Thalias swallowed hard. “I practiced with one a few times at the range,” she said. “But always on low power, never on high.”
“There’s not much operational difference between those settings.” Thrawn tapped a few keys on his console. “Well. Unless the ship increases its speed in the next two hours, we should arrive at the station twenty to thirty minutes ahead of it.”
“What if it’s aiming for the Springhawk?” Thalias asked. “Shouldn’t we warn them?”
“I’m sure Mid Captain Samakro has already noted them,” Thrawn assured her. “Even if they’ve spotted the Springhawk—and there’s a good chance they haven’t—I think there’s a way to make sure our visitors stop by the station first.”
“How?”
Thrawn smiled. “We invite them in.”
The mining station was equipped with several docking ports, grouped together at various points around its surface. One cluster included two of the so-called “universal ports” that many species in the region had adopted over the centuries to accommodate varying sizes of ships. Thrawn docked the shuttle with one of them, waited until the bioclear system had run the usual toxin/biohazard check on the station’s air, then led the way inside.
Thalias had expected the place to smell old and musty, perhaps with the pungent scent of rotted food or—worse—rotted bodies. But while there was a definite hint of staleness, it was hardly overwhelming. Whenever the owners of the station had pulled out, they’d apparently done so in an orderly fashion.
“This is the place,” Thrawn said softly, shining his light into alcoves and rooms as they walked down a wide corridor. “This is where they came from.”
“The refugee ships?” Thalias asked.
“Yes,” Thrawn confirmed. “The style is unmistakable.”
“Mm,” Thalias said. She’d looked at everything he had, and she didn’t have a clue as to what he was picking up on. “What now?”
“We go to the main control center,” Thrawn said, picking up his pace. “That’s where our visitors are most likely to dock.”
“How are we going to find it?”
“We’ve passed two floor schematics on the walls since we left the shuttle,” Thrawn said, frowning slightly at her. “The main command and control centers were obvious.”
Thalias made a face. Not just one floor schematic, but two of them?
Okay. So maybe she hadn’t seen everything he had.
They found the control center exactly where Thrawn had predicted it would be. The controls and consoles were labeled with an unfamiliar script, but everything seemed laid out in a logical pattern. A little trial and error with the controls, and suddenly the room blazed with light.
“That’s better,” Thalias said, putting away her own light. “What now?”
“This,” Thrawn said, throwing a few more switches. “If I’ve read the console organization correctly, we should now have turned on the station’s external lights.”
Thalias stared at him. “You—? But that ship will see us.”
“I told you I was going to invite them in,” Thrawn reminded her. “More important, our lights will hopefully distract them from the Springhawk, should its hiding place have been their original destination.”
“I see,” Thalias said, freshly aware of the charric riding her hip. “You’re not expecting to fight them, are you?”
“I’m hoping to avoid that, yes,” Thrawn said. “The equipment bay with the largest docking ports is at the portside edge of the station. We’ll wait for them there.” With a final look around the control center, he headed for a hatch leading in that direction.
Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Thalias followed.
The equipment bay was larger than Thalias had expected, though with the cranes, maneuvering lifters, overhead cables, and lines of tool and part racks there was also less open space than she’d anticipated. She and Thrawn had just settled themselves in front of the main port when there was a wheeze of vented air and the port began to cycle. “Here they come,” she muttered, peering past Thrawn’s shoulder as he stood in front of her, partially blocking her view. They hold their females in high esteem, Thrawn had said of the aliens they were tracking. If he was right, his protective position in front of her would hopefully connect to that cultural bias.
“Yes.” Thrawn paused, his head cocked as if listening.
Then, to Thalias’s surprise, he slipped around behind her, reversing their original positions so that she was now in front.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, a fresh sense of vulnerability flooding into her. The people about to come in, and whatever weapons they might be carrying—
The hatch dilated, and four creatures emerged.
Medium height, chest and hip bulges, pink skin, feathery head crests. Exactly like the bodies Thrawn had brought aboard the Springhawk from the second refugee ship.
He had indeed found them.
For a moment the two groups eyed each other. Then one of the newcomers spoke, his voice gravelly, his words incomprehensible.
“Do you speak Minnisiat?” Thrawn called back in that trade language.
The alien spoke again, still using his own speech. “Do you speak Taarja?” Thrawn asked, switching to that one.
There was a short pause. Then one of the other aliens took a step forward. “I speak this,” he said. “What do you do here?”
“We are explorers,” Thrawn said. “My name is Thrawn.” He nudged Thalias. “Tell them your name.”
“I am Thalias,” Thalias said, taking the cue and giving only her core name. For whatever reason, Thrawn apparently didn’t want to give out their full names.
The alien’s eyes widened and bulged a little as he seemed to study her. “You are female?”
“I am,” Thalias said.
The alien gave a whinnying sort of snort. “So do you, Thrawn, then hide behind your female?”
“Not at all,” Thrawn said. “I’m shielding her with my body from those you sent to shoot us in the back.”
Thalias caught her breath. “You’re joking, right?” she muttered.
She sensed him shake his head. “I felt the shift in the air as they entered the secondary hatch behind us.”
Thalias nodded to herself. Just as he’d quickly absorbed the feel of the Tomra all those years ago, he’d now just as quickly grasped the same details of this alien station.
“We plan no violence,” the alien spokesman said hastily. “Merely caution. Your arrival was unexpected, and we were concerned for our safety.”
“I apologize in turn for our startlement to you,” Thrawn said. “We thought this station was abandoned. That is why we came.”
The alien gave another whinny, a shorter one this time. “If you sought to build a home here, you chose unwisely. Even now, it may be too late for you to reverse that error.”
“We did not come to live,” Thrawn said. “As I said, we are explorers. We search the Chaos for artwork of the lost and forgotten.”
The mottling pattern of the alien’s skin changed. “You search for artwork?”
“Artwork reflects the soul of a species,” Thrawn said. “We seek to preserve that echo for those unable to preserve it on their own.”
One of the other aliens spoke in their language. “He speaks that there is no artwork here,” the spokesman translated.
“Perhaps there is more art woven into the design than he realizes,” Thrawn said. “But I am puzzled. I see no evidence of catastrophe or destruction. On the contrary, the station appears completely functional. Why did you abandon it?”
“We did not abandon it,” the spokesman said, his voice noticeably deeper. “We were sent away by those who seek dominance over Rapacc and the Paccosh.”