The Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

  The only problem with his message, which was broadcast worldwide, is that it followed by roughly six hours a report about the attack on the convoy. This attack report had been delivered by the government and included holographic images created by and with commentary from members of Rogue Squadron. Zsinj’s claim that he had destroyed the unit were proved false, and helped make the rest of his comments appear likewise untrustworthy.

  Loor shook his head. Ysanne Isard had clearly leaked to Zsinj the information about the convoy. His report that he was sending a Rogue Squadron of his own to eliminate the convoy clearly would have arrived too late for her to get it to Zsinj. Loor had only given her 16 hours’ notice of what he was doing, yet the timing of Zsinj’s message to Coruscant suggested strongly that it took him at least a day to make it to Alderaan from wherever the Iron Fist had been.

  All of this meant the message that had been routed to Loor and warned of the squadron’s mission had also, somehow, made its way to Isard. She had acted based on that original message, then got Loor’s follow-up message later. The appearance of his Rogue Squadron meant that Zsinj didn’t wait around for the genuine unit to put in an appearance—he just struck and destroyed them all. Rogue Squadron had embarrassed him in the past, and this was his chance to get back at them, which he truly believed he had. The tainted bacta story clearly was an afterthought to mollify those people who might be upset by his destruction of so much bacta.

  The loss of the bacta had struck quite a blow to the hopes of people on Coruscant. Coupled with that was a report from a governmental accounting office that indicated there was less ryll available than previously thought. Several Provisional Council members suggested it had been stolen, but statisticians showed how the shortage was actually an artifact of good distribution. The previous supply, which had been supposed to last for two months, was down to seven weeks because more was getting out to more people.

  It struck Loor as amusing that the government was still fighting the Emperor’s ghost; it was the Empire’s doing that had prompted everyone to look for the truth behind government statements. The fact that the Republic might be telling its citizens everything there was to tell did not stop people from thinking there might be something more to the story. Teaching trust is a long process; learning it is an even longer one.

  And Ysanne Isard has, in short order, learned she can no longer trust me.

  Had he done nothing and simply relayed the message to her when he got it, her plot would have discredited Zsinj, resulted in the loss of the bacta, and caused the destruction of Rogue Squadron. While she had no proof that he intended to steal the bacta and use it for his own gain, he knew she didn’t need proof to condemn him. She knew he was smart enough to see how powerful that bacta could have made him. If he had succeeded he would have amassed enough power to begin to play on her level.

  Now he was just a failure.

  And failures, as far as she is concerned, are worthless. She would discard him as soon as the optimal use for him arose.’ Which means I must find something to do with myself before she does.

  Loor allowed himself to laugh and banish some of the fear. He had plans to make, big plans. Plans for the future and plans to get me to the future.

  Gavin Darklighter cleared his throat and rapped gently on the doorjamp of Commander Antilles’s office. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Wedge looked up from his desk, a bit haggard and bleary-eyed. “What can I do for you, Gavin?”

  “I’d like to speak to you if I might. In private, sir.”

  Wedge straightened up in his chair, then nodded and waved Gavin to the seat in front of the desk. A couple of keystrokes killed the holographic lists of numbers hanging in the air above Wedge’s holopad. They looked like quartermaster reports to Gavin, but he couldn’t be certain, since he was reading them from the back side of the hologram.

  “What is it, Gavin?”

  How to begin? Gavin seated himself, then looked down at his hands. “Ah, sir, we, the squadron that is, have been discussing the situation at Alderaan. It was really pretty bad. I mean, those of us in Two flight got to see it a second time when we went to get the TIE pilots, and the destruction seemed even worse than we’d thought.”

  Wedge nodded and rubbed his eyes. “I know. I helped edit and narrate the government’s report on the ambush. Warlord Zsinj’s Iron Fist did a first-class job of ripping the convoy up from one end to the other.”

  Gavin frowned. “When I talked to the others, they said you’ve been pretty quiet about all that—about Mirax dying and all. I mean, I didn’t know her nearly as well as you did, of course. I got to know her on the run into Coruscant when we came in secret, and I liked her. Not romantically, you know—not that there was anything wrong with her, but even I could see she was interested in Corran. Anyway, I remember you coming to talk to me about Lujayne Forge when the Imps killed her, and how much it helped and I thought—”

  “You thought it would help me to let my grief show?”

  “Well, your best friends aren’t here for you. Captain Celchu is in jail, Princess Leia has dropped out of sight, and you and Mirax were close, so…”

  Wedge smiled and signed, then leaned back in his chair. “I appreciate this, Gavin, more than you know. I guess, with Mirax, I’m still in shock. There was no trace of her or the Pulsar Skate, so part of me wants to believe she had an astro-gation error and jumped someplace else, that she wasn’t there at all.”

  “I think we’d all like to believe that, sir.”

  “It’s ridiculous, of course, but that’s part of the reason I’m not ready to let her go, you know.” Wedge frowned. “It seems as if everyone I know, all the friends I make, are getting ground up by the Empire or some malignant little offshoot of it. Fighting against the Death Stars—well, someone dying there somehow had meaning. The convoy, though, they were just bringing bacta to a sick world. Even though their deaths have catalyzed the Provisional Council into making a decision concerning Warlord Zsinj, their lives were wasted, and I guess I’m tired of that sort of waste.”

  Gavin looked up. “We’re going after Zsinj?”

  Wedge tapped his datapad. “I was going over information concerning our supplies for deployment against him. I don’t know many details, and couldn’t tell you any of them if I did, but this convoy hit has made Zsinj a big target. Admiral Ackbar wants this data rather quickly, so I really should get back to it.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  Wedge leaned forward on his elbows. “Look, Gavin, I appreciate your coming here and talking to me about Mirax. I don’t think I’m ready to go into this all the way right now, but I’m coping. It hurts, but I’m coping.”

  Gavin nodded. “Yes, sir.” Walling it away just delays things. “If you ever decide you want someone to talk to—”

  “You’ll be the first person I call.” Wedge smiled and sketched Gavin a brief salute. “Go get yourself some rest—and that goes for the rest of the squadron. If we’re going to be going after Zsinj, I want us ready to move as fast as possible.”

  Borsk Fey’lya stood behind his desk and smoothed the creamy fur around his face. “Please, Asyr Sei’lar, do come in. I am honored that Rogue Squadron’s newest ace has time to visit with me.”

  The black-and-white-furred Bothan bowed her head respectfully, then stood at attention as the door closed behind her. “I am honored a member of the Provisional Council noticed me.”

  “Noticed you? My dear, you are quite impossible to refrain from noticing. Aside from your performance in the squadron, you were positively stunning at the Dan’kre party the other evening. Please, be seated. No need for formality here, is there?” Fey’lya remained standing until she had taken her seat. She moved with an ease and strength he recalled possessing in his youth. Though he was not that long past his physical peak, he could already see how much he had lost from when he was her age.

  Borsk Fey’lya also realized that had he been her age again, he would have been lovestalking her. He found her quite
attractive, freely acknowledging that the white blazes in her fur gave her a dangerous look. The fire in her violet eyes likewise threatened to seduce him, but with maturity—unlike humans—he had moved away from personal vanity. Whereas a man might take a mistress her age to prove his continued virility, for Fey’lya that choice would prove he had not yet sufficiently focused himself on what was truly important in life.

  The pursuit of power.

  “I wish to communicate to you, Asyr, the congratulations and adulation of the people of Bothawui. You are well on your way to taking your place in the constellations of Bothan heroes like the Martyrs and even your predecessor in Rogue Squadron, Peshk Vri’syk. You liberated Coruscant and now fly with the New Republic’s most famous fighter squadron. Your parents are very proud of you, and other Bothan parents everywhere have virtually no reservations when it comes to their children choosing you as a role model.”

  “Thank you, Councilor.” Asyr’s violet eyes blinked. “I would think parents could find far better role models for their children than me.”

  “Perhaps, but I should not be concerned about your liaison with the human, Galen.” Fey’lya purposely misidentified her lover and was rewarded by a flash of anger rippling the fur of her neck and head. “Xenophilia is not unknown among us, and your dalliance adds a hint of romance to your image. Your Galen seems very capable of handling himself in a wide variety of situations—case in point being the way he defused the Kre’fey problem. Moreover, you are quite discreet—admirably discreet, actually.”

  “His name is Gavin, Gavin Darklighter. His cousin was one of those who died destroying the first Death Star.”

  “And our Martyrs died to enable the Alliance to destroy the second Death Star. It is fitting that heirs to two heroic traditions should find comfort together.” Fey’lya raised a hand to calm her. “Please, forgive me if this mention of your personal affairs angered you. I did not mean to cause you any discomfort. I fully understand the sort of bonds that can be forged between people who endure adversity together. Others are not so accepting of things they see as different.”

  “Thank you, Councilor.” Asyr frowned heavily. “Some other members of the Bothan community here are positively imperial in their xenophobic attitudes.”

  “That is not good at all. If you will permit me, perhaps I can help you with this problem. I have ample opportunity to speak with various groups—Bothan and other—here and back on Bothawui. It does no one any good for you to be persecuted for things that really are beyond your control. I was young once. I know how hot one’s blood can be. I will use my influence to get attitudes to change.”

  “That would be most kind.”

  “I’m glad to be of service.” Fey’lya smiled. “In fact, I had hoped to be of service to you when I invited you here, but this was not the subject I wanted to address.”

  Asyr met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes, sir?”

  “You were part of the mission to Alderaan, as I recall, yes?”

  “Yes. I flew wing for Commander Antilles. I got the kills I did because he hung back and covered me.”

  “I see.” Fey’lya pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. “The timing of your arrival in the Alderaan system has become a point of interest for those conspiratorially-minded individuals within the government and without. You were late and the convoy was destroyed.”

  The younger Bothan’s eyes narrowed. “If we had been on time, we would have been destroyed, just like the convoy.”

  “Quite so, quite so, and it is a good thing you were delayed. Still, you realize that tests on the samples of bacta ice that were brought back to Coruscant do show the bacta to be tainted and spoiled—in accord with Warlord Zsinj’s allegations.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but those samples were blown up, flash-boiled, and peppered with debris. That they show up contaminated and useless is really no surprise.”

  “Under normal circumstances I would agree with you.”

  “What do you find unusual about these circumstances?”

  Fey’lya gave her an indulgent smile. “Clearly the convoy’s timetable was leaked to Warlord Zsinj. Since the Xucphra faction on Thyferra has seen fit to send bacta to the New Republic, it is safe to assume it was the rival Zaltin faction that tipped Zsinj about the shipment. Even so, we cannot rule out the possibility that members of this government sabotaged the effort to bring bacta to Coruscant.”

  “You can’t be serious. That would make Mon Mothma or others out to be monsters who had sunk to Ysanne Isard’s level or below.”

  “Of course I don’t believe that is the case, but the problem is that others do think it possible. I am afraid that you could become implicated in all this because of your membership in Rogue Squadron.” He pressed his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. “I want to insulate you from any possible disaster coming down the line.”

  “Disaster?”

  “Rogue Squadron will be sent out with the task force being used to punish Warlord Zsinj. It could very well be that this Alderaan incident means certain superior officers in the military see Rogue Squadron as a problem. Committing you in an action that destroys the squadron would eliminate that problem. I’m not saying this is what will happen, of course, but it could and I would like to put some insurance in place that prevents this from coming to pass.”

  Asyr’s head came up. “What kind of insurance?”

  Fey’lya gestured toward her with opened hands. “I would like you to prepare a report that indicates the delay in Rogue Squadron’s arrival was a product of human error.”

  “Such a report could be used to strengthen the conspiracy theory.”

  “If I were to use it in such a capacity, yes, it could, but I would never do that.”

  “Never?” Asyr raised an eyebrow. “You know the Bothan saying—‘Never means the right opportunity has not yet arisen.’”

  “Then I should amend my statement—I would never use it except if I deemed it necessary to curb human excesses. You know—and the Krytos virus is but one example—mankind’s capacity for cruelty to its own is infinite. The human members of the Alliance have not turned on us or on Rogue Squadron, but that’s not to say they will never do that.” Fey’lya tapped his desktop with a talon. “You are a Bothan. You were born with obligations and responsibilities. Writing this report is just one of them.”

  Asyr nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll want that report within 72 hours. Don’t fail me.”

  “No, sir.” Asyr rose from her chair and bowed her head to him. “I understand the price of failure, sir, and I have no intention of incurring that debt.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  It’s too easy. Though everything was going absolutely according to his plan, Corran Horn felt some unmitigated disaster was lurking ahead of him. The Imps who hung out near the mouth of the cavern hadn’t bothered to make comments as he and Urlor headed off down the dark corridor toward the latrines. They walked close together, letting the infrared images of their bodies merge into one, creating a single image for the IR monitors at either end of the corridor.

  Once inside the latrine area, Corran had doffed his tunic and soaked it in the single sink, then pulled the clammy garment back on. He likewise soaked his head, then smiled up at Urlor through the water running down his face. “I’m set.”

  Urlor raised a bushy eyebrow.

  Corran nodded. Yes, I have to go. I have no choice. Corran slapped him on the arm, then headed to the entrance. Urlor followed, patted him on the back, then walked back toward the billet cavern, weaving slightly from side to side to widen his IR image. Thanks, my friend.

  Corran, still sodden, turned to the left and walked on toward the mine. He kept his pace slow and turned sideways to present a narrow profile to the IR monitor near the gate. He wasn’t certain that this would really minimize his heat image, but it was worth a try. His wet hair and tunic would be more effective in that department. Urlor’s efforts to present a big target farth
er up the corridor might also help eliminate him from notice.

  Thirty paces beyond the latrines he reached the doublegate. In the darkness he groped along the flimsy metal surface for the lock and chain. His fingers gently brushed across the number pad on the lock, but he resisted the temptation to try random combinations. He didn’t know if a failure would set off an alarm somewhere or not, but he did know that trying to figure out the right combination would take enough time to make him drier than a Tusken Raider. Unless I got lucky, and no one is that lucky.

  From the lock to the opposite door Corran counted sixteen links and winced. Seventeen links had provided him a tight squeeze two nights previously. Corran gripped the gate-halves, pulled them as far apart as possible, then tucked his right shoulder through the opening. He exhaled as much as he could, worked a leg through, then pushed and pulled himself the rest of the way to the other side.

  He squatted on the other side of the gate and rubbed at his chest. Just as well none of the others wanted to try to get out. Aside from some of the older prisoners and a few of the sick ones, no one could have fit through there. Staying low, he worked his way forward. When he reached the entrance to the mine corridor, he turned into it and allowed himself a quiet sigh.

  I can’t believe how stupid they’ve been. Corran realized his criticism of the guards was not fair, primarily because their lack of security seemed deficient only in light of his theory about the orientation of the prison itself. No prisoner in his right mind would attempt to escape and head deeper into the bowels of the planet. The laxity in securing the path to the mines served as a strong clue that the mines did not offer a way out—if they did, they would be more secure.

  Security is predicated on two things: the odd orientation of the prison and the fact that even if someone gets out of the prison, getting off whatever world we’re on is by no means assured. Corran shivered. If we’re in the depths of Hoth, or in the desert of Tatooine or on the back side of Kessel, this escape attempt will end quickly enough.