Vision of the future swhot-2

by Timothy Zahn

  On the other hand, the very roughness of the ground would give them better cover than they could reasonably have asked for. All in all, a pretty fair trade.

  But it wouldn't be much of a trade if the aliens found them before they even got started. "Come on," he said, easing out of the cockpit and rolling out to the ground. The attempt to avoid the leaf thorns was only partially successful, but only a couple of them actually drew blood. "Let's get the pack sorted out and get out of here."

  It was the work of a few minutes to break out the camo-net Karrde had sent along and to pull it snugly over the X-wing. Then, as an extra precaution, he cut up some of the smaller bushes and tree limbs with his lightsaber and scattered them on top of the net. It wasn't perfect, especially at close range, but it was the best he could do in the available time.

  Karrde's people had also put his survival pack together, assembling the supplies and loading them aboard the X-wing while Luke hurried through the datawork necessary for getting off Cejansij. And as Luke had come to expect from the smuggler's organization over the years, they'd done a first-rate job of it. Split into two separate carrypacks, the supplies included ration bars, water filter/bottles, medpacs, glow rods, a good supply of syntherope, a spare blaster, a survival tent with bedroll, and even a small selection of low-yield grenades.

  "I'm surprised they didn't try to cram a landspeeder in," Luke grunted as he hoisted one of the packs experimentally onto his shoulders. It was heavy enough, but the weight had been well distributed and would be reasonably easy to carry. "I guess we'll have to leave the other pack here. You ready to do a little climbing?"

  Artoo warbled questioningly, his dome swiveling to peer first one direction down the canyon and then the other. "No, that's where they'll expect us to come out," Luke told him. He pointed upward toward one of the cliffs towering over them. "That's our route, up there." The droid swiveled his dome again, whistling skittishly as he leaned way back to look up.

  "Relax—we won't have to go all the way to the top," Luke calmed him. "See that gap about two-thirds of the way up? If I read the aerial pictures right, that should lead into a cut that'll take us the rest of the way to the top."

  Artoo warbled forlornly, looking back and forth along the canyon again. "No, Artoo, we can't go that way," Luke told him firmly. "And we don't have time to argue the point. Even if those ships can't get in there, they may have smaller ones back at the fortress. And they can always come in on foot, too. You want to be sitting around when they get here?"

  The droid beeped emphatically. Swiveling himself around, he started bumping determinedly along the dry creek bed toward the base of the cliff below the gap Luke had pointed out. Smiling, Luke gave his pack one final settling shrug. Then, stretching out with the Force, he lifted Artoo high enough off the ground to clear the undergrowth and headed toward the cliff.

  * * *

  As it turned out, the climb had looked more daunting than it really was. Though certainly steep enough, the wall wasn't nearly the impossibly vertical slope that it had seemed from the canyon floor. Hand-and footholds were plentiful; the whole cliff face seemed to be dotted with narrow ledges and small caves, and the bushes and vines provided sturdy handholds as well. The only problematic part was Artoo, but even that quickly settled into a more or less comfortable routine. Finding a secure place to stand, Luke would use the Force to lift the droid up past him to a narrow ledge or conveniently spaced pair of caves, hold him in place while using the syntherope to lash him to the nearest bushes, then climb past him to the next convenient resting point and repeat.

  Artoo didn't care for any part of the procedure, of course. Midway up the cliff, though, he at least stopped complaining about it.

  They were almost to the gap, and Luke was once again catching up to the point where he'd anchored Artoo, when he heard the faint voice.

  He stopped, one hand gripping a lumpy vine, and listened. But there was nothing but the distant insect chirping he'd been hearing since they landed. Running through his Jedi sensory-enhancement techniques, he stretched out his hearing; but though the chirps became louder and more varied, the voice he thought he'd heard wasn't there.

  There was a loud squeal from above him: Artoo, whistling softly in his enhanced hearing. "I thought I heard something," he murmured back, the words booming in his head. Hastily, he eased his hearing back to normal. "It was like a voice—"

  He broke off at Artoo's startled twitter. "What is it?" he asked, looking up. The droid was facing down and along the cliff; turning his head, Luke tracked along his gaze—

  And froze. Perched on a thorn-leafed bush not three meters away was a small, slack-winged brown-gray creature.

  Watching him.

  "Take it easy," Luke soothed Artoo, taking a moment to study the creature. About thirty centimeters long from head to talons, it was covered with smooth-looking skin. Its folded wings were more of the same, though it was hard to guess their size, and arched slightly over in a way that reminded Luke of hunched shoulders. The head was proportionally small and streamlined, with a pair of dark eyes nestled beneath fleshy folds and two horizontal slashes beneath them. The upper slash was undulating with the steady rhythm of respiration, while the lower was pressed into a tight slit. A pair of segmented, wide-taloned feet gripped the bush it was perched on, apparently not bothered in the least by the sharp thorns. The overall effect was like something halfway between a mynock and a preying makthier, and he wondered if it was related to either of those species. Artoo gave another warble, this one wary. "I don't think it means us any harm," Luke assured him, still watching the creature. "I don't sense any danger from it. And we're a little big for a snack for something that size."

  Unless, of course, they hunted in packs. Still watching the creature, he stretched out with the Force, searching for others of the species. There were definitely more of them in the canyon, but most seemed to be fairly distant—

  The lower slit on the creature's face opened, revealing twin rows of tiny sharp teeth, and emitted a loud chirp.

  Who are you?

  Luke blinked in surprise. There was the voice he thought he'd heard, except that this time it was clear enough to understand. But had it come from—? "What?" he asked. The creature chirped again. Who are you?

  He was right: it was the creature who'd spoken.

  Only it hadn't spoken. Not really. But then how had Luke understood—?

  And then, abruptly, he understood. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he said, stretching toward the creature with the Force. "Jedi Knight of the New Republic. Who are you?" The creature emitted a short series of chirps. What do you do here, Jedi Knight Sky Walker?

  "I'm looking for a friend," Luke said. His guess had been right: while he couldn't understand the creature's actual chirping language, he was pulling the essence of the communication from its mind via the Force. An extremely rare event, in his experience, and it probably implied the creatures were at least marginally Force-sensitive. "She landed near here nearly two weeks ago and then disappeared. Do you know where she is?"

  The creature seemed to shy back a bit. It fluffed its wings partially open, resettled them across its back. It chirped again— Who is this friend?

  "Her name is Mara Jade," Luke said.

  Is she another Jedi Knight?

  "Sort of," Luke hedged. Mara had dropped by his Jedi academy occasionally over the past eight years, but she'd never stayed long enough to complete her training. Actually, there were times Luke wondered if she'd ever truly begun it. "Do you know where she is?" The wings fluffed again as the creature chirped. I know nothing.

  "Really," Luke said, letting his tone cool just a bit. He didn't even need the Force for this one; he'd watched Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin pull this trick enough times to recognize guilty knowledge when he saw it. "What if I told you a Jedi can always tell when someone's lying?" From behind him came a loud and authoritative chirp. Leave the young one alone. Luke turned his head. Perched on the bushes and craggy rocks on the other side of t
he cliff face were three more of the creatures. They were each twice as big as the first one; but even without the size differential the subtle differences between adult and young were instantly apparent. "Your pardon," he said to them. "I wasn't trying to intimidate him. Perhaps you can help me in my search for my friend."

  One of the creatures spread his wings and gave a short hop to a bush closer to Luke, twisting his head one way and then the other as if studying the intruder out of each eye individually. You are not one of the others. Who are you?

  "I think you know," Luke said, a quiet sense prompting him to play a hunch. "Why don't you tell me instead who you are?"

  The creature seemed to consider. I am Hunter Of Winds. I bargain for this nesting of the Qom Qae.

  "In the name of the New Republic I greet you, Hunter Of Winds," Luke said gravely. "I presume you know of the New Republic?"

  The elder Qom Qae fluffed his wings exactly the same way the young one had. I have heard. What is the New Republic to us?

  "I suppose that depends on what you want it to be," Luke said. "But that's a matter for diplomats and bargainers to discuss. I'm here to help a friend."

  Hunter Of Winds chirped decisively. We have no knowledge of any strangers. But we do, the younger Qom Qae chirped from behind Luke. The Qom Jha spoke of—

  Hunter Of Winds cut him off with a squawk. Is your name Seeker After Stupidity? he demanded pointedly. Be silent.

  "Perhaps you've merely forgotten," Luke suggested diplomatically. "A nesting bargainer must have many other matters to think about, after all."

  Hunter Of Winds fluffed his wings. What happens outside this nesting does not properly concern us. Go to another nesting of the Qom Qae, or to the Qom Jha if you dare. Perhaps they will help you.

  "All right," Luke said. "Will you guide me to them?" They are outside this nesting, Hunter Of Winds chirped. They are not our concern.

  "I see," Luke said. "Tell me, Hunter Of Winds, have you ever had a friend in danger?" The Qom Qae spread his wings, his two companions following suit. This conversation is ended. Young one: come.

  He leaped out from his bush, gliding away toward the canyon floor below on outstretched wings, his two companions following. Turning back, Luke saw the young Qom Qae follow them. Artoo grunted contemptuously. "Don't blame them too much," Luke told him with a sigh. "There may be cultural or political entanglements here we don't know about." He resumed his climb. "Or they may just be wary of getting involved in someone else's fight," he added. "We've certainly seen enough of that over the years."

  Five minutes later they'd reached the gap. Luke had been right: the cut continued upward toward the top of the cliff at a much more leisurely angle while still keeping them under tree cover the whole way. "Perfect," Luke said, peering up along it. "Let's get up to the top and see where we go from here." Collecting the syntherope, he started to coil it—

  And suddenly Artoo emitted a startled squawk.

  "What is it?" Luke demanded, grabbing reflexively for his lightsaber as he spun around. There was no danger around them that he could see or sense. "Artoo, what is it?" he asked again, turning his attention to the droid.

  Artoo was gazing back down into the valley along the way they'd come, moaning mournfully. Frowning, Luke followed along the droid's line of sight—

  And felt his breath catch in his throat. Down on the valley floor, their X-wing had vanished.

  "No," Luke breathed, gazing hard at the browns and grays down there. His first, hopeful thought was that his camouflage job had simply been better than he realized and that the starfighter was still right where they'd left it. But a moment of careful searching with Jedi-enhanced senses put that hope quietly to rest.

  The X-wing was indeed gone.

  Artoo warbled anxiously. "It's all right," Luke soothed. "It's all right." And to his own mild surprise, he found he actually meant it. The X-wing's disappearing act was frustrating and annoying; but oddly enough, there was no sense of danger or fear accompanying it. Not even any serious concern, despite the fact that the loss of their ship meant no chance for a quick escape should the situation warrant it.

  A prodding from the Force? A sense, perhaps, that the X-wing was merely misplaced and not actually lost?

  Unfortunately, he realized soberly, it could just as easily be a prodding in the opposite direction. That the loss of the ship didn't matter because he would not be leaving this world alive anyway. Unbidden, an image of Yoda rose from his memory: the old Jedi Master sighing with weariness as he settled onto his bed for the last time. Luke could remember his gut-churning fear at Yoda's frailness; could recall the exact tone of his own voice as he protested to Yoda that he must not die. Strong am I with the Force, Yoda had gently reproved his student. But not that strong. Twilight is upon me and soon night will fall. That is the way of things... the way of the Force. Luke took a deep breath. Obi-Wan had died, Yoda had died, and someday it would be his turn to face that same journey. And if this was the place where that journey would begin, so be it. He was a Jedi, and would face it as one.

  In the meantime, the reason he had come here had not changed. "Nothing we can do about it now," he told Artoo, turning away from the valley and returning to the task of coiling the syntherope.

  "Let's get to the top and see where we go from there."

  From directly above came a soft chirp. There are better ways to pass. Luke looked up. The young Qom Qae was back, hovering on some updraft he'd found and gazing down at them. "Are you offering to help us?" he asked.

  The Qom Qae bent one of his wings slightly, the change in air pressure sending him sidling over to the cliff face beside Luke. He caught one of the bushes in his talons as he reached it, folding his wings behind him. I will help you, he chirped. The Qom Jha have said another has arrived and is with them. I will take you there.

  "Thank you," Luke said, wondering if he should ask about his missing X-wing. But after the young Qom Qae's skittishness earlier it probably would be better to leave any interrogations for later. "May I ask why you're willing to take the risk?"

  I am known to some of the younger Qom Jha, he chirped. I do not fear them.

  "I'm not necessarily talking about the Qom Jha," Luke said, wanting to make sure the young alien genuinely understood the risks. "The others Hunter Of Winds spoke of may also try to stop us." I understand that. The alien fluffed his wings. But you asked Hunter Of Winds if he had ever had a friend in danger. I have.

  Luke smiled. "I understand," he said. "And I'm honored to have your assistance. I'm Luke Skywalker, as I said, and this is my droid, Artoo. What's your name?" The Qom Qae spread his wings and made a short hop to a bush in front of them. I am too young yet to have a name. I am called merely Child Of Winds.

  "Child Of Winds," Luke repeated, eyeing him thoughtfully. "You wouldn't by any chance be related to Hunter Of Winds, would you?"

  He is my sire, Child Of Winds chirped. It is indeed true about the wisdom of the Jedi Knights.

  Luke suppressed a smile. "Sometimes," he said. "But we should get moving now. Along the way, perhaps you can tell me more about your people."

  I would be honored, Child Of Winds said, spreading his wings eagerly. Come, I will show you the path.

  CHAPTER

  3

  The communications blister on the New Republic Dreadnaught Peregrine was something of an anachronism among modern warships, a throwback to the pre-Clone Wars design philosophy that had prevailed at the time the Peregrine and its Katana-fleet sister ships had been built. Not only was the ship's entire primary antenna array located in the blister, but so were the complex and delicate encryption/decryption computers.

  The handful of other Katana-fleet Dreadnaughts still in New Republic service had had their comm blisters extensively renovated, with the encrypt/decrypt equipment moved inside into a more sheltered area between the bridge and Intelligence ops. But somehow, no matter how often the renovation procedure was talked about, the Peregrine always seemed to slip through the cracks in t
he work schedule.

  Wedge Antilles had wondered about that on occasion. There was, he knew, still some bad blood between General Garm Bel Iblis and a few of the New Republic's upper echelon, dating back to Bel Iblis's years of running his own private war against the Empire after his falling-out with Mon Mothma. Wedge had always suspected the lack of renovation on this, the general's flagship, was tied to that animosity.

  It wasn't until Wedge and Rogue Squadron had been permanently assigned to Bel Iblis that he'd learned the truth. Intelligence sections, Bel Iblis had explained to him, were crowded and public places, and having a decrypted signal piped to bridge or command room gave abundant opportunity for anyone with a modicum of skill and a surplus of curiosity to tap into the conversation. A comm blister, in contrast, was about as isolated a place as one could find aboard a warship; and having the encrypt/decrypt computer close at hand meant that the message began and ended right there. Whenever any really private transmissions were due, that was where Bel Iblis was to be found. He and Wedge were there now. At Admiral Ackbar's personal request.

  "I understand your concerns, General Bel Iblis," Ackbar said, his face filling the comm display, his huge eyes swiveling around to take in Wedge as well. "And I do not disagree with your assessment. But I must nevertheless turn down your request."

  "I strongly urge you to reconsider, Admiral," Bel Iblis said stiffly. "I appreciate the political situation on Coruscant, but that can't be allowed to blind us to the purely military considerations here." The Mon Cal's lip tendrils seemed to stiffen. "Unfortunately, there are no longer any pure military considerations involving the Caamas issue," he rumbled. "Political and ethical questions have pervaded everything."