The Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

  Corran felt like a block of burning ice caught in a lightning storm. His flesh felt on fire while his bones seemed chilled to absolute zero. Every pain receptor in his body strobed on and off on a near-constant basis. The pain would start at his feet and move up in a wave, or descend on him like a rain shower, or pummel him with randomly delivered jolts.

  He would have welcomed death but for the horror of spending eternity with the memory of such pain so fresh.

  He heard a hiss, and the rack retracted from what he had taken to calling the Inducer. Corran hung limp from the restraining straps and welcomed the constant, unrelenting, unshifting pain the straps caused as they sank into his flesh. Sweat poured down over his face and stung fiercely where he managed to bite through his lower lip, but even that sensation was a relief from what he had just been through.

  Ysanne Isard entered the interrogation chamber and waved the Trandoshan out. “I would find you fascinating if you knew more, Horn.” She glanced at the mirrored panel on the wall. “Your tolerance for pain is remarkable.”

  Corran would have shrugged, but every ounce of energy in his body had been exhausted in screaming answers to the questions fired at him during the session. He couldn’t remember what he had said. He recalled that in those few moments of lucidity which he could touch between pulses of agony, he had tried to focus on the cold or heat. Locking into those sensations had seemed to dull the pain somehow. Now, in the absence of pain, he doubted that observation was correct, but it had been a sanctuary into which he had retreated, and that was a very small victory.

  She posted her fists on her hips. “You present a problem for me. You don’t know enough to be useful, and your position within the Rebellion is so low that you are hardly vital. If I return you to them, they will likely treat you much as they are treating Celchu now. You won’t have even the freedom he had before his arrest. This does not incline me to send you back.

  “On the other hand, you would be perfect to mold into my own avenger. Your resistance to pain will make your rehabilitation into a right-thinking Imperial time-consuming, but not impossible. Your core discomfort with the unlawful nature of the Rebellion is a foundation on which I can build you anew into the tool I need. I can form an Avenger Squadron around you that will go after and destroy Rogue Squadron. Using a Rogue to destroy Rogues, that would be delicious.”

  Corran summoned strength from reserves he didn’t know he had and smiled. “You won’t live long enough to see me turn on my friends.”

  “Good, anger directed at me, excellent.” She politely applauded him. “Hate me all you want. I’ll turn your hatred for me into hatred for those who haven’t saved you from me. You won’t be the first broken that way, and you’ll not be the last.”

  “I won’t break.”

  “Ah, but you will. They all do.” She nodded solemnly as the rack hissed and slowly lowered him toward the Inducer. “And when you break, I will put you back together again, and in gratitude you will do all I ask, without question or regard for loyalties you once held dear.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was probably in a place like this that Rogue Squadron plotted the conquest of Imperial Center. Kirtan Loor ducked his head beneath a series of moist, moldy pipes and followed his guide deeper into the rusted-out bowels of Imperial Center. Loor had been driven deeper into the planet-wide city than he thought possible, then had gone several kilometers farther through a hot, wet labyrinth that had him imagining he’d passed through the core of the world and was now working his way up and out the other side.

  The Special Intelligence operative leading him through the maze cut to the left and through an oval opening hacked through the wall of the access tunnel. The opening seemed, at first glance, as if it was chopped through the wall; but when Loor grabbed its edges as he climbed through the hole, the striations he felt made him wonder if it hadn’t been nibbled out of the ferrocrete. Unless I can find a way to use it, I don’t want to know what chewed this hole.

  The low, wide area into which Loor stepped stank of rust, stagnant water, and mildew. The few standing puddles had an oily slick on them that phosphoresced slightly. The weak light supplemented the temporary floodlights the operatives had arranged to display their motley collection of airspeeders. All in all the tableau was unremarkable and unlikely to attract attention from anyone save a truly desperate airspeeder thief.

  And wouldn’t he be surprised at what he got.

  The dented and dinged airspeeders, which were of a variety of years and makes, had been carefully worked over by the operatives and transformed into a half-dozen flying bombs. The hollow spaces in the chassis had been filled with explosives. Designed to be flown by remote from a companion airspeeder, they would be driven like proton torpedoes into the various bacta storage facilities around the world.

  An operative came walking over to Loor, unable to keep a smirk from his square face. “As you can see, we are prepared to go at any time. We have completed our initial electronic sweep of the target sites and have found them negative for counter-remote tactics or equipment.”

  “Very good.” The Empire had long ago perfected precautionary measures to take against bombs that might be set to detonate by remote. The easiest of these was to broadcast strong signals on a variety of comlink frequencies of the sort used by Rebel terrorists to detonate such bombs, causing a premature detonation while the bombs were still in the attackers’ keeping. Broadcasting from patrolling airspeeders in hostile areas had even detonated explosives in bomb factories that Intelligence had suspected existed, but had not been able to pinpoint for a more surgical strike. The harm done to innocents in the area when the bombs went off had been seen as just punishment for the failure of the people to report the Rebels working in their area.

  Although they had been unable to detect similar counter-remote tactics in the bacta storage areas, Loor’s people had decided against detonating the bombs by remote. Getting an airspeeder into position and leaving it there long enough for the setup team to get away provided a window for discovery and deactivation. Even though that window would be small, it was felt to be too risky; they intended to hit a number of sites in rapid succession, and if the Rebel forces discovered one bomb and sent out a warning, it would make hitting the others far more difficult. Moreover, the fact that they could not detect anti-remote equipment in their reconnaissance sweeps could have been explained by nothing more sinister than someone forgetting to turn the devices on that day.

  The plan they had hit on was actually fairly simple. Commercial speeder-ferry vehicles were not an uncommon sight on Imperial Center, hauling broken air- and land-speeders to repair shops. Using a tractor beam and a simple remote-slave hookup, repair techs regularly flew speeders throughout the city. Using a speeder-ferry to haul a vehicle to the right area, then having someone fly it by remote into the building, was seen as a clean way to deliver the bombs. Since the remote-slave hookup was in common use by these sorts of vehicles, it couldn’t be jammed without causing dozens of legitimate disasters, so Loor knew their delivery method was safe from interference.

  Contact detonators had been rigged in the various panels and bumpers on each vehicle. The explosives would be triggered when the detonators were compressed with the force of an airspeeder slamming into a building. While a head-on collision with another airspeeder at significant velocity could cause the bomb to go off, the chances of that happening were relatively small. Regardless, the amount of explosives packed into the vehicles meant that any explosion in the general vicinity of the target would do substantial damage and, if not destroy the store of bacta, at least make its distribution difficult.

  The operative looked up at Loor expectantly. “When will we be given the signal to go?”

  Loor looked at his wrist chronometer. “Rumor has it that Mon Mothma is going to announce the particulars of the bacta distribution plan approved by the Provisional Council in fourteen hours or so. I am debating whether we should use these vehicles to punctuate her speech,
or let public anticipation build for a day or so before striking.”

  Loor kept his tone light, as if the decision to be made was of little consequence. He preferred going off sooner rather than waiting, but he was fairly certain that Ysanne Isard would want him to wait. So far he had gotten no word back from her on this plan—or on any of my plans. This meant the decision was truly up to him, but he knew it didn’t have to be made until an hour or two before the assault would take place.

  The Intelligence agent frowned. “Contact me on a secure frequency three hours before the scheduled start of Mon Mothma’s speech. Assume the operation will go off during her speech. When you call me, I will either cancel the assault and reschedule, or let you go. If you do not reach me, you are on.”

  “Very good, sir.” The operative waved a hand toward the airspeeders. “If you care to inspect our handiwork?”

  Loor shook his head. “You have ever been efficient before, Captain. I see no reason to doubt your preparedness now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course.” Loor smiled slowly. “And, speaking of efficiency, your people dealt with Nartlo, yes?”

  “As you ordered, sir.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll have someone conduct you back now, sir.”

  The operative waved another of his plainly clothed men over and Loor followed that operative out through another exit from the underground bunker. Loor found this route less odious, and the use of a series of turbolifts meant it took less time to get back into more hospitable regions of the city. After taking leave of the operative, Loor worked his way up and through the city. He constantly checked his surroundings and back-trail for sign of pursuit, but found none.

  The prospect of destroying the Rebels’ bacta supply pleased him, but not for the reasons most Rebels would ascribe to him. He took no delight in the fact that the destruction of the bacta would cause the deaths of millions, even billions. As odd as it seemed, even to him, their lives meant nothing. Since he did not know them, they were numbers, and Kirtan Loor had never been one to be terribly emotional about numbers.

  Destroying the bacta would be a victory in the war he was waging against the Rebellion. He and his people were outnumbered, out-gunned, and under-resourced, but they were winning. So far they had struck when and where they wished. Just the fact that they were able to assemble an armada of bombs on Imperial Center without detection was a triumph in their battle against General Cracken and his forces.

  Oddly enough, Loor realized that he was playing a game to sudden death, and it was more likely to be his death than that of his foes. Still, he now understood the secret thrill that kept the Rebels going. They had been the insects repeatedly stinging the bumbling giant that was the Empire. Yes, the giant had swatted them and, in some cases, had hurt them badly, but it could never kill all of them. The defiance they showed the Empire now burned in his veins, and while it did not make him think he was immortal or unstoppable, it did drive him with a desire to do more and more to torment his enemy.

  He also knew that his efforts would not reestablish the Empire. That was not the goal Ysanne Isard had in mind when she set him up on Imperial Center as the leader of a pro-Palpatine movement. What he was doing would weaken the Rebellion and allow other forces to tear it apart. Whether those other forces included a warlord like Zsinj blasting his way into Imperial Center and taking it over, or the product of some other scheme Iceheart was undoubtedly planning, did not matter. Isard wanted to destroy the Rebellion, and that was the goal he intended to help her reach.

  He smiled. He had been given a great responsibility, and his success would create a power vacuum at the heart of the Empire. Isard maintained her goal was not the resurrection of the Empire, but the destruction of the Rebellion; still, it seemed obvious to him that the recreation of the Empire was a natural consequence of eliminating the Rebellion. When the Rebellion collapsed, if he did things well, he would be in position to help restore the Empire. While he knew better than to make himself a direct rival to Iceheart, he also knew she wouldn’t live forever.

  Nor will I, but if I live longer than she does, the Emperor’s throne might well be open to me. Loor smiled and sniffed proudly, but the scent of the city’s lower reaches tarnished his fantasy. He glanced down at his feet and saw a glistening fungoid residue that seemed to shift colors as he watched it. Immediately desirous of returning to his eyrie and washing away the stink of Imperial Center’s darker reaches, he fished a comlink out of his pocket and called for one of his guards to meet him with his airspeeder.

  Loor did his best to scrape the goo off his shoes against the side of a building, but it clung tenaciously. He chuckled to himself, thinking of it as true Rebel scum. He made no headway in his battle with it and wondered if a lightsaber would be able to damage it. He’d concluded it would not by the time his airspeeder slid up to the curb and the rear gull’s-wing door swung up.

  Loor started into the passenger compartment, then caught himself. Inside, nestled in the corner, a smallish, white-haired man pointed a blaster pistol at him. “Sorry, wrong speeder. My mistake.”

  “No mistake. Get in.” The man sighed. “Get in or my other people will shove you in.”

  Given no choice, Loor entered the vehicle and folded himself into one of the jumpseats. The door closed behind him, leaving the two of them alone in the speeder’s darkened interior. Loor raised his hands and clutched the safety straps. “Is there any purpose in my putting these on, Moff Vorru?”

  Fliry Vorru nodded his head graciously. “Very good, Agent Loor. Yes, by all means, strap yourself in. I do not anticipate this being a rough ride, but things can get turbulent here on Imperial Center.”

  “So I have noticed.”

  “I’m certain you have.” Vorru set the blaster pistol on the seat beside him, then tugged at the grey cuffs on his midnight-blue jacket. “And I’m no longer a moff, merely a colonel in the Imperial Center People’s Militia.”

  “Natty uniform. I’m sure it will show you off at your best when you hold a news conference and announce my capture.” Loor tried to force a smile on his face, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. “Quite the coup for you.”

  “Indeed, it could be.” Vorru yawned in an exaggerated fashion. “The question remains as to whether or not that is necessary.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You present me with a problem, Agent Loor. Your Palpatine Counter-insurgency Front is one of the reasons my militia was created. As long as you are a threat, the Provisional Council needs me. Without you, all we can do is go after petty black marketeers and other criminals.”

  “All of whom you currently control anyway.”

  “You overestimate my abilities.”

  Loor raised an eyebrow. “Do I? You found me quickly enough.”

  Vorru shrugged. “More by happenstance than anything else. I was in the process of consolidating my hold on the black market in bacta and had Nartlo under observation, since he had a source I could not isolate. My people had your people under observation when they visited him last night. We continued watching and were led to this vehicle. Your people are good at disguising themselves—by the way, the blond hair and goatee really do distance your appearance from that of Tarkin. Changing the appearance of a vehicle is not as simple.”

  The little man smiled. “I had no idea who we had found until we checked the records on this vehicle. The registration is utterly benign and ordinary, with no sign of slicing on the datafile at all. That indicated to me that the registration had made it into the computers through legitimate means, and that meant Imperial Intelligence. Since you had turned Zekka Thyne against me, I had made it my business to learn about you then, surprise, surprise, here you are.”

  “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  “It’s possible, but we’ll see.” Vorru frowned. “Normally I’d not have picked you up so early, but Nartlo indicated that he’d given you the locations of the Republic’s bacta repositories. I
immediately became suspicious—he maintained you were just a bacta dealer, but those containment centers just ache to be hit by the PCF. I tried to determine if Nartlo was lying to me, but you had anticipated I’d do that.”

  Loor smiled. “You used skirtopanol on him.”

  “Yes, and the convulsions were rather hideous.”

  “Convulsions? Hmmm. We gave him a supply of lotiramine and told him it would prevent him from getting the Krytos virus. I included strict dosing instructions. If he went into convulsions he must have taken four times the recommended amount.”

  “Some people assume that if one pill is good, more is better.”

  “He died?”

  “Cerebral hemorrhage.”

  “He was useful, which is why we didn’t just kill him outright. The lotiramine would have made interrogation difficult for the Rebels, and some of the information he had about my operation would have had them haring off in all sorts of wrong directions.”

  Vorru nodded. “Though he claimed no knowledge of a planned assault on the bacta stores, that is what you are planning, yes?”

  Loor looked around the passenger compartment. “I would have thought General Cracken would resort to more professional methods of interrogation.”

  “He would, and will, if you do not choose to cooperate with me.” Vorru crossed his legs and plucked at the crease in his slacks. “If I don’t get answers from you, I will tell Cracken I have uncovered a plot to assault the current centers. He’ll put precautions into place that will prevent your success while moving the bacta to new locations. You will lose and I will win.”

  “And you have a plan that will result in some other outcome?”

  Vorru smiled. “You will now be working for me. You will hit targets I give you and you will hit them when I want them hit. I am not unsympathetic to your war against the Rebellion, I just wish to kill yet one more mynock with a single laser-blast.”

  Of course, it should have been obvious. Loor nodded. “You would do what Prince Xizor could not.”