But Luke didn't see things that way. Even as the years had grown and matured and hardened him, the inner core of idealism and mercy he'd brought with him out of that moisture farm on Tatooine had never faltered. Others might sneer at that, she knew, or use his farming background as an insult.
But for her, the title was an acknowledgment of his moral high ground, a large part of what she loved and admired most about her husband. And at the end of the day, she slept better for knowing that even their deadliest opponents had been given every chance they could possibly hope to receive.
But in this case, the chance was wasted. Bearsh's only response was to scream another order. His soldiers' only response was to intensify their rate of fire.
And as the shots began to come perilously close to her face, Mara knew that this particular battle had come to an end.
That end came in the form of a lightsaber whipping through the air beside her, deftly slipping between the frenetic slicing movements of her own weapon. It flashed down the corridor, spinning like a blazing crop harvester disk, slicing through the Vagaari weapons and armor and bodies.
Two seconds later, it was over.
Mara straightened from her combat stance, breathing hard as she studied the fallen soldiers, stretching out with the Force for signs of any surprises still lurking nearby. But Luke had done what was necessary with his usual efficiency.
It was only then that she saw that Bearsh wasn't among the fallen.
"Where did he go?" she demanded, taking another look.
"Who?" Luke asked, looking up from the wolvkil he had knelt to examine.
"Bearsh," Mara said. "He's gone." She turned to look at Pressor. "Guardian?"
Pressor didn't answer. He was staring at the crumpled Vagaari bodies, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. "Pressor?" Mara tried again.
With an effort, he raised his eyes to her. "What?"
"Bearsh," Mara repeated, trying to stifle her impatience. After fifty years without Jedi, these people had apparently forgotten what they were capable of.
"Right," Pressor said, visibly pulling himself together. "He, uh, he took off right after"—he shot Luke a furtive glance—"after you put the animals to sleep. Or whatever you did to them. The rest cranked up their rate of fire, and he took off back down the corridor."
"We'd better get after him," Mara said grimly. "Luke?"
"Go ahead," he told her, moving to the next wolvkil. "I want to make sure they won't wake up until we're ready to deal with them. Go on—I'll catch up."
"Okay," Mara said, starting down the corridor. "Come on, Pressor—you have to show me where this meeting room is," she added, pulling out her comlink and flicking it on. "Fel, stay on your toes," she called. "It looks like we've got more Vagaari to deal with than we were expecting."
There was no answer. "Fel?" she tried again.
Still nothing. "I would say," Pressor said quietly, "that they've probably already figured that out."
CHAPTER 20
The aft sections of D-6 weren't as well maintained as the corridor between the nursery and the Jedi Quarantine had been. But the aft turbolift tubes weren't very far, the area was passable enough, and the 501st was what the training manuals would have called "inspired." They made it to the turbolift lobby without further incident, and in probably record time.
Fel had keyed the call button, and they were waiting for the car to arrive, when they got their first hint of imminent trouble.
"It doesn't sound right, Commander," Grappler insisted, the side of his helmet pressed against the turbolift door. "It sounds... it just sounds wrong."
"Wrong how?" Fel demanded impatiently. He was all for caution, but at the same time he didn't want to start jumping at moss creakings, either. Not with Formbi and the others in danger up there. "Does it sound old, rusty, cranky—what?"
"It's too heavy," Watchman decided suddenly, his helmet pressed to the door alongside Grappler's. "There's too much weight there for an empty car."
Fel shot a glance at Drask. "Could it be a problem with the repulsorlift generators?"
"No," Watchman said. "There's some of that, too, but not enough. The car is definitely loaded."
"And we must assume it is loaded with enemies," Drask said. "I suggest, Commander, that we take cover."
Fel grimaced. To run and hide felt cowardly somehow, especially since he still wasn't convinced there was anything but an empty turbolift car on the way. Still, it wouldn't do Jinzler and Formbi any good if he and the 501st got themselves slaughtered like amateurs. And since it was Drask who had suggested it and not he himself, he wouldn't have to put up with any of the general's criticism later. "Defensive positions," he ordered. Glancing around, he located a likely doorway a few meters back down the corridor and headed to it.
The room appeared to be a small duty galley for the engine crews, with dust and broken serving crockery everywhere. Settling himself into a position half straddling the doorway where he could see without exposing more of himself than necessary, he braced his blaster hand against the door controls and waited. The turbolift's hum changed subtly as the car settled into position...
And with a brilliant flash of white, the door exploded outward.
Reflexively, Fel ducked back as shrapnel and pieces of burning plastic clattered down the corridor. Apparently, Watchman and Grappler had been right. The sound of the explosion faded away, and he swung his eye and blaster back around the jamb.
Two armored figures charged out through the ragged opening, firing red blaster bolts in a scatter pattern as they came.
Fel inhaled sharply. After Jinzler's warning he had naturally expected the intruders to be some of Bearsh's disguised Vagaari cronies. But he'd expected the short robe-and-dead-animal-clothed beings they'd gotten used to seeing aboard the Chaf Envoy, not a fully equipped war party. Another pair of Vagaari charged out on the heels of the first two, four snarling and definitely not dead wolvkils emerging with them.
So far, the Imperials hadn't returned fire. It was, Fel decided, about time to change that. Wincing back slightly as one of the random shots sizzled off the bulkhead near him, he filled his lungs. "Halt!" he bellowed.
He hadn't expected any response except possibly better-directed enemy fire, and he wasn't disappointed. All four enemy helmets swung toward the sound of his voice, all four weapons still spitting fire as they tracked him. Coolly, centering his muzzle on the nearest Vagaari's chest, Fel squeezed the firing stud.
The alien staggered back as the blaster bolt blew a cloud of dust and partially vaporized armor from his chestplate. A fraction of a second later Fel had to dodge back around the door controls again as a hail of fire scorched the air where he'd been standing. He ducked down lower and swung his arm around the corner to fire a couple of blind shots in their direction. Out in the corridor, the sounds of the Vagaari weapons had been joined by the BlasTechs' distinctive nasal stutter, and a different sound he assumed was Drask's charric. Still firing, he eased an eye cautiously around the doorway to refine his aim—
Just in time to see one of the wolvkils leaping directly for him.
He dodged backward into the galley. The wolvkil's charge overshot the doorway, and Fel got a clean shot into the animal's flank as it passed.
But the wolvkil merely hit the deck and skidded to a stop, its claws scrabbling for purchase. Without any sign that it had just taken what should have been a killing shot, it turned back toward him. With a roar, it opened its jaws and leapt.
Fel backed up, firing another pair of ineffective shots into the wolvkil's head and shoulders, then dodged to his right, trying to avoid the animal's charge. But the wolvkil wasn't going to be taken in by the same maneuver twice. It hit the ground and instantly made a right-angle turn. Before Fel could do more than fire one last time, it was on him.