Survivor's Quest

Fel looked at Drask. "Assuming there's still a ship to go back to."

"There will be," Drask assured him darkly. "There are still Chiss warriors aboard the vessel. It, and they, will be waiting when we return."

"I hope you're right," Fel said. "Okay, that's good enough," he added as Cloud finished the first layer of bandage and started in on a second. "Is that turbolift car still operational, or did that little entrance of theirs wreck it?"

"It looked all right," Watchman said. "Grappler's doing a more complete check on it now."

"Oh, and the Jedi tried to reach us during the battle," Shadow added.

Fel hadn't even heard the call signal from his comlink. "What did they want?"

"They were warning us there were more Vagaari than we might expect," Watchman said.

"I think we got the message," Fel said, starting for the door. "Did anyone answer them?"

"I don't believe so," Watchman said. "I think we were all too busy at the time."

"Understandable," Fel said, retrieving his blaster from the deck where he'd dropped it. "We'll check in with them on the way up."

Grappler was waiting by the shattered turbolift door, his helmet swiveling back and forth as he kept watch along the various corridors for any other surprises the Vagaari might decide to throw at them. "The turbolift is operational," he confirmed.

"Good," Fel said, leading the way inside. "Let's go."

"What then is the plan?" Drask asked as the car began its slightly tentative rise toward D-5.

Fel braced himself. This went against everything he'd been taught, and was going to be embarrassing besides. But he'd already concluded it was the only way. "The plan, General Drask," he said quietly, "is that I'm requesting you to take command of the Five-Oh-First for the duration of this battle."

It was, he reflected, possibly the most surprised he'd ever seen Drask get. "You are asking... command?"

"As you yourself pointed out, you're a ground officer," Fel reminded him evenly. "I'm a flight officer. This is your area of expertise, not mine."

"Yet they are your command," Drask said. "Do you so easily surrender them to another?"

"Not easily at all," Fel admitted. "But it would be the height of arrogance and pride to risk their lives, not to mention the lives of our companions, by insisting on amateur leadership when a professional is standing by. Don't you agree?"

For a moment Drask just gazed at him, his glowing red eyes narrowed. Then, to Fel's surprise, the general actually smiled. The first genuine smile, to the best of Fel's recollection, that any of the Chiss had given any of the Imperials since their arrival aboard the Chaf Envoy. "Well and artfully spoken, Commander Fel," Drask said. "I hereby accept command of this unit."

He lifted a finger. "But," he added, "whereas I know ground combat, you are far more versed in the design and layout of the particular battleground we find ourselves in. It will therefore be a joint command."

Fel inclined his head. In practice, he knew, joint commands were usually a disaster, spawning conflicting orders, dueling egos, and general chaos. But in this case, he also knew that none of those problems was going to arise. He would be content to feed Drask tactical data and let the general direct the action.

Drask obviously knew that, too. Which meant that the offer of joint command had been made solely as a face-saving gesture for Fel himself, to protect his position and his status among his men.

There were some aspects of the Chiss warrior philosophy that still drove Fel crazy. But clearly, there were other aspects he could learn to live with. "Very well, General," he said. "I accept."

"Good." Drask's eyes glittered as he lifted his charric. "Then let us show the Vagaari what it means to wage war on the Chiss Ascendancy and the Empire of the Hand."

Fel smiled, looking at his stormtroopers. "Yes," he said softly. "Let's."

They attacked Mara together, all three wolvkils charging across the council meeting room like furry proton torpedoes. They leapt to the attack, their primary target clearly the hands holding the strange blue-bladed weapon.

Dodging coolly to the side, she cut them down with three quick slashes.

Across the room, Jinzler and the others in the makeshift refuge were already pushing aside the chairs that had made up the roof. "Hurry, please," Feesa pleaded, pushing away one of the chairs and then bending back down to take Formbi's arm. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano is badly hurt."

Mara closed down her lightsaber and hurried over, throwing a quick look at the three Chiss warriors and two young men sprawled on the floor as she passed them. Pressor was already kneeling beside one of the men, but it was clear to her that all five of them were beyond help.

They had pushed over the table and Feesa was helping a shaky and blood-soaked Formbi out when Mara arrived. "Everyone else all right?" she said, glancing around for other signs of injury as she refastened her lightsaber to her belt.

"No one else is hurt," Feesa confirmed, apparently ignoring the line of blood across her own shoulder. "Please, help him."

"Just relax," Mara soothed her, taking a moment to study the three old men who had left the refuge and gathered together against the back wall, as if trying to stay as far away from her as they could. Probably some of the original survivors of the Outbound Flight's destruction, she decided.

"Luke? Mara?"

She lifted Formbi's arm with one hand for a closer look as she pulled out her comlink with the other. "Right here, Fel. You all right?"

"We had a brief tussle with some of the Vagaari and their furry little pets," Fel said. "Watch out for those wolvkils—they're extremely hard to kill."

"Not if you have a lightsaber," Mara told him.

"I'll make a note to start issuing them to the troops," Fel said dryly. "Anyway, we're clear, and heading to D-Five in one of the aft turbolifts. Any new instructions?"

"For the moment, just take out any Vagaari you run into," Mara told him. "We still don't know how many there are, though, so make sure you don't get trapped in an attrition zone. And if you run into any colonists, try to move them somewhere safe."

"Copy. We're on our way."

"We'll be pushing our way back toward you soon," Mara said. "Luke?"

"Right here," his voice came back. "I've put all the wolvkils to sleep, and I'm on my way. What's your situation?"

"Under control," Mara told him. "You might as well not even stop here. Keep going and see if you can drive the Vagaari back toward the Five-Oh-First. I'll finish here and catch up with you."

"Right."

Mara returned her comlink to its pouch and gently let Formbi's arm down. "It's bad, all right," she agreed. "I think you're going to need more than our medpacs can handle. Pressor?"

Pressor looked up from his examination of the other young Peacekeeper, his eyes smoldering. "What?"

"Aristocra Formbi needs medical attention," she told him, wondering at his sudden change in attitude. "Where are your facilities?"

"You mean our medical facilities?" Pressor growled. "For the wounded?"

Mara frowned; and then, belatedly, she got it. Pressor, kneeling beside one of his dead Peacekeepers... "I'm sorry about your friend," she said gently. "But there's nothing we can do for him now."

"So we should instead give our supplies to help an alien?" one of the older men by the wall demanded bitterly. "The very alien who was responsible for bringing these murderers aboard our ship?"

Mara turned to face him. "Look," she said, fighting to keep her voice and temper under control. "I understand your anger. But there's a time for analysis and blame setting, and this isn't it. You've lost two men—"