FicWad

From what Car'das later gathers, Ar'alani's inspection group manages to return to Crustai from the Trade Federation battle site nearly two hours before Thrawn makes it back from the so-called "inspection tour" the Admiral had sent him on. His report, not surprisingly, goes quickly, and he's back with Car'das and Maris for a quick language session less than an hour later. If he realizes that something significant has happened during his absence, Car'das can't find any sign of it in either his face or voice. And by that point he's had enough time to calm down and begin to worry about the effect that his outburst might have on both Ar'alani's and Thrass' opinion of him and their opinion regarding any action that might be taken against the Vagaari. In the end, after agonizing over the decision for several hours, Car'das finally decides to see whether or not Thrawn is going to say anything about either his absence or the report about the battle against the Trade Federation task force that Ar'alani and Thrass managed to coerce out of Car'das before he says anything, just in case Thrawn is either in the middle of planning something or trying to put some more distance between himself and the three humans while Ar'alani and Thrass are present and conducting their investigation. Car'das just doesn't want to risk saying or doing anything that might paint Thrawn in a bad light to the other Chiss, even though both his curiosity and his wish to help both scream at him over the decision to remain silent. Thus, the next two days go by very slowly indeed. Ar'alani spends most of her time in her quarters studying the data she's collected from the battle site, emerging only for meals or to roam the base looking for warriors to question. Although she doesn't yet seem to have run into the two warriors who heard Thrawn announce his (bogus) suspicions about the Bargain Hunter's crew before Kav and Commander Stratis, Car'das knows that it's only a matter of time before she does, and the added strain from that makes it very hard for him to sleep at night.

During those two days, Car'das tries to distract himself by spending more time with Qennto and Maris. But their conversations are even more depressing and worrisome, and all that ends up doing is making him stress even more. Qennto has started to act like a caged animal, his broodings peppered with wild plans involving raids on the armory and storage room followed by a daring escape in the /Bargain Hunter/. While Maris, for her part, still professes confidence in Thrawn's honor, even she is clearly starting to have private doubts about his ability to protect them against Admiral Ar'alani. And it certainly doesn't help any at all that Thrawn himself is in and out quite a bit over those two days, apparently taking Ar'alani's phony inspection order very seriously. Car'das only manages to have one single real conversation with the Chiss Commander during that time - a long late-night talk in Car'das's quarters right after Ar'alani's battle-site survey - and Thrawn's fatigue and tension are so plainly evident that, first of all, Car'das forgets himself enough to actually get up from his chair, take the obviously exhausted Crahsystor by the shoulders, and bodily lead him over to and then press him down onto the bunk, in the process rendering the Commander so thoroughly bemused that he simply doesn't seem to know what to do or say to Car'das and the two end up speaking about everything but the events of the past day while Car'das awkwardly tries to avoid Thrawn's gaze and the Commander stares at him as if he were a riddle to be solved. Then, when Thrawn finally does leaves, Car'das ends up staying up even later, pacing around the room and worrying about whether or not the Commander might have finally overstretched himself. The only conclusion he comes to, though, is the same one he's already arrived at: something needs to be done; no one else seems willing to try or to even help; and so, if it's going to happen, then Car'das is the one who will have to do it.

Unfortunately, there are few preparations that he can actually make. The Bargain Hunter is far too well guarded, and in any case he has no intention whatsoever of trying a solo flight with the ungainly freighter through the entrance tunnel with Thrawn's fighters in pursuit. At the far end of the docking area, though, is a long-range shuttle that the Chiss seem mostly to be ignoring. After he notices that, Car'das manages to teach himself the rudiments of flying the Chiss shuttle without anyone seeming to be the wiser by spending a few hours in the piloting tutorials of the base's computer system and combining that knowledge with his previous training in reading Cheunh symbols. Later on, he manages to slip aboard the shuttle without being seen and spends an hour in the pilot's seat, mentally running through the lessons and checklists and making sure that he really does know where everything's located. (After all, when the time finally does come, he really doesn't want Admiral Ar'alani to come charge into the shuttle to find him fumbling helplessly with the wrong controls.) After that, he only needs to get a hold of Ar'alani's copy of the Springhawk's navigational download - which, unfortunately, proves to be a somewhat more problematic task. Thrawn himself eventually provides the opening for that one, inviting Ar'alani and Thrass to a formal dinner on the second night. The cylinder the Admiral had shown him ends up being mixed in with a batch of similar tubes carrying the data she'd recorded at the battle site, and it takes Car'das several tense minutes to locate the correct one. After that, though, his preparations are entirely complete. He goes to bed early that night, pleased with himself and with at least part of the burden of stress and worry lifted off of his shoulders, but of course it doesn't do him any good. He spends most of the night thinking and fretting anyway, his sleep coming in short, nightmare-filled dozings. Like the eerie calm that so often precedes the bursting of a massive storm, he knows that the quiet of the past couple of days is about to end.

Midmorning on that third day, it finally does.

"No," Car'das firmly declares, meeting Ar'alani's glowing red eyes as calmly as he can. "We're not spies. Not for the Republic, and not for anyone else."

"Then what precisely did Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo mean by his accusation?" the Admiral promptly counters. "And don't deny that he said it. I have the sworn statements of the two warriors who were present at the time."

"I don't deny it," Car'das shrugs, his eyes flicking to Thrass. The Syndic is standing silently a few steps behind Ar'alani, his expression harder even than the Admiral's. Perhaps he knows better than she does what a charge of harboring spies would mean to his brother's career. Or perhaps he's just another xenophobic bigot like that Aristocra fellow and, until now, has just been hiding it better. Either way, Car'das can tell there won't be any help coming from that particular quarter. So, shrugging mentally, he continues by adding (without any real expectation that it will do any good but unwilling to simply roll over for them, either), "But I also can't explain it. Maybe he was trying to confuse the Trade Federation commanders."

"Commanders who have apparently vanished," Ar'alani instantly and quite pointedly counters. "Along with an apparently intact alien warship."

"I don't know anything about that, either," Car'das calmly but firmly insists, continuing to hold her gaze unflinchingly. Unconsciously, he makes the same small hand gesture that he's come to know as Thrawn's version of a shrug (in the process inadvertently reminding both Chiss of the fact that he has been spending what they consider to be an inordinate - and, for Thrass, an increasingly worrisome - amount of time with Mitth'raw'nuruodo) and then adds, "All I know is what I've already told you: we're merchants who had a hyperdrive accident and lost our way. Ask the rest of my crew if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I will," Ar'alani assures him, voice and manner glacial. "In the meantime, you're confined to your quarters. Dismissed."

For a moment Car'das is tempted to remind her that he's still under Thrawn's authority, not hers, and that she can't simply order him around. But only for a moment. Turning, he stalks out of the room, letting his stiff back and his proudly raised head do the talking for him.

He doesn't go back to his quarters, though. The Chiss warriors are used to seeing him roaming freely around the base, and it hadn't sounded to him like Ar'alani would make any official pronouncements to the contrary until after she'd interrogated Qennto and Maris. Which means that he has that long to make his escape.

The shuttle is still parked where it had been the previous day. There are a few Chiss working in the area, but the time for subterfuge is long past. Striding along like he owns the place, Car'das steps briskly through the hatchway into the shuttle, seals it, and then heads forward. The vessel is a civilian model, with a simpler and quicker start-up procedure than a military ship would have had. Within five minutes he has the systems up and running. Five minutes more, and he's disengaged from the docking clamps and is making his way carefully down the tunnel. And, miracle upon miracles, no one follows him out. (If he were a bit more prone to paranoia or as much of a cynic as he used to believe himself to be, before meeting the Commander, Car'das might've been worried about that. As it is, though, he's simply incredibly relieved and whispers a tremulous prayer of thanks to the Force.) He looks around as he reaches open space, half expecting to see the intact Trade Federation battleship lurking in the shadow of one of the other asteroids. But it's nowhere to be seen - not that it really matters, of course. He knows where he's going, and there's no one who can stop him now that he's free of the asteroid and in the clear. And so, turning the shuttle onto the proper vector, he hits the hyperdrive control and makes the jump to lightspeed. The next stop, assuming he's properly programmed in the Springhawk's nav data, will be the alien system where he, Thrawn, and Maris had witnessed the Vagaari attack five weeks ago. With any luck, that campaign will be over. With even more luck, the Vagaari will still be there. And with just a little bit more luck still, if the Vagaari actually are still there, they won't blow him out of the sky immediately upon seeing the Chiss shuttle. Hopefully. Maybe. (And please the Force that it be so!)

Six hours later, he emerges from hyperspace to find that the battle is indeed over and promptly has to suppress an urge to be violently sick.

As he eases the shuttle along carefully through the debris, he can plainly tell that the defenders put up a spirited defense. Blackened hulks are everywhere, floating amid bits of hull and hatch and engine. There are bodies, too. Far too many bodies. Not that their sacrifice has done them or their world any good. There are dozens of Vagaari ships orbiting the planet, nestled up to it like carrion avians around a fresh corpse. Most are the bubble-hulled warships they'd seen in the battle, but there are also a number of the civilian transports that apparently had waited for the fighting to end before showing up. A steady stream of smaller ships is moving in and out of the atmosphere, no doubt bringing plunder and slaves up to the orbiting ships and then heading down again for fresh loads. Briefly, an image flashes into Car'das's mind of streams of hive insects zeroing in on a dropped bit of rovvel picnic salad . . . and then a floating body bounces gently off the shuttle's canopy, jarring him back to reality. If he has any brains at all, he knows, he would turn the shuttle around right now and head back to Crustai to take his chances with Admiral Ar'alani. Or else he would abandon Qennto and Maris completely and make a wild and desperate run for Republic space. Instead, swearing softly under his breath and ignoring the roiling of his stomach, he turns towards the largest of the orbiting warships and heads in.

Even with most of their attention on their looting, the Vagaari are still cautious enough to protect their backs. The half a dozen roving fighters he's already counted in the system intercept him before he's covered even a quarter of the distance, and suddenly his comm crackles with melodious but evil-sounding alien speech. "I don't understand your language," Car'das replies in Sy Bisti. "Do you speak Sy Bisti?"

The only response is more menacing alien speech.

"How about Minnisiat?" he immediately tries, switching to his newest trade language to ask the question. "Can anyone there understand Minnisiat?"

There is a short pause. "State your name, your species, and your intentions," the alien voice finally comes back, mouthing the trade language with some difficulty.

"My name is Jorj Car'das," Car'das tells him, doing his best to answer promptly without seeming to rush and to keep his voice even so that he won't sound as terrified as he actually feels. "I'm a human from a world called Corellia." He takes a deep breath to steady himself, crosses his fingers mentally, and then takes the plunge. "I'm here to offer you a deal."

Afterwards, the fighters escort him to one of the smaller warships, directing him to a starboard docking bay. A group of heavily armed and armored guards composed of several short bipeds with large hands, their features hidden by faceplates lavishly decorated to look like fright masks, is waiting there for him. They promptly take him to a small room (too tiny to really hold them all comfortably) loaded with sensor equipment, where he is stripped, searched, and scanned multiple times, his clothing taken away presumably for similar scrutiny. The stolen Chiss shuttle, he has no doubt, is undergoing a similarly thorough examination. Only when they are satisfied that he is not a threat is he taken to another room, this one bare of everything except a cot, where he is promptly left alone. He then spends most of the next two hours either trying to rest or else giving up the effort and pacing back and forth across his extremely small cell. The thought keeps running along the back of his mind that, if the Vagaari are smart, they'll simply kill him out of hand and go on with their looting. /An avian in the hand/, after all, is a pretty universal maxim. But maybe, just /maybe/, they will be greedy as well as smart. Greedy, and curious. All he can do is hope, at this point. Well. Hope, and worry, and pace some more.

Two hours after being tossed into his cell, the guards return with his clothing. They silently watch him dress, then march him out and along a corridor to a hatch marked with alien symbols. Beyond the hatch, to his relief, is a shuttle and not simply a quick death by spacing. They nudge him inside and pile in behind him, and a minute later they're off. The shuttle has no viewports, giving him no clue as to where they're actually going while they're going, but when the hatch opens again it's to a double row of Vagaari soldiers in fancier uniform armor than his captors. Apparently, someone in authority has decided to see him. Still he would've expected to be taken someplace small and cramped and anonymous, as befit a proper interrogation. So it's a shock when the final blast door opens onto a large chamber that would easily rival the most elaborate groundside throne rooms he's ever seen. Against the back wall is a raised dais with a large, exquisitely decorated chair in the center, occupied by a Vagaari clad in a heavy-looking multicolored robe with sunburst shoulder and ankle guards, a serrated cloak back, and no fewer than four separate belts around his waist. Flanking him are a pair of Vagaari in only slightly less gaudy robes - advisers or other underlings, probably. All three wear tall wraparound face masks that reach from their cheekbones to probably a dozen centimeters above the tops of their heads, decorated in the same fearsome pattern as the soldiers' combat faceplates. A cynical thought flickers through Car'das's mind (the height of the masks is probably designed to compensate for the species' natural shortness and make them look more dangerous to their enemies), but he's far too cautious to allow any of his thoughts to show upon his face. He's come too far to blow things now by laughing at an inopportune moment. Continuing to look around the room, he sees that there are other Vagaari lining the walls, some in soldiers' armor and others in what appears to be civilian clothing and simple face paint. All of them are gazing silently at the prisoner who's being brought before the throne.

Car'das waits until the guards have positioned him three meters back from the throne, and then he bows low. "I greet the great and mighty Vagaari - " he begins to say in Minnisiat.

And is immediately slammed to his hands and knees by a surprisingly painful sharp blow across his shoulders. "You do not speak in the presence of the Miskara until spoken to," one of the guards reproves him.

Car'das opens his mouth to apologize, catches his near error just in time, and simply nods his head once, deeply, in acknowledgment instead, remaining carefully silent.

For a long minute the rest of the room is quiet, too. Car'das wonder if they're waiting for him to get up, but with his shoulder blades throbbing from that blow it seems a much better idea to stay where he is until otherwise instructed.

Apparently (thankfully!), that's the right decision. "Very good," a surprisingly deep voice comes from the dais at last. "You may rise." Carefully, tensing for another blow, Car'das stands up. To his relief, the blow doesn't come. Instead, the Vagaari seated on the throne announces, "I am the Miskara of the Vagaari people. You will address me as Your Eminence. I'm told you have the insolence to demand that I bargain with you."

"I make no demands of any sort, Your Eminence," Car'das immediately hastens to assure him. "Rather, I'm in terrible difficulty and came here hoping the great and mighty Vagaari people might be willing to come to my assistance. In return for your aid, I hope to offer something you might find of equal value."

The Miskara merely regards him coolly. "Tell me of this difficulty."

"My companions and I are merchants from a distant realm," Car'das immediately tells him. "Nearly three months ago we lost our way and were taken captive by a race of beings known as the Chiss. We've been their prisoners ever since."

A twitter of muted conversation runs around the room at that. "Prisoners, you say," the Miskara repeats. Car'das would swear that the visible part of his face had seemed to harden at the mention of the Chiss, but the Miskara's voice certainly isn't giving anything away, and that sense of calm is more than a little bit disconcerting, especially when the Vagaari adds, "I see no chains of captivity about your neck."

"My apparent freedom is an illusion, Your Eminence," Car'das makes himself insist, though his stomach is churning and his hands want to tremble. "My companions are still in Chiss hands, as is our ship. Of equal importance, the Chiss now refuse to release to us some of the spoils of one of their raids, spoils that we were promised and that we need to pay off the late fees our customers will demand for being held by the Chiss for so long that our cargo has become overdue. Without that treasure, we will face certain death when we reach home."

"Where are your companions being held?"

"At a small base built deep inside an asteroid, Your Eminence," Car'das replies, though his stomach is knotting within him the entire time. "The navigational data necessary to locate it is contained in the computer of the vessel in which I arrived."

"And how did you know how and where to find us?"

Car'das braces himself for a violent reaction. I will do whatever necessary, Thrawn had once told him, to protect those who depend on me. With Thrawn so willing to risk not only his career but his life to protect a people who apparently don't want to be protected, can he do any less to protect his two companions, who so desperately do want such help? The answer is as inevitable as it is hard. "Because, Your Eminence," he admits, "I was present aboard the Chiss attack cruiser that raided your forces here during your battle of conquest five weeks ago."

A deadly silence immediately settles over the room. Car'das waits, forcing himself to remain still and to hold to his outward semblance of calm, even though he is painfully aware of the armed soldiers standing all around him. "You stole one of our ship nets," the Miskara declares at last, his voice having dropped menacingly low.

"The Commander of the Chiss force did that, yes," Car'das replies, careful to offer up the correction without actually seeming to correct the Miskara outright "As I say, I was his prisoner, and took no part in the attack."

"Where is this Chiss Commander now?"

"I don't know exactly," Car'das replies, acutely aware of the fact that he is hedging and that the Miskara might not take it very well. "But the base where my ship and companions are being held is under his command. Wherever he might travel, he will always return there."

At that, though, the Miskara only smiles at him thinly. "So you offer to trade your companions and some of our own treasure for nothing more than a chance at revenge?"

That is not, Car'das uneasily notes, the most auspicious way of phrasing it. However . . . "You'd get your ship net back, too," he finally offers, unable to think of anything else to say.

"No," the Miskara instantly and quite firmly snaps. "The offering is insufficient."

Car'das feels his throat tighten painfully. To have come so far, only to be told /no /- ! "Your Eminence, I beg you - "

"Do not beg!" the Miskara instantly snaps, voice hard and furious. "Grubs beg. Inferiors beg. /Not /beings who would speak and bargain with the Vagaari. If you wish us to help you and your companions, you must find more to offer me."

"But I have nothing more than this, Your Eminence," Car'das protests, his voice starting to tremble a little bit in spite of all his efforts to remain outwardly calm. He can't believe that this is happening, and his mind begins to spin helplessly in circles, unable to avoid the fact that the Vagaari have to agree to the deal for his plan to work. "I swear to you."

"Not even those?" the Miskara only demands, pointing over Car'das's shoulder.

Confused, Car'das turns around. Sometime during the conversation someone has brought in four large crates, two of them a head taller than him, though the other two only come up to his waist. "I don't understand," he admits, frowning, at an absolute loss. "What are those?"

"They were aboard your transport," the Miskara replies with a suspicious frown. "Do you claim ignorance of them?"

"I do, Your Eminence," Car'das insists, now completely lost. What in the worlds could Thrawn have had stashed aboard the shuttle? "I stole the vessel solely to come ask for your help. I never looked to see if there was anything aboard."

"Then look now," the Miskara immediately orders, voice utterly implacable. "Open the crates and tell me what you see."

Half expecting to be shot in the back, Car'das carefully makes his way back over to where the crates are. The Vagaari have already opened all of them, of course, merely setting the front panels loosely back into place. Stepping to one of the smaller boxes, he gets a grip on the panel and pulled it off. And then, mind white with shock, finds himself painfully choking upon his own breath. Inside, folded up neatly with their arms wrapped around their knees, are a pair of Trade Federation battle droids.

"Do you recognize them?" the Miskara demands.

"Yes, Your Eminence," Car'das automatically confirms, too stunned to do anything but answer truthfully. He is still staring blankly at the droids when, quite suddenly, something clicks into place in his mind and it all abruptly makes such perfect sense that it's almost as if he's been allowed a glimpse inside the working of Thrawn's brilliant mind. All but giddy with relieved understanding, he promptly tells the Miskara, "They're battle droids of a sort used by one of the species in our region of space. The Commander also raided a force of those people; this must be part of the spoil of that raid."

"What are droids?"

"Mechanical servants," Car'das replies, silently noting that Thrawn has been proven right. Apparently, no one out in this area of space knows anything about droids. At least, no one the Vagaari has run into. "Some are self-motivated, while others require a centralized computer to give them their instructions."

"Show me how it works."

Car'das obediently turns back to the crate, peering inside. There's no sign of a controller or programming console. "I don't see the equipment I need to start it up," he finally admits, hedging a little bit again but unable to believe that Thrawn would pack the droids away like this without a controller. Stepping up to the other small box, he pulls off the front and peers inside. There are two more folded battle droids inside, but again there's no sign of a controller. Each of the two larger boxes turn out to contain one of the even deadlier droideka destroyer droids. But there's still no sign of a controller. Trying to stamp out the first returning swirls of panic, he announces, "I'm sorry, Your Eminence, but without the right equipment I can't start them up."

"Perhaps this would be of use," the Miskara suggests. He gestures, and one of the non-armored Vagaari watching the proceedings pulls a datapad from beneath his robe. Stepping up to Car'das, he offers it to him.

A small ripple of relief washes over Car'das, removing some of his growing tension. It's a Trade Federation droid controller, alright, one labeled in both Neimoidian and Basic. "Yes, Your Eminence, it will," he tells the Miskara as he looks over the controls. Activator . . . ah. Yes. There. "Shall I try to activate them now?"

"Try?"

Car'das grimaces at the choice of words. "Shall I activate them now, Your Eminence?" he immediately corrects himself.

"Yes."

Bracing himself, Car'das pushes the switch.

The result is all he could have hoped for. In perfect unison, the four battle droids unfold themselves halfway, walk forward out of their crates, and then stand up, smoothly reaching back over their shoulders and drawing their blaster rifles. The response of the droidekas is even more impressive, as they roll forward out of their crates and unfold into their tripedal battle stances with smooth, continuous motions. Around one of them, as if to demonstrate the full range of its capabilities, the faint haze of a shield appears. But then suddenly Car'das realizes that there are twelve blasters pointed directly at the dais where the Miskara is seated.

Slowly, carefully, he turns around. But the Miskara isn't cowering behind his soldiers, and the soldiers themselves don't have their weapons lined up ready to turn Car'das into a cinder. "Impressive," the Miskara merely calmly remarks. "Who commands them?"

Car'das peers down at the datapad. There should be a pattern recognition modifier here somewhere . . . ah! "At the moment, whoever is handling the controller, Your Eminence," he replies. "But I think they can be programmed to obey a specific individual instead."

"You will order them to obey /me/."

"Yes, Your Eminence," Car'das agrees, quickly sifting through the datapad's recognition menu. It looks straightforward enough. "Uh . . . I'll need you to come down here, though, so that the droids can see you up close."

Silently, the Miskara instantly stands up and stalks down the steps, motioning his two advisers imperiously to stay where they are. He steps between the two droidekas, bold as brass, and then stops. "Do it now," he orders.

Feeling sweat collecting beneath his collar, Car'das runs through what he hopes is the proper procedure. The six droids turn slightly to face the Miskara; then, to his relief, the battle droids raise their blasters to point towards the ceiling as the droidekas swivel a few degrees to point their weapons away from him as well. "That should do it, Your Eminence," he announces, relieved. "Of course," he adds as something belatedly occurs to him, "they won't be programmed to understand orders given in Minnisiat."

"You will teach me the proper commands in their language," the Vagaari immediately orders. "The first command I wish to know is 'target.' The second is 'fire.'"

"Yes, Your Eminence." Car'das gives him the two Basic words, enunciating them carefully. "Perhaps your people can transcribe them phonetically for you," he then suggests.

"No need," the Miskara replies. He lifts a finger and points to Car'das. "Target."

Car'das jerks backward as all six droids swivel to point their blasters at him. "Your Eminence?" he breathes.

"Now," the Miskara says, his voice silky smooth, "/you /pronounce the other word."

Force help him, if he's done this wrong . . . I will do whatever necessary, to protect those who depend on me. Car'das swallows hard. "Fire," he obediently says.

Nothing happens. "Excellent," the Miskara approvingly nods. "So you are indeed wise enough not to attempt a betrayal." He lifts a hand. "Bring me three Geroons."

"Yes, Your Eminence," one of the soldiers instantly acknowledges before promptly departing from the room.

"Does your Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo have more of these machines?" the Miskara asks, turning back to Car'das.

"Several hundred at least," Car'das replies. "Possibly as many as several thousand." A movement at the door catches his eye, and he turns as three small aliens are herded into the room. "Who are these?"

"Slaves," the Miskara offhandedly replies. "Their pitiful little world is the one currently rolling beneath us. Machines: target."

Car'das stiffens as the droids swivel towards the three slaves. "Wait!"

"You object?" the Miskara coldly demands.

Car'das closes his eyes briefly, having to fight the urge to either scream or be sick. /I will do whatever necessary . . . /The words echo through his mind again, making him shiver. "I was merely concerned for the safety of your soldiers," he finally quietly replies.

"Let us find out how good the machines' aim is," the Miskara insists. "Machines: /fire/."

The salvo from the battle droids' carbines immediately sends the three slaves toppling backward, dead before they even hit the floor. They are still falling when the fire from the droidekas almost literally cuts them in half.

"Excellent," the Miskara pronounces into the shocked silence, his voice dripping with satisfaction. Though the Vagaari are shocked, Car'das knows, not by the deaths, but rather by the display of firepower. "Where do the Chiss keep the others?"

"The Commander will have them at the base," Car'das murmurs mechanically, trying without success to force his eyes away from the charred and essentially dismembered bodies.

"Then we will relieve him of them," the Miskara pronounces in answer, gesturing to one of the advisers. "Order an assault force to be prepared at once."

"Yes, Your Eminence," the other replies. Stepping off the dais, he strides from the room.

"And while we wait," the Miskara continues, turning back to Car'das, "you will teach me the rest of the words necessary for controlling my fighting machines."

Car'das swallows hard against the bile trying to rise in his throat. Whatever necessary . . . "As you wish. Your Eminence."

***

The chime of her personal comm unit finds Admiral Ar'alani in her quarters, carefully updating the records of her investigation. Laying the data cylinder she has been working on aside, she reaches to retrieve the unit from her belt, waits to see if the safety overrides kick in (they do, rendering the call both unrecordable and untraceable), and then thumbs it on. "Ar'alani."

"Our young hawk is in free-flight."

She hesitates for perhaps half a second, then, plagued once again by her recurrent doubt of the young human's ability to fulfill his highly critical role in the extremely unorthodox scheme that she has agreed to support, in hopes of seeing a solution to the Vagaari problem. If they have misjudged, even a little . . . but no. Mitth'raw'nuruodo is not one to misjudge. And she (with the whole of the Defense Hierarchy behind her) has long since thrown herself in behind the young Crahsystor and his prodigious talents - far too long ago and far too thoroughly to be thinking of backing away, now. It does not matter that Mitth'raw'nuruodo has doubtlessly informed her of less than half of his actual intentions regarding both the Vagaari and the mysterious (apparently rogue, or so she has been somewhat vaguely assured) second contact the Crahsystor has had with this so-called Galactic Republic, or that he indubitably has half a dozen alternate set of schemes all ready to go (in case his original plan for dealing with either threat to the Chiss Ascendancy should fail to yield the desired results) that he has not bothered to discuss with her at all. The decision to allow Mitth'raw'nuruodo the chance to neutralize the Vagaari had been made, quite properly, by a convocation of all of the ranking levels of the Defense Hierarchy, long before the issue of this so-called Galactic Republic ever became a matter of interest or of concern to the Chiss Ascendancy, and she had been the one to convince her fellows within the Hierarchy not to repeal that trust, when first the Bargain Hunter and then the alleged Trade Federation task force entered into the picture. The successful execution of this duty is her responsibility and a testing of her character as much as it is a trial of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's genius. She cannot interfere or back away now without ruining them both and quite possibly placing the Chiss, as a whole, in grave danger. And so, releasing her pent breath in a quietly resigned, almost silent exhalation of a sigh, Ar'alani finally says, "You have a hunt to oversee, then. May warriors' fortune smile upon your efforts, Crahsystor Mitth'raw'nuruodo."

"And upon you and yours."

"Go. You have a lure to set. And I am not yet satisfied that your inspections have toured the entirety of this quadrant sufficient times to secure the safety of this base. Do your duty. /Ch'tra/."

"I hear and obey."

Thumbing the comm unit back off, Ar'alani permits herself the luxury of bowing her head and closing her eyes tight as she whispers a fervent wish of good fortune, "May warriors' fortune smile on all of our efforts, this day." Then, sighing, she replaces the unit on her belt and turns her attention back towards her data cylinders. In precisely thirteen hours, she will contact the Defense Fleet units that have been standing by, approximately a day out from Crustai, for just over three months now, waiting for orders to either come in and aid in a clean-up effort following a definitive and successful engagement with the Vagaari or else to replace Picket Force Two and its Commander as the line of defense against the Vagaari and their ilk, as previously agreed. In the meantime, she has seven and a half hours to burn before she is supposed to send for the Crahsystor's brother (who, as also previously arranged, is waiting to hear from her at the closest base, which is approximately five hours from the Crustai asteroid base). She will not follow after the Crahsystor to the pre-arranged site until after Syndic Mitth'ras'safis has joined her and she has sent word to her own warriors. And not until then will she learn whether or not her decision to support Crahsystor Mitth'raw'nuruodo has born sweet or bitter fruit.

Until then, she has her own duty to performs. There are still records that need updating.

***

Revan can sense the growing nearness of his student, the Force ghost of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, long before he can sense the actual approach of Outbound Flight through the Force. He is waiting calmly aboard the bridge of the Springhawk/, watching silently as an intercept course is laid in for /Outbound Flight/, when Qui-Gon finally appears, the Force ghost wavering in his perception like a holocomm badly tuned to receive a weak signal. Not exactly surprised by the evidence of Qui-Gon once again overreaching his limits, Revan sighs, shakes his head, and then reaches out with the Force to help steady and strengthen the badly drained being. /You will lose your coherency and pass on into the Force, if you keep on in this manner, Qui-Gon. I keep warning you of this, but you keep discounting my words. Am I to assume this means that you are no longer interested in learning how to become a Force spirit but rather wish to simply dissolve into the Force, as most beings do upon their deaths? Revan asks, projecting the chiding words directly into his apprentice's mind.

You know that I do not, Master Revan. I am grateful for your words of wisdom. But I cannot stand idly by and watch others suffer when I might be able to help them. To do so would go against everything that I believe in, as a Jedi. You should know that, having chosen the Jedi Order twice, is Qui-Gon's somewhat irate response. Enough of this, please. We have more important things to discuss and little time in which to do so. Outbound Flight is coming and -

Do not try to tell me that Obi-Wan or Anakin are still aboard. I know that they are not. And I also know why they are not. Do not think to try to win my sympathy in such a manner, Qui-Gon, Revan cuts in, shaking his head warningly.

/Then you also must know why they are not and could not be allowed to continue on aboard that ship, /Qui-Gon merely retorts, chin lifting stubbornly. Don't ask me to apologize, Revan. You'll only be disappointed. I did no more than what was necessary to protect them.

No more than what was necessary to salve your own conscience, you mean. Don't try such a tone with me, Qui-Gon. I know what you've done to those children. It's a miracle you didn't ruin your second Padawan just as completely as you did your first, Revan snaps, feeling the first stirrings of a familiar but long unacted upon anger rising within him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is the child of my heart and -

- and a child that you were never meant to have, Qui-Gon Jinn. That boy was meant for another. Do not dare to try to deny your knowledge of it! Revan cuts him off.

The Force itself brought us together! And when I would have refused him, there was no one else who could have taken him on! Qui-Gon only insists.

Because you, yourself, had destroyed the one who had been meant for him!

Angry and offended and no longer constrained by the rules of the Jedi Order against allowing proof of his emotions to show, Qui-Gon immediately growls, I did not kill Xanatos!

No, Qui-Gon. You selfishly took him as your own when he was meant to go to another for training, and then you broke him, threw him away like a piece of trash, and eventually drove him to take his own life. You committed a much worse crime against that child than mere murder. And, in doing so, you destroyed the one who was meant to be the Master of Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was Obi-Wan himself - his power and his growing despair, seeking instinctively after the one he should have been matched with and finding instead nothing more than the fading echoes of what had once been the bond you forced into existence between yourself and Xanatos of Telos - who brought the two of you together and, out of desperation, forged the tie between you that you would later use in lieu of a proper Master-Padawan bond, not/ the Force! And if there was none other with the wisdom and the courage to attempt to speak for Obi-Wan when the time came and your Order considered him of age to be paired with a Master, then it was only because you had already crippled the child so badly that none could see him or his true potential clearly enough to gain sufficient reason to go against the orders of that meddlesome little green gargoyle you fools call a High Master! Or did it never occur to you how convenient it was that no other Jedi ever tried to speak for the boy, once that troll had made his wishes on the matter clear? /Revan shoots back, not bothering to keep the mocking from his mental voice. The Jedi have fallen so low and forgotten so much that I am continually amazed at the fact the Order has survived as long as it has. You casually cripple or ruin and discard those who have the potential to be the very best of you. It is no wonder another incarnation of the Sith are rising against you and well on the way towards bringing about your downfall!

It was never my intention to harm him! Qui-Gon half snarls and half wails in reply, the stricken look upon his face and the pain in his eyes so obvious that Revan has to force himself to concentrate on all of the details of the pain and the damage and the destruction that the being standing before his has wrought or brought about as a result of his thoughtlessly arrogant actions and selfish behavior, and almost all in the name of /meaning well/.

In the final analysis, your /intentions /do not count for /anything/, Qui-Gon Jinn, as you well know! It is your /actions /that affect others and help to guide the course of the future. And so now, instead of allowing events to follow their own course - a course that, without your interference, could have easily resulted in Obi-Wan and Lorana combining forces and removing that festering cancer Jorus C'baoth from power aboard /Outbound Flight /even /before they ever got to the borders of Republic space proper - you have selfishly used your guilt as an excuse to intervene in such a way that you have actively helped Lord Sidious see a part of his plans involving the project resolved in what he believes to be a successful manner, /Revan tells him, mercilessly pressing home the truth.

But I had no choice but to get him and Anakin off of that ship! They aren't meant to go beyond the bounds of the galaxy! The Chosen One -

Don't try to give me that tired old excuse! Revan ruthlessly interrupts. You didn't even recognize your Chosen One when you were still alive, Qui-Gon Jinn. You were so in love with your own pain that you almost sent him to Bandomeer and the Agri-Corps. And then you were so in love with your own power, with your own ability (though the Chosen One!) to make things come out so that you would be seen as being in the right, that you brought the Sith'ari into the Jedi Order, declared him the Chosen One, and threw away your life on a mission you accepted and then refused to accept any help on in an effort to make the High Council listen to you. Thank the Force the child you came so close to breaking or to killing outright proved to have strength and conviction enough to recognize the completion of his soul and refuse to let the boy go, irregardless of what those fearful fools upon your High Council may have wished, or your death would have been entirely wasted!

I did not go to Naboo intending to die!

No. You went to Naboo, a planet occupied by an army of droid fighters, with a child about to turn ten who'd had no training in the Force to speak of and a Padawan learner of twenty-five who, at the age of seven, you had tried to strip of his connection to the Force and hurt so badly in the trying that you almost succeeded in killing him and certainly did succeed in scarring him so horribly that, to this very day, his first instinct is to flinch away from the touch of another's hand. You went there essentially alone, even though your own former Master had offered you the assistance of himself, two others he had apprenticed, and his current Padawan learner. Umbrage drove you to accept the mission and pride drove you to refuse the offer of help on that mission, just as pride and anger drove you to run ahead of your own Padawan in the battle against that brute Maul. You died because of your pride and your anger, Qui-Gon Jinn. And your intentions did nothing at all to keep you from dying there, now did they?

I am still here, am I not? Qui-Gon only defiantly demands.

/You /won't /be, if you don't start /listening /to me! /Revan snaps back at him, finally just giving up and letting some of his own frustration show. /There is a reason why I am the last of the Jedi to have become a Force spirit, Qui-Gon, and it has very little to do with who I was, while I lived. It is not lack of talent or potential that keeps you trapped in that wavering form. You are a ghost of what you could be only because you lack the knowledge and the conviction to move on. If you cannot learn to let go of your regrets and your guilt and all of the other selfish emotions that are weighing you down, you will continue to dwindle until one day even I will not be able keep you from dissolving into the Force entirely. I did not take you on as my student only to see you throw yourself away like this, child! If all you seek is death, then tell me now, so that I will know not to waste any more of my time or effort upon you. But if you truly wish to be a Force spirit, if you truly desire to be one with the Force and yet retain your consciousness, then you must decide to put away your pride and your anger as well as your guilt and /listen to me. I cannot continue to teach you unless you are willing to learn, Qui-Gon.

I am always willing to learn from one such as you, Master Revan.

Casually dismissing out of hand two-thirds of what I tell you or more is not learning, Qui-Gon, Revan immediately counters. If you were a Padawan in your Order and had such an attitude, you would have had your mind overwritten with a new personality and been given to the Agri-Corps long before now.

Once again so completely distressed that he is very close to wailing, Qui-Gon protests, /But I /can't just abandon them, Master! If anything were to happen to Obi-Wan or Anakin -

- then you would survive it, Qui-Gon, just as you survived what happened to them on Zonoma Sekot and what has happened to them on all of the other missions they've been sent on since that first one. If you have ever listened to and believed anything I've said, then have the good sense to listen to me now/, child! You cannot help those boys as you are now. /As a ghost of yourself weakly preserved within the Force, you have neither the strength nor the knowledge to be able to safely influence the probable pathways of the future towards one desired possibility. Only a fully trained Force spirit has such power. You have been so wrapped up within and rapt with your own emotions that you haven't even bothered to look to see what it is that I've been doing here. /Think, Qui-Gon! I am a Force spirit, I have the power to redirect events towards a specific future, and I was a Jedi and willingly chose to be a Jedi again after I had deliberately become a Dark Lord of the Sith. /What do you imagine I've been doing here, while you were off helping Lord Sidious see to it that neither Anakin Skywalker nor Obi-Wan Kenobi passed beyond the bounds of what the Republic considers to be known space? Revan impatiently demands, allowing his hands to knot into fists in an attempt (meeting with only moderate success) to resist the urge to throttle the former Jedi Master.

I - I don't - I don't understand! The noninterference rules that you taught me -

- are rules that govern interactions with particular individuals and are specifically meant to keep those of us who have such power to override the free will of living beings by forcing them to do things that go against their inherent nature. There is nothing in the rules about using the Force to lend clarity of mind and heart to a worthy being who is confused or frightened or in some way distracted by another extremely powerful emotion and therefore help that person to look past that bewildering disorder and diversion and arrive at the action that he or she or it would have taken, given a clearer state of mind. How else do you think I could justify agreeing to help you, when your soul plunged free of your dying body?

I - I - I'm not - I didn't -

Precisely. I/, I/, and /I again! You don't know because you never bothered to stop and think about it. And it didn't occur to you to wonder about it because you're always so damned busy with your own thoughts and feelings and desires that you /never listen to me/, Qui-Gon! /Revan again cuts him off, disgusted enough now to be utterly implacable. I don't just speak to you because I like to listen to the sound of my own voice, child! If I tell you a thing, then you can be sure it's because it's important!

But - but Outbound Flight -

- Outbound Flight would have been far better served if Obi-Wan and Anakin had remained aboard.

But - !

Protesting will not make it any less true, child! However, Revan adds, relenting a trifle in the face of his apprentice's growing desperation, that does not mean that the ship and its crew and passengers are a total loss.

There are over fifty thousand sentient beings aboard that combined ship, Master! If the task force Sidious sent engages them -

You really haven't been paying any attention to what I've been doing out here, have you? Revan cuts him off, mental voice dry indeed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes only with a strong outpouring of will. Special Task Force One, as it was deliberately somewhat deceptively named, has been greatly reduced in numbers by the military genius of Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Ascendancy. And almost all of the surviving droids, ships, and personnel are now under the direct control of Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

Chiss - Mitth'raw'nuruodo - what - ?

Sighing, Revan gives up and rolls his eyes, replying, This would take much too long to explain, child. Open your mind to me. I will let you see all that I have seen, these past few months, while you have been . . . otherwise occupied.

The look that Qui-Gon gives him eloquently packs a dozen or more emotions (chief among which are anger, anguish, a still simmering defiance, and an obvious distrust of Revan's apparent sudden turnaround) into a single narrow-eyed bright blue glance, but after a moment the former Jedi Master shrugs (the motion shaking back his long brown hair away from his face) and simply lowers his mental shields. Only a moment later he is staggering back away from Revan, a shocked look on his face, demanding, But you cannot let Thrawn make his decision based on the behavior of Jorus C'baoth! The man is more than half mad!

Which is precisely/ the reason why things would have been much easier if you had obeyed me and confined yourself to simply watching, as Obi-Wan and Anakin would then likely still be aboard the ship, Revan tartly replies. /Be that as it may, I believe there may still be a way to salvage the situation without /Outbound Flight /suffering unduly in the process. But you /must agree to trust me and to follow my lead in this, Qui-Gon. The situation here is far too delicately balanced to survive any of your well-meaning bungling. I cannot have you going behind my back, trying to bend the weak will of someone like Lorana Jinzler or Justyn Ma'Ning and convince to do something that will only end up fouling up either Thrawn's plans or the intended outcome for any of the changes that I've encouraged to the flow of events. There are only a very few pathways that are still open to a possible future where Outbound Flight will survive this encounter mostly intact. And I will not sacrifice Thrawn to your guilt, child. He is simply far too important a player in too many of the probable futures where the Sith Lord Sidious succeeds in creating his Empire. For the sake of the galaxy, I will not risk allowing him to fall into that creature's grasp. If need be, if it comes down to it, I will choose Thrawn over /Outbound Flight. The lives of too many depend upon him, on the path that his future will take, for any other choice to be supportable.

But Master Revan - !

I know how many are aboard Outbound Flight/, child. It is a small price to pay, compared with the lives of billions. I know you've seen what Sidious intends for the Republic and what he is prepared to do to win and to secure his Empire. I've shown you several hundred of the most probable possible future pathways, all of which involve his seizing of power and the rise of his Dark Empire. Thrawn's safety is simply more important than /Outbound Flight. And if you would stop thinking only of yourself and your own desires, you would realize that this is true.

You can't seriously mean to throw away fifty thousand lives and more to protect one man! Qui-Gon cries out, more shocked than angry. /I could /never allow such a thing!

You have neither the moral footing nor the sheer power to speak to me of allowance, Qui-Gon Jinn. If you had abided by the rules and refrained from aiding Sidious, it might not be necessary to contemplate the possibility of such a necessity, as Jorus C'baoth might very well have already been removed from power over the Outbound Flight Project as well as from its combined ship! So don't speak to me of intentions or of allowance. You will either agree to help and obey me, or else you will find yourself forcibly removed from this area of space and unable to return to it so long as I am still here. I am far more powerful than you, in the state that you are in, and I will not hesitate to enforce my will in this matter. I cannot tolerate any more interference from you in this matter, Qui-Gon. I'm sorry. There is simply too much at stake here.

But - !

No, Qui-Gon. And that is final. Agree, or depart.

His large hands fists aggressively on his hips, Qui-Gon only snaps, /You misunderstand me! I think I may know the answer to your conundrum, and her name is Lorana Jinzler. No - don't turn away! I've been observing the girl for months, now, and she is far stronger than you seem to realize. Obi-Wan has an alchemist's touch; he cannot be around a person but that the worst or the best in that being will work its way to the surface. Lorana has grown into herself and her potential in a way that she might never have, if not for his presence in her life, and she has come to care deeply about both the people aboard the ship and the mission itself. If you'll just give me a chance to explain, I think I know how we can guarantee /Outbound Flight's survival, irregardless of how badly Master C'baoth reacts to Thrawn. Will you open your mind to me? If time grows as short as you seem to think it is, then this way will be much faster.

For a long moment, Revan just looks at Qui-Gon, but there is only sincerity and urgency in the pale blue eyes that are steadily meeting and holding his own gaze. Finally, with another shrug, he allows,/ True enough. And this way we will both know that there is no chance of misinterpretation. Very well. Convince me, child. /A moment later, the Force spirit's shields are down. And an instant later, Revan throws back his head and lets loose a loud and victorious laugh. Grabbing the insubstantial form of the Force ghost, he envelops Qui-Gon's form in a hug and then dances him in a little impromptu circle of triumph. /I /knew there was a reason why I thought you were worth the saving! Bless you, child! Your plan fits against Thrawn's as tight as puzzle piece! It is sheer genius! I will agree to support it in addition to my own wholeheartedly, so long as you will promise not to deviate from either plan. Is that sufficient? Have we a deal?

We do, Master Revan. I will agree to abide by your will and to follow your lead, in this, Qui-Gon replies when Revan has let him go, nodding his head formally in acknowledgment of his promise. Then, with a wry smile, he adds, Not that I ever had much of a chance of standing against you, Master, all things considered.

This way will be better, though, Qui-Gon. You will see. Together, we can accomplish more than we ever could apart. That is always the way of things. I keep trying to tell you this, so that you will let go of your past and allow yourself and move on to your future as a true Force spirit, but you keep turning a deaf ear towards me, Revan adds, letting some of his sorrow over his inability to help the former Jedi Master progress show in his eyes.

/You knew that I was stubborn and independent when you agreed to take me on as your student, Master Revan. I have never tried to hide from you what I am or what I have done. Some wounds take more time to heal than others. And some burdens simply can't be laid down and abandoned over the course of a day. These are not excuses, Master. They are the truth. And if you believe that you are the only one who is frustrated because of this truth, then you are not nearly so wise as I've thought, /Qui-Gon replies with a bitterly astringent cast to his mental voice that takes Revan aback for a moment.

But only a moment. With another shrug, the Force spirit merely replies, in an utterly noncommittal tone of mental voice, Perhaps. Much as I'd like to pursue this discussion, though, I'm afraid that this is neither the time nor the place. /Outbound Flight is coming and there is work to be done. Come. Let us see what we can do about seeing to it that your plan will bear the desired fruit . . ./

***