Part 36 (2/2)

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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+eld 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.

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