by Timothy Zahn
[We are four minutes one-half from arrival,] the Togorian at the sensor-station said, her yellow eyes studying Shada with unblinking intensity.
“You’d best get up there,” Karrde said to Shada, nodding toward the bridge door. “It’s turbolaser two.”
“I know,” Shada said. “I’ll check in when I’m ready.”
Three minutes later she was strapped into the control console facing the big transparisteel bubble, running a prefire checklist and fighting back twenty years’ worth of ghosts of other such battles, first with the Mistryl and then with Mazzic’s smugglers. With most of those battles she’d been lucky enough to be on the winning side. With the others …
“Shada, this is Chal,” the young man’s voice came through her comm headset. “You ready?”
“Almost,” Shada said, watching as the last of the self-check lights went green. “Yes, ready.”
“Okay.” If Chal was annoyed at having been summarily kicked out of his post, it didn’t show in his voice. “Stay sharp; we’re counting down now. Starting at ten … mark.”
She listened with half an ear to the countdown, her hands resting on the controls, her eyes already starting the combat scan pattern her Mistryl instructors had taught her so long ago. The count reached zero, the mottled sky flared to starlines and shrank to stars—
And with a terrific jolt a laser bolt slammed hard into the Wild Karrde’s side.
[Seven targets waiting,] H’sishi snarled, the tone of her voice giving Shada the mental picture of all that gray-white fur standing on end. [Small attack vessels—Corsair-class.]
“Confirmed on number and class,” Chal added. “Bearings—”
The targeting recitation was drowned out in the hissing roar of her turbolaser as Shada swung the weapon around and fired. One of the Corsairs, trying to sneak in under the freighter’s docking bay, caught the burst squarely on its left flank and flashed into dust. His wingman, dodging most of the debris, scrambled wildly for distance but succeeded only in flying straight into a burst from Griv’s turbolaser. What remained of the craft continued outward on an inertial trajectory, blazing like a flying funeral pyre.
“Two down!” Chal crowed. “Make that three.”
“Everyone stay sharp,” Karrde’s calmer voice said. “We caught them by surprise this time. They know what to expect now.”
Shada nodded silent agreement, taking a quick look at her tactical display. The four remaining Corsairs had pulled back, pacing the Wild Karrde but clearly not overly anxious to engage it again. Karrde, meanwhile, had the freighter burning hard through space toward the distant gas giant around which the Kathol Republic’s capital world of Dayark revolved. “My guess is that they’ll try their ion cannon next,” she said. “Can we handle that?”
“Easily,” Karrde assured her. “Certainly ion cannon that small. Here they come.”
Breaking into pairs, the four Corsairs shot over and under the Wild Karrde, blasting away at full power with their ion cannon. Shada fired off a quick burst, catching one of them glancingly across the top quarter before both ships disappeared behind the Wild Karrde’s bulk. “Spotter?” she called.
“You took out his ion cannon,” Chal confirmed. “Balig, you’ve knocked out his rear deflector—”
[They attack again,] H’sishi’s snarl cut him off. Shada glanced at the tactical and swung her turbolaser around toward where the nearest Corsair should appear …
The attacker swung around the Wild Karrde’s hull, its lasers blazing uselessly away at the freighter’s thick armor. Shada and Balig fired back, the twin turbolaser blasts catching him squarely across the bow and shattering him in a brilliant flash of light—
And with a deafening thunderclap something slammed straight through Shada’s transparisteel bubble.
“I’m hit!” Shada gasped, fighting against the sudden tearing pain in her right chest and shoulder. All around her a cold wind whistled as the air rushed through the shattered bubble. Her right hand was useless; with her left hand she dug at her restraints, wondering distantly if she would be able to get loose and out of the bay before the vacuum took her. Perhaps now, at last, it was all finally over …
The wind was starting to diminish by the time she got the top restraint off. A bad sign. She shifted her hand to the lower strap, her vision starting to waver …
And with a second thud, more felt than really heard, the bubble and stars vanished into a plate of gray metal.
She blinked; but even as her oxygen-starved brain tried to figure it out, there was an ear-popping rush of air into the bay, and suddenly strange hands were snapping off the last of her restraints. “We’ve got her!” a voice shouted uncomfortably loud in her ear. “But she’s been hit. Get Annowiskri down here, fast.”
“Already here,” a second voice came in from Shada’s other side. There was a tingle of something in her arm …
She came to slowly, or at least slowly for a Mistryl. For a moment she remained lying quietly, her eyes closed, as she assessed the situation and her own physical condition. Her right chest and arm felt vaguely numb, and her scalp itched like it always did after a session in a bacta tank, but aside from that she felt reasonably fine. From the soft sound of breathing she could tell she wasn’t alone; from the lack of background engine or machinery sounds it seemed the Wild Karrde had made it through to Dayark.
So it wasn’t the end yet, and life remained before her. A pity. Taking a deep but quiet breath, she opened her eyes.
She was lying on one of the three beds in the Wild Karrde’s medical bay. Seated across the room, staring meditatively off into space, was Karrde. “I take it we won?” Shada asked.
Karrde jerked slightly, his gaze coming back to her. “Yes, we won quite handily,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad,” she said, moving her right arm experimentally. Aside from some stiffness and the numbness she’d already noted, it didn’t seem too bad, at least as long as she didn’t try to move it too far in any direction. “Arm needs a little more work.”
“Yes, Annowiskri tells me you’ll need at least one more session in the bacta tank,” Karrde said. “I had you pulled out so that you could accompany me on a short walk outside the ship. If you’re interested, that is.”
“Of course I’m interested,” Shada said. “Where on Dayark are we?”
“The main spaceport of the capital city Rytal Prime,” Karrde said. “We put down about two hours ago.”
Shada frowned. “And you’re just going out now? I thought we were in a hurry.”
“We are,” Karrde said. “But we had to play host first to a small group of inspectors. They spent over an hour going through the ship with the proverbial flat-edge sifter. Ostensibly searching for contraband.”
“I hope you watched them closely.”
“Very closely,” Karrde assured her. “At any rate, they’ve gone now, and Pormfil and Odonnl are making arrangements to get the ship repaired. In the meantime, the Kathol Republic military commander would like to have a word with us.”
“About our attackers, no doubt.”
“No doubt,” Karrde agreed. “Perhaps focusing on how we managed to fight them off with so little damage.”
Shada lifted her eyebrows. “ ‘So little damage’ being a relative term, of course.”
Karrde grimaced. “I’m sorry about what happened, Shada—”
“Forget it,” Shada cut him off. Apologies always made her uncomfortable, even when they were sincere. Especially when they were sincere. “It was my idea, remember. So what’s the plan?”
“I’m supposed to meet with a General Jutka at a tapcafe just outside the spaceport,” Karrde told her. “They mostly speak Basic here, but there’s a fair-sized contingent of Ithorian colonists, too, so I thought we’d take Threepio along in case we run into translation problems.”
“Odd place for an official meeting,” Shada commented. “Sounds like they don’t know whether they want to be associated with us or not.”
“I would say that reading is dead on target,” Karrde agreed, eyeing her thoughtfully. “Your grasp of politics is quite good, especially for a simple bodyguard.”
“I’ve never claimed to be simple,” Shada countered, swinging her legs over the side of the medic bed. “Give me five minutes to get changed and we’ll go see this general.”
Ten minutes later the three of them were walking down the bustling street that bordered the spaceport, Karrde and Shada walking side by side with the gold-colored protocol droid shuffling along nervously behind them. “The natives seem curious,” Shada commented in a quiet voice.
Karrde nodded. He’d already noticed the surreptitious glances of the Ithorian passersby and the out-and-out stares of some of the human ones. “Mara reported they were a wary but not particularly unfriendly people.”
“Nice to know,” Shada said. “Of course, that report is six years old now. Interesting outfits they’re wearing—those shimmery coats with all the random tufts of fur still on them?”
“It’s crosh-hide,” Karrde identified it. “Native animal to one of the worlds in the Kathol Republic. Comfortable and durable, and those bits of fur can be left on either randomly or in any of a variety of patterns. Mara told me crosh-hide coats were just coming into style when she and Calrissian were here; I see it’s bloomed into a full-blown fashion since then.”
“Probably because it makes for instant identification of strangers,” Shada said, catching hold of a pinch of her shipboard jumpsuit material. “Not much chance of us blending into any crowd with these on.”
“Definitely a grain of truth in that,” Karrde agreed. “This part of the galaxy has been largely left alone by outsiders, but they had some clashes with the Empire and there have been a few attempts by the New Republic to bring it into line with current political thought.”
“A goal the natives aren’t interested in?”
“Not really,” Karrde said, looking around at the faded commercial signs flapping restlessly in the breeze. A few of them were in Basic, but most were laid out with Ithorian glyptographs or a flow-and-dot script he didn’t recognize at all. “Threepio, we’re looking for a place called the Ithor Loman,” he said, motioning the droid to his side. “Do you see it anywhere?”
“Yes, Captain Karrde, it’s right over there,” Threepio said, lifting an arm to point at a blue sign labeled in Ithorian.
“Reminds me of Bombaasa’s place on Pembric,” Shada growled. “You know, Karrde, you might want to consider occasionally adding a few more people to these probe parties of yours.”
“You wouldn’t consider that a slight on your combat skills?”
“I think I’ve adequately proved my combat skills,” Shada countered. “The point is that if you field enough people you can sometimes keep a fight from starting in the first place.”
Karrde nodded, suppressing a smile. “I’ll remember that. After you.”
Considering the early morning hour, the tapcafe seemed unusually well populated, with both Ithorian and human locals in their crosh-hide jackets plus one or two obvious offworlders like themselves. “Any idea which one General Jutka is?” Shada murmured.
“I presume he’ll be watching for us,” Karrde said. “If not—”
He broke off as a short, slender man with short hair and a dapper crosh-hide jacket rose from a nearby table and stepped up to them. “Ah—visitors,” he said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling with interest or bubbling good humor as he looked each of them up and down. “You must be the parties here to see General Jutka.”
“Yes, we are,” Karrde said. “And you?”
“Entoo Needaan E-elz, at your service,” he said, giving a short bow. “Call me Entoo Nee.”
“Interesting name,” Karrde said, eyeing him. “That Entoo part sounds rather like a droid designation.”
“Oddly enough, people do sometimes mistake me for a droid,” Entoo Nee said, his eyes sparkling all the more. “I can’t imagine why. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the general’s table.”
He bounded off between the tables without waiting for an answer, his step as lively as his speech had been. “Curious little man,” Threepio commented as they followed. “He does appear harmless, however.”
“Never trust appearances,” Shada warned him. “Personally, I don’t think he fits in with this place at all.”
“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Karrde told her. “That must be Jutka.”
Entoo Nee had stopped beside a table in the back where a single, heavyset man was seated with his back to the wall, nursing a single drink. Wearing the by now familiar crosh-hide jacket, he nevertheless seemed to Karrde to be vaguely uncomfortable in it.
“That’s a military man, all right,” Shada said, echoing Karrde’s own thought as Entoo Nee spoke briefly to the other. “You can tell he feels awkward being out of uniform.”
Entoo Nee stepped aside as the others came up, gesturing brightly to the bulky man. “General Jutka, may I present our visitors,” he said, suddenly looking a bit crestfallen. “I’m sorry—I didn’t get your names.”
“We didn’t give them,” Karrde said. “You can call me Captain. This is my friend Shada and my translation droid, See-Threepio.”
The general muttered something in an unfamiliar language. “He says he wasn’t expecting a full theatrical parade,” Threepio translated helpfully. “In fact—”
“Enough!” Jutka spat. “Keep your droid shut up or I’ll shut him up for you.”
“Oh, my,” Threepio gasped, taking a hasty step backward. “My apologies, General Jutka—”
“I said keep him shut up,” Jutka cut him off. “I don’t want to have to say that again. Now sit down.”
“Certainly,” Karrde said, sliding into a chair at the general’s side and glancing back at Threepio. Entoo Nee had stepped to the droid’s side and was talking soothingly to him in a low voice. “My mistake, General. I thought I was here for a conversation, not a series of threats.”
“I apologize if you got that impression,” Jutka said darkly, looking balefully up at Shada. She had ignored his invitation to sit down, moving instead around the other side of the table so that she was effectively standing over him, and for a moment Karrde thought he was going to issue a flat-out order for her to sit. He apparently thought better of it and turned his glare back to Karrde. “The fact is that you’re a troublemaker,” he said. “Troublemakers aren’t welcome on my world.”
“I see,” Karrde said. “So in the Kathol Republic coming under pirate attack is the mark of a troublemaker?”
Jutka’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me,” he warned. “I know who you’re flying for—your ship’s ID makes that perfectly clear. The last thing I want is to end up in the middle of some stupid war between Bombaasa and Rei’Kas.”
“Rei’Kas?” Shada repeated, her tone that of someone who’s just made a connection. “The Rodian?”
“Yes,” Jutka said, frowning up at her. “You mean you didn’t—?”
“No, we didn’t know who our friends were out there,” Karrde confirmed. “Many thanks. You know this Rei’Kas, Shada?”
“Only by reputation,” Shada told him. “He used to be a strike team leader with the Karazak Slavers Cooperative. Quite a good one, apparently. He was also rough, violent, and vicious, and he irritated practically everyone he worked with.”
Karrde nodded, feeling his mouth go a little dry. A vicious slaver, now in Car’das’s territory. How many other criminals, he wondered, had also just happened to drift to this corner of the galaxy? “Interesting.”
“Also interesting that the general knew his name when even Bombaasa didn’t,” Shada added. “You good friends with him, General?”
“My job is to protect the Kathol Republic,” Jutka said, his tone vibrant with soft menace. “I have no such responsibility toward outsiders who come in unasked and meddle with matters that are none of their business.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Karrde saw Shada’s head turn fr
actionally as she gave the main part of the tapcafe a quick survey. “Are you threatening me, General?” he asked mildly.
“I’m delivering a warning,” Jutka said bluntly. “You’ve hurt Rei’Kas, and he doesn’t take kindly to that. He’s got your ship marked, and as long as you’re in his territory he’s going to keep after you.”
“We have every intention of leaving his territory,” Karrde assured him. “After my errand is finished, of course.”
“Do as you wish,” Jutka said, grunting as he heaved his bulk out of his chair. “But I’ve given you fair warning. Don’t forget that.”
“I won’t,” Karrde said. “Thank you for your time.”
Jutka scowled once and marched across the tapcafe. Pushing open the door, he strode out without a backward glance.
“And this is where Car’das picked to retire to, huh?” Shada said, sitting down in the chair Jutka had just vacated. “Lovely.”
“Keep your voice down,” Karrde admonished, looking around the tapcafe. No one seemed to be taking any particular interest in this corner of the room, but appearances meant nothing. “And I doubt retirement was ever in his plans.”
Shada sent him a probing look. “You think Rei’Kas is working for him?”
Karrde nodded soberly. “I would say that’s entirely possible.”
He caught her eye movement and looked up as Entoo Nee pulled up a chair to their table and sat down. “Did you have a nice chat with the general?” he asked brightly. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
He hunched himself closer to the table. “I’ve been talking with your droid,” he said, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “He says you’re looking for the fabled lost world of Exocron.”
Karrde looked at Threepio. “Threepio?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the droid said, sounding miserable. “I didn’t mean to give anything away. He asked if we were searching for Exocron, and I confirmed it without thinking.”
“Please don’t blame the droid,” Entoo Nee said. “Your goal isn’t a secret. At least, not to me. You’re looking for Jorj Car’das, aren’t you?”
