Star Wars: Survivor's Quest

by Timothy Zahn

  “Mostly a lot of wires,” Mara said, switching off her lightsaber and stepping closer to the wall.

  Luke moved to her side. She was right: in just the small section she’d opened up there were no fewer than eight wires of different colors crisscrossing their way across the gap. “Guardian Pressor wasn’t kidding about the power cables being wrapped around the car,” he commented.

  “He sure wasn’t,” Mara agreed, pushing experimentally on one of them. It gave about a centimeter and then stopped. “Wrapped pretty tightly, too. We’re not going to be able to push them far enough out of the way to squeeze between them.”

  “What good would that do anyway?” Drask asked. “Even if we left the car, we would still be suspended in midair.”

  “Sure, but as long as we stayed out of the repulsor beams, we’d be all right,” Luke told him. “All we’d have to deal with along the edges would be standard ship’s gravity, and there should be access ladders built into the sides of the tube we can use to get down.”

  “Except that the wires prevent us from reaching them,” Drask said tartly. “Have you any other ideas?”

  “We’re not finished with this one yet,” Mara countered, just as tartly. “What do you think, Luke? Should mine be on the other side?”

  “Yes,” Luke agreed. “Back to back always seems to work best.”

  “Right.”

  Crossing to the opposite side of the car, Mara ignited her lightsaber again. With the delicacy of a surgical droid, she began to cut a second opening. “And this will accomplish what?” Drask asked.

  “If we do it right, it’ll get us out of here,” Luke told him.

  “And if we don’t,” Mara added helpfully, “at least it’ll kill us quickly.”

  Drask didn’t reply.

  * * *

  Watchman ran his induction meter to the lower edge of the rear wall and straightened up. “Well?” Fel asked.

  “The topside repulsor cable comes around the corner right about here,” the stormtrooper reported, marking the spot with a daub of synthflesh from his medpac. “It’s in slightly worse shape than the power line to the underside generator—the field leakage is definitely stronger.”

  “Right.” Fel shifted his attention to Grappler as he ran his own sensor over the edges of the door. “Anything there?”

  “Yes, but not promising,” the other said. “If Watchman is right about the differential in leakage levels, it appears the opposing sets of power cables were dropped into a cross-connection pattern right after the door closed behind us.”

  “So if we try to force it open, we break one of the circuits?” Fel suggested.

  “Actually, we’d eventually break both of them,” Watchman said dryly. “At least in theory. In actual practice, we’d probably be slammed into something solid one direction or the other before the second circuit popped.”

  “Let’s try to avoid that,” Fel said, trying not to sound sarcastic. His stormtroopers’ apparently casual attitude, he knew, was just that: apparent. Beneath the surface they were all working as hard as he was to sort through the facts and options. “Anyone have a less lethal suggestion to offer?”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Cloud cleared his throat. “I’m not as tech-trained as Watchman and Grappler,” he said. “But if we drain some of the power to one of the repulsors, wouldn’t the strength of the beam diminish?”

  Fel rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. That was an interesting direction to go. “Watchman?”

  “I don’t think so,” the stormtrooper said slowly. “Not with the power cables themselves.”

  “But we may be able to do something with the control lines,” Grappler suggested. “If we can adjust them enough to lower their output, we may be able to lower the car to ground level.”

  “Right,” Watchman concurred. “Of course, we’ll only be able to get to the control cables if they’re also wrapped around the car. You think they were careless enough to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Fel said. “Let’s find out.”

  * * *

  The place Evlyn led them to reminded Jinzler of the meal room back at the Comra relay post: a drab, viewportless place enclosed in undecorated metal, furnished only with a long, plain table and a handful of equally plain chairs.

  Seated in the chair at the far end of the table was a dark-haired man in his midfifties with a lined, brooding face, dressed in the same simple fashion as the girl.

  “Good day,” Jinzler said with a nod, trying to remember how diplomats usually talked on the holodramas he’d liked to watch in the days when such entertainments could still interest him. “Do I have the honor of addressing Guardian Pressor?”

  “You do,” Pressor acknowledged. His eyes flicked to Feesa and the Geroons, lingered a moment on the wolvkils slung over the aliens’ shoulders, then came back to Jinzler. “Sit down.”

  “Thank you,” Jinzler said, choosing a seat midway down the table. Feesa took the chair beside him; Bearsh, perhaps sensing the lack of welcome, sat himself and his compatriot at the far end of the table, as far from Pressor as possible.

  “Let’s make this simple, Ambassador,” Pressor said as the group settled in. “First of all, I don’t trust you. Any of you. You arrive suddenly and without warning, invading my ship without even attempting to communicate with us first.”

  “I understand your feelings and your concerns,” Jinzler said. “But the fact is, we didn’t know anyone was here until we were already aboard. Even then, if it hadn’t been for the Jedi, we probably wouldn’t have known about you until we stumbled over Evlyn here.”

  “Yes,” Pressor murmured. “Well, we’ll let that pass for the moment. Right now, I’d like to hear why I should permit any of you to come farther into our world.”

  Jinzler smiled faintly. This was starting to sound and feel almost familiar. Maybe Pressor had learned his diplomatic technique from the holodramas, too. “Don’t you mean, why should you permit any of us to live?” he suggested. “Because that really is the question, isn’t it?”

  At least Pressor had the grace to blush. “I suppose so,” he admitted gruffly. “What can you offer that’s worth risking the betrayal of my people?”

  At the far end of the table Bearsh stirred in his seat. Jinzler threw him a sharp look, and he subsided without speaking. “I don’t know exactly what happened to you,” he said, turning back to Pressor. “It’s obvious you’ve all suffered tremendously. But I’m here—we’re here—in the hope of bringing that suffering to an end.”

  “And then what?” Pressor demanded. “A glorious return to the Republic? Most of us volunteered for this voyage specifically to escape the very thing you’re offering.”

  “We’re not the Republic you left,” Jinzler said. “We’re the New Republic.”

  “And, what, you no longer have squabbles among factions and members?” Pressor countered. “The bureaucracy no longer exists? The leaders are wise and benevolent and just?”

  Jinzler hesitated. What exactly was he supposed to say? “Of course we still have a bureaucracy,” he said carefully. “It’s impossible to operate a government without something of that sort. And there are certainly still squabbles and factions. But we’ve already tried the other option: rule by a single, monolithic Empire. Most of us prefer the alternative.”

  “An Empire?” Pressor asked, frowning. “When was this?”

  “The wheels were already in motion when Outbound Flight left Coruscant,” Jinzler said, wondering how much he should say. His goal was to convince Pressor that the New Republic offered hope to these people, not to give the full history of one of the politicians’ more spectacular failures. “At first, Palpatine only seemed to want peace—”

  “Palpatine?” Pressor cut him off. “Supreme Chancellor Palpatine?”

  “That’s the one,” Jinzler confirmed. “As I was saying, at first he only seemed to want to bring the Republic together. It was only afterward, in hindsight, that we were able to see how he was drawing more and
more power to himself.”

  “Interesting,” Pressor said. “But that’s the past. This is the present. And I’m still waiting to hear a good reason why we should trust you.”

  Jinzler took a deep breath. “Because you’re all alone out here,” he said. “You’re in foreign territory, surrounded by the hazards and lethal radiation of a tightly packed globular cluster, sitting in a ruined and useless ship.”

  “This ship is hardly useless,” Pressor said stiffly. “With all the work my father and the droids put into it, this particular Dreadnaught is pretty much ready to fly.”

  “Then why haven’t you loaded everyone aboard and left?” Jinzler countered. “I’ll tell you why. You haven’t left because you have no idea how to get out.” He locked gazes with the other man. “The bottom line is this, Guardian. If you don’t trust us—if you kill us, or even if you just send us away, you and your descendants will be here forever.”

  Pressor’s lip twitched. “I can think of worse fates.”

  “And if it were just you, I wouldn’t have any problem with that decision.” Jinzler turned to look at Evlyn, standing silently just inside the door. “But it isn’t just you, is it?”

  Pressor muttered something under his breath. “Well, one thing hasn’t changed between the Old and New Republics,” he said. “The politicians and diplomats still know how to fight dirty.”

  He waved a hand as Jinzler opened his mouth. “Never mind. I guess that’s how the game has always been played.”

  “I’m not trying to push you into anything,” Jinzler said quietly. “We’re not in any rush, and you don’t have to make any decisions right now. But ultimately, you have to be aware that your decision is going to affect more than just your own life.”

  Pressor didn’t reply. Jinzler listened to the silence, trying to think of something else to say. “While you’re thinking,” he said as he finally found something, “we’d very much like to meet the rest of your people and see your ship. It’s a testimony to your ingenuity and perseverance that you were all able to survive for so long, particularly after suffering so much devastation.”

  For another long minute Pressor gazed at him with narrowed eyes, as if trying to decide whether the request was genuine or simply one more diplomats’ word game. Then, abruptly, he nodded. “All right,” he said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “You want to see our home? Fine; let’s go see it.”

  “What about the others?” Jinzler asked, standing up as well. “The Skywalkers and Aristocra Formbi and the rest?”

  “They’ll keep for now,” Pressor said, circling the table toward the door. “If we decide we’re going to deal with you, I’ll release them.”

  “It would be a nice gesture to at least release Aristocra Formbi,” Jinzler said, pressing the point cautiously. “You’re in Chiss space, and he’s a high-ranking member of the Chiss government. You’ll certainly need their help before this is over.”

  Pressor’s lips compressed briefly. “I suppose,” he said reluctantly. “All right. The Aristocra and his group can join us. But the Jedi will stay where they are.” He considered. “So will those armored soldiers, I think. I don’t much like the looks of them.”

  Jinzler bowed his head. “Thank you, Guardian,” he said. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t much like the looks of the stormtroopers, either. Fel could talk all he liked about how his Empire of the Hand wasn’t the despotic tyranny Palpatine had created. Maybe he was even telling the truth. But Jinzler had lived under an empire once, and he’d long ago learned that words cost nothing to produce.

  Pressor reached the door. Then, abruptly, he turned back around. “One other thing,” he said, his voice pitched just a bit too casually. “Your name: Jinzler. Any relation to the Jedi Knight Lorana Jinzler?”

  Jinzler felt a hard lump form around his heart. “Yes,” he said, forcing his voice to be as casual as Pressor’s. “She was my sister.”

  Pressor nodded. “Ah.”

  He turned around again. “This way.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “What was that?” Drask asked abruptly. “Did you hear something?”

  Across the car, Mara closed down her lightsaber. Luke stretched out with the Force, straining to hear. There was the sound of a door closing. . . one of the repulsorlift generators seemed to change pitch subtly. . .

  “One of the turbolift cars is moving,” Mara said, her head cocked to listen. “Down, I think.”

  “Which one?” Drask demanded. “Can you tell which one?”

  Luke frowned with concentration. The sense of those in the car. . . but between the Geroons and Chiss, there was too much alienness all around for him to get a good reading. “I don’t know,” he said. “Mara?”

  “I think Jinzler’s aboard,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “I can’t get anything else.”

  Drask muttered something under his breath. “We must get out of here,” he said. “Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano may be in grave danger.”

  “We’re working as fast as we can,” Luke pointed out, trying to suppress the sudden misgivings circling his stomach. If Jinzler was on the move, did that mean Guardian Pressor had decided he was the one the colonists should be talking to? Had that been Jinzler’s plan the whole time, in fact—to be the one to make first contact with them?

  He shook the thought away. No—that was ridiculous. How could Jinzler have possibly known there was anyone left aboard?

  Still, even if there was no malice in the man, there was also no diplomatic training. “Mara?” he murmured.

  “Working as fast as I can,” she reminded him, scratching the tip of her lightsaber blade gently across the metal.

  Luke grimaced, but he knew as well as she did that this couldn’t be rushed. If she cut too far through the metal and nicked one of the repulsor power lines, none of them would be helping Formbi or Jinzler or anyone else. He fingered his own lightsaber hilt, cultivating his Jedi patience.

  And then, all at once, the square of metal popped out of the wall. Caught slightly by surprise, Luke let it fall nearly to the floor before he was able to nab it in a Force grip and lower it more gently the rest of the way. “Okay,” Mara said, closing down her lightsaber and stepping aside. “Your turn.”

  “Right.” Stepping to the spot Mara had just vacated, he ignited his lightsaber. Stretching out to the Force, he eased the tip of the blade between the crisscrossing of wires behind the wall.

  “Careful,” Drask warned, taking a half step toward him. “If you touch the wrong wire—”

  “Don’t worry,” Mara said, waving him back. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Luke pursed his lips. He knew what he was doing, certainly, at least in theory. Whether he could actually pull it off was another question entirely.

  Just above the lightsaber blade a bright red wire stretched horizontally across the opening. Preparing his mind, he twitched the blade toward it.

  Not close enough to actually touch it, of course. But close enough to activate the short-range prescience that gave the Jedi what appeared to be superfast reflexes.

  And for that single brief instant, he could feel a sudden pressure against the soles of his feet.

  “Red wire powers the upper repulsor,” he announced, closing down the lightsaber and stepping back.

  “Right,” Mara said, going to the opening and marking the indicated wire with a bit of the dark brown coating from one of her ration bars. “One to go.”

  Luke nodded and turned around toward the first opening she’d made in the wall. Choosing a blue wire this time, he ignited his lightsaber and again twitched the tip of the blade toward it.

  Nothing.

  He tried again with a green wire, then a red wire, then another blue wire, with similarly negative results. Then, finally, he waved the blade toward a black-striped white wire and felt a brief sensation of the floor dropping out from under his feet. “There,” he told Mara, backing away. “Black-striped white.”

  “Got it,” she
confirmed, marking it as she had the red wire on the other side. “Okay. We ready?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” Luke agreed, getting into position again facing the black-striped white wire. Mara stepped behind him, pressing her back to his as she faced the other side and the red wire he’d identified.

  “Just a moment,” Drask said, sounding more than a little alarmed. “What exactly do you plan here?”

  “It should be clear enough, General,” Mara said. “We’re going to cut the power lines.”

  “But—” Drask broke off. “You really can do this?”

  Luke could feel Mara’s red-gold hair shift against the back of his neck as she turned to face the Chiss. “Trust us,” she said.

  Her hair resettled itself as she turned back to her target, and with a snap-hiss she ignited her lightsaber.

  And with a sensation Luke still found astonishing, he felt her mind flow into, around, and through his.

  For that exquisitely stretched-out moment in time they were truly a single mind, a single spirit poured into two separate bodies. They thought as one; they felt as one; they moved as one.

  And their lightsabers struck as one, each of the two glowing blades slashing through its targeted power cable in perfect synchronization.

  There was a slight jerk, more imagined than truly felt; and with a decided feeling of anticlimax, the turbolift car began to sink downward. Luke took a deep breath. . .

  As suddenly as it had begun, the melding ended. The sensation of oneness faded away, leaving only the warmth of the memory behind. “There,” Mara said. To Luke’s ears, her voice sounded a little strained as she, too, worked to regain mental and emotional balance after their moment of unity. “See? No problem.”

  “What do you mean, no problem?” Drask bit out. “We are falling.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mara said. “Now that we’re traveling at a normal speed, there are built-in safeties to catch us at the other end. The problem was that Pressor’s repulsors would have slammed us down too fast for them to trigger.”