Star Wars: Survivor's Quest

CHAPTER 10

The vermin search began early the next morning, with four pairs of Chiss armed with atmosphere sniffers starting at the bow and stern and checking every room, storage compartment, conduit, access panel, and supply package aboard the Chaf Envoy. They reached the Jade Sabre about midday, and Mara watched in polite but stolid silence as they made their methodical way through her ship.

Fortunately, Formbi's prediction proved to be correct. No line creepers were found, and within half a standard hour the search team had departed down the transfer tunnel, leaving nothing behind but a faintly metallic aroma from their equipment.

Fel's Imperial transport was searched with equal speed and efficiency. The Geroon shuttle, in contrast, took nearly three times as long to be cleared. Most of that was due to the fact that so much of the vessel had been repaired, rebuilt, or replaced that there were virtually none of the sealed equipment modules that most ships carried and that would normally not have to be checked. The search would have taken even longer if the bunkrooms and storage compartment Luke had noticed on his first visit hadn't been open to space behind their vacuum-sealed doors. The Chiss confirmed the doors' pressure readings, assured Luke that line creepers couldn't survive in vacuum, and moved on.

The whole procedure took most of the day. In the end, they found nothing.

"So we apparently have two options," Luke commented to Mara as they sat together in the forward lounge watching the hyperspace sky roll past. "Either a single group of line creepers got in and ignored everything else while they worked their way nearly to the center of the ship, or else someone brought them in and deliberately let them loose in that spot."

"Guess which option I'd pick," Mara invited.

"I know which one you'd pick," Luke said dryly. "What bothers me is that our saboteur seems to have had only that one group. What if he hadn't accomplished whatever he'd intended the first time around and had needed to create another diversion?"

"Maybe he had a few spares and spaced them before the search started," Mara suggested.

"Which means what?" Luke asked. "That he lost his nerve and dumped the evidence even though he wasn't finished with it?"

"More likely that he did accomplish what he set out to do last night," Mara said. "And that one really bothers me."

"Why?"

"Because I can't figure out what that was. Drask's been over every piece of equipment in the forward third of the ship and hasn't found anything. So what did the diversion gain anyone?"

Luke stroked thoughtfully at his cheek. "Maybe Drask is looking in the wrong place," he suggested. "Maybe we're looking at a two-stage diversion: line creepers in the control lines and doused lights in the bow, while the actual work went on somewhere else."

"Fine," Mara said. "But where? And what? Don't forget, the Chiss checked every cubic centimeter of the ship today."

"Looking for line creepers."

"Looking at everything," Mara corrected. "I watched them go through the Sabre, Luke. Even when they were sampling the air they were looking around. If there'd been any spare weapons or explosives or anything else out of place in there, they'd have spotted it. And I'll bet that goes double for the Imperials and Geroons."

"Probably triple for the Imperials," Luke conceded. Outside, the mottling vanished into starlines and collapsed into stars. Yet another navigational stop, apparently. Idly, he wondered what sort of firepoints the Chiss had waiting at this one. "So what's our next move?"

"Unfortunately, that's probably up to him," Mara said, not sounding at all happy about it. "The initiative always lies with the attacker. About all we can do is be ready—"

She broke off as a raucous trilling tone suddenly sliced like a vibroblade through the lounge. "Alert T-Seven!" a Chiss voice snapped over the speakers. "Arc twelve-two. Repeat: Alert T-Seven; arc twelve-two."

The nearest comm panel was at the far end of the next couch over. Luke got there first. "This is Master Skywalker," he said. "What's going on?"

"This does not concern you—"

"This is Aristocra Formbi, Master Skywalker," Formbi's voice cut into the circuit. "Please come to the Geroon vessel as quickly as possible."

"On our way," Luke promised. "What's happened."

There was a hint of a sigh from the speaker. "One of the Geroons has been shot."

There were a dozen Chiss swarming about the corridor outside the Geroon shuttle when Luke and Mara arrived. Two of them, Feesa and someone in Defense Fleet black, were kneeling beside the writhing and moaning figure of a Geroon, working on him with one of the ship's medpacs. Formbi, looking grim, was standing off to the side where he'd be out of the way. "What happened?" Luke asked as they were passed through the outer circle of Chiss.

"He was shot with a charric as he left his vessel," Formbi told them. "Upper back, left side. We're searching for the weapon now."

Luke stepped around Feesa and looked down, his heart sinking inside him as he got a look at the victim's face. It was Estosh, the youngest of the Geroons, his features twisted in pain at the charred and blackened skin across his left shoulder.

"You are a Jedi," Formbi went on. "I'm told Jedi have healing powers."

"Some of us do," Luke said, kneeling beside Estosh and studying the injured area. Behind him, he could feel Mara's sympathetic pain as she gazed down at the wound. She'd been shot with a Chiss charric once herself and knew exactly how it felt. "Unfortunately, neither of us has any special skills in that area."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Feesa asked.

Luke pursed his lips, trying to think. With himself or another Jedi, a healing trance would be the obvious answer. He might even be willing to risk it with Fel or one of the human stormtroopers, if the victim had been one of them.

But with an alien, especially one with unknown physiology and a mental and emotional structure he was unfamiliar with, it would be far too dangerous unless there was no other choice. "Can you tell me how bad it is?" he asked Feesa. "Is it life threatening, or only very painful?"

"It is certainly painful," Feesa said stiffly. "I do not know the rest. What does it matter?"

"It matters a great deal," Luke told her, looking around the corridor. The rest of the Geroons, he noted with surprise, were nowhere to be seen. "Where are Bearsh and the others?"

"Inside their vessel," Formbi said. "They say they are afraid for their lives."

Luke grimaced. But he supposed he couldn't really blame them. "Someone go tell them to get out here," he said. "Tell them there's nothing to be afraid of."

"They will not come," one of the Chiss said contemptuously. "They fear now that the whole of the Chiss Ascendancy stands against them." He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat. "They are an easily terrified species."

"They can be terrified on their own time," Luke told him shortly. "Right now, I need someone to tell me how bad this is."

"I'll go," Mara volunteered, crossing toward the entryway room. "If they don't trust the Chiss, maybe they'll trust a human."

Whatever it was she said to them, it obviously worked. Two minutes later Bearsh and the others emerged hesitantly from the transfer tunnel, looking around like children in a festival frighthouse. "Come here, Bearsh," Luke said, beckoning. "I need to know how bad this injury is."

"It is terrible," Bearsh moaned as he sidled nervously past the Chiss to Estosh's side. "How could someone do this to him?"

"We hope to learn that soon," Formbi said. "In the meantime, Master Skywalker needs to know if his injuries are life threatening."

Bearsh knelt down gingerly, his fingers probing the edges of the burned skin. Estosh tensed, but said nothing. "No," Bearsh said after a moment. "But he is in great pain."

"I know," Luke said reluctantly. "But I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for that. Jedi healing powers can be dangerous to use. I can't risk it if he'll most likely heal by himself."

"Of course not," Bearsh said, his voice sounding bitter. "He is only a Geroon, after all."

"I meant it would be dangerous for him," Luke said, trying hard not to be irritated. None of this was his fault, after all. "About all I can do is help you get him inside."

"That would be most kind," Bearsh murmured, his flash of bitterness subsiding. "Thank you."

"No problem." Luke stretched out to the Force, reaching for a mental grip on Estosh—

"That won't be necessary," Formbi said suddenly before he could begin lifting. "A medical litter is on its way. My people will take him inside."

Bearsh stood up. "We would prefer the human's help," he said stiffly. "We would prefer the Chiss not enter our spacecraft again."

"You don't have a choice," Formbi said flatly. "The Chaf Envoy is a vessel of the Fifth Family of the Chiss Ascendancy. As travelers within that vessel, you come under Chiss law and custom. If we choose to enter your vessel, we will do so."

For a long moment the two aliens stood facing each other in silence, Bearsh looking ridiculously small and fragile in front of the tall, regal Chiss. Then, with a sigh, Bearsh's shoulders seemed to sag. "Of course," he murmured, turning away. "As you wish."

Luke stirred, starting to take a step forward. Formbi was being completely unreasonable—

No.

He stopped in midthought and midstep as Mara's urgent warning flowed into his mind. He looked back around at her, caught the similarly warning look in her eyes.

His intended protest died away unsaid. It was Formbi's ship, after all. If the Aristocra wanted to make that point obvious to everyone present, it wasn't Luke's place to argue with him.

From down the corridor came two Chiss guiding a floating medical cart between them. Luke looked at Mara again, caught the fractional tilt of her head, and stepped away from the injured Geroon to give them room. A minute later, they had Estosh on the litter and were moving him inside. The rest of the Geroons walked beside them in stony silence.

"That's all, then," Formbi said, turning his glowing eyes on Luke and Mara as the party disappeared down the transfer tunnel. "Thank you for your assistance."

With a supreme effort, Luke merely nodded. "You're welcome," he said. "I don't suppose Estosh saw who shot him?"

Formbi shook his head. "He told Feesa the shooter fired as he entered the corridor. He wasn't even certain where the shot came from. We're searching for the weapon now."

"I see," Luke said. "Please let us know if you find it."

"Of course," Formbi said. "Good night."

"They won't find anything," he muttered to Mara as they threaded their way through the milling Chiss and headed toward their quarters. "Ten to one it's back in its rack or holster or wherever it was taken from."

"You think that's what our friend last night was looking for?" Mara asked. "A weapon?"

"Maybe, only he didn't take it then," Luke said. "If he had, the search parties today would have noticed it was missing. No, all he wanted yesterday was to find where a weapon was conveniently located so that he could grab it tonight, shoot the first Geroon who came out of their shuttle, then put it back before it could be missed."

"But why shoot a Geroon, of all people?"

"I don't know," Luke said in disgust. "Maybe someone wants to drive a wedge between them and the Chiss. Or maybe just between them and Formbi. Someone who doesn't want to see them get a world of their own."

"Or maybe someone looking to stir up trouble between Formbi and us," Mara pointed out. "You were within half a heartbeat of arguing with him in front of his own people. You think he could have let you get away with that?"

"He was being petty," Luke said with a sigh. "But you're right. His ship; his rules. Anyway, good guests don't argue with their hosts."

"So be a good guest," Mara said, taking his arm soothingly as they walked. "And while we do that, we can also see about watching his back."

He gave her a sideways look. "You think Formbi's in danger?"

"Someone's trying to scatter chaos around this ship," she reminded him. "A major political assassination, or even just an attempt, would pretty well end the whole thing, don't you think?"

Luke shook his head. "I wish I knew what was on Outbound Flight that's so important."

"Me, too," Mara said. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

The searchers found the charric half an hour later in a ventilation intake a few meters down the corridor from where Estosh had been shot. Further investigation showed it had been stolen from an arms locker in the stern of the ship near the main engines, a locker whose fasteners had been carefully gimmicked for quick opening. Luke's guess, Mara had to admit, had been right on the nose.

There was, of course, no indication as to who had actually taken the weapon or fired the shot.

For the next two days Mara did some quiet poking around on her own, examining the scene of the attack, learning everything she could about charrics and their operation, and holding casual conversations with everyone who would talk to her.

The interviews were, unfortunately, less than illuminating. Most of the crewers had stopped being neutral toward her and her questions and gave halfhearted answers or none at all. The non-Chiss passengers were friendlier but even less helpful. Most had been alone at the time of the shooting, with no way of corroborating their stories. Only the stormtroopers claimed to have been together in Fel's ship, and even there careful questioning established that they weren't in sight of each other during much of the critical period.

She also spoke twice with Estosh, trying to draw out a more complete description of the incident. But he, too, was of little help. He'd been facing away from the shooter, his thoughts on other matters, and the shock and pain of the injury itself seemed to have thrown an extra layer of haze over his memories. About the only positive thing that came out of those discussions was the fact that he was definitely on the path to recovery.

It was frustrating to hit so many blind alleys. And yet, paradoxically, she found the process itself strangely exhilarating. In many ways this kind of investigation was exactly what she'd been trained for, back when Palpatine had been preparing her to be his silent agent. Certainly it had been one of the most stimulating aspects of her service to him.

Only now it was even better. Here, there was none of the brooding air of hopelessness that had seemed to be the normal state of affairs under Palpatine's Empire, a hopelessness that had hung like a black cloud over every job and every mission. No one aboard Chaf Envoy cringed as she approached, hating and fearing her, or else welcomed her with the false courtesy of someone hoping to twist her authority to his own private ends.

True, most of the Chiss crewers still seemed to heartily dislike the Imperials. But it was a contemptuous dislike, born of a sense of superiority of culture and purpose, not the terrified, hopeless hatred those under the Empire's heel had displayed toward their masters. Fel, in response, walked about with his head held high, not with the arrogance of a Grand Moff or Imperial general, but with a sense of pride about who he was and what he and the Empire of the Hand had accomplished. It was the same kind of pride that she'd often seen in Han or Leia, or in the pilots of Rogue Squadron, or even in Luke himself.

And as she observed and analyzed it all, she couldn't help but compare it to the very different flavor of life she'd left behind in the New Republic. To the squabbling in the Senate that mirrored the hundreds of tensions and clashes between neighboring star systems, or to the factions and power centers maneuvering for position and supremacy on Coruscant that constantly siphoned off energy and resources that could be far better spent in other ways.

Palpatine had been hateful, vicious, and destructive, especially toward the hundreds of alien species under his domination. But she had to admit that, at least on a purely practical level, the efficiency and order of his Empire had been a vast improvement over the bloated bureaucracy and bribe-driven operation of the Old Republic that had preceded it.

What would that Empire have been like, she couldn't help wondering, if people like Parck and Fel had been in command instead of Palpatine? What could that efficiency and order have accomplished, for that matter, in the hands of someone like Thrawn, himself a nonhuman?

And more than once, late at night as she lay in bed beside Luke, she found herself wondering what it would have been like to serve an empire like that.

What it would be like to serve an empire like that.

It was the late part of ship's night after one of those speculative moments that the room's comm panel buzzed them abruptly awake. Twitching away from her, Luke rolled over to key it on. "Yes?" he called.

"This is Aristocra Formbi," the voice noted. "You and Jedi Skywalker may wish to wake and get yourselves dressed."

"What's wrong?" Mara called.

"Nothing's wrong," Formbi said. "We've arrived."

"There," Formbi said, pointing at the main command center Display. "There, just to the right of center. Do you see it?"

"Yes," Luke said, peering at the image. There was a ship there, all right, its once shiny hull blackened and crackled with multiple laser and missile impacts. It lay poised just over the crest of a steep hill on the planetoid's surface, as if it had been somehow frozen in the act of toppling over the edge.

And as the Chaf Envoy continued its inward spiral, he saw how it was the ship managed to stay suspended in midair. From points near the bow and the stern slender tubes could be seen extending from the underside of the hull, stretching downward at a shallow angle and connecting with another vessel mostly buried in the rubble at the foot of the hill. Midway along each of the tubes, he noticed, another pair of curved tubes veered off, stretching down and inward and coming together as they disappeared into the rocky hillside.

"Is that your Outbound Flight?" Formbi asked quietly, Luke nodded. The ship was a Dreadnaught, all right: six hundred meters long, armed with an awesome array of turbolasers and other weapons, capable of carrying and supporting nearly twenty thousand crewers and passengers.

Or it had been once. Not anymore. Gazing at the battered hull, he felt a stirring of distant pain for those who had been aboard when this had happened. "I think so," he told Formbi. "It fits the description, anyway."

"Engines look mostly intact," Mara commented. Her voice was calm, almost clinical, but Luke could feel the pain and turmoil behind the words. "The turbolaser blisters and shield bays were pretty well pounded, but the rest doesn't seem too bad. With some work, it might actually be able to fly again."

"The vessel on the surface appears capable of sustaining life," Formbi agreed. "The sensors indicate it has air and heat, and is using low levels of power. The other vessel, the one half visible at the foot of the hill, exhibits none of those characteristics."

"No surprise there," Luke murmured. "You can see a dozen places where the connecting tubes between it and the upper ship have been blasted open."

"What about the rest of it?" Jinzler asked. "I understood Outbound Flight was composed of six Dreadnaughts."

"The rest must be underground," Fel said. "What's left of them, anyway."

"Underground?" Bearsh echoed, sounding awed. "This vessel can even travel underground?"

"No, of course not," Formbi said. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say the rest of it is beneath the—" He hissed thoughtfully. "I don't know the right word. The loose, fine stone in the valley between the hills."

"The scree?" Luke suggested. "Moraine?"

"Scree, I think," Formbi said slowly. "At any rate, our instruments indicate the loose stone is very deep in that place and that there is definitely metal beneath it."

"Do you have any idea what shape it's in?" Jinzler asked. "The parts that are underground, I mean."

"Our instruments cannot say," Formbi said. "We will have to wait until we are aboard to determine that."

"Assuming the connecting tubes under the rock are in better shape than those others," Luke pointed out. "If they are, we may be able to follow them around the circle. If not, we'll have to dig."

"Assuming enough of the circle of ships is there to make it worth the effort," Fel said.

"How did it get here in the first place, though?" Mara asked. "That's what I want to know."

"That remains a mystery," Formbi conceded. "Obviously, Thrawn must have had it towed here for future examination. Yet there is no evidence he or anyone else ever returned for any such study."

"I was actually thinking more about the mechanics of the operation," Mara said. "You said he was commanding a small picket force at the time. Did every junior Chiss officer know how to get in and out of the Redoubt cluster?"

"Absolutely not," Formbi said. "He would have had to search deep into high-ranking information archives to have gained such information."

"That certainly sounds like Thrawn," Fel commented. "Information was his passion."

"Yes," Mara said grimly. "And killing was his business."

A quiet shiver ran up Luke's back. According to Admiral Parck, there had been fifty thousand people aboard those six Dreadnaughts when Outbound Flight was destroyed.

Would the bodies still be aboard, lying where they'd fallen? Certainly he'd seen dead bodies before, but most of those had been the remains of Rebel and Imperial soldiers killed in battle. Here most of the deaths would have been civilians, possibly including children.

With an effort, he shook away the thought. Whatever was there, he would simply have to deal with it. "So what's the plan?" he asked.

"The planetoid is too small to hold significant atmosphere," Formbi said, nodding toward the display. "We will therefore land the Chaf Envoy on top of the hill beside the upper vessel and run a transfer tunnel to the portside docking port near the aft end. Then all those who will be going aboard will do so."

He gazed at the display, where the Dreadnaught was growing steadily larger as the Chiss ship closed the gap. "Once we're aboard, there will be a short ceremony in which I will recount the Chiss part in the vessel's destruction and express the depth of our regret," he went on. "I will then ask for forgiveness on behalf of the Nine Ruling Families and the Chiss Ascendancy, and formally return the vessel's remains to Ambassador Jinzler, representing the New Republic, and Master Skywalker and Jedi Jade Skywalker, representing the Jedi Order."

"And us?" Bearsh asked anxiously. "Will there be a place in the ceremony for the Geroon people to express our gratitude?"

"Whether or not you are permitted to speak will be a decision for Ambassador Jinzler," Formbi said gravely.

"Of course you may," Jinzler assured the Geroon, smiling encouragingly at him. "As will you, Commander Fel," he added, nodding to Fel. "Though I'm still not certain what exactly your interest is in Outbound Flight."

"Remembrances come in all sizes and shapes," Fel said obliquely.

"As do acts of repentance and atonement for past failures. Regardless, we'll be honored to participate in the ceremony."

"Then I suggest all return to your quarters or vessels and prepare," Formbi said. "In one hour, we shall begin."

Landing the Chaf Envoy beside the exposed Dreadnaught was a straightforward enough operation, though there had been some concern that the loose rock wouldn't adequately support its weight, especially given the possibility that a structurally damaged vessel might be buried beneath it. Fortunately, everything seemed solid enough. Setting up the connecting tunnel was handled with equal efficiency.

At that point, they ran into an unexpected problem. The docking bay hatchway Drask had selected, which had looked completely functional, turned out to be warped just enough to be impossible to open, and the Chiss ended up having to use cutting torches to carve out an access.

It was a slow process. Even the relatively thin hatchway of an Old Republic warship was incredibly tough, and the need to maintain a margin of safety in the enclosed area limited how much power the Chiss could run to their torches. More than once as he watched them work, Luke considered going to Formbi and offering to do the job with his lightsaber instead. It would be easier and cleaner and a lot faster.

But each time he suppressed the impulse. The Aristocra's midnight discussion about the casual waving of alien weapons was still fresh in his mind, and he'd already learned enough about Chiss pride to know that Formbi and the others would probably rather do it their way than accept his help. Particularly when that help wasn't really necessary.

And so the company waited as the crewers finished the job. Once they'd broken through the hatchway there was another short delay as the ship's medic tested the atmosphere, confirming that none of the microorganisms, trace gases, or suspended particulates present would be dangerous to Chiss or human. With only a few days' worth of data on Geroon biochemistry he was less certain as to whether there would be any adverse effects on them, and there was some talk of rigging protective suits for the four who would be coming aboard.

But Bearsh declined the offer. The proper ritual clothing would be impossible to wear inside such suits, he stated, and assured Formbi that he and his people were willing to take whatever risks were necessary.

With all the delays, it was actually closer to three hours before the party was finally ready to go.

A strange-looking party they were, too, Luke reflected as they lined up on the Chiss side of the transfer tunnel. Drask and Formbi were dressed in the same stately outfits they'd worn at the first night's reception dinner, while Feesa and a black-uniformed Chiss warrior carrying an elaborate banner on a pole wore much simpler and more functional clothing. Fel was back in his dress uniform, and Luke would swear that the four stormtroopers had put extra effort into making sure their armor was gleaming. Jinzler had discarded his earlier layered robe-tunic in favor of something simpler and less constrictive, and Luke found himself wondering if the older man was expecting dirt and close quarters aboard the Dreadnaught or whether he was just tiring of his ambassadorial play-acting.

Each of the four Geroons who would be attending wore one of the blue-and-gold-collared wolvkil bodies over the shoulders of his thick brown robe, making an odd contrast to Estosh and the bandages he was wearing on his shoulder. The young Geroon had argued at length with Bearsh in their melodic language about going along, and was clearly still not happy that he was merely there to see the others off. He stood off to one side, nursing his shoulder and looking even more lost and pathetic than usual.

Luke was back in his dark jumpsuit and duster, but Mara had passed up her formal gown in favor of a jumpsuit similar to Luke's that she could move more freely in if necessary. Still, her natural poise and elegance made him feel as if she were far better dressed than he was. "Next trip," Luke murmured to her as the Chiss standard-bearer led the way into the tunnel, "remind me to pack a couple of formal outfits."

"I've always said you and Han are the scruffiest heroes I've ever met," she murmured back.

He looked sideways at her. The comment was typical Mara—that sarcastic manner that had proved so useful in distracting and irritating opponents in the past.

But this time he could tell that the words were pure reflex. There was something going on behind her eyes, some strange concentration.

Shifting his eyes back forward, Luke stretched out to the Force. If something was bothering Mara, he'd better get up to speed, too.

They emerged from the tunnel into an entryway and storage area that was probably half again the size of even the extravagant equivalents aboard the Chaf Envoy. A few boxes were still stacked along the bulkheads, their markings somewhat faded with age, but most of the room was empty. Everything seemed to be coated with a thin layer of dust. "Amazingly clean," Jinzler commented, looking around as the group gathered in the center of the room. His voice echoed strangely from the bare metal walls. "Shouldn't there be more dust?"

"Must be some housekeeping droids still functioning," Fel said. "Or at least there were. Repair droids, too—see where they've patched the cracks in the hull?"

"These machines can still function after all these years?" Bearsh asked in wonderment. "With no one to supervise or repair them?"

"Everything aboard Outbound Flight was well automated," Fel said. "It was all internal rather than being linked to a lot of other ships. Otherwise they would have needed probably sixteen thousand people on each Dreadnaught just to crew it."

"So few?" Bearsh asked, looking around. "Our own vessel is less than half this size, yet it carries more than sixty thousand Geroons."

"Sure, but this wasn't just a colony ship with everyone packed tightly inside," Fel pointed out. "The Dreadnaughts were warships, the biggest the Old Republic had before the Clone Wars, with weaponry and equipment—"

Formbi cleared his throat. Fel took the hint and subsided.

"On behalf of the Nine Ruling Families of the Chiss Ascendancy, I welcome you all to this solemn and sorrowful occasion," the Aristocra began, his voice deep and resonant. "We stand today on the deck of an ancient vessel that lies here as a symbol of human courage and Chiss failing..."

Luke let his eyes drift around the group as Formbi continued his speech. Off to the side, he noticed, Bearsh was murmuring into a bulky comlink in the melodic Geroon language. Probably giving Estosh a running commentary on the ceremony, he decided, and found himself wondering why the young Geroon had been left aboard the Chaf Envoy in the first place. Surely this short a trip wouldn't have strained his injuries that much. About the only thing he could come up with was the fact that the positioning of Estosh's injuries precluded his wearing one of the ceremonial wolvkils.

Personally, Luke considered that a rather ridiculous reason to leave him behind. But he'd been with the New Republic long enough to know that not every aspect of an alien culture had to make sense to him. It was enough that such rules and customs were important to the people who lived under them, and that as such they were worthy of his respect if not necessarily his approval.

And then, without warning, something touched Luke's mind. The last sensation he would ever have expected.

He twisted his head to look at Mara. One glance at her widened eyes was all he needed to show she'd caught it, too. "Luke—?" she whispered tightly.

"What is it?" Formbi demanded, cutting off his speech in midsentence. "What's happened?"

Luke took a deep breath. "It's Outbound Flight," he said, stretching out harder to the Force. No mistake. They were there: minds—human minds, not Chiss—somewhere deep beneath them. A lot of them. "We're not alone, Aristocra Formbi. There are survivors aboard."