The Krytos Trap

by Michael A. Stackpole

  His first impression of opulence had not been diminished in his survey of the facility. The entire place had been decorated with golden-brown wooden panels and hand-carved trim. Not being often treated to the lifestyle of the rich, Corran couldn’t identify the wood, but he was fairly certain the faint rose scent filling the air came from it. He made a mental note to ask Erisi what kind of wood it was, since he assumed she would know.

  More impressive than the wooden furnishings were the huge xenoscapes that took up whole walls in some of the rooms. Some were filled with water and had brightly colored fish swimming through them. Others contained dense, foggy atmospheres or boggy environments in which things flapped and slithered. Each room had its own private xenoscape and while most of the creatures looked harmless, a couple looked positively lethal.

  Despite getting frightened by the sudden appearances of several luminous beasts along the wall of a darkened room, Corran was glad for the xenoscapes’ presence. Some specimens were large enough that lifeform scanning equipment might have trouble differentiating him from them, frustrating a search. In his experience that sort of equipment was most valuable in determining where lifeforms were not, so that searches could be confined to the places where they were found. He assumed that if searchers were forced to go over the level carefully, he could elude them in a deadly game of hide-and-seek.

  But then, he’d not been counting on the methodical nature of stormtroopers and how they did their work. During his scouting run a squad of eight came up through the turbolift and immediately posted two men in the facility core. The remaining six broke up into two teams of three and proceeded to go through each wing room by room. Once they finished in a room they closed the doors and used a datapad to set the locks and seal the room.

  He’d fled from them as carefully as he could, but they pushed on. Finally he’d found himself herded into what, in the golden glow of the large aquatic xenoscape along one wall, appeared to be a very nice library. The shelves on three walls were lined with box after box of datacards. Both desks in the room had tabletop datapads with holoplates that could provide a fully tri-dimensional data-scanning experience. The chairs all seemed comfortable, and had the room not been built on an immense Imperial scale, Corran could have considered it cozy.

  It had its quirks, though. In stumbling about he stepped into a circular design on the floor. He would have thought it a continuation of the inlaid wooden pattern, but it felt cold and synthetic to his bare feet. He had barely stepped into it when a holographic image was projected down from the ceiling and filled the circle. Corran leaped back and raised his hands to protect himself.

  Ten feet tall, an image of the Emperor stared down at him. The figure looked strong and almost majestic—not at all the image of the twisted, malignant man who had overthrown the Old Republic and created the Empire. The hooded and cloaked figure stood there, then slowly raised his hands toward the ceiling. They returned to his side, vanishing as the cloak slid closed, then the figure shrank to more human proportions and melted away through the circle.

  That display so unnerved Corran that he immediately sought cover. He noticed a long low row of cabinets beneath the xenoscape. He opened one of the cabinet doors but found he couldn’t see much inside. The space smelled cramped and close; it reeked of mildew and reminded him of the location Tycho had found for the Rogues to hide while they prepared to liberate Coruscant. Had there been another choice he would have taken it, but the crisp click of boots on the floor outside the door told him his time had run out.

  He crawled over some small boxes and into the narrow space, then pulled the door closed. The cabinet had been compartmentalized—he found himself in a cubicle barely a meter high and wide, though it did extend back nearly two meters from the door. A thick metal crossbeam framework supported the weight of the transparisteel xenoscape above him and the water it contained. Fiberplast panels lined the compartment on all sides and felt as solid as rock as far as his buttocks and spine were concerned. He pulled himself through the crossbeams and into the compartment’s back half. He arranged the boxes and canisters in the front of the cabinet to shield him, but he knew even a cursory look would reveal his presence.

  I hope they have a nice place in the shrine down there for my head. Stomach acid burbled up into his throat, but he choked it back down and endured the burning. Probably doesn’t hurt as much as blaster-bolts will. He tried to recall the pain from the times he’d gotten shot—at Talasea, and in the mines—but sensation seemed distant, and unrelated to what he knew he would be feeling in short order.

  He heard muffled voices from the other side of the cabinet door. Clicks and hisses accompanied them. What can they be discussing? Despite the ache in his spine and the burning in his throat, Corran smiled. Maybe one of them decided searching these cabinets is stupid because there’s no way Derricote could be hiding in here.

  Then, through the soles of his feet, he felt a slight vibration shake the cabinet framing. If searching the cabinets was what they were arguing about, my team lost, which means I’ve lost. Another cabinet door closed, this one closer if judged by the strength of the vibration. Then he felt the quiver of a cabinet being opened, followed by a strong tremor when it was shut.

  That’s it. He’s getting frustrated. No one is in the cabinets. No one can be in the cabinets. They’re too small to hide anyone, much too small. Corran pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his hands around his knees. He actually heard the cabinet next to his open. A comlink clicked. He thought he heard the word, “Clear.”

  Then he definitely felt the cabinet slam shut.

  Corran pressed himself back into the corner. There’s no one in here. There’s nothing to see here. No one is hiding in here. It’s all clear.

  The door opened.

  There’s no one here. This cabinet is empty.

  A light flashed in. It started at the far end.

  Empty, empty, empty. All clear.

  The light swept across toward him.

  What a waste of time searching this cabinet. It’s empty. There’s no one here.

  The light snapped off before it hit his face. The stormtrooper helmet, which had taken on the proportions and ugliness of a Hutt’s ghost in Corran’s sight, pulled back. “It’s empty. There’s no one here.”

  Corran clutched his knees more tightly to prevent his heart from pounding its way out of his chest.

  “Are you sure?”

  Despair exploded in Corran. What sort of an idiot would trap himself in these cabinets?!

  The door slammed shut and bounced back ajar when the magnetic latch failed to catch. Corran caught part of a heated exchange between stormtroopers. He missed the initial comment, but the sharp reply came through loud and clear.

  “If he’s stupid enough to try to escape, he’s stupid enough to hide in those cabinets. Finish checking those last two cabinets, then seal the room. This level is clear, so we move up.”

  Corran heard the other cabinets open and close, but it was the thunder of a storm that had passed him by. He dared not relax, and bumped his head against the top of the cabinet when a stormtrooper reshut the door to his compartment. The burning in his lungs matched that in his throat, then he slowly exhaled and drew in a new breath. He wanted to jump out of the cabinet, escape its coffinlike confines, but he didn’t know if the stormtroopers had left the room yet.

  Again he waited. He knew he had gotten lucky, but he was able to convince himself that it wasn’t just luck that had saved him. In his time with the Corellian Security Force he had participated in countless searches for suspects. There came a point where he knew, in his gut, that the suspect had fled and his attention flagged. From what one of the storm-troopers had said, he concluded the library was the last room to be searched on that level; if so, the stormtrooper checking the cabinets was probably bored out of his mind.

  Because he was bored, he got sloppy. Corran smiled and started breathing more normally. Good thing he had his helmet on, otherwise he would
have been able to smell me.

  He waited a little longer, even beyond the point where he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He fought against the panic rising in his heart. If I panic, I die. Cool. Calm. You’ve been in tighter situations before. Take it easy. He concentrated on breathing and waited for his pulse rate to go down, then slipped from the cabinet.

  He found himself alone in the library. The lights in the xenoscape provided him ample illumination to find his way around, but he still wasn’t certain what he was looking for. He assumed it was too much to ask for any of the boxed datacard sets to contain plans that would allow him to escape the room. Still, he’d conducted enough searches of criminal strongholds to find it easy to imagine that one box of datacards might be a dummy that, when pulled out or tipped up on edge, would open the door to a secret hiding place or, better yet, the Moff’s bolt-hole.

  It would have to be something obscure—something no one would ever choose to look at on purpose. With that as his search parameter, he found a lot of choices. The sheer variety of datacard collections impressed him. But each box he tried contained the appropriate datacards. At least I can improve my mind while trapped here. Given enough time, I could become the galaxy’s expert in all sorts of things, including worlds I’ve never heard of, like this Corvis Minor.

  He pulled the slim box labeled The Complete History of Corvis Minor off the shelf and was disappointed when no secret door opened up. He was about to put it back when he noticed the weight didn’t seem quite right. He opened the box and dumped a compact holdout blaster into his hand. If a blaster is considered the complete history of Corvis Minor, I’m thinking it’s not a vacation spot.

  He put the box away and checked the blaster’s power pack. A half-dozen shots. It probably won’t get through stormtrooper armor, but it can make them dive for cover.

  Keeping the blaster in his hand, he continued his survey of the library. He found no more surprises and gave up hoping there was a history of Corvis Major that would contain something more substantial in terms of weaponry. Like an X-wing.

  Frustrated by the lack of success of his search, he turned his attention to the datapads. He wasn’t sure the computers would be much more help than the library’s inventory had been, but he assumed he could get some basic information to help him out. Most dedicated datapads included basic information about their surroundings. Something as simple as a map showing the evacuation route in case of fire or rebel invasion would point him toward exits.

  Provided I can get into the system. Had Whistler been with him, the droid could have sliced into the system with ease. While he did know a few things about codeslicing himself, he’d relied on Whistler’s skills so much that he could only perform rudimentary assaults on a system. If there’s a password for gaining access to the system, I’m blocked right there.

  At the smaller of the desks he flicked the holopad on. He opened some of the drawers, looking for the sort of datacard that might contain password information, when a word appeared suspended above the holopad:

  [INQUIRY]:

  Corran’s smile blossomed. Whoever had last used the datapad had finished by turning off the holopad instead of logging off the computer. This deep in a secret Imperial facility, the chances of an Alliance spy getting to that terminal were slender, and if the security procedure for getting access was laborious enough, merely shutting the holopad down could seem like a tempting, if unsecured, alternative to making the system secure. Whatever the reason, I don’t mind.

  Corran called up a system catalog and shifted to the Lusankya database. Hundreds of names scrolled past too fast for him to read, so at the next prompt he called up his own record. It seemed fairly complete and decidedly up-to-date on data about him since his joining Rogue Squadron. Tycho’s doing, no doubt. He highlighted a datalink labeled Lusankya and saw a brief history of his stay in the prison. Comparing the date given for his arrival with the dateline on the bottom of the holographic image, he realized he’d been in captivity for six standard weeks. That was longer than he’d been able to count, but his interrogation had been full of lost and warped days.

  He highlighted another datalink. Next to the legend “CStatus:” was the code “Rl.” Corran chose it and got a quick explanation floating above the desk.

  R1: Resistant in primary phase.

  Notes: The subject could not be induced to fire upon positive icons despite being subjected to their hostile intent in simulation. His resistance in the second round of testing occurred sooner than in the previous round. Subject is unsuitable for conversion.

  Corran stared at the green words burning in the air above the desk. When he had thought about it, he had assumed the simulator flights he had taken were just part of an interrogative technique. The technique let him fly, which made him feel good. If things were done correctly, that good feeling could be transferred to the Imps, then he’d tell them what they wanted to know. He could imagine it working just that way with any number of folks—they’d be seduced into giving up information without realizing what they were doing.

  Clearly that was not what Isard had been trying to do with him. She was trying to make me over into a monster, just like Tycho. She wanted me to become a tool she could use against the Alliance. He shivered and wished he could somehow open his skull and scrape the memories of what he endured from his brain.

  His eyes narrowed. Well, your conditioning didn’t work. I’m not your tool. I’m your enemy, and when I get out of here, I’m going to hurt you.

  He got back to an inquiry prompt and called up Tycho Celchu’s file. Finally, I’ll have proof!. Corran summoned up the Lusankya data and had highlighted the “CStatus” code before he really looked at the value listed there. R1. No way. That was my code. He called up the data and sat back, stunned.

  R1: Resistant in primary phase.

  Notes: Though the subject’s initial response to Imperial icons was positive, this appeared to be an artifact of his years spent at the Imperial Academy. It did not last long. Subject aggressively attacked Imperial icons. When those icons were overlaid with Alliance datastreams, the contradiction caused the subject to become catatonic. Subject is unsuitable for conversion.

  But that’s not possible. Tycho’s a spy. I know it! Anger tore through Corran and immolated his brain. He wanted to believe that Ysanne Isard had planted this information so he’d not believe Tycho was a spy, but she had no way of knowing he’d get where he was to see it. Besides, his having that knowledge would serve no purpose to her benefit. Even supposing Tycho were killed by the Republic and Corran were allowed to escape and point out that Tycho had been innocent: that would cause strife in the New Republic, but how much? Was it worth the elaborate charade of letting him escape?

  Corran got up from the chair and began to pace around the room. Isard had fed his hatred of Tycho and supported his conviction that Tycho had been a spy. That made no sense. From his file she would have known that he’d have been far more tortured inside by being told that he’d been wrong, and that his mistake was the foundation for Tycho’s treason and murder trial. His own sense of personal honor would have eaten him up inside when he realized an innocent man was going to be convicted of a crime because of his mistake.

  Lost in his thoughts, he stepped into the circle in the middle of the floor. The Emperor descended upon him and Corran jumped back. He snarled up at the image and marched on through it. “Quite the mess you created with your Empire, you know.”

  Corran realized that Isard’s actions made no sense to him because she was coming at things with an Imperial sense of ethics—ethics that frightened him. She fed his hatred of Tycho because it gave her a button to which she knew he would react. His hatred was unthinking, and she didn’t want him thinking at all. Once she got me reacting through emotions, she could manipulate me. The problem was that my feelings in favor of the other members of Rogue Squadron overrode my hatred for Tycho. And, maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep down I didn’t doubt him.

  However, there is evide
nce of a spy being connected with Rogue Squadron. He returned to the datapad and punched in the names of all the personnel in the unit or support staff. They all came up blank. Feeling a bit frustrated, he called up Tycho’s file again and read over the parts concerning his time at Lusankya. The details were pretty much in keeping with what Tycho had told him: he didn’t remember much of his time there, then he was transferred to Akrit’tar. The Lusankya file made reference to his escape from that facility and included a couple of notes about Tycho’s life since then, but didn’t include much detail until data started flowing from the Rogue Squadron source.

  Pacing again, Corran began to work things out in his mind. If Tycho was not an Imperial spy, then he wouldn’t have been meeting with Kirtan Loor. As much as Corran was certain he had seen Loor that night, he admitted that having seen the man earlier in the day at the Imperial Palace had rattled him, and could easily have made him misidentify a Duros in a hooded cloak as Loor.

  Bits and pieces of things began to drop into place for him. By a simple process of elimination he narrowed down the list of possible spies, and one name rose quickly to the top of the list. No doubt about it—but then, that’s what I thought about Tycho. I have to get clear of here and check some things out. I can’t afford to be wrong this time.

  He looked up as the Emperor towered above him. Corran stepped back. “You know, the sheer ego it takes to plant your image in your own facility is unbelievable. This display does nothing but take up space.” It struck him as another useless bit of Imperial ostentation. Then it occurred to him that just as the cabinets hid the structure that supported the xenoscape, the holograph did do more than one thing.

  It stops people from standing on this spot.

  Corran stepped forward and oriented himself to face in the same direction as the Emperor. The world hazed out slightly as the hologram settled down over him, but out of the corner of his left eye he caught the momentary red spark of a low-grade spotting laser being shot at him. It flickered on and off a few more times, then the Emperor’s hologram collapsed around him. As it did so, the circle shifted and began to descend beneath the level of the floor.