Survivor's Quest

"I doubt it," Bearsh said. "At any rate, we're not likely to find out. With your communications jamming still in place, you won't be able to summon your pitiful little colony to the attack. By the time they wake up to what's happened, we'll be long gone." He smiled. "And you will be well on the road to a dark and icy death."

He reached down and shook his robe. There was a soft clatter as some small objects fell to the deck. "A small present for the survivors of Outbound Flight," he said. "We have used some already on the turbolifts; these should take care of this particular area."

Frowning, Jinzler turned his head sideways, pressing his cheek against the chair above him to try to see over the edge of the table. There were half a dozen threadlike objects on the deck, he saw, spreading out as they skittered their way toward the walls.

He caught his breath. "Line creepers."

"Very good, Ambassador," Bearsh said approvingly. "After all, I promised that you would die in cold and darkness, didn't I?"

"What are line creepers?" Uliar asked.

"They're like conduit worms," Jinzler told him, feeling his stomach tightening. "Only worse. Bearsh slipped a few into the control lines aboard the Chaf Envoy and nearly shut it down." He lifted his eyebrows. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"We'll be traveling through your vessel for a while longer, distributing the rest of our little pets for maximum effect," Bearsh said to Uliar, ignoring the question. "After that, we'll leave you to your doom."

"There's no need to destroy these people or their home, Bearsh," Formbi said. His voice was deadly calm, with only a hint of the agony he must be feeling from his torn arm. "If you want the Chaf Envoy, take it."

Bearsh snorted. "You underestimate us, Aristocra. We have bigger game in mind than a simple Chiss diplomatic vessel."

He waved toward the wolvkils. "And speaking of game, we'll be leaving our pets behind to make sure you stay here quietly until we are finished. I trust you noticed how difficult they are to kill. If not, or if some of you decide you'd prefer a quicker death than the one we'll be leaving you, I'm certain they'll enjoy the exercise."

"Bearsh—" Formbi said again.

But Bearsh merely turned his back on them and strode away. Again peering out through the chairs, Jinzler saw the other Geroons fall into step behind him, the two uninjured ones supporting the third. The door wheezed open, and Bearsh looked briefly out into the corridor. A moment later they were gone, the door sliding shut behind them.

Jinzler shifted his attention to the three remaining wolvkils. They were padding around now, continuing to clean themselves, occasionally sniffing at their fallen victims. But it was clear they were also keeping an eye on the prisoners behind their barrier.

"I don't understand," Rosemari said, her shaking voice barely above a whisper. "What do they want from us?"

Uliar sighed. "Vengeance, Instructor," he said. "Vengeance for crimes real and crimes imagined."

"What crimes?" Rosemari asked. "What did we ever do to the Geroons?"

"We did nothing to the Geroons," Uliar said bitterly. "That's the problem."

Jinzler turned around to stare at him. "What?"

"Didn't you know, Ambassador?" Uliar bit out, his eyes dark as he glared past Rosemari's shoulder. "Bearsh and his friends aren't Geroons.

"They're Vagaari."

CHAPTER 19

Jinzler blinked at him, the collected images of the voyage flashing through his mind. How could Uliar even think that such excruciatingly humble travel companions could possibly be members of a race of pirates and slavers?

But even before the question formed in his mind, that last vivid image of Bearsh settled like a heavy curtain over all the rest: Bearsh standing placidly by as his wolvkils slaughtered their way across the meeting chamber. "How did you know?" he asked.

"Their voices," Uliar said as he stared into space, a distant agony reflected in his eyes. "Or rather, their speech, when they spoke in their own language just before their attack. I only heard it once, but it's something I'll never forget." The eyes came back to a hard focus. "You genuinely didn't know who they were?"

"Of course not," Jinzler said. "You think we would have let them aboard Outbound Flight if we had?"

"I don't know," Uliar said darkly. "Some of you might have." He turned his gaze toward Formbi. "Possibly the heirs of those who tried to destroy Outbound Flight in the first place."

"Ridiculous," Formbi said, his voice taut with suppressed pain. He was lying on his side along the back wall, his head cradled in Feesa's lap, the bloodstains on his sleeve growing steadily larger. "I've told you before: the Chiss Ascendancy had nothing to do with your destruction. Thrawn acted totally on his own."

"Perhaps," Uliar said. "But what about you, Aristocra? On whose behalf are you acting?"

"Why do we waste time with unimportant matters?" Feesa cut in angrily. "We must get medical attention for Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano. Where is your medical center?"

"What difference does it make?" Uliar growled. "Those things will kill anyone who tries to leave."

"No," Feesa said. "During the battle they attacked only those who carried weapons. As long as we leave unarmed and make no threatening movements, I believe we may pass safely among them."

"Interesting theory," Tarkosa said scornfully. "Are you prepared to risk all our lives on it?"

"It need be no one's risk but mine," Feesa shot back, starting to shift position in the cramped space. "I will go."

"No, don't," Evlyn said. "I saw one of them talking to the animals. I think he told it not to let any of us leave."

"Really," Uliar said, his tone suddenly subtly different. "And how would you know that?"

"I don't know," Evlyn said. "I said I think"

"I am willing to take the risk," Feesa insisted.

"I'm not," Formbi told her, reaching up to touch her arm with his fingertips. "You'll stay here."

"But—"

"That's an order, Feesa," Formbi said, his breathing starting to sound heavy as the loss of blood began to take its toll. "We will all stay here."

"Is that how Blue Ones face hard choices?" Tarkosa said scornfully. "To simply sit and do nothing until they die?"

"Maybe that's what they're hoping," Keely muttered. "Maybe their line creepers aren't as bad as they want us to think. Maybe they hope we'll go charging out there and get torn to bits."

"So instead we sit here and die?" Tarkosa shot back.

"No one's going anywhere," Jinzler said firmly. "There's no need. The Jedi and Imperials are still free. They'll find us."

Keely snorted. "Jedi," he said, biting out the name like a curse.

"There aren't any Jedi," Uliar said. "You heard Bearsh. They're already dead."

"I'll believe that when I see it," Jinzler said, turning around to peer through the chairs. The wolvkils had finished their postslaughter grooming and had moved closer to the makeshift refuge, probably drawn by the voices. They were prowling at arm's length away from the table barrier, their ears straight up, their jaws half open.

"We need a weapon," Uliar murmured. "That's what we need. A weapon."

"Those men and Chiss had weapons, too," Jinzler reminded him, looking past the wolvkils to the dead bodies scattered about the far end of the room. "What we really need is help..."

He trailed off, his eyes focusing on the nearest of the dead Peacekeepers and the comlink hooked to his belt.

The comlink the boy had reached for when Uliar had ordered the jamming to be shut off.

"Director," he said, trying to keep the sudden excitement out of his voice. "If we had one of the Peacekeepers' comlinks, could we shut off the jamming?"