Star Wars - Outbound Flight

by Timothy Zahn

  “That’s because no weapon you’ve heard of has had my special guidance system,” Doriana said, pulling a data card from his pocket. “It will locate the outer archway and seek out its targets, wherever they hide.”

  “Without its sensor emissions being detected?” Patriot asked, taking the card carefully.

  “Neither detected nor jammed,” Doriana assured him. “It doesn’t rely on sensor frequencies the security forces will be monitoring.”

  In actual fact, of course, the card didn’t rely on sensors at all. It was nothing more than a geographically programmed course director that would take the missile on the precise path Doriana himself had systematically paced out on his last trip to Barlok. And far from seeking out the negotiators, if C’baoth suddenly decided to hold the meeting in a different room tomorrow morning, the missile would find itself going to the wrong place entirely. That would be embarrassing, not to mention disastrous.

  But that was as unlikely as Patriot and his simple-minded conspirators realizing how thoroughly the flopbrim was being pulled over their eyes. Nothing impressed people more than the perception that they were being entrusted with exotic technology.

  “Then our victory is assured,” Patriot said, fingering the data card almost reverently.

  “It is indeed,” Doriana said. “One final matter, then. Were you planning to return to your homes when you leave here this evening?”

  “Of course,” Patriot said, frowning. “We’ll need a good meal, and sleep—”

  “And you’ll get them as far from your homes as you can travel,” Doriana interrupted. “From this time onward, you must stay strictly away from your families and your other friends.”

  Patriot’s whole body jerked in stages, from his feet up to a little whiplash jerk of his head. “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that by noon tomorrow, with Magistrate Argente and Guildmaster Gilfrome lying dead, the authorities will descend upon the homes of every member of your guild,” Doriana said coldly. “You and your friends must not be there, nor can anyone know where you’ve gone.”

  “But for how long?”

  “As long as necessary,” Doriana said. “Make no mistake, Patriot. From now on you and the others will be fugitives, running and hiding from the very people whose lives and prosperity you will have risked your lives to protect.” He lifted his eyebrows. “If you aren’t strong enough to pay that price, now is the time to renounce your oath.”

  Patriot straightened up, the resolve in his face visibly hardening. “We do what is necessary for our guild and our people,” he said firmly. “We will pay the price for all.”

  “Then you are a Brolf of high honor indeed,” Doriana said gravely. For some people the prospect of life on the run would be grounds to take a second, harder look at what they were doing. But for Patriot and his friends, such a potentially bleak future merely added to the perceived nobility and glamour of their insane plot.

  Which was why Doriana had recruited them for this mission in the first place. Stupid, angry, and malleable, they’d been the perfect pawns for his plan. The deed would be done, and Doriana himself long gone, before any of them realized what had actually happened. If indeed they ever did. “Then here and now we stand together on the path to glory and destiny,” he continued. “By tomorrow noon these traitorous negotiations will lie crumbled in the dust of history, and the precious minerals of Barlok will be forever held in Brolf hands.”

  “And those who would betray us will know the cost of such betrayal,” Patriot intoned solemnly. “The Brolf people arc deeply in your debt, Defender. Someday, I swear, this debt will be repaid.”

  “And I swear in turn that I will return to collect that payment,” Doriana said, though offhand he couldn’t imagine anything he was less likely to do. “I have one more small adjustment to make to the missile after the burst thrusters are in place, and then will leave to prepare my own part in this redemption of the Brolf people. Be certain you place the missile at precisely the spot we agreed on. Only there will it be inside the sensor shadow that guarantees it will not be spotted.” And only from there, he added to himself, would the pre-programmed path take it where it had to go.

  “I will,” Patriot promised. “Then to our victory, Defender.”

  Doriana smiled. “Yes,” he said softly. “To our victory.”

  Car’das had noted on their first approach to Thrawn’s asteroid that the base itself seemed remarkably well hidden. It was only as they approached now for the second time that he found out how the commander had pulled off that particular trick.

  Instead of being built on the surface, the base was inside.

  Inside, in fact, down a long, twisting tunnel, a path the Springhawk‘s helmsman took at a far better clip than was actually necessary. “Impressive place,” Car’das said aloud, trying to cover his nervousness as he watched the rocky walls shooting past. “Is this typical Chiss construction?”

  “Not at all,” Thrawn said, his voice sounding odd as he gazed out the bridge viewport. “Most bases are on the surface. I wanted this one to be more difficult for potential enemies to penetrate.”

  “Hardly an original idea,” Qennto put in. His voice was casual, but Car’das could see a little tightness around his eyes as he paid close attention to the helmsman’s maneuvering. “You make the approach tricky so an attacker has to come at you slowly. ‘Course, that makes it just as hard to get your own ships out, but that’s the price you pay.”

  “There are ways of minimizing that particular problem,” Thrawn told him. “At the moment, the Chiss Defense Fleet is working with this same concept with another base, on a much larger and more sophisticated scale than this. Interesting.”

  “What?” Car’das asked.

  “That pattern of colored lights woven between the approach markers,” Thrawn said, pointing to the wall just ahead. “It indicates the presence of visitors.”

  “Is that good or bad?” Maris asked.

  Thrawn shrugged. “That depends on who the visitors are.”

  Three minutes later they came around a final curve and the tunnel opened up into a large cavern. At the far side, the rock face was alive with the glinting lights of ranging markers and viewports, with eight ships nestled up against various docking stations. Five were the Chiss fighters Car’das had already seen in action, two were small transport-style shuttles, and the eighth was a cruiser about the size of the Springhawk. Unlike the smoothly contoured military ships, though, this one was all planes and corners and sharply defined angles. “Ah,” Thrawn said. “Our guests are from the Fifth Ruling Family.”

  “How can you tell?” Maris asked.

  “By the design and markings of the spacecraft,” Thrawn said. “I can also tell that the visitor is of direct but peripheral family lineage.”

  “So is that good or bad?” Car’das asked.

  “Mostly neutral,” Thrawn said. “The Fifth Family has interests in this region, so this is most likely a routine survey. Certainly someone of higher rank, and from the First or Eighth Families, would have come to deliver a reprimand.”

  Car’das frowned sideways at Maris. A reprimand?

  “You’ll all be my guests at the welcoming ceremony, of course,” Thrawn continued as the Springhawk made its way toward an empty docking station. “You may find it interesting.”

  Interesting, in Car’das’s opinion, was far too mild a word.

  To begin with, there was the welcoming chamber itself. At first it appeared to be nothing more than an empty, unadorned gray room just off the docking station. But at a touch of a hidden button all that changed. Colorful panels folded out from the walls, reversing and settling themselves flat again. A handful of draperies descended from hidden panels in the ceiling, along with wavy stalactite-like formations that reminded Car’das of frozen pieces of aurora borealis skyfire. The floor tiles didn’t flip or reconfigure, but intricate patterns of colored lights appeared through a transparent outer surface, some of them remaining stationary
or slowly pulsing while others ran sequences that gave the illusion of flowing rivers. Every color of the spectrum was represented, but yellow was definitely favored.

  It was an impressive display, and the Chiss who stepped through the portal a minute later was no less impressive. He strode in flanked by a pair of young Chiss wearing dark yellow uniforms and belted handguns, his own outfit consisting of an elaborately layered gray robe with a yellow collar and generous yellow highlights. Though not much older than Thrawn, there was an air about him of nobility and pride, the bearing of someone born to rule. The movements of his escort were crisp and polished, and Car’das had the impression that they and the four black-clad warriors Thrawn had brought along were having a subtle contest as to which group could look the most professional.

  Thrawn’s greeting and the visitor’s response were in Cheunh, of course, and once again Car’das was only able to catch occasional words. But the tone and flow of the speeches, along with the equally formalized gestures and movements, had a sense of ancient ritual that he found fascinating.

  It was an attitude, unfortunately, that his fellow travelers didn’t seem to share. Maris, with her philosophical disdain for the Republic’s structured corruption, clearly had little patience with official ritual of any sort, and watched the proceedings with a sort of polite detachment. Qennto, for his part, merely looked bored.

  The ceremony ended, the two yellow-clad Chiss moved back to flank the doorway to the ship, and with a gesture Thrawn led his visitor to where the three humans waited. “May I present Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family,” he said, switching from Cheunh to Sy Bisti. “These are K’rell’n traders, visitors from a far world.”

  Chaf’orm’bintrano said something, his tone rather sharp. “In Sy Bisti, Aristocra, if you please,” Thrawn said. “They do not understand Cheunh.”

  Chaf’orm’bintrano snorted, again in Cheunh, and the corners of Thrawn’s mouth tightened briefly. “Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano is not interested in communicating with you at present,” he translated. “One of my warriors will show you to your quarters.” His eyes flicked to Car’das. “My apologies.”

  “No apologies needed, Commander,” Car’das assured him, feeling a tightness in his throat as he gave Chaf’orm’bintrano an abbreviated bow. “None at all.”

  The rooms Thrawn had ordered for them were built along the same lines as their quarters aboard the Springhawk, though somewhat larger. There were also two sleeping rooms this time instead of one, with a common refresher station set between them. Qennto and Maris were shown to one of the rooms, while Car’das was taken to the other. Exploring his new quarters, Car’das discovered to his mild surprise that his clothing and personal effects had already been brought from his cabin on the Bargain Hunter and arranged neatly in the various storage drawers. Apparently, Thrawn was planning an extended stay for them.

  He paced the floor for a while, trying not to think about Chaf’orm’bintrano and his unconcealed disapproval of their presence in Chiss territory. An hour later a silent warrior arrived at his door with a meal on a tray. Car’das briefly considered checking on Qennto and Maris, decided they could come find him if they wanted his company, and ate his meal alone.

  Afterward, he sat down at the computer station and tried the procedure Thrawn had taught them aboard the Springhawk for accessing the Cheunh vocabulary lists. The procedure worked on this computer, too, and he settled down to study.

  It was five hours later, and he was dozing at the computer station, when another Chiss finally came to fetch him.

  He was taken to a darkened room that was a close double of the Springhawk‘s Forward Visual Triangulation Site. In this case the wide viewport looked out into the docking cavern outside, and Car’das could see the distant glow of drive engines as a vessel made its way toward the exit tunnel. “Good evening, Car’das,” Thrawn said from one of the seats to the side of the room. “I trust you had a productive day.”

  “Reasonably productive, yes,” Car’das said, going over and sitting down beside him. “I worked ahead a little on my language lessons.”

  “Yes, I know,” Thrawn said. “I wanted to apologize to you for Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano’s lack of courtesy.”

  “I’m sorry he took a dislike to us,” Car’das said, trying to be diplomatic. “I enjoyed the welcoming ceremony, and was looking forward to seeing more of how the Chiss do things.”

  “It was nothing personal,” Thrawn assured him. “Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano considers your presence here a threat to the Ascendancy.”

  “May I ask why?”

  Thrawn shrugged fractionally. “To some people, the unknown always represents a threat.”

  “Sometimes they’re right,” Car’das conceded. “On the other hand, you Chiss seem quite capable of taking care of yourselves in a fight.”

  “Perhaps,” Thrawn said. “There are times when I wonder.

  Tell me, do you understand the concept of neutralizing a potential enemy before that enemy can launch an attack against you?“

  “You mean like a preemptive strike?” Car’das asked. “Certainly.”

  “It’s widespread among your people, then?”

  “I’m not sure widespread is the right word,” Car’das hedged. “I know there are people who consider it immoral.”

  “Do you?”

  Car’das grimaced. He was twenty-three years old, and he worked for a smuggler who liked to tweak Hutts. What did he know about the universe? “I think that if you’re going to do something like that, you need to make very sure they’re a genuine threat,” he said slowly. “I mean, you need to have evidence that they were actually planning to attack you.”

  “What about someone who may not plan to attack you personally, but is constantly attacking others?”

  It was pretty obvious where this was going. “You mean like the Vagaari?” Car’das asked.

  “Exactly,” Thrawn confirmed. “As I told you, they have not yet attacked Chiss territory, and military doctrine dictates they must therefore be ignored. Do the beings they prey on have any claim on our military strength, or must we simply stand aside and watch as they are slaughtered or enslaved?”

  Car’das shook his head. “You’re asking questions that have been argued since civilization began.” He stole a look at the commander’s profile. “I take it you and Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano disagree on this point?”

  “I and the entire Chiss species disagree on this point,” Thrawn said, a note of sadness in his voice. “Or so it often seems. I’m relieved to hear that the question isn’t as clear-cut for others as it is for our Ruling Families.”

  “Did you tell the Aristocra about the Vagaari ship?” Car’das asked. “There seemed to be plunder in there from a lot of different species.”

  “I did, and he wasn’t particularly impressed,” Thrawn said. “For him, the defensive-only doctrine admits to no exceptions.”

  “What if some of those victims were species you know?” Car’das suggested. “Friends, or even just trading partners? Would that make a difference?”

  “I doubt it,” Thrawn said thoughtfully. “We do little trading outside our borders. Still, it might be useful to examine the treasure in detail.” He cocked his head. “Would you be interested in assisting?”

  “Of course,” Car’das said. “Though I don’t know what help I would be.”

  “You might recognize some of the artifacts,” Thrawn said, standing up. “If they also prey on worlds of your Republic, you may have additional data that would be useful.”

  “In that case, you should also invite Maris and Qennto along,” Car’das said, standing up as well. “They’ve traveled a lot more than I have.”

  “A good suggestion,” Thrawn said as he led the way toward the exit. “That will also give Captain Qennto a chance to choose which of the items he’ll wish to keep for himself” He smiled slightly. “Which will in turn help establish the relative values of the items.”

&n
bsp; “You’re not cynical at all, are you, Commander?” Car’das said.

  “I merely understand how others think and react,” Thrawn said, his smile fading. “Perhaps that’s why I have so much difficulty with a philosophy of waiting instead of acting.”

  “Perhaps,” Car’das said. “For whatever it’s worth, I doubt the people you’d be taking action to help would see any moral problems with it.”

  “True,” Thrawn agreed. “Though their gratitude might be short-lived.”

  “Sometimes,” Car’das conceded. “Not always.”

  8

  With a sigh, Obi-Wan shut off his comlink and slipped it back into his belt. “Still nothing?” Anakin asked.

  “No,” Obi-Wan said, throwing a look at the darkening sky. The stars were starting to appear, and all around them house lights were coming on as families settled in for the evening.

  Anakin muttered something under his breath. “We should have tried calling her earlier.”

  “We did try calling her earlier,” Obi-Wan told him. “You were just too busy playing with Duefgrin’s swoop to notice.”

  “Excuse me, Master, but I was working, not playing,” Anakin said stiffly. “The Brolf we’re looking for is named Jhompfi, he lives in the Covered Brush house ring, and he’s supposedly using the burst thrusters on a speeder bike he uses to smuggle rissle sticks out to the Karts.”

  Obi-Wan stared at his Padawan. “When did you get all that?”

  “When you were wandering around the neighborhood looking for clues,” Anakin said. It was hard to sound hurt and smug at the same time, but the boy managed to pull it off “Those were the only times he’d talk to me.” He wrinkled his rose. “I don’t think he trusts grown-ups very much.”

  “You should have said something the minute you had that information,” Obi-Wan said tartly, slipping the guide card into his datapad and keying for a house ring search. “Or hadn’t it occurred to you that Lorana might be in trouble?”