Jinzler looked around, searching for some clue as to what he should do. But with the exception of the door and the control panel Bearsh was still pounding on, the room was completely devoid of decoration or instrumentation. The control panel itself didn't offer much, either. There were only five options for stops, marked D-4-1, D-4-2, D-5-1, D-5-2, and SC, plus the usual emergency buttons and a droid socket that would do them no good without a droid. Jinzler himself was unarmed, though what he would have done with a blaster even if he'd had one he couldn't guess. He did have a comlink connected to the Chaf Envoy, but whoever had sprung this trap would surely have thought to jam their communications.
Still, it was worth a try. Slowly, carefully, he dug into the proper pocket of his survival pack.
There was a loud click from the control panel. Bearsh jumped back, twitching as if he'd been stung. "Hello, Ambassador Jinzler," a man's voice said. "My name is Pressor, Guardian of this colony."
"Hello, Guardian," Jinzler said, trying to keep his voice calm. "This has been something of a surprise."
"I'm sure it has," Pressor said. "And I apologize for that. But I'm sure you understand that we have to take precautions."
"Of course," Jinzler said, though he didn't, entirely. "May I ask what's happened to the rest of my party?"
"They're perfectly safe," Pressor assured him. "At least for now. What ultimately happens to all of you, of course, is still undecided. I'd like to bring you out for a discussion, if I may."
An unpleasant thrill tingled across Jinzler's skin. Ambassador Jinzler. He'd started this whole charade purely to get himself aboard Formbi's expedition. Quite unintentionally, he'd apparently sold these people on that story, as well.
And unless he was misreading the tone of Pressor's voice, he was about to be dropped into negotiations regarding the fate of everyone aboard the expedition.
For a long second panic bubbled in his throat. He wasn't a diplomat, trained in mediation or negotiation. He was only an electronics tech. Mostly a failed one, too, like he'd been a failure at everything else he'd tried. Luke and Mara should be handling any talks with Guardian Pressor. Them, or Aristocra Formbi—after all, this territory belonged to the Chiss, not the New Republic. Even Commander Fel probably had more experience with foreign cultures than he did.
But he was the one Pressor had chosen. Arguing the point would probably be a bad idea, and admitting his deception would be even worse. Whether he liked it or not, it was up to him. "Certainly," he told the disembodied voice. "Just tell me what you want me to do."
"When the door opens you will step outside," Pressor said. "The girl who met you earlier will take you to a nearby room. I'll be waiting for you there."
"I understand," Jinzler said, glancing down at the top of Feesa's head. "What about those in here with me?"
"They'll have to wait there until we're finished."
Feesa gave a soft whimper. "Please," she whispered. "Please. No."
"You cannot leave us here alone," Bearsh agreed softly. "Please, Ambassador Jinzler."
Jinzler grimaced. This could get very awkward. "I understand your concerns, Guardian," he said. "But my companions... they're not exactly what you'd call heroic."
"We have no need of heroes here, Ambassador," Pressor said, his voice dark. "We don't need them, and we don't like them."
"Of course," Jinzler said hastily. "My point is that it's going to be a severe hardship for them to stay here alone. Besides which," he added as inspiration finally struck, "First Steward Bearsh and the other Geroons came a long way to pay you honor for saving them from slavery to the Vagaari all those years ago. I know they would very much like to be present at our discussions."
There was no answer. Jinzler remained motionless, holding on to Feesa and mentally crossing his fingers. "Very well," Pressor said at last. "They may all accompany you, provided they remain silent. I trust you are willing to guarantee their behavior?"
"I am," Jinzler said firmly. "No one wants to hurt any of you. We're only here to help."
Pressor snorted. "Of course you are."
With one final delicate slice of her lightsaber, Mara cut away the twenty-centimeter-square section of the turbolift car wall she'd been working on, leaving everything behind it untouched. The piece of metal fell inward, stopping abruptly in midair as Luke caught it in a Force grip. "Okay," he said, easing it to the floor as warm air flowed in through the opening. "Let's see what we've got."
"Mostly a lot of wires," Mara said, switching off her lightsaber and stepping closer to the wall.
Luke moved to her side. She was right: in just the small section she'd opened up there were no fewer than eight wires of different colors crisscrossing their way across the gap. "Guardian Pressor wasn't kidding about the power cables being wrapped around the car," he commented.
"He sure wasn't," Mara agreed, pushing experimentally on one of them. It gave about a centimeter and then stopped. "Wrapped pretty tightly, too. We're not going to be able to push them far enough out of the way to squeeze between them."
"What good would that do anyway?" Drask asked. "Even if we left the car, we would still be suspended in midair."
"Sure, but as long as we stayed out of the repulsor beams, we'd be all right," Luke told him. "All we'd have to deal with along the edges would be standard ship's gravity, and there should be access ladders built into the sides of the tube we can use to get down."
"Except that the wires prevent us from reaching them," Drask said tartly. "Have you any other ideas?"
"We're not finished with this one yet," Mara countered, just as tartly. "What do you think, Luke? Should mine be on the other side?"
"Yes," Luke agreed. "Back to back always seems to work best."
"Right."
Crossing to the opposite side of the car, Mara ignited her lightsaber again. With the delicacy of a surgical droid, she began to cut a second opening. "And this will accomplish what?" Drask asked.
"If we do it right, it'll get us out of here," Luke told him.
"And if we don't," Mara added helpfully, "at least it'll kill us quickly."
Drask didn't reply.
Watchman ran his induction meter to the lower edge of the rear wall and straightened up. "Well?" Fel asked.
"The topside repulsor cable comes around the corner right about here," the stormtrooper reported, marking the spot with a daub of synthflesh from his medpac. "It's in slightly worse shape than the power line to the underside generator—the field leakage is definitely stronger."
"Right." Fel shifted his attention to Grappler as he ran his own sensor over the edges of the door. "Anything there?"
"Yes, but not promising," the other said. "If Watchman is right about the differential in leakage levels, it appears the opposing sets of power cables were dropped into a cross-connection pattern right after the door closed behind us."
"So if we try to force it open, we break one of the circuits?" Fel suggested.
"Actually, we'd eventually break both of them," Watchman said dryly. "At least in theory. In actual practice, we'd probably be slammed into something solid one direction or the other before the second circuit popped."
"Let's try to avoid that," Fel said, trying not to sound sarcastic. His stormtroopers' apparently casual attitude, he knew, was just that: apparent. Beneath the surface they were all working as hard as he was to sort through the facts and options. "Anyone have a less lethal suggestion to offer?"
There was a moment of silence. Then Cloud cleared his throat. "I'm not as tech-trained as Watchman and Grappler," he said. "But if we drain some of the power to one of the repulsors, wouldn't the strength of the beam diminish?"