"Along with an apparently intact alien warship."

"I don't know anything about that, either," Car'das insisted. "All I know is what I've already told you: we're merchants who had a hyperdrive accident and lost our way. Ask the rest of my crew if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I will," Ar'alani a.s.sured him. "In the meantime, you're confined to your quarters. Dismissed."

For a moment Car'das was tempted to remind her that he was still under Thrawn's authority, not hers, and that she couldn't simply order him around. But only for a moment. Turning, he stalked out of the room.

But he didn't go to his quarters. The Chiss warriors were used to seeing him roaming freely around the base, and it hadn't sounded like Ar'alani would make any official p.r.o.nouncements to the contrary until after she'd interrogated Qennto and Maris.

He had that long to make his escape.

The shuttle was still parked where it had been the previous day. There were a few Chiss working in the area, but the time for subterfuge was long past. Striding along like he owned the place, Car'das stepped through the hatchway into the shuttle, sealed it, and headed forward.

The vessel was a civilian model, with a simpler and quicker start-up procedure than a military ship would have had. Within five minutes he had the systems up and running. Five minutes more, and he had disengaged from the docking clamps and was making his way carefully down the tunnel.

No one followed him out. He looked around as he reached open s.p.a.ce, half expecting to see the intact Trade Federation battleship lurking in the shadow of one of the other asteroids. But it was nowhere to be seen.

Not that it mattered. He knew where he was going, and there was no one now who could stop him. Turning the shuttle onto the proper vector, he hit the hyperdrive control and made the jump to lightspeed. The next stop, a.s.suming he'd properly programmed in the Springhawk's nav data, would be the alien system where he, Thrawn, and Maris had witnessed the Vagaari attack five weeks ago. With luck, that campaign would be over.

With even more luck, the Vagaari would still be there.

Six hours later, he emerged from hypers.p.a.ce to find that the battle was indeed over.

The defenders had put up a spirited defense, he saw as he eased the shuttle carefully through the debris. Blackened hulks were everywhere, floating amid bits of hull and hatch and engine. There were bodies, too.

Far too many bodies.

Not that their sacrifice had done them any good. There were dozens of Vagaari ships...o...b..ting the planet, nestled up to it like carrion avians around a fresh corpse. Most were the bubble-hulled warships they'd seen in the battle, but there were also a number of the civilian transports that had been waiting for the fighting to end. A steady stream of smaller ships were moving in and out of the atmosphere, no doubt bringing plunder and slaves up to the orbiting ships and then heading down for a fresh load. Briefly, an image flashed into Car'das's mind of streams of hive insects zeroing in on a dropped bit of rowel picnic salad .. .

A floating body bounced gently off the shuttle's canopy, jarring him back to reality. If he had any brains, he knew, he would turn the shuttle around right now and head back to Crustai to take his chances with Admiral Ar'alani. Or else he should abandon Qennto and Maris completely and make a run for Republic s.p.a.ce.

Swearing gently under his breath, he turned toward the largest of the orbiting warships and headed in.

Even with most of their attention on their looting, the Vagaari were cautious enough to protect their backs. The half a dozen roving fighters intercepted him before he'd covered even a quarter of the distance, and suddenly his comm crackled with melodious but evil-sounding alien speech.

"I don't understand your language," Car'das replied in Sy Bisti. "Do you speak Sy Bisti?"

The only response was more alien speech. "How about Minnisiat?" he asked, switching to his newest trade language. "Can anyone there understand Minnisiat?"

There was a short pause. "State your name, your species, and your intentions," the alien voice came back, mouthing the trade language with some difficulty.

"My name is Jorj Car'das," Car'das told him. "I'm a human from a world called Corellia." He took a deep breath. "I'm here to offer you a deal."

20.

The fighters escorted him to one of the smaller warships, directing him to a starboard docking bay. A group of heavily armed and armored guards was waiting there for him: short bipeds with large hands, their features hidden by faceplates lavishly decorated to look like fright masks. They took him to a small room loaded with sensor equipment, where he was stripped, searched, and scanned multiple times, his clothing taken away presumably for similar scrutiny. The shuttle, he had no doubt, was undergoing a similar examination. Afterward, he was taken to another room, this one bare of everything except a cot, and left there alone.

He spent most of the next two hours either trying to rest or else giving up the effort and pacing back and forth across his cell. If the Vagaari were smart, the thought kept running along the back of his mind, they would simply kill him and go on with their looting. An avian in the hand, after all, was a pretty universal maxim.

But maybe, just maybe, they would be greedy as well as smart. Greedy, and curious.

Two hours after he'd been tossed into his cell, the guards returned with his clothing. They watched him dress, then marched him out and along a corridor to a hatch marked with alien symbols. Beyond the hatch, to his relief, was a shuttle and not simply a quick death by s.p.a.cing. They nudged him inside and piled in behind him, and a minute later they were off. The shuttle had no viewports, giving him no clue as to where they were going, but when the hatch opened again it was to a double row of Vagaari soldiers in fancier uniform armor than his captors. Apparently, someone in authority had decided to see him.

He'd expected to be taken someplace small and cramped and anonymous, as befit a proper interrogation. It was therefore a shock when the final blast door opened into a large chamber that rivaled the most elaborate groundside throne rooms he'd ever seen. Against the back wall was a raised dais with an exquisitely decorated chair in the center, occupied by a Vagaari clad in a heavy-looking multicolored robe with sunburst shoulder and ankle guards, a serrated cloak back, and no fewer than four separate belts around his waist. Flanking him were a pair of Vagaari in only slightly less gaudy robes-advisers or other underlings, probably.

All three wore tall wraparound face masks that reached from cheekbones to probably a dozen centimeters above the tops of their heads, decorated in the same fearsome pattern as the soldiers' combat faceplates. A cynical thought flickered through Car'das's mind, that the height of the masks was probably designed to compensate for the species' natural shortness and make them look more dangerous to their enemies. Lining the walls were other Vagaari, some in soldiers' armor, others in what seemed to be civilian clothing and simple face paint. All of them were gazing silently at the prisoner being brought before the throne.

Car'das waited until the guards had positioned him three meters back from the throne, then bowed low. "I greet the great and mighty Vagaari-" he began in Minnisiat.

And was slammed to his hands and knees by a sharp blow across his shoulders. "You do not speak in the presence of the Miskara until spoken to," one of the guards reproved him.

Car'das opened his mouth to apologize, caught his near error just in time, and remained silent instead.

For a long minute the rest of the room was quiet, too. Car'das wondered if they were waiting for him to get up, but with his shoulder blades throbbing from that blow it seemed a better idea to stay where he was until otherwise instructed.

Apparently, it was the right decision. "Very good," a deep voice came from the dais at last. "You may rise."

Carefully, tensing for another blow, Car'das stood up. To his relief, the blow didn't come. "I am the Miskara of the Vagaari people," the Vagaari seated on the throne announced. "You will address me as Your Eminence.

I'm told you have the insolence to demand that I bargain with you."

"I make no demands of any sort, Your Eminence," Car'das hastened to a.s.sure him. "Rather, I'm in terrible difficulty and came here hoping the great and mighty Vagaari people might be willing to come to my a.s.sistance. In return for your aid, I hope to offer something you might find of equal value."

The Miskara regarded him coolly. "Tell me of this difficulty."

"My companions and I are merchants from a distant realm," Car'das told him. "Nearly three months ago we lost our way and were taken captive by a race of beings known as the Chiss. We've been their prisoners ever since."

A twitter of muted conversation ran around the room. "Prisoners, you say," the Miskara repeated. The visible part of his face had seemed to harden at the mention of the Chiss, but his voice wasn't giving anything away. "I see no chains of captivity about your neck."

"My apparent freedom is an illusion, Your Eminence," Car'das said. "My companions are still in Chiss hands, as is our ship. Of equal importance, the Chiss now refuse to release to us some of the spoils of one of their raids, spoils that we were promised and that we need to pay off the late fees our customers will demand. Without that treasure, we will face certain death when we reach home."

"Where are your companions being held?"

"At a small base built deep inside an asteroid, Your Eminence," Car'das said. "The navigational data necessary to locate it is contained in the computer of the vessel in which I arrived."

"And how did you know how and where to find us?"

Car'das braced himself. I will do whatever necessary, Thrawn had once told him, to protect those who depend on me. "Because, Your Eminence," he said, "I was present aboard the Chiss attack cruiser that raided your forces here during your battle of conquest five weeks ago."

A deadly silence settled over the room. Car'das waited, painfully aware of the armed soldiers standing all around him. "You stole one of our ship nets," the Miskara said at last.

"The commander of the Chiss force did that, yes," Car'das said. "As I say, I was his prisoner, and took no part in the attack."

"Where is this commander now?"

"I don't know exactly," Car'das said. "But the base where my ship and companions are being held is under his command. Wherever he might travel, he will always return there."

The Miskara smiled thinly. "So you offer to trade your companions and some of our own treasure for nothing more than a chance at revenge?"

That was not, Car'das thought uneasily, a very auspicious way of phrasing it. "You'd get your ship net back, too," he offered.

"No," the Miskara said firmly. "The offering is insufficient." Car'das felt his throat tighten. "Your Eminence, I beg you-"

"Do not beg!" the Miskara snapped. "Grubs beg. Inferiors beg. Not beings who would speak and bargain with the Vagaari. If you wish us to help you and your companions, you must find more to offer me."

"But I have nothing more, Your Eminence," Car'das protested, his voice starting to tremble. No-this couldn't happen. The Vagaari had to agree to the deal. "I swear to you."

"Not even those?" the Miskara demanded, pointing over Car'das's shoulder.

Car'das turned. Sometime during the conversation someone had brought in four large crates, two of them a head taller than him, the others coming only up to his waist. "I don't understand," he said, frowning. "What are those?"

"They were aboard your transport," the Miskara said suspiciously. "Do you claim ignorance of them?"

"I do, Your Eminence," Car'das insisted, completely lost now. What in the worlds could Thrawn have had stashed aboard the shuttle? "I stole the vessel solely to come ask for your help. I never looked to see if there was anything aboard."

"Then look now," the Miskara ordered. "Open the crates and tell me what you see."

Carefully, half expecting to be shot in the back, Car'das made his way back to the crates. The Vagaari had already opened all of them, of course, merely setting the front panels loosely back into place. Stepping to one of the smaller boxes, he got a grip on the panel and pulled it off.

And caught his breath. Inside, folded up neatly with their arms wrapped around their knees, were a pair of Trade Federation battle droids.

"Do you recognize them?" the Miskara asked.

"Yes, Your Eminence," Car'das confirmed. Suddenly it all made sense.

"They're battle droids of a sort used by one of the species in our region of s.p.a.ce. The commander also raided a force of those people; this must be part of the spoil of that raid."

"What are droids?"

"Mechanical servants," Car'das said. So Thrawn had been right: apparently no one out here knew anything about droids. At least, no one the Vagaari had run into. "Some are self-motivated, while others require a centralized computer to give them their instructions."

"Show me how it 'works."

Car'das turned back to the crate, peering inside. There was no sign of a controller or programming console. "I don't see the equipment I need to start it up," he said, stepping to the other small box and pulling off the front. There were two more folded battle droids inside, and again no sign of a controller. Each of the two larger boxes turned out to contain one of the even deadlier droideka destroyer droids. Still no controller.

"I'm sorry, Your Eminence, but without the right equipment I can't start them up."

"Perhaps this would be of use," the Miskara suggested. He gestured, and one of the non-armored Vagaari watching the proceedings pulled a datapad from beneath his robe. Stepping up to Car'das, he offered it to him.

A small ripple of relief washed over some of Car'das's tension. It was indeed a Trade Federation droid controller, labeled in both Neimoidian and Basic. "Yes, Your Eminence, it will," he told the Miskara as he looked over the controls. Activator .. . there. "Shall I try to activate them now?"

"Try?"

Car'das grimaced. "Shall I activate them now, Your Eminence?" he corrected himself.

"Yes."

Bracing himself, Car'das pushed the switch.

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 p.r.o.nounce 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.