by Timothy Zahn
“You’re going in personally?” Maris asked, frowning.
“I command these warriors,” Thrawn said, climbing into the vac suit with sure, practiced movements. “Part of my duty is to share in their danger.”
Maris glanced at Qennto. “Be careful,” she said, sounding almost embarrassed.
Thrawn gave her a small smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. Slapping the final seal closed, he pulled a helmet and large handgun from the locker. “The vessel is most likely severely undercrewed, and Chiss warriors are the best there are. I’ll return soon.”
Car’das had wondered at first why none of the rest of the bridge crew had joined with Thrawn in the boarding party, the sounds of which they could occasionally hear wafting along the corridors and through the open door. It was soon clear, though, that they weren’t just sitting around waiting, but were actively engaged in some project of their own.
It was only as the melee was winding down that he was able to piece together a few recognizable snatches of conversation and figure out what that project had been. Using the Springhawk‘s sensors, they’d been assisting the boarders in tracking down enemy combatants, whether hiding or gathering together for an ambush. Even charging pirate-style onto an enemy vessel, Commander Thrawn made use of all available resources.
It took less than an hour for the Chiss to secure the enemy vessel. Another two hours went by, though, before one of the warriors came to the bridge with instructions to bring the humans aboard.
Car’das hadn’t traveled very much before hooking up with Qennto and Maris. But most of his recent travel had been to the seedier parts of the Republic, and as he stepped into the boarding tunnel he was confident he could handle anything they found at the other end.
He was wrong.
The vessel itself was bad enough. Dank and dirty, its entire interior showed signs of multiple repairs done in a hasty and careless manner, and the mixture of odors swirling through its corridors made his nose itch. Worse than that were the dozens of blast points and scorch marks on the walls and ceilings, mute reminders of the short but vicious battle that had just taken place.
Worst of all were the bodies.
Car’das had seen bodies before, but only the serene and neatly laid-out ones he’d encountered at funerals. Never before had he seen bodies haphazardly stretched out wherever the Chiss weapons had thrown them, twisted into whatever grotesque contortions their own death throes had sculpted for them. He winced as the Chiss warrior led them through various clumps of the dead, not wanting to look at them but forced to do so if he didn’t want to step on them, hoping desperately that he didn’t completely shame himself by getting sick.
“Relax, kid,” Qennto’s voice muttered at his side as they reached yet another scattering of corpses. “They’re just bodies. They can’t hurt you.”
“I know that,” Car’das growled, throwing a surreptitious look at Maris. Even she, with all her genteel upbringing and idealistic sensitivity, was doing better with this than he was.
Ahead, a door opened, and Thrawn stepped into the corridor. He was still wearing his vac suit, but the helmet now hung on a fastener on his left hip. “Come,” he called, beckoning. “I want to show you something.”
Nearly there. Taking a deep breath, focusing his attention on Thrawn’s glowing eyes, Car’das managed to make it the rest of the way.
“What are your thoughts?” Thrawn asked as they reached him, gesturing to the corridor around them.
“I think they were probably very poor,” Maris said, her tone mostly calm but with an edge of disapproval. “You can see where they’ve had to patch and repatch just to keep everything operating. This isn’t a military ship, certainly not one that could have been a threat to the Chiss.”
“I agree,” Thrawn agreed, turning his glowing eyes on her. “So; poor people, you think. Nomads?”
“Or refugees,” she said, the disapproving edge growing a little sharper.
“And the missiles?”
“They didn’t do the passengers much good, did they?”
“No, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.” Thrawn turned to Qennto. “And you, Captain? What’s your reading of this?”
“I don’t know,” Qennto said calmly. “And I don’t especially care. They fired first, right?”
Thrawn shrugged microscopically. “Not entirely true,” he said. “One of the sentries I had stationed here happened to be close enough as they came through to disable their hyperdrive. Car’das? Your opinion?”
Car’das looked around at the faded and motley walls. He might not have had a lot of schooling before running off to space, but he’d had enough to know when a teacher was still looking for an answer he hadn’t yet gotten from anyone else.
But what was the answer? Maris was right; the ship did indeed look like it was falling apart. But Thrawn was right about the missiles, too. Would refugees have weapons like that?
And then, suddenly, it struck him. He looked behind him, locating the nearest alien body and doing a quick estimate of its height and reach. Another look at the wall, and he turned back to Thrawn. “These aren’t the ones who did the repairs, are they?”
“Very good,” Thrawn said, smiling faintly. “No, they aren’t.”
“What do you mean?” Qennto asked, frowning.
“These aliens are too tall,” Car’das explained, pointing to the wall. “See here, where the sealant pattern changes texture? That’s where whoever was slopping it on had to go get a ladder or floatpad to finish the job.”
“And whoever that worker was, he was considerably shorter than the masters of this vessel.” Thrawn turned back to Maris. “As you deduced, the vessel has indeed been repaired many times. But not by its owners.”
Maris’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, her eyes suddenly cold as she looked back at the dead bodies. “They were slavers.”
“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “Are you still angry at me for killing them?”
Maris’s face turned pink. “I’m sorry.”
“I understand.” Thrawn’s eyebrows lifted slightly “You of the Republic don’t condone slavery yourselves, do you?”
“No, of course not,” Maris assured him hastily.
“We have droids to handle most menial chores,” Car’das added.
“What are droids?”
“Mechanical workers that can think and act on their own,” Car’das explained. “You must have something of the sort yourselves.”
“Actually, we don’t,” Thrawn said, eyeing Car’das thoughtfully. “Nor do any of the alien cultures we’ve met. Can you show me one?”
Beside Maris, Qennto rumbled warningly in his throat. “We didn’t bring any on this trip,” Car’das said, ignoring his captain’s thunderous expression. Qennto had warned him repeatedly not to discuss the Republic’s technology level with the Chiss. But in Car’das’s opinion this hardly qualified. Besides, Thrawn had surely already examined the Bargain Hunter‘s records, which must show a dozen different types of droids in action.
“A pity,” Thrawn said. “Still, if the Republic has no slavery, how is it you understand the concept?”
Car’das grimaced. “We do know a few cultures where it exists,” he admitted reluctantly.
“And your people permit this?”
“The Republic hasn’t got much pull with systems that aren’t members,” Qennto put in impatiently. “Look, are we done here yet?”
“Not quite,” Thrawn said, gesturing toward the door he’d just come through. “Come and look.”
More bodies? Steeling himself, determined not to go all woozy again even if the whole place was piled high with them, Car’das stepped past the commander and through the doorway.
And stopped short, his mouth dropping open in amazement. The room was unexpectedly large, with a high ceiling that must have stretched up at least two of the ship’s decks.
But it wasn’t piled high with bodies. It was piled high with treasure.
Treasure of all kinds, too
. There were piles of metal ingots of various colors and sheens, neatly stacked inside acceleration webbing. There were rows of bins, some filled with coins or multicolored gems, others stocked with rectangular packages that might have been food or spices or electronics. Several heavy-looking cabinets against one wall probably held items that would have been too tempting to leave within easy reach of the slaves or perhaps even the crew itself.
There was also a good deal of artwork: flats, sculpts, tressles, and other forms and styles Car’das couldn’t even categorize. Most of it was stacked together, but he could see a few pieces scattered around throughout the room, as if some of the loaders either hadn’t recognized them as art or else hadn’t much cared where they put them.
There was a sharp intake of air and a slightly strangled gasp as Qennto and Maris came in behind him. “What in the worlds?” Maris breathed.
“A treasure vessel, carrying the plunder of many worlds,” Thrawn said, slipping into the room behind them. “They were not only slavers, but pirates and raiders as well.”
With an effort, Car’das pulled his eyes away from the treasure trove and focused on Thrawn. “You sound like you already know these people.”
“Only by reputation,” Thrawn said, his almost gentle tone in sharp contrast to the tightness in his face as he gazed across the room. “At least, up until now.”
“You’ve been hunting them?”
A slight frown creased Thrawn’s forehead. “Of course not,” he said. “The Vagaari have made no move against the Chiss Ascendancy. We therefore have no reason to hunt them.”
“But you know their name,” Qennto murmured.
“As I said, I know their reputation,” Thrawn said. “They’ve been moving through this region of space for at least the past ten years, preying mostly on the weak and the technologically primitive.”
“What about their slaves?” Maris asked. “Do you know anything about them?”
Thrawn shook his head. “We haven’t found any aboard this vessel. From that, and from this room, I presume they were en route to their main base.”
“And they off-loaded the slaves to keep them from finding out where that base is?” Car’das suggested.
“Exactly,” Thrawn said. “The crew complement is smaller than one would expect for a vessel of this size, as well. That indicates they weren’t expecting trouble, but instead intended to go straight home.”
“Yes, you mentioned back on the bridge that they were undercrewed,” Car’das said. “How did you know that?”
“I deduced it from the fact that their defense was sluggish and mostly ineffectual,” Thrawn said. “They did little but launch missiles, all running The same countermeasures we’d already seen. A fully crewed vessel would have had laser gunners in place and would have shifted the defense patterns of their missiles. Clearly, they were expecting their escort to do any fighting that became necessary.”
“And boy, were they wrong,” Qennto muttered. “You had them outclassed from the start.”
“Hardly outclassed,” Thrawn told him. “I merely noticed that in both of their attacks a laser salvo preceded their missiles in a distinct and predictable pattern. When they launched their third attack, I was able to fire back just as the tubes’ protective doors opened, detonating the missiles before they could be launched. Fighters that size never have sufficient armor to withstand that sort of internal blast.”
“You see?” Car’das said drily. “Nothing to it.”
Qennto’s lip twisted. “Yeah,” he said. “Right.”
“So what happens now?” Maris asked.
“I’ll have the vessel towed back to Crustai for further study,” Thrawn said, giving the room one last look before turning back to the door.
“Question,” Qennto put in. “You told Car’das you’d be giving us some extra stuff as payment for teaching you Basic, right?”
“That wasn’t precisely the way I stated it,” Thrawn said.
“But that’s essentially correct.”
“And the longer we stay, the more extras we get?”
Thrawn smiled faintly. “That may be possible. I thought you were in a rush to return home.”
“No, no, there’s no hurry,” Qennto assured him, giving the treasure room a leisurely sweep of his eves. His earlier impatience, Car’das noted, seemed to have vanished without a trace. “No hurry at all.”
5
Come, Padawan,“ C’baoth said tartly, half turning to throw a glare behind him. ”Stop lagging.“
“Yes, Master C’baoth,” Lorana said, picking up her pace and hoping fervently that at her increased speed she’d be able to get through the early-morning marketplace crowds without running down any of the shoppers. Up to now the browsing Brolfi had been able to get out of C’baoth’s way as he strode through their midst, but she suspected part of that was the fact that he was as hard to miss as an approaching thunderstorm. She, unfortunately, didn’t have nearly the same commanding presence, and there had been some near misses already.
The frustrating part was that there was no need for them to walk this fast in the first place—they still had plenty of time before the day’s negotiations began. No, C’baoth was simply angry: angry at the stubborn Brolf negotiators, angry at the equally stubborn Corporate Alliance representatives, angrier still at the careless drafters of the original mineral-rights contract who had left matters open to multiple interpretations in the first place.
And the angrier C’baoth got, the faster he walked.
Fortunately, the Force was with Lorana, and she made it to the end of their particular market segment without bowling anyone over and crossed onto one of the wide promenades that divided up the marketplace. One more segment to go and they would climb the steps to the wide western door of the city administration center where the negotiations would soon resume.
Unfortunately, C’baoth responded to the open area by picking up his pace all the more. Grimacing, Lorana sped up as much as she could without breaking into a trot, which she knew would bring an instant rebuke as being undignified and unbecoming of a Jedi.
And then, without warning, C’baoth braked to an abrupt halt.
“What is it?” Lorana asked, stretching out with the Force as she came to a stop beside him. She could detect no danger or threat nearby, only C’baoth’s own suddenly heightened annoyance. “Master C’baoth?”
“Typical,” he growled, his hair and beard rustling against his robe as he turned his head. “Nervous and distrusting, the whole lot of them. Come, Padawan.”
He strode off toward the market square to their right. Lorana craned her neck to look as she followed, trying to figure out what he was talking about.
And then she saw two men coming toward them through the crowd: a Jedi and his Padawan, both of them familiar looking, striding confidently through the ordinary people like lights amid a swirl of dead leaves.
She frowned, the mental image suddenly catching her conscious attention. A swirl of dead leaves…
When in the worlds had she started to think of non-Jedi that way? Surely that wasn’t how she’d been brought up to think of the people she had dedicated her life to serve. Could it be an attitude she’d picked up from some of the people she’d traveled among since becoming C’baoth’s Padawan? Certainly many of them had seemed to consider themselves inferior to those who carried the lightsaber,
Or had she picked it up from C’baoth himself? Was that how he thought about people?
C’baoth stopped a few meters from the edge of the square and waited, and as the two figures threaded their way around the final group of shoppers and continued toward them Lorana finally matched their faces with their names. “Master C’baoth,” Obi-Wan Kenobi said, nodding in greeting as he and his Padawan, Anakin Skywalker, walked up.
“Master Kenobi,” C’baoth greeted them in turn, his voice and manner polite but with an edge of intimidation beneath the words. “This is a surprise. Have you come all the way from Coruscant just to shop for prisht fruits?
”
“It is said that Barlok horticultural techniques produce the best specimens,” Obi-Wan replied calmly. “And you?”
“You know perfectly well why we’re here,” C’baoth said. “Tell me, how is Master Windu?”
Kenobi’s lip twitched slightly. “He’s well.”
“That’s good to hear.” C’baoth shifted his attention to the young teen standing at Kenobi’s side, and a slight smile finally touched the corners of his lips. “Master Skywalker, isn’t it?” he said in a friendlier tone.
“Yes, Master C’baoth,” Anakin said, and Lorana couldn’t help but smile herself at the earnest gravity in the boy’s voice. “It’s an honor to see you again.”
“As it is likewise an honor for me to meet once more with such a promising Padawan,” C’baoth replied. “Tell me, how goes your training?”
Anakin glanced at Kenobi. “There’s always more to learn, of course,” he said. “I can only hope my progress is satisfactory.”
“His progress is more than satisfactory,” Kenobi put in. “At this rate, he’ll be a full Jedi before he’s twenty.”
Lorana winced. She herself was already twenty-two, and C’baoth had made no mention of recommending her for Jedi Knighthood anytime soon. Was Anakin that much stronger in the Force than she was?
“And yet he began his training so much later than usual,” C’baoth pointed out, smiling almost fondly at the boy. “That makes his development even more impressive.”
“Indeed,” Kenobi said. “In hindsight, I think it’s clear that the Council made the right decision in permitting me to train him.”
There was just the slightest emphasis on the word me, and for half a second a dark cloud seemed to hover at the edge of C’baoth’s face. Then the darkness faded and he smiled again. “This has been a pleasant meeting,” he said. “But the negotiators are assembling, and I have work to do. I trust you’ll excuse me if I go and deal with legitimate Council business.”
“Certainly,” Kenobi said, his cheek tightening slightly at the implication that he and his Padawan were not, in fact, on legitimate Council business themselves.