Survivor's Quest

It never had a chance to co

The wolvkil howled in fury, twisting like a snake as it tried to buck her away. Feesa was faster, throwing her arms around its sides and burying her face in the fur of its back. The creature howled again, twisting its head back and forth as it tried to reach her. But Feesa held on, shouting in the Chiss language as Formbi fired round after round of blue fire into the wolvkil's body.

And with that, the paralysis holding Jinzler rooted to the floor abruptly snapped.

Bearsh was standing by himself in a little bubble of calmness, his hands on his hips as he coolly surveyed the carnage going on around him. "Call them off," Jinzler snapped, a sudden fury blazing inside him as he strode toward the Geroon. "You hear me? Call them off."

"I hear you, human," Bearsh said. The nervous, self-effacing voice Jinzler had become accustomed to aboard ship had suddenly changed to something harsh and arrogant. "You are as big a fool as they are. Stay back, or die now in agony instead of later in cold and darkness."

"You're the one who's going to die," Jinzler bit out, feeling his hands curling into fists. Bearsh might be younger, but Jinzler was a good head taller and at least fifteen kilos heavier, and the Geroon wouldn't have the element of surprise they'd had against the young Peacekeeper getting his brains beaten in. He would hammer the Geroon until he called off the attack. Would hammer him all the way to death, if that was what it took.

Perhaps Bearsh saw that in his eyes as he approached. His expression changed, and with a speed Jinzler wouldn't have expected he lifted his hands from his hips and grabbed for the end of his left sleeve. Jinzler tensed, lengthening his stride, trying to beat the Geroon to whatever weapon he was reaching for.

Bearsh's hand reached the sleeve; but instead of drawing a weapon, he merely ripped the outer layer of cloth away. Jinzler had just enough time to see that the arm was covered with what appeared to be lumpy packing material, half black and yellow, half translucent—

And abruptly the arm exploded into a hundred angrily buzzing insects.

He was barely able to wrench himself to a halt in time. For a second or two the insects swarmed aimlessly before coalescing into a spherical pattern swirling around Bearsh. "Careful, human," the Geroon warned softly. "Be very careful. I don't know what schostri stings would do to a human, but they're quickly fatal to most other lifeforms we've used them against."

His mouths curved in a sardonic double smile. "Of course, if you wish to serve as a test case, come ahead."

Casually, he turned his back on Jinzler, crossing toward the Geroon whom Formbi had shot and the two uninjured ones still beating on the Peacekeeper. The swarm moved with him, as if genetically programmed to recognize him as their hive or queen.

Jinzler took a cautious step forward, keeping a wary eye on the insects. Another few steps, and Bearsh would be within reach of the injured Peacekeeper's dropped blaster. If he got to the weapon first, any hope of stopping them and the wolvkils would be gone.

But the Geroon had apparently forgotten there was another spare weapon lying loose on the deck, the one dropped by the other Peacekeeper. Or maybe he simply didn't think it was relevant, since the only ones close enough to reach it were already fighting for their lives against the wolvkils.

Everyone except Dean Jinzler.

He eased his way toward the gun, striving to be as invisible as possible. Even if he shot Bearsh, he knew, the swarm of insects might well take vengeance on him. But it would be worth it to watch Bearsh's smile turn to pain and then to death.

Still no one seemed to have noticed him. Another few steps...

"Ambassador!" Formbi called.

Jinzler twisted his head back around. Uliar and the two councilors had flipped the long conference table onto its side and were dragging it toward one of the room's back corners. Formbi and Feesa were with them, the Aristocra staggering slightly as blood continued to pour from his mangled arm. The wolvkil he had been fighting lay still on the deck, its fur almost uniformly black from multiple charric burns. Rosemari and Evlyn were already back in the corner, Rosemari's arms visibly trembling as she clutched her daughter close to her. "Ambassador!" Formbi called again. "Come. Quickly."

"Shh!" Jinzler hissed at him. Didn't they see what he was trying to do?

"Yes, Ambassador, go," Bearsh agreed.

Jinzler turned back. Bearsh was standing beside the now motionless second Peacekeeper, the boy's blaster pointed casually in Jinzler's direction. "Or would you prefer to die now in agony?"

Jinzler hesitated. But if the Geroons wanted them all dead, there was nothing and no one left to stop them anyway. Clenching his hands one last time, this time into fists of impotent rage and defeat, he backed away.

"Bring chairs," Uliar called. "Quickly."

With his full attention still on the blaster in Bearsh's hand, Jinzler groped blindly for some of the fallen chairs and came up with two of them. All the Chiss warriors were lying broken and bloody on the deck now, he noted distantly, their own battles over. The wolvkils who had killed them stood panting, watching Jinzler with unblinking eyes as they licked their bloody muzzles and paws.

The Survivors had the table in position by the time he arrived, set on its edge across the back corner to form a low barrier. What they wanted with the chairs was quickly evident as Uliar and Tarkosa stacked them like sections of a roof over the top of the triangle-shaped gap they'd created behind the table, using the back walls and the sculpture pedestals for support. The Geroons had gathered together now as well, watching in silence as they completed their task. "Now get inside," Bearsh instructed as the last roofing chair was set in place. "Quickly."

Silently, the prisoners complied, crawling through a gap that had been left between one end of the table and the bulkhead. Uliar, the last one in, pulled a final chair into the gap behind him.

And there they were, Jinzler thought bitterly. Caged animals, in a cage of their own construction.

There was the sound of footsteps, and Bearsh's face appeared through the latticework of chairs above them. "There, now, you see?" the Geroon said sardonically. He had his left arm stretched out to the side, and the swarming insects were begi

No one replied. "All right, you've got us," Jinzler said, deciding that someone should find out what was going on. "What do you want?"

Bearsh's mouths twisted crookedly. "I want you all dead, of course," he said. "The only question remaining is the method."

He gestured behind him, to where the other Geroons were slathering some kind of salve on the one Formbi had shot. "Purpsh, for instance, would very much like to gun you all down right here so that he can enjoy your screams. Especially yours, Aristocra Formbi. But I've decided to let you choose exactly how you will die."

"You won't get away with this," Uliar said. The words were defiant, but to Jinzler his voice merely sounded old.

"Oh, I think we will," Bearsh said calmly as he rewrapped his sleeve over the now quiescent insects. "Your precious Jedi and Imperial stormtroopers should all be dead by now—our sabotage of the turbolift cars they were trapped in will have taken care of that problem. Who else is there to stop us?"

"We will," Uliar growled. "We've been ready for trouble for fifty years. You don't think we can take you?"