by Timothy Zahn
Stepping out into the corridor, she headed toward the aft pylon turbolift. One of these days, she promised herself, she would see about getting a hold of one of those swoops Captain Pakmillu had said were aboard.
15
…And this is the engine compartment,“ Thrawn said, stepping aside to let Thrass look through the access hatchway into the Bargain Hunter‘s engine room. ”You’ll notice it has a radically differently layout from those of Chiss vessels this size.“
“Yes,” Thrass said. He peered inside a moment, then turned to Car’das. “What’s the vessel’s sublight range?”
“I’m not sure,” Car’das said, looking over at Qennto. The other was standing off to one side with Maris, who was whispering a running translation to him. “Rak?” he invited in Basic.
“Why?” Qennto growled. “Is he looking to take it for a test run or something?”
“Come on, Rak,” Car’das cajoled, carefully avoiding Thrawn‘’s eyes. Qennto hadn’t been happy about letting Thrawn give his brother this private tour of his ship, and he’d been wearing that annoyance on his sleeve ever since they’d arrived.
The problem was that either he didn’t remember that Thrawn could now understand Basic, or else he just didn’t care.
So far the commander hadn’t responded to Qennto’s snide comments, but that restraint was bound to have a limit. If he got tired enough of this and tossed Qennto back in the brig, even Maris might not be able to sweet-talk him out again.
Qennto rolled his eyes. “We can do six hundred hours of sublight before refueling,” he said grudgingly. “Six fifty if we’re careful with our acceleration.”
“Thank you.” Switching back to Minnisiat, Car’das translated for Thrass.
“Impressive,” the syndic said, taking another look at the engine compartment. “Their fuel efficiency must be slightly better than ours.”
“Yes, but their hyperdrives appear to be more fragile,” Thrawn said. “Our shock net attacks disabled both theirs and their attackers’ without difficulty.”
“Weaponry?”
“Simple but adequate,” Thrawn told him. “The equipment is difficult to get to, but my experts have studied it at length. Their energy weapons and missiles are less sophisticated than ours, and they don’t carry any shock nets or other disabling equipment. On the other hand, bear in mind that this is merely a small private freighter.”
“True.” Thrass looked at Car’das. “Your people do have war vessels, I presume?”
“The Republic has no army of its own,” Car’das said, choosing his words carefully. Peaceful watchfulness might be the Chiss way, but he still didn’t want to make these people nervous. “Of course, most of our member systems have their own defense forces.”
“Which can also be used for attack?”
“That does happen sometimes,” Car’das conceded. “But the Supreme Chancellor can call on member systems to help stop an aggressor, and that usually ends things pretty quickly. Mediation by the Jedi can sometimes stop trouble before it gets that far.”
“Jedi?”
“A class of beings unknown to us,” Thrawn told him. “Ferasi has been trying to explain them to me.”
Car’das looked at Maris in surprise. He hadn’t realized she’d been having private chats with the commander. Her eyes met his, ducked guiltily away, and for the first time since the session began her running translation faltered.
Qennto didn’t miss any of it. His eyes narrowed, flicking to Maris, then Car’das, then back to Maris, and finally to the two Chiss.
“They appear able to access some unknown energy field,” Thrawn continued to his brother. If he’d caught the interplay, he didn’t show it. “It can be used for sensory enhancement, insight into others’ motivations and thoughts, or as a direct weapon.”
“But only for defense,” Maris put in. “Jedi never attack first.”
“You talking about Jedi?” Qennto put in. “Car’das? Did she say Jedi?”
“She’s trying to describe the Jedi for him,” Car’das said. “The Chiss apparently don’t have anything like them.”
“Good,” Qennto grunted. “At least we top them in something. So what’s she saying?”
“They were just talking about Jedi powers,” Car’das said, looking at the two Chiss. Thrawn’s face was expressionless, while Thrass was clearly annoyed with this side conversation in a language he didn’t understand. “But we can talk about this later,” he added.
“Yeah,” Qennto said. “Sure.”
They finished the rest of the tour and returned to the base. Car’das still couldn’t tell what Thrass thought of it all, but he found himself wilting with relief as he and the others were released to go back to their quarters. He’d half expected the syndic to order them all into the brig.
The relief was premature. Even as he started to pass Qennto and Maris’s quarters and head toward his own, Qennto took his arm and hauled him bodily through the door. “What—?”
“Shut up,” Qennto said, pulling him the rest of the way through and letting the door close behind him. Giving him a shove toward Maris, he put his back to the door and folded his arms defiantly across his chest. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”
“Let’s hear what?” Car’das asked, his heartbeat starting to pound again.
“The story about you and Maris and Thrawn,” Qennto said coldly. “Specifically, these private chats he and Maris have been having.”
Car’das caught his breath, and instantly cursed himself for his reaction. If Qennto had requested a guilty reaction in writing, he could hardly have delivered him a better one. “What do you mean?” he asked, stalling for time.
“Don’t you mean, how do I know?” Qennto snorted. “What, you think that just because I don’t come to your little language school I’ve just been sitting around staring at the walls?” He nodded at the computer across the room. “Maris was kind enough to let me watch her set up the pathway to the vocabulary lists.”
Car’das felt his stomach tighten. “So you understand Cheunh?”
“I understand enough of it.” Qennto looked at Maris. “I also know how to read women.”
“You don’t understand,” Maris said, her voice low and soothing.
“Fine,” he said. “Explain it to me.”
She took a deep breath. “I admire Commander Thrawn,” she said. Her voice was still soothing, but Car’das could hear cracks starting to form in it. She knew Qennto’s temper even better than he did. “He’s intelligent and noble, with an artistic sensitivity I haven’t seen since I left school.”
Qennto snorted. “You mean since you left those shallow needle-headed idiots you used to hang out with?”
“Yes, most of them were idiots,” she agreed without embarrassment. “Comes of being young, I suppose.”
“But Thrawn is different?”
“Thrawn is a grown-up version,” she said. “His artistic sense is coupled with maturity and wisdom. I enjoy spending time talking with him.” Her eyes flashed. “Just talking with him, if that matters.”
“Not really,” Qennto growled. But as Car’das watched some of the tension go out of him, he could tell that it did. “So if these meetings are so innocent, why have you been hiding them?”
A muscle in Maris’s cheek twitched. “Because I knew you’d react exactly like this.”
“And this secrecy was all your idea, huh?”
She hesitated. “Actually, I believe Thrawn suggested it.”
Qennto grunted. “Thought so.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Maris asked, her eyes narrowing ominously.
“It means he’s playing you for a fool,” Qennto said bluntly. “I may not be cultured or artistic, but I’ve been around a little. I know his type, and he’s not what he seems. They never are.”
“Maybe he’s the exception.”
“You can believe that if you want,” Qennto said. “I’m just telling you that somewhere along the line this little pyram
id of cards you’ve build around him is going to fall apart. Bet on it.”
“I will,” she said, her eyes blazing openly now. “You be sure to point it out when it happens.” Turning her back on him, she stalked over to the computer and dropped into the chair.
Qennto watched her go, then turned to Car’das. “You have anything to say?” he challenged.
“No,” Car’das said quickly. “Nothing.”
“Then get out,” Qennto said, moving away from the door. “And remember what I said. Don’t you trust him, either.”
“Sure.” Sidling carefully past him, Car’das escaped out into the corridor and back to his quarters.
Through the row of viewports on the bridge of the Trade Federation battleship Darkvenge the starlines faded once again into stars. “We have arrived,” Vicelord Kav announced from his throne-like command chair.
“Mm,” Doriana murmured noncommittally from his seat on the observers’ couch curving out beside the other. In general, the Neimoidians had excellent navigational systems. But systems were only as good as their operators, and in the Darkvenge‘s case that was open to question. Sidious had insisted the crews of all the task force’s ships be kept to a bare minimum, retaining only those who could be trusted to keep their mouths closed and bringing in droids to take up the slack.
More than once, Doriana had wondered whether Sidious’s ultimate plan was to kill any survivors of the mission to make doubly sure that none of this ever leaked out. If so, the low crew numbers would certainly make that easier.
“Your concerns are needless,” Kav said haughtily, completely missing the direction Doriana’s thoughts had taken. “We are double-checking the location now.”
“Thank you,” Doriana said, inclining his head politely. The skeleton crew would not, of course, affect their attack capabilities to any great degree. That would be handled by droid star-fighters, and that system was largely automated.
He looked around the bridge at the Neimoidians and droids working busily in the various sunken control pits, then turned his attention to the tactical board. The task force was arranging itself into a typical Neimoidian defense structure: the two huge Trade Federation split-ring battleships in the center where they would be best protected, the six armed Techno Union Hardcell-class transports forming a pyramid-point defensive shell around them, and the seven Trade Federation escort cruisers arrayed in a patrol cloud beyond that.
It was an awesome collection of firepower, possibly the largest assembled in one place since the fiasco at Naboo. Against even the weaponry of six brand-new Dreadnaughts, they should have no trouble carrying the day.
Assuming, of course, that Kav’s navigators had indeed brought them to the right part of the right system. If they missed Outbound Flight here, they would have to hurry another six hundred light-years ahead in order to catch it at its second navigational stop.
“Our position is confirmed,” Kav said with satisfaction. His nictitating membranes blinked at Doriana. “If the coordinates you have brought us are correct.”
“They are,” Doriana said. “If Outbound Flight is on schedule, they’ll arrive in a little over eleven days. Until then, we’ll run training exercises to make sure your people and equipment will be ready.”
“They are more than ready,” Kav insisted stiffly. “The combat programs for the droid starfighters are the very best, and between our two battleships we have nearly three thousand of them. No matter how strong Outbound Flight’s defenses, no matter how skilled their gunners, we will destroy them with ease.”
That’s what you said at Naboo. With an effort, Doriana kept the comment to himself. “I’m sure you’re right,” he said instead. “We’ll still spend the next few days running my drills.”
Kav made a noise deep in his chest. “As you wish,” he said with strained patience. “But the extra expenditure of fuel and energy will be upon your responsibility. When do you wish to begin?”
Doriana looked out at the stars. “There’s no time like the present,” he said. “We launch starfighters in ten minutes.”
“And this,” C’baoth said as he led the way into the unusually low-ceilinged room, “is the control room for Weapons Blister Number One. You’ll notice the ceiling is low, to make extra room for the turbolaser charging equipment above us.”
“Lucky we don’t have any Gungans aboard,” Obi-Wan commented, ducking his head a little as he stepped in. The room was equipped with a large wraparound control board in the center, with auxiliary and support consoles along the walls. From the number of chairs arranged at the various stations, it looked like the normal complement would be fifteen people, including the three actual gunners.
“Gungans wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near these stations even if there were any aboard,” C’baoth said flatly. “Weapons specialists need far more sophistication and intelligence than that.”
“In my experience, those two don’t necessarily go together,” Obi-Wan commented. “And there are four of these blisters on each Dreadnaught?”
“Correct,” C’baoth said, crossing to the main firing console and resting his hand on the headrest of one of the chairs. “Come and sit down, Master Skywalker.”
Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, then walked over and lowered himself gingerly into the seat. “Looks complicated,” he commented.
“Not really,” C’baoth said, pointing over his shoulder at the various sections of the board. “Here are the actual firing controls. Note that you can aim and fire both the forward and aft turbolasers from here as well as your own starboard-side weaponry. Over here is the sensor-lock monitor; this is the secondary fire control; this is the weapons status board; this is the comm; this is the tactical display system. All quite straightforward.”
“Still pretty complicated,” Anakin said. “I’ll bet I could design a better layout.”
“I’m sure you could,” C’baoth said, throwing Obi-Wan an amused smile. “Unfortunately, Rendili StarDrive didn’t think to consult any Jedi during production. Still, you’ll learn it quickly enough. We’ll start with an overall tutorial and then a simple simulation. You access both over here—”
“Wait a minute,” Obi-Wan said, frowning as he stepped to Anakin’s other side. “What are you doing?”
“I’m teaching Master Skywalker how to handle Dreadnaught-One’s weaponry, of course,” C’baoth said.
“Doesn’t Captain Pakmillu already have experienced crewers for that job?”
“Experience is not always the most important aspect of combat,” C’baoth pointed out. “Timing and coordination are also key, and no amount of experience can give ordinary gunners the edge that we already possess. Tell me, Master Skywalker, has Master Kenobi ever spoken to you of the Jedi meld?”
“I don’t think so,” Anakin said. “What does it do?”
“It permits a group of Jedi to connect their minds so closely as to act as a single person,” C’baoth told him.
“It can also be very dangerous,” Obi-Wan warned. “It takes a Jedi Master of great power and depth in the Force to create such a state without killing or destroying the minds of everyone involved.”
“A Jedi Master such as myself,” C’baoth said calmly. “I’ve successfully performed such a meld on four separate occasions.”
Obi-Wan stared at him. “Four?”
“Three were training exercises, of course,” C’baoth conceded. “But the fourth was under serious field conditions, with five other Jedi in the meld. As you can see, we came through it successfully.”
“That was with six of you,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “There are nineteen of us aboard Outbound Flight.”
“Twenty, including Master Skywalker,” C’baoth corrected, laying a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Certainly we’ll need to proceed with caution. I’ll be discussing the procedure with each of my Jedi, and we’ll be carrying out a number of practice sessions before we leave Republic space. Still, once we’re all comfortable with the technique, we’ll become an awesome fighting forc
e indeed. With Jedi working as one at the weapons systems of all six Dreadnaughts, Outbound Flight will be virtually unbeatable.”
Obi-Wan looked down at Anakin. The boy was taking in all of this eagerly, with apparently no qualms whatsoever. “I don’t know, Master C’baoth. Weapons control, large-scale combat—that’s not the Jedi way.”
“It will be,” C’baoth said grimly, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “The time is coming when all Jedi will be forced to take up arms against a great threat to the Republic. I have foreseen it.”
Obi-Wan felt a shiver tingle his spine. C’baoth always seemed so proud and confident, often to the point of arrogance. But there was something dark and uncertain in the other’s sense now, something almost fearful. “Have you told Master Yoda about this?” he asked.
C’baoth’s eyes came back to focus and he snorted. “Master Yoda keeps his own counsel, and listens to no other,” he said with a touch of scorn. “But why do you think I worked so hard to bring Outbound Flight to fruition? Why do you think I was so insistent that as many Jedi as possible should accompany us?” He shook his head. “Dark days are coming, Master Kenobi. It may be that we of Outbound Flight will be all who will be left to breathe life back into the ashes of the universe we once knew.”
“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said. “But the future is never certain, and each of us has the power to affect what is to be.” He looked at Anakin again. “Sometimes without even knowing what it is we do.”
“I agree,” C’baoth said. “Outbound Flight is my way of affecting the future. And now, young Skywalker—”
He broke off as the comlink at his belt gave an insistent twitter. “One moment,” he said, pulling it free and clicking it on. “Jedi Master C’baoth.”
The voice on the other end was too faint for Obi-Wan to make out the words, but he could hear the urgency in the tone. He could also see the exasperation settling into C’baoth’s face. “Keep them both there,” he ordered. “I’m on my way.”