Star Wars: Survivor's Quest

CHAPTER 12

"Jedi!" Drask bellowed, making the word a curse. "Do something!"

But for that first terrifying second there was nothing either of them could do. Luke fought for balance, feeling Mara's chagrin mixing with his own. The room kept falling, far faster than the planetoid's own weak gravity could possibly have pulled it. Too late, now, he realized they'd been decoyed into a disguised turbolift car.

Then, so unexpectedly and abruptly that he nearly fell over, the car braked to a halt.

"Good day, Jedi." The disembodied voice came from the control panel beside the side door. "Good day, Blue One."

"We are called Chiss," Drask corrected the voice tartly.

"Ah," the voice said. "Good day, then, Chiss. I'm Jorad Pressor, Guardian of the People."

"Interesting way you have of greeting peaceful visitors," Mara commented. "You at least going to come out where we can talk face to face?"

"Whom I deal with is my decision, not yours," Pressor said. "For the moment, that's not going to be you."

"For a very short moment," Mara countered. "Or do you really expect this box to hold us for long?"

"Long enough," Pressor assured her. "Let me explain. The reason you've stopped moving is that your turbolift car is currently sitting at a gravity eddy point being balanced by two equal and opposite focused repulsor beams. If either of them is cut off, you'll be instantly shot through the tube to smash into either the Dreadnaught you just left or the Dreadnaught you were intending to travel to. Either way, it will be very messy."

"For your vessel as well as for us," Drask warned. "Such an impact may do serious damage to your structural integrity."

"I don't think so," Pressor said. "Of course, none of you would ever know for certain."

"True," Luke conceded. "I presume there's more?"

"I know about Jedi lightsabers," Pressor said. "I know you could normally cut your way out of the car with ease. In this case, however, I'd strongly advise against trying it. The power and control cables for both repulsor beams are wrapped in random patterns around the car. Cut any of the wires, upsetting the balance of forces, and it will be the last thing you ever do."

Luke looked at Mara. "You've spent a lot of time thinking this out," he said. "Have you had a lot of Jedi visitors in the past fifty years?"

"We haven't had any visitors at all," Pressor said, his voice suddenly cold and bitter. "But I've always known that someday the Republic would send someone to hunt us down. It seemed only prudent to take precautions."

Luke shook his head. "You've got it all wrong," he said, putting all the persuasion he could into his voice. "We're not here for revenge or retribution or whatever. We're—"

"Don't bother trying to communicate with the rest of your people, either," Pressor interrupted him. "All comlink frequencies are being jammed. Make yourselves comfortable, and cultivate that renowned Jedi patience."

There was a click, and the voice was gone.

"Interesting," Drask commented, turning to face Luke. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano has often stated that the Jedi are honored and admired by all. Apparently, he was mistaken."

"Very much mistaken," Luke agreed, looking slowly around the car. Up close, the walls appeared to be solid metal, with no signs of tampering. If their captors were monitoring them, the holocams and voice pickups had to either be hidden in the control board or else buried in the line where the walls and ceiling met, where numerous age cracks had opened up in the metal. "There are any number of people who don't like Jedi," he continued, lifting his eyebrows at Mara. She nodded to the control panel, then put her hands together in a right angle.

So she'd come to the same conclusion he had. Nodding back, Luke slipped off his emergency-kit backpack and popped it open.

Mara picked up the explanation: "Of course, most of them are criminals or warmongers." She had her own backpack off now, her fingers sorting through the contents. "Jedi are supposed to keep the peace, so of course those groups hate us."

"Corrupt politicians don't like us much, either," Luke added, digging beneath the ration bars and water tubes and pulling out his liquid-cable dispenser. Mara was already ready with her contribution: her medpac's tube of synthflesh wound healer. "I wonder which category Pressor falls into."

"Maybe none of them," Mara said. Stepping to a corner of the room, she began laying a thin bead of the synthflesh into the line between ceiling and wall. "Maybe he just doesn't think talking to us would get him anywhere."

"Maybe," Luke said, coming up beside his wife and playing out an equally thin line of liquid cable on top of the synthflesh before it could solidify. "Not here in Chiss space, anyway."

"If they even know where they are," Mara said. "Maybe once we've persuaded them we're here to help we can all sit down together and hear the whole story."

An uncomfortable silence descended on the car. Mara reached the corner and continued on along the next wall, Luke right beside her. Liquid cable, which solidified instantly on contact with the air, was designed specifically not to be sticky so that it wouldn't hang up on anything as it was being extruded. The synthflesh, on the other hand, was designed just as specifically to stick solidly to wounds, protecting them from the air and further injury. Together, they made a perfect barrier against the age cracks and anything that might be hidden behind them.

Once they finished with the walls, it would be a simple matter to block the view from the control panel with one of their all-temperature cloaks. If Pressor didn't interfere, they should be finished in a few minutes.

Pressor didn't, and they were. "There," Luke said at last, stepping back to admire their handiwork. "That should at least keep them from watching us."

"A useful start," Drask said, his tone neutral. Clearly, he wasn't all that impressed. "Yet we are still inside. What now?"

"Now," Luke said, smiling tightly at Mara, "you'll get to see how Jedi do things."

From somewhere ahead came a distant clunk. "What was that?" Feesa asked, looking up.

"Machinery," Grappler said, lifting his BlasTech and taking a step toward the passageway Luke and Mara had disappeared down a few minutes earlier. "Possibly a door sealing."

"The Skywalkers!" Jinzler said sharply, looking around. "They're gone!"

"It's all right, Ambassador," Formbi said calmly. "They went with General Drask to scout ahead." He peered in that direction. "It's time we joined them."

Fel suppressed a grimace. He'd assumed the two Jedi would be back before they were missed, or at least before it was time to move on. This was going to play havoc with his marching order. "Stormtroopers, form up," he ordered. "Two and two, front and rear."

"I'd prefer they hold rearguard position, Commander," Formbi said. "You"—he gestured to the three Chiss warriors—"come with me."

Without waiting for comment or argument, he strode off down the corridor, one of the Chiss warriors taking point two steps ahead of him as the other two moved into position on either side of him.

Fel hissed between his teeth as Jinzler, Feesa, and the Geroons moved off behind the procession. He hated being stuck all the way in the back this way. "Rearguard formation," he ordered the stormtroopers.

He was striding along behind Bearsh when a young, auburn-haired girl stepped out of concealment in front of the lead warrior, bringing the whole group to an abrupt halt. "Hello," she said calmly, as if visitors dropped by Outbound Flight every day. "Are you here to see the Guardian?"

Formbi glanced at Jinzler, then back to the girl. "We're here to see the survivors of Outbound Flight, and to help them," he said. "Is the Guardian the one we need to see?"

"Yes," the girl confirmed. "Come; I'll take you to him."

She turned and headed down the corridor toward the forward sensor room. "Who are all of you?" she asked over her shoulder.

"I am Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano of the Fifth Ruling Family of the Chiss Ascendancy," Formbi identified himself. "This is my aide, Chaf'ees'aklaio. This"—he gestured to Jinzler—"is Ambassador Dean Jinzler of the New Republic. Our expedition also includes representatives of the Geroon Remnant and the Empire of the Hand."

"So many people here to see us," the girl commented, turning into an alcove to her left.

"Yes," Formbi said. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm Evlyn," she said. "This way, please." She touched a control on the wall, and a door slid open in front of her. Gesturing the others to follow, she stepped inside.

Fel stepped close beside Cloud as Formbi and the others filed through the doorway. "Are you picking up Drask or the Jedi anywhere?" he murmured.

"I have no sensor contact," the stormtrooper murmured back. "But there's a lot of metal and electronic equipment in here. It may be shielding them."

"Maybe," Fel said, pulling out his comlink as he and the stormtroopers reached the doorway. The opening led into a short corridor, he saw, with another door at the far end and a third door midway down the wall on the right. Formbi, the Chiss warriors, and two of the Geroons were right behind the girl, while Jinzler, Feesa, Bearsh, and the fourth Geroon had fallen a couple of paces behind the leaders as they looked around the empty corridor. "Cloud, Grappler: go catch up to Formbi," he ordered quietly. At the far end of the corridor, Evlyn touched a control, and the door slid up in front of her. "We'll stay back here and—"

He never finished the sentence. Evlyn stepped through the door; but instead of staying open, the panel slammed violently down right in Formbi's face. Even as Fel drew his blaster, another door dropped out of a groove in the ceiling in front of Cloud, cutting the Imperials off from the rest of the party. He spun around in time to see the door they'd come though slam down in turn, isolating them from the rest of the ship.

An instant later, the floor seemed to drop out from under him as their newly created prison began to fall.

It braked to a stop before he had time for more than a single curse. "Good day," a voice said from a speaker in the control panel. "My name is Guardian Pressor. You're in a turbolift car that is being held in suspension between two opposing repulsor beams. Do you understand this?"

"Perfectly," Fel said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm Commander Chak Fel of the Empire of the Hand. Interesting trap you've got here."

"Merely making use of limited resources," Pressor said. "The six turbolift cars running through this pylon were designed to operate independently, but could also be connected together for large cargoes."

"Ah," Fel said. "I take it this pylon you mentioned is the connecting tube between these particular two Dreadnaughts?"

"The wiring that feeds power to the repulsor beams also wraps randomly around the outside of the car," Pressor said, ignoring the question. "I'd therefore advise against trying to shoot or cut your way out."

"Understood," Fel said. Clearly, Pressor wasn't interested in a long conversation. "What is it you want from us?"

"From you, nothing," Pressor said. "I'll speak with you again when I've come to a decision concerning your group."

"Very well," Fel said, looking casually around the car. There would be at least one hidden monitor in here, he knew. "Would it help to tell you we come in peace, and in the hope of helping you and your people?"

"Not really, no," Pressor said.

The speaker clicked off. "Anyone?" Fel invited sourly.

"They're jamming our comlinks," Shadow offered. "I can't raise any of the others."

"Big surprise there," Fel said. "What about monitors?"

"One," Grappler said, pointing his BlasTech toward the control panel. "I mark the monitor system feed in there."

"Concur," Watchman agreed.

Fel nodded. "All right, then," he said, digging into his emergency pack. "The others are off by themselves, out of our reach and protection. That is unacceptable."

His fingers located the insulator blanket and emergency food paste he'd been looking for. So Pressor was proud that he could make use of limited resources? Fine. As far as Fel was concerned, the Empire of the Hand had invented that particular operational philosophy. "So let's make ourselves a little privacy," he continued, crossing toward the hidden monitor, "and then see what exactly we can do about this."

"...so I'd advise against trying to shoot your way out," Pressor said, wiping the sweat from his forehead in the hot room as he once again ran through the warning message he'd prepared. "Is that understood?"

"Clearly," the Blue One—Chiss—who had identified himself as Aristocra something-or-other said calmly. He'd ended up in the Number Four Turbolift Car, along with three more Chiss and two of the other, unknown aliens. "We'll await your decision," the Aristocra continued. "I would simply say that we've come here to help you, not to harm you."

"I understand," Pressor said. "I'll speak with you soon."

He cut off the speaker, scowling blackly at the fuzzy image that was the best the turbolift monitors could handle anymore. Of course they weren't here to harm anyone. Just like those strange soldiers with their white armor and hidden faces weren't here to harm anyone, or the Jedi weren't here to harm anyone.

Jedi.

For a long minute Pressor stared at the image of the two Jedi on the Number Two display. It was hard to tell on the ancient and failing equipment, but they looked young, probably younger than he himself was.

But of course, age didn't mean anything. According to Director Uliar, the Jedi culture and methods were centuries old, passed down from one generation to the next with all the passion and rigidity of a system kept alive through sheer inertia. If these two were following in that same tradition, they would be exactly like the Jedi who had set out with Outbound Flight all those years ago.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Of course, he'd only been four when Outbound Flight died, and admittedly nowhere near the center of the action. But still, he remembered those Jedi.

Or at least, he remembered one of them.

The control room door slid open, letting in a blast of even hotter air, and Evlyn stepped inside. "Do we have all of them?" she asked.

"Every one," Pressor assured her, gazing back at his niece's bright blue eyes. They might look innocent—Evlyn herself might look innocent—but Pressor wasn't fooled. There was something odd about the girl, something he'd been aware of since she was three years old. Something the others would eventually notice, too.

"Good," Evlyn said, taking another stop toward Pressor to allow the door to slide shut behind her. "It's a lot cooler in here."

"A little cooler, anyway," Pressor said. "The repulsorlift generators are running pretty hot."

"That's not good, is it?" Evlyn asked, peering over his shoulder at the monitors.

"Not if one of them gets hot enough to fail, no," he conceded, swiveling back around in his creaky chair. "At least it would be a fast way to die."

He glanced over the bank of monitors, frowning. One of the displays was suddenly showing nothing except black, the one in the Number Six Car. Muttering a curse at the antiquated equipment, he reached for the controls.

"That's not going to help," Evlyn said. "The man in the gray uniform put a piece of cloth over the monitor. I saw him do it as I was coming in."

Pressor glared over his shoulder at her. "And you didn't say anything?"

"What could you have done about it if I had?"

Disgustedly, he turned back around. She was right, of course, but that wasn't the point. "Next time you see something important, tell me," he growled. The low conversation coming from the Number Six speaker had vanished along with the video image, he noted, disappearing into a faint hum. Cranking up the volume did nothing but increase the intensity of the hum. "Did they do something to the voice pickup, too?" he asked Evlyn.

"I didn't see anything," she said, sounding puzzled. "That sounds a lot like the hum from the repulsor generators, though."

"Of course it does," Pressor growled as the explanation hit him. The cloth they were using to block the camera was heavy enough to pick up the vibration from the wall and amplify it over the voice pickup, deafening him as well as blinding him with a single move. So much for keeping tabs on the armored soldiers and their officer.

And from the looks of things, the two Jedi were trying to shut him down, too. "Blast them all, anyway."

"You could," Evlyn reminded him.

Pressor grimaced. Yes, he could blast them, all right. He could blast all of them. A flick of a switch, and they would be slammed down the turbolift pylon hard enough to turn them into jelly. "We'll let them be for now," he told the girl. "Anyway, whether we can see them or not, they're still trapped."

He shifted his attention to the Number Five Car's monitor. The man the Aristocra had identified as Ambassador Jinzler was in there, plus a young-looking Chiss and two of the aliens with the twin mouths, one of whom was currently pounding on the control panel as if trying to break it open.

Talking with them would be a risk, he knew, especially if this New Republic they'd mentioned was anything like the Republic Outbound Flight had left all those years ago. But he had to talk to someone. And of all those in the boarding party, at least none of this particular group was carrying any weapons.

"Go ahead and release Number Five," he told Evlyn. "Actually, give me a couple of minutes to talk to them and then release it. You remember how to deactivate the trap and put the car back on normal?"

"Sure," she said, reaching into a pocket and pulling out the command stick he'd given her. "Seven-three-three-six."

"Right," he said. "Bring them back up here and take them to the pilot ready room. I'll be waiting for them there."

"Okay," she said, taking a step backward. The door behind her slid open, letting in another blast of hot air, and she was gone.

Pressor reached for the comm control, checking over the readings one last time. Ambassador Jinzler—he repeated the name in his mind, making sure he had it right. Jinzler. Jinzler.

His fingers froze a centimeter from the comm switch. Jinzler?

He sucked in a lungful of hot air, staring at the man on the display. Ambassador Jinzler, here aboard his ship. Jedi Lorana was how he'd known her, but her full name had been Jedi Lorana Jinzler.

With an effort, he forced his fingers to travel that last centimeter. "Hello, Ambassador Jinzler."

Without warning, two huge panels slammed down in front of and behind them, the resonating thud as they hit the floor cutting across Feesa's sudden scream of fright. "It's all right," Jinzler said reflexively, reaching out an arm to catch her around her shoulders as she half fell, half lunged against his side. She jerked at his touch, but didn't pull away. "It's all right," he repeated as soothingly as he could.

It wasn't soothing enough, evidently. Her body was trembling as she pressed against him, her glowing eyes narrowed. Jinzler tightened his grip around her shoulders, looking helplessly at Bearsh and the other Geroon who'd wound up trapped in here with them.

But neither alien was in any shape to give him any assistance. Bearsh's companion had pulled his heavy wolvkil drapery half over his head, gripping it by its blue-and-gold collar, as if instinctively preparing to throw off the extra weight and make a run for it, or else just as irrationally hoping that he could hide underneath it. Bearsh himself was half crouched beside the door, his twin mouths repeating the same agitated tones over and over as he clutched the other Geroon's arm with one hand and pounded uselessly on the small control board beside the door with the other.

Jinzler looked around, searching for some clue as to what he should do. But with the exception of the door and the control panel Bearsh was still pounding on, the room was completely devoid of decoration or instrumentation. The control panel itself didn't offer much, either. There were only five options for stops, marked D-4-1, D-4-2, D-5-1, D-5-2, and SC, plus the usual emergency buttons and a droid socket that would do them no good without a droid. Jinzler himself was unarmed, though what he would have done with a blaster even if he'd had one he couldn't guess. He did have a comlink connected to the Chaf Envoy, but whoever had sprung this trap would surely have thought to jam their communications.

Still, it was worth a try. Slowly, carefully, he dug into the proper pocket of his survival pack.

There was a loud click from the control panel. Bearsh jumped back, twitching as if he'd been stung. "Hello, Ambassador Jinzler," a man's voice said. "My name is Pressor, Guardian of this colony."

"Hello, Guardian," Jinzler said, trying to keep his voice calm. "This has been something of a surprise."

"I'm sure it has," Pressor said. "And I apologize for that. But I'm sure you understand that we have to take precautions."

"Of course," Jinzler said, though he didn't, entirely. "May I ask what's happened to the rest of my party?"

"They're perfectly safe," Pressor assured him. "At least for now. What ultimately happens to all of you, of course, is still undecided. I'd like to bring you out for a discussion, if I may."

An unpleasant thrill tingled across Jinzler's skin. Ambassador Jinzler. He'd started this whole charade purely to get himself aboard Formbi's expedition. Quite unintentionally, he'd apparently sold these people on that story, as well.

And unless he was misreading the tone of Pressor's voice, he was about to be dropped into negotiations regarding the fate of everyone aboard the expedition.

For a long second panic bubbled in his throat. He wasn't a diplomat, trained in mediation or negotiation. He was only an electronics tech. Mostly a failed one, too, like he'd been a failure at everything else he'd tried. Luke and Mara should be handling any talks with Guardian Pressor. Them, or Aristocra Formbi—after all, this territory belonged to the Chiss, not the New Republic. Even Commander Fel probably had more experience with foreign cultures than he did.

But he was the one Pressor had chosen. Arguing the point would probably be a bad idea, and admitting his deception would be even worse. Whether he liked it or not, it was up to him. "Certainly," he told the disembodied voice. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

"When the door opens you will step outside," Pressor said. "The girl who met you earlier will take you to a nearby room. I'll be waiting for you there."

"I understand," Jinzler said, glancing down at the top of Feesa's head. "What about those in here with me?"

"They'll have to wait there until we're finished."

Feesa gave a soft whimper. "Please," she whispered. "Please. No."

"You cannot leave us here alone," Bearsh agreed softly. "Please, Ambassador Jinzler."

Jinzler grimaced. This could get very awkward. "I understand your concerns, Guardian," he said. "But my companions... they're not exactly what you'd call heroic."

"We have no need of heroes here, Ambassador," Pressor said, his voice dark. "We don't need them, and we don't like them."

"Of course," Jinzler said hastily. "My point is that it's going to be a severe hardship for them to stay here alone. Besides which," he added as inspiration finally struck, "First Steward Bearsh and the other Geroons came a long way to pay you honor for saving them from slavery to the Vagaari all those years ago. I know they would very much like to be present at our discussions."

There was no answer. Jinzler remained motionless, holding on to Feesa and mentally crossing his fingers. "Very well," Pressor said at last. "They may all accompany you, provided they remain silent. I trust you are willing to guarantee their behavior?"

"I am," Jinzler said firmly. "No one wants to hurt any of you. We're only here to help."

Pressor snorted. "Of course you are."

With one final delicate slice of her lightsaber, Mara cut away the twenty-centimeter-square section of the turbolift car wall she'd been working on, leaving everything behind it untouched. The piece of metal fell inward, stopping abruptly in midair as Luke caught it in a Force grip. "Okay," he said, easing it to the floor as warm air flowed in through the opening. "Let's see what we've got."

"Mostly a lot of wires," Mara said, switching off her lightsaber and stepping closer to the wall.

Luke moved to her side. She was right: in just the small section she'd opened up there were no fewer than eight wires of different colors crisscrossing their way across the gap. "Guardian Pressor wasn't kidding about the power cables being wrapped around the car," he commented.

"He sure wasn't," Mara agreed, pushing experimentally on one of them. It gave about a centimeter and then stopped. "Wrapped pretty tightly, too. We're not going to be able to push them far enough out of the way to squeeze between them."

"What good would that do anyway?" Drask asked. "Even if we left the car, we would still be suspended in midair."

"Sure, but as long as we stayed out of the repulsor beams, we'd be all right," Luke told him. "All we'd have to deal with along the edges would be standard ship's gravity, and there should be access ladders built into the sides of the tube we can use to get down."

"Except that the wires prevent us from reaching them," Drask said tartly. "Have you any other ideas?"

"We're not finished with this one yet," Mara countered, just as tartly. "What do you think, Luke? Should mine be on the other side?"

"Yes," Luke agreed. "Back to back always seems to work best."

"Right."

Crossing to the opposite side of the car, Mara ignited her lightsaber again. With the delicacy of a surgical droid, she began to cut a second opening. "And this will accomplish what?" Drask asked.

"If we do it right, it'll get us out of here," Luke told him.

"And if we don't," Mara added helpfully, "at least it'll kill us quickly."

Drask didn't reply.

Watchman ran his induction meter to the lower edge of the rear wall and straightened up. "Well?" Fel asked.

"The topside repulsor cable comes around the corner right about here," the stormtrooper reported, marking the spot with a daub of synthflesh from his medpac. "It's in slightly worse shape than the power line to the underside generator—the field leakage is definitely stronger."

"Right." Fel shifted his attention to Grappler as he ran his own sensor over the edges of the door. "Anything there?"

"Yes, but not promising," the other said. "If Watchman is right about the differential in leakage levels, it appears the opposing sets of power cables were dropped into a cross-connection pattern right after the door closed behind us."

"So if we try to force it open, we break one of the circuits?" Fel suggested.

"Actually, we'd eventually break both of them," Watchman said dryly. "At least in theory. In actual practice, we'd probably be slammed into something solid one direction or the other before the second circuit popped."

"Let's try to avoid that," Fel said, trying not to sound sarcastic. His stormtroopers' apparently casual attitude, he knew, was just that: apparent. Beneath the surface they were all working as hard as he was to sort through the facts and options. "Anyone have a less lethal suggestion to offer?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Cloud cleared his throat. "I'm not as tech-trained as Watchman and Grappler," he said. "But if we drain some of the power to one of the repulsors, wouldn't the strength of the beam diminish?"

Fel rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. That was an interesting direction to go. "Watchman?"

"I don't think so," the stormtrooper said slowly. "Not with the power cables themselves."

"But we may be able to do something with the control lines," Grappler suggested. "If we can adjust them enough to lower their output, we may be able to lower the car to ground level."

"Right," Watchman concurred. "Of course, we'll only be able to get to the control cables if they're also wrapped around the car. You think they were careless enough to do that?"

"I don't know," Fel said. "Let's find out."

The place Evlyn led them to reminded Jinzler of the meal room back at the Comra relay post: a drab, viewportless place enclosed in undecorated metal, furnished only with a long, plain table and a handful of equally plain chairs.

Seated in the chair at the far end of the table was a dark-haired man in his midfifties with a lined, brooding face, dressed in the same simple fashion as the girl.

"Good day," Jinzler said with a nod, trying to remember how diplomats usually talked on the holodramas he'd liked to watch in the days when such entertainments could still interest him. "Do I have the honor of addressing Guardian Pressor?"

"You do," Pressor acknowledged. His eyes flicked to Feesa and the Geroons, lingered a moment on the wolvkils slung over the aliens' shoulders, then came back to Jinzler. "Sit down."

"Thank you," Jinzler said, choosing a seat midway down the table. Feesa took the chair beside him; Bearsh, perhaps sensing the lack of welcome, sat himself and his compatriot at the far end of the table, as far from Pressor as possible.

"Let's make this simple, Ambassador," Pressor said as the group settled in. "First of all, I don't trust you. Any of you. You arrive suddenly and without warning, invading my ship without even attempting to communicate with us first."

"I understand your feelings and your concerns," Jinzler said. "But the fact is, we didn't know anyone was here until we were already aboard. Even then, if it hadn't been for the Jedi, we probably wouldn't have known about you until we stumbled over Evlyn here."

"Yes," Pressor murmured. "Well, we'll let that pass for the moment. Right now, I'd like to hear why I should permit any of you to come farther into our world."

Jinzler smiled faintly. This was starting to sound and feel almost familiar. Maybe Pressor had learned his diplomatic technique from the holodramas, too. "Don't you mean, why should you permit any of us to live?" he suggested. "Because that really is the question, isn't it?"

At least Pressor had the grace to blush. "I suppose so," he admitted gruffly. "What can you offer that's worth risking the betrayal of my people?"

At the far end of the table Bearsh stirred in his seat. Jinzler threw him a sharp look, and he subsided without speaking. "I don't know exactly what happened to you," he said, turning back to Pressor. "It's obvious you've all suffered tremendously. But I'm here—we're here—in the hope of bringing that suffering to an end."

"And then what?" Pressor demanded. "A glorious return to the Republic? Most of us volunteered for this voyage specifically to escape the very thing you're offering."

"We're not the Republic you left," Jinzler said. "We're the New Republic."

"And, what, you no longer have squabbles among factions and members?" Pressor countered. "The bureaucracy no longer exists? The leaders are wise and benevolent and just?"

Jinzler hesitated. What exactly was he supposed to say? "Of course we still have a bureaucracy," he said carefully. "It's impossible to operate a government without something of that sort. And there are certainly still squabbles and factions. But we've already tried the other option: rule by a single, monolithic Empire. Most of us prefer the alternative."

"An Empire?" Pressor asked, frowning. "When was this?"

"The wheels were already in motion when Outbound Flight left Coruscant," Jinzler said, wondering how much he should say. His goal was to convince Pressor that the New Republic offered hope to these people, not to give the full history of one of the politicians' more spectacular failures. "At first, Palpatine only seemed to want peace—"

"Palpatine?" Pressor cut him off. "Supreme Chancellor Palpatine?"

"That's the one," Jinzler confirmed. "As I was saying, at first he only seemed to want to bring the Republic together. It was only afterward, in hindsight, that we were able to see how he was drawing more and more power to himself."

"Interesting," Pressor said. "But that's the past. This is the present. And I'm still waiting to hear a good reason why we should trust you."

Jinzler took a deep breath. "Because you're all alone out here," he said. "You're in foreign territory, surrounded by the hazards and lethal radiation of a tightly packed globular cluster, sitting in a ruined and useless ship."

"This ship is hardly useless," Pressor said stiffly. "With all the work my father and the droids put into it, this particular Dreadnaught is pretty much ready to fly."

"Then why haven't you loaded everyone aboard and left?" Jinzler countered. "I'll tell you why. You haven't left because you have no idea how to get out." He locked gazes with the other man. "The bottom line is this, Guardian. If you don't trust us—if you kill us, or even if you just send us away, you and your descendants will be here forever."

Pressor's lip twitched. "I can think of worse fates."

"And if it were just you, I wouldn't have any problem with that decision." Jinzler turned to look at Evlyn, standing silently just inside the door. "But it isn't just you, is it?"

Pressor muttered something under his breath. "Well, one thing hasn't changed between the Old and New Republics," he said. "The politicians and diplomats still know how to fight dirty."

He waved a hand as Jinzler opened his mouth. "Never mind. I guess that's how the game has always been played."

"I'm not trying to push you into anything," Jinzler said quietly. "We're not in any rush, and you don't have to make any decisions right now. But ultimately, you have to be aware that your decision is going to affect more than just your own life."

Pressor didn't reply. Jinzler listened to the silence, trying to think of something else to say. "While you're thinking," he said as he finally found something, "we'd very much like to meet the rest of your people and see your ship. It's a testimony to your ingenuity and perseverance that you were all able to survive for so long, particularly after suffering so much devastation."

For another long minute Pressor gazed at him with narrowed eyes, as if trying to decide whether the request was genuine or simply one more diplomats' word game. Then, abruptly, he nodded. "All right," he said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. "You want to see our home? Fine; let's go see it."

"What about the others?" Jinzler asked, standing up as well. "The Skywalkers and Aristocra Formbi and the rest?"

"They'll keep for now," Pressor said, circling the table toward the door. "If we decide we're going to deal with you, I'll release them."

"It would be a nice gesture to at least release Aristocra Formbi," Jinzler said, pressing the point cautiously. "You're in Chiss space, and he's a high-ranking member of the Chiss government. You'll certainly need their help before this is over."

Pressor's lips compressed briefly. "I suppose," he said reluctantly. "All right. The Aristocra and his group can join us. But the Jedi will stay where they are." He considered. "So will those armored soldiers, I think. I don't much like the looks of them."

Jinzler bowed his head. "Thank you, Guardian," he said. To be perfectly honest, he didn't much like the looks of the stormtroopers, either. Fel could talk all he liked about how his Empire of the Hand wasn't the despotic tyranny Palpatine had created. Maybe he was even telling the truth. But Jinzler had lived under an empire once, and he'd long ago learned that words cost nothing to produce.

Pressor reached the door. Then, abruptly, he turned back around. "One other thing," he said, his voice pitched just a bit too casually. "Your name: Jinzler. Any relation to the Jedi Knight Lorana Jinzler?"

Jinzler felt a hard lump form around his heart. "Yes," he said, forcing his voice to be as casual as Pressor's. "She was my sister."

Pressor nodded. "Ah."

He turned around again. "This way."