Survivor's Quest

Dead.

"Where is this second access door?" Drask shouted into his ear.

Fel glanced around, getting his bearings. "Another two or three meters," he said. "Same side of the corridor as the last one."

"Understood."

Fel resumed firing, wondering at the Chiss's composure. The exit into the engine room that Fel had so confidently told him about was all the way at the other end of the corridor, too far away for them to reasonably expect to make before the Vagaari numerical superiority finally took them down.

But the access door into the turbolift lobby itself was only a few meters along the corridor. And so that was where Drask had ordered them to go.

The lobby would be full of Vagaari, of course. But anyplace they could reach would likely have that same problem. At least in the lobby they would have a little more room to maneuver.

And maybe the Jedi would come in time. Maybe.

The medic straightened up, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, but that's all I can do."

Jinzler nodded silently, gazing down at the treatment table. Formbi was lying still, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. The medic had mostly gotten the bleeding stopped, though Jinzler could see traces still seeping out through the bandages. But the Chiss had already lost a lot of blood, and there was no way to replace it.

At least not now. Not until they could get back to the Chaf Envoy and its medical supplies, or else find a Chiss crewer with the same blood type.

Assuming any of the crewers aboard the Chaf Envoy were still alive.

"What about bacta?" he asked, looking up at the medic again. "Is there any available?"

The medic looked at him in astonishment. "You must be joking," she said. "Most of the bacta we had was lost or corrupted in the battle and aftermath. We used up what was left probably twenty years ago."

"The ambassador isn't joking," a dark voice came from the corner. "He's most serious."

Jinzler turned around. Councilor Keely was sitting there, holding a salve bandage to his elbow where he'd somehow scraped it raw during the battle in the meeting room. "Ambassador Jinzler is a friend of all," Keely continued, staring at the deck. "Didn't you know? He's a friend to Blue Ones, to Jedi, even to murdering Vagaari. Yes, Ambassador Jinzler likes everyone."

He lifted a baleful glare to Jinzler. "This Blue One is the real reason your Jedi friends are so anxious to get to the turbolifts, isn't it?" he demanded, nodding at the table. "So that you can get him to his ship to be patched up. Once that happens, you'll all just fly away and leave us here to die."

"That's not true," Jinzler said, keeping his voice steady. He'd had doubts about Keely's mental stability even before the Vagaari had unleashed their wolvkils on him and the rest of the Council. Now he was even less sure about it. "There are also people aboard the Chiss ship who can get rid of the line creepers the Vagaari are leaving behind. The faster we get them down here, the sooner we can restore your ship to full power."

Keely snorted. "Oh, yes. It sounds so reasonable." Abruptly, he stood up. "But then, your entire profession is based around your ability to lie to people, isn't it?"

"Sit down, Keely."

Jinzler looked over at the room's waiting area, where Uliar and Tarkosa had been talking together in low tones. The conversation had ceased, and both men were gazing at Keely, their expressions unreadable. "Sit down," Uliar repeated. "Better yet, go back to your rooms."

"But he's a liar, Chas," Keely insisted. "By definition, that means he's been lying to us."

"Very possibly," Uliar agreed coldly. "But you will still sit down."

For a moment the two men locked gazes. Then, with a noisy huff, Keely dropped back into his chair. "Liar," he muttered, turning his gaze back to the deck.

The medic looked back at Jinzler, and he thought he could detect a hint of fresh strain in her face. "I'm going to run a sample of his blood," she told him. "It might be possible to synthesize at least some of the basic plasma for him. It wouldn't be whole blood, but it would be better than nothing."

"It would certainly help," Jinzler acknowledged. "Thank you."

The medic gave him a flicker of a smile and walked away. Feesa moved into the spot by the table where the woman had been standing, her face etched with worry as she gazed down at Formbi. "He'll make it," Jinzler assured her, knowing even as he said it that it was probably a lie. Maybe Keely was right about him. "He's strong, and they've got the bleeding stopped. He'll make it."

"I know," Feesa said, and Jinzler could hear in her voice that she knew she was speaking a lie, too. "It's just..."

"He's a relative of yours, isn't he?" Jinzler asked, searching for something less painful to talk about. "You know, I don't think I ever heard how Chiss families are set up. Especially those who make up the Ruling Families."

She looked at him blankly. "The Nine Ruling Families are like any other families," she said. "Blood and merit create siblings and cousins and ranking distants. Some are released, others are rematched, others are born to trial. The same as any other family."

She lowered her eyes to Formbi again. "This wasn't supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen."

On the table, Formbi's eyes fluttered partway open. "Feesa," he murmured. "No more."

"What do you mean?" Jinzler said, frowning. "No more what?"

Feesa turned her face away. "Nothing," she said, her voice suddenly sounding oddly muffled.

The back of Jinzler's neck began to tingle. "Feesa?" he prompted. "Feesa, what's going on?"

"Peace, Ambassador," Formbi murmured. "I will tell you... everything... later. But not... now." His head turned slightly to the side.

Toward where Keely was still staring at the deck, muttering to himself.

Jinzler felt his breath catch in his throat, a part of that conversation behind their wolvkil barrier flashing suddenly to mind. You genuinely didn't know who they were? Uliar had asked. Of course not, Jinzler had replied, angry and frightened and indignant. You think we would have let them aboard Outbound Flight if we had? Some of you might have, Uliar had countered. Possibly the heirs of those who tried to destroy Outbound Flight in the first place.

And then, suddenly, Feesa had broken in and changed the subject.

You really didn't know who they were? You really didn't know who they were? "Yes, Aristocra," he said quietly, feeling cold all over. "Later will do fine."

"There!" Drask's voice shouted in Fel's ear. "There!"

Fel glanced to his right in mild surprise. Preoccupied with defense, he hadn't even noticed that they'd reached the access door. He fired two more quick shots down the service corridor, then risked another sideways glance to locate the release control. There it was, half a meter above his head. "Grappler!" he shouted. "Stun grenade!"

"Shak," the stormtrooper muttered back, his voice strained.

The Eickarie word for ready, Fel recalled uneasily. Apparently, Grappler was too far gone to even be able to translate into Basic. Fel could only hope he was alert enough to remember to arm the stun grenade before he threw it. "Ready—" He lunged up and slapped the release "—go!"

The door creaked slightly as it began to slide open. Fel got a glimpse through the opening of armored Vagaari turning their weapons toward the noise; and then Grappler lobbed the grenade through the opening. Fel hit the release again, reversing the door's direction. There were sounds of sudden consternation outside as the panel slid closed—

And then the whole service corridor bulkhead seemed to bow inward toward them as the grenade went off.