by Timothy Zahn
“Sure you’re not,” Ferrier grunted, dropping into the copilot station beside him. “Relax—you’re not going to have to be a hero. I’d like nothing better than to take the Wild Karrde off your hands, but I know better than to try to run a ship like this with half a crew. No, all you’re going to do is take me back to my ship. We’ll get out of here and lay low until all this blows over.” He threw one last look at the displays and nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Mentally crossing his fingers, Karrde eased in the repulsorlifts and nudged the ship forward, half expecting a barrage of blaster shots from the crowd of aides and bodyguards outside. But no one opened fire as he maneuvered carefully through the jagged stone edging the opening and out into the open air. “Yeah, they’re all gone from in there, all right,” Ferrier said casually into the silence. “Probably scrambling to get back to their ships so they can chase after us.”
“You don’t seem worried about it.”
“I’m not,” Ferrier said. “All you have to do is get me to my ship a little ahead of them. You can do that, right?”
Karrde looked over at the blaster pointed at him. “I’ll do my best.”
They made it easily. Even as the Wild Karrde settled to the cracked stone beside a modified Corellian Gunship the others were just beginning to appear from the archways leading into the main part of the fortress, a good couple of minutes away. “Knew you could do it,” Ferrier complimented him sarcastically, standing up and keying the intercom. “Wraith? Hit the door. We’re out of here.”
There was no response. “Wraith? You hear me?”
“He will not be hearing anything for a while,” Clyngunn’s voice rumbled back. “If you want him, you will have to carry him.”
Viciously, Ferrier slapped off the intercom. “Fool. I should have known better than to trust a stupid wraith with anything. Better yet, I should have killed all of you right at the start.”
“Perhaps,” Karrde said. He nodded across the courtyard toward the approaching bodyguards and enforcers. “I don’t think you have time to correct that oversight now.”
“I’ll just have to do it later,” Ferrier shot back. “I could still take care of you, though.”
“Only if you’re willing to die along with me,” Karrde countered, shifting slightly in his seat to show that his left hand was holding down one of the knee panel switches. “As I said, I’d rather destroy the ship than let you have it.”
For a long moment he thought Ferrier was going to try it anyway. Then, with obvious reluctance, the ship thief shifted his aim and sent two shots sizzling into the fire-control section of the control board. “Another time, Karrde,” he said. He stepped back to the bridge door, threw a quick look outside as it opened, and then slipped through.
Karrde took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. Releasing the landing light switch he’d been holding down, he stood up. Fifteen seconds later, he spotted Ferrier through the viewport as he sprinted alone toward his Gunship.
Reaching carefully past the sizzling hole in his control board, he keyed the intercom. “This is Karrde,” he said. “You can unbarricade the door now; Ferrier’s left. Do you need any medical help or assistance with your prisoner?”
“No, to both,” Gillespee assured him. “Defel might be good at sneaking around, but they’re not much good as jailers. So Ferrier just abandoned him here, huh?”
“No more or less than I would have expected from him,” Karrde said. Outside the viewport, Ferrier’s Gunship was rising on its repulsorlifts, rotating toward the west as it did so. “He’s lifting now. Warn everyone not to leave the ship—he’s bound to have something planned to discourage pursuit.”
And he did. The words were barely out of Karrde’s mouth when the hovering ship ejected a large canister into the air overhead. There was a flash of light, and suddenly the sky exploded into a violently expanding tangle of metal mesh. The net stretched itself out across the courtyard and settled to the ground, throwing off sparks where it draped itself across the parked ships.
“A Conner net,” Dravis’s voice came from behind him. “Typical ship-thief trick.”
Karrde turned. Dravis, Par’tah, and Mazzic were standing just inside the door, looking through the viewport at the departing Gunship. “We have plenty of people outside it,” he. reminded them. “It shouldn’t take long to get it burned off.”
[He must not be allowed to escape,] Par’tah insisted, making a Ho’Din gesture of contempt toward the Gunship.
“He won’t,” Karrde assured her. The Gunship was streaking low across the plain, staying out of range of anything the netted ships might still be able to fire at him. “The Etherway and Starry Ice are standing ready, north and south of here.” He turned back and lifted an eyebrow toward Mazzic. “But under the circumstances, I think Mazzic should have the honor.”
Mazzic gave him a tight smile. “Thank you,” he said softly, pulling out his comlink. “Griv, Amber. Gunship on the way. Take it.”
Karrde looked back. The Gunship was nearly to the horizon now, starting its vertical climb toward space … and as he watched, Mazzic’s two fighters rose behind it from their hiding places and gave pursuit.
“I guess I owe you an apology,” Mazzic said from behind him.
Karrde shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “Or, better, don’t forget it. Keep it as a reminder of the way Grand Admiral Thrawn does business. And what people like us ultimately mean to him.”
“Don’t worry,” Mazzic said softly. “I won’t forget.”
“Good,” Karrde said briskly. “Well, then. Let’s get our people out there busy on this net—I’m sure we’d all prefer to be off Hijarna before the Empire realizes their scheme has failed.”
In the distance, just above the horizon, there was a brief flare of light. “And while we’re waiting,” Karrde added, “I still have a proposal to present to you.”
CHAPTER
19
“All right,” Han told Lando, his fingers searching along the edge of Artoo’s left leg for a better handhold. “Get ready.”
The droid twittered something. “He reminds you to be careful,” Threepio translated, standing nervously just far enough out of their way not to get yelled at. “Do remember that the last time—”
“We didn’t drop him on purpose,” Han growled. “If he’d rather wait for Luke, he’s welcome.”
Artoo twittered again. “He says that will not be necessary,” Threepio said primly. “He trusts you implicitly.”
“Glad to hear it,” Han said. There were, unfortunately, no better handholds. He’d have to talk to Industrial Automaton about that someday. “Here we go, Lando: lift.”
Together they strained; and with a jolt that wrenched Han’s back the droid came up and out of the tangle of tree roots that he’d somehow gotten entwined around his wheels. “There you go,” Lando grunted as they dropped the droid more or less gently back into the dirt and leaves of the dry creek bed. “How’s it feel?”
The explanation this time was longer. “He says there appears to have been only minimal damage,” Threepio said. “Mainly cosmetic in nature.”
“Translation: he’s rusting,” Han muttered, rubbing the small of his back as he turned around. Five meters further down the creek bed, Luke was using his lightsaber to carefully slice through a set of thick vines blocking their path. Beside him, Chewbacca and Mara were crouched with weapons drawn, ready to shoot the snakelike creatures that sometimes came boiling out when you cut into them. Like everything else on Wayland, they’d learned about that one the hard way.
Lando walked up beside him, brushing a few last bits of acidic tree root off his hands. “Fun place, isn’t it?” he commented.
“I should have brought the Falcon down closer,” Han grumbled. “Or moved it closer in when we found out we couldn’t use the speeder bikes.”
“If you had, we might be dodging Imperial patrols right now instead of fighting acid root and vine snakes,” Lando said. “Personally, I’d call that a
fair trade.”
“I suppose so,” Han agreed reluctantly. In the near distance something gave out with a complicated whistle, and something else whistled back. He looked that direction, but between the brush and vines and two different levels of trees he couldn’t see anything.
“Doesn’t sound much like a predator,” Lando said.
“Maybe.” Han looked back over his shoulder, to where Threepio was talking soothingly to Artoo as he inspected the squat droid’s latest acid burns. “Hey—short stuff. Get your scanners busy.”
Obediently, Artoo extended its little antenna and began moving it back and forth. For a minute it clucked to itself, then jabbered something. “He says there are no large animals anywhere within twenty meters,” Threepio said. “Beyond that—”
“He can’t read through the undergrowth,” Han finished for him. It was getting to be a very familiar conversation. “Thanks.”
Artoo retracted his sensor, and he and Threepio resumed their discussion. “Where do you suppose they’ve all gone?” Lando asked.
“The predators?” Han shook his head. “Beats me. Maybe the same place the natives went.”
Lando looked around, exhaling gently between his teeth. “I don’t like it, Han. They’ve got to know by now that were here. What are they waiting for?”
“Maybe Mara was wrong about them,” Han suggested doubtfully. “Maybe the Empire got tired of sharing the planet with anyone else and wiped them out.”
“That’s a cheerful thought,” Lando said. “Still wouldn’t explain why the predators have ignored us for the past two and a half days.”
“No,” Han agreed. But Lando was right: there was something out there watching them. He could feel it deep in his gut. Something, or somebody. “Maybe the ones that got away after that first fight passed the word down the wire to leave us alone.”
Lando snorted. “Those things were dumber than space slugs, and you know it.”
Han shrugged. “Just a thought.”
Ahead, the greenish glow vanished as Luke closed down his lightsaber. “Looks clear,” he called softly back. “You get Artoo out?”
“Yeah, he’s all right,” Han said, stepping up behind them. “Any snakes?”
“Not this time.” Luke pointed with his lightsaber at one of the trees bordering the creek bed. “Looks like we just missed having to tangle with another group of clawbirds, though.”
Han looked. There, in one of the lower branches, was another of the plate-sized mud-and-grass nests. Threepio had brushed against one of them the day before, and Chewbacca was still nursing the slashes he’d gotten in his left arm before they’d managed to shoot or lightsaber the predator birds that had come out of it. “Don’t touch it,” he warned.
“It’s okay—it’s empty,” Luke assured him, nudging it with the tip of the lightsaber. “They must have moved on.”
“Yeah,” Han said slowly, taking a step closer to the nest. “Right.”
“Something wrong?”
Han looked back at him. “No,” he said, trying hard to sound casual. “No problem. Why?”
Behind Luke, Chewbacca rumbled deep in his throat. “Let’s get moving,” Han added before Luke could say anything. “I want to get a little further before it gets dark. Luke, you and Mara take the droids and head out. Chewie and me’ll take the rear”
Luke wasn’t going for it—he could tell that from the kid’s face. But he just nodded. “All right. Come on, Threepio.”
They started down the creek bed, Threepio complaining as usual the whole way. Lando threw Han a look of his own, but followed after them without comment.
Beside him, Chewbacca growled a question. “We’re going to find out what happened to the clawbirds, that’s what,” Han told him, looking back at the nest. It didn’t look damaged, like it should have if a predator had got it. “You’re the one who can smell fresh meat ten paces upwind. Start sniffing.”
It turned out not to take much in the way of Wookiee hunting skill. One of the birds was lying beside a bush just on the other side of the tree, its wings stretched out and stiff. Very dead.
“What do you think?” Han asked as Chewbacca gingerly picked it up. “Some predator?”
Chewbacca rumbled a negative. His climbing claws slid from their sheaths, probing at a dark-brown stain on the feathers under the left wing. He found a cut, dug a single claw delicately into it.
And growled. “You sure it was a knife?” Han frowned, peering at the wound. “Not some kind of claw?”
The Wookiee rumbled again, pointing out the obvious: if the bird had been killed by a predator, there shouldn’t have been anything left but feathers and bones.
“Right,” Han commented sourly as Chewbacca dropped the clawbird back beside the bush. “So much for hoping the natives weren’t around. Must be pretty close, too.”
Chewbacca growled the obvious question. “Beats me,” Han told him. “Maybe they’re still checking us out. Or waiting for reinforcements.”
The Wookiee rumbled, gesturing at the bird, and Han took another look. He was right: the way the wound was placed meant that the wings had been open when it had been killed. Which meant it had been killed in flight. By a single stab. “You’re right—they’re not going to need any reinforcements,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s catch up with the others.”
Solo had wanted them to keep going until it got dark, but after another disagreement between Skywalker’s astromech droid and a tangle of acid vines, he gave up and called a halt.
“So what’s the word?” Mara asked as Skywalker dropped his pack beside hers and stretched his shoulder muscles. “We going to have to carry it?”
“I don’t think so,” Skywalker said, looking over his shoulder to where Calrissian and the Wookiee had the R2 on its side and were tinkering with its wheels. “Chewie thinks he’ll be able to fix it.”
“You ought to trade it in on something that wasn’t designed to travel on a flat metal deck.”
“Sometimes I’ve wished,” Skywalker conceded, sitting down beside her. “All things considered, though, he does pretty well. You should have seen how far across the Tatooine desert he got the first night I had him.”
Mara looked past the droids to where Solo was setting up his bedroll and keeping one eye on the forest around them. “You going to tell me what Solo was talking to you about back there? Or is it something I’m not supposed to know?”
“He and Chewie found one of the clawbirds from that empty nest,” Skywalker said. “The one near the second vine cluster we had to cut through today. It had been killed by a knife thrust.”
Mara swallowed, thinking back to some of the stories she’d heard when she was here with the Emperor. “Probably the Myneyrshi,” she said. “They were supposed to have made an art of that kind of close-blade combat.”
“Did they have any feelings one way or the other about the Empire?”
“Like I told you before, they don’t like humans,” Mara told him. “Starting with the ones who came here as colonists long before the Emperor found the planet.”
She looked at Skywalker, but he wasn’t looking back. He was staring at nothing, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
Mara took a deep breath, stretching out with the Force as hard as she could. The sounds and smells of the forest wove their way into her mind, flattening into the overall pattern of life around her. Trees, bushes, animals, and birds …
And there, just at the edge of her consciousness, was another mind. Alien, unreadable … but a mind just the same.
“Four of them,” Skywalker said quietly. “No. Five.”
Mara frowned, concentrating on the sensation. He was right: there was more than one mind out there. But she couldn’t quite separate the various components out from the general sense.
“Try looking for deviations,” Skywalker murmured. “The ways the minds are different from each other. That’s the best way to resolve them.”
Mara tried it; and to her slightly annoyed surprise discovere
d that he was right. There was the second mind … the third …
And then, suddenly, they were gone.
She looked sharply at Skywalker. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, still concentrating. “There was a surge of emotion, and then they just turned and left.”
“Maybe they didn’t know we were here,” Mara suggested hesitantly, knowing even as she said it how unlikely that was. Between the Wookiee roaring at everything that came at them and the protocol droid whining about everything else, it was a wonder the whole planet didn’t know they were there.
“No, they knew,” Skywalker said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure they were coming directly toward us when they were—” He shook his head. “I want to say they were scared away. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
Mara looked at the double leaf-canopy overhead. “Could we have picked up an Imperial patrol?”
“No.” Skywalker was positive. “I’d know if there were any other humans nearby.”
“Bet that comes in handy,” Mara muttered.
“It’s just a matter of training.”
She threw him a sideways look. There’d been something odd in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He grimaced, a quick tightening of his mouth. “Nothing. Just … I was thinking about Leia’s twins. Thinking about how I’m going to have to train them some day.”
“You worried about when to start?”
He shook his head. “I’m worried about being able to do it at all.”
She shrugged. “What’s to do? You teach them how to hear minds and move objects and use lightsabers. You did that with your sister, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But that was when I thought that was all there was to it. It’s really just the beginning. They’re going to be strong in the Force, and with that strength comes responsibility. How do I teach them that? How do I teach them wisdom and compassion and how not to abuse their power?”
Mara studied his profile as he gazed out into the forest. This wasn’t just word games; he was really serious about it. Definitely a side of the heroic, noble, infallible Jedi she hadn’t seen before. “How does anyone teach anyone else that stuff?” she said. “Mostly by example, I suppose.”
