Star Wars - Outbound Flight

by Timothy Zahn

  “Correct,” Doriana said. “But if you’re thinking about adapting the shields for use by your warriors, I’d advise against it. There’s a fairly dense radiation quotient involved, plus high-twist magnetic fields that turn out to be fairly nasty for living beings.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, inclining his head slightly. “As it happens, we’re somewhat familiar with such devices, though they were generally used with reversed polarity.”

  “Reversed polarity?” Doriana frowned. “You mean with the deflection field facing inward?”

  “They were used as intruder traps,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo explained. “Many an unwary robber incinerated himself as he tried to shoot a guard or homeowner from the inside.”

  Doriana winced. “Ah.”

  “But as you say, they proved too dangerous to bystanders and innocents who were accidentally caught,” the commander went on. “Their use was discontinued many decades ago.” He stood up. “I must leave now. I’ll return later to confirm that my orders have been carried out.”

  19

  Fourteen vessels,“ Admiral Ar’alani declared, her glowing eyes sweeping the field of debris stretched out before them. ”Possibly thirteen, if the two sections of wreckage to the right belonged to a single vessel that broke apart before exploding.“

  “Is that the correct number, Car’das?” Thrass asked.

  “Yes, that’s sounds about right,” Car’das agreed, his muscles wilting a little with relief. The fifteenth ship, the intact Trade Federation battleship, was nowhere to be seen. He just hoped that it was Thrawn who’d moved it, and that it hadn’t managed to skip out on its own. “Of course, I was just an observer,” he reminded them. “I didn’t have access to the sensor information.”

  “Plus there were a considerable number of those,” Ar’alani continued, pointing at the charred sections of two droid starfighters floating past the bridge canopy. “Too small to be staffed.”

  “They’re mechanical devices called droids,” Car’das said. “These in particular are called droid starfighters.”

  Thrass grunted. “If the field of battle is any indication of their combat abilities, I would say they’re misnamed.”

  “Don’t be misled by your brother’s skill at warfare, Syndic Mitth’ras’safis,” Ar’alani warned. “If these droids were as useless as you imply, no one would take the time and effort to build them.”

  “I’ve seen reports of them in combat,” Car’das confirmed. “Against most opponents, they’re quite formidable.”

  “Yet I still see no evidence that these weapons or their masters attacked first,” Ar’alani pointed out.

  “I can only repeat what I said earlier, Admiral,” Car’das told her. “The mere act of launching the starfighters was an overt act of aggression. Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo responded in the only way he could to protect his forces.”

  “Perhaps,” Ar’alani said. “That will be for a military tribunal to decide.”

  Car’das felt his stomach tighten. “You’re bringing him up on charges?”

  “That will also be for the tribunal to decide,” Thrass said. “But we’ll first need to examine the records of the battle and interview the warriors who were present.”

  “At this battle as well as the earlier raid against the Vagaari,” Ar’alani added.

  “I understand,” Car’das said, his heart starting to beat a little faster. Here was the opening he’d been looking for. “Speaking of the Vagaari, my colleagues and I were hoping we could settle the question soon about the treasure we were promised, so that we could be on our way.”

  Ar’alani’s eyebrows arched. “Now, suddenly, you’re in a hurry to return home?”

  “We’re merchants,” Car’das reminded her. “This has been an interesting and productive side trip, but the cargo in our hold is way overdue for delivery.”

  “A cargo you would very much like to supplement with stolen pirate plunder.”

  “Yes, but only because our customers will demand late-delivery penalties,” Car’das explained. “There’s no way for us to pay those without the items Captain Qennto has requested.”

  “You should have thought about that before deciding to stay,” Thrass said. “At any rate, the matter of the treasure will have to wait until the tribunal has made its decision. If my brother is found to have violated Chiss military doctrine, he’ll have no standing to argue your side of the question.”

  “I understand,” Car’das said heavily. “How long is this hearing likely to take?”

  “That depends on how quickly I can collect the details of the two battles,” Ar’alani said. “Once I’ve done so, I’ll request that a tribunal be seated.”

  Weeks, in other words. Possibly even months. “And what will Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s status be until then?”

  “I’ll be supervising his operations and overseeing all of his orders,” Ar’alani said. She nodded fractionally at Thrass. “At Syndic Mitth’ras’safis’s request.”

  Car’das looked at Thrass, a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. Once again, Thrawn’s analysis had proved right on the mark. “You’d do this to your own brother?”

  The muscles in Thrass’s cheeks tightened; but it was Ar’alani who answered. “Neither Syndic Mitth’ras’safis nor I is unsympathetic toward Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she said evenly. “We wish only to protect him from his own excesses of zeal and ability.”

  “From his excess of ability?” Car’das snorted. “That’s a new one.”

  “He’s a gifted tactician and commander,” Ar’alani said. “But without proper restraint he’ll eventually go too far and end his days in exile. What good will those gifts do anyone then?”

  “And meanwhile, the Vagaari are free to destroy and kill?”

  Ar’alani looked away. “The lives of other beings are not ours to interfere with, for good or for ill,” she said. “We cannot and will not trust in whatever feelings of sympathy we might have for the victims of tyranny”

  “Then trust in Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Car’das urged. “You both agree he’s a gifted tactician; and he’s convinced that the Vagaari are a threat you’ll eventually have to face. The longer you wait—the more alien technology and weaponry you let them steal—the stronger they’ll be.”

  “Then that is what we’ll face,” Thrass said firmly. “And as a syndic of the Eighth Ruling Family I cannot listen to any more of this.” He jabbed a finger at the carnage outside the viewport. “Now. Describe this battle for us.”

  It was half an hour past the shift change, and D-4’s number three messroom was crowded as Lorana came in. Taking a long step to the side out of the doorway and the people moving in and out, she scanned the crowd for Jedi Master Ma’Ning.

  But he was nowhere to be found. Giving the room one final sweep, she started to turn toward the door.

  “Hey!” a child’s voice called over the hum of background conversation. “Hey! Jedi Lorana!”

  It was Jorad Pressor, waving his fork over his head to get her attention. His parents, in contrast, had their eyes firmly fixed on their plates as they continued to eat. Deliberately ignoring her and it wasn’t hard to guess why. Two days ago Master Ma’Ning had briefly taken over Pressor’s hyperdrive maintenance bay to show to some of the young Jedi candidates, and one of the children had managed to dump a container of inverse couplings all over the floor. Pressor had had words with Ma’Ning about that, to the point where C’baoth had intervened and docked Pressor two days’ pay.

  Best if she left them alone until they got over it, Lorana decided. Waving and smiling back at Jorad, she turned to leave.

  And nearly ran into Chas Uliar as he came into the mess-room. “Slumming, are we?” he asked, making no attempt to hide his own coolness.

  “I’m looking for Master Ma’Ning,” she said, determined not to respond in kind to his open unfriendliness. C’baoth had wanted Uliar thrown in D-4’s brig for his attempt to push his way into
the Jedi school a few days ago, and it was only with the greatest of tact and diplomacy that Captain Pakmillu had managed to talk him out of it. “Have you seen him?”

  “Oh, he never comes here,” Uliar said. “The officers and other important people eat in one of the nicer messrooms.”

  Lorana’s eyes flicked back into the messroom, focusing this time on the decor. It looked fine to her.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s just like the ones you have over on D-One,” Uliar went on. “But it could have been a lot more interesting if you Jedi had a cubic centimeter of style and creativity among you.”

  “What does our style or creativity have to do with this?” Lorana asked.

  For a moment Uliar’s eyes searched her face as if looking for a lie. Then his lip twitched. “I guess you really don’t know,” he said grudgingly. “We wanted to decorate this room like one of the Coruscant underlevels—you know, kind of sleazy in an over the-top sort of way. The folks stationed forward have already done up their messrooms in theme styles.”

  “And?”

  “And your stiff-as-permacrete Master Ma’Ning wouldn’t let us,” Uliar said acidly. “Some nonsense about a low-culture look promoting rebellious attitudes.”

  Lorana winced. Now that he mentioned it, she had heard about this debate. It hadn’t made much sense to her, either. “Let me talk to him,” she offered. “Maybe I can get him to change his mind. Any idea where he might be?”

  “You might try the senior officers’ conference room,” Uliar said, and she thought she could sense a small crack in his animosity. “I hear he spends a lot of time in there when it’s not being used.”

  “Thank you,” Lorana said. “I’ll get back to you on the decorating.”

  She found Ma’Ning alone in the conference room, seated in one of the chairs as he gazed out the small viewport at the hyperspace sky flowing past. “Master Ma’Ning?” she called tentatively as the door slid shut behind her.

  “Jedi Jinzler,” he said without turning around. “What brings you to D-Four?”

  “You weren’t answering your comlink,” she said. “Master C’baoth asked me to come find you.”

  “I was meditating,” he explained. “I always turn off my comlink at such times.”

  “I see,” Lorana said, studying him closely as she stepped to his side. His face and manner seemed oddly tense. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “Tell me, what do you think of what Master C’baoth is doing?”

  The question caught her by surprise. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you know he’s suspended the authority of the Commander’s Court to rule on grievances?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she said. “What system is he planning on using instead?”

  “Us,” Ma’Ning said. “As best I can figure, he essentially wants us to take over supervision of every aspect of life aboard Outbound Flight.”

  “Such as how the people decorate their messrooms?”

  Ma’Ning grimaced. “You’ve been talking to Chas Uliar and his committee.”

  “I talked to Uliar,” Lorana confirmed, frowning. “I didn’t know he had a committee.”

  “Oh, it’s just a group of people who don’t like others telling them what to do,” Ma’Ning said, waving a hand in dismissal. “Mostly reactor complex techs and support people. Their complaints are mostly trivial, like this whole messroom thing.”

  “With all due respect, Master Ma’Ning, for us to even get involved with Outbound Flight’s decor seems a little ridiculous,” Lorana offered.

  “No argument from me,” Ma’Ning admitted. “But Master C’baoth was adamant—said the idea of decorating the place like a criminals’ den would encourage antisocial attitudes we can’t afford in such a close-knit community. The point is that I’m sensing a growing resentment toward us from the people in general. I’m worried that Master C’baoth may be taking these so-called reforms of his too far.”

  “Still, it’s hard to argue with his basic premise,” Lorana said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable with talking about C’baoth behind his back this way. “People attuned to the Force should be more capable of dispensing justice and maintaining integrity than those who aren’t. But it’s also hard to see what that has to do with how people decorate their own messrooms.”

  “Exactly,” Ma’Ning agreed. “But I can’t seem to get that distinction through to him. Do you think you could make him understand?”

  Lorana grimaced. First Uliar had asked her to talk to Ma’Ning, and now Ma’Ning was asking her to talk to C’baoth. Had someone appointed her official mediator of the Jedi Order when she wasn’t looking? “I doubt he’ll pay any more attention to me than he would to you,” she warned. “But I can try.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Ma’Ning said, sounding relieved. “And don’t mark yourself short. There’s a special bond between Master and Padawan, a bond that can run far deeper than any other relationship. You may be the only person aboard Outbound Flight he will listen to.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” she said. “But I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Ma’Ning said. “You said Master C’baoth was trying to reach me?”

  Lorana nodded. “He wants all the Jedi Masters at a meeting tonight at eight in the D-One senior officers’ conference room.”

  “More reforms, no doubt,” Ma’Ning grumbled as he stood up. “Talk to him soon, will you?”

  “If I can slow him down long enough,” Lorana said. “In the meantime, what do I tell Uliar?”

  Ma’Ning sighed. “Tell him I’ll think about it. Maybe Master C’baoth will eventually load himself up with so many other matters that he won’t even notice how Outbound Flight is decorated.”

  Lorana looked out at the hyperspace sky. “Somehow, I don’t think so.”

  Ma’Ning shook his head heavily. “No. Neither do I.”

  It had been a long and tiring day, but the last group of droid starfighters had finally been unloaded and deployed across the asteroid’s uneven landscape. Now, his growling stomach reminding Doriana of the lateness of the hour, he made his way to the Darkvenge‘s Supreme Officers’ dining room to get something to eat.

  Kav was already there, seated alone at one of the corner tables, his expression daring anyone to interrupt him. Doriana took the hint and directed the serving droid to one of the tables on the opposite side of the room. The vicelord had been in a thunderous mood all day, which was almost funny in a species as cowardly as the Neimoidians. But no one else aboard had dared to laugh, and Doriana wasn’t going to try it, either. Even cowards could be pushed too far.

  He was halfway through his dinner when Kav suddenly stood up and made his way across the room. “This Mitthrawdo,” he said without preamble as he sat down across from Doriana. “You think him a genius, do you?”

  “I consider him a highly effective military commander and tactician,” Doriana said, eyeing the other. Where was this suddenly coming from? “His abilities at art or philosophy I can’t vouch for.”

  “Amusing,” Kav growled. “But he is not even a good tactician. He is, instead, a fool.” Pulling a datapad from inside his robes, he dropped it on the table in front of Doriana. “See the reprogramming he has ordered for my starfighters.”

  Doriana glanced at the datapad’s display, covered with droid-language symbolics. “I don’t read tech,” he said. “How about giving it to me in plain Basic?”

  Kav snorted contemptuously. “He has programmed the starfighters for close-approach attacks.”

  Doriana frowned back at the datapad. “How close?”

  “I believe the term is hull skimming,” Kav said, tapping the display “The chief programmer informs me the attack is set for no more than five meters above the hull.”

  Doriana rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. Tactically, it made good sense to cut in that close to an enemy’s ships. It put the attacker inside the defender’s point-defense weaponry, as well as permitting the kind of targeting accuracy that m
ade for efficient destruction of vulnerable equipment and hull-plate connection lines.

  The catch, of course, was that it was enormously difficult to get inside those point defenses in the first place. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to mention to him that Dreadnaughts come with a very good point-defense system?”

  “The programmers did not think it their place to speak out of turn.”

  “And neither did you?”

  “I?” Kav feigned innocence. “You, of all people, should know better than to question the orders of a military genius.”

  Doriana took a deep breath. “Vicelord, I strongly suggest you remember our ultimate objective here. We’ve been sent to destroy Outbound Flight. Without Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s aid, we have no chance of doing that.”

  “Yet a being of his genius is certainly capable of grasping technical readouts,” Kav said blandly. “Perhaps his plan is to throw our starfighters against Outbound Flight in an awesome display of disintegrating metal that will frighten Captain Pakmillu into submission.”

  Doriana let his gaze harden, utterly disgusted by this pathetic excuse of a military commander. “So in the end all you care about is your pride,” he said. “You don’t even care if Darth Sidious executes us both as long as you can find some small point where you can feel superior to Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

  “Calm yourself,” Kav said, resettling himself comfortably in his chair. “There is no reason why my pride and my victory cannot coexist.”

  “Explain.”

  “I have not told Mitthrawdo of the flaw in his plan,” the vicelord said with spiteful satisfaction. “But I have instructed the chief programmer to create a secondary attack pattern for the starfighters, which has been overlaid across Mitthrawdo’s primary pattern. Once he has wasted the first wave in his foolish close-approach attack, I will take command and switch to a more effective line of attack.”

  Doriana thought it over. That would probably work, he decided. “It still loses us a full attack wave,” he reminded Kav. “Not to mention the element of surprise.”

  “What surprise?” Kav scoffed. “As soon as they see the Darkvenge they will know to prepare for droid starfighters.”