by Timothy Zahn
* * *
The Vagaari in the front of the line jerked back as a blaster bolt found a gap in his armor; he toppled over backward, his weapon blazing madly away as he fell. One of the shots sizzled past Fel's head as he crouched down in the corridor, and he winced away as he slammed a fresh Tibanna gas cartridge into his blaster. One more Vagaari down; a whole line of the aliens standing ready to take his place. "Report!" he shouted as he took another waddling step backward, trying to keep his head clear of his allies' fire.
"We're... still good, sir," Grappler called. But all the confidence in the galaxy couldn't hide the fact that the stormtrooper was hurting, and hurting badly. Too many enemies, too much blasterfire, and even the tough composite that made up stormtrooper armor was starting to disintegrate under the assault. Cloud had stopped replying entirely to questions and orders, though he was still on his feet, still firing, and still retreating in an orderly fashion. Grappler, Fel suspected, wasn't in much better shape.
Fel and Drask were still largely unscathed, crouched down as they were in order to give the stormtroopers a clear field of fire. But that couldn't last, either, and unarmored as they were, a single well-placed shot could easily put either of them out of action.
It would have been nice if they could have used their grenades. The stormtroopers had a complete set of them, along with gas-powered launchers built into their BlasTechs to speed them on their way. The problem was that an explosion among pipes filled with coolant and other working fluids would probably kill the attackers, the defenders, and half of Outbound Flight's remaining populace. The blasters were risky enough in here.
And on top of all that, the Vagaari had finally begun jamming their comlinks. The only mystery was why they hadn't gotten around to it earlier.
So here they were, trapped in a narrow corridor with enemies on all sides and no way to call for assistance.
And as Fel opened fire on the next Vagaari in line, it occurred to him that he was probably going to die.
It was an odd sensation, that. The possibility of death was always present in combat, of course, and there had been many times when he'd gazed out his clawcraft's canopy at the enemy ships rising to meet him and wondered if this would be the time. But in space combat there was always a chance of survival, even if your ship was blown completely out from under you.
Here, there would be no such chance. If the Vagaari blasters found him, he would be dead.
Dead.
"Where is this second access door?" Drask shouted into his ear.
Fel glanced around, getting his bearings. "Another two or three meters," he said. "Same side of the corridor as the last one."
"Understood."
Fel resumed firing, wondering at the Chiss's composure. The exit into the engine room that Fel had so confidently told him about was all the way at the other end of the corridor, too far away for them to reasonably expect to make before the Vagaari numerical superiority finally took them down.
But the access door into the turbolift lobby itself was only a few meters along the corridor. And so that was where Drask had ordered them to go.
The lobby would be full of Vagaari, of course. But anyplace they could reach would likely have that same problem. At least in the lobby they would have a little more room to maneuver.
And maybe the Jedi would come in time. Maybe.
* * *
The medic straightened up, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but that's all I can do."
Jinzler nodded silently, gazing down at the treatment table. Formbi was lying still, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. The medic had mostly gotten the bleeding stopped, though Jinzler could see traces still seeping out through the bandages. But the Chiss had already lost a lot of blood, and there was no way to replace it.
At least not now. Not until they could get back to the Chaf Envoy and its medical supplies, or else find a Chiss crewer with the same blood type.
Assuming any of the crewers aboard the Chaf Envoy were still alive.
"What about bacta?" he asked, looking up at the medic again. "Is there any available?"
The medic looked at him in astonishment. "You must be joking," she said. "Most of the bacta we had was lost or corrupted in the battle and aftermath. We used up what was left probably twenty years ago."
"The ambassador isn't joking," a dark voice came from the corner. "He's most serious."
Jinzler turned around. Councilor Keely was sitting there, holding a salve bandage to his elbow where he'd somehow scraped it raw during the battle in the meeting room. "Ambassador Jinzler is a friend of all," Keely continued, staring at the deck. "Didn't you know? He's a friend to Blue Ones, to Jedi, even to murdering Vagaari. Yes, Ambassador Jinzler likes everyone."
He lifted a baleful glare to Jinzler. "This Blue One is the real reason your Jedi friends are so anxious to get to the turbolifts, isn't it?" he demanded, nodding at the table. "So that you can get him to his ship to be patched up. Once that happens, you'll all just fly away and leave us here to die."
"That's not true," Jinzler said, keeping his voice steady. He'd had doubts about Keely's mental stability even before the Vagaari had unleashed their wolvkils on him and the rest of the Council. Now he was even less sure about it. "There are also people aboard the Chiss ship who can get rid of the line creepers the Vagaari are leaving behind. The faster we get them down here, the sooner we can restore your ship to full power."
Keely snorted. "Oh, yes. It sounds so reasonable." Abruptly, he stood up. "But then, your entire profession is based around your ability to lie to people, isn't it?"
"Sit down, Keely."
Jinzler looked over at the room's waiting area, where Uliar and Tarkosa had been talking together in low tones. The conversation had ceased, and both men were gazing at Keely, their expressions unreadable. "Sit down," Uliar repeated. "Better yet, go back to your rooms."
"But he's a liar, Chas," Keely insisted. "By definition, that means he's been lying to us."
"Very possibly," Uliar agreed coldly. "But you will still sit down."
For a moment the two men locked gazes. Then, with a noisy huff, Keely dropped back into his chair. "Liar," he muttered, turning his gaze back to the deck.
The medic looked back at Jinzler, and he thought he could detect a hint of fresh strain in her face. "I'm going to run a sample of his blood," she told him. "It might be possible to synthesize at least some of the basic plasma for him. It wouldn't be whole blood, but it would be better than nothing."
"It would certainly help," Jinzler acknowledged. "Thank you."
The medic gave him a flicker of a smile and walked away. Feesa moved into the spot by the table where the woman had been standing, her face etched with worry as she gazed down at Formbi. "He'll make it," Jinzler assured her, knowing even as he said it that it was probably a lie. Maybe Keely was right about him. "He's strong, and they've got the bleeding stopped. He'll make it."
"I know," Feesa said, and Jinzler could hear in her voice that she knew she was speaking a lie, too. "It's just..."
"He's a relative of yours, isn't he?" Jinzler asked, searching for something less painful to talk about. "You know, I don't think I ever heard how Chiss families are set up. Especially those who make up the Ruling Families."
She looked at him blankly. "The Nine Ruling Families are like any other families," she said. "Blood and merit create siblings and cousins and ranking distants. Some are released, others are rematched, others are born to trial. The same as any other family."
She lowered her eyes to Formbi again. "This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen."
On the table, Formbi's eyes fluttered partway open. "Feesa," he murmured. "No more."
"What do you mean?" Jinzler said, frowning. "No more what?"
Feesa turned her face away. "Nothing," she said, her voice suddenly sounding oddly muffled.
The back of Jinzler's neck began to tingle. "Feesa?" he prompted. "Feesa, what's going on?"
"Peace, Ambassador," Formbi murmured. "I will tell you... everything... later. But not... now." His head turned slightly to the side.
Toward where Keely was still staring at the deck, muttering to himself.
Jinzler felt his breath catch in his throat, a part of that conversation behind their wolvkil barrier flashing suddenly to mind. You genuinely didn't know who they were? Uliar had asked. Of course not, Jinzler had replied, angry and frightened and indignant. You think we would have let them aboard Outbound Flight if we had? Some of you might have, Uliar had countered. Possibly the heirs of those who tried to destroy Outbound Flight in the first place.
And then, suddenly, Feesa had broken in and changed the subject.
You really didn't know who they were? You really didn't know who they were? "Yes, Aristocra," he said quietly, feeling cold all over. "Later will do fine."
* * *
"There!" Drask's voice shouted in Fel's ear. "There!"
Fel glanced to his right in mild surprise. Preoccupied with defense, he hadn't even noticed that they'd reached the access door. He fired two more quick shots down the service corridor, then risked another sideways glance to locate the release control. There it was, half a meter above his head. "Grappler!" he shouted. "Stun grenade!"
"Shak," the stormtrooper muttered back, his voice strained.
The Eickarie word for ready, Fel recalled uneasily. Apparently, Grappler was too far gone to even be able to translate into Basic. Fel could only hope he was alert enough to remember to arm the stun grenade before he threw it. "Ready—" He lunged up and slapped the release "—go!"
The door creaked slightly as it began to slide open. Fel got a glimpse through the opening of armored Vagaari turning their weapons toward the noise; and then Grappler lobbed the grenade through the opening. Fel hit the release again, reversing the door's direction. There were sounds of sudden consternation outside as the panel slid closed—
And then the whole service corridor bulkhead seemed to bow inward toward them as the grenade went off.
"Now!" Fel shouted, hitting the release again as he switched his blaster to rapid fire and emptied it into the Vagaari at the other end of the corridor. The door slid open again, all the way this time, and he dived sideways through it.
He landed on the deck of the turbolift lobby between two groggy Vagaari who lay twitching where the force of the concussion had thrown them. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the protest of cramping leg muscles, he turned and helped pull Drask through the opening. "What was that?" the Chiss asked, taking a stumbling step over the nearest Vagaari.
"Concussion grenade," Fel said, looking around as he slid his last Tibanna cartridge into his blaster. "Knocks everyone flat for a couple of minutes."
"And then allows them to awaken?" Drask demanded as Grappler staggered through the opening. Fel grabbed the stormtrooper's arm to steady him, grimacing at the dozens of pits and scorch marks discoloring his armor. "What sort of weapon is that for a warrior?"
"The sort a warrior uses when he doesn't know whether or not the enemy has hostages," Fel snapped. Cloud seemed to be having trouble with the door; reaching in, Fel grabbed his arm and pulled him bodily through. "Come on, we need to get out of here."
But it was too late. Even as he turned Cloud toward the turbolift doors and the corridor leading out of the lobby, he saw that the Vagaari in that direction were starting to stagger to their feet, their weapons tracking unsteadily toward the intruders. At the speed Cloud and Grappler were probably capable of, the enemy would be back to full strength long before they could run that gauntlet. The same went for the corridor leading aft and the cross-corridor leading portside.
Which basically left only the option of standing here and taking out as many Vagaari as they could before they were killed.
"Listen!" Drask murmured urgently. "I hear a turbolift car approaching."
Fel grimaced as he caught the telltale sound, too. Approaching full of enemies, no doubt, but he didn't have anything better to offer. If they could clear the car before those inside knew what was happening, they would at least have bought themselves a little cover.
In fact, if the Vagaari in the lobby stayed groggy long enough, they might even have a chance of using the car to get away. "Go," he told Drask, giving a tug on Cloud's arm to get him moving.
They picked their way through the maze of stunned Vagaari, the stormtroopers stumbling drunkenly, Fel doing his best to help and hurry them along. Drask, unencumbered with injured comrades, made the trip considerably faster and was standing ready at the door when it slid open. He swung around the edge to lean into the car, his charric spitting blue fire as he laid down a killing pattern.
The pattern broke off almost before it started. "Empty," he called, swinging back around again to cover the Vagaari still getting to their feet. A shot blistered past his head; shifting his aim, he fired once to silence the gunner. "Hurry!"
The Chiss had shot three more Vagaari, and the room was starting to fill with blaster bolts by the time Fel and the stormtroopers stumbled through the open door. "We're in," Fel shouted as he guided his charges to the rear of the car. The enemy fire was still highly random, but the Vagaari would be getting both their balance and their aim back any minute. "Hit the control—there."
"Storage core?" Drask asked, still firing as he ducked inside.
"Yes," Fel said. Whatever reinforcements Bearsh had would undoubtedly be up on D-4, and Fel had no interest in taking them on just now. "Come on, hit it."
Drask did so.
Nothing happened.
Drask hit it again, and again, then tried the switch to D-4. Still nothing. "What's wrong?" Fel demanded, hurrying to his side.
"It does not function," Drask snarled. "The Vagaari have locked it down."
A burst of enemy fire splattered off the edge of the door. "Come on," Fel said, grabbing Drask's arm and dragging him to the back of the car. So that was it. The enemy had anticipated their final move, and they were now well and truly trapped. Fel had failed his men, failed Admiral Parck, failed Aristocra Formbi and the rest of the Chiss.
But if the Vagaari expected them to die quietly, they were in for a rude shock. Cloud and Grappler had sunk to the floor, semiconscious, their BlasTechs hanging loosely from their hands. Fel grabbed Cloud's weapon, checked the power indicator, and swung it around to point at the door. Outside, he could see the Vagaari starting to move purposefully around, fully in control now and probably setting up their pattern for a rush on the car. Leveling the BlasTech toward the opening, Fel braced himself...
And with a sudden shattering of metal and plastic, the front part of the car's ceiling exploded inward.
Instinctively, Fel twisted his head away, squeezing his eyes shut against the flying debris. The roar of the blast faded and he turned back, blinking open his eyes.
At the front of the car, barely visible through the roiling dust, stood a pair of Imperial stormtroopers.
Watchman and Shadow had arrived.
There were, Fel had estimated, about thirty Vagaari in the turbolift lobby. They never had a chance. The two stormtroopers stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, fresh and uninjured, taking the enemy's attack unflinchingly as they systematically raked the lobby with blasterfire.
Fel sank down onto the floor beside Cloud and Grappler, the BlasTech falling loose in his hands as he listened to the firefight, the combat tension finally beginning to drain out of him.
And as it did, he slowly became aware of pain digging into his body from a dozen different places on arms, legs, and torso. Apparently, he wasn't as uninjured as he'd thought.
By the time the battle was over, he needed Drask's help to even stand up.
* * *
The two Vagaari fired another burst, their blaster bolts scattering from Luke's lightsaber blade. He pressed forward grimly, letting the Force manipulate his defense, shortening the gap between him and the attackers. In the distance, the sounds of multiple blaster-fire from a minute earlier had gone o
minously quiet. Wrapped in the tunnel vision of combat, he couldn't tell what the outcome had been, but it was beginning to look as if he and Mara were already too late to be of any help there.
The Vagaari intensified their fire. Setting his teeth, he struggled to keep up with the attack—
And suddenly, the screaming of their weapons was joined by blasterfire of a more modern pitch and rhythm. For a handful of seconds the two sounds played a deadly duet, and then all weapons fell abruptly silent.
"Luke? Mara?"
Luke let his lightsaber slow to a halt in ready position, his lungs heaving as he relaxed his tight focus and began opening up his mind again. The voice and the sense accompanying it had been very familiar...
"We're here, Fel," Mara called out as she and Evlyn came up behind him. "Come on, Luke, they're hurt."
Luke blinked sweat out of his eyes as he closed down his lightsaber and joined the other two hurrying down the corridor. He could sense the pain now: waves of it, sweeping toward him.
The two groups met around the next jog in the corridor, beside the bodies of the three Vagaari Luke had been slowly pushing back. "These the last of them?" one of the stormtroopers asked, gesturing at them with his BlasTech.
"As far as I know, yes," Luke said, eyeing him and the others with concern and a bit of awe. All four stormtroopers had been through the wars, all right, with blaster burns scattered and clustered all across their once-sleek armor. On two of them, the white color of their breastplates had been almost completely obliterated, with at least a dozen spots on each where the armor had been burned clean through. It was hard to believe they were even alive, let alone more or less on their feet. Fel didn't look to be in terrific shape, either, and though he seemed to be walking on his own Luke could see that Drask was standing ready to offer him a helping hand. "I see you've been busy," he said. The words sounded rather bland, but somehow seemed to fit the casual dignity and bravery he could sense from all six of the group. "I'm sorry we weren't able to get to you faster."
"We managed," Fel said, his voice rigid with the strain of someone fighting back pain and determined not to show it. "Afraid we left a mess by the turbolifts that someone's going to have to clean up."
