by Timothy Zahn
"She likes spending time with her uncle Jorad," Rosemari put in, her voice firm for all the concern in her face. "She always has."
"Indeed," Uliar said as Evlyn slipped past Jinzler and Formbi and came to stand beside her mother. "Hello there, Evlyn. How are you?"
"I'm fine, Director Uliar," Evlyn said with a seriousness that looked strangely out of place on someone so young. But the quick hug she gave her mother was pure ten-year-old. "You don't have to worry about me. Uncle Jorad did everything just right. I wasn't in any danger."
"I'm sure you weren't," Uliar said, eyeing Pressor again. "Just as you weren't in any danger two years ago, hmm? Back when Javriel went crazy and tried to take the entire nursery hostage? You were helpful to your uncle then, too, if I remember correctly."
"You do," Pressor confirmed, feeling sweat starting to gather beneath his collar. So Uliar had noticed Evlyn's abilities, too. He should have known the old Survivor would catch on. And of all the possible times for him to decide to make an issue of it—
He felt his throat tighten. Or had Uliar in fact deliberately chosen this moment? A moment when there were outsiders—including Jedi—aboard his ship for the first time in fifty years? Outsiders who, not knowing the realities aboard Outbound Flight, might be willing and able to confirm his suspicions about Evlyn?
"Indeed," Uliar said. "You have a strange way of returning your niece's affection, Guardian."
"I needed her help today," Pressor said. "The same help I needed from her back then: to act as decoy. It wasn't a job any of my Peacekeepers could handle."
"But your own niece?" Uliar persisted. "Why not pick someone else?"
He smiled crookedly, the giveaway sign that he was about to close the jaws of his verbal trap. "Or," he said smoothly, "does she have special qualifications or talents that make her suited for such tasks?"
"My daughter has many special talents, Director," Rosemari put in, her arm wrapped protectively around her daughter's shoulders. "For one thing, she doesn't panic under pressure. She's quick and smart, and she knows Four as well as anyone else in the colony. Certainly now that most of the work is done and almost no one goes up there anymore."
"Did she also join the Peacekeepers while I wasn't looking?" Uliar countered, throwing a quick glare in her direction. His trap had been set for Pressor, and he clearly didn't appreciate Rosemari jumping in and blunting its teeth. "As long as we're quoting from the Charter, Guardian, I believe it explicitly states that you and your Peacekeepers are the ones who are supposed to stand between the colony and potential dangers."
"He just said he needed someone to decoy them," Rosemari said, her voice starting to match the director's own annoyance level. She gestured to the three Peacekeepers standing uncomfortably at the edge of the debate. "You think they would have just walked into a disguised turbolift behind Trilli or Oliet or Ronson?"
She shifted her finger to point squarely at Uliar's chest. "Or should he have asked someone else? One of your granddaughters, maybe?"
"A decoy shouldn't have been necessary," Uliar insisted. "Guardian Pressor has assured us over and over that between the various traps and the droid surveillance, Four is perfectly secure."
"Oh, so now you want to set off explosives and wreck it completely?" Rosemari asked scornfully. "After all the time and effort my father and the others poured into putting it back together?"
She drew herself up to her full 1.58-meter height. "Or don't you mean it when you say you want to take us out of here someday?" she demanded. "Are you so comfortable in your private little kingdom that you want to keep us all here?"
"Silence, woman," Tarkosa rumbled, his eyes glinting ominously beneath his bushy eyebrows. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yes, be silent," Uliar seconded gruffly. "I didn't bring you here to listen to you make excuses for your brother."
"Then you apparently don't know her very well," Pressor told him, a small part of him starting to enjoy this. "Meanwhile, our guests are waiting."
Uliar's lips pressed briefly together as his eyes flicked over Pressor's shoulder. "Very well," he said reluctantly. "Introduce us."
"Certainly," Pressor said, half turning and waving the others forward. Uliar hadn't given up, he knew. All he'd done was abandon this particular probe, at this particular time.
But he would be back. He would definitely be back.
Walking at the head of the group, Jinzler stepped to Pressor's side and stopped expectantly. "May I present the representative of the New Republic," Pressor said, watching Uliar's expression closely. "Ambassador Dean Jinzler."
The director was good, all right. There was barely a twitch from the corners of his eyes as the name registered. "Ambassador," he said smoothly. "I'm Chas Uliar, current director of the Outbound Flight Colony. These are Councilors Tarkosa and Keely, two of the original Survivors of the Devastation."
"Honored, Director," Jinzler said, bowing from the waist like a diplomat from some old holodrama. "We're pleased to find you alive."
"Yes," Uliar said, a little too dryly. "I'm sure you are."
"This is Aristocra Formbi of the Chiss Ascendancy," Pressor went on, "and First Steward Bearsh of the Geroon Remnant, along with their assistants."
"Such a varied group," Uliar commented as he exchanged nods with Formbi and Bearsh. "I understand you brought two Jedi along with you, as well."
"Yes," Jinzler said. "Guardian Pressor informs us they're still being held, along with the others."
"Others?" Uliar asked, looking questioningly at Pressor.
"Five others, in a separate car," Pressor confirmed. "Representatives of a government calling itself the Empire of the Hand."
"Empire of the Hand," Uliar repeated, as if to himself. "Interesting. I presume, Ambassador, that you'll wish both groups released at once to join you?"
Pressor held his breath. A simple, obvious suggestion; but he'd long ago learned not to trust simplicity when it came to dealing with Uliar. Was the director's question in fact an attempt to find out who was really in charge of this expedition?
Jinzler hesitated, perhaps also sensing a trap. "I'm sure they're fine where they are, Director," he said carefully. "We'll want them released eventually, of course, but we can certainly begin our discussions without them."
"Good," Uliar murmured. Apparently, Jinzler had passed the test. "Well, then. The Managing Council chamber is located a short distance back this way. If you'll follow me?..."
"Thank you," Jinzler said, bowing again.
Uliar turned and headed aft down the corridor, the two councilors falling into step beside him, Jinzler and Formbi following a couple of paces behind them. Pressor caught the eyes of his three Peacekeepers and nodded toward Uliar; nodding back, Ronson and Oliet moved into flanking positions beside the three Survivors. The black-clad Chiss were already walking in a military-precise, lockstep line behind Formbi, with the Geroons following somewhat more tentatively and not at all in step with the rest of the group or even each other. "We're certainly starting off with a bang," Pressor muttered to Rosemari as the procession marched away. "You'd better take Evlyn and—"
He broke off as he glanced down at his sister's side. Evlyn was nowhere to be seen. "Blast her," he snarled under his breath, looking around. There she was, of course, halfway down the corridor, walking between Aristocra Formbi and the three black-clad Chiss striding along behind him. "How does she do that?"
"I don't know," Rosemari murmured grimly. "But if she doesn't quit it, Uliar won't need any help figuring out what she is."
"No kidding," Pressor said, a tightness settling into his stomach. "You'd better catch up and go with her."
"What, to a council meeting?" Rosemari countered. "I'm not authorized to be in there."
"Sure you are," Pressor told her. "You're representing the Colonists in these negotiations, remember? Uliar said so."
"And that was as much of a fraud as asking why you keep using Evlyn for these stunts," Rosemari shot back. "Speaking
of which—"
"Save it," Pressor cut her off. "Look, if you don't go, Evlyn's going to crash the party by herself. What do you think Uliar will say when he finally notices her and doesn't remember seeing her coming in?"
"You're right," Rosemari conceded reluctantly. "But you'd better be there, too."
"I fully intend—"
Pressor broke off as the comlink at his belt gave an odd twitter. Frowning, he reached down and pulled it free.
"That's weird," Trilli murmured, stepping to his side, his own comlink in hand. "Your comlink just say something, Chief?"
"I thought it did," Pressor said, tapping the switch. On the normal channel was only the static of his jamming, while on the special twist-frequency command line there was silence. "Strange."
"Want to know what's stranger?" Trilli pointed down the corridor at the departing crowd. "I saw Jinzler and Formbi go for their comlinks, too."
Pressor frowned, an uncomfortable feeling creeping across his back. With the jamming still in place, there shouldn't have been any communications getting through. Not to anyone's comlinks. "Get back upstairs and double-check the jamming," he ordered Trilli. "Our guests may have a trick or two we don't know about."
"Right."
Trilli started to go; stopped again as Pressor caught his arm. "And while you're there," the Guardian added quietly, "put a lock on the controls for the forward trap cars' repulsors. Make sure no one but us can turn them on or off."
"Sure," Trilli said, sounding puzzled. "You afraid someone's going to accidentally bump into them or something?"
Pressor gazed at Uliar's receding back. Uliar, who had lived through the destruction of Outbound Flight and still carried the scars from that event. Uliar, who knew where the Jedi and Imperials were currently being held.
Uliar, who was leading the way toward a meeting room far from the turbolifts and the turbolift controls, where Pressor and the others wouldn't be in a position to notice if someone slipped up to Four and started playing with control switches.
"Yeah," Pressor said softly to Trilli. "Or something."
* * *
With a disconcerting thump, the turbolift car began moving. "Steady," Fel warned, putting a hand on the vibrating wall for balance and watching closely as Watchman and Grappler adjusted the power splitters they'd cobbled together. "Take it real easy. We're not in any particular hurry."
"We're keeping it slow," Watchman assured him. "It's running real smooth."
"Good," Fel said, not entirely sure he believed it. The car's vibration seemed to be increasing, and a low-pitched rumble had started in from somewhere.
On the other hand, if the trick failed, they would probably be dead before it even registered. Comforting.
"You still want us to head for the storage core?" Grappler asked.
"If you can manage it, yes," Fel said. That other car they'd heard, the one with Jinzler and possibly Formbi aboard, seemed to have gone straight down to the next Dreadnaught in the ring. It didn't seem like it would be a good idea to just burst in full-bore behind them, especially if Pressor had other surprises prepared for unwanted company. Far better if they could bypass that ship entirely and find a way to come up on it from below.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cloud's head twitch. "Commander?" the stormtrooper asked. "Did you get that?"
"Get what?" Fel asked, straining his ears against the rumbling.
"My comlink just chirped," Cloud said.
"Mine, too," Shadow confirmed. "Sounded like someone sending a message burst."
Fel frowned. He hadn't heard any such noise from his own comlink; but then, the pervasive rumbling could easily have masked it. The stormtroopers, with their comlinks built into their helmets, would be less affected by outside noises. "Could you get any kind of fix on it?" he asked. "Either direction or distance?"
"Negative," Cloud said. "My gear wasn't rigged for that."
"Well, rig it now," Fel ordered, looking around. Suddenly, the car seemed a little smaller and a lot more vulnerable. "And let's risk a little more speed," he added. "If Pressor's talking to his friends, I want us out of here as soon as possible."
"And if it wasn't Pressor?" Shadow asked.
Fel looked up at the ceiling. "Then I want us out of here even faster."
CHAPTER 14
The doorway opened into another storage room, identical to the one they'd come in through except that in this one there was no turbolift access door. It also didn't appear that any of the supply crates piled behind their meshwork panels had ever been touched.
Neither had the crates in the next room back. Or in the room behind that. "It's one thing to talk about ten years' worth of supplies for something this big," Luke commented as they walked past the stacked crates toward the next door leading aft. "It's something else to actually see them."
"And this is just one level," Mara murmured, an odd sensation creeping through her as she gazed at the rows of stacked cartons. All those people—nearly fifty thousand of them—all gone. Destroyed in a matter of seconds or minutes or hours.
Murdered on the orders of the man she'd once proudly served.
"Hey?"
She shook off the mood. Luke was looking at her, concern in his face. "You all right?" he asked.
"Sure," she assured him. "I'm fine."
Like she could actually fool him. "More ghosts from the past?" he asked quietly.
She looked over at Drask, off examining a stack of crates a few meters away. "It's strange," she told her husband softly. "I thought I'd been through this already. That I'd put it all behind me. But back on the Chaf Envoy, I actually started feeling... I don't know. It's hard to explain."
"You started feeling comfortable?" Luke suggested.
Mara tried out the word in her mind. "Yes, I suppose that's it," she agreed. "Fel and this new Five-Oh-First Legion seemed so different from what Palpatine had created that it felt like something I could actually enjoy being a part of."
Luke's forehead creased. "You're not seriously thinking of taking Parck up on his offer of a job with the Empire of the Hand, are you?"
"Of course not." Mara hesitated. "Well, no, that's not entirely accurate," she confessed. "I mean, I certainly wouldn't go anywhere without you. But at the same time..." She shook her head.
"I know," he said. "The New Republic hasn't exactly been a shining example of how to run a galaxy lately, has it?"
Mara snorted. "The understatement of the month," she said. "All those stupid little brush wars and conflicts—I thought they'd all die down after we finally found that intact copy of the Caamas Document. But half of them are still simmering, and the Senate hasn't done a thing to stop them."
"That's not entirely true," Luke said. "But you do have a point. Things were a lot quieter under the Empire, weren't they?"
"At least until your Rebellion got going," Mara countered. "Then it got noisy again."
"We tried," Luke said, smiling back. The smile faded, and he shrugged fractionally. "You can't play the what-ifs, Mara. Palpatine may have suppressed all those regional conflicts, but he also suppressed freedom and justice, especially for nonhumans. If someone else had been in charge... but we'll never know."
"I understand all that," Mara said. "But that's not really the point. The point is that I was just starting to feel kindly, even nostalgic, toward the Empire."
She gestured at the dusty stacks of crates around her. "And then I come face to face with something like this: supplies carefully laid in for people he knew he was going to have murdered." She let her hand drop to her side. "There was just something about the cold-bloodedness of it that was a sudden kick in the teeth, that's all."
"I know," Luke said, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "You never really saw the results of Palpatine's policies, did you?"
"No, not usually," Mara said with a sigh. "Not the big ones, anyway. Alderaan and that sort. Mostly I dealt with individuals or small groups, and half of them were Imperial officials suspected of embez
zlement or treason. I never saw anything on Outbound Flight's scale."
"It makes sense that he shielded you from as much of that as possible," Luke pointed out. "You might have started having doubts, and he couldn't risk that."
"Jedi?" Drask called.
Mara turned around. The general had moved to another stack of crates near the aft set of doors and was shining his glow rod on one about halfway to the ceiling. "Come."
"What is it?" Luke asked as he and Mara crossed to the other.
"These two stacks," Drask said, indicating them with his glow rod. "They have been moved here from somewhere else."
Mara frowned at Luke, getting a similarly puzzled look in exchange. "What do you mean?" Luke asked. "How do you know?"
"In the previous storerooms these stacks all followed a specific pattern," Drask said. "Foodstuffs of several particular types, clothing, replacement components, various other types of supplies, emergency equipment, and so on. They were all placed in specific positions, with the proportions of each type always the same."
Luke looked at Mara. "Is this making any sense to you?" he asked.
"Actually, yes," she said. "If you proportion out each room according to the rate of expected supply usage, you can more or less empty one area at a time and don't have to keep going back and forth among half a dozen storerooms for what you want. That would also make it quicker and easier to apportion things if you decided to plant a colony somewhere."
"Ah," Luke said, nodding. "I get it. You give your colonists a Dreadnaught and, say, two levels' worth of supplies. No sorting needed: you just take aboard everything from those two levels."
"Right," Mara said. "And you say these stacks are out of order?"
"Yes." Drask gestured. "This group consists of electrical and fluid maintenance supplies. It should instead be foodstuffs."
"I'll take your word for it," Luke said, looking around. "Well, it doesn't look like they came from anywhere in here."
