “I will then ask for forgiveness on behalf of the Nine Ruling Families and the Chiss Ascendancy, and formally return the vessel’s remains to Ambassador Jinzler, representing the New Republic, and Master Skywalker and Jedi Jade Skywalker, representing the Jedi Order.”
“And us?” Bearsh asked anxiously. “Will there be a place in the ceremony for the Geroon people to express our gratitude?”
“Whether or not you are permitted to speak will be a decision for Ambassador Jinzler,” Formbi said gravely.
“Of course you may,” Jinzler assured the Geroon, smiling encouragingly at him. “As will you, Commander Fel,” he added, nodding to Fel. “Though I’m still not certain what exactly your interest is in Outbound Flight.”
“Remembrances come in all sizes and shapes,” Fel said obliquely.
“As do acts of repentance and atonement for past failures. Regardless, we’ll be honored to participate in the ceremony.”
“Then I suggest all return to your quarters or vessels and prepare,” Formbi said. “In one hour, we shall begin.”
* * *
Landing the Chaf Envoy beside the exposed Dreadnaught was a straightforward enough operation, though there had been some concern that the loose rock wouldn’t adequately support its weight, especially given the possibility that a structurally damaged vessel might be buried beneath it. Fortunately, everything seemed solid enough. Setting up the connecting tunnel was handled with equal efficiency.
At that point, they ran into an unexpected problem. The docking bay hatchway Drask had selected, which had looked completely functional, turned out to be warped just enough to be impossible to open, and the Chiss ended up having to use cutting torches to carve out an access.
It was a slow process. Even the relatively thin hatchway of an Old Republic warship was incredibly tough, and the need to maintain a margin of safety in the enclosed area limited how much power the Chiss could run to their torches. More than once as he watched them work, Luke considered going to Formbi and offering to do the job with his lightsaber instead. It would be easier and cleaner and a lot faster.
But each time he suppressed the impulse. The Aristocra’s midnight discussion about the casual waving of alien weapons was still fresh in his mind, and he’d already learned enough about Chiss pride to know that Formbi and the others would probably rather do it their way than accept his help. Particularly when that help wasn’t really necessary.
And so the company waited as the crewers finished the job. Once they’d broken through the hatchway there was another short delay as the ship’s medic tested the atmosphere, confirming that none of the microorganisms, trace gases, or suspended particulates present would be dangerous to Chiss or human. With only a few days’ worth of data on Geroon biochemistry he was less certain as to whether there would be any adverse effects on them, and there was some talk of rigging protective suits for the four who would be coming aboard.
But Bearsh declined the offer. The proper ritual clothing would be impossible to wear inside such suits, he stated, and assured Formbi that he and his people were willing to take whatever risks were necessary.
With all the delays, it was actually closer to three hours before the party was finally ready to go.
A strange-looking party they were, too, Luke reflected as they lined up on the Chiss side of the transfer tunnel. Drask and Formbi were dressed in the same stately outfits they’d worn at the first night’s reception dinner, while Feesa and a black-uniformed Chiss warrior carrying an elaborate banner on a pole wore much simpler and more functional clothing. Fel was back in his dress uniform, and Luke would swear that the four stormtroopers had put extra effort into making sure their armor was gleaming. Jinzler had discarded his earlier layered robe-tunic in favor of something simpler and less constrictive, and Luke found himself wondering if the older man was expecting dirt and close quarters aboard the Dreadnaught or whether he was just tiring of his ambassadorial play-acting.
Each of the four Geroons who would be attending wore one of the blue-and-gold-collared wolvkil bodies over the shoulders of his thick brown robe, making an odd contrast to Estosh and the bandages he was wearing on his shoulder. The young Geroon had argued at length with Bearsh in their melodic language about going along, and was clearly still not happy that he was merely there to see the others off. He stood off to one side, nursing his shoulder and looking even more lost and pathetic than usual.
Luke was back in his dark jumpsuit and duster, but Mara had passed up her formal gown in favor of a jumpsuit similar to Luke’s that she could move more freely in if necessary. Still, her natural poise and elegance made him feel as if she were far better dressed than he was. “Next trip,” Luke murmured to her as the Chiss standard-bearer led the way into the tunnel, “remind me to pack a couple of formal outfits.”
“I’ve always said you and Han are the scruffiest heroes I’ve ever met,” she murmured back.
He looked sideways at her. The comment was typical Mara—that sarcastic manner that had proved so useful in distracting and irritating opponents in the past.
But this time he could tell that the words were pure reflex. There was something going on behind her eyes, some strange concentration.
Shifting his eyes back forward, Luke stretched out to the Force. If something was bothering Mara, he’d better get up to speed, too.
They emerged from the tunnel into an entryway and storage area that was probably half again the size of even the extravagant equivalents aboard the Chaf Envoy. A few boxes were still stacked along the bulkheads, their markings somewhat faded with age, but most of the room was empty. Everything seemed to be coated with a thin layer of dust. “Amazingly clean,” Jinzler commented, looking around as the group gathered in the center of the room. His voice echoed strangely from the bare metal walls. “Shouldn’t there be more dust?”
“Must be some housekeeping droids still functioning,” Fel said. “Or at least there were. Repair droids, too—see where they’ve patched the cracks in the hull?”
“These machines can still function after all these years?” Bearsh asked in wonderment. “With no one to supervise or repair them?”
“Everything aboard Outbound Flight was well automated,” Fel said. “It was all internal rather than being linked to a lot of other ships. Otherwise they would have needed probably sixteen thousand people on each Dreadnaught just to crew it.”
&n
bsp; “So few?” Bearsh asked, looking around. “Our own vessel is less than half this size, yet it carries more than sixty thousand Geroons.”
“Sure, but this wasn’t just a colony ship with everyone packed tightly inside,” Fel pointed out. “The Dreadnaughts were warships, the biggest the Old Republic had before the Clone Wars, with weaponry and equipment—”
Formbi cleared his throat. Fel took the hint and subsided.
“On behalf of the Nine Ruling Families of the Chiss Ascendancy, I welcome you all to this solemn and sorrowful occasion,” the Aristocra began, his voice deep and resonant. “We stand today on the deck of an ancient vessel that lies here as a symbol of human courage and Chiss failing. . .”
Luke let his eyes drift around the group as Formbi continued his speech. Off to the side, he noticed, Bearsh was murmuring into a bulky comlink in the melodic Geroon language. Probably giving Estosh a running commentary on the ceremony, he decided, and found himself wondering why the young Geroon had been left aboard the Chaf Envoy in the first place. Surely this short a trip wouldn’t have strained his injuries that much. About the only thing he could come up with was the fact that the positioning of Estosh’s injuries precluded his wearing one of the ceremonial wolvkils.
Personally, Luke considered that a rather ridiculous reason to leave him behind. But he’d been with the New Republic long enough to know that not every aspect of an alien culture had to make sense to him. It was enough that such rules and customs were important to the people who lived under them, and that as such they were worthy of his respect if not necessarily his approval.
And then, without warning, something touched Luke’s mind. The last sensation he would ever have expected.
He twisted his head to look at Mara. One glance at her widened eyes was all he needed to show she’d caught it, too. “Luke—?” she whispered tightly.
“What is it?” Formbi demanded, cutting off his speech in midsentence. “What’s happened?”
Luke took a deep breath. “It’s Outbound Flight,” he said, stretching out harder to the Force. No mistake. They were there: minds—human minds, not Chiss—somewhere deep beneath them. A lot of them. “We’re not alone, Aristocra Formbi. There are survivors aboard.”