Survivor's Quest

by Timothy Zahn

  "Interesting way you have of greeting peaceful visitors," Mara commented. "You at least going to come out where we can talk face to face?"

  "Whom I deal with is my decision, not yours," Pressor said. "For the moment, that's not going to be you."

  "For a very short moment," Mara countered. "Or do you really expect this box to hold us for long?"

  "Long enough," Pressor assured her. "Let me explain. The reason you've stopped moving is that your turbolift car is currently sitting at a gravity eddy point being balanced by two equal and opposite focused repulsor beams. If either of them is cut off, you'll be instantly shot through the tube to smash into either the Dreadnaught you just left or the Dreadnaught you were intending to travel to. Either way, it will be very messy."

  "For your vessel as well as for us," Drask warned. "Such an impact may do serious damage to your structural integrity."

  "I don't think so," Pressor said. "Of course, none of you would ever know for certain."

  "True," Luke conceded. "I presume there's more?"

  "I know about Jedi lightsabers," Pressor said. "I know you could normally cut your way out of the car with ease. In this case, however, I'd strongly advise against trying it. The power and control cables for both repulsor beams are wrapped in random patterns around the car. Cut any of the wires, upsetting the balance of forces, and it will be the last thing you ever do."

  Luke looked at Mara. "You've spent a lot of time thinking this out," he said. "Have you had a lot of Jedi visitors in the past fifty years?"

  "We haven't had any visitors at all," Pressor said, his voice suddenly cold and bitter. "But I've always known that someday the Republic would send someone to hunt us down. It seemed only prudent to take precautions."

  Luke shook his head. "You've got it all wrong," he said, putting all the persuasion he could into his voice. "We're not here for revenge or retribution or whatever. We're—"

  "Don't bother trying to communicate with the rest of your people, either," Pressor interrupted him. "All comlink frequencies are being jammed. Make yourselves comfortable, and cultivate that renowned Jedi patience."

  There was a click, and the voice was gone.

  "Interesting," Drask commented, turning to face Luke. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano has often stated that the Jedi are honored and admired by all. Apparently, he was mistaken."

  "Very much mistaken," Luke agreed, looking slowly around the car. Up close, the walls appeared to be solid metal, with no signs of tampering. If their captors were monitoring them, the holocams and voice pickups had to either be hidden in the control board or else buried in the line where the walls and ceiling met, where numerous age cracks had opened up in the metal. "There are any number of people who don't like Jedi," he continued, lifting his eyebrows at Mara. She nodded to the control panel, then put her hands together in a right angle.

  So she'd come to the same conclusion he had. Nodding back, Luke slipped off his emergency-kit backpack and popped it open.

  Mara picked up the explanation: "Of course, most of them are criminals or warmongers." She had her own backpack off now, her fingers sorting through the contents. "Jedi are supposed to keep the peace, so of course those groups hate us."

  "Corrupt politicians don't like us much, either," Luke added, digging beneath the ration bars and water tubes and pulling out his liquid-cable dispenser. Mara was already ready with her contribution: her medpac's tube of synthflesh wound healer. "I wonder which category Pressor falls into."

  "Maybe none of them," Mara said. Stepping to a corner of the room, she began laying a thin bead of the synthflesh into the line between ceiling and wall. "Maybe he just doesn't think talking to us would get him anywhere."

  "Maybe," Luke said, coming up beside his wife and playing out an equally thin line of liquid cable on top of the synthflesh before it could solidify. "Not here in Chiss space, anyway."

  "If they even know where they are," Mara said. "Maybe once we've persuaded them we're here to help we can all sit down together and hear the whole story."

  An uncomfortable silence descended on the car. Mara reached the corner and continued on along the next wall, Luke right beside her. Liquid cable, which solidified instantly on contact with the air, was designed specifically not to be sticky so that it wouldn't hang up on anything as it was being extruded. The synthflesh, on the other hand, was designed just as specifically to stick solidly to wounds, protecting them from the air and further injury. Together, they made a perfect barrier against the age cracks and anything that might be hidden behind them.

  Once they finished with the walls, it would be a simple matter to block the view from the control panel with one of their all-temperature cloaks. If Pressor didn't interfere, they should be finished in a few minutes.

  Pressor didn't, and they were. "There," Luke said at last, stepping back to admire their handiwork. "That should at least keep them from watching us."

  "A useful start," Drask said, his tone neutral. Clearly, he wasn't all that impressed. "Yet we are still inside. What now?"

  "Now," Luke said, smiling tightly at Mara, "you'll get to see how Jedi do things."

  * * *

  From somewhere ahead came a distant clunk. "What was that?" Feesa asked, looking up.

  "Machinery," Grappler said, lifting his BlasTech and taking a step toward the passageway Luke and Mara had disappeared down a few minutes earlier. "Possibly a door sealing."

  "The Skywalkers!" Jinzler said sharply, looking around. "They're gone!"

  "It's all right, Ambassador," Formbi said calmly. "They went with General Drask to scout ahead." He peered in that direction. "It's time we joined them."

  Fel suppressed a grimace. He'd assumed the two Jedi would be back before they were missed, or at least before it was time to move on. This was going to play havoc with his marching order. "Stormtroopers, form up," he ordered. "Two and two, front and rear."

  "I'd prefer they hold rearguard position, Commander," Formbi said. "You"—he gestured to the three Chiss warriors—"come with me."

  Without waiting for comment or argument, he strode off down the corridor, one of the Chiss warriors taking point two steps ahead of him as the other two moved into position on either side of him.

  Fel hissed between his teeth as Jinzler, Feesa, and the Geroons moved off behind the procession. He hated being stuck all the way in the back this way. "Rearguard formation," he ordered the stormtroopers.

  He was striding along behind Bearsh when a young, auburn-haired girl stepped out of concealment in front of the lead warrior, bringing the whole group to an abrupt halt. "Hello," she said calmly, as if visitors dropped by Outbound Flight every day. "Are you here to see the Guardian?"

  Formbi glanced at Jinzler, then back to the girl. "We're here to see the survivors of Outbound Flight, and to help them," he said. "Is the Guardian the one we need to see?"

  "Yes," the girl confirmed. "Come; I'll take you to him."

  She turned and headed down the corridor toward the forward sensor room. "Who are all of you?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "I am Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family of the Chiss Ascendancy," Formbi identified himself. "This is my aide, Chaf'ees'aklaio. This"—he gestured to Jinzler—"is Ambassador Dean Jinzler of the New Republic. Our expedition also includes representatives of the Geroon Remnant and the Empire of the Hand."

  "So many people here to see us," the girl commented, turning into an alcove to her left.

  "Yes," Formbi said. "May I ask your name?"

  "I'm Evlyn," she said. "This way, please." She touched a control on the wall, and a door slid open in front of her. Gesturing the others to follow, she stepped inside.

  Fel stepped close beside Cloud as Formbi and the others filed through the doorway. "Are you picking up Drask or the Jedi anywhere?" he murmured.

  "I have no sensor contact," the stormtrooper murmured back. "But there's a lot of metal and electronic equipment in here. It may be shielding them."

  "Maybe,"
Fel said, pulling out his comlink as he and the stormtroopers reached the doorway. The opening led into a short corridor, he saw, with another door at the far end and a third door midway down the wall on the right. Formbi, the Chiss warriors, and two of the Geroons were right behind the girl, while Jinzler, Feesa, Bearsh, and the fourth Geroon had fallen a couple of paces behind the leaders as they looked around the empty corridor. "Cloud, Grappler: go catch up to Formbi," he ordered quietly. At the far end of the corridor, Evlyn touched a control, and the door slid up in front of her. "We'll stay back here and—"

  He never finished the sentence. Evlyn stepped through the door; but instead of staying open, the panel slammed violently down right in Formbi's face. Even as Fel drew his blaster, another door dropped out of a groove in the ceiling in front of Cloud, cutting the Imperials off from the rest of the party. He spun around in time to see the door they'd come though slam down in turn, isolating them from the rest of the ship.

  An instant later, the floor seemed to drop out from under him as their newly created prison began to fall.

  It braked to a stop before he had time for more than a single curse. "Good day," a voice said from a speaker in the control panel. "My name is Guardian Pressor. You're in a turbolift car that is being held in suspension between two opposing repulsor beams. Do you understand this?"

  "Perfectly," Fel said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm Commander Chak Fel of the Empire of the Hand. Interesting trap you've got here."

  "Merely making use of limited resources," Pressor said. "The six turbolift cars running through this pylon were designed to operate independently, but could also be connected together for large cargoes."

  "Ah," Fel said. "I take it this pylon you mentioned is the connecting tube between these particular two Dreadnaughts?"

  "The wiring that feeds power to the repulsor beams also wraps randomly around the outside of the car," Pressor said, ignoring the question. "I'd therefore advise against trying to shoot or cut your way out."

  "Understood," Fel said. Clearly, Pressor wasn't interested in a long conversation. "What is it you want from us?"

  "From you, nothing," Pressor said. "I'll speak with you again when I've come to a decision concerning your group."

  "Very well," Fel said, looking casually around the car. There would be at least one hidden monitor in here, he knew. "Would it help to tell you we come in peace, and in the hope of helping you and your people?"

  "Not really, no," Pressor said.

  The speaker clicked off. "Anyone?" Fel invited sourly.

  "They're jamming our comlinks," Shadow offered. "I can't raise any of the others."

  "Big surprise there," Fel said. "What about monitors?"

  "One," Grappler said, pointing his BlasTech toward the control panel. "I mark the monitor system feed in there."

  "Concur," Watchman agreed.

  Fel nodded. "All right, then," he said, digging into his emergency pack. "The others are off by themselves, out of our reach and protection. That is unacceptable."

  His fingers located the insulator blanket and emergency food paste he'd been looking for. So Pressor was proud that he could make use of limited resources? Fine. As far as Fel was concerned, the Empire of the Hand had invented that particular operational philosophy. "So let's make ourselves a little privacy," he continued, crossing toward the hidden monitor, "and then see what exactly we can do about this."

  * * *

  "...so I'd advise against trying to shoot your way out," Pressor said, wiping the sweat from his forehead in the hot room as he once again ran through the warning message he'd prepared. "Is that understood?"

  "Clearly," the Blue One—Chiss—who had identified himself as Aristocra something-or-other said calmly. He'd ended up in the Number Four Turbolift Car, along with three more Chiss and two of the other, unknown aliens. "We'll await your decision," the Aristocra continued. "I would simply say that we've come here to help you, not to harm you."

  "I understand," Pressor said. "I'll speak with you soon."

  He cut off the speaker, scowling blackly at the fuzzy image that was the best the turbolift monitors could handle anymore. Of course they weren't here to harm anyone. Just like those strange soldiers with their white armor and hidden faces weren't here to harm anyone, or the Jedi weren't here to harm anyone.

  Jedi.

  For a long minute Pressor stared at the image of the two Jedi on the Number Two display. It was hard to tell on the ancient and failing equipment, but they looked young, probably younger than he himself was.

  But of course, age didn't mean anything. According to Director Uliar, the Jedi culture and methods were centuries old, passed down from one generation to the next with all the passion and rigidity of a system kept alive through sheer inertia. If these two were following in that same tradition, they would be exactly like the Jedi who had set out with Outbound Flight all those years ago.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course, he'd only been four when Outbound Flight died, and admittedly nowhere near the center of the action. But still, he remembered those Jedi.

  Or at least, he remembered one of them.

  The control room door slid open, letting in a blast of even hotter air, and Evlyn stepped inside. "Do we have all of them?" she asked.

  "Every one," Pressor assured her, gazing back at his niece's bright blue eyes. They might look innocent—Evlyn herself might look innocent—but Pressor wasn't fooled. There was something odd about the girl, something he'd been aware of since she was three years old. Something the others would eventually notice, too.

  "Good," Evlyn said, taking another stop toward Pressor to allow the door to slide shut behind her. "It's a lot cooler in here."

  "A little cooler, anyway," Pressor said. "The repulsorlift generators are running pretty hot."

  "That's not good, is it?" Evlyn asked, peering over his shoulder at the monitors.

  "Not if one of them gets hot enough to fail, no," he conceded, swiveling back around in his creaky chair. "At least it would be a fast way to die."

  He glanced over the bank of monitors, frowning. One of the displays was suddenly showing nothing except black, the one in the Number Six Car. Muttering a curse at the antiquated equipment, he reached for the controls.

  "That's not going to help," Evlyn said. "The man in the gray uniform put a piece of cloth over the monitor. I saw him do it as I was coming in."

  Pressor glared over his shoulder at her. "And you didn't say anything?"

  "What could you have done about it if I had?"

  Disgustedly, he turned back around. She was right, of course, but that wasn't the point. "Next time you see something important, tell me," he growled. The low conversation coming from the Number Six speaker had vanished along with the video image, he noted, disappearing into a faint hum. Cranking up the volume did nothing but increase the intensity of the hum. "Did they do something to the voice pickup, too?" he asked Evlyn.

  "I didn't see anything," she said, sounding puzzled. "That sounds a lot like the hum from the repulsor generators, though."

  "Of course it does," Pressor growled as the explanation hit him. The cloth they were using to block the camera was heavy enough to pick up the vibration from the wall and amplify it over the voice pickup, deafening him as well as blinding him with a single move. So much for keeping tabs on the armored soldiers and their officer.

  And from the looks of things, the two Jedi were trying to shut him down, too. "Blast them all, anyway."

  "You could," Evlyn reminded him.

  Pressor grimaced. Yes, he could blast them, all right. He could blast all of them. A flick of a switch, and they would be slammed down the turbolift pylon hard enough to turn them into jelly. "We'll let them be for now," he told the girl. "Anyway, whether we can see them or not, they're still trapped."

  He shifted his attention to the Number Five Car's monitor. The man the Aristocra had identified as Ambassador Jinzler was in there, plus a young-looking Chiss and two of the aliens with
the twin mouths, one of whom was currently pounding on the control panel as if trying to break it open.

  Talking with them would be a risk, he knew, especially if this New Republic they'd mentioned was anything like the Republic Outbound Flight had left all those years ago. But he had to talk to someone. And of all those in the boarding party, at least none of this particular group was carrying any weapons.

  "Go ahead and release Number Five," he told Evlyn. "Actually, give me a couple of minutes to talk to them and then release it. You remember how to deactivate the trap and put the car back on normal?"

  "Sure," she said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out the command stick he'd given her. "Seven-three-three-six."

  "Right," he said. "Bring them back up here and take them to the pilot ready room. I'll be waiting for them there."

  "Okay," she said, taking a step backward. The door behind her slid open, letting in another blast of hot air, and she was gone.

  Pressor reached for the comm control, checking over the readings one last time. Ambassador Jinzler—he repeated the name in his mind, making sure he had it right. Jinzler. Jinzler.

  His fingers froze a centimeter from the comm switch. Jinzler?

  He sucked in a lungful of hot air, staring at the man on the display. Ambassador Jinzler, here aboard his ship. Jedi Lorana was how he'd known her, but her full name had been Jedi Lorana Jinzler.

  With an effort, he forced his fingers to travel that last centimeter. "Hello, Ambassador Jinzler."

  * * *

  Without warning, two huge panels slammed down in front of and behind them, the resonating thud as they hit the floor cutting across Feesa's sudden scream of fright. "It's all right," Jinzler said reflexively, reaching out an arm to catch her around her shoulders as she half fell, half lunged against his side. She jerked at his touch, but didn't pull away. "It's all right," he repeated as soothingly as he could.

  It wasn't soothing enough, evidently. Her body was trembling as she pressed against him, her glowing eyes narrowed. Jinzler tightened his grip around her shoulders, looking helplessly at Bearsh and the other Geroon who'd wound up trapped in here with them.