Reunion (17 page)

C-3PO cocked his golden head.

“You hear that?” Han asked.

“Of course, sir,” the droid said. “The signal is quite clear.”

“We haven’t been able to locate a source yet; the atmosphere appears to be carrying it a long way, and spreading it out in the process. But the important thing is, can you translate it? And don’t bother telling me how many languages you speak. The only person in the room who hasn’t already heard that spiel a thousand times is Droma, and he’s not easily impressed.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Leia suppressed a half smile as C-3PO nodded stiffly. The warbling transmission issued from the cockpit speakers with liquid clarity.
Millennium Falcon
’s audio scrubbers had managed to remove much of the background hiss, along with the increasing electromagnetic noise from the battle taking place above the planet. If C-3PO couldn’t translate it, no one could.

While the droid was busy with this task, Han angled the
Falcon
up and over a ridge, diving deep into another trench. Droma, in the copilot’s seat, fired a concussion missile at a distant mountain, in the hope that the resulting explosion would cover their tracks. Thus far there had been no attempt to interfere with their progress across the surface of Esfandia, so they had to assume that the tactic had thus far worked.

But there had been no sign of the relay base, either. Wherever it was, it had dug in deep and wasn’t moving.

“The transmission appears to be in a very strange form of trinary machine language,” C-3PO said, his glowing photoreceptors gazing off into distant semantic landscapes. “The grammar is inconsistent, and the vocabulary quite peculiar. I am quite certain, though, that this is the source language.”

“Is it coming from the relay base?” Han asked over his shoulder.

“I don’t think that’s terribly likely, sir,” the droid said. “Not unless it has taken to talking to itself.”

“There’s more than one signal?” Leia asked.

“I have identified at least seventeen.”

“
Seventeen
?” Han repeated. “That’s impossible.”

“They could be decoys,” Droma suggested, “laid out across the surface to misdirect the search.”

“What’s the point of that if you can’t find a single decoy? The way the atmosphere spreads these frequencies, we’d be lucky to bump into
one
by accident.”

Droma shrugged. “It’d keep us busy, though. And the Yuuzhan Vong.”

Leia thought of the strange, flowerlike formations the
Falcon
had passed through earlier, and an uneasy thought suddenly occurred to her …

“These transmissions,” she said. “Are they all using an identical variation on that trinary code?”

“No, Mistress. Each transmissions source has its own unique variation.”

“What’s the point of that?” Han said.

Leia waved him silent. “And what are they talking about, exactly?”

“It’s difficult to say with any precision. Some of the nouns are unfamiliar to me, and the modifiers have mutated in ways that defy—”

“Your best guess will do,” Han interrupted.

“There seems to be a lot of talk about the battle,” the
droid returned after listening to the signals for a few seconds. “The atmospheric disturbances are severe in some areas, and it would appear that the local flora has suffered catastrophic damage.”

“Did you say
flora
?”

“Indeed, sir. The ecosystem of this world is another major topic of conversation, particularly among those whose food supplies have been threatened.”

“Food supplies—?” Han glanced at the forward viewport. It was black and lifeless outside. Even using enhanced vision, the surface showed no obvious signs of any biological activity. “Are you saying that the things making these signals are
alive
?”

“Why, yes, sir. I had assumed you already suspected this.”

“But how is that possible in an environment like this?”

“Life has been found before in atmospheres of similar constitution, sir,” C-3PO lectured. “It could have evolved here in the planet’s early days, when the heat from the core was much more intense. Single-celled life-forms could easily have evolved, perhaps larger organisms also.”

“But you’re talking intelligent life,” Han protested. “Things that can
talk
!”

“Indeed, sir. It is also possible that these life-forms are not indigenous to Esfandia.”

“They could have been imported here?” Leia asked. “Where from?”

“From wherever it was they evolved, Princess.”

Han raised his hands in frustration. He looked at Droma as though for support.

“I guess it makes sense,” the Ryn said. “If life was going to exist here, it would have to be scattered; a low-energy world couldn’t support too dense a population. They would have to use a form of communication that
could reach long distances, and comm frequencies give them that.”

“But
trinary
code?”

“I think someone taught them to speak that way,” Leia said.

Han’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Someone on the relay team?”

“Past, if not present. The language has had time to change, after all.” She turned to C-3PO. “Do you think we could communicate with these creatures?”

“I can see no reason why not, Princess. We know the frequencies upon which they communicate, and I am fluent in an approximate version of their language.”

He leaned forward to speak into the communicator.

“Low power only,” Han said, letting the droid through. “And if they can’t tell us anything about the relay base, we’re not going to sit here and chat. We’re not the only ones listening.”

C-3PO performed the droid equivalent of clearing his throat, then warbled a series of strange, fluting tones into Esfandia’s dense atmosphere. Leia tried to discern a pattern to it, but it was pointless. To her ears it sounded like three deranged flutists bickering over which melody to play.

When it was done, C-3PO straightened in satisfaction. “I have broadcast a request for information on the location of the vrgrlmrl.”

“Verger-
what
?” Han said.

“Vrgrlmrl: the relay base,” C-3PO repeated casually, the burbling phrase rolling effortlessly from his vocal box. “If they reply, we will know—”

He paused as a stronger signal from the comm filled the cabin.

“Oh, my,” the droid said, looking almost anxiously to the others around him. “I fear something got lost in
translation. They misunderstood my request for information as an invitation.”

“An invitation to what?” Han asked.

“I’m not sure. But if I may try again, sir, I might—”

“Spare us the details,” Han said. “Just get them talking.”

C-3PO burbled out another string of nonsensical sounds. The reply was immediate, although this time it was as if multiple voices had joined the conversation. And if before it had sounded like three flutists bickering, now it sounded like the entire orchestra had gotten involved in the argument.

Droma had his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to keep the cacophony out. “I haven’t heard anything like this since I attended a benefit for a tone-deaf Pa’lowick—and boy, those guys could wail.”

“Are you getting anything useful?” Han asked, rapping on C-3PO’s bronzed casing.

The droid broke off his conversation. “Indeed, sir. For the most part the Brrbrlpp, as they call themselves, are a sociable species, and are happy to talk. They are familiar with the relay base, but will not reveal its location until they are certain we mean it no harm.”

“Well, then, what are you waiting for? Reassure them, already.”

“I have already done so, sir, but I’m afraid it will take more than that to convince them.” C-3PO hesitated, looking to each person in the cockpit.

“What is it, Threepio?” Leia asked.

“Well, Princess, it seems that in the eyes of the Brrbrlpp, we are murderers and therefore untrustworthy.”

“Murderers?” Han rasped. “We’re not the ones bombarding their planet. We’re trying to stop it!”

“It’s not the bombardment that concerns them, sir. They claim that we have killed fifteen of their people since we arrived.”

“What? When are we supposed to have done that?”

“They say that the voices of their friends were silenced when we crossed their paths.”

With a sickening sensation, Leia thought again of the strange flower shapes that had brushed by the
Falcon
, dissolving in the freighter’s turbulent, superheated wake.

“Stop the engines,” she told her husband.

“What? Leia, you can’t be—”

“Do it, Han,” she insisted. “Switch off the repulsors—
everything
. Do it now before we kill someone else!”

Han complied, although it was clear from the expression on his face he didn’t understand why. The
Falcon
settled slowly to the bottom of the trench, and when a quiet had washed over the ship, Leia explained her theory of what these aliens were.

“We didn’t know,” Han said, pale-faced at the idea of having inadvertently killed so many intelligent beings. “Tell them that, Threepio. Explain to them that there was no way we
could
have known.”

“I will try, sir, but I don’t think it will make much difference to their feelings toward us.”

“There has to be something we can say to change their minds.”

Leia put a hand on her husband’s shoulder as, out of the darkness, one of the flower shapes drifted toward them. Now that she could see it properly, she saw how its edges rippled to provide motion, moving it through the atmosphere. A ring of photosensors studded its interior, along with radial lines of swirling cilia. Behind the cilia, through the creature’s semitransparent flesh, she could see a complicated skeleton keeping the alien’s “petals” rigid, as well as gently pulsing darker patches that might have been internal organs. And behind all that, tapering off into the distance, was a long, whiplike tail.

There was no sense of up or down, or of a face, and yet she knew it was watching them.

“Can they hurt us?” Droma whispered, as though worried the creature might overhear him.

“I doubt it,” Han said, but he didn’t sound confident.

Leia felt a faint rippling through the Force as a second alien joined the first. It was in turn quickly joined by a third. There was no doubt now that they were alive. More came, wafting in on the heavy currents of Esfandia’s atmosphere, until the ship was surrounded by a ring of mysterious flowers.

We killed their friends
, she thought bitterly to herself.
We killed their family
.

Somehow she didn’t think that
sorry
was about to make up for that.

Saba smelled the thunderstorm long before she heard it. Her sensitive nostrils twitched at the moisture on the air, filtered through the tampasi and redolent with spores and sap. Within minutes she could hear rain sweeping across the treetops, driven at a sharp angle by powerful, gusting winds. Before long she could hear the sound of the water escaping the boras leaves high above and trickling down in streams to the ground.

The Ferroans had provided their guests with rolled-up sleeping pads and thick, coarse blankets. Following a light supper, Jacen, Danni, and Mara had decided to take advantage of the situation and rest, while Master Skywalker and Doctor Hegerty stayed up to talk. Saba stayed awake, also, despite being tired. She still didn’t completely trust their hosts, and wanted to keep watch for the others. She remained on her pad the entire time, with eyes closed and ears opened, listening to everything happening around her—including the conversation between Master Skywalker and Hegerty.

“—mentioned the Potentium to Jacen,” Master Skywalker was saying. “She didn’t give him many details, though, and I’ve never heard of it. Have you?”

“No,” the elderly human scholar replied. “But mind you, the study of the Force isn’t really my field.”

“What about the Ferroans, then? Is there anything about them you think I should know?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed their intolerance toward us,” the doctor said. “Not that I can blame their suspicion. They’ve been contacted by strangers six times that we know of: three times by Jedi, including us; twice by the Yuuzhan Vong; and once by Tarkin and his Old Republic forces. Three times they’ve been attacked, and each time it happened, the Jedi were there. Once you could forget; twice you could forgive; but
three times
?”

“I know what you mean,” Luke said. “I can’t blame them, either, for thinking that way. But it’s our job to change their minds. Otherwise this whole quest will have been a waste of time.”

Rain crackled gently on the roof of the mushroomlike habitat, although inside was warm and dry. Saba could feel faint tendrils of life trickling through its capillaries. It seemed to like the rain, and much of the warmth was generated as a result of the pleasure it felt.

They talked further, but Saba was finding herself more and more seduced by exhaustion and the notion of sleep. Nearby she could make out the restive breathing of those sleeping around her, and she found herself soothed by the rhythm along with the rain on the rooftop. She fought the sleep for a moment longer, feeling that perhaps she should continue to keep alert for the others. But then, Master Skywalker was still awake, and he was more than able to keep an eye out for everyone’s well-being. There really was no reason to stay alert …

Jag took the shot on his port shields and stuttered his engines as though he’d been hit. His clawcraft went into a wild tumble, careening dangerously across the battlefield. Stars slewed around him in a disorienting tangle,
and he had to rely on his instincts in ways rarely called upon to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Only when the scarred bulk of the dead gunship loomed vertiginously over him did he kill the illusion—and then just for a split second.

Everything depended on him being able to convince those that saw him that his “death roll” was genuine, while at the same time maintaining enough control over his ship to ensure he wasn’t actually killed.

A fraction of a second before colliding with the gunship, he fired his laser cannons. The resulting explosion boiled yorik coral in a great plume from the gunship, enveloping him in fire and debris. For a brief moment, he was actually cushioned by the blast—a situation he had initially feared might be untenable, until he checked the rating on his shields and found that they could take it. Inertial dampeners soaked up his residual momentum and brought him and his clawcraft to a creaking halt deep within the hull of the ruined gunship.