by Timothy Zahn
“What does he look like?”
The Brolf looked helplessly at his companion. “Like a human,” the second Brolf said, waving a hand vaguely.
“Do they need more persuasion, Master?” Anakin asked, letting his voice harden.
Obi-Wan suppressed a smile. In his experience, threats from fourteen-year-olds were seldom very convincing.
His eyes dropped to the dead Brolf on the floor. On second thought, in this case maybe they were. “Don’t bother,” he told Anakin. “They probably really don’t know how to describe him.”
“I’ll bet Riske could get something out of them,” Anakin suggested.
For a long moment Obi-Wan was tempted. After all, the assassination plot was directed against Magistrate Argente. It would be only fitting for them to be turned over to Argente’s people for interrogation.
But that wasn’t the way Jedi were supposed to do things. “We’ll turn them over to the city police,” he told Anakin, pulling Out his comlink. “Then I guess we’ll just have to wait for Lorana to wake up. Maybe she can tell us more.”
“We going to wait here?” Anakin asked, frowning.
“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, smiling tightly. “After all, Jhompfi or Filvian or Defender might drop by.”
“Right,” Anakin murmured understandingly. “If we’re lucky.”
The Vagaari ship had been anchored to the outside of the Crustai asteroid base a quarter of the circumference around from the entrance tunnel. With a Chiss warrior at the controls, Thrawn and the three humans took one of the transports out from the base and docked with it.
To Car’das’s private dismay, the alien bodies were still there, lying crumpled right where they’d fallen.
Qennto was apparently not thrilled by that fact, either. “You are planning to clean up this place eventually, aren’t you?” he asked distastefully as they picked their way through the corridor toward the treasure room.
“Eventually,” Thrawn assured him. “First we need to learn what we can of the enemy’s strategy and tactics, and for that we need to know where each combatant was and how he was positioned when he died.”
“Shouldn’t you have put the ship somewhere out of sight?” Maris asked. She was ‘clinging tightly to Qennto’s arm as they walked, Car’das noted, apparently not doing nearly as well this time around as she had on their last visit. It made him feel better, somehow.
“Eventually, we’ll move it inside the base,” Thrawn said. “But we need to first establish that there are no dangerous instabilities in its engines or weaponry.”
The treasure room, like the corridors, looked exactly the same as it had just after the ship’s capture, except that now there were a pair of Chiss moving along the stacks, apparently making sensor records of the various items. “Spread out,” Thrawn ordered the humans. “See if you can find anything of a familiar style.”
“You mean like different kinds of money?” Qennto asked as he looked around the room.
“Or are you talking about the gemstones?” Maris added.
“I was speaking mainly of the artwork,” Thrawn said. “We can learn more from that than we can from currency or gems.”
Qennto snorted. “You expecting there to be sales receipts?”
“I was thinking more of the art’s origins.” Thrawn gestured toward a set of nested tressles. “Those, for instance, were probably created by beings with an extra joint between wrist and elbow, who see largely in the blue-ultraviolet part of the spectrum.”
Qennto and Maris exchanged looks. “The Frunchies, you think?” Maris suggested.
“Yeah, right,” Qennto said with a grunt. He eyed Thrawn suspiciously, then unhooked Maris’s arm from his and strode over to the tressles.
“What are Frunchies?” Car’das asked.
“The Frunchettan-sai,” Maris explained. “They have a couple of colony worlds in the Outer Rim. Rak calls them Frunchies because—”
“I’ll be broggled,” Qennto said, cutting her off as he leaned over the tressles with his head cocked to the side.
“What?” Maris said.
“He’s right,” Qennto said, sounding stunned. “It’s signed with formal Frunchv script.” He turned back to Thrawn, a strange expression on his face. “I thought you said you hadn’t made it to Republic space.”
“To the best of my knowledge, we haven’t,” Thrawn said. “But the artist’s physical characteristics are obvious simply from looking at his work.”
“Maybe to you it’s obvious,” Qennto growled, looking back at the tressles. “It sure isn’t to me.”
“Or me,” Maris seconded.
Thrawn raised his eyebrows at Car’das. “Car’das?”
Car’das peered at the artwork, trying to spot whatever these subtle cues were that Thrawn had seen. But he couldn’t.
“Sorry.”
“Maybe it was just luck,” Qennto said, abandoning the tressles and kneeling down beside an elaborate blue-and-white sculpt. “Let me see here… yeah, I thought so.” He looked over his shoulder at Thrawn. “How about this one?”
For a moment Thrawn studied the sculpt in silence, his eyes occasionally flicking around the rest of the room as if seeking inspiration. “The artist is humanoid,” he said at last. “Proportioned differently from humans and Chiss, with either a wider torso or longer arms.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “There’s something of a distance to his emotional state, too. I would say his people are both drawn to and yet repulsed by or fearful of the physical objects they live among.”
Qennto’s breath went out in a huff. “I don’t believe this,” he said. “That’s the Pashvi, all right.”
“I don’t think I know them,” Maris said.
“They’ve got a system on the edge of Wild Space,” Qennto said. “I’ve been there a few times—there’s a small but stable market for their art, mostly in the Corporate Sector.”
“What did Commander Thrawn mean about fear of physical objects?” Car’das asked.
“Their world is sprinkled with thousands of rock pillars,” Qennto said. “Most of the best food plants grow on the tops. Unfortunately, so does a nasty predator avian. It makes for—well, for pretty much just what he said.”
“And you got all that from a single sculpt?” Maris asked, gazing at Thrawn with a strange look on her face.
“Actually, no,” the Chiss assured her. “There are—let me see—twelve more examples of their artwork.” He pointed to two other areas of the room.
“You sure?” Car’das asked, frowning at the indicated sculpts and flats. “They don’t look at all alike to me.”
“They were created by different artists,” Thrawn said. “But the species is the same.”
“This is really weird,” Qennto said, shaking his head. “Like some crazy Jedi thing.”
“Jedi?” Thrawn asked.
“They’re the guardians of the peace in the Republic,” Maris told him. “Probably the only reason we’ve held together as long as we have. They’re very powerful, very noble people.”
Qennto caught Car’das’s eye, his nose wrinkling slightly. His opinion of Jedi, Car’das knew, was considerably lower than his girlfriend’s.
“They sound intriguing.” Thrawn nodded toward the sculpt. “I presume these Pashvi won’t have put up much resistance to Vagaari raids?”
“Hardly,” Qennto confirmed grimly. “They’re a pretty agreeable people. Lousy at fighting.”
“And your Republic and these Jedi don’t protect them?”
“The Jedi are spread way too thin,” Car’das said. “Anyway, Wild Space isn’t actually part of the Republic.”
“Even if it were, the government is too busy with its own intrigues to bother with little things like life-and-death situations,” Marls said, a bitter edge to her voice.
“I see,” Thrawn said. “Well. Let us continue our survey, and please inform me if you find anything else from your region of space.”
He looked at Marls. “And as we search, perhaps you’ll
tell me more about these Jedi.”
9
Guildmaster Gilfrome’s here,“ Anakin’s voice said softly from Obi-Wan’s comlink. ”just coming up the steps to the east door.“
“Magistrate Argente’s here, too,” Obi-Wan told him, gazing down from the administration building’s west door as Argente climbed up the stairs on that side, his people pressed protectively around him. “And I see Master C’baoth and Lorana approaching through the marketplace.”
“So that’s it?” Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan scratched his check thoughtfully. The expected attack on Magistrate Argente hadn’t come during the night, nor had it been launched on the trip here to the conference room.
Now, with the miners’ representative on the scene, the conspirators’ last chance was gone, at least until the negotiators broke for lunch. “It is for now, anyway,” he told Anakin. “But stay alert.”
Argente and his people reached the top of the stairs, and Obi-Wan bowed in greeting. The group brushed past without a single acknowledging glance and disappeared inside. Suppressing a flicker of annoyance, Obi-Wan turned his attention to C’baoth and Lorana as they started up the stairs. Lorana, he noted, was a bit pale, her steps a little tentative. But her expression was determined, and as they reached the top of the steps she smiled a bit awkwardly at him. “Master Kenobi,” she said, nodding. “I never had a chance to properly thank you for what you and Anakin did for me yesterday.”
“And this is also not the time,” C’baoth put in. Nevertheless, there was a flicker of approval in his eyes as the two Jedi exchanged nods. “There is still danger, both to the negotiators and the negotiations themselves. Stay here with Master Kenobi and watch the crowd for familiar faces.”
“Yes, Master C’baoth,” Lorana said.
With another nod at Obi-Wan, C’baoth strode past through the doorway, leaving the two of them alone. “How do you feel?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Much better, thank you,” Lorana said. “I really don’t know how much good I can do here, though,” she added, turning toward the marketplace spread out before them at the bottom of the steps. “I only saw three of the conspirators.”
“That’s three more than the rest of us have,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “Not counting the ones already in custody, of course.”
“Maybe their arrest scared off the others.”
“It may have scared them away from a missile attack, but they’re not going to just give up and go away,” Obi-Wan said. “They seem obsessed with what they see as the Corporate Alliance’s attempt to steal their planet’s wealth, and once a person’s obsessed he or she doesn’t listen to logic anymore. Sheer momentum will carry them the rest of the way through this.”
Lorana shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand that kind of thinking.”
“You need to learn to understand it,” Obi-Wan told her. “Obsession is something that can happen to even the strongest person, and for the best of motives.” He gestured. “Still, with you and me at this door, Anakin and Riske at the other, and the police and the Corporate Alliance’s security watching the sky, we should be able to stop whatever they throw at us.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lorana murmured. “If not, Master C’baoth will never let us hear the end of it.”
Seated on his hotel room balcony, Doriana smiled down at the scene below him. The players had assembled, and it was time for the performance to begin.
Picking up his comlink, he keyed it on and punched in the proper activation code. Then, setting the comlink aside, he settled down to watch.
Even stretched out to the Force, Lorana’s only warning was a burst of commotion at the leftmost edge of the marketplace, a sudden movement of shoppers as they scattered away from one of the booths. “Something’s happening,” she warned, pointing.
The words were barely out of her mouth when the booth erupted in a flash of light and a burst of smoke. “Watch out!” Obi-Wan barked, the snap-hiss of his lightsaber sounding behind her.
Lorana yanked out her own lightsaber, igniting it as she tried to pierce the expanding smoke cloud. As far as she could tell, nothing else seemed to be happening. “To the right!” Obi-Wan warned.
Lorana turned; and to her horror she saw a silvery cylinder streak out of another of the booths, flying a bare meter above the ground.
Coming straight toward them.
“I’ve got it,” she said, jumping into its path and lifting her lightsaber into attack-3 position. Defense against incoming remotes was an exercise C’baoth had drilled her in for hour after wearying hour. Behind her, she sensed Obi-Wan moving back and to her right into backstop position. She settled her breathing, watching the missile approach, trying not to think about what would happen if her attack detonated the warhead…
It was nearly to her when, without warning, the front of the nose cone erupted into a cloud of sparkling smoke, and a cone of roiling black liquid sprayed out at her.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, instinctively flinching to the side as she did so. She sensed the missile start to pass, and swung her lightsaber as hard as she could in that direction.
But her sidestep had put her off balance, and even as her blade sliced through the air she knew she was too late. Behind her, she heard the pitch of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber change as he took his own shot at it. But the missile’s roar changed as fresh thrusters kicked in, and as the heat of the missile’s exhaust swept across her she could tell that he, too, had missed.
“Come on!” he shouted. A hand grabbed her arm, and suddenly they were running through the heat and dissipating smoke in the missile’s wake. She blinked her eves open, ignoring the sting as the black liquid dribbled into them, to see the missile jinking back and forth down the wide central corridor like a droid seeking a target. Across the building at the far door she saw Anakin and Riske charging in from the other door, Anakin’s lightsaber blazing in his hand, Riske’s blaster firing uselessly. Letting go of Lorana’s arm, Obi-Wan locked his lightsaber on and hurled it at the missile.
But even as the spinning green blade closed on it, the missile’s nose dipped and it made a hard turn to the left. She could sense Obi-Wan stretching to the Force, trying to bring his lightsaber back on target. But she could also sense that he wouldn’t be in time.
Which left only one thing they could do. Closing her eyes, she stretched out to the Force, turning her thoughts to her Master. Master C’baoth, she sent urgently toward the room beyond the archway. Danger. Danger. Danger. The missile disappeared through the archway, and she joined with the others in racing down the corridor after it. She caught up with Obi-Wan just as he reached the opening, and turned the corner with him.
And found herself confronted by an extraordinary sight.
Seated at opposite ends of the table, the mining and Corporate Alliance representatives had turned in their chairs to stare with a mixture of surprise, fascination, and terror at the missile that had intruded into their solemn proceedings. Between them, half risen from his own chair, C’baoth was holding a hand palm-outward toward the missile, his eyes blazing.
But the missile was no longer moving. It was frozen in midair, halfway between the archway and the table, its thrusters spitting fire uselessly as they tried to drive it forward against C’baoth’s Force grip.
“Don’t be concerned,” the Jedi Master intoned, his voice resonating with power and authority. “So certain parties believe that they know best what is right and just for Barlok, do they? That killing us will bring them their desire? That the influence of violence supersedes the authority of justice?”
The thrusters gave a final sputter and fell silent, and still the missile hung in midair. “Thank you, Master C’baoth—” Obi-Wan said, starting toward the missile.
“Stand fast, Master Kenobi,” C’baoth ordered sharply. “That is what our attackers believe, Magistrate Argente; Guild-master Gilfrome,” he said, sending a hard look at each end of the table. “Do you believe it, as well?”
Argent
e found his voice first. “No, of course not,” he said, his voice quavering, his eyes locked on the missile that had nearly brought a sudden and violent death to them all.
“Then why do you persist in eroding the legitimate rights of the people of Barlok?” C’baoth demanded. “And you,” he added, turning back to Gilfrome’s end of the table. “Why do you persist in denying the time and expense the Corporate Alliance has spent in developing resources that would otherwise have forever lain uselessly beneath the soil of your world?”
Gilfrome bristled. “Now, see here, Master C’baoth—”
“No, you see,” C’baoth cut in, looking again at Argente. “Both of you see. I have listened to your arguments and your positions and your selfish pettiness. It ends here.”
Deliberately, he closed his outstretched hand. With a raucous crackling of stressed metal, the body of the missile crumpled in on itself. “The people of Barlok demand a fair and just decision,” he said, more quietly now as he gestured Obi-Wan forward. “I will tell you what that decision is going to be.”
The room was silent as Obi-Wan stepped to the mutilated weapon, stretching out his hand to take its weight from C’baoth. Holding it in a Force grip in front of him, he turned and headed back toward the archway. Lorana looked a question at C’baoth, got a microscopic nod in return, and turned to go with Obi-Wan.
It was only then that she noticed Anakin standing beneath the archway, his eyes filled with admiration as he gazed across the room at C’baoth. “That’s telling them,” he murmured as she and Obi-Wan reached him.
“Come on,” Obi-Wan said, his forehead wrinkling slightly as he looked at the boy. “Let’s get this thing to the police disposal team.”
“Report,” the gravelly voice of Darth Sidious ordered, his hooded face hovering above the holoprojector.
“The Barlok operation has been a complete success, my lord,” Doriana told him. “Both sides of the negotiations were so shaken by the attack that C’baoth was able to force them into an agreement.”
“And is of course taking full credit for it?”