Timothy Zahn - Survivor's Quest

It wasn't hard to find. A thick, heavy-looking cable anchored to the high ceiling was swinging ponderously alongside the wall, apparently having come loose just as Luke was stepping through the hatchway. Grimacing with a mixture of relief and annoyance, he closed down his lightsaber. "It's all right," he called to Mara, measuring the swing of the cable with his eyes. Another five seconds and it would cut back across the hatchway, but until then it would be safe to cross. "Come on through."

Mara came through, all right, but in typical Mara fashion. She waited four of the five seconds, then suddenly leapt out and up, spinning 180 degrees around in midair. As the cable swung past, she slashed upward with her lightsaber.

He'd expected her to cut the end completely off as a mark of her displeasure at what had just happened. But the blue blade merely slashed past the flying cable without any apparent effect at all.

She landed back on the deck, the cable clattering noisily along the wall as it swung past her. "You all right?" she asked Luke, closing down her lightsaber and returning it to her belt.

"I'm fine," Luke assured her. "I was feeling like a little exercise anyway."

A movement to his right caught his eye, and he turned to see a pair of Chiss males enter the room through a high archway, both considerably older than Feesa, both wearing elaborate outfits that were almost certainly robes of state. The shorter Chiss, his blue-black hair liberally sprinkled with white, wore a long, flowing robe in subdued shades of yellow with gray trim. The taller Chiss's outfit was shorter, more like a long tunic than an actual robe, and was predominantly black, though with small swatches of dusky red at various places on the sleeves and upper shoulders. "Greetings to you, Jedi of—" the black-clad Chiss began.

He broke off abruptly, his eyes narrowing, as the last echo of his words bounced briefly between the high walls. "What is this?" he demanded.

"There was an accident, noble sir," Feesa said, jumping quickly to her feet. "The cable broke and nearly struck Master Skywalker."

"I see," the Chiss said, the threatening tone fading from his voice. "My apologies, Master Skywalker. Are you injured?"

"No," Luke assured him as he and Mara crossed to meet the newcomers. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano, I presume?"

The Chiss shook his head. "I am General Prard'ras'kieoni of the Chiss Defense Fleet," he said stiffly. "Military commander of this expedition."

He half turned to the Chiss in yellow. "This," he said, "is Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano."

Luke shifted his attention to the other Chiss. Alien ages were always hard to judge, but there was something about Chaf'orm'bintrano that marked him as being much older than the general. A presence, perhaps, or something in his face or stance. "My apologies, Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano," he said.

"Hardly necessary," the other said easily. "No one would expect you to know one Chiss from another. I trust you had an uneventful journey?"

"Quite uneventful, thank you," Luke said. Chaf'orm'bintrano's accent was somewhat thicker than Feesa's, but his ease in speaking indicated he knew the language better even than she did.

"Aside from this last bit," Mara interjected, nodding toward the cable still swinging along the wall. "You speak our language well, Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano. Did you also learn it from the Visitors?"

"From the Visitors, and others," the Chiss said. "Since the arrival of your people at Nirauan, it has by necessity become a small but growing field of study. All personnel aboard this mission are familiar with it, in fact, and I have instructed them to use it whenever possible as a courtesy to you."

"Thank you, Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano," Luke said, nodding his head. "That's an unexpected but welcome kindness."

"You're welcome," Chaf'orm'bintrano said. "Following that same pattern of courtesy, I would also request that you address me by my core name, Formbi. I believe that will make our conversations easier."

"It will indeed," Luke assured him, feeling a definite relief at Formbi's thoughtfulness. He'd never been nearly as good with alien languages and pronunciations as Leia or even Han, and C-3PO was a long way away at the moment. "Again, I thank you."

"It's only a reasonable courtesy," Formbi continued, as if feeling he had to somehow justify the decision. "After all, full names are mainly reserved for formal occasions, for strangers, and for those who are our social inferiors. As representatives of the New Republic, all of you must surely be considered to be on a level with the very highest of the orders."

Luke glanced at Mara, caught the flicker that showed she'd spotted it, too. All of you? Shouldn't he have said both of you? "That's certainly one way to look at it," he agreed.

"Good," Formbi said. "You may likewise address General Prard'ras'kleoni as General Drask."

Luke looked at the general, caught the brief hardness about the other's mouth before he carefully smoothed it away. Apparently, Drask wasn't nearly as happy with upsetting the normal social order as Formbi was.

Or else he just didn't like humans.

"But come," Formbi added, gesturing back toward the archway he and Drask had entered by. "Let me show you the public areas of the vessel before Feesa takes you to your personal quarters."

He turned and led the way back across the room toward the archway. "Pretty big room for an entry area," Mara commented as they passed under the archway and into a curving hallway. Unlike the ship's outer hull, the interior surfaces were all smooth and even. "Our ships usually can't afford to waste that much space."

"Do you view courtesy and formality as a waste, then?" Drask growled. "Perhaps politeness is unnecessary, too, or positions or social levels—"

"General." Formbi spoke the title quietly, but there was something in his voice that instantly silenced the other. "Our guests don't do things as we do. Obviously, they don't understand."

He looked back at Mara. "This is a diplomatic vessel of the Fifth Ruling Family, and we often welcome high-positioned officials aboard. Each social and professional position requires its own proper expanse, decor, and pattern. In each of those situations the reception area can be automatically reconfigured and decorated before the guest's arrival."

He shrugged. "As it is, the room is barely large enough to properly welcome a brother or sister of one of the Nine Families. Fortunately, most of them travel but little, and then mainly in vessels of their own."

"I see," Mara said.

Formbi frowned at her, and Luke caught a sudden ripple of uncertainty. "Did you expect some ceremony of that sort?" he asked. "Admiral Parck told me that Jedi neither required nor wished such recognition. Was he incorrect?"

"No, not at all," Luke hastened to assure him. "Officials of our position don't require any formal rituals or treatment."

"Especially not on a mission like this one," Mara added. "If we're ever in a situation where ceremony is required, we'll inform you then, and instruct you in the proper patterns."

"As we of course will expect you to do for us if the situation is reversed," Luke said. "Until then, consider us to be merely fellow travelers come to see the remains of an ancient Republic ship."

Formbi nodded, the uncertainty smoothing away. "Then we shall do that," he declared. "Now that all have arrived—"

He broke off as a trilling group of tones cut through the air. "Incoming vessel," a gentle voice announced from somewhere above them. "Paskla-class; unknown configuration."

Drask muttered something under his breath. "Combat preparations," he called toward the ceiling as he took off at a run down the corridor.

"Come," Formbi said, gesturing them forward as Drask disappeared from view around a curve. "We were going to the public areas anyway. We might as well begin with the command center."