Timothy Zahn - Outbound Flight

The result was all he could have hoped for. In perfect unison the four battle droids unfolded themselves halfway, walked forward out of their crates, and then stood up, reaching back over their shoulders and drawing their blaster rifles. The droidekas were even more impressive, rolling forward out of their crates and unfolding into their tripedal battle stances.

Around one of them, as if to demonstrate the full range of its capabilities, the faint haze of a shield appeared.

And suddenly Car’das realized that there were twelve blasters pointed directly at the dais where the Miskara N’as seated.

Slowly, carefully, he turned around. But the Miskara wasn’t cowering behind his soldiers, and the soldiers themselves didn’t have their weapons lined up ready to turn Car’das into a cinder. “Impressive,” the Miskara said calmly. “Who commands them?”

Car’das peered at the datapad. There should be a pattern recognition modifier here somewhere. “At the moment, whoever is handling the controller, Your Eminence,” he said.

“But I think they can be programmed to obey a specific individual instead.”

“You will order them to obey me.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” Car’das said, quickly sifting through the datapad’s recognition menu. It looked straightforward enough. “Uh… I’ll need you to come down here, though, so that the droids can see you up close.”

Silently, the Miskara stood up and stalked down the steps, motioning his two advisers to stay where they were. He stepped between the two droidekas and stopped. “Do it now,” he ordered.

Feeling sweat collecting beneath his collar, Car’das ran through what he hoped was the proper procedure. The six droids turned slightly to face the Miskara; then, to his relief, the battle droids raised their blasters to point toward the ceiling as the droidekas swiveled a few degrees to point their weapons away from him as well. “That should do it, Your Eminence,” he said.

“Of course,” he added as something belatedly occurred to him,

“they won’t be programmed to understand orders given in Minnisiat.”

“You will teach me the proper commands in their language,” the Vagaari said. “The first command I wish to know is ‘target.’ The second is ‘fire.’ ”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” Car’das gave him the two Basic words, enunciating them carefully “Perhaps your people can transcribe them phonetically for you,” he suggested.

“No need,” the Miskara said. He lifted a finger and pointed to Car’das. “Target.”

Car’das jerked backward as all six droids swiveled to point their blasters at him. “Your Eminence?” he breathed.

“Now,” the Miskara said, his voice silky smooth, “you pronounce the other word.”

Car’das swallowed hard. If he’d done this wrong…

“Fire,” he said.

Nothing happened. “Excellent,” the Miskara said approvingly. “So you are indeed wise enough not to attempt a betrayal.” He lifted a hand. “Bring me three Geroons.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” one of the soldiers acknowledged, and left the room.

“Does your Commander Mitth’raw’nuruodo have more of these machines?” the Miskara asked, turning back to Car’das.

“Several hundred at least,” Car’das told him. “Possibly as many as several thousand.” A movement at the door caught his eye, and he turned as three small aliens were herded into the room. “Who are these?”

“Slaves,” the Miskara said offhandedly. “Their pitiful little world is the one currently rolling beneath us. Machines: target.”

Car’das stiffened as the droids swiveled toward the three slaves. “Wait!”

“You object?” the Miskara asked.

Car’das closed his eyes briefly. I will do whatever necessary—the words echoed through his mind. “I was merely concerned for the safety of your soldiers,” he said.

“Let us find out how good the machines’ aim is,” the Miskara said. “Machines: fire.”

The salvo from the battle droids’ carbines sent the three slaves toppling backward, dead before they even hit the floor. They were still falling when the fire from the droidekas almost literally cut them in half.

“Excellent,” the Miskara said into the shocked silence.

Not shocked by the deaths, Car’das knew, but by the display of firepower. “Where do the Chiss keep the others?”

“The commander will have them at the base,” Car’das murmured mechanically, trying without success to force his eyes away from the charred bodies.

“Then we will relieve him of them,” the Miskara said, gesturing to one of the advisers. “Order an assault force to be prepared at once.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” the other said. Stepping off the dais, he strode from the room.

“And while we wait,” the Miskara went on, turning back to Car’das, “you will teach me the rest of the words necessary for controlling my fighting machines.”

Car’das swallowed hard. Whatever necessary… “As you wish. Your Eminence.”

Outside the Springhawk‘s bridge canopy, the scattered stars and a small but magnificent globular cluster blazed brilliantly out of a black sky. The stars, the cluster, and nothing else.

Surreptitiously, Doriana looked at his chrono.

Outbound Flight was late.

Apparently, the look hadn’t been surreptitious enough.

“Patience, Commander,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said calmly from the captain’s chair. “They will come.”

“They are late,” Vicelord Kav said, scowling at the back of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s head. “More than two hours late.”

“Two hours is nothing in a voyage of three weeks,” the commander pointed out reasonably.

“Not for Captain Pakmillu,” Kav retorted. “Mon Calamari are notorious for punctuality.”

“They will come,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said again, half turning to eye the Neimoidian. “The only question is whether or not this system is indeed on the correct straight-line path between their last Republic stop and the system where you were preparing to ambush them.”

“Do you dare—?” Kav began.

“The vector was calculated correctly,” Doriana interrupted with a warning glare. “Our question, on the other hand, is why you think they’ll actually stop here.”

“They will,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo assured him. “The droid starfighters are ready?”

“Very much so,” Kav assured him in turn, and Doriana could hear the vindictive anticipation in his tone. The starfighters were ready, all right, complete with the second command layer the vicelord’s chief programmer had built in on top of Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s close-approach pattern.

The commander inclined his head to the Neimoidian.

“Then we have only to wait.” He turned back to the canopy and suddenly, with a flicker of pseudomotion, there it was, floating in space not five kilometers ahead.

Outbound Flight had arrived.

“The device is called a gravity projector,”

Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. “It simulates a planetary mass, thus forcing out any ship whose hyperspace vector crosses its shadow.”

“Really,” Doriana said, trying to sound calm. To the best of his knowledge, no one in the Republic had ever figured out how to turn that particular bit of hyperspace theory into an actual working device. The fact that the Chiss had solved the problem sent discomfiting ramifications ricocheting across his mind.

Kav, predictably, wasn’t nearly as interested in such longterm thought. “Then they are in our hands,” he all butcrowed. “All forces: attack.”

“Hold,” Mitth’raw’nuruodo said. His voice was still calm, but there was a sudden new edge to it. “I give the orders aboard this ship, Vicelord Kav.”

“It is our mission, Commander Mitthrawdo,” Kav countered. “And as we debate, we lose the precious element of surprise.” Fishing into his robes, he pulled out a comm activator.