by Timothy Zahn
He smiled grimly. “After all, Captain, it makes no difference whether we crush them at Tangrene or at Bilbringi. No difference whatsoever.”
CHAPTER
21
The lopsided-helix shape of the seed pod hovered a meter and a half in front of Mara, practically daring her to strike it down. She eyed it darkly, Skywalker’s lightsaber held ready in an unorthodox but versatile two-handed grip. She’d already missed the pod twice; she didn’t intend to do so a third time. “Don’t rush it,” Skywalker cautioned her. “Concentrate, and let the Force flow into you. Try to anticipate the pod’s motion.”
Easy for him to say, she thought sourly; after all, he was the one controlling it. The pod twitched a millimeter closer, daring her again.…
And suddenly, she decided she was tired of this game. Reaching out with the Force, she got a grip of her own on the pod. Briefly immobilized, it managed a single tremor before she jabbed the lightsaber straight out, stabbing it neatly dead center. “There,” she said, closing down the weapon. “I did it.”
She’d expected Skywalker to be angry. To her mild surprise, and not so mild annoyance, he wasn’t in the least. “Good,” he said encouragingly. “Very good. It’s difficult to split your attention between two separate mental and physical activities that way. And you did it well.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, tossing the lightsaber away from her toward the bushes. It curved smoothly around in midair as Skywalker pulled it back to land in his outstretched hand. “So is that it?” she added.
Skywalker looked over his shoulder. Solo and Calrissian were hunched over the protocol droid, which had stopped complaining about Wayland’s terrain, vegetation, and animal life and was instead complaining about what crunching through that stone crust had done to its foot. Skywalker’s astromech droid was hovering nearby with its sensor antenna extended, running through its usual repertoire of encouraging noises. A couple of steps away, the Wookiee was rummaging through one of their packs, probably for some tool or other.
“I think we’ve got time for a few more exercises,” Skywalker decided, turning back to face her. “That technique of yours is very interesting—Obi-wan never taught me anything about using the tip of the lightsaber blade.”
“The Emperor’s philosophy was to use everything you had available,” Mara said.
“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” Skywalker said dryly. He held out the lightsaber. “Let’s try something else. Go ahead and take the lightsaber.”
Reaching out with the Force, Mara snatched it away from his loose grip, wondering idly what he would do if she tried sometime to ignite the weapon first. She wasn’t sure she could handle anything as small as a switch, but it’d be worth trying just to see him scramble away from the blade.
And if, in the process, she happened to accidentally kill him …
YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER.
She squeezed the lightsaber hard. Not yet, she told the voice firmly. I still need him. “All right,” she growled. “What now?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer. Behind him, the astromech droid suddenly started squealing excitedly.
“What?” Solo demanded, his blaster already out of its holster.
“He says he’s just noticed something worth investigating there to the side,” the protocol droid translated, gesturing to his left. “A group of vines, I believe he’s saying. Though I could be mistaken—with all the acid damage—”
“Come on, Chewie, let’s check it out,” Solo cut him off, getting to his feet and starting up the shallow slope of the creek bed.
Skywalker caught Mara’s eye. “Come on,” he said, and started off after them.
There wasn’t very far to go. Just inside the first row of trees, hidden from view by a bush, was another set of vines like the ones they’d had to occasionally cut through the last couple of days.
Except that this group had already been cut. Cut, and then bunched up out of the way like a pile of thick, tangled rope.
“I think that ends any discussion as to whether someone out there is helping us along,” Calrissian said, studying one of the cut ends.
“I think you’re right,” Solo said. “No predator would have bunched them up like this.”
The Wookiee rumbled something under his breath and pulled on the bush in front of the vines. To Mara’s surprise, it came away from the ground without any effort at all. “And wouldn’t have bothered with camouflage, either,” Calrissian said as the Wookiee turned it over. “Knife cut, looks like. Just like the vines.”
“And like the clawbird from yesterday,” Solo agreed grimly. “Luke? We been getting company?”
“I’ve sensed some of the natives,” Skywalker said. “But they never seem to come very close before they leave again.” He looked back downslope at the protocol droid, waiting anxiously for them in the creek bed. “You suppose it has anything to do with the droids?”
Solo snorted. “You mean like on Endor, when those fuzzball Ewoks thought Threepio was a god?”
“Something like that,” Skywalker nodded. “They could be getting close enough to hear either Threepio or Artoo.”
“Maybe.” Solo looked around. “When do they come around?”
“Mostly around sundown,” Skywalker said, “So far, anyway.”
“Well, next time they do, let me know,” Solo said, jamming his blaster back into its holster and starting back down the slope to the creek bed. “It’s about time we all had a little chat together. Come on, let’s get moving.”
The darkness was growing thicker, and the camp nearly put together for the night, when the wisps of sensation came. “Han?” Luke called softly. “They’re here.”
Han nodded, tapping Lando on the back as he drew his blaster. “How many?”
Luke focused his mind, working at separating the distinct parts out of the overall sensation. “Looks like five or six of them, coming in from that direction.” He pointed to the side.
“Is that just in the first group?” Mara asked.
First group? Luke frowned, letting his focus open up again. She was right: there was a second group coming up behind the first. “That’s just the first group,” he confirmed. “Second group … I get five or six there, too. I’m not sure, but they might be a different species from the first.”
Han looked at Lando. “What do you think?”
“I don’t like it,” Lando said, fingering his blaster uneasily. “Mara, how well do these species usually get along?”
“Not all that well,” she said. “There was some trade and other stuff going on when I was here; but there were also stories about long, three-way wars between them and the human colonists.”
Chewbacca growled a suggestion: that the aliens might be joining forces against them. “That’s a fun thought,” Han said. “How about it, Luke?”
Luke strained, but it was no use. “Sorry,” he said. “There’s plenty of emotion there, but I don’t have any basis for figuring out what kind.”
“They’ve stopped,” Mara said, her face tight with concentration. “Both groups.”
Han grimaced. “I guess this is it. Lando, Mara—you stay here and guard the camp. Luke, Chewie, let’s go check ’em out.”
They headed up the rocky slope and into the forest, moving as quietly as possible among the bushes and dead leaves underfoot. “They know we’re coming yet?” Han muttered over his shoulder.
Luke stretched out with the Force. “I can’t tell,” he said. “But they don’t seem to be coming any closer.”
Chewbacca rumbled something Luke didn’t catch. “Could be,” Han said. “It’d be pretty stupid to hold a council of war this close to their target, though.”
And then, ahead and to their left, Luke caught a shadowy movement beside a thick tree trunk. “Watch it!” he warned, his lightsaber igniting with a snap-hiss. In the green-white light from the blade a small figure in a tight-fitting hooded garment could be seen as it ducked back behind the trunk, barely getting out of the w
ay as Han’s quick shot blew a sizable pit in one side of the trunk. Chewbacca’s bowcaster bolt was a split second behind Han’s, gouging out a section of the trunk on the other side. Through the erupting cloud of smoke and splinters the figure could be seen briefly as it darted from the rapidly decreasing cover of its chosen tree toward another, thicker trunk. Even as Han swung his blaster to track it, a strange warbling split the air, sounding like a dozen alien birds—
And with a roar that was part recognition, part understanding, and part relief, Chewbacca swung the end of his bowcaster into Han’s blaster, sending the shot wide of its intended target. “Chewie—!” Han barked.
“No—he’s right,” Luke cut him off. Suddenly, it had all come together for him, too. “You—stop.”
The order was unnecessary. The shadowy figure had already come to a halt, standing unprotected in the open, its hooded face shaded from the faint light of Luke’s lightsaber.
Luke took a step toward it. “I’m Luke Skywalker,” he said formally. “Brother of Leia Organa Solo, son of the Lord Darth Vader. Who are you?”
“I am Ekhrikhor clan Bakh’tor,” the gravelly Noghri voice replied. “I greet you, son of Vader.”
The clearing Ekhrikhor led them to was close, only twenty meters or so further along the vector Luke had started them on in the first place. The aliens were there, all right: two different types, five of each, standing on the far side of a thick fallen tree trunk. On the near side stood two more Noghri in those camouflaged outfits of theirs with the hoods thrown back. Propped up on the log between the two sides was some sort of compact worklight, giving off just enough of a glow for Han to pick out the details of the nearest aliens.
It wasn’t very encouraging. The group on the right were a head taller than the Noghri facing them and maybe a head shorter than Han. Covered with lumpy plates, they looked more like walking rock piles than anything else. The group on the left were nearly as tall as Chewbacca, with four arms each and a shiny, bluish-crystal skin that reminded Han of the brownish thing they’d had to shoot off Threepio their first day here. “Friendly-looking bunch,” he muttered to Luke as their group moved toward the last line of trees between them and the clearing.
“They are the Myneyrshi and Psadans,” Ekhrikhor said. “They have been seeking to confront you.”
“And you’ve been driving them off?” Luke asked.
“They sought to confront,” the Noghri repeated. “We could not permit that.”
They stopped just inside the clearing. A rustle ran through the aliens, one that didn’t sound all that friendly. “I get the feeling we aren’t all that welcome,” Han said. “Luke?”
Beside him, he felt Luke shake his head. “I still can’t read anything solid,” he said. “What’s this all about, Ekhrikhor?”
“They have indicated they wish a conversation with us,” the Noghri said. “Perhaps to decide whether they will seek to give us battle.”
Han gave the aliens a quick once-over. They all seemed to be wearing knives, and there were a couple of bows in evidence, but he didn’t see anything more advanced. “They better hope they brought an army with them,” he said.
“We don’t want to fight at all if we can avoid it,” Luke reproved him mildly. “How are you going to communicate with them?”
“One of them learned a little of the Empire’s Basic when the storehouse was being built beneath the mountain,” Ekhrikhor said, pointing to the Myneyrsh standing closest to the work light. “He will attempt to translate.”
“We might be able to do a little better.” Luke raised his eyebrows at Han. “What do you think?”
“It’s worth a try,” Han agreed, pulling out his comlink. It was about time Threepio earned his keep, anyway. “Lando?”
“Right here,” Lando’s voice came instantly. “You find the aliens?”
“Yeah, we found them,” Han said. “Plus a surprise or two. Have Mara bring Threepio here—if she heads out the way we went she’ll run right into us.”
“Got it,” Lando said. “What about me?”
“I don’t think this bunch will give us any trouble,” Han said, giving the aliens another once-over. “You and Artoo might as well stay there and keep an eye on the camp. Oh, and if you see some short guys with camouflage suits and lots of teeth, don’t shoot. They’re on our side.”
“I’m glad,” Lando said dryly. “I think. Anything else?”
Han looked at the groups of shadowy aliens, all of them staring straight back at him. “Yeah—cross your fingers. We might be about to pick up some allies. Or else a whole lot of trouble down the road.”
“Right. Mara and Threepio are on their way. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” Shutting off the comlink, Han returned it to his belt. “They’re coming,” he told Luke.
“There is no need for them to guard your camp,” Ekhrikhor said. “The Noghri will protect it.”
“That’s okay,” Han said. “It’s getting crowded enough here as it is.” He eyed Ekhrikhor. “So I was right. We were followed in.”
“Yes,” Ekhrikhor said, bowing his head. “And for that deception I beg your forgiveness, consort of the Lady Vader. I and others did not feel it entirely honorable; but Cakhmaim clan Eikh’mir wished our presence to be kept hidden from you.”
“Why?”
Ekhrikhor bowed again. “Cakhmaim clan Eikh’mir felt hostility from you in the Lady Vader’s suite,” he said. “He believed you would not willingly accept a guard of Noghri to accompany you.”
Han looked at Luke, caught the kid’s halfway try at hiding a grin. “Well, next time you see Cakhmaim, you tell him that I stopped passing up free help years ago,” he told Ekhrikhor. “But as long as we’re discussing hostility, you can knock off that ‘consort of the Lady Vader’ stuff. Call me Han, or Solo. Or Captain. Or practically anything else.”
“Han clan Solo, maybe,” Luke murmured.
Ekhrikhor brightened. “That is good,” he said. “We beg your forgiveness, Han clan Solo.”
Han looked at Luke. “I think you’ve been adopted,” Luke said, fighting that grin again.
“Yeah,” Han said. “Thanks. A lot.”
“A little rapport never hurts,” Luke pointed out. “Remember Endor.”
“I’m not likely to forget,” Han growled, feeling his lip twist. Sure, the little fuzzballs there had done their bit in that final battle against the second Death Star. That didn’t change the fact that being made part of an Ewok tribe was one of the more ridiculous things he’d ever had to go through.
Still, the Ewoks had overwhelmed the Imperial troops by sheer weight of numbers. The Noghri, on the other hand—“How many of you are there here?” he asked Ekhrikhor.
“There are eight,” the other replied. “Two each have traveled before, after, and on either side of you during your journey.”
Han nodded, feeling a grudging trickle of unwilling respect for these things. Eight of them, silently killing or driving away predators and natives. Day and night both. And still finding time on top of it to clear their path of nuisances like clawbirds and vine snakes.
He looked down at Ekhrikhor. No, the adoption process didn’t feel quite so ridiculous this time around.
From somewhere behind them came a familiar shuffling sound. Han turned, and a moment later the equally familiar golden figure of Threepio traipsed into view. Beside him and a half-step behind was Mara, blaster in hand. “Master Luke,” Threepio called, his voice its usual mixture of relieved and anxious and just plain prissy.
“Over here, Threepio,” Luke called back. “Think you can do some translation for us?”
“I’ll do my best,” the droid said. “As you know, I am fluent in over six million forms of communica—”
“I see you found the natives,” Mara cut him off, giving the group by the log a quick survey as she and Threepio stepped into the clearing. Her eyes fell on Ekhrikhor—“And a little surprise, too,” she added, her blaster quietly shifting its aim toward the Noghri.
“It’s all right—he’s a friend,” Luke assured her, reaching toward her blaster.
“I don’t think so,” Mara said, twitching the weapon to the side out of his reach. “They’re Noghri. They work for Thrawn.”
“We serve him no longer,” Ekhrikhor told her.
“That’s true, Mara, they don’t,” Luke said.
“Maybe,” Mara said. She still wasn’t happy about it, but at least her blaster wasn’t pointed exactly at Ekhrikhor anymore.
Across the clearing, the Myneyrsh nearest the log pulled what seemed to be a bleached-white stuffed clawbird from a shoulder pouch. Speaking inaudibly under his breath, he laid it in front of him beside the worklight. “What’s that?” Han asked. “Lunch?”
“It is called the satna-chakka,” Ekhrikhor said. “It is a bond of peace while this meeting lasts. They are ready to begin. You—Threepio-droid—come with me.”
“Of course,” Threepio said, not sounding exactly thrilled by the whole arrangement. “Master Luke …?”
“I’ll come with you,” Luke soothed. “Han, Chewie—you stay here.”
“No argument from me,” Han said.
With a clearly reluctant Threepio in tow, Luke and the Noghri headed toward the log. The head Myneyrsh raised its upper two hands over his head, palm inwards. “Bidaesi charaa,” he said, his voice surprisingly melodious. “Lyaaunu baaraemaa dukhnu phaeri.”
“He announces the arrival of the strangers,” Threepio said precisely. “Presumably, that refers to us. He fears, however, that we will bring danger and trouble again to his people.”
Beside Han, Chewbacca rumbled a sarcastic comment. “No, they’re not much for small talk,” Han agreed. “Not much for diplomacy, either.”
“We bring hope to your people,” the chief Noghri countered. “If you let us pass, we will free you from the domination of the Empire.”
Threepio translated, the melodious Myneyrshi words still coming out prissy, in Han’s opinion. One of the lumpy Psadans made a chopping gesture and said something that sounded like a faint and distant scream with consonants scattered around in it. “He says that the Psadan people have long memories,” Threepio translated. “Apparently, deliverers have come before but nothing has ever changed.”
