Survivor's Quest

"Or maybe someone looking to stir up trouble between Formbi and us," Mara pointed out. "You were within half a heartbeat of arguing with him in front of his own people. You think he could have let you get away with that?"

"He was being petty," Luke said with a sigh. "But you're right. His ship; his rules. Anyway, good guests don't argue with their hosts."

"So be a good guest," Mara said, taking his arm soothingly as they walked. "And while we do that, we can also see about watching his back."

He gave her a sideways look. "You think Formbi's in danger?"

"Someone's trying to scatter chaos around this ship," she reminded him. "A major political assassination, or even just an attempt, would pretty well end the whole thing, don't you think?"

Luke shook his head. "I wish I knew what was on Outbound Flight that's so important."

"Me, too," Mara said. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

The searchers found the charric half an hour later in a ventilation intake a few meters down the corridor from where Estosh had been shot. Further investigation showed it had been stolen from an arms locker in the stern of the ship near the main engines, a locker whose fasteners had been carefully gimmicked for quick opening. Luke's guess, Mara had to admit, had been right on the nose.

There was, of course, no indication as to who had actually taken the weapon or fired the shot.

For the next two days Mara did some quiet poking around on her own, examining the scene of the attack, learning everything she could about charrics and their operation, and holding casual conversations with everyone who would talk to her.

The interviews were, unfortunately, less than illuminating. Most of the crewers had stopped being neutral toward her and her questions and gave halfhearted answers or none at all. The non-Chiss passengers were friendlier but even less helpful. Most had been alone at the time of the shooting, with no way of corroborating their stories. Only the stormtroopers claimed to have been together in Fel's ship, and even there careful questioning established that they weren't in sight of each other during much of the critical period.

She also spoke twice with Estosh, trying to draw out a more complete description of the incident. But he, too, was of little help. He'd been facing away from the shooter, his thoughts on other matters, and the shock and pain of the injury itself seemed to have thrown an extra layer of haze over his memories. About the only positive thing that came out of those discussions was the fact that he was definitely on the path to recovery.

It was frustrating to hit so many blind alleys. And yet, paradoxically, she found the process itself strangely exhilarating. In many ways this kind of investigation was exactly what she'd been trained for, back when Palpatine had been preparing her to be his silent agent. Certainly it had been one of the most stimulating aspects of her service to him.

Only now it was even better. Here, there was none of the brooding air of hopelessness that had seemed to be the normal state of affairs under Palpatine's Empire, a hopelessness that had hung like a black cloud over every job and every mission. No one aboard Chaf Envoy cringed as she approached, hating and fearing her, or else welcomed her with the false courtesy of someone hoping to twist her authority to his own private ends.

True, most of the Chiss crewers still seemed to heartily dislike the Imperials. But it was a contemptuous dislike, born of a sense of superiority of culture and purpose, not the terrified, hopeless hatred those under the Empire's heel had displayed toward their masters. Fel, in response, walked about with his head held high, not with the arrogance of a Grand Moff or Imperial general, but with a sense of pride about who he was and what he and the Empire of the Hand had accomplished. It was the same kind of pride that she'd often seen in Han or Leia, or in the pilots of Rogue Squadron, or even in Luke himself.

And as she observed and analyzed it all, she couldn't help but compare it to the very different flavor of life she'd left behind in the New Republic. To the squabbling in the Senate that mirrored the hundreds of tensions and clashes between neighboring star systems, or to the factions and power centers maneuvering for position and supremacy on Coruscant that constantly siphoned off energy and resources that could be far better spent in other ways.

Palpatine had been hateful, vicious, and destructive, especially toward the hundreds of alien species under his domination. But she had to admit that, at least on a purely practical level, the efficiency and order of his Empire had been a vast improvement over the bloated bureaucracy and bribe-driven operation of the Old Republic that had preceded it.

What would that Empire have been like, she couldn't help wondering, if people like Parck and Fel had been in command instead of Palpatine? What could that efficiency and order have accomplished, for that matter, in the hands of someone like Thrawn, himself a nonhuman?

And more than once, late at night as she lay in bed beside Luke, she found herself wondering what it would have been like to serve an empire like that.

What it would be like to serve an empire like that.

It was the late part of ship's night after one of those speculative moments that the room's comm panel buzzed them abruptly awake. Twitching away from her, Luke rolled over to key it on. "Yes?" he called.

"This is Aristocra Formbi," the voice noted. "You and Jedi Skywalker may wish to wake and get yourselves dressed."

"What's wrong?" Mara called.

"Nothing's wrong," Formbi said. "We've arrived."

"There," Formbi said, pointing at the main command center Display. "There, just to the right of center. Do you see it?"

"Yes," Luke said, peering at the image. There was a ship there, all right, its once shiny hull blackened and crackled with multiple laser and missile impacts. It lay poised just over the crest of a steep hill on the planetoid's surface, as if it had been somehow frozen in the act of toppling over the edge.

And as the Chaf Envoy continued its inward spiral, he saw how it was the ship managed to stay suspended in midair. From points near the bow and the stern slender tubes could be seen extending from the underside of the hull, stretching downward at a shallow angle and co

"Is that your Outbound Flight?" Formbi asked quietly, Luke nodded. The ship was a Dreadnaught, all right: six hundred meters long, armed with an awesome array of turbolasers and other weapons, capable of carrying and supporting nearly twenty thousand crewers and passengers.

Or it had been once. Not anymore. Gazing at the battered hull, he felt a stirring of distant pain for those who had been aboard when this had happened. "I think so," he told Formbi. "It fits the description, anyway."

"Engines look mostly intact," Mara commented. Her voice was calm, almost clinical, but Luke could feel the pain and turmoil behind the words. "The turbolaser blisters and shield bays were pretty well pounded, but the rest doesn't seem too bad. With some work, it might actually be able to fly again."

"The vessel on the surface appears capable of sustaining life," Formbi agreed. "The sensors indicate it has air and heat, and is using low levels of power. The other vessel, the one half visible at the foot of the hill, exhibits none of those characteristics."