by Timothy Zahn
This door, fortunately, opened without any difficulty at all. The stormtroopers were ready, opening fire the instant the sliding panel was clear of their muzzles. “Can you see anything?” Fel shouted to Drask over the BlasTechs’ stuttering screams.
“Vagaari,” Drask shouted back succinctly. Return fire was starting to come now, and Fel winced as burst after burst slammed into his men, leaving blackened marks on the clean white armor. The targets were clearly plentiful—Fel could see both stormtroopers rhythmically swinging their weapons back and forth—but at the same time the return fire seemed to be increasing rather than decreasing. However many troops Bearsh had brought along, it was starting to look like a large percentage of them were right here.
And even the legendary 501st had a limit to what it could handle.
It took only a few more seconds for Drask to come to the same conclusion. Again reaching past the stormtroopers, he punched the control. The door slid shut, the metal ringing with the impact of belated Vagaari fire. “We have done what we can to encourage their retreat,” he said, nudging Fel back toward the direction they’d come from. “It is time to make our own.”
“Right.” Fel turned around—
And froze. Moving stealthily through the passage toward them was a line of Vagaari warriors.
Apparently, the enemy hadn’t missed this bet after all.
CHAPTER 21
Gathering his feet beneath him, Luke ducked out of the doorway he’d been hiding in and sprinted ahead and down the corridor toward the next room in line. As he ran, a hail of blaster bolts scorched the air around him, scattering from his lightsaber blade. He made it to the doorway without getting hit and ducked inside the room.
It was another bunkroom, he saw, this one having been converted into a game area. In the back corner four young couples sat huddled together on the floor, their fear radiating toward him like a set of permlights. “It’s all right,” he assured them. “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.”
None of them replied. With a sigh, he leaned back out into the corridor for another cautious look. He had hoped this strange aversion to Jedi was confined to the original group of Outbound Flight survivors. But whatever the reason for their hatred, they’d clearly done a good job of passing it on to successive generations.
Unfortunately, if Jinzler was to be believed, it also meant this was yet another place where it might not be safe to leave Evlyn alone. It was starting to look like they were going to have to drag her all the way back to the turbolifts.
Behind him, Mara signaled that they were ready. Raising his lightsaber again, he stepped back into the corridor.
Again, the Vagaari opened fire. But this time, the shots were coming from a set of doorways farther down the corridor. He and Mara might not be taking down many of the enemy with this maneuver, Luke reflected as he took a step toward them, but they were definitely pushing them back.
There was the sound of running feet behind him, and Mara and Evlyn ducked into the room he’d just left. “Clear!” Mara called.
Stepping back again, Luke joined them. “Everyone still okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mara said. Evlyn looked a little winded, but seemed all right otherwise. “By the way, did you notice the Vagaari have their own jamming system up and running?”
“No, I hadn’t,” Luke said, frowning. “When did this happen?”
“Sometime in the past few minutes, I think,” Mara said. “I tried to call Fel while you were clearing this last section and could get only static.”
“Terrific,” Luke muttered.
“Not as terrific as they think,” Mara said, pulling one of the Old Republic comlinks out of her belt and handing it to him. “We can still keep in touch with Pressor and the Peacekeepers with these.”
“That’s something, anyway,” Luke agreed, sliding the comlink onto his belt beside his own. “What do you suppose they’re up to?”
“I don’t know,” Mara said. “It might not be anything more sinister than Bearsh deciding he was tired of coordinated attacks.”
“Then again, it might,” Luke pointed out grimly. “And Fel and the Five-Oh-First are back there all alone.”
He caught the flicker of concern from his wife. Apparently, she’d grown fond of the Imperials. “We’d better pick up our pace a little,” she said.
“Right,” Luke said, stepping back to the doorway. “Here goes. . .”
* * *
The Vagaari in the front of the line jerked back as a blaster bolt found a gap in his armor; he toppled over backward, his weapon blazing madly away as he fell. One of the shots sizzled past Fel’s head as he crouched down in the corridor, and he winced away as he slammed a fresh Tibanna gas cartridge into his blaster. One more Vagaari down; a whole line of the aliens standing ready to take his place. “Report!” he shouted as he took another waddling step backward, trying to keep his head clear of his allies’ fire.
“We’re. . . still good, sir,” Grappler called. But all the confidence in the galaxy couldn’t hide the fact that the stormtrooper was hurting, and hurting badly. Too many enemies, too much blasterfire, and even the tough composite that made up stormtrooper armor was starting to disintegrate under the assault. Cloud had stopped replying entirely to questions and orders, though he was still on his feet, still firing, and still retreating in an orderly fashion. Grappler, Fel suspected, wasn’t in much better shape.
Fel and Drask were still largely unscathed, crouched down as they were in order to give the stormtroopers a clear field of fire. But that couldn’t last, either, and unarmored as they were, a single well-placed shot could easily put either of them out of action.
It would have been nice if they could have used their grenades. The stormtroopers had a complete set of them, along with gas-powered launchers built into their BlasTechs to speed them on their way. The problem was that an explosion among pipes filled with coolant and other working fluids would probably kill the attackers, the defenders, and half of Outbound Flight’s remaining populace. The blasters were risky enough in here.
And on top of all that, the Vagaari had finally begun jamming their comlinks. The only mystery was why they hadn’t gotten around to it earlier.
So here they were, trapped in a narrow corridor with enemies on all sides and no way to call for assistance.
And as Fel opened fire on the next Vagaari in line, it occurred to him that he was probably going to die.
It was an odd sensation, that. The possibility of death was always present in combat, of course, and there had been many times when he’d gazed out his clawcraft’s canopy at the enemy ships rising to meet him and wondered if this would be the time. But in space combat there was always a chance of survival, even if your ship was blown completely out from under you.
Here, there would be no such chance. If the Vagaari blasters found him, he would be dead.
Dead.
“Where is this second access door?” Drask shouted into his ear.
Fel glanced around, getting his bearings. “Another two or three meters,” he said. “Same side of the corridor as the last one.”
“Understood.”
Fel resumed firing, wondering at the Chiss’s composure. The exit into the engine room that Fel had so confidently told him about was all the way at the other end of the corridor, too far away for them to reasonably expect to make before the Vagaari numerical superiority finally took them down.
But the access door into the turbolift lobby itself was only a few meters along the corridor. And so that was where Drask had ordered them to go.
The lobby would be full of Vagaari, of course. But anyplace they could reach would likely have that same problem. At least in the lobby they would have a little more room to maneuver.
And maybe the Jedi would come in time. Maybe.
* * *
The medic straightened up, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Ambassador, but that’s all I can do.”
Jinzler nodded silently, gazing down at the treatment tabl
e. Formbi was lying still, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. The medic had mostly gotten the bleeding stopped, though Jinzler could see traces still seeping out through the bandages. But the Chiss had already lost a lot of blood, and there was no way to replace it.
At least not now. Not until they could get back to the Chaf Envoy and its medical supplies, or else find a Chiss crewer with the same blood type.
Assuming any of the crewers aboard the Chaf Envoy were still alive.
“What about bacta?” he asked, looking up at the medic again. “Is there any available?”
The medic looked at him in astonishment. “You must be joking,” she said. “Most of the bacta we had was lost or corrupted in the battle and aftermath. We used up what was left probably twenty years ago.”
“The ambassador isn’t joking,” a dark voice came from the corner. “He’s most serious.”
Jinzler turned around. Councilor Keely was sitting there, holding a salve bandage to his elbow where he’d somehow scraped it raw during the battle in the meeting room. “Ambassador Jinzler is a friend of all,” Keely continued, staring at the deck. “Didn’t you know? He’s a friend to Blue Ones, to Jedi, even to murdering Vagaari. Yes, Ambassador Jinzler likes everyone.”
He lifted a baleful glare to Jinzler. “This Blue One is the real reason your Jedi friends are so anxious to get to the turbolifts, isn’t it?” he demanded, nodding at the table. “So that you can get him to his ship to be patched up. Once that happens, you’ll all just fly away and leave us here to die.”
“That’s not true,” Jinzler said, keeping his voice steady. He’d had doubts about Keely’s mental stability even before the Vagaari had unleashed their wolvkils on him and the rest of the Council. Now he was even less sure about it. “There are also people aboard the Chiss ship who can get rid of the line creepers the Vagaari are leaving behind. The faster we get them down here, the sooner we can restore your ship to full power.”
Keely snorted. “Oh, yes. It sounds so reasonable.” Abruptly, he stood up. “But then, your entire profession is based around your ability to lie to people, isn’t it?”
“Sit down, Keely.”
Jinzler looked over at the room’s waiting area, where Uliar and Tarkosa had been talking together in low tones. The conversation had ceased, and both men were gazing at Keely, their expressions unreadable. “Sit down,” Uliar repeated. “Better yet, go back to your rooms.”
“But he’s a liar, Chas,” Keely insisted. “By definition, that means he’s been lying to us.”
“Very possibly,” Uliar agreed coldly. “But you will still sit down.”
For a moment the two men locked gazes. Then, with a noisy huff, Keely dropped back into his chair. “Liar,” he muttered, turning his gaze back to the deck.
The medic looked back at Jinzler, and he thought he could detect a hint of fresh strain in her face. “I’m going to run a sample of his blood,” she told him. “It might be possible to synthesize at least some of the basic plasma for him. It wouldn’t be whole blood, but it would be better than nothing.”
“It would certainly help,” Jinzler acknowledged. “Thank you.”
The medic gave him a flicker of a smile and walked away. Feesa moved into the spot by the table where the woman had been standing, her face etched with worry as she gazed down at Formbi. “He’ll make it,” Jinzler assured her, knowing even as he said it that it was probably a lie. Maybe Keely was right about him. “He’s strong, and they’ve got the bleeding stopped. He’ll make it.”
“I know,” Feesa said, and Jinzler could hear in her voice that she knew she was speaking a lie, too. “It’s just. . .”
“He’s a relative of yours, isn’t he?” Jinzler asked, searching for something less painful to talk about. “You know, I don’t think I ever heard how Chiss families are set up. Especially those who make up the Ruling Families.”
She looked at him blankly. “The Nine Ruling Families are like any other families,” she said. “Blood and merit create siblings and cousins and ranking distants. Some are released, others are rematched, others are born to trial. The same as any other family.”
She lowered her eyes to Formbi again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.”
On the table, Formbi’s eyes fluttered partway open. “Feesa,” he murmured. “No more.”
“What do you mean?” Jinzler said, frowning. “No more what?”
Feesa turned her face away. “Nothing,” she said, her voice suddenly sounding oddly muffled.
The back of Jinzler’s neck began to tingle. “Feesa?” he prompted. “Feesa, what’s going on?”
“Peace, Ambassador,” Formbi murmured. “I will tell you. . . everything. . . later. But not. . . now.” His head turned slightly to the side.
Toward where Keely was still staring at the deck, muttering to himself.
Jinzler felt his breath catch in his throat, a part of that conversation behind their wolvkil barrier flashing suddenly to mind. You genuinely didn’t know who they were? Uliar had asked. Of course not, Jinzler had replied, angry and frightened and indignant. You think we would have let them aboard Outbound Flight if we had? Some of you might have, Uliar had countered. Possibly the heirs of those who tried to destroy Outbound Flight in the first place.
And then, suddenly, Feesa had broken in and changed the subject.
You really didn’t know who they were? You really didn’t know who they were? “Yes, Aristocra,” he said quietly, feeling cold all over. “Later will do fine.”
* * *
“There!” Drask’s voice shouted in Fel’s ear. “There!”
Fel glanced to his right in mild surprise. Preoccupied with defense, he hadn’t even noticed that they’d reached the access door. He fired two more quick shots down the service corridor, then risked another sideways glance to locate the release control. There it was, half a meter above his head. “Grappler!” he shouted. “Stun grenade!”
“Shak,” the stormtrooper muttered back, his voice strained.
The Eickarie word for ready, Fel recalled uneasily. Apparently, Grappler was too far gone to even be able to translate into Basic. Fel could only hope he was alert enough to remember to arm the stun grenade before he threw it. “Ready—” He lunged up and slapped the release “—go!”
The door creaked slightly as it began to slide open. Fel got a glimpse through the opening of armored Vagaari turning their weapons toward the noise; and then Grappler lobbed the grenade through the opening. Fel hit the release again, reversing the door’s direction. There were sounds of sudden consternation outside as the panel slid closed—
And then the whole service corridor bulkhead seemed to bow inward toward them as the grenade went off.
“Now!” Fel shouted, hitting the release again as he switched his blaster to rapid fire and emptied it into the Vagaari at the other end of the corridor. The door slid open again, all the way this time, and he dived sideways through it.
He landed on the deck of the turbolift lobby between two groggy Vagaari who lay twitching where the force of the concussion had thrown them. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the protest of cramping leg muscles, he turned and helped pull Drask through the opening. “What was that?” the Chiss asked, taking a stumbling step over the nearest Vagaari.
“Concussion grenade,” Fel said, looking around as he slid his last Tibanna cartridge into his blaster. “Knocks everyone flat for a couple of minutes.”
“And then allows them to awaken?” Drask demanded as Grappler staggered through the opening. Fel grabbed the stormtrooper’s arm to steady him, grimacing at the dozens of pits and scorch marks discoloring his armor. “What sort of weapon is that for a warrior?”
“The sort a warrior uses when he doesn’t know whether or not the enemy has hostages,” Fel snapped. Cloud seemed to be having trouble with the door; reaching in, Fel grabbed his arm and pulled him bodily through. “Come on, we need to get out of here.”
But it was too lat
e. Even as he turned Cloud toward the turbolift doors and the corridor leading out of the lobby, he saw that the Vagaari in that direction were starting to stagger to their feet, their weapons tracking unsteadily toward the intruders. At the speed Cloud and Grappler were probably capable of, the enemy would be back to full strength long before they could run that gauntlet. The same went for the corridor leading aft and the cross-corridor leading portside.
Which basically left only the option of standing here and taking out as many Vagaari as they could before they were killed.
“Listen!” Drask murmured urgently. “I hear a turbolift car approaching.”
Fel grimaced as he caught the telltale sound, too. Approaching full of enemies, no doubt, but he didn’t have anything better to offer. If they could clear the car before those inside knew what was happening, they would at least have bought themselves a little cover.
In fact, if the Vagaari in the lobby stayed groggy long enough, they might even have a chance of using the car to get away. “Go,” he told Drask, giving a tug on Cloud’s arm to get him moving.
They picked their way through the maze of stunned Vagaari, the stormtroopers stumbling drunkenly, Fel doing his best to help and hurry them along. Drask, unencumbered with injured comrades, made the trip considerably faster and was standing ready at the door when it slid open. He swung around the edge to lean into the car, his charric spitting blue fire as he laid down a killing pattern.
The pattern broke off almost before it started. “Empty,” he called, swinging back around again to cover the Vagaari still getting to their feet. A shot blistered past his head; shifting his aim, he fired once to silence the gunner. “Hurry!”
The Chiss had shot three more Vagaari, and the room was starting to fill with blaster bolts by the time Fel and the stormtroopers stumbled through the open door. “We’re in,” Fel shouted as he guided his charges to the rear of the car. The enemy fire was still highly random, but the Vagaari would be getting both their balance and their aim back any minute. “Hit the control—there.”