Vision of the future

'I'm sorry, Mistress Shada,' he said, managing to sound prim and miserable at the same time.

'I've never entirely enjoyed space travel. And this in particular reminds me of a rather unpleasant incident in the past.'

'It should be over soon,' she soothed him. 'Just try to relax.' The Mistryl shadow guard had never used droids all that much, but one of Shada's uncles had had one when she was growing up and she'd always had something of a soft spot for them.

And in Threepio's case, she felt a particularly personal sympathy for his position. Leia Organa Solo's personal translator droid, he had been suddenly and summarily offered to Karrde for this voyage—no notice, no questions, no apologies. In many ways, it echoed Shada's own long and unquestioning service to the Mistryl.

A service that had come to a sudden and permanent end a month ago on the windswept roof of the Resinem Entertainment Complex, where Shada had dared to put her personal honor above direct orders from the Eleven, the rulers of her shattered world of Emberlene.

Would the rest of the Mistryl be hunting her now? Her old friend Karoly D'ulin had hinted that that would be the case. But with the New Republic simmering toward self-destruction in a flurry of petty wars and revived grudges, surely the Mistryl had more important things to do than hunt down even a perceived traitor.

On the other hand, if Karoly had reported Shada's reasons for her defiance—had repeated the words of scorn for leaders who had now forgotten the proud and honorable tradition the Mistryl had once held to—then the Eleven might indeed consider her worth the effort to track down. Of all motivations to action, she had long since learned that injured pride was one of the most powerful. And one of the most destructive, as well. To both the victim and the hunter. A motion caught her eye: Karrde half turning in his seat to look at her. 'Enjoying the ride?' he asked.

'Oh, it's great fun,' she told him. 'Nothing I like better than doing tight maneuvers with a cold crew.'

The Togorian's fur expanded, just a little. But she didn't comment, and she kept her eyes on her displays. 'New experiences are what give zest to life,' Karrde said mildly.

'In my line of work, new experiences usually mean trouble,' Shada countered. 'I hope you weren't planning on sneaking in, by the way. The way your people are lighting up the field, all of Pembric 2 knows we're coming by now.'

As if to underline her words, the asteroids outside flickered with a multiple sputter of turbolaser fire. 'Actually, according to Mara, most ships have to do some blasting on the way in,' Karrde said. His fingers, Shada noted, were tapping gently but restlessly on his armrest. 'Even the locals who supposedly know the routes in and out.'

[We have cleared the asteroid field, Chieftain Karrde,] the Togorian mewled. Shada looked back at the viewport. There were still some asteroids floating past, but for the most part the sky was indeed clear.

[The planetary landing beacons are in sight,] H'sishi added, turning her head and fixing her yellow eyes on Shada. [Your junior crew drone may now cease her nervousness.]

Shada held that gaze for another two heartbeats. Then, deliberately, she turned away. Most of the Wild Karrde's crew had been verbally poking at her, in one way or another, ever since their departure from Coruscant. Mazzic's people had done the same back when she first joined his smuggling group—the usual reaction, she had long ago realized, of a tight-knit crew who have just had a stranger thrust into their midst.

One of Mazzic's techs had unwisely crossed the line from verbal to physical jabs, and as a result had spent a month in a neural reconstruction facility. Out here, at the edge of civilization, she hoped the Wild Karrde's crew wouldn't have to learn the lesson the same way. The pilot half turned around. 'What now, Chief?'

'Take us into orbit,' Karrde told him. 'There's only one place on the planet that can handle a ship this size, the Erwithat Spaceport. They should be calling with landing instructions anytime now.' Right on cue, the comm crackled. 'Bss'dum'shun,' a sharp voice snapped. 'Sg'hur hur Erwithat roz'bd bun's'unk. Rs'zud huc'dms'hus u burfu.'

Shada frowned. 'I thought you said they spoke Basic here,' she said.

'They do,' Karrde said. 'They must be trying to throw us.' He cocked an eyebrow at the droid beside Shada. 'Threepio? Do you recognize it?'

'Oh, yes, Captain Karrde,' the droid said with the first sign of enthusiasm Shada had seen in him since the trip started. 'I am fluent in over six million forms of communication. This is the dominant Jarellian dialect, a language whose antecedents date back to—'

'What did he say?' Shada interrupted gently. Protocol droids, in her limited experience, would go running on side trails all day if you let them, and Karrde didn't look like he was in the mood for a linguistics lesson.

Threepio turned around to face her. 'He has identified himself as Erwithat Space Control, Mistress Shada, and asks our identity and cargo.'