Star Wars: Survivor's Quest

by Timothy Zahn

  Fel suppressed a grimace. He’d assumed the two Jedi would be back before they were missed, or at least before it was time to move on. This was going to play havoc with his marching order. “Stormtroopers, form up,” he ordered. “Two and two, front and rear.”

  “I’d prefer they hold rearguard position, Commander,” Formbi said. “You”—he gestured to the three Chiss warriors—”come with me.”

  Without waiting for comment or argument, he strode off down the corridor, one of the Chiss warriors taking point two steps ahead of him as the other two moved into position on either side of him.

  Fel hissed between his teeth as Jinzler, Feesa, and the Geroons moved off behind the procession. He hated being stuck all the way in the back this way. “Rearguard formation,” he ordered the stormtroopers.

  He was striding along behind Bearsh when a young, auburn-haired girl stepped out of concealment in front of the lead warrior, bringing the whole group to an abrupt halt. “Hello,” she said calmly, as if visitors dropped by Outbound Flight every day. “Are you here to see the Guardian?”

  Formbi glanced at Jinzler, then back to the girl. “We’re here to see the survivors of Outbound Flight, and to help them,” he said. “Is the Guardian the one we need to see?”

  “Yes,” the girl confirmed. “Come; I’ll take you to him.”

  She turned and headed down the corridor toward the forward sensor room. “Who are all of you?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “I am Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family of the Chiss Ascendancy,” Formbi identified himself. “This is my aide, Chaf’ees’aklaio. This”—he gestured to Jinzler—”is Ambassador Dean Jinzler of the New Republic. Our expedition also includes representatives of the Geroon Remnant and the Empire of the Hand.”

  “So many people here to see us,” the girl commented, turning into an alcove to her left.

  “Yes,” Formbi said. “May I ask your name?”

  “I’m Evlyn,” she said. “This way, please.” She touched a control on the wall, and a door slid open in front of her. Gesturing the others to follow, she stepped inside.

  Fel stepped close beside Cloud as Formbi and the others filed through the doorway. “Are you picking up Drask or the Jedi anywhere?” he murmured.

  “I have no sensor contact,” the stormtrooper murmured back. “But there’s a lot of metal and electronic equipment in here. It may be shielding them.”

  “Maybe,” Fel said, pulling out his comlink as he and the stormtroopers reached the doorway. The opening led into a short corridor, he saw, with another door at the far end and a third door midway down the wall on the right. Formbi, the Chiss warriors, and two of the Geroons were right behind the girl, while Jinzler, Feesa, Bearsh, and the fourth Geroon had fallen a couple of paces behind the leaders as they looked around the empty corridor. “Cloud, Grappler: go catch up to Formbi,” he ordered quietly. At the far end of the corridor, Evlyn touched a control, and the door slid up in front of her. “We’ll stay back here and—”

  He never finished the sentence. Evlyn stepped through the door; but instead of staying open, the panel slammed violently down right in Formbi’s face. Even as Fel drew his blaster, another door dropped out of a groove in the ceiling in front of Cloud, cutting the Imperials off from the rest of the party. He spun around in time to see the door they’d come though slam down in turn, isolating them from the rest of the ship.

  An instant later, the floor seemed to drop out from under him as their newly created prison began to fall.

  It braked to a stop before he had time for more than a single curse. “Good day,” a voice said from a speaker in the control panel. “My name is Guardian Pressor. You’re in a turbolift car that is being held in suspension between two opposing repulsor beams. Do you understand this?”

  “Perfectly,” Fel said, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m Commander Chak Fel of the Empire of the Hand. Interesting trap you’ve got here.”

  “Merely making use of limited resources,” Pressor said. “The six turbolift cars running through this pylon were designed to operate independently, but could also be connected together for large cargoes.”

  “Ah,” Fel said. “I take it this pylon you mentioned is the connecting tube between these particular two Dreadnaughts?”

  “The wiring that feeds power to the repulsor beams also wraps randomly around the outside of the car,” Pressor said, ignoring the question. “I’d therefore advise against trying to shoot or cut your way out.”

  “Understood,” Fel said. Clearly, Pressor wasn’t interested in a long conversation. “What is it you want from us?”

  “From you, nothing,” Pressor said. “I’ll speak with you again when I’ve come to a decision concerning your group.”

  “Very well,” Fel said, looking casually around the car. There would be at least one hidden monitor in here, he knew. “Would it help to tell you we come in peace, and in the hope of helping you and your people?”

  “Not really, no,” Pressor said.

  The speaker clicked off. “Anyone?” Fel invited sourly.

  “They’re jamming our comlinks,” Shadow offered. “I can’t raise any of the others.”

  “Big surprise there,” Fel said. “What about monitors?”

  “One,” Grappler said, pointing his BlasTech toward the control panel. “I mark the monitor system feed in there.”

  “Concur,” Watchman agreed.

  Fel nodded. “All right, then,” he said, digging into his emergency pack. “The others are off by themselves, out of our reach and protection. That is unacceptable.”

  His fingers located the insulator blanket and emergency food paste he’d been looking for. So Pressor was proud that he could make use of limited resources? Fine. As far as Fel was concerned, the Empire of the Hand had invented that particular operational philosophy. “So let’s make ourselves a little privacy,” he continued, crossing toward the hidden monitor, “and then see what exactly we can do about this.”

  * * *

  “. . .so I’d advise against trying to shoot your way out,” Pressor said, wiping the sweat from his forehead in the hot room as he once again ran through the warning message he’d prepared. “Is that understood?”

  “Clearly,” the Blue One—Chiss—who had identified himself as Aristocra something-or-other said calmly. He’d ended up in the Number Four Turbolift Car, along with three more Chiss and two of the other, unknown aliens. “We’ll await your decision,” the Aristocra continued. “I would simply say that we’ve come here to help you, not to harm you.”

  “I understand,” Pressor said. “I’ll speak with you soon.”

  He cut off the speaker, scowling blackly at the fuzzy image that was the best the turbolift monitors could handle anymore. Of course they weren’t here to harm anyone. Just like those strange soldiers with their white armor and hidden faces weren’t here to harm anyone, or the Jedi weren’t here to harm anyone.

  Jedi.

  For a long minute Pressor stared at the image of the two Jedi on the Number Two display. It was hard to tell on the ancient and failing equipment, but they looked young, probably younger than he himself was.

  But of course, age didn’t mean anything. According to Director Uliar, the Jedi culture and methods were centuries old, passed down from one generation to the next with all the passion and rigidity of a system kept alive through sheer inertia. If these two were following in that same tradition, they would be exactly like the Jedi who had set out with Outbound Flight all those years ago.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course, he’d only been four when Outbound Flight died, and admittedly nowhere near the center of the action. But still, he remembered those Jedi.

  Or at least, he remembered one of them.

  The control room door slid open, letting in a blast of even hotter air, and Evlyn stepped inside. “Do we have all of them?” she asked.

  “Every one,” Pressor assured her, gazing back at his niece’s bright blu
e eyes. They might look innocent—Evlyn herself might look innocent—but Pressor wasn’t fooled. There was something odd about the girl, something he’d been aware of since she was three years old. Something the others would eventually notice, too.

  “Good,” Evlyn said, taking another stop toward Pressor to allow the door to slide shut behind her. “It’s a lot cooler in here.”

  “A little cooler, anyway,” Pressor said. “The repulsorlift generators are running pretty hot.”

  “That’s not good, is it?” Evlyn asked, peering over his shoulder at the monitors.

  “Not if one of them gets hot enough to fail, no,” he conceded, swiveling back around in his creaky chair. “At least it would be a fast way to die.”

  He glanced over the bank of monitors, frowning. One of the displays was suddenly showing nothing except black, the one in the Number Six Car. Muttering a curse at the antiquated equipment, he reached for the controls.

  “That’s not going to help,” Evlyn said. “The man in the gray uniform put a piece of cloth over the monitor. I saw him do it as I was coming in.”

  Pressor glared over his shoulder at her. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “What could you have done about it if I had?”

  Disgustedly, he turned back around. She was right, of course, but that wasn’t the point. “Next time you see something important, tell me,” he growled. The low conversation coming from the Number Six speaker had vanished along with the video image, he noted, disappearing into a faint hum. Cranking up the volume did nothing but increase the intensity of the hum. “Did they do something to the voice pickup, too?” he asked Evlyn.

  “I didn’t see anything,” she said, sounding puzzled. “That sounds a lot like the hum from the repulsor generators, though.”

  “Of course it does,” Pressor growled as the explanation hit him. The cloth they were using to block the camera was heavy enough to pick up the vibration from the wall and amplify it over the voice pickup, deafening him as well as blinding him with a single move. So much for keeping tabs on the armored soldiers and their officer.

  And from the looks of things, the two Jedi were trying to shut him down, too. “Blast them all, anyway.”

  “You could,” Evlyn reminded him.

  Pressor grimaced. Yes, he could blast them, all right. He could blast all of them. A flick of a switch, and they would be slammed down the turbolift pylon hard enough to turn them into jelly. “We’ll let them be for now,” he told the girl. “Anyway, whether we can see them or not, they’re still trapped.”

  He shifted his attention to the Number Five Car’s monitor. The man the Aristocra had identified as Ambassador Jinzler was in there, plus a young-looking Chiss and two of the aliens with the twin mouths, one of whom was currently pounding on the control panel as if trying to break it open.

  Talking with them would be a risk, he knew, especially if this New Republic they’d mentioned was anything like the Republic Outbound Flight had left all those years ago. But he had to talk to someone. And of all those in the boarding party, at least none of this particular group was carrying any weapons.

  “Go ahead and release Number Five,” he told Evlyn. “Actually, give me a couple of minutes to talk to them and then release it. You remember how to deactivate the trap and put the car back on normal?”

  “Sure,” she said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out the command stick he’d given her. “Seven-three-three-six.”

  “Right,” he said. “Bring them back up here and take them to the pilot ready room. I’ll be waiting for them there.”

  “Okay,” she said, taking a step backward. The door behind her slid open, letting in another blast of hot air, and she was gone.

  Pressor reached for the comm control, checking over the readings one last time. Ambassador Jinzler—he repeated the name in his mind, making sure he had it right. Jinzler. Jinzler.

  His fingers froze a centimeter from the comm switch. Jinzler?

  He sucked in a lungful of hot air, staring at the man on the display. Ambassador Jinzler, here aboard his ship. Jedi Lorana was how he’d known her, but her full name had been Jedi Lorana Jinzler.

  With an effort, he forced his fingers to travel that last centimeter. “Hello, Ambassador Jinzler.”

  * * *

  Without warning, two huge panels slammed down in front of and behind them, the resonating thud as they hit the floor cutting across Feesa’s sudden scream of fright. “It’s all right,” Jinzler said reflexively, reaching out an arm to catch her around her shoulders as she half fell, half lunged against his side. She jerked at his touch, but didn’t pull away. “It’s all right,” he repeated as soothingly as he could.

  It wasn’t soothing enough, evidently. Her body was trembling as she pressed against him, her glowing eyes narrowed. Jinzler tightened his grip around her shoulders, looking helplessly at Bearsh and the other Geroon who’d wound up trapped in here with them.

  But neither alien was in any shape to give him any assistance. Bearsh’s companion had pulled his heavy wolvkil drapery half over his head, gripping it by its blue-and-gold collar, as if instinctively preparing to throw off the extra weight and make a run for it, or else just as irrationally hoping that he could hide underneath it. Bearsh himself was half crouched beside the door, his twin mouths repeating the same agitated tones over and over as he clutched the other Geroon’s arm with one hand and pounded uselessly on the small control board beside the door with the other.

  Jinzler looked around, searching for some clue as to what he should do. But with the exception of the door and the control panel Bearsh was still pounding on, the room was completely devoid of decoration or instrumentation. The control panel itself didn’t offer much, either. There were only five options for stops, marked D-4-1, D-4-2, D-5-1, D-5-2, and SC, plus the usual emergency buttons and a droid socket that would do them no good without a droid. Jinzler himself was unarmed, though what he would have done with a blaster even if he’d had one he couldn’t guess. He did have a comlink connected to the Chaf Envoy, but whoever had sprung this trap would surely have thought to jam their communications.

  Still, it was worth a try. Slowly, carefully, he dug into the proper pocket of his survival pack.

  There was a loud click from the control panel. Bearsh jumped back, twitching as if he’d been stung. “Hello, Ambassador Jinzler,” a man’s voice said. “My name is Pressor, Guardian of this colony.”

  “Hello, Guardian,” Jinzler said, trying to keep his voice calm. “This has been something of a surprise.”

  “I’m sure it has,” Pressor said. “And I apologize for that. But I’m sure you understand that we have to take precautions.”

  “Of course,” Jinzler said, though he didn’t, entirely. “May I ask what’s happened to the rest of my party?”

  “They’re perfectly safe,” Pressor assured him. “At least for now. What ultimately happens to all of you, of course, is still undecided. I’d like to bring you out for a discussion, if I may.”

  An unpleasant thrill tingled across Jinzler’s skin. Ambassador Jinzler. He’d started this whole charade purely to get himself aboard Formbi’s expedition. Quite unintentionally, he’d apparently sold these people on that story, as well.

  And unless he was misreading the tone of Pressor’s voice, he was about to be dropped into negotiations regarding the fate of everyone aboard the expedition.

  For a long second panic bubbled in his throat. He wasn’t a diplomat, trained in mediation or negotiation. He was only an electronics tech. Mostly a failed one, too, like he’d been a failure at everything else he’d tried. Luke and Mara should be handling any talks with Guardian Pressor. Them, or Aristocra Formbi—after all, this territory belonged to the Chiss, not the New Republic. Even Commander Fel probably had more experience with foreign cultures than he did.

  But he was the one Pressor had chosen. Arguing the point would probably be a bad idea, and admitting his deception would be even worse. Whether he liked it or not,
it was up to him. “Certainly,” he told the disembodied voice. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  “When the door opens you will step outside,” Pressor said. “The girl who met you earlier will take you to a nearby room. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  “I understand,” Jinzler said, glancing down at the top of Feesa’s head. “What about those in here with me?”

  “They’ll have to wait there until we’re finished.”

  Feesa gave a soft whimper. “Please,” she whispered. “Please. No.”

  “You cannot leave us here alone,” Bearsh agreed softly. “Please, Ambassador Jinzler.”

  Jinzler grimaced. This could get very awkward. “I understand your concerns, Guardian,” he said. “But my companions. . . they’re not exactly what you’d call heroic.”

  “We have no need of heroes here, Ambassador,” Pressor said, his voice dark. “We don’t need them, and we don’t like them.”

  “Of course,” Jinzler said hastily. “My point is that it’s going to be a severe hardship for them to stay here alone. Besides which,” he added as inspiration finally struck, “First Steward Bearsh and the other Geroons came a long way to pay you honor for saving them from slavery to the Vagaari all those years ago. I know they would very much like to be present at our discussions.”

  There was no answer. Jinzler remained motionless, holding on to Feesa and mentally crossing his fingers. “Very well,” Pressor said at last. “They may all accompany you, provided they remain silent. I trust you are willing to guarantee their behavior?”

  “I am,” Jinzler said firmly. “No one wants to hurt any of you. We’re only here to help.”

  Pressor snorted. “Of course you are.”

  * * *

  With one final delicate slice of her lightsaber, Mara cut away the twenty-centimeter-square section of the turbolift car wall she’d been working on, leaving everything behind it untouched. The piece of metal fell inward, stopping abruptly in midair as Luke caught it in a Force grip. “Okay,” he said, easing it to the floor as warm air flowed in through the opening. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”