Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

He was wrong.

The vessel itself was bad enough. Dank and dirty, its entire interior showed signs of multiple repairs done in a hasty and careless manner, and the mixture of odors swirling through its corridors made his nose itch. Worse than that were the dozens of blast points and scorch marks on the walls and ceilings, mute reminders of the short but vicious battle that had just taken place.

Worst of all were the bodies.

Car’das had seen bodies before, but only the serene and neatly laid-out ones he’d encountered at funerals. Never before had he seen bodies haphazardly stretched out wherever the Chiss weapons had thrown them, twisted into whatever grotesque contortions their own death throes had sculpted for them. He winced as the Chiss warrior led them through various clumps of the dead, not wanting to look at them but forced to do so if he didn’t want to step on them, hoping desperately that he didn’t completely shame himself by getting sick.

“Relax, kid,” Qennto’s voice muttered at his side as they reached yet another scattering of corpses. “They’re just bodies. They can’t hurt you.”

“I know that,” Car’das growled, throwing a surreptitious look at Maris. Even she, with all her genteel upbringing and idealistic sensitivity, was doing better with this than he was.

Ahead, a door opened, and Thrawn stepped into the corridor. He was still wearing his vac suit, but the helmet now hung on a fastener on his left hip. “Come,” he called, beckoning.

“I want to show you something.”

Nearly there. Taking a deep breath, focusing his attention on Thrawn’s glowing eyes, Car’das managed to make it the rest of the way.

“What are your thoughts?” Thrawn asked as they reached him, gesturing to the corridor around them.

“I think they were probably very poor,” Maris said, her tone mostly calm but with an edge of disapproval. “You can see where they’ve had to patch and repatch just to keep everything operating. This isn’t a military ship, certainly not one that could have been a threat to the Chiss.”

“I agree,” Thrawn agreed, turning his glowing eyes on her. “So; poor people, you think. Nomads?”

“Or refugees,” she said, the disapproving edge growing a little sharper.

“And the missiles?”

“They didn’t do the passengers much good, did they?”

“No, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.” Thrawn turned to Qennto. “And you, Captain? What’s your reading of this?”

“I don’t know,” Qennto said calmly. “And I don’t especially care. They fired first, right?”

Thrawn shrugged microscopically. “Not entirely true,”

he said. “One of the sentries I had stationed here happened to be close enough as they came through to disable their hyperdrive.

Car’das? Your opinion?”

Car’das looked around at the faded and motley walls.

He might not have had a lot of schooling before running off to space, but he’d had enough to know when a teacher was stilllooking for an answer he hadn’t yet gotten from anyone else.

But what was the answer? Maris was right; the ship did indeed look like it was falling apart. But Thrawn was right about the missiles, too. Would refugees have weapons like that?

And then, suddenly, it struck him. He looked behind him, locating the nearest alien body and doing a quick estimate of its height and reach. Another look at the wall, and he turned back to Thrawn. “These aren’t the ones who did the repairs, are they?”

“Very good,” Thrawn said, smiling faintly. “No, they aren’t.”

“What do you mean?” Qennto asked, frowning.

“These aliens are too tall,” Car’das explained, pointing to the wall. “See here, where the sealant pattern changes texture?

That’s where whoever was slopping it on had to go get a ladder or floatpad to finish the job.”

“And whoever that worker was, he was considerably shorter than the masters of this vessel.” Thrawn turned back to Maris. “As you deduced, the vessel has indeed been repaired many times. But not by its owners.”

Maris’s lips compressed into a hard, thin line, her eyes suddenly cold as she looked back at the dead bodies. “They were slavers.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn said. “Are you still angry at me for killing them?”

Maris’s face turned pink. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” Thrawn’s eyebrows lifted slightly “You of the Republic don’t condone slavery yourselves, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Maris assured him hastily.

“We have droids to handle most menial chores,”

Car’das added.

“What are droids?”

“Mechanical workers that can think and act on their own,” Car’das explained. “You must have something of the sort yourselves.”

“Actually, we don’t,” Thrawn said, eyeing Car’das thoughtfully. “Nor do any of the alien cultures we’ve met. Can you show me one?”

Beside Maris, Qennto rumbled warningly in his throat.

“We didn’t bring any on this trip,” Car’das said, ignoring his captain’s thunderous expression. Qennto had warned him repeatedly not to discuss the Republic’s technology level with the Chiss. But in Car’das’s opinion this hardly qualified. Besides, Thrawn had surely already examined the Bargain Hunter‘s records, which must show a dozen different types of droids in action.

“A pity,” Thrawn said. “Still, if the Republic has no slavery, how is it you understand the concept?”

Car’das grimaced. “We do know a few cultures where it exists,” he admitted reluctantly.

“And your people permit this?”

“The Republic hasn’t got much pull with systems that aren’t members,” Qennto put in impatiently. “Look, are we done here yet?”

“Not quite,” Thrawn said, gesturing toward the door he’d just come through. “Come and look.”

More bodies? Steeling himself, determined not to go all woozy again even if the whole place was piled high with them, Car’das stepped past the commander and through the doorway.

And stopped short, his mouth dropping open in amazement. The room was unexpectedly large, with a highceiling that must have stretched up at least two of the ship’s decks.

But it wasn’t piled high with bodies. It was piled high with treasure.

Treasure of all kinds, too. There were piles of metal ingots of various colors and sheens, neatly stacked inside acceleration webbing. There were rows of bins, some filled with coins or multicolored gems, others stocked with rectangular packages that might have been food or spices or electronics.

Several heavy-looking cabinets against one wall probably held items that would have been too tempting to leave within easy reach of the slaves or perhaps even the crew itself.

There was also a good deal of artwork: flats, sculpts, tressles, and other forms and styles Car’das couldn’t even categorize. Most of it was stacked together, but he could see a few pieces scattered around throughout the room, as if some of the loaders either hadn’t recognized them as art or else hadn’t much cared where they put them.

There was a sharp intake of air and a slightly strangled gasp as Qennto and Maris came in behind him. “What in the worlds?” Maris breathed.

“A treasure vessel, carrying the plunder of many worlds,” Thrawn said, slipping into the room behind them. “They were not only slavers, but pirates and raiders as well.”

With an effort, Car’das pulled his eyes away from the treasure trove and focused on Thrawn. “You sound like you already know these people.”

“Only by reputation,” Thrawn said, his almost gentle tone in sharp contrast to the tightness in his face as he gazed across the room. “At least, up until now.”

“You’ve been hunting them?”