The Last Command (43 page)

“We don’t want to fight at all if we can avoid it,” Luke reproved him mildly. “How are you going to communicate with them?”

“One of them learned a little of the Empire’s Basic when the storehouse was being built beneath the mountain,” Ekhrikhor said, pointing to the Myneyrsh standing closest to the work light. “He will attempt to translate.”

“We might be able to do a little better.” Luke raised his eyebrows at Han. “What do you think?”

“It’s worth a try,” Han agreed, pulling out his comlink. It was about time Threepio earned his keep, anyway. “Lando?”

“Right here,” Lando’s voice came instantly. “You find the aliens?”

“Yeah, we found them,” Han said. “Plus a surprise or two. Have Mara bring Threepio here—if she heads out the way we went she’ll run right into us.”

“Got it,” Lando said. “What about me?”

“I don’t think this bunch will give us any trouble,” Han said, giving the aliens another once-over. “You and Artoo might as well stay there and keep an eye on the camp. Oh, and if you see some short guys with camouflage suits and lots of teeth, don’t shoot. They’re on our side.”

“I’m glad,” Lando said dryly. “I think. Anything else?”

Han looked at the groups of shadowy aliens, all of them staring straight back at him. “Yeah—cross your fingers. We might be about to pick up some allies. Or else a whole lot of trouble down the road.”

“Right. Mara and Threepio are on their way. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Shutting off the comlink, Han returned it to his belt. “They’re coming,” he told Luke.

“There is no need for them to guard your camp,” Ekhrikhor said. “The Noghri will protect it.”

“That’s okay,” Han said. “It’s getting crowded enough here as it is.” He eyed Ekhrikhor. “So I was right. We
were
followed in.”

“Yes,” Ekhrikhor said, bowing his head. “And for that deception I beg your forgiveness, consort of the Lady Vader. I and others did not feel it entirely honorable; but Cakhmaim clan Eikh’mir wished our presence to be kept hidden from you.”

“Why?”

Ekhrikhor bowed again. “Cakhmaim clan Eikh’mir felt hostility from you in the Lady Vader’s suite,” he said. “He believed you would not willingly accept a guard of Noghri to accompany you.”

Han looked at Luke, caught the kid’s halfway try at hiding a grin. “Well, next time you see Cakhmaim, you tell him that I stopped passing up free help years ago,” he told Ekhrikhor. “But as long as we’re discussing hostility, you can knock off that ‘consort of the Lady Vader’ stuff. Call me Han, or Solo. Or Captain. Or practically anything else.”

“Han clan Solo, maybe,” Luke murmured.

Ekhrikhor brightened. “That is good,” he said. “We beg your forgiveness, Han clan Solo.”

Han looked at Luke. “I think you’ve been adopted,” Luke said, fighting that grin again.

“Yeah,” Han said. “Thanks. A lot.”

“A little rapport never hurts,” Luke pointed out. “Remember Endor.”

“I’m not likely to forget,” Han growled, feeling his lip twist. Sure, the little fuzzballs there had done their bit in that final battle against the second Death Star. That didn’t change the fact that being made part of an Ewok tribe was one of the more ridiculous things he’d ever had to go through.

Still, the Ewoks had overwhelmed the Imperial troops by sheer weight of numbers. The Noghri, on the other hand— “How many of you are there here?” he asked Ekhrikhor.

“There are eight,” the other replied. “Two each have traveled before, after, and on either side of you during your journey.”

Han nodded, feeling a grudging trickle of unwilling respect for these things. Eight of them, silently killing or driving away predators and natives. Day and night both.
And
still finding time on top of it to clear their path of nuisances like clawbirds and vine snakes.

He looked down at Ekhrikhor. No, the adoption process didn’t feel quite so ridiculous this time around.

From somewhere behind them came a familiar shuffling sound. Han turned, and a moment later the equally familiar golden figure of Threepio traipsed into view. Beside him and a half-step behind was Mara, blaster in hand. “Master Luke,” Threepio called, his voice its usual mixture of relieved and anxious and just plain prissy.

“Over here, Threepio,” Luke called back. “Think you can do some translation for us?”

“I’ll do my best,” the droid said. “As you know, I am fluent in over six million forms of communica—”

“I see you found the natives,” Mara cut him off, giving the group by the log a quick survey as she and Threepio stepped into the clearing. Her eyes fell on Ekhrikhor— “And a little surprise, too,” she added, her blaster quietly shifting its aim toward the Noghri.

“It’s all right—he’s a friend,” Luke assured her, reaching toward her blaster.

“I don’t think so,” Mara said, twitching the weapon to the side out of his reach. “They’re Noghri. They work for Thrawn.”

“We serve him no longer,” Ekhrikhor told her.

“That’s true, Mara, they don’t,” Luke said.

“Maybe,” Mara said. She still wasn’t happy about it, but at least her blaster wasn’t pointed exactly at Ekhrikhor anymore.

Across the clearing, the Myneyrsh nearest the log pulled what seemed to be a bleached-white stuffed clawbird from a shoulder pouch. Speaking inaudibly under his breath, he laid it in front of him beside the worklight. “What’s that?” Han asked. “Lunch?”

“It is called the
satna-chakka
,” Ekhrikhor said. “It is a bond of peace while this meeting lasts. They are ready to begin. You—Threepio-droid—come with me.”

“Of course,” Threepio said, not sounding exactly thrilled by the whole arrangement. “Master Luke…?”

“I’ll come with you,” Luke soothed. “Han, Chewie—you stay here.”

“No argument from me,” Han said.

With a clearly reluctant Threepio in tow, Luke and the Noghri headed toward the log. The head Myneyrsh raised its upper two hands over his head, palm inwards.
“Bidaesi charaa,”
he said, his voice surprisingly melodious.
“Lyaaunu baaraemaa dukhnu phaeri.”

“He announces the arrival of the strangers,” Threepio said precisely. “Presumably, that refers to us. He fears, however, that we will bring danger and trouble again to his people.”

Beside Han, Chewbacca rumbled a sarcastic comment. “No, they’re not much for small talk,” Han agreed. “Not much for diplomacy, either.”

“We bring hope to your people,” the chief Noghri countered. “If you let us pass, we will free you from the domination of the Empire.”

Threepio translated, the melodious Myneyrshi words still coming out prissy, in Han’s opinion. One of the lumpy Psadans made a chopping gesture and said something that sounded like a faint and distant scream with consonants scattered around in it. “He says that the Psadan people have long memories,” Threepio translated. “Apparently, deliverers have come before but nothing has ever changed.”

“Welcome to the real world,” Han muttered.

Luke threw a look at him over his shoulder. “Ask him to explain, Threepio,” he told the droid.

Threepio complied, quiet-screaming back at the Psadan and then throwing in a Myneyrshi translation, too, just to show he could do it. The Psadan’s answer went on for several minutes, and Han’s ears were starting to hurt by the time he was done.

“Well,” Threepio said, tilting his head and settling into the professor mode Han had always hated. “There are many details—but I will pass those by for now,” he added hastily, probably at a look from one of the Noghri. “The humans who came as colonists were the first invaders. They drove the native peoples from some of their lands, and were stopped only when their lightning bows and metal birds—those are their terms, of course—began to fail. Much later came the Empire, who as we know built into the forbidden mountain. They enslaved many of the native peoples to help on the project and drove others from their lands. After the builders left came someone who called himself the Guardian, and he, too, sought control over the native peoples. Finally, the one who called himself the Jedi Master came, and in a battle that lit up the sky he defeated the Guardian. For a time the native peoples thought they might be freed, but the Jedi Master brought humans and native peoples to himself and forced them to live together beneath the shadow of the forbidden mountain. Finally, the Empire has returned.” Threepio tilted his head back again. “As you can see, Master Luke, we are merely the last in a long line of invaders.”

“Except that we’re not invaders,” Luke said. “We’re here to free them from the rule of the Empire.”

“I understand that, Master Luke—”

“I know you do,” Luke interrupted the droid. “Tell
them
that.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.”

He started into his translation. “You ask me, I don’t think they’ve had it all that bad,” Han muttered to Chewbacca. “The Empire took whole planets away from some people.”

“Primitives always have this reaction to visitors,” Mara said. “They usually have long memories, too.”

“Yeah. Maybe. You suppose that Jedi Master they were talking about was your pal C’baoth?”

“Who else?” Mara said grimly. “This must be where Thrawn found him.”

Han felt his stomach tighten. “You think he’s here now?”

“I don’t sense anything,” Mara said slowly. “Doesn’t mean he can’t come back.”

The head Myneyrsh was talking again. Han let his gaze drift around the clearing. Were there other Myneyrshi and Psadans out there keeping an eye on the big debate? Luke hadn’t said anything about backups, but they’d have to be crazy not to have them somewhere nearby.

Unless Ekhrikhor’s pals had already taken care of them. If this didn’t work, it could turn out to be handy having the Noghri around.

The Myneyrsh finished its speech. “I’m sorry, Master Luke,” Threepio apologized. “They say they have no reason to assume we are any different than all those they have already spoken of.”

“I understand their fears,” Luke nodded. “Ask them how we can prove our good intentions.”

Threepio started to translate; and as he did so, a hard Wookiee elbow jabbed into Han’s shoulder. “What?” Han asked.

Chewbacca nodded toward his left, his bowcaster already up and tracking. Han followed the movement with his eyes—”Uh-oh.”

“What is it?” Mara demanded.

Han opened his mouth; then, suddenly, there wasn’t time to tell her. The wiry predator Chewbacca had spotted slinking through the tree branches had stopped slinking and was coiling itself to spring at the discussion group. “Look out!” he snapped instead, bringing his blaster up.

Chewbacca was faster. With a Wookiee hunter’s roar, he fired, the bowcaster bolt slicing the predator nearly in half. It fell off its perch, crunching into the dead leaves, and lay still.

And over by the log, the whole group of Myneyrshi snarled.

“Watch it, Chewie,” Han warned, shifting his aim toward the aliens.

“That might have been a mistake,” Mara said tensely. “You’re not supposed to fire weapons at a truce conference.”

“You’re not supposed to let the conference get eaten, either,” Han retorted. Beside the Myneyrshi, the five Psadans had started to shake, and he hoped Ekhrikhor’s pals had the rest of the area covered. “Threepio—tell them.”

“Certainly, Captain Solo,” Threepio said, sounding about as nervous as Han felt. “
Mulansaar
—”

The head Myneyrsh cut him off with a chopping motion of its two left arms. “You!” he warbled in passable Basic, jabbing all four hands at Han. “He have lightning bow?”

Han frowned at him. Of course Chewbacca had a weapon—so did all the rest of them. He glanced up at the Wookiee… and suddenly he understood. “Yes, he has,” he told the Myneyrsh, lowering his blaster. “He’s our friend. We don’t keep slaves like the Empire did.”

Threepio started into his translation, but the Myneyrsh was already jabbering away to his friends. “Nice work,” Mara murmured. “I hadn’t thought of that. But you’re right—the last Wookiees they saw here would have been Imperial slaves.”

Han nodded. “Let’s hope it makes a difference.”

The discussion ran on for a few more minutes, mostly between the Myneyrshi and the Psadans. Threepio tried for a while to keep up a running translation, but it quickly degenerated into not much more than a reporting of the highlights. The Myneyrshi, apparently, were starting to think this was their chance to get rid of the oppression of first the Empire and then the Jedi Master himself. The Psadans didn’t like the Imperials any more than the Myneyrshi, but the thought of facing up to C’baoth was making them skittish.

“We aren’t asking you to fight alongside us,” Luke told them when he was finally able to get their attention back. “Our battle is our own, and we will handle it ourselves. All we ask is your permission to travel through your territory to the forbidden mountain and your assurance that you won’t betray us to the Empire.”

Threepio did his double translation, and Han braced himself for another argument. But there wasn’t one. The head Myneyrsh raised his upper hands again, and with his lower hands picked up the bleached clawbird and offered it to Luke. “I believe he is offering you safe conduct, Master Luke,” Threepio said helpfully. “Though I could be wrong—their dialect has survived relatively intact, but gestures and movements are often—”

“Tell him thank you,” Luke said, nodding as he accepted the clawbird. “Tell him we accept their hospitality. And that they won’t be sorry they helped us.”

“General Covell?” the militarily precise voice came over the intercom from the shuttle cockpit. “We should be on the surface in just a few more minutes.”

“Acknowledged,” Covell said. He keyed the intercom off and turned to the shuttle’s only other passenger. “We’re almost there,” he said.

“Yes, I heard,” C’baoth said, his amusement echoing through his voice. And through Covell’s mind. “Tell me, General Covell, are we at the end of our voyage or at the beginning?”

“The beginning, of course,” Covell told him. “The voyage we have set upon will have no end.”

“And what of Grand Admiral Thrawn?”

Covell felt a frown crease his forehead. He hadn’t heard this question before, at least not said this particular way. But even as he hesitated, the answer came soothingly into his thoughts. As all answers did now. “It’s the beginning of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s ending,” he said.