Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

“I just—I mean, I thought he was trying to get you to let them go,” Car’das said, stumbling over his own tongue. “Youaren’t thinking—?”

“I will do whatever necessary to protect those who depend on me,” Thrawn said, his voice carefully precise. “No more. But no less.”

He stood up. “But that isn’t your concern,” he said.

“Once again, I thank you for your assistance.”

“No problem,” Car’das said, standing up as well. Was it his imagination, or had the commander staggered slightly as he got back to his feet? “You’d better get some rest. It won’t be fun for anyone if you collapse from exhaustion before Ar’alani even has a chance to throw you in the brig.”

“Thank you for your concern,” Thrawn said drily. “I’ll try not to disappoint her.”

“One last question, if I may,” Car’das added as the commander stepped to the door. “How were you so sure that those droidekas wouldn’t gun us down?”

“Those—? Oh, the rolling droid fighters,” Thrawn said.

“It wasn’t difficult. Everything about the bridge design spoke of a people who would never willingly put themselves at more risk than absolutely necessary.”

“That’s Neimoidians, all right,” Car’das agreed. “You could get that just from the bridge design?”

“Architecture is merely another form of art,” Thrawn reminded him. “But even without those indications, the triple blast doors we passed through would have told me these Neimoidians are not warriors.”

“Which is why they have battle droids to fight for them,” Car’das said. “But isn’t gunning us down exactly what cowards like that would do?”

Thrawn shook his head. “Vicelord Kav was too close to the line of fire. He would never have ordered the droidekas to attack.”

Car’das grimaced. “A bluff.”

“Or he was making a point,” Thrawn said. “These combat droids are a new concept to me, but one worth careful thought.” He grimaced. “I sincerely hope the Vagaari haven’t visited a world where they might have picked up such weapons.”

“Probably not,” Car’das said. “The Neimoidians keep them pretty close to home.”

“We shall see.” Thrawn touched the control, and the door slid open. “Sleep well, Car’das.”

For a few minutes Car’das gazed at the closed door. So Thrawn had now assured him that he didn’t really suspect him of spying. That was reassuring… except that he’d stated exactly the opposite in front of witnesses, and with exactly the same degree of apparent sincerity.

So what was the truth? Were he and Qennto and Marls just pawns in some sort of political game? And if so, what was the game?

Maris, Car’das knew, trusted Thrawn’s honor. Qennto just as strongly distrusted his alienness and the fact that he was a military officer. Car’das himself no longer knew what to think.

But one thing he knew. Things were heating up out here, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that the Bargain Hunter‘s crew had overstayed their welcome. Somehow they had to find a way out.

And they had to find it soon.

The first Uliar knew of the trouble was when he rounded the corner to find the other two members of his watch shift standing outside the monitor room door. “What’s going on?” he asked as he came up to them.

“Got a special tour going on,” Sivv, the senior officer, told him. “Ma’Ning and some sprouts.”

“Some what?”

“Some of his junior Jedi,” Algrann said scornfully.

“They swept in ten minutes before Grassling’s shift ended and threw everyone out.”

“And we’re not allowed in?” Uliar asked, not believing it.

Sivv shrugged. “He told Grassling he’d let him know when they could come back in,” he said. “I haven’t actually asked myself.”

Uliar glowered at the door. Jedi. Again. “Mind if I try?”

Sivv waved a hand. “Help yourself.”

Stepping to the door, Uliar slapped the release. It slid open, and he stepped inside.

Jedi Master Ma’Ning was standing to the side of the main board, in the middle of a discussion about how the monitors and control systems worked. His eyes turned questioningly to Uliar as he came in, but he didn’t miss a beat of his lecture. Seated at the board itself were four children, the two shortest having to kneel on the seats in order to see.

It was like a scene out of a second-tier classroom, except that this wasn’t a scribble board or even a training mock-up. This was the real, actual control system for one of the reactors that kept power flowing to Dreadnaught-4.

Ma’Ning finished the sentence he’d been on and lifted his eyebrows toward Uliar. “Yes, Uliar?” he asked.

“No offense, Master Ma’Ning,” Uliar said, coming closer to the others, “but what in blazes are you doing?”

The lines around Ma’Ning’s eyes might have tightened a little. “I’m instructing the young Padawans in the basics of reactor operation.”

Uliar took another look at the children. Ages five to eight, he guessed, all of them with the bright eyes and bouncy curiosity of children everywhere.

But there was something more there, he saw now. An underlying layer of seriousness that was definitely not characteristic of children that age. Some Jedi thing? “Much as I appreciate their desire to learn, this is no place for children,” he said. “And if I may say so, you’re hardly the one to be instructing anyone in the subtleties of reactor operation.”

“I’m simply giving them an overview,” Ma’Ning assured him.

“You shouldn’t be giving them anything,” Uliar countered. “Where high-energy equipment is concerned, a little knowledge is worse than useless, and dangerous on top of it.

Whose stupid idea was this, anyway?”

Ma’Ning’s lips tightened slightly. “Master C’baoth has decided all Jedi and Padawans need to learn how to control Outbound Flight’s critical systems.”

Uliar stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all,” Ma’Ning assured him. “Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your way in another half hour.”

“You’ll be out of our way a lot sooner than that,” Uliar growled, reaching between two of the children to the comm control. “Bridge; Reactor Control Three. Commander Omano, please.”

“One moment.”

Uliar looked over at Ma’Ning, wondering if the other would try to stop this. But the Jedi was just standing there, his eyes lowered in a sort of half-meditation look.

“Commander Omano.”

“Reactor Tech Four Uliar, Commander,” Uliaridentified himself “There are unauthorized personnel in our control room who refuse to leave.”

Omano’s sigh was a taint hiss in the comm speaker.

“Jedi?”

Uliar had the sudden sense of the floor preparing to drop out from beneath him. “One of them is a Jedi, yes,” he said carefully. “They’re still not authorized to—”

“Unfortunately, they are,” Omano cut him off “Master C’baoth has requested that his people be given full access to all areas and systems aboard Outbound Flight.”

Even though he’d suspected what was coming, the words were still like a cold-water slap across the face. “With all due respect, Commander, that’s both absurd and dangerous,”

Uliar said. “Having children in the—”

“You have your orders, Tech Uliar,” Omano again cut him off. “If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to take it up with Master C’baoth. Omano out.” There was a click, and the comm went dead.

Uliar looked up to find Ma’Ning’s eyes on him. “Fine,”

he said, meeting the Jedi’s gaze head-on. If they thought he was going to bow and scrape just because they wore those affected peasant robes and carried lightsabers, they had an extra bonus think coming. “Where do I find Master C’baoth?”