Timothy Zahn - Survivor's Quest

Still, he was far from being the worst-dressed guest at the party. The two Geroons on the far side of the wide circular table looked positively shabby in comparison with the Chiss staffers seated on either side of them. Both aliens wore simple but heavy-looking brown robes of some kind of thick material over long tan tunics. One of them, the Geroon who had spoken to Formbi from the refugee ship, also had what appeared to be a complete dead animal thrown over his shoulders, its long-snouted head and clawed forepaws hanging down across his chest nearly to his waist, while most of the torso and hind legs hung down behind his back. An elaborate blue-and-gold collar glittered around the animal's neck, about the only real decoration anywhere in the Geroon's outfit.

"I trust the food is pleasing?" Feesa asked from her seat at Luke's left.

"It's excellent, thank you," he assured her. In actual fact, it was a little too spice-heavy for his taste, and the combination fork-knife he'd been given to use left an oddly metallic aftertaste after each bite. But it was so clearly an attempt to create a New Republic-style banquet that he certainly wasn't going to quibble over minor details. More than once, he wondered if Parck had supplied the recipes.

"Interesting trophy Steward Bearsh is wearing," Jinzler commented from Feesa's other side. "That dead animal thing?"

"The wolvkil, yes," Feesa said, nodding. "I heard Steward Bearsh say they were a feral variant of a predator creature the Geroons once domesticated as pets. The one he wears is a mark of honor that has been in his family for four generations."

"Pets, huh?" Jinzler shook his head. "Frankly, I don't think I'd even like to meet it in the woods, let alone have it curled up by my bed."

"I doubt that will happen soon," Feesa said, a note of sadness in her voice. "All remaining wolvkils died with the Geroon world."

"I see," Jinzler murmured, and again Luke caught a flicker of emotion from him. For all his surface calm, he was clearly a man who felt things deeply. "A terrible tragedy, that. Was Aristocra Formbi able to help them find a new world?"

"Our knowledge of the regions outside our borders is very limited," Feesa said. "I don't believe anything suitable was found."

"I hope the Aristocra isn't giving up this quickly," Jinzler said, a note of challenge in his voice. "They couldn't have had more than a couple of hours to study your star charts."

"Perhaps more study will be scheduled," Feesa said diplomatically. "Aristocra Chaf'orm'bintrano has not told me his plans."

Across the table Bearsh stirred and looked over at Luke, linking his fingers and dipping both hands and head in a sort of unified bow. Luke nodded in reply; and as he did, the Geroon picked up his fluted drink glass and got up from his seat. Circling the table, he came up behind Luke. "Good evening," he said, the words coming out from both his mouths. "Am I correct in the belief that you are Jedi Master Luke Skywalker?"

Luke blinked in surprise. Back in the command center, he'd only heard the Geroon speak in the Chiss trade language. "Yes, I am," he managed. "Please forgive my surprise. I didn't realize you spoke Basic."

The Geroon opened his mouths slightly, showing a double row of small teeth in each. A smile? "Should we not know at least a portion of the language of our liberators?" he countered. "It was we who were surprised to learn that the Chiss aboard this vessel could understand it."

"Yes, they do," Luke agreed, feeling suddenly like a hopeless bumpkin who'd just been dropped off the bantha cart at the edge of town. He understood probably a dozen languages, but all were anchored solidly to the cultures that dominated the Core Worlds and Inner Rim. It had never even occurred to him to try to add an Outer Rim trade language to his repertoire.

Which now meant that everyone else out here was having to go out of their way to accommodate his shortcomings.

But then, to be fair, this was hardly a situation he would normally have expected to find himself in. At least not without C-3PO or some other protocol droid along to assist with language duties.

"It is their way of honoring those of Outbound Flight, no doubt," Bearsh said, a note of reverence in his voice. "If I may intrude, I overheard you and Feesa speaking of our search for a world for our people."

"Yes," Luke confirmed. "I hope you will succeed."

"As do I and all the Geroon Remnant," Bearsh said, a note of sadness replacing the reverence. "That is indeed why I came across to see you. I hoped you might be willing to help."

"In what way?"

Bearsh waved his hand, nearly spilling his drink in the process. "I am told your New Republic has great resources and vast territories within its borders. Perhaps when you are finished with your meal you would be kind enough to search your records to see if any of your worlds near this region of space might be available for our use." He ducked his head. "We would of course pay for any world you might find to offer us. Our resources are small, but all Geroons stand ready to serve with their hands and minds and bodies until any such debt is repaid."

"If we find a suitable world, I'm sure something can be worked out," Luke assured him. "Actually, I'm finished now if you'd like to accompany me to my ship."

The Geroon started back. "You would take me aboard your vessel?" he breathed.

"Would that be a problem?" Luke asked cautiously, wondering if he'd made some terrible mistake in etiquette. Were the Geroons afraid of strangers and strange ships? And yet, they were here, aboard a Chiss ship. "Because if it would make you uncomfortable—"

"Ah, no," Bearsh said, dropping suddenly onto one knee and bowing his head low to the deck. This time some of his drink did slosh up over the rim and dribble down over his fingers. "It is too much. There is too much honor for one Geroon. I cannot accept."

"Maybe I should just give you the data cards, then," Luke suggested. "Though you might not be able to read them," he added as that thought belatedly struck him. "I'd have to bring a datapad along, too."

"You would be willing to allow us to honor you?" Bearsh asked eagerly. "You would come aboard our humble vessel?"

"Certainly," Luke said, touching his mouth with his napkin and standing up. "Shall we go?"

"The honor is great," Bearsh said, bowing repeatedly as he stepped back. "The honor is great."

"You're welcome," Luke said, feeling decidedly awkward. The sooner he got himself and this groveling Geroon out of here, the better.

He turned to Mara, who was practically radiating her amusement at his fumbling. "I'll see you back at our quarters," he told her, sending her a silent warning with his eyes that she ignored completely. "If you need me, I'll be in the Geroons' shuttle."

"Understood," Mara said blandly. At least her voice was polite enough. "I'll see you later. Have fun."

"Thanks," Luke growled, turning back to the still-bobbing Geroon. And Leia made this diplomatic stuff look so easy. "Lead the way, Steward Bearsh."

The Geroon shuttle, as it turned out, was docked on the starboard side of the Chaf Envoy about twenty meters aft of the Jade Sabre. Luke ducked into the Sabre as they passed and grabbed a set of astrogation data cards and a datapad, then followed Bearsh back to their ship.

Twenty-two years before, back at the Mos Eisley spaceport, he could remember gazing at the Millennium Falcon and wondering how a ship that looked like that could even be permitted to fly the Imperial space lanes. Now his first reaction to the Geroon shuttle was that such thoughts had done the Falcon a disservice. Not only should this thing not be flying, he couldn't see how it even could be flying.

The entire interior was a patchwork of repaired, reworked, or readapted equipment, patched pipes and conduits, and power cables that would have had a New Republic safety inspector scrambling for emergency cutoff switches. Two of the bunkrooms and a storage compartment had been sealed off with vacuum-leak warnings on the doors, and half the displays on the control deck seemed to have been permanently shut down. Overlaying it all was a faint odor that seemed to be a mixture of lubricating compound, battery solution, maneuvering fuel, and hydraulic fluid. It was, Luke thought more than once, astonishing that the thing had managed to make it here from the main Geroon ship.