by Timothy Zahn
Doriana pressed his fingertips together. Surely even a Neimoidian vicelord couldn’t be this dense. “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that Mitth’raw’nuruodo might have off-loaded the starfighters precisely because he doesn’t intend to let Captain Pakmillu see the Darkvenge?” he suggested. “That, in fact, he doesn’t intend for the Darkvenge to participate in the battle at all?”
Apparently, it hadn’t occurred to Kav. “That is ridiculous,” he protested, his eves widening. “No military commander would refuse to bring a battleship of our might into his fleet.”
“Except maybe a commander who’s already seen how easily they can be destroyed?” Doriana couldn’t resist asking.
Kav’s whole body stiffened. “I perceive that you have come under Mitthrawdo’s spell, Commander,” he said evenly. “But do not be swayed by his learned manner and cultured voice. He is still a primitive savage… and no matter what the outcome, in the end he will have to die.”
Doriana sighed. Unfortunately, he had already reached that same conclusion. Mitth’raw’nuruodo had come into contact with Car’das and his shipmates, and he might easily touch the edge of the Republic again. Until all the witnesses to Darth Sidious’s betrayal of Outbound Flight had been silenced, the mission would not be complete. “Regardless, for the moment we still need him alive,” he said. “How have you arranged for us to reach this second programming level?”
“I will have a relay control,” Kav said. “Once Mitthrawdo’s failure is apparent, I will bring the starfighters back under my control, and will complete our mission.” He cocked his head. “Unless you have further objections?”
Doriana shook his head. “Though we’ll have to make sure we’re on his bridge when the battle begins.”
“I leave that to you,” Kav said. “He is a fool in other areas, as well. Did you know he has taken twenty of my starfighters and linked them together by twos with a spare fuel tank between them?”
“What good does that do?” Doriana asked, frowning. “Those starfighters run on solid-fuel slugs.”
“I imagine he was inspired by Outbound Flight’s design.”
Kav said contemptuously. “He is probably regretful that his tanks are too small to fit six starfighters around each.”
“You’re sure they’re fuel tanks?”
“What else could they be?” Kav countered, getting to his feet. “A pleasant evening to you, Commander.”
The Neimoidian walked away, and Doriana returned to his meal. Somehow, the food didn’t taste as good as it had five minutes earlier.
“There,” Captain Pakmillu said, pointing a flippered hand at the planet visible through D-1’s bridge viewports. “Roxuli, our last stop in known space. From this point on, we enter territory never before seen throughout all the ages of Republic star travel.”
“It’s indeed a historic moment,” Obi-Wan agreed. “With your permission, Captain, I’d like to send a signal to Coruscant through Roxuli’s HoloNet connection.”
“Certainly,” Pakmillu said, gesturing aft. “The secure comm room will be at your disposal as soon as our guest is finished.”
Obi-Wan frowned. Less than an hour since Outbound Flight had made orbit, and already they had a guest? “One of the local officials?”
“Hardly,” Pakmillu said drily, his eyes swiveling toward the aft blast doors. “Ah.”
Obi-Wan turned, and felt his mouth drop open. Local official, nothing. Their visitor was none other than Supreme Chancellor Palpatine himself.
“Master Kenobi,” Palpatine called as he crossed the bridge toward them. “Just the man I need.”
“This is an unexpected honor, Chancellor Palpatine,” Obi-Wan said, scrambling to find his voice. “May I ask what brings you to this edge of the Republic?”
“The same thing that moves all of us across the stars these days,” Palpatine replied with a wan smile. “Politics, of course. In this case, trouble between the Roxuli central government and the system’s asteroid mining colonies.”
“It must be serious if you had to come out personally,” Obi-Wan commented.
“Actually, they don’t want me at all,” Palpatine said drily. “All they want from me is to obtain for them the services of the hero of the Barlok negotiations, Master Jorus C’baoth himself.”
Obi-Wan looked at Pakmillu. “I’m not sure Master C’baoth will be interested in the job,” he warned Palpatine.
“As a matter or fact, he isn’t,” the Supreme Chancellor confirmed. “I’ve already spoken with him, and he flatly refuses to leave Outbound Flight.”
“We could delay our departure until his negotiations have finished,” Pakmillu offered. “There’s no reason we couldn’t spend a few days here.”
“No, I’ve already suggested that option,” Palpatine said, shaking his head. “He will not change Outbound Flight’s schedule. Or leave Outbound Flight at all, for that matter.” He looked back at Obi-Wan. “But there is another alternative. Perhaps you would be willing to mediate in his place.”
Obi-Wan blinked in surprise. “With all due respect, Chancellor Palpatine, I don’t think that’s a substitution that would satisfy them.”
“On the contrary,” Palpatine said. “I’ve just spoken with them, and they would be most gratified if you would lend your assistance.” He smiled again. “After all, there were other heroes at Barlok besides Master C’baoth.”
Obi-Wan grimaced. Under other circumstances, he would have been only too happy to help out. But with all that was happening aboard Outbound Flight, he’d decided to ask the Council for permission to extend his tour. Now, suddenly, that decision was being cut out from under him.
Because if C’baoth wasn’t willing to postpone Outbound Flight’s departure for himself, he certainly wouldn’t do so for Obi-Wan. If he and Anakin left now, they wouldn’t be getting back aboard. “How serious is this problem?” he asked.
“Serious enough,” Palpatine said, the lines in his face deepening as his small attempt at levity faded away. “If violence erupts, vital ore shipments to half the systems in this sector will be cut off. Depending on how much damage the mines sustain, the scarcity could last for years.”
“I’d have to consult the Council,” Obi-Wan pointed out.
“With time becoming critical, I’ve already taken the liberty of doing so,” Palpatine said. “Master Yoda has given his permission for you to leave Outbound Flight here instead of continuing on.”
And even with it couched in terms of permission, Obi-Wan nevertheless knew an order when he heard one. “Very well,” he said with a sigh. “I presume I’ll be bringing my Padawan, as well?”
“You can hardly let him go running off to the next galaxy without you,” Palpatine agreed, the lines smoothing out a bit, and Obi-Wan could sense his relief. “I’ll take the two of you down in my ship. After that, I’m afraid I must return to Coruscant, but I’ll leave one of my guard and his escort ship to bring you back when you’re finished.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, wondering briefly if he and Anakin should instead take the Delta-12 Skysprite that Windu had set up for them in D-3’s hangar. But it would take time to activate and prep, and time seemed to be of the essence here. Besides, one of Palpatine’s escort ships would undoubtedly be more spacious and comfortable, even if it did mean putting up with one of those humorless men Palpatine always seemed to be hiring as his guards these days. “I’ll have Anakin start packing. We’ll be ready to go within the hour.”
“Thank you, Master Kenobi,” Palpatine said, his voice low and earnest. “You may never know how much this means to me.”
“My pleasure, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, feeling a twinge of regret as he pulled out his comlink. “We Jedi live only to serve.”
“There it goes,” Anakin murmured as Palpatine’s shuttle dropped toward the hazy atmosphere of the planet below them.
Obi-Wan looked up, but where Outbound Flight had been there was no longer anything but empty space. “They have a schedule to keep,” he
said.
“I suppose,” the boy said, and Obi-Wan could hear some of his own unhappiness echoed in the other’s voice. “I wish we could have gone a little farther with him.”
“Who, Captain Pakmillu?” Palpatine asked.
“No, Master C’baoth,” Anakin said. “He’s a really good leader—always seems to get things done. Cuts straight through the clutter and finds a way to make everyone do what’s best for them.”
“He does indeed have that gift,” Palpatine agreed. “There are so few like him in these troubled times. Still, our loss is Outbound Flight’s gain.”
“I’m sure they’re pleased to have him aboard,” Obi-Wan murmured.
“But he has his task before him, and we have ours,” Palpatine continued, handing Obi-Wan a data card. “Here’s all I have on the Roxuli dispute. You’d best familiarize yourself with it before we land.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said, taking the card and slipping it into his datapad. “No doubt the complainants themselves will provide any details you’ve missed.”
“No doubt,” Palpatine said drily. “Settle yourself in, Master Kenobi. It’s likely to be a very long and weary day.”
Ar’alani’s inspection group returned to Crustai from the Trade Federation battle site nearly two hours before Thrawn made it back from the inspection tour the admiral had sent him on. His report, not surprisingly, went quickly, and he was back with Car’das and Maris for a quick language session less than an hour later. If he realized something significant had happened in his absence, Car’das couldn’t find it in his face or voice.
The next two days went by slowly. Ar’alani spent most of her time in her quarters studying the data she’d collected from the battle site, emerging only for meals or to roam the base looking for warriors to question. So far she didn’t seem to have run into the two who’d heard Thrawn announce his suspicions about the Bargain Hunter‘s crew, but Car’das knew it was only a matter of time before she did.
Thrawn himself was in and out quite a bit over those two days, apparently taking Ar’alani’s phony inspection order very seriously. Car’das had only a single real conversation with the commander during that time, a long late-night talk in Car’das’s quarters right after Ar’alani’s battle-site survey. Thrawn’s fatigue and tension were evident, and when he finally left Car’das pondered long and hard as to whether the commander might have finally overstretched himself.
During those days Car’das also tried to spend more time with Qennto and Maris. But their conversations were even more depressing. Qennto was beginning to act like a caged animal, his broodings peppered with wild plans involving raids on the armory and storage room followed by a daring escape in the Bargain Hunter. Maris, for her part, still professed confidence in Thrawn’s honor, but even she was clearly starting to have private doubts about his ability to protect them against Ar’alani.
Something had to be done. And it was Car’das who would have to do it.
There were few preparations he could make. The Bargain Hunter was too well guarded, and anyway he had no intention of trying to fly the ungainly freighter through the entrance tunnel with Thrawn’s fighters in pursuit. But at the far end of the docking area was a long-range shuttle the Chiss seemed mostly to be ignoring. A few hours spent in the piloting tutorials of the base’s computer system, combined with his previous training in reading Cheunh symbols, and he had learned the rudiments of flying it. Later, he managed to slip aboard the shuttle without being seen and spent an hour in the pilot’s seat, mentally running through the lessons and checklists and making sure he knew where everything was located. When the time came, he didn’t want Admiral Ar’alani charging into the shuttle to find him fumbling with the wrong controls.
Getting a hold of Ar’alani’s copy of the Springhawk‘s navigational download was somewhat more problematic. Thrawn himself provided the opening for that one, inviting Ar’alani and Thrass to a formal dinner on the second night. The cylinder the admiral had shown him was mixed in with a batch of similar tubes carrying the data she’d recorded at the battle site, and it took him several tense minutes to locate the correct one.
And with that, his preparations were finished.
He went to bed early that night, but it didn’t do him any good. He spent most of the night thinking and worrying, his sleep coming in short, nightmare-filled dozings. Like the eerie calm before the bursting of a massive storm, he knew the quiet of the past couple of days was about to end.
Midmorning on that third day, it did.
“No,” Car’das said firmly, meeting Ar’alani’s glowing eyes as calmly as he could. “We’re not spies. Not for the Republic, not for anyone else.”
“Then what precisely did Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo mean by his accusation?” the admiral countered. “And don’t deny he said it. I have the sworn statements of the two warriors who were present at the time.”
“I don’t deny it,” Car’das said, his eyes flicking to Thrass. The syndic was standing silently a few steps behind Ar’alani, his expression harder even than the admiral’s. Perhaps he knew better than she did what a charge of harboring spies would mean to his brother’s career. “But I also can’t explain it. Maybe he was trying to confuse the Trade Federation commanders.”
“Commanders who have apparently vanished,” Ar’alani said pointedly. “Along with an apparently intact alien warship.”
“I don’t know anything about that, either,” Car’das insisted. “All I know is what I’ve already told you: we’re merchants who had a hyperdrive accident and lost our way. Ask the rest of my crew if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I will,” Ar’alani assured him. “In the meantime, you’re confined to your quarters. Dismissed.”
For a moment Car’das was tempted to remind her that he was still under Thrawn’s authority, not hers, and that she couldn’t simply order him around. But only for a moment. Turning, he stalked out of the room.
But he didn’t go to his quarters. The Chiss warriors were used to seeing him roaming freely around the base, and it hadn’t sounded like Ar’alani would make any official pronouncements to the contrary until after she’d interrogated Qennto and Maris.
He had that long to make his escape.
The shuttle was still parked where it had been the previous day. There were a few Chiss working in the area, but the time for subterfuge was long past. Striding along like he owned the place, Car’das stepped through the hatchway into the shuttle, sealed it, and headed forward.
The vessel was a civilian model, with a simpler and quicker start-up procedure than a military ship would have had. Within five minutes he had the systems up and running. Five minutes more, and he had disengaged from the docking clamps and was making his way carefully down the tunnel.
No one followed him out. He looked around as he reached open space, half expecting to see the intact Trade Federation battleship lurking in the shadow of one of the other asteroids. But it was nowhere to be seen.
Not that it mattered. He knew where he was going, and there was no one now who could stop him. Turning the shuttle onto the proper vector, he hit the hyperdrive control and made the jump to lightspeed. The next stop, assuming he’d properly programmed in the Springhawk‘s nav data, would be the alien system where he, Thrawn, and Maris had witnessed the Vagaari attack five weeks ago. With luck, that campaign would be over.
With even more luck, the Vagaari would still be there.
Six hours later, he emerged from hyperspace to find that the battle was indeed over.
The defenders had put up a spirited defense, he saw as he eased the shuttle carefully through the debris. Blackened hulks were everywhere, floating amid bits of hull and hatch and engine. There were bodies, too. Far too many bodies.
Not that their sacrifice had done them any good. There were dozens of Vagaari ships orbiting the planet, nestled up to it like carrion avians around a fresh corpse. Most were the bubble-hulled warships they’d seen in the battle, but there were also a numb
er of the civilian transports that had been waiting for the fighting to end. A steady stream of smaller ships were moving in and out of the atmosphere, no doubt bringing plunder and slaves up to the orbiting ships and then heading down for a fresh load. Briefly, an image flashed into Car’das’s mind of streams of hive insects zeroing in on a dropped bit of rowel picnic salad…
A floating body bounced gently off the shuttle’s canopy, jarring him back to reality. If he had any brains, he knew, he would turn the shuttle around right now and head back to Crustai to take his chances with Admiral Ar’alani. Or else he should abandon Qennto and Maris completely and make a run for Republic space.
Swearing gently under his breath, he turned toward the largest of the orbiting warships and headed in.
Even with most of their attention on their looting, the Vagaari were cautious enough to protect their backs. The half a dozen roving fighters intercepted him before he’d covered even a quarter of the distance, and suddenly his comm crackled with melodious but evil-sounding alien speech. “I don’t understand your language,” Car’das replied in Sy Bisti. “Do you speak Sy Bisti?”
The only response was more alien speech. “How about Minnisiat?” he asked, switching to his newest trade language. “Can anyone there understand Minnisiat?”
There was a short pause. “State your name, your species, and your intentions,” the alien voice came back, mouthing the trade language with some difficulty.
“My name is Jorj Car’das,” Car’das told him. “I’m a human from a world called Corellia.” He took a deep breath. “I’m here to offer you a deal.”
20
The fighters escorted him to one of the smaller warships, directing him to a starboard docking bay. A group of heavily armed and armored guards was waiting there for him: short bipeds with large hands, their features hidden by faceplates lavishly decorated to look like fright masks. They took him to a small room loaded with sensor equipment, where he was stripped, searched, and scanned multiple times, his clothing taken away presumably for similar scrutiny. The shuttle, he had no doubt, was undergoing a similar examination. Afterward, he was taken to another room, this one bare of everything except a cot, and left there alone.