Creatures and other tree dwellers began to slowly hoot and call again
through the dense foliage.
Kempo's expression turned grim.
"They found the crash. We better start moving."
Tigereye immediately agreed.
"I can re-triangulate the coordinates of the slaver camp from our
position here. I'll take the point. Kempo, you take the rear. Make
sure you have your survival kits and critter repellents. The slavers
chose this moss rock for a reason, and that's probably because these
jungle worlds can be downright hostile. All right. Move out!"
The slave master Greezim Trentacal relaxed in his chair aboard the
transport freighter Atron's Mistress, fanning his face with the
elaborately decorated hide of a lexiaus beast. His darkened quarters
aboard the large freighter were filled with decorations and trinkets
from a hundred different worlds. Trentacal sighed, letting his jowled
complexion rest on his palm as he propped his head up with an elbow. A
lithe, sparsely dressed Human girl moved around him, her gestures as
light as the spice-laced air.
She offered him a cup of wine. Annoyed, he brushed her offering away
as he looked to the shadow hiding there in the darkness.
"Just how long is this going to take, Vex? You know how I hate sitting
here in this humid jungle."
In reply, a voice slithered back. "We await another shipment of slaves
from the last expedition near the Rim. By dawn tomorrow, the ship
should be completely filled."
"Good," Trentacal yawned. Details. Minor little details.
The slaves down in the cargo holds of his ship were just tiny portions
of merchandise compared to the credits he
could be making.
It was one of the problems of doing business with the Pentastar
Alignment.
To suggest that the Pentastar Alignment was just another Imperial
warlord faction, just another pale pretender to the mighty former
Empire, was a foolish assumption. The Alignment perceived itself as
the Empire reborn. Led by a Grand Moff named Ardus Kaine, the
Alignment had ignored Grand Admiral Thrawn's attempt to consolidate
Imperial forces, carefully waiting until it could mount its own
campaign against the New Republic.
Unlike other warlords, the Alignment was extremely organized and
well-equipped thanks to the corporates, powerful companies formerly
allied with the Empire. Now that one of these corporates, specifically
the PowerOn Conglomerate from Cantras Gola, was secretly threatening to
bolt and join the New Republic, the Pentastar Alignment was doing
everything it could to prevent it. So the Alignment had turned to the
Karazak Slavers Guild to solve its New Republic problem.
How completely ironic, Trentacal mused, that the children of the
Cantras Gola ambassador had been kidnapped by his slavers. The note
left in their place made the ambassador's situation quite clear. As
long as the ambassador held off any further talks with the New
Republic, the children would remain alive. The delay would be long
enough for agents from the Alignment to completely sever the ties
between Cantras Gola and the New Republic.
In the end, Cantras Gola would remain loyal to the Pentastar Alignment
and, in turn, the Karazak Slavers Guild would continue to conduct its
operations on Gabredor III unhindered.
There were some benefits to this type of business
arrangement--Trentacal had decided to keep the children as payment for
his work. The Alignment had no opinion on the matter; the ambassador
himself would be experiencing a most unfortunate accident and be
quietly replaced . . . with a more reliable Alignment official.
The slave master glanced sideways at the ambassador's
children chained to the cabin's far wall and admitted that they would make fine
additions to his household. Still, everything had its price. What, he
wondered, would be the price for keeping these two?
Trentacal motioned to the slave girl at his side and took the cup of
wine from her delicate hands. His thick palms caressed her
expressionless cheek. The girl had been mute since a child. She had
been among the first of the slaves he had kept for his own. He cupped
his fingers under her chin and turned her head so that she could see
the frightened children.
"Soon you will have others to instruct in the fine art of caring for
me."
The shadow stepped forward, barely discernible in the darkness of
Trentacal's private cabin. Trentacal watched his bodyguard and
confidant, a Defel, as he stood before the stateroom's viewports.
Vex's thick body was completely covered in layers of rippling black fur
that absorbed all surrounding light. In his right hand he held a
comlink close to an attentive ear, his head bobbing slightly as he
listened to what sounded like little more than static. Outside the
viewports lurked the tangled jungle growth of Gabredor III and the
surrounding clearing that comprised the staging camp. Lookout towers
armed with heavy repeating blasters rose from the jungle floor.
On either side of the bulbous freighter, slaves were being led into the
ship under the scrutiny of Karazak thugs. It was a fabulously
efficient operation, Trentacal assured himself. After all, it was
his.
"What is it, Vex?" The Defel was responsible for not only his master's
security, but for the entire slaver operation on Gabredor.
When summoned to the defense of his master, very few survived to tell
about his rage. Trentacal did not mind the fear surrounding his kind's
fearsome reputation either.
Vex thumbed the comlink off and turned slightly, not liking to stare
too long at the pool of light that bathed his master. "One of the Z-95
patrols has spotted the wreck
age of a light freighter some distance from here. The ship had come in low and fast, using some type of
countermeasures to elude long-range sensors and our patrols.
Whoever they were, it appears they did not want any attention."
"Was it a ship from the New Republic?" Trentacal asked cautiously,
suddenly alert.
The wraith's eye slits narrowed as he explained. "I do not think so.
They would not risk coming so deep into Alignment territory.
Doing so could mean an all-out war between them. That is something the
New Republic is not willing to risk. The only way to know is to
interrogate the survivors. But the main lifepod from the ship was not
found in the wreckage. My trackers are still searching for it."
Trentacal slammed a meaty fist down on the armrest of his sumptuous
chair. The serving girl sprang back in terror.
"Then it must be the Alignment. They've crossed us!"
The black head shook slowly. "I do not think it is the Pentastar
Alignment either, Master Trentacal. Their resources are vast. They
have no need for small strike teams.
If they wanted to, they could attack with an Enforcer-class picket
cruiser or something similar."
"Then who?"
Vex's eyes slid toward the far wall and the two figures chained
sile
ntly there. The slovenly slave master sharply inhaled,
understanding immediately. Whoever these intruders were, they were
coming for them.
"Vex, I think you should activate the security perimeter."
"It has already been done, master."
"Get it off of me!" Lex Kempo, the mercenary's mercenary, whined like
a bantha calf as he pulled at the slimy, multi-folded creature that had
fallen on his head. Brixie was trying her best to pry it off with her
vibro-knife. Sully
Tigereye just watched them. If the situation had been different, he might have been amused.
"Get it off of him, Brixie," the Trunsk unsheathed a combat vibro-axe
from his weapons harness.
"I'm trying!"
"Can we go home now?" Hugo muttered as he sat on a dead log, tired and
agitated.
"I'm sorry we're boring you!" Kempo snapped. He had the creature by
both hands and was forcibly pulling it off when the little beast
whipped out a tail appendage and squirted a powdery jet in his face.
Coughing and sneezing uncontrollably, Kempo knocked Brixie into the
brush.
Cutter laughed.
Tigereye swore, his patience exhausted.
"That does it. Exobiology class is now over!"
Tigereye grabbed the thing by its now-extended tail and swung.
The vibro-axe removed the flailing appendage. A greenish fluid
squirted over everyone. The creature flopped off Kempo's head and
expired at their feet.
Humiliation forgotten, Brixie immediately snapped open her medkit and
examined the grumbling path finder's head for puncture marks or other
lacerations that would indicate a bite. She used a water jet to clear
off his face. A quick spot test of the creature's blood revealed that
it was not inherently dangerous. Unfortunately, there was little she
could do for their wallowing morale. They had been trudging through
the jungle for almost a day now. Tempers were as short as grenade
timers.
"I feel like a droid with a bunch of haywire receptors and a bad servo
creak. Thanks kid," Kempo wiped at his face with the moisture cloth
Brixie had given him. "What was that thing?"
Tigereye considered for a moment. "I don't know, but you're lucky it
wasn't poisonous. I suggest the next time you hear a noise, you might
want to look up as well as around." Kempo fell quiet as he poked
sympathetically at the growing welt on his forehead. Cutter continued
to chuckle.
Tigereye turned his ire on the squatting demolitions expert.
"I don't recall giving any order for a rest break, Hugo."
"Well, you guys looked so busy fooling around with that thing that I
didn't want to disturb you."
"Time's short. You're on point. I want you to scout ahead and make
sure there aren't any more surprises waiting for us."
The frazzled-haired engineer pointed at his own chest, startled.
"You want me to . . . scout? Sully, you know I don't scout. I blow
things up into itty-bitty pieces. Everyone in the unit says I make a
poor scout."
"Consider it a valuable life lesson. Brixie's gotta finish checking
out Kempo, and someone has to watch over her."
Hugo rose angrily to his feet, the charges still rattling around in his
camo bag. He drew a blaster pistol from a holster.
"Fine, but who's going to watch over me?"
"Enough complaining. Scoot!"
Hugo vanished over the dead log he had been sitting on, still
complaining loudly as he walked off. Tigereye shook his tired,
grizzled head. Removing the map pad, he checked their current
coordinates with the expected slaver encampment. They should be
reaching their security perimeter soon. He looked up momentarily to
watch Brixie dab a medicated ointment on Kempo's head. She was also
looking at him.
"Problem?"
"No, I was just wondering," she stumbled over her words. "I mean,
everyone spends so much time arguing and insulting. You don't act
exactly like what I've seen.
You know . . . like professionals."
She stopped, believing she had somehow completely insulted them.
Now it was Kempo's turn to laugh. Even Tigereye, surprisingly, was not
offended.
"You've been watching too many entertainment holos,
Brixie. Not all of us pretend to be the master merc like Kempo."
"Who's pretending?" Kempo interrupted, still rinsing his eyes.
"Don't let our sparring fool you any, kid. We go back a long way. Far
enough back to hate each other's guts and still be the best of
chums."
"Hugo's your best friend?" Brixie looked confused.
"But you don't act like best friends."
Tigereye pursed his lips. "Everyone in this company, everyone in the
Red Moons that is, comes with a story.
Your parents for instance. You don't like the way the Alignment is
treating them, do you?"
"My parents were both taken from their clinic and forced to work for
the Alignment military as combat surgeons.
It's almost as if they've been locked up. I just want them back."
"Hugo's parents were Imperial nobility. He lived on a corporate world
during the reign of the Emperor. His parents tried everything to keep
him under control, including locking him up. I was treated like an
animal once.
I know what it's like to be caged. When you go through life like that,
sometimes you need someone to keep you in check. Hugo minds over me
like I mind him."
Kempo pulled himself to his feet and handed the salve back to her.
"Remember kid, the first rule of soldiering is to not let appearances
fool you. Tigereye didn't choose us for this team just because of our
singing voices. Tigereye's got more combat experience in his little
right toe claw than most Imperial generals. Hugo can make an AT-AT
dance a jig and explode with just a spanner and a thermal detonator.
My job is to make sure we survive to brag about this little tale.
And in case we do fall apart, Lady Brix, your job is to put the little
pieces back together so I can collect my finish fee."
Brixie felt completely embarrassed. What she had mistaken for open
hostility among the three veterans was ac
tually their way of dealing with yet another impossible situation.
Hugo Cutter's heard suddenly appeared over the log.
"Excuse me. I don't want to interrupt your talking about me, but I
think I found something."
From a distance, the sensor mast appeared like a metal chrome ball
mounted on a pole slightly taller than the surrounding vegetation.
Others just like it rose approximately 20 meters to either side. They
positioned themselves almost 30 meters away from the distinct-looking
sensor fence.
"Looks like we found their perimeter," Kempo muttered quietly to
Tigereye, not anxious to trip any possible acoustical pickups. Behind
them, Cutter and Brixie waited anxiously.
"Or we tripped over a buried, outer perimeter line already."
Tigereye checked his own detection instruments.
Despite his concern, the possibility of an outer barrier was unlikely
here. The everpresent moistur
e and local lifeforms would make short
work of almost anything made of metal or complex circuitry buried in
the humus.
He glanced back. "All right Hugo, you're on."
Cutter took off his service jacket and dumped the contents of his bag
of tricks on to it. Shaped charges, broken datapads, anti-vehicle
grenades, droid parts and bits of c-board and chips spilled
everywhere.
Kempo eyed the strange assortment with some disdain.
"You're carrying enough junk to supply Industrial Automaton."
"Spare me," Cutter snapped back as he set to work.
Brixie watched the entire process with interest as Kempo and Tigereye
took up sentry positions close by. Not even realizing she had been
recruited to assist him, Cutter was asking her for tools from the tech
kit and bits from the scrap pile. In minutes, a truly strange
conglomeration of
sensor boards, probe droid chips, scanners and
communication jammers was taking shape.
"Is this going to work?" she asked.
Cutter took a moment to sit back and admire his creation with a small
Tales From The Empire Page 24
