by Troy Denning
Darklighter jerked to attention. “Sir!”
“Carry on,” Bwua’tu said. “Report back when you are finished.”
Darklighter pulled a comlink and stepped away to carry out the admiral’s orders. Han, Luke, and the rest of their group exchanged nervous glances, clearly wondering what the Bothan could be thinking. Only Leia did not seem convinced that he had lost his mind; her expression was one more of curiosity than apprehension.
Either oblivious to their expressions or pretending not to notice, Bwua’tu turned to Luke.
“Captain Solo gave a glowing account of Juun’s and Tarfang’s actions once they learned the true nature of the statuary they delivered to my fleet. Would you concur?”
“I would,” Luke said. “They aided our escape from the Saras rehabilitation house, lost their own vessel while investigating the Killik plans, and fought valiantly on the Gorog nest ship. It’s unfortunate that my Artoo unit was damaged, or we would be able to provide documentation.”
“That’s quite unnecessary,” Bwua’tu said. “The word of a Jedi Master is documentation enough.”
An uncomfortable silence followed while the admiral continued to stare out the viewport—and while Han, Luke, and the others silently considered what they might be able to do to stop the attack on the nest ships and prevent the loss of yet more Alliance lives.
Finally, Darklighter returned and reported that the admiral’s orders had been issued.
“Very good,” Bwua’tu said. “I was very impressed with Captain Juun’s and Tarfang’s knowledge of our enemy. Sign them on as intelligence affiliates and see to it that they’re assigned a scout skiff. Make certain it’s stealth-equipped. I imagine they’ll be doing a lot of work behind the lines.”
Han and Luke exchanged surprised glances, then Luke asked, “Admiral, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Tarfang stepped over to Luke and let loose a long, angry string of jabbering—to which Bwua’tu replied in kind. After a short exchange, the admiral looked back to Luke with a scowl.
“Tarfang doesn’t understand why you’re trying to undermine him and Captain Juun,” Bwua’tu said. “And frankly, Master Skywalker, neither do I. You seemed quite impressed with them a few moments ago.”
“Captain Juun and Tarfang are very earnest,” Luke responded. “But that doesn’t mean they would make good intelligence agents. They can be, uh, rather naÏve. I worry about their chances of survival.”
Tarfang started to yap an objection, but Bwua’tu silenced him with a soft chitter, then turned back to Luke.
“So do I, Master Skywalker.” Bwua’tu looked back out the viewport, where the task force frigates were beginning to move out toward the flanks. “I worry about us all.”
Luke frowned, clearly at a loss as to what he could say to make Bwua’tu change his mind. Han caught Leia’s eye, then nodded toward the admiral and raised his brow, silently asking if he was crazy. She flashed a reassuring smile, then gave a slight shake of her head.
“Trust me, Captain Solo,” Bwua’tu said, speaking to Han’s reflection in the viewport. “Your friends are capable of more than you think. They usually are.”
“Uh, actually, I was worried about your attack orders,” Han said. “You don’t think that seems a little crazy?”
“I do,” Bwua’tu said. “But right now, these bugs are unsure of themselves. More importantly, they are unsure of us.”
“And we need to keep them that way,” Mara said, approvingly.
“Precisely,” Bwua’tu replied. “You Jedi tossed a hydrospanner into the Killiks’ plan. They’ll be wondering what else you can do, and I intend to use that doubt to make them believe they lost this battle.”
Luke’s brow went up. “And force a negotiation!”
Bwua’tu shot Luke a impatient frown. “Not at all, Master Skywalker. I expect them to retreat.”
“And if they don’t?” Luke asked.
“Then I will have miscalculated . . . again.” Bwua’tu turned to Han. “I’ve been thinking about your daughter’s preemptive strike. By all accounts, she’s a sound tactician. What do you think she would do if she knew the Chiss were preparing a major attack?”
Han’s stomach sank. “How could she know something like that?”
Bwua’tu shrugged. “I have no idea. But if she did, a preemptive strike would be a stroke of genius. It would force the Chiss to attack before they were ready—or risk having their preparations disrupted completely. It might well be the Colony’s only hope of survival.”
“Survival?” Leia asked. “Didn’t the Chiss message say they were only going to push the Killiks away from the frontier?”
“Yes, and their previous message said that they were going to let the Jedi handle the problem,” Bwua’tu replied. “That’s the trouble with Chiss messages, isn’t it? You never know when they are telling the truth.”
“Wait a minute,” Han said. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing—didn’t want to, anyway. How many times would he face his children flying off to war? How many times could he? “You think this war is already starting?”
Bwua’tu nodded. “Of course. It started before their messenger left Ascendancy space.” His gaze remained fixed on the viewport, where the task force cruisers were moving out in front of the formation. “The irony of it is, I believe the Chiss are worried that we’ll side with the Killiks. Their message may be just a ruse to reassure us, to keep the Alliance from taking action until it’s too late to save the Colony.”
“This is just nuts!” Han said.
“Not nuts—scary,” Mara said, her face falling. “What are the Chiss going to think when the Admiral Ackbar shows up on the Colony’s side? It’ll only confirm their suspicions. They’ll think the Alliance gave it to the Killiks.”
“Exactly,” Bwua’tu said. “If I am right, this is going to be a very interesting war.”
Leia closed her eyes for a moment, then reached out and squeezed Han’s hand. “I’m afraid you are right, Admiral,” she said. “Jaina and Jacen are in the middle of something bad. I can feel it.”
Han’s heart sank. Not again, not so soon.
Bwua’tu sighed. “I’m sorry to hear that, Princess.” He turned to Darklighter again, then said, “Commodore . . . have all batteries open fire.”
By Troy Denning
WATERDEEP
DRAGONWALL
THE PARCHED SEA
THE VERDANT PASSAGE
THE CRIMSON LEGION
THE AMBER ENCHANTRESS
THE OBSIDIAN ORACLE
THE CERULEAN STORM
THE OGRE’S PACT
THE GIANT AMONG US
THE TITAN OF TWILIGHT
THE VEILED DRAGON
PAGES OF PAIN
CRUCIBLE: THE TRIAL OF CYRIC THE MAD
THE OATH OF STONEKEEP
FACES OF DECEPTION
BEYOND THE HIGH ROAD
DEATH OF THE DRAGON (with Ed Greenwood)
THE SUMMONING
THE SIEGE
THE SORCERER
STAR WARS: THE NEW JEDI ORDER: STAR BY STAR
STAR WARS: TATOOINE GHOST
STAR WARS: DARK NEST I: THE JOINER KING
STAR WARS: DARK NEST II: THE UNSEEN QUEEN
STAR WARS: DARK NEST III: THE SWARM WAR—Dec. 2005
A Star Wars mystery revealed at last!
Read on for a preview
of the long-awaited
Star Wars:
Outbound Flight
by Timothy Zahn
Coming soon from Del Rey Books
The room was compactly furnished, containing a three-tier bunk bed against one wall and a fold-down table and bench seats on the other. Beside the bunk bed were three large drawers built into the wall, while to the right was a door leading into what seemed to be a compact refresher station.
“What do you think he’s going to do with us?” Maris murmured, looking around.
“He’ll let us go,” Qennto assured her, glancing into the r
efresher station and then sitting down on the lowest bed, hunching forward to keep from bumping his head on the one above it. “The real question is whether we’ll be taking the firegems with us.”
Car’das cleared his throat. “Uh . . . should we be talking about this?” he asked, looking significantly around the room.
“Oh, relax,” Qennto growled. “They don’t speak a word of Basic.” His eyes narrowed. “And as long as we’re on the subject of speaking, why the frizz did you tell him we knew Progga?”
“There was something in his eyes and voice just then,” Car’das said. “Something that said he already knew all about it, and that we’d better not get caught lying to him.”
Qennto snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Unless there were survivors from Progga’s crew,” Maris pointed out.
“Not a chance,” Qennto said firmly. “You saw what the ship looked like. The thing’d been peeled open like a ration bar.”
“I don’t know how he knew,” Car’das insisted. “All I know is that he did know.”
“And you shouldn’t lie to an honorable man anyway,” Maris murmured.
“Who, Mitth’raw’nuruodo?” Qennto scoffed. “Honorable? Don’t you believe it. Military men are all alike. And in my experience, the smooth ones are the worst of the lot.”
“I’ve known quite a few honorable soldiers,” Maris said stiffly. “Besides, I’ve always had a good feel for people. I think this Mitth’raw—whatever. I think he can be trusted.” She lifted her eyebrows. “I don’t think trying to con him will be a good idea, either.”
“It’s only a bad idea if you get caught,” Qennto said. “You get what you bargain for in this universe, Maris. Nothing more, nothing less.”
She shook her head. “Your problem is that you don’t have enough faith in people, Rak.”
“I got all the faith I need, kiddo,” Qennto said calmly. “I just happen to know a little more about human nature than you do. Human and nonhuman nature.”
“I still think we need to play completely straight with him.”
Qennto snorted. “Playing straight is the last thing you want to do. Ever. It gives the other guy all the advantages.” He nodded toward the closed door. “And this guy in particular sounds like the sort who’ll ask questions until we die of old age if we let him.”
“Still, it might not be a bad idea to hang around here for at least a little while,” Car’das suggested. “Progga’s people are going to be pretty mad when he doesn’t come back.”
Qennto shook his head. “They’ll never pin it on us. Not a chance.”
“Yes, but—”
“Look, kid, let me do the thinking, okay?” Qennto said, cutting him off. Swiveling his legs up onto the bunk, he lay back with his arms folded behind his head. “Now everyone be quiet for a while. I’ve got to figure out how to play this.”
Maris caught Car’das’s eye, gave a little shrug, then turned and climbed up onto the bunk above Qennto. Stretching out, she folded her arms across her chest and gazed meditatively at the underside of the bunk above her.
Crossing to the other side of the room, Car’das folded down the table and one of the bench seats and sat down, wedging himself more or less comfortably between the table and wall. Putting his elbow on the table and propping his head up on his hand, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.
He didn’t realize he’d dozed off until a sudden buzz startled him awake. He jumped up as the door opened to reveal a single black-clad Chiss. “Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s respects,” the alien said, the Sy Bisti words coming out thickly accented. “He requests your presence in Forward Visual One.”
“Wonderful,” Qennto said, swinging his legs onto the floor and standing up. His tone and expression were the false cheerfulness Car’das had heard him use time and again in bargaining sessions.
“Not you,” the Chiss said. He gestured to Car’das. “This one only.”
Qennto came to an abrupt halt. “What?”
“A refreshment is being prepared,” the Chiss said. “Until it is ready, this one only will come.”
“Now, wait a second,” Qennto said, taking a step forward. “We stick together or—”
“It’s okay,” Car’das interrupted. The Chiss standing in the doorway had made no move, but he’d caught a subtle shift in lighting and shadow outside that indicated there were others outside the humans’ line of sight. “I’ll be fine.”
“Car’das—”
“It’s okay,” Car’das repeated, stepping to the doorway. The Chiss moved back, and he walked out into the corridor.
There were indeed more Chiss waiting by the door, two of them on either side. “Follow,” the messenger said as the door closed.
They trooped down the curved corridor, passing three cross corridors and several other doorways along the way. Two of the doors were open, and Car’das couldn’t resist a furtive glance inside each as they passed. All he could see, though, was unrecognizable equipment and more black-clad Chiss.
He had expected Forward Visual to be just another crowded high-tech room. To his surprise, the door opened into something that looked like a compact version of a starliner’s observation gallery. A long, curved couch sat in front of a convex floor-to-ceiling viewport currently giving a spectacular view of the glowing hyperspace sky as it flowed past the ship. The room’s own lights were dimmed, making the display that much more impressive.
“Welcome, Jorj Car’das.”
Car’das looked around. Mitth’raw’nuruodo was seated alone at the far end of the couch, silhouetted against the hyperspace sky. “Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he greeted the other, glancing a question at his guide. The other nodded, stepping back and closing the door on himself and the rest of the escort. Feeling more than a little uneasy, Car’das stepped around the near end of the couch and made his way across the curve.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo commented as Car’das arrived at his side. “Please, be seated.”
“Thank you,” Car’das said, easing himself onto the couch a cautious meter away from the other. “May I ask why I’m here?”
“To share this view with me, of course,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said dryly. “And to answer a few questions.”
Car’das felt his stomach tighten. So it was to be an interrogation. Down deep he’d known it would be, but had hoped against hope that Maris’s naÏvely idealistic assessment of their captor might actually be right. “A very nice view it is, too,” he commented, not knowing what else to say. “I’m a little surprised to find such a room aboard a warship.”
“Oh, it’s quite functional,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo assured him. “Its full name is Forward Visual Triangulation Site Number One. We place spotters here during combat to track enemy vessels and other possible threats, and to coordinate some of our line-of-sight weaponry.”
“Don’t you have sensors to handle that?” Car’das asked, frowning.
“Of course,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “And usually they’re quite adequate. But I’m sure you know there are ways of misleading or blinding electronic eyes. Sometimes the eyes of a Chiss are more reliable.”
“I suppose,” Car’das said, gazing at his host’s own glowing eyes. In the dim light, they were even more intimidating. “Isn’t it hard to get the information to the gunners fast enough?”
“There are ways,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “What exactly is your business, Jorj Car’das?”
“Captain Qennto’s already told you that,” Car’das said, feeling sweat breaking out on his forehead. “We’re merchants and traders.”
Mitth’raw’nuruodo shook his head. “Unfortunately for your captain’s assertions, I’m familiar with the economics of star travel. Your vessel is far too small for any standard cargo to cover even normal operating expenses, let alone emergency repair work. I therefore conclude that you have a sideline occupation. You haven’t the weaponry to be pirates or privateers, so you must be smugglers.”
/> Car’das hesitated. What exactly was he supposed to say? “I don’t suppose it would do any good to point out that our economics and yours might not scale the same?” he said, stalling.
“Is that what you claim?”
Car’das hesitated, but Mitth’raw’nuruodo had that knowing look about him again. “No,” he conceded. “We are mostly just traders, as Captain Qennto said. But we do sometimes do a little smuggling on the side.”
“I see,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “I appreciate your honesty, Jorj Car’das.”
“You can just call me Car’das,” Car’das said. “In our culture, the first name is reserved for use by friends.”
Mitth’raw’nuruodo lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t consider me a friend?”
“Do you consider me one?” Car’das countered.
The instant the words were out of his mouth he wished he could call them back. Sarcasm was never the option of choice in a confrontation like this. Particularly not when the other side held the power of life and death.
But Mitth’raw’nuruodo lifted an eyebrow. “Not yet,” he agreed calmly. “Perhaps someday. You intrigue me, Car’das. Here you sit, captured by unfamiliar beings a long way from home. Yet instead of wrapping yourself within a blanket of fear or anger, you instead stretch outside yourself with curiosity.”
Car’das frowned. “Curiosity?”
“You studied my warriors as you were brought aboard,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “I could see it in your eyes and face as you observed and thought and evaluated. You did the same as you were taken to your quarters, and again as you were brought here just now.”
“I was just looking around,” Car’das assured him, feeling his heart beating a little faster. Did spies rank above or below smugglers on Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s list? “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Calm yourself,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, a distinct touch of amusement in his voice. “I’m not accusing you of spying. I, too, have the gift of curiosity, and therefore prize it in others. Tell me, who is to receive the hidden gemstones?”
