Star Wars - Outbound Flight Page 3

  “Car’das—”

  “It’s okay,” Car’das repeated, stepping to the doorway. The Chiss moved back, and he walked out into the corridor.

  There were indeed more Chiss waiting by the door, two of them on either side. “Follow,” the messenger said as the door closed.

  The group headed down the curved corridor, passing three cross-corridors and several other doorways along the way. Two of the doors were open, and Car’das couldn’t resist a furtive glance inside each as he passed. All he could see, though, was unrecognizable equipment and more black-clad Chiss.

  He had expected Forward Visual to be a crowded, high-tech room. To his surprise, the door opened into something that looked like a compact version of a starliner’s observation gallery. A long, curved couch sat in front of a convex floor-to-ceiling viewport currently showing a spectacular view of the glowing hyperspace sky as it flowed past the ship. The room’s own lights were dimmed, making the display that much more impressive.

  “Welcome, Jorj Car’das.”

  Car’das looked around. Mitth’raw’nuruodo was seated alone at the far end of the couch, silhouetted against the hyperspace sky. “Commander,” he greeted the other, glancing a question at his guide. The other nodded, stepping back and closing the door on himself and the rest of the escort. Feeling more than a little uneasy, Car’das stepped around the near end of the couch and made his way across the curve.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo commented as Car’das arrived at his side. “Please; be seated.”

  “Thank you,” Car’das said, easing himself onto the couch a cautious meter away from the other. “May I ask why you sent for me?”

  “To share this view, of course,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said drily. “And to answer a few questions.”

  Car’das felt his stomach tighten. So it was to be an interrogation. Down deep he’d known it would be, but had hoped against hope that Maris’s naïvely idealistic assessment of their captor might actually be right. “A very nice view it is, too,” he commented, not knowing what else to say. “I’m a little surprised to find such a room aboard a warship.”

  “Oh, it’s quite functional,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo assured him. “Its full name is Forward Visual Triangulation Site Number One. We place spotters here during combat to track enemy vessels and other possible threats, and to coordinate some of our line-of sight weaponry.”

  “Don’t you have sensors to handle that?”

  “Of course,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “And usually they’re quite adequate. But I’m sure you know there are ways of misleading or blinding electronic eyes. Sometimes the eyes of a Chiss are more reliable.”

  “I suppose,” Car’das said, gazing at his host’s own glowing eves. In the dim light, they were even more intimidating. “But isn’t it hard to get the information to the gunners fast enough?”

  “There are ways,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “What exactly is your business, Jorj Car’das?”

  “Captain Qennto’s already told you that,” Car’das said, feeling sweat breaking out on his forehead. “We’re merchants and traders.”

  Mitth’raw’nuruodo shook his head. “Unfortunately for your captain’s assertions, I’m familiar with the economics of star travel. Your vessel is far too small for any standard cargo to cover even normal operating expenses, let alone emergency repair work. I therefore conclude that you have a sideline occupation.

  You haven’t the weaponry to be pirates or privateers, so you must be smugglers.“

  Car’das hesitated. What exactly was he supposed to say? “I don’t suppose it would do any good to point out that our economics and yours might not scale the same?” he stalled.

  “Is that what you claim?”

  Car’das hesitated, but Mitth’raw’nuruodo had that knowing look again. “No,” he conceded. “We are mostly just traders, as Captain Qennto said. But we sometimes do a little smuggling on the side.”

  “I see,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “I appreciate your honesty, Jorj Car’das.”

  “You can just call me Car’das,” Car’das said. “In our culture, the first name is reserved for use by friends.”

  “You don’t consider me a friend?”

  “Do you consider me one?” Car’das countered.

  He regretted the words the instant they were out of his mouth. Sarcasm was hardly the option of choice in a confrontation like this.

  But Mitth’raw’nuruodo merely lifted an eyebrow. “No, not yet,” he agreed calmly. “Perhaps someday. You intrigue me, Car’das. Here you sit, captured by unfamiliar beings a long way from home. Yet instead of wrapping yourself within a blanket of fear or anger, you instead stretch outside yourself with curiosity.”

  Car’das frowned. “Curiosity?”

  “You studied my warriors as you were brought aboard,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “I could see it in your eyes and face as you observed and thought and evaluated. You did the same as you were taken to your quarters, and again as you were brought here just now.”

  “I was just looking around,” Car’das assured him, his heart beating a little faster. Did spies rank above or below smugglers on Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s list of undesirables? “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Calm yourself,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, some amusement creeping into his voice. “I’m not accusing you of spying. I, too, have the gift of curiosity, and therefore prize it in others. Tell me, who is to receive the hidden gemstones?”

  Car’das jerked. “You found—? I mean… in that case, why did you ask me about it?”

  “As I said, I appreciate honesty,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “Who is the intended recipient?”

  “A group of Hutts operating out of the Comra system,” Car’das told him, giving up. “Rivals to the ones you—the ones who were attacking us.” He hesitated. “You did know they weren’t just random pirates, didn’t you? That they were hunting us specifically?”

  “We monitored your transmissions as we positioned ourselves to intervene,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “Though the conversation was of course unintelligible to us, I remembered hearing the phonemes Dubrak Qennto in the Hutt’s speech when Captain Qennto later identified himself. The conclusion was obvious.”

  A shiver ran up Car’das’s back. A conversation in an alien language, and yet Mitth’raw’nuruodo had been able to memorize enough of it to extract Qennto’s name from the gibberish. What kind of creatures were these Chiss, anyway?

  “Is the possession of these gems illegal, then?”

  “No, but the customs fees are ridiculously high,” Car’das said, forcing his mind back to the interrogation. “Smugglers are often used to avoid having to pay them.” He hesitated. “Actually, considering the people we got this batch from, they may also have been stolen. But don’t tell Maris that.”

  “Oh?”

  Car’das winced. There he was again, talking without thinking. If Mitth’raw’nuruodo didn’t kill him before this was over, Qennto probably would. “Maris is something of an idealist,” he said reluctantly. “She thinks this whole smuggling thing is just a way of making a statement against the greedy and stupid Republic bureaucracy.”

  “Captain Qennto hasn’t seen fit to enlighten her?”

  “Captain Qennto likes her company,” Car’das said. “I doubt she’d stay with him if she knew the whole truth.”

  “He claims to care about her, yet lies to her?”

  “I don’t know what he claims,” Car’das said. “Though I suppose you could say that idealists like Maris do a lot of lying to themselves. The truth is there in front of her if she wanted to see it.” He took another look at those glowing red eyes. “Though of course that doesn’t excuse our part in it,” he added.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “What would be the consequences if you didn’t deliver the gemstones?”

  Car’das felt his throat tighten. So much for the honorable Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo. Firegems must be va
luable out here, too. “They’d kill us,” he said bluntly. “Probably in some hugely entertaining way, like watching us get eaten by some combination of large animals.”

  “And if the delivery is merely late?”

  Car’das frowned, trying to read the other’s expression in the flickering hyperspace glow. “What exactly do you want from me, Commander Mitthrawnuruodo?”

  “Nothing too burdensome,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “I merely wish your company for a time.”

  “Why?”

  “Partly to learn about your people,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “But primarily so that you may teach me your language.”

  Car’das blinked. “Our language? You mean Basic?”

  “That is the chief language of your Republic, is it not?”

  “Yes, but…” Car’das hesitated, wondering if there was a delicate way to ask a question like this.

  Mitth’raw’nuruodo might have been reading his mind. Or, more likely, his eyes and face. “I’m not planning an invasion, if that’s what concerns you,” he said, smiling faintly. “Chiss don’t invade the territories of others. We don’t make war against even potential enemies unless we’re attacked first.”

  “Well, you certainly don’t have to worry about any attacks from us,” Car’das said quickly “We’ve got too many internal troubles of our own right now to go bother anyone else.”

  “Then we have nothing to fear from each other,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “It would be merely an indulgence of my curiosity.”

  “I see,” Car’das said cautiously. Qennto, he knew, would be into full-bore bargaining mode at this point, pushing and prodding and squeezing to get everything he could out of the deal. Maybe that was why Mitth’raw’nuruodo was making this pitch to the clearly less experienced Car’das instead.

  Still, he could try. “And what would we get out of it?” he asked.

  “For you, there would be an equal satisfaction of your own curiosity.” Mitth’raw’nuruodo lifted his eyebrows. “You do wish to know more about my people, don’t you?”

  “Very much,” Car’das said. “But I can’t see that appealing to Captain Qennto.”

  “Perhaps a few extra valuables added to his cargo, then,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo suggested. “That might also help mollify your clients.”

  “Yes, they’ll definitely need some mollifying,” Car’das agreed grimly. “A little extra loot would go a long way toward that.”

  “Then it’s agreed,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, standing up.

  “One more thing,” Car’das said, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll be happy to teach you Basic, but I’d also like some language lessons myself. Would you be willing in turn to teach me the Chiss language, or to have one of your people do so?”

  “I can teach you to understand Cheunh,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But I doubt you’ll ever be able to properly speak it. I’ve noticed you don’t even pronounce my name very well.”

  Car’das felt his face warm. “I’m sorry.”

  “No apology needed,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo assured him. “Your vocal mechanism is close to ours, but there are clearly some differences. However, I believe I could teach you to speak Minnisiat. It’s a trade language widely used in the regions around our territory.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Car’das said. “Thank you, Commander Mitth—uh… Commander.”

  “As I said, Cheunh pronunciation is difficult for you,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo noted drily. “Perhaps it would be easier if you called me by my core name, Thrawn.”

  Car’das frowned. “Is that permissible?”

  Mitth’raw’nuruodo—Thrawn—shrugged. “It’s questionable,” he conceded. “In general, full names are required for formal occasions, for strangers, and for those who are socially inferior.”

  “And I’m guessing we qualify on all three counts.”

  “Yes,” Thrawn said. “But I believe such rules may be broken when there are good and valid reasons for doing so. In this case, there are.”

  “It will certainly make things easier,” Car’das agreed, bowing his head. “Thank you, Commander Thrawn.”

  “You’re welcome,” Thrawn said. “And now, a light refreshment has been prepared for you and the others. After that, the language lessons can begin.”

  3

  The receptionist set down her comlink and smiled up at the man and woman standing over her. “The Supreme Chancellor will see you now, Master C’baoth,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Jedi Master Jorus C’baoth said, his voice cool and brooding.

  Beside him, Lorana Jinzler winced to herself. Her Master was angry, and under the circumstances she couldn’t really blame him. But C’baoth’s quarrel was with Palpatine, not a lowly receptionist who had no power or authority over the orders that issued from the Supreme Chancellor’s Office. There was no reason to vent his annoyance at her.

  That wasn’t the way C’baoth did things, however. Without another word, he strode away from the woman’s desk and headed for the doors to Palpatine’s inner office. Lingering half a step behind him, Lorana made sure to catch the receptionist’s eye and give her an encouraging smile before following.

  A pair of Brolfi came out the door as they approached, their yellow-and-green-patterned hornskin quivering with emotion beneath their leather tunics. C’baoth didn’t break stride, but continued straight ahead toward the two aliens, forcing them to move hastily to either side to let him pass. Wincing again, Lorana took a couple of quick steps to catch up with her Master, reaching him just as he passed through the doors into the office.

  Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was seated at his desk, an expansive view of Coruscant’s skyline visible through the wide window behind him. A young man wearing a tooled tunican and vest was standing beside him, leaning over the desk with a data-pad and speaking in a low voice.

  Palpatine looked up as C’baoth and Lorana entered, his face breaking into one of his famous smiles. “Ah, Master C’baoth,” he said, gesturing them forward. “And your young Padawan, of course—Lorana Jinzler, isn’t it? Welcome to you both.”

  “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, Chancellor,” C’baoth said stiffly, pulling a datapad from his belt pouch as he strode forward. “This isn’t a social visit.”

  The young man beside Palpatine straightened up, his eyes flashing. “You will not speak to the Supreme Chancellor in that tone,” he said firmly.

  “Mind your tongue, underling,” C’baoth growled. “Take your bureaucratic trivia and get out.”

  The young man didn’t budge. “You will not speak to the Supreme Chancellor in that tone,” he repeated.

  “It’s all right, Kinman,” Palpatine said soothingly, holding out a restraining hand to the young man as he rose to his feet. “I’m sure Master C’baoth doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

  For a moment C’baoth and Palpatine stared at each other across the wide expanse of the desk, an almost visible tension rippling the air between them. Then, to Lorana’s relief, the Jedi Master’s lip twitched. “No, of course not,” he said in a marginally more courteous voice.

  “As I said,” Palpatine said, smiling fondly at the young man. “You haven’t met my new assistant and adviser, have you, Master C’baoth? This is Kinman Doriana.”

  “Pleased and honored,” C’baoth said, in a tone that made it clear that he was neither.

  “As am I, Master C’baoth,” Doriana replied. “It’s always a privilege to meet one of those who’ve dedicated their lives to safeguarding the Republic.”

  “As it is for me, as well,” Palpatine agreed. “What can I do for you, Master C’baoth?”

  “You know very well what you can do for me,” C’baoth growled. Without waiting for an invitation, he seated himself in one of the chairs and set his datapad on the desk. “In a word: Outbound Flight.”

  “Naturally,” Palpatine said tiredly, gesturing Lorana to the chair beside C’baoth as he reseated himself in his own chair. “Wha
t is it now?”

  “This.” Waving a hand, C’baoth used the Force to send the datapad sliding across the desk to stop in front of the Supreme Chancellor. “The Senate Appropriations Committee has cut my funding again.”

  Palpatine sighed. “What do you want me to say, Master C’baoth? I can’t dictate to the Senate what it should do. I certainly can’t force a stiff-necked group like Appropriations to see things our way.”

  “Our way?” C’baoth echoed. “It’s our way now, is it? I seem to remember a time not very long ago when you weren’t at all enthusiastic about this whole project.”

  “Perhaps you should examine your memory more closely,” Palpatine said, a slight edge creeping into his tone. “It’s the Jedi Council, not me, that’s been backing away from Outbound Flight for the past few months. In fact, I was under the impression Master Yoda had even changed his mind about allowing more than one or two Jedi to join the expedition.”

  “I will deal with Master Yoda when the time comes,” C’baoth said firmly. “Meanwhile, you’re the one holding the project’s fate in your hands.”

  “And I’ve done everything in my power to assist you,” Palpatine reminded him. “You have your ships—six brand-new Dreadnaughts, straight off the Rendili StarDrive assembly line. You have the central storage core you wanted, and the turbolift pylons ready to connect the whole thing together. You have the crews and passengers in training on Yaga Minor—”

  “Ah!” C’baoth interrupted, jabbing a finger at the datapad still sitting untouched in front of the Supreme Chancellor. “In fact, I do not have my passengers, not at all. Some idiot bureaucrat has changed the population profile to consist of crews only, with no families or other potential colonists.”

  Reluctantly, Lorana thought, Palpatine picked up the data-pad. “A cost-saving decision, most likely,” he said, scrolling through the data. “Having all those extra people aboard would mean more supplies and equipment.”

  “What it would mean is a cancellation of the entire project,” C’baoth countered. “What sense does it make to send an expedition to another galaxy if there’s no chance of planting any colonies once we’re there?”