His mouths curved in a sardonic double smile. "Of course, if you wish to serve as a test case, come ahead."
Casually, he turned his back on Jinzler, crossing toward the Geroon whom Formbi had shot and the two uninjured ones still beating on the Peacekeeper. The swarm moved with him, as if genetically programmed to recognize him as their hive or queen.
Jinzler took a cautious step forward, keeping a wary eye on the insects. Another few steps, and Bearsh would be within reach of the injured Peacekeeper's dropped blaster. If he got to the weapon first, any hope of stopping them and the wolvkils would be gone.
But the Geroon had apparently forgotten there was another spare weapon lying loose on the deck, the one dropped by the other Peacekeeper. Or maybe he simply didn't think it was relevant, since the only ones close enough to reach it were already fighting for their lives against the wolvkils.
Everyone except Dean Jinzler.
He eased his way toward the gun, striving to be as invisible as possible. Even if he shot Bearsh, he knew, the swarm of insects might well take vengeance on him. But it would be worth it to watch Bearsh's smile turn to pain and then to death.
Still no one seemed to have noticed him. Another few steps...
"Ambassador!" Formbi called.
Jinzler twisted his head back around. Uliar and the two councilors had flipped the long conference table onto its side and were dragging it toward one of the room's back corners. Formbi and Feesa were with them, the Aristocra staggering slightly as blood continued to pour from his mangled arm. The wolvkil he had been fighting lay still on the deck, its fur almost uniformly black from multiple charric burns. Rosemari and Evlyn were already back in the corner, Rosemari's arms visibly trembling as she clutched her daughter close to her. "Ambassador!" Formbi called again. "Come. Quickly."
"Shh!" Jinzler hissed at him. Didn't they see what he was trying to do?
"Yes, Ambassador, go," Bearsh agreed.
Jinzler turned back. Bearsh was standing beside the now motionless second Peacekeeper, the boy's blaster pointed casually in Jinzler's direction. "Or would you prefer to die now in agony?"
Jinzler hesitated. But if the Geroons wanted them all dead, there was nothing and no one left to stop them anyway. Clenching his hands one last time, this time into fists of impotent rage and defeat, he backed away.
"Bring chairs," Uliar called. "Quickly."
With his full attention still on the blaster in Bearsh's hand, Jinzler groped blindly for some of the fallen chairs and came up with two of them. All the Chiss warriors were lying broken and bloody on the deck now, he noted distantly, their own battles over. The wolvkils who had killed them stood panting, watching Jinzler with unblinking eyes as they licked their bloody muzzles and paws.
The Survivors had the table in position by the time he arrived, set on its edge across the back corner to form a low barrier. What they wanted with the chairs was quickly evident as Uliar and Tarkosa stacked them like sections of a roof over the top of the triangle-shaped gap they'd created behind the table, using the back walls and the sculpture pedestals for support. The Geroons had gathered together now as well, watching in silence as they completed their task. "Now get inside," Bearsh instructed as the last roofing chair was set in place. "Quickly."
Silently, the prisoners complied, crawling through a gap that had been left between one end of the table and the bulkhead. Uliar, the last one in, pulled a final chair into the gap behind him.
And there they were, Jinzler thought bitterly. Caged animals, in a cage of their own construction.
There was the sound of footsteps, and Bearsh's face appeared through the latticework of chairs above them. "There, now, you see?" the Geroon said sardonically. He had his left arm stretched out to the side, and the swarming insects were beginning to settle back into their places there. "Even humans are capable of following orders."
No one replied. "All right, you've got us," Jinzler said, deciding that someone should find out what was going on. "What do you want?"
Bearsh's mouths twisted crookedly. "I want you all dead, of course," he said. "The only question remaining is the method."
He gestured behind him, to where the other Geroons were slathering some kind of salve on the one Formbi had shot. "Purpsh, for instance, would very much like to gun you all down right here so that he can enjoy your screams. Especially yours, Aristocra Formbi. But I've decided to let you choose exactly how you will die."
"You won't get away with this," Uliar said. The words were defiant, but to Jinzler his voice merely sounded old.
"Oh, I think we will," Bearsh said calmly as he rewrapped his sleeve over the now quiescent insects. "Your precious Jedi and Imperial stormtroopers should all be dead by now—our sabotage of the turbolift cars they were trapped in will have taken care of that problem. Who else is there to stop us?"
"We will," Uliar growled. "We've been ready for trouble for fifty years. You don't think we can take you?"
"I doubt it," Bearsh said. "At any rate, we're not likely to find out. With your communications jamming still in place, you won't be able to summon your pitiful little colony to the attack. By the time they wake up to what's happened, we'll be long gone." He smiled. "And you will be well on the road to a dark and icy death."
He reached down and shook his robe. There was a soft clatter as some small objects fell to the deck. "A small present for the survivors of Outbound Flight," he said. "We have used some already on the turbolifts; these should take care of this particular area."
Frowning, Jinzler turned his head sideways, pressing his cheek against the chair above him to try to see over the edge of the table. There were half a dozen threadlike objects on the deck, he saw, spreading out as they skittered their way toward the walls.
He caught his breath. "Line creepers."
"Very good, Ambassador," Bearsh said approvingly. "After all, I promised that you would die in cold and darkness, didn't I?"
"What are line creepers?" Uliar asked.
"They're like conduit worms," Jinzler told him, feeling his stomach tightening. "Only worse. Bearsh slipped a few into the control lines aboard the Chaf Envoy and nearly shut it down." He lifted his eyebrows. "That was you, wasn't it?"
"We'll be traveling through your vessel for a while longer, distributing the rest of our little pets for maximum effect," Bearsh said to Uliar, ignoring the question. "After that, we'll leave you to your doom."
"There's no need to destroy these people or their home, Bearsh," Formbi said. His voice was deadly calm, with only a hint of the agony he must be feeling from his torn arm. "If you want the Chaf Envoy, take it."
Bearsh snorted. "You underestimate us, Aristocra. We have bigger game in mind than a simple Chiss diplomatic vessel."
He waved toward the wolvkils. "And speaking of game, we'll be leaving our pets behind to make sure you stay here quietly until we are finished. I trust you noticed how difficult they are to kill. If not, or if some of you decide you'd prefer a quicker death than the one we'll be leaving you, I'm certain they'll enjoy the exercise."
"Bearsh—" Formbi said again.
But Bearsh merely turned his back on them and strode away. Again peering out through the chairs, Jinzler saw the other Geroons fall into step behind him, the two uninjured ones supporting the third. The door wheezed open, and Bearsh looked briefly out into the corridor. A moment later they were gone, the door sliding shut behind them.
Jinzler shifted his attention to the three remaining wolvkils. They were padding around now, continuing to clean themselves, occasionally sniffing at their fallen victims. But it was clear they were also keeping an eye on the prisoners behind their barrier.