by Timothy Zahn
Mara straightened from her combat stance, breathing hard as she studied the fallen soldiers, stretching out with the Force for signs of any surprises still lurking nearby. But Luke had done what was necessary with his usual efficiency.
It was only then that she saw that Bearsh wasn’t among the fallen.
“Where did he go?” she demanded, taking another look.
“Who?” Luke asked, looking up from the wolvkil he had knelt to examine.
“Bearsh,” Mara said. “He’s gone.” She turned to look at Pressor. “Guardian?”
Pressor didn’t answer. He was staring at the crumpled Vagaari bodies, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. “Pressor?” Mara tried again.
With an effort, he raised his eyes to her. “What?”
“Bearsh,” Mara repeated, trying to stifle her impatience. After fifty years without Jedi, these people had apparently forgotten what they were capable of.
“Right,” Pressor said, visibly pulling himself together. “He, uh, he took off right after”—he shot Luke a furtive glance—”after you put the animals to sleep. Or whatever you did to them. The rest cranked up their rate of fire, and he took off back down the corridor.”
“We’d better get after him,” Mara said grimly. “Luke?”
“Go ahead,” he told her, moving to the next wolvkil. “I want to make sure they won’t wake up until we’re ready to deal with them. Go on—I’ll catch up.”
“Okay,” Mara said, starting down the corridor. “Come on, Pressor—you have to show me where this meeting room is,” she added, pulling out her comlink and flicking it on. “Fel, stay on your toes,” she called. “It looks like we’ve got more Vagaari to deal with than we were expecting.”
There was no answer. “Fel?” she tried again.
Still nothing. “I would say,” Pressor said quietly, “that they’ve probably already figured that out.”
CHAPTER 20
The aft sections of D-6 weren’t as well maintained as the corridor between the nursery and the Jedi Quarantine had been. But the aft turbolift tubes weren’t very far, the area was passable enough, and the 501st was what the training manuals would have called “inspired.” They made it to the turbolift lobby without further incident, and in probably record time.
Fel had keyed the call button, and they were waiting for the car to arrive, when they got their first hint of imminent trouble.
“It doesn’t sound right, Commander,” Grappler insisted, the side of his helmet pressed against the turbolift door. “It sounds. . . it just sounds wrong.”
“Wrong how?” Fel demanded impatiently. He was all for caution, but at the same time he didn’t want to start jumping at moss creakings, either. Not with Formbi and the others in danger up there. “Does it sound old, rusty, cranky—what?”
“It’s too heavy,” Watchman decided suddenly, his helmet pressed to the door alongside Grappler’s. “There’s too much weight there for an empty car.”
Fel shot a glance at Drask. “Could it be a problem with the repulsorlift generators?”
“No,” Watchman said. “There’s some of that, too, but not enough. The car is definitely loaded.”
“And we must assume it is loaded with enemies,” Drask said. “I suggest, Commander, that we take cover.”
Fel grimaced. To run and hide felt cowardly somehow, especially since he still wasn’t convinced there was anything but an empty turbolift car on the way. Still, it wouldn’t do Jinzler and Formbi any good if he and the 501st got themselves slaughtered like amateurs. And since it was Drask who had suggested it and not he himself, he wouldn’t have to put up with any of the general’s criticism later. “Defensive positions,” he ordered. Glancing around, he located a likely doorway a few meters back down the corridor and headed to it.
The room appeared to be a small duty galley for the engine crews, with dust and broken serving crockery everywhere. Settling himself into a position half straddling the doorway where he could see without exposing more of himself than necessary, he braced his blaster hand against the door controls and waited. The turbolift’s hum changed subtly as the car settled into position. . .
And with a brilliant flash of white, the door exploded outward.
Reflexively, Fel ducked back as shrapnel and pieces of burning plastic clattered down the corridor. Apparently, Watchman and Grappler had been right. The sound of the explosion faded away, and he swung his eye and blaster back around the jamb.
Two armored figures charged out through the ragged opening, firing red blaster bolts in a scatter pattern as they came.
Fel inhaled sharply. After Jinzler’s warning he had naturally expected the intruders to be some of Bearsh’s disguised Vagaari cronies. But he’d expected the short robe-and-dead-animal-clothed beings they’d gotten used to seeing aboard the Chaf Envoy, not a fully equipped war party. Another pair of Vagaari charged out on the heels of the first two, four snarling and definitely not dead wolvkils emerging with them.
So far, the Imperials hadn’t returned fire. It was, Fel decided, about time to change that. Wincing back slightly as one of the random shots sizzled off the bulkhead near him, he filled his lungs. “Halt!” he bellowed.
He hadn’t expected any response except possibly better-directed enemy fire, and he wasn’t disappointed. All four enemy helmets swung toward the sound of his voice, all four weapons still spitting fire as they tracked him. Coolly, centering his muzzle on the nearest Vagaari’s chest, Fel squeezed the firing stud.
The alien staggered back as the blaster bolt blew a cloud of dust and partially vaporized armor from his chestplate. A fraction of a second later Fel had to dodge back around the door controls again as a hail of fire scorched the air where he’d been standing. He ducked down lower and swung his arm around the corner to fire a couple of blind shots in their direction. Out in the corridor, the sounds of the Vagaari weapons had been joined by the BlasTechs’ distinctive nasal stutter, and a different sound he assumed was Drask’s charric. Still firing, he eased an eye cautiously around the doorway to refine his aim—
Just in time to see one of the wolvkils leaping directly for him.
He dodged backward into the galley. The wolvkil’s charge overshot the doorway, and Fel got a clean shot into the animal’s flank as it passed.
But the wolvkil merely hit the deck and skidded to a stop, its claws scrabbling for purchase. Without any sign that it had just taken what should have been a killing shot, it turned back toward him. With a roar, it opened its jaws and leapt.
Fel backed up, firing another pair of ineffective shots into the wolvkil’s head and shoulders, then dodged to his right, trying to avoid the animal’s charge. But the wolvkil wasn’t going to be taken in by the same maneuver twice. It hit the ground and instantly made a right-angle turn. Before Fel could do more than fire one last time, it was on him.
More by luck than by skill he managed to deflect the clawed forelegs from his face as he dropped his blaster and thrust his arms forward in a desperate attempt to grab the wolvkil’s neck before its teeth could reach him. The animal twisted its head to the side in midair, its jaws clamping hard around Fel’s right forearm.
Fel gasped as a stab of pain shocked through him. The animal’s momentum shoved him backward, knocking him off his balance and toppling them both toward the deck. His flailing left hand caught a handful of neck fur; tugging hard as he twisted the rest of his body, he managed to turn the animal far enough that they hit the deck side by side instead of with the wolvkil landing on top of him.
Another thud of pain shot through Fel’s side from the impact, a jolt punctuated by several sharper, more localized jabs from the bits of broken servingware beneath them. Again, the wolvkil didn’t even seem to notice.
Fel tightened his grip on the animal’s fur, trying desperately to come up with a plan. His knees and feet were too hemmed in by the wolvkil’s body for him to try kicking it, even if he’d had some idea where its vulnerable areas were. His right arm was trapped and useless
, and his left hand was effectively immobilized by the need to keep holding on to the wolvkil’s neck.
But the animal’s eyes were within reach. Maybe.
Fel stared at the dark eyes, trying to push back the agony long enough to think. Letting go of the wolvkil’s neck would be dangerous, possibly even fatal. But it seemed to be the only chance he had. If he didn’t do something fast, he could lose his right arm entirely, and with only one functioning arm the end would come very quickly. Bracing himself, mentally crossing his fingers, he let go with his left hand and grabbed for the wolvkil’s eyes.
That had apparently been precisely the move the animal had been waiting for. With a triumphant growl, it instantly let loose of Fel’s right arm; with its head and neck free, it arched its back, its bloody jaws aiming straight at Fel’s throat. Fel had just enough time to jerk back, knowing that he’d gambled and lost—
As a white armored hand abruptly appeared in front of the darting jaws.
The wolvkil snarled as it clamped down on rigid plastoid-alloy composite instead of a soft human neck. The snarl quickly turned into a startled yip as it was hauled straight off the deck by its jaws and the scruff of its neck. “Ready?” the stormtrooper called, holding the wiggling animal at arm’s length.
“Ready,” another voice called back. With a grunt, the first stormtrooper heaved the animal over his head toward the far corner of the room. There was a sputter of multiple blasterfire, and then silence.
“Nice job,” Fel said, breathing hard as he started to get shakily to his feet. The stormtrooper still standing over him—Shadow, he was able to identify him now—grabbed his uninjured arm and helped him the rest of the way up. “Perfect timing and everything. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, sir,” Shadow said. “How bad is it?”
“I’ll live,” Fel assured him, studying his arm. It looked terrible, he had to admit, but it didn’t feel too bad. Though that could be the effect of the adrenaline still filling his bloodstream. It would probably hurt a lot more in a minute or two. “What happened out there?”
“We got them all,” Cloud said, stepping to his side with a bandage and synthflesh tube from his medpac. “Seems their armor wasn’t designed with BlasTechs in mind.”
“What about General Drask?” Fel asked, trying to look past the two stormtroopers to the door.
“I am unhurt,” Drask said, moving into view around Cloud. “I am sorry your rescue was delayed.”
“As long as it got here eventually,” Fel said, wincing as Shadow tore back his sleeve. “I shot it a couple of times, but it didn’t seem to do any good. Look, Cloud, just stop the bleeding and kill the pain, all right? As long as I can use it, everything else can wait until later. So where are the vital spots on these things, anyway?”
“I’m not sure there are any vital spots,” Watchman said as Cloud put away the synthflesh tube and concentrated on the bandage. “They look like normal animals, but their internal structure seems to be highly decentralized, with their nervous systems and vital organs distributed throughout their bodies. You have to basically turn the whole animal into chopped meat to stop it.”
“I’ll remember that,” Fel said, eyeing the handful of fresh scorch marks on Watchman’s armor. “Anyone hurt?”
“A few nicks,” Watchman said, displaying a section of his left forearm where a tiny hole had been punched completely through. “They can wait until we get back to the ship.”
Fel looked at Drask. “Assuming there’s still a ship to go back to.”
“There will be,” Drask assured him darkly. “There are still Chiss warriors aboard the vessel. It, and they, will be waiting when we return.”
“I hope you’re right,” Fel said. “Okay, that’s good enough,” he added as Cloud finished the first layer of bandage and started in on a second. “Is that turbolift car still operational, or did that little entrance of theirs wreck it?”
“It looked all right,” Watchman said. “Grappler’s doing a more complete check on it now.”
“Oh, and the Jedi tried to reach us during the battle,” Shadow added.
Fel hadn’t even heard the call signal from his comlink. “What did they want?”
“They were warning us there were more Vagaari than we might expect,” Watchman said.
“I think we got the message,” Fel said, starting for the door. “Did anyone answer them?”
“I don’t believe so,” Watchman said. “I think we were all too busy at the time.”
“Understandable,” Fel said, retrieving his blaster from the deck where he’d dropped it. “We’ll check in with them on the way up.”
Grappler was waiting by the shattered turbolift door, his helmet swiveling back and forth as he kept watch along the various corridors for any other surprises the Vagaari might decide to throw at them. “The turbolift is operational,” he confirmed.
“Good,” Fel said, leading the way inside. “Let’s go.”
“What then is the plan?” Drask asked as the car began its slightly tentative rise toward D-5.
Fel braced himself. This went against everything he’d been taught, and was going to be embarrassing besides. But he’d already concluded it was the only way. “The plan, General Drask,” he said quietly, “is that I’m requesting you to take command of the Five-Oh-First for the duration of this battle.”
It was, he reflected, possibly the most surprised he’d ever seen Drask get. “You are asking. . . command?”
“As you yourself pointed out, you’re a ground officer,” Fel reminded him evenly. “I’m a flight officer. This is your area of expertise, not mine.”
“Yet they are your command,” Drask said. “Do you so easily surrender them to another?”
“Not easily at all,” Fel admitted. “But it would be the height of arrogance and pride to risk their lives, not to mention the lives of our companions, by insisting on amateur leadership when a professional is standing by. Don’t you agree?”
For a moment Drask just gazed at him, his glowing red eyes narrowed. Then, to Fel’s surprise, the general actually smiled. The first genuine smile, to the best of Fel’s recollection, that any of the Chiss had given any of the Imperials since their arrival aboard the Chaf Envoy. “Well and artfully spoken, Commander Fel,” Drask said. “I hereby accept command of this unit.”
He lifted a finger. “But,” he added, “whereas I know ground combat, you are far more versed in the design and layout of the particular battleground we find ourselves in. It will therefore be a joint command.”
Fel inclined his head. In practice, he knew, joint commands were usually a disaster, spawning conflicting orders, dueling egos, and general chaos. But in this case, he also knew that none of those problems was going to arise. He would be content to feed Drask tactical data and let the general direct the action.
Drask obviously knew that, too. Which meant that the offer of joint command had been made solely as a face-saving gesture for Fel himself, to protect his position and his status among his men.
There were some aspects of the Chiss warrior philosophy that still drove Fel crazy. But clearly, there were other aspects he could learn to live with. “Very well, General,” he said. “I accept.”
“Good.” Drask’s eyes glittered as he lifted his charric. “Then let us show the Vagaari what it means to wage war on the Chiss Ascendancy and the Empire of the Hand.”
Fel smiled, looking at his stormtroopers. “Yes,” he said softly. “Let’s.”
* * *
They attacked Mara together, all three wolvkils charging across the council meeting room like furry proton torpedoes. They leapt to the attack, their primary target clearly the hands holding the strange blue-bladed weapon.
Dodging coolly to the side, she cut them down with three quick slashes.
Across the room, Jinzler and the others in the makeshift refuge were already pushing aside the chairs that had made up the roof. “Hurry, please,” Feesa pleaded, pushing away one of the chairs and then bendin
g back down to take Formbi’s arm. “Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano is badly hurt.”
Mara closed down her lightsaber and hurried over, throwing a quick look at the three Chiss warriors and two young men sprawled on the floor as she passed them. Pressor was already kneeling beside one of the men, but it was clear to her that all five of them were beyond help.
They had pushed over the table and Feesa was helping a shaky and blood-soaked Formbi out when Mara arrived. “Everyone else all right?” she said, glancing around for other signs of injury as she refastened her lightsaber to her belt.
“No one else is hurt,” Feesa confirmed, apparently ignoring the line of blood across her own shoulder. “Please, help him.”
“Just relax,” Mara soothed her, taking a moment to study the three old men who had left the refuge and gathered together against the back wall, as if trying to stay as far away from her as they could. Probably some of the original survivors of the Outbound Flight’s destruction, she decided.
“Luke? Mara?”
She lifted Formbi’s arm with one hand for a closer look as she pulled out her comlink with the other. “Right here, Fel. You all right?”
“We had a brief tussle with some of the Vagaari and their furry little pets,” Fel said. “Watch out for those wolvkils—they’re extremely hard to kill.”
“Not if you have a lightsaber,” Mara told him.
“I’ll make a note to start issuing them to the troops,” Fel said dryly. “Anyway, we’re clear, and heading to D-Five in one of the aft turbolifts. Any new instructions?”
“For the moment, just take out any Vagaari you run into,” Mara told him. “We still don’t know how many there are, though, so make sure you don’t get trapped in an attrition zone. And if you run into any colonists, try to move them somewhere safe.”
“Copy. We’re on our way.”
“We’ll be pushing our way back toward you soon,” Mara said. “Luke?”
“Right here,” his voice came back. “I’ve put all the wolvkils to sleep, and I’m on my way. What’s your situation?”