Star Wars: Survivor's Quest

by Timothy Zahn

  “You humans are strange creatures,” Estosh said, his melodious voice starting to pick up an edge of suspicion. “Here you are, about to die, and yet instead of struggling to postpone your fate, you sit quietly and ask about things that cannot possibly help you.”

  Slowly, Luke ran the light from his glow rod along the explosives. The detonator wiring seemed straightforward enough, the kind of arrangement he’d seen demolitions techs use during the Rebellion. In theory, he should be able to simply pull it out of all the packages within reach.

  The problem was that the detonator box itself was a quarter of the way around the tube from him.

  There is no emotion; there is peace. Taking a careful breath, Luke tried to think. He could, of course, easily use the Force to maneuver his lightsaber over to the box and cut it away from the boxes of explosives. But the Vagaari might have wired it with a collapsing release to prevent any last-minute tampering. If it was rigged that way, cutting it free would instantly trigger a detonation.

  In addition, there was something else pressed up against the metal beneath the boxes, something he could see but couldn’t get to without disassembling everything on top of it. Unknowns were always to be considered dangerous, especially in explosives work.

  “The thing is, you see, we Jedi don’t die nearly as easily as you might like,” Mara told Estosh calmly. “There’s a good chance we’ll be seeing you again, and the more we know about you, the easier it’ll be for us to peel your epaulets back for good when we do.”

  Still, Luke decided, unknowns or not, if he could get over to the box he stood a good chance of figuring out how to disarm it. The problem was that the turbolift pylon was perfectly smooth, with no protrusions anywhere nearby that would hold his weight. The cluster of buried cables he and Mara had used for their climb up the forward pylon weren’t situated close enough to the box, either. He probably could have rigged up something out of liquid cable, but he’d used up most of his supply when he and Mara had sealed off the edges of that first turbolift car.

  But if his particular car was too far away, one of the other cars in the cluster should be positioned to pass right next to it. All he and Evlyn had to do was continue up to D-4, where the Vagaari had presumably locked the rest of the cars, transfer to the correct one, and ride it back down again. He wouldn’t even have to expose them to enemy fire by going into the lobby; he could use his lightsaber to cut through the sides of the cars until they reached the one they needed.

  He looked down into the car and gestured upward. Evlyn nodded and touched the switch, and the car began to rise again. They lifted past the explosives, around the curve—

  “How very confident of you,” Estosh said, his voice suddenly silky smooth. “My only regret is that I will not actually witness your deaths. Farewell, Jedi.” There was a click from Luke’s comlink as the Vagaari broke the connection—

  And suddenly, below him, the turbolift pylon erupted in an eerie, flickering greenish-blue light and the sound of metallic hissing.

  “Luke!” Mara called over the comlink. “What’s going on?”

  “I think they’re about to blow the pylons,” Luke said grimly, gesturing Evlyn to stop the car. The other five cars of the cluster were visible now directly above him, along with the gap the car they were riding would normally slip into. “You know any type of detonator that hisses and gives off blue-green light?”

  “Sounds like a scorch stick,” Mara said. “It’s an acid-based, high-temperature paste used to burn a score mark in something to help the explosives crack it more cleanly.”

  “How long until it burns around a pylon this size?”

  “Half a minute,” Mara said. “Maybe a little more. If you’re anywhere near it, get out now.”

  Luke listened to his heart thudding in his throat as he weighed his options. If he could just get to the detonator before the scorch stick finished its burn. . .

  But no. Not in half a minute. Certainly not with Evlyn along to slow him down.

  He shouldn’t have brought her with him. For the first time in a long time, his instincts had played him false.

  But this wasn’t the time for questions or recriminations. “Right,” he said, jabbing downward. “We’re on our way.”

  Evlyn didn’t need to be told twice. She hit the switch, and the car headed down again. On sudden impulse, Luke snatched his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it. If the Vagaari were going to get away, at least they weren’t going to get away clean. Using the Force to hold down the switch, he hurled the weapon upward toward the gap in the cluster of cars. It hit the upper part of the turbolift lobby, and he had just enough time to see the wobbling blade carve out a large hole in the metal before the curve in the tube blocked it from his sight. The car dropped past the ring of explosives—

  And with a jolt, he saw that Mara had overestimated how much time they would have. The scorched section already extended over more than half the circle, with the flickering fire seeming to pick up speed as it worked its way around toward the detonator.

  They had maybe five more seconds before it finished.

  “On the floor,” Luke shouted to Evlyn, jumping in through the hole in the roof. The car wouldn’t be nearly enough protection from the explosive power about to be unleashed, he knew, but it was all they had. “Come on, get on the floor,” he repeated.

  But to his surprise, Evlyn ignored him, remaining by the control panel as she punched keys on a command stick she’d plugged into the droid socket. He reached out a hand for her, wondering if she didn’t understand or if she’d simply frozen in fear.

  But even as his hand closed on her arm, he caught the sense of desperate determination in the girl. As he started to pull her down, she touched one last key on the command stick—

  And Luke found the two of them abruptly floating in midair as the floor dropped out from under them. The car hit the main gravity eddy and began its turn, blocking his view of the explosives and the fiery blue-green glow.

  An instant later, the pylon blew up.

  The car floor seemed to leap up at him, slamming hard into his face and body, the impact knocking most of the air out of his lungs. He was still holding Evlyn’s arm; reflexively, he pulled her close beside him as the shock wave from the explosion washed over them.

  He was still holding her that way, ears ringing from the shock wave, when the car’s side wall disintegrated.

  He gasped as the pieces slammed into him, some of them hitting like clubs, others digging into his back and arms and legs like knife blades. Beside him he heard Evlyn cry out and let the Force flow into her, trying to suppress some of her pain. The rain of shrapnel stopped, the buffeting faded away, and Luke risked a look upward through what was left of the ceiling. The lower curve in the pylon was visible above them, with the safety of D-5’s turbolift lobby just beyond it. Shakily but steadily, the car continued upward.

  It was then he suddenly noticed that he couldn’t breathe.

  He expanded his chest, trying to fill his lungs. But there was nothing there. With the car shredded and the far end of the tube blown open, he and Evlyn had only the planetoid’s thin atmosphere available to them.

  Steady, Luke told himself sternly, forcing himself to relax. His body’s cells contained enough oxygen for at least another half minute, he knew, and Jedi techniques could stretch it to triple that time. He shifted his hand to the back of Evlyn’s neck, trying to let his own trust in the Force ease into her and slow her breathing. A few seconds later, the car settled into its place in the turbolift lobby.

  The door remained closed.

  Luke set his teeth, glaring up at it. But of course it wouldn’t open on its own, not with a near vacuum on one side. It would have to be pried past its safety interlocks. Stretching out to the Force, he got a grip on the panel and pulled.

  The door quivered once, but remained closed.

  Luke tried again, trying to gather more strength. But between the effects of the concussive blast, the pain from the shrapn
el still throbbing through his body, and the oxygen deprivation, he couldn’t focus the necessary power.

  His vision was starting to go hazy. Another few seconds and he would sink into unconsciousness. He stretched out one final time—

  And with a thud that shook the whole car, the door slammed open. Luke opened his eyes, squinting through the rush of air blowing suddenly in his face.

  Mara, her eyes blazing with fear, concern, and, yes, anger at him, grabbed his arms and pulled him through the door. Pressor was right beside her, lifting his niece through to safety.

  The door slammed shut as Mara released her grip on it. “Hi, sweetheart,” Luke said, managing a smile. “I’m home.”

  She shook her head. “Skywalker—”

  “I know,” Luke said. Still smiling, he let the darkness take him.

  * * *

  The medical bay recovery room door slid open, and Mara stepped inside. “How are they?” Jinzler asked, looking up from his chair by the side wall. “I heard one of the medics say they were in pretty bad shape.”

  “It looked worse than it really was,” Mara assured him. Jinzler’s face looked calm enough, she noted, but his hands in his lap were opening and closing restlessly. “Most of Evlyn’s injuries were superficial and should heal pretty quickly,” she went on. “Luke had some deeper cuts, but they caught it all before he lost too much blood. He’s gone into a Jedi healing trance while they finish patching him up.”

  Fel grunted. “Must be a nice thing to be able to do.”

  “It can be handy,” Mara agreed, looking around the room. They were, she decided, about as sorry a lot as she’d seen in a long time. Formbi was lying on one of the recovery tables, his eyes only occasionally fluttering open, his breathing deep and slow. Beside him on opposite sides of the table sat Drask and Feesa, the former looking drained above his own collection of bandages, the latter merely looking exhausted and apprehensive. Fel and the stormtroopers had gathered together in a back corner beside stacks of their mangled armor and were working their way through their own list of injuries. The alien stormtrooper, Su-mil, she noted with interest, had pale orange blood.

  “So,” Mara went on, raising her voice a little. “As long as we seem to have some time on our hands, why don’t we all have a nice long talk together?” She looked at Fel. “You can start, Commander. Did I hear you say earlier that you caught the Vagaari wiring a recorder into the Chaf Envoy’s navigational lines?”

  “We didn’t actually catch them in the act,” Fel said. “Su-mil found the recorder after it had already been planted.”

  “I stand corrected,” Mara said. “So why didn’t you say anything to anyone?”

  “To be perfectly honest, because we didn’t know whom it was safe to tell,” Fel said evenly. “We didn’t know whether Bearsh had put it there, or General Drask, or Aristocra Formbi, Ambassador Jinzler—” He looked Mara straight in the eye. “—or you.”

  “I see,” Mara said, accepting his gaze and sending it straight back at him. “All right, then, let’s try this one. You told us once that you didn’t know why Parck had sent you on this mission. You lied. Then you changed your story and said you’d been sent to protect us. I think you lied that time, too. You want to take one more stab at it?”

  Fel’s lip twitched. “Admiral Parck told us the mission would be going into great danger. We were sent to give added protection to Aristocra Formbi. And that was all we were told,” he added firmly. “We didn’t even know what direction the danger was going to be coming from.” He grimaced. “If we had, I guarantee Bearsh and his friends would be locked up in binders right now.”

  “Yes,” Mara murmured, stretching out with the Force. It did indeed seem to be the truth this time. Or at least, the truth as Fel knew it, which might not be the same thing. “I suppose this clears up the mystery of your missing operational manual, too.”

  Fel nodded. “Apparently the Vagaari wanted to know everything they could about Outbound Flight before we arrived.”

  “Right,” Mara agreed. “All of which brings up an even more interesting point.”

  She turned to face the three Chiss. “As I think about it, Aristocra Formbi, you asked for an amazing amount of muscle to accompany you on this trip. First you called Parck and asked for Luke and me, only the message got waylaid. Then, when it looked like we weren’t going to show, you called him back and got him to send a unit of the best stormtroopers he had available.”

  “And it was indeed fortunate all of you were here,” Drask said, nodding his head gravely. “We owe you our lives.”

  “Yes, you do,” Mara agreed. “But here’s the question. How exactly did you know you were going to need all this help?”

  “I do not understand what you are asking,” Drask said evenly. But there was a new tightness at the corners of his eyes. “You were invited to take possession of Outbound Flight. That is all.”

  Mara shook her head. “Sorry, General, but that won’t fly. After that incident with the line creepers, the Aristocra gave us specific orders not to use our lightsabers aboard the ship. Even when we couldn’t get into the Dreadnaught’s docking bay, neither of you asked us to just cut it open, which we could have done in a fraction of the time it took the techs with their torches.”

  “Yes,” Jinzler put in, sounding suddenly thoughtful. “I remember thinking about that myself at the time, wondering if it was some form of stiff-necked Chiss pride.”

  “That was what I thought, too,” Mara said, smiling tightly. “In fact, I thought it right up to the minute Bearsh told me to die and casually sent his wolvkils charging at me. . . and I cut them in half.”

  Jinzler inhaled sharply. “Your lightsaber,” he said in sudden understanding. “He’d never seen a lightsaber.”

  “That’s right, he hadn’t,” Mara agreed. “Because Formbi made very sure they never saw us in action. That, plus our Jedi abilities in general—which they also never really saw—gave us an edge they were completely unprepared for.”

  She looked back at the three Chiss. “So again: how did you know we’d need that edge?”

  “I do not appreciate the tone of your words,” Drask said stiffly. “You may not make such unsupported accusations against a senior member of the Fifth Ruling Family.”

  “Feesa,” Jinzler murmured suddenly.

  Mara looked at him. “What?”

  “Feesa,” Jinzler repeated, nodding as if an odd puzzle piece had suddenly fallen into place. “In the turbolift, right after Pressor sprang his trap, she was frightened far more than seemed reasonable. It was because we were all alone in there with Bearsh and another Vagaari, wasn’t it?”

  Feesa didn’t answer. “I see,” Mara said, eyeing Formbi closely. “So I was wrong. It wasn’t the Aristocra running this scam at all. It was Feesa.”

  The Aristocra’s closed eyelids twitched. “And since she’s obviously too young to be a senior member of a Ruling Family or anything else,” Mara went on, “I guess it’s perfectly all right for me to make such accusations against—”

  “Enough,” Formbi said quietly.

  “Please, Aristocra Chaf’orm’bintrano,” Feesa said, an edge of urgency in her voice. “It’s all right. I’m not afraid to admit my part in this.”

  “Your loyalty honors me, second niece,” Formbi said, reaching over to touch her hand. “But it was my plan, and my decision. I cannot and will not allow others to take the responsibility for my actions.”

  He turned his head slightly. “Jedi Skywalker: approach where I may see you, and ask what you will.”

  Mara stepped up beside Feesa. “You knew they were Vagaari, didn’t you?” she said, determined not to let his drawn face or the oozing blood on his arm influence her. “You knew it right from the start.”

  Formbi nodded. “Yes.”

  “But you told me you’d never seen one before,” Jinzler objected.

  “That was true,” Formbi acknowledged. “But I had received a detailed description from one who had seen them.” He
smiled at Jinzler. “You, of all of us, should understand.”

  Mara stared at Formbi as it suddenly hit her. “You mean. . . Car’das?”

  Again, the Aristocra nodded. “He and I spoke briefly when he brought the ambassador to the Chaf Envoy” he said. “When the Vagaari then appeared, I knew it was indeed them.”

  “Car’das gets around more than I’d realized,” Mara commented. “Is he also the one who clued the Vagaari in on this in the first place?”

  “No,” Formbi said. “When I sent the message to Admiral Parck requesting Master Skywalker’s presence, I made sure the transmission had enough edge leakage to be intercepted in the regions where we suspected the Vagaari were gathering their strength.”

  “And even knowing who they were, you let them aboard your ship?” Jinzler demanded, sounding more surprised than angry.

  Formbi closed his eyes again. “The Vagaari are a violent people, Ambassador,” he said wearily. “They have killed many, enslaved many others, and driven all who know them to terror and despair. Worse, they may already have made alliances with powers even more dangerous than they are. If Bearsh succeeds in escaping with even a partial route into the Redoubt, I have no doubt that knowledge will be used against us to terrible advantage.”

  “So the Vagaari need to be slapped down hard,” Mara said, frowning. “So what’s the problem?”

  Formbi smiled wanly. “The problem is Chiss military doctrine, Jedi Skywalker,” he said. “Specifically, the decree that no potential adversaries may be attacked until and unless they first act against Chiss interests within Chiss space.”

  Mara stared at him. “You wanted them to make a move against you,” she said, not quite sure she believed it. “You invited them aboard one of your ships and into your most critical military base, hoping they’d pull this exact stunt.”

  Drask snorted. “This exact stunt? That had better not be the case.”

  “Of course I didn’t expect what actually occurred,” Formbi assured him. “My expectation was that the five Vagaari we permitted aboard would attempt to take control of the Chaf Envoy at some point after we reached Outbound Flight. That would have been sufficient provocation for us to act.”