"That won't be necessary," Formbi said suddenly before he could begin lifting. "A medical litter is on its way. My people will take him inside."
Bearsh stood up. "We would prefer the human's help," he said stiffly. "We would prefer the Chiss not enter our spacecraft again."
"You don't have a choice," Formbi said flatly. "The Chaf Envoy is a vessel of the Fifth Family of the Chiss Ascendancy. As travelers within that vessel, you come under Chiss law and custom. If we choose to enter your vessel, we will do so."
For a long moment the two aliens stood facing each other in silence, Bearsh looking ridiculously small and fragile in front of the tall, regal Chiss. Then, with a sigh, Bearsh's shoulders seemed to sag. "Of course," he murmured, turning away. "As you wish."
Luke stirred, starting to take a step forward. Formbi was being completely unreasonable—
No.
He stopped in midthought and midstep as Mara's urgent warning flowed into his mind. He looked back around at her, caught the similarly warning look in her eyes.
His intended protest died away unsaid. It was Formbi's ship, after all. If the Aristocra wanted to make that point obvious to everyone present, it wasn't Luke's place to argue with him.
From down the corridor came two Chiss guiding a floating medical cart between them. Luke looked at Mara again, caught the fractional tilt of her head, and stepped away from the injured Geroon to give them room. A minute later, they had Estosh on the litter and were moving him inside. The rest of the Geroons walked beside them in stony silence.
"That's all, then," Formbi said, turning his glowing eyes on Luke and Mara as the party disappeared down the transfer tunnel. "Thank you for your assistance."
With a supreme effort, Luke merely nodded. "You're welcome," he said. "I don't suppose Estosh saw who shot him?"
Formbi shook his head. "He told Feesa the shooter fired as he entered the corridor. He wasn't even certain where the shot came from. We're searching for the weapon now."
"I see," Luke said. "Please let us know if you find it."
"Of course," Formbi said. "Good night."
"They won't find anything," he muttered to Mara as they threaded their way through the milling Chiss and headed toward their quarters. "Ten to one it's back in its rack or holster or wherever it was taken from."
"You think that's what our friend last night was looking for?" Mara asked. "A weapon?"
"Maybe, only he didn't take it then," Luke said. "If he had, the search parties today would have noticed it was missing. No, all he wanted yesterday was to find where a weapon was conveniently located so that he could grab it tonight, shoot the first Geroon who came out of their shuttle, then put it back before it could be missed."
"But why shoot a Geroon, of all people?"
"I don't know," Luke said in disgust. "Maybe someone wants to drive a wedge between them and the Chiss. Or maybe just between them and Formbi. Someone who doesn't want to see them get a world of their own."
"Or maybe someone looking to stir up trouble between Formbi and us," Mara pointed out. "You were within half a heartbeat of arguing with him in front of his own people. You think he could have let you get away with that?"
"He was being petty," Luke said with a sigh. "But you're right. His ship; his rules. Anyway, good guests don't argue with their hosts."
"So be a good guest," Mara said, taking his arm soothingly as they walked. "And while we do that, we can also see about watching his back."
He gave her a sideways look. "You think Formbi's in danger?"
"Someone's trying to scatter chaos around this ship," she reminded him. "A major political assassination, or even just an attempt, would pretty well end the whole thing, don't you think?"
Luke shook his head. "I wish I knew what was on Outbound Flight that's so important."
"Me, too," Mara said. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."
The searchers found the charric half an hour later in a ventilation intake a few meters down the corridor from where Estosh had been shot. Further investigation showed it had been stolen from an arms locker in the stern of the ship near the main engines, a locker whose fasteners had been carefully gimmicked for quick opening. Luke's guess, Mara had to admit, had been right on the nose.
There was, of course, no indication as to who had actually taken the weapon or fired the shot.
For the next two days Mara did some quiet poking around on her own, examining the scene of the attack, learning everything she could about charrics and their operation, and holding casual conversations with everyone who would talk to her.
The interviews were, unfortunately, less than illuminating. Most of the crewers had stopped being neutral toward her and her questions and gave halfhearted answers or none at all. The non-Chiss passengers were friendlier but even less helpful. Most had been alone at the time of the shooting, with no way of corroborating their stories. Only the stormtroopers claimed to have been together in Fel's ship, and even there careful questioning established that they weren't in sight of each other during much of the critical period.
She also spoke twice with Estosh, trying to draw out a more complete description of the incident. But he, too, was of little help. He'd been facing away from the shooter, his thoughts on other matters, and the shock and pain of the injury itself seemed to have thrown an extra layer of haze over his memories. About the only positive thing that came out of those discussions was the fact that he was definitely on the path to recovery.
It was frustrating to hit so many blind alleys. And yet, paradoxically, she found the process itself strangely exhilarating. In many ways this kind of investigation was exactly what she'd been trained for, back when Palpatine had been preparing her to be his silent agent. Certainly it had been one of the most stimulating aspects of her service to him.
Only now it was even better. Here, there was none of the brooding air of hopelessness that had seemed to be the normal state of affairs under Palpatine's Empire, a hopelessness that had hung like a black cloud over every job and every mission. No one aboard Chaf Envoy cringed as she approached, hating and fearing her, or else welcomed her with the false courtesy of someone hoping to twist her authority to his own private ends.
True, most of the Chiss crewers still seemed to heartily dislike the Imperials. But it was a contemptuous dislike, born of a sense of superiority of culture and purpose, not the terrified, hopeless hatred those under the Empire's heel had displayed toward their masters. Fel, in response, walked about with his head held high, not with the arrogance of a Grand Moff or Imperial general, but with a sense of pride about who he was and what he and the Empire of the Hand had accomplished. It was the same kind of pride that she'd often seen in Han or Leia, or in the pilots of Rogue Squadron, or even in Luke himself.
And as she observed and analyzed it all, she couldn't help but compare it to the very different flavor of life she'd left behind in the New Republic. To the squabbling in the Senate that mirrored the hundreds of tensions and clashes between neighboring star systems, or to the factions and power centers maneuvering for position and supremacy on Coruscant that constantly siphoned off energy and resources that could be far better spent in other ways.
Palpatine had been hateful, vicious, and destructive, especially toward the hundreds of alien species under his domination. But she had to admit that, at least on a purely practical level, the efficiency and order of his Empire had been a vast improvement over the bloated bureaucracy and bribe-driven operation of the Old Republic that had preceded it.
What would that Empire have been like, she couldn't help wondering, if people like Parck and Fel had been in command instead of Palpatine? What could that efficiency and order have accomplished, for that matter, in the hands of someone like Thrawn, himself a nonhuman?