Survivor's Quest

by Timothy Zahn

  "Absolutely not," Mara said. "We'll handle that. You just stay in the background and keep quiet."

  Fel smiled slightly. "As you wish," he said, getting to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, then, I'll return to our transport and prepare for dinner."

  "We'll see you there," Luke said.

  "Good talking with you." Fel crossed to the door, opened it, and left.

  "Great," Mara growled. "Just what we needed. Our own private entourage."

  "Oh, I don't know," Luke said soothingly. "It's no worse than a group of Noghri following us around."

  "Of course it's worse," Mara retorted. "Noghri at least know how to be invisible. You ever see a stormtrooper who wasn't as obvious as a Wookiee at a formal dinner?"

  "Well, they're here, and we might as well get used to it," Luke said. "Now, what about this cable?"

  "It was deliberately dropped," Mara said, reluctantly changing gears. She wasn't really finished ranting about Fel yet, but she was practical enough to realize there were higher-priority matters that needed to be dealt with. "There was also a hole bored in the ceiling where the spring clip would have come through to hold the cable."

  "So it could have been handled by remote control?"

  "Easily," Mara said. "Which means Drask himself might have been the one to trigger it."

  "Or Feesa," Luke pointed out. "She was in the best position to handle the timing."

  "I thought she was Formbi's assistant, though," Mara pointed out. "Formbi's the one who wants us aboard."

  "Does he?" Luke asked. "Or is he under orders from above that he himself doesn't necessarily agree with?"

  "Point," Mara conceded, frowning as she thought back to their encounters with the Aristocra. "I don't know, though. He seemed genuinely pleased to have us here."

  "Yes, but there's something else going on below the surface," Luke said. "Some extra tension he's trying to hide. Of course, that could be nothing more than the fact he's having to deal with so many aliens."

  "Possibly with the future of the whole Chiss diplomatic structure hanging on how well he does?"

  "That could be part of it," Luke agreed. "So if we leave Formbi off the list, who's left? Drask?"

  "Who's left is basically everyone except the Geroons," Mara said. "And only because they weren't here at the time. It could have been Drask, Jinzler, or Fel and his group." She snorted. "The Five-Oh-First. Can you imagine Parck reviving that one? I guess old units die hard."

  Luke shrugged, a little too casually. "Old units aren't the only thing," he murmured.

  "What was that?" Mara asked suspiciously.

  "I was just noticing how easily you slipped into the role of Imperial commander a few minutes ago," Luke said. "You led them here, you ordered the stormtroopers away, and you basically told Fel what you wanted him to do."

  "So?" Mara said with a shrug of her own. "Since when have I been shy about telling anyone what I wanted them to do?"

  "I know," Luke said. "I'm just pointing out how comfortably you took back that role, that's all. I'm not saying anything else."

  "You'd better not be," Mara said darkly. But whether he said it or not, she could sense there was something else behind his words. Something not entirely comfortable with the way she'd behaved.

  Her first impulse was to have it out right now, to insist that he bring his thoughts on the subject out into the open where she would have the chance to knock them down one by one.

  But something held her back. Perhaps she sensed it wasn't the proper time or place for that kind of discussion.

  Or perhaps she wasn't so sure she could knock them all down.

  He was right in a way. She had found it disturbingly easy to slip back into that role. It had been refreshing to deal with soldiers who took orders without question, instead of a mixed group of humans and Bothans and Devaronians and Mon Cals, all of whom had their own prejudices and perspectives and who sometimes heard or obeyed orders in entirely different ways.

  I've had my fill of Imperial service, she'd told Fel. But had she? Really?

  "Anyway, we should probably go back to the Jade Sabre and see if we've got anything that'll pass as formal wear," Luke went on. Apparently, he didn't want to have it out yet, either. "Dinner's going to be served soon, and we'll want to be ready when Feesa comes to get us."

  CHAPTER 6

  After the size of the reception room, Luke had expected the Chaf Envoy's main dining salon to be equally grand and expansive. To his surprise, it was in fact built more along the lines of a standard ship's wardroom, though decorated with the same sort of elegant touches he'd already noted in their quarters. Apparently, once the high-level dignitaries had been ushered aboard in proper style, the pomp and ceremony diminished considerably.

  Perhaps the dignitaries' wardrobes were supposed to make up for it. Formbi and Drask were dressed even more elaborately than they had been at the Jade Sabre's landing, though each maintained the same color scheme he'd been wearing then. Fel had switched to a dress uniform that bordered on the regal, with much of the tunic's upper left covered with rows of colored bits of metal that apparently denoted specific campaigns or victories. Jinzler had done equally well, with a layered robe-tunic that would have fit right in with a diplomatic reception on Coruscant. Mara wasn't too far behind him, with her flowing wraparound gown and embroidered bolero jacket.

  It made Luke feel decidedly out of place in his plain dark jumpsuit and sleeveless, knee-length duster. Next trip, he made a mental note, he was going to have to make sure to bring a couple of fancier outfits along.

  Still, he was far from being the worst-dressed guest at the party. The two Geroons on the far side of the wide circular table looked positively shabby in comparison with the Chiss staffers seated on either side of them. Both aliens wore simple but heavy-looking brown robes of some kind of thick material over long tan tunics. One of them, the Geroon who had spoken to Formbi from the refugee ship, also had what appeared to be a complete dead animal thrown over his shoulders, its long-snouted head and clawed forepaws hanging down across his chest nearly to his waist, while most of the torso and hind legs hung down behind his back. An elaborate blue-and-gold collar glittered around the animal's neck, about the only real decoration anywhere in the Geroon's outfit.

  "I trust the food is pleasing?" Feesa asked from her seat at Luke's left.

  "It's excellent, thank you," he assured her. In actual fact, it was a little too spice-heavy for his taste, and the combination fork-knife he'd been given to use left an oddly metallic aftertaste after each bite. But it was so clearly an attempt to create a New Republic-style banquet that he certainly wasn't going to quibble over minor details. More than once, he wondered if Parck had supplied the recipes.

  "Interesting trophy Steward Bearsh is wearing," Jinzler commented from Feesa's other side. "That dead animal thing?"

  "The wolvkil, yes," Feesa said, nodding. "I heard Steward Bearsh say they were a feral variant of a predator creature the Geroons once domesticated as pets. The one he wears is a mark of honor that has been in his family for four generations."

  "Pets, huh?" Jinzler shook his head. "Frankly, I don't think I'd even like to meet it in the woods, let alone have it curled up by my bed."

  "I doubt that will happen soon," Feesa said, a note of sadness in her voice. "All remaining wolvkils died with the Geroon world."

  "I see," Jinzler murmured, and again Luke caught a flicker of emotion from him. For all his surface calm, he was clearly a man who felt things deeply. "A terrible tragedy, that. Was Aristocra Formbi able to help them find a new world?"

  "Our knowledge of the regions outside our borders is very limited," Feesa said. "I don't believe anything suitable was found."

  "I hope the Aristocra isn't giving up this quickly," Jinzler said, a note of challenge in his voice. "They couldn't have had more than a couple of hours to study your star charts."

  "Perhaps more study will be scheduled," Feesa said diplomatically. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano has not told
me his plans."

  Across the table Bearsh stirred and looked over at Luke, linking his fingers and dipping both hands and head in a sort of unified bow. Luke nodded in reply; and as he did, the Geroon picked up his fluted drink glass and got up from his seat. Circling the table, he came up behind Luke. "Good evening," he said, the words coming out from both his mouths. "Am I correct in the belief that you are Jedi Master Luke Skywalker?"

  Luke blinked in surprise. Back in the command center, he'd only heard the Geroon speak in the Chiss trade language. "Yes, I am," he managed. "Please forgive my surprise. I didn't realize you spoke Basic."

  The Geroon opened his mouths slightly, showing a double row of small teeth in each. A smile? "Should we not know at least a portion of the language of our liberators?" he countered. "It was we who were surprised to learn that the Chiss aboard this vessel could understand it."

  "Yes, they do," Luke agreed, feeling suddenly like a hopeless bumpkin who'd just been dropped off the bantha cart at the edge of town. He understood probably a dozen languages, but all were anchored solidly to the cultures that dominated the Core Worlds and Inner Rim. It had never even occurred to him to try to add an Outer Rim trade language to his repertoire.

  Which now meant that everyone else out here was having to go out of their way to accommodate his shortcomings.

  But then, to be fair, this was hardly a situation he would normally have expected to find himself in. At least not without C-3PO or some other protocol droid along to assist with language duties.

  "It is their way of honoring those of Outbound Flight, no doubt," Bearsh said, a note of reverence in his voice. "If I may intrude, I overheard you and Feesa speaking of our search for a world for our people."

  "Yes," Luke confirmed. "I hope you will succeed."

  "As do I and all the Geroon Remnant," Bearsh said, a note of sadness replacing the reverence. "That is indeed why I came across to see you. I hoped you might be willing to help."

  "In what way?"

  Bearsh waved his hand, nearly spilling his drink in the process. "I am told your New Republic has great resources and vast territories within its borders. Perhaps when you are finished with your meal you would be kind enough to search your records to see if any of your worlds near this region of space might be available for our use." He ducked his head. "We would of course pay for any world you might find to offer us. Our resources are small, but all Geroons stand ready to serve with their hands and minds and bodies until any such debt is repaid."

  "If we find a suitable world, I'm sure something can be worked out," Luke assured him. "Actually, I'm finished now if you'd like to accompany me to my ship."

  The Geroon started back. "You would take me aboard your vessel?" he breathed.

  "Would that be a problem?" Luke asked cautiously, wondering if he'd made some terrible mistake in etiquette. Were the Geroons afraid of strangers and strange ships? And yet, they were here, aboard a Chiss ship. "Because if it would make you uncomfortable—"

  "Ah, no," Bearsh said, dropping suddenly onto one knee and bowing his head low to the deck. This time some of his drink did slosh up over the rim and dribble down over his fingers. "It is too much. There is too much honor for one Geroon. I cannot accept."

  "Maybe I should just give you the data cards, then," Luke suggested. "Though you might not be able to read them," he added as that thought belatedly struck him. "I'd have to bring a datapad along, too."

  "You would be willing to allow us to honor you?" Bearsh asked eagerly. "You would come aboard our humble vessel?"

  "Certainly," Luke said, touching his mouth with his napkin and standing up. "Shall we go?"

  "The honor is great," Bearsh said, bowing repeatedly as he stepped back. "The honor is great."

  "You're welcome," Luke said, feeling decidedly awkward. The sooner he got himself and this groveling Geroon out of here, the better.

  He turned to Mara, who was practically radiating her amusement at his fumbling. "I'll see you back at our quarters," he told her, sending her a silent warning with his eyes that she ignored completely. "If you need me, I'll be in the Geroons' shuttle."

  "Understood," Mara said blandly. At least her voice was polite enough. "I'll see you later. Have fun."

  "Thanks," Luke growled, turning back to the still-bobbing Geroon. And Leia made this diplomatic stuff look so easy. "Lead the way, Steward Bearsh."

  * * *

  The Geroon shuttle, as it turned out, was docked on the starboard side of the Chaf Envoy about twenty meters aft of the Jade Sabre. Luke ducked into the Sabre as they passed and grabbed a set of astrogation data cards and a datapad, then followed Bearsh back to their ship.

  Twenty-two years before, back at the Mos Eisley spaceport, he could remember gazing at the Millennium Falcon and wondering how a ship that looked like that could even be permitted to fly the Imperial space lanes. Now his first reaction to the Geroon shuttle was that such thoughts had done the Falcon a disservice. Not only should this thing not be flying, he couldn't see how it even could be flying.

  The entire interior was a patchwork of repaired, reworked, or readapted equipment, patched pipes and conduits, and power cables that would have had a New Republic safety inspector scrambling for emergency cutoff switches. Two of the bunkrooms and a storage compartment had been sealed off with vacuum-leak warnings on the doors, and half the displays on the control deck seemed to have been permanently shut down. Overlaying it all was a faint odor that seemed to be a mixture of lubricating compound, battery solution, maneuvering fuel, and hydraulic fluid. It was, Luke thought more than once, astonishing that the thing had managed to make it here from the main Geroon ship.

  Or perhaps the Chaf Envoy had a really good set of tractor beams.

  There were three other Geroons in the ship when he and Bearsh arrived, and it was quickly evident that the steward's adulation in the dining salon had actually been greatly restrained. The other Geroons clustered around him practically from the moment he ducked through the rusty hatchway, blathering excitedly and repeating over and over again how much of an honor it was to have him aboard, until he was about as embarrassed as he'd ever been in his life.

  Several times he tried gently to explain that he wasn't really someone who deserved such adulation. But all it did was inspire fresh salvos of praise even more insistent and pathetic than what had gone before.

  Eventually, he gave up. Whatever those aboard Outbound Flight had done for these people, it was so deeply ingrained that even after fifty years there was no holding it back. All he could do was endure it, try not to let it go to his head, and hope they would eventually run out of adjectives.

  "All right," he said when they had finally quieted down enough to sit around a small table together. "I've pulled all the information I have on Outer Rim systems. Just bear in mind that a lot of these systems aren't members of the New Republic, and a lot more give only token allegiance. But if we can help you, we will. Now, what sort of world exactly are you looking for?"

  "One with air like this," Bearsh said, waving a hand around him. "Less full and flavorful than the Chiss air."

  Probably meant a lower oxygen content, Luke decided. "Okay," he said, keying that parameter into the datapad. "I presume you need water, too. What about climate and terrain?"

  "We need places for the children to play," one of the other Geroons put in eagerly. "Many places, for many children to play."

  "Peace, young one," Bearsh soothed, his mouths opening in another toothy Geroon smile. "On an entire world, there will be plenty of places for the children."

  He turned back to Luke. "You must excuse Estosh," he said quietly. "He has never known life anywhere but within our vessel."

  "I understand," Luke said. "I can tell your people put great store in your children, too."

  "How do you know that?" Bearsh asked, his face puckering oddly. Then it cleared. "Ah—of course. The great and renowned powers of the jedi."

  "Actually, there was nothing special needed on this one," L
uke said. "We saw your earlier conversation with the Chiss. Any people who would put a playground right in their command center must certainly care a lot for their children."

  "Ah," Bearsh said. "Yes. Our vessel was originally built for scientific surveys. That space was designed to contain the center for instrument responses." His face puckered again. "It was the only place large enough for a proper play and exercise area. All the rest of the vessel is composed of small rooms for the singles and families. We had no need for the instruments, so we took them out and gave the space to the children."

  He straightened his head and shoulders, his eyes unfocusing as if gazing into the future. "But one day," he said firmly. "One day we will have a real place for the children. And then you will see, Jedi Master Skywalker, what the Geroon people can become."

  "I'll look forward to it," Luke promised. "Now, about terrain?"

  Bearsh seemed to come back from his dreams. "We will live in whatever grounds you find for us," he said. "Mountains or lakes, woodlands or plains—it does not matter."

  "All right," Luke said. They certainly weren't a picky lot. "What about temperature ranges?"

  Again, Bearsh waved his hand. "The temperature in this vessel is somewhat warm for us," he said. "But we will adapt and adjust to whatever—"

  He broke off as the deck beneath them gave a sudden gentle jolt. "What was that?" Estosh asked fearfully, looking quickly around.

  A second later they had their answer as a distant thunderclap echoed faintly through the open hatchway. "An explosion," Luke told him, jumping to his feet and sprinting toward the entry tunnel, stretching out to the Force as he pulled out his comlink. The opposite side of the ship, he estimated from the sudden surge of consternation in that direction, somewhere in the aft quarter. "Mara?"

  "We've got an explosion and fire on the aft port side," her voice came back. "I'm heading back to see if I can help."

  "I'll join you," Luke said, clearing the end of the entry tunnel and heading for the nearest cross-ship corridor. "Any idea what's back there?"