by James Luceno
Han felt as if he'd been swallowed by a Jawa sand-crawler, but he kept the thought to himself.
A few moments of lightning-fast machine code was all it took for Baffle to bring the others up to speed on Han's predicament. Sprinkled among the subsequent chatter-ings, Han heard what sounded like the word Ryn-at least the way machines might articulate it. Eventually, heads and sensor appendages of wide assortment swung to observe him.
Slightly unnerved, Han uttered a short laugh. "Hey, it's been a while since I've spoken droid, fellas."
Baffle apologized for the lot of them. "We sometimes forget that the speed of the flesh-and-blood brain lags far behind that of our processors."
Han scowled. "Skip the sales pitch, Long Reach, and tell me what I've gotten myself into."
Baffle gestured toward the globe-headed systems control droid who had rendezvoused with them in the maintenance tunnels. "Pip here has succeeded in locating Droma. As I might have surmised, he is not being held at Facility 17, but at Salliche Ag's district headquarters, where he is to be arraigned on charges and sentenced." The droid paused to attend to chirps from the P2 unit. "If convicted of conspiracy, the minimum sentence is five years of hard labor."
Squatting on its several legs, the systems control droid projected a faintly blue hologram of a sprawling complex, built into a hillside that overlooked a far-reaching quilt of cultivated fields.
"The area where Droma is currently being held is denied to droids," Baffle went on, "but a human-such as yourself-should have no trouble reaching him."
A highlighted portion of the hologram expanded into a close-up of the foot of the hill, where a system of containment pools and aqueducts directed water into a labyrinth of deep irrigation ditches.
"What am I supposed to do, just march in there and grab him?" Han asked.
Baffle chittered to Pip, who immediately displayed holograms of uniforms and identity badges, some of which were emblazoned with Salliche Ag's corporate logo.
"We can provide you with the necessary clothing and documentation," Baffle elaborated, "along with maps and whatever else you may require to familiarize yourself with the layout of the district headquarters and its immediate surroundings. We can also arrange for authentication by the security devices you will encounter, although it will be your responsibility to persuade the flesh and bloods with whom you come in contact that you are indeed whom your credentials describe you to be. It will also be your responsibility to locate and rescue Droma, and to make your escape by whatever route you see fit to take."
Chin in hand, Han circled the holographic projections. "I'd need a concealable weapon."
"A weapon can be provided."
Han stopped and glanced around. "Not to seem ungrateful, but I get the feeling you're not doing this out of the goodness of your programming. What's the catch?"
The droids toodled and buzzed for a moment.
"In return for our assistance," Baffle said, "we would ask that you do something for us." New holograms resolved in midair, showing detailed views of the interior of the headquarters building. "In a room on the fifth level of the east wing are the master controls for a trans-ceiver/rectenna array that serves as a monitoring system for this district's several thousand droid workers-all of whom are outfitted with shutdown sensors that can be remotely activated."
Han studied the holo of the master controls. "So the transceiver functions as a kind of remote restraining bolt."
"That would describe it."
Han grinned. "And you want me to disable it."
"I might have used the word sabotage," Baffle said.
Han circled the new hologram. "If you can arrange to get me past the building's security scanners, why can't you do the job yourselves?"
"The transceiver is a stand-alone apparatus, and the entire east wing is accessible only to flesh and bloods. Entry requires a palm print-"
"Which you can provide," Han said, wishing Droma were there to hear him say it. He stopped to scrutinize the holographic controls. "Is there a code that will disarm the system?"
"Because we have never had access to the transceiver, blunt trauma might be the most effective course of action. However, we would be happy to provide you with a data card containing a machine virus that should serve the same end."
"What happens then?"
"With the transceiver disabled, the thousands of droids Salliche Ag has already deactivated will be free to escape imprisonment."
Han glanced from droid to droid in growing misgiving. "Let me get this straight," he said into an eerie silence. "Salliche has a bunch of droids-er, you folks- on ice. Why?"
"Salliche Ag would have everyone believe that the employment of flesh and bloods allows them to boast of providing 'handpicked' foodstuffs. But in fact, the company is phasing out droid workers as a means of demonstrating compliance with the antimachine tenets of the Yuuzhan Vong. Tens of thousands of deactivated droids will be Ruan's welcome gift to the invaders when they reach the Core."
Han gulped. Credits to crumbs, the crew of the Trevee had selected Ruan because Yuuzhan Vong agents had already been there.
"You realize that shutting down the transceiver is probably going to touch off every alarm in the complex," he said.
"Yes, but we can silence most of them," Baffle assured. "What's more, many of our deactivated comrades are stored at the complex itself, and once they are reactivated, we can unseal the chambers that house them. The ensuing confusion should aid in your escape."
"Yeah, Droma and me'll blend in real well with a bunch of reawakened droids," Han muttered. "But that's beside the point. What's to stop Salliche from repairing the system and deactivating every droid set free?"
"Given even a modicum of time, we can extract the remote sensors from most of those who are liberated-as we have already done to ourselves."
"Without Salliche's knowledge?"
"All droids on Ruan have deactivation dates," Baffle explained. "In order to safeguard our deception, many of us have had to submit to voluntary deactivation while our act of sabotage was being planned."
"Isn't all this against your programming or something?"
"Our i nhibition programs prevent us from taking direct actions against living beings, but we are permitted, even encouraged, to act in self-preservation. We've simply been awaiting the arrival of the one flesh and blood who could help us."
Han held up his hands. "Not so fast. I mean, let's say I decide to go through with this, and suddenly there's a couple of thousand of you who can't be remotely deactivated. You think that's going to stop Salliche from hunting every one of you down and hammering a restraining bolt into your plastrons, or just blasting you to fragments?"
"We're aware of the fate that awaits us," Baffle said. "But before Salliche Ag can bring about our termination, we plan to execute and broadcast an act of passive resistance that will not only draw galactic attention to our plight, but also alert our comrades far and wide to the dangers they face."
Han thought about C-3PO and his current obsession with deactivation, and he thought about Droma, who had saved Han's life on two occasions. An easier way to rescue the Ryn would be to pull rank on whatever bureaucrats administered Ruan. He could simply reveal who he was, and claim that he and Droma were on a mission for New Republic Intelligence. But doing so could backfire on him. Because of the part he had played in the Elan affair, Han could well imagine Director Scaur disavowing any connection between Han and New Republic Intelligence. And even if Scaur backed up Han's ruse, there was a good chance that Leia would learn of what happened and accuse Han of meddling in SEL-CORE business. Besides, rescuing Droma by pulling rank wouldn't do anything for Baffle and the rest of Ruan's droids.
"All right, I'll do it," he said at last. "But on one condition I want to know where the Trevee went. I want ion drive and thermal exhaust profiles, transponder codes, hyperspace coordinates, and anything else you can come up with."
"I will attend to the matter personally," Baffle said.
Baffle traded glances with some of the others. "He is being held at the product enhancement facility."
"Product enhancement," Han repeated slowly.
Baffle nodded. "The manure works."
TWENTY-ONE
"Talk about ragtag outfits," Shada D'ukal said as thirteen X-wings, A-wings, and modified Y-wings-many of them as patched up as a pirate craft-pierced the magcon field of Kothlis II orbital station's aft docking bay. The starfighters had surely been scanned on arrival in Bothan space, but no sooner did they settle down to the deck than a Bothan military unit moved in to execute a thorough search and documents check.
Talon Karrde and the former Mistryl Shadow Guard from Emberlene watched from an observation gallery that overlooked the bay, Shada wearing a form-hugging outfit of black elastex, and Karrde, in a tailored suit, looking more like her booking agent than her employer.
"A pity you never got to see Kyp's squadron a year ago," Karrde said. "Back then they had two XJs fresh from Incom, along with a couple of B-wings in near immaculate condition."
Shada kept her eyes on the starfighters. "So I've heard."
"Kyp had named them the Dozen-and-Two Avengers-much to Skywalker's dismay. Kyp sicced them on the Outer Rim, detaining pirates and smugglers, and generally sticking his nose whenever he wanted, all without Coruscant batting an eye."
"The Dozen-and-Two?" Shada said.
"Kyp and Miko Reglia-his Jedi apprentice at the time."
"I should have known."
"They liked to frequent Dubrillion. Several members of the squadron were recordholders on those modified TIEs Calrissian bought for his asteroid obstacle course- or at least until Jaina Solo showed everyone how Lando's Folly should be run." Karrde laughed, mostly to himself. "But I have to credit Kyp for showmanship. Launching or landing, he'd lead the Avengers through flashy maneuvers, sometimes to amplified orchestral music. Then Helska happened."
Shada turned slightly in Karrde's direction. "Kyp lost everyone?"
"It was the first engagement between starfighters and Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers-the first substantiated one, at any rate. The Avengers didn't have a clue what they were up against. Reglia was captured alive, but apparently died later during an escape attempt."
Shada returned her gaze to the docking bay. "So where do you suppose Kyp found replacements?"
"Most of them are combat veterans from one conflict or another. Several were flying relief missions to threatened, even occupied worlds, earning New Republic credits for authenticated Yuuzhan Vong kills. Kyp proposed that everyone would do better if they formed an actual unit, and at the same time he'd have his Avengers back."
"But they're not sanctioned by the military."
Karrde shook his head. "They're classified as a support unit. As an appeasement to Skywalker and the military, Kyp dropped the name Avengers. Now they're just Kyp's Dozen." He looked at Shada. "Let's go say hello."
By the time Karrde and Shada arrived in the hold, Kyp, Ganner Rhysode, and the twelve members of Kyp's squadron were huddled near the modified Y-wing co-piloted by Ganner. The noses of some of the other starfighters were emboldened by meteor storms of laser-engraved coralskippers.
Seeing Karrde and Shada, the two Jedi walked toward them.
"One heck of a place for a rendezvous, Karrde," Kyp said. "Half the Fifth Fleet is parked between here and Bothawui. We're lucky we were even cleared for Kothlis, never mind this place."
"I didn't want to trust what I have to say to normal channels," Karrde explained. "As for the fleet, the Bothans aren't taking any chances-even though conditions have changed since our visit to Ryloth."
"Changed how?" Kyp asked conspiratorially.
Karrde nodded his head toward the observation gallery. "Step into my office for a moment."
Kyp signaled his fliers to remain with the ships; then he and Ganner followed Karrde and Shada to a turbolift that accessed the overlook. No one spoke until they arrived on the gallery, where they pulled four chairs together and sat down.
"The Hutts have resumed shipping spice to Bothawui and Kothlis," Karrde began. "With all the patrols, not much is getting through, but that's irrelevant."
"Are they shipping to Corellia?" Ganner asked.
"Not yet."
Kyp frowned in bewilderment. "Then why is the fleet here and not at Corellia? From what I hear, the Corellian sector's about to revolt."
Karrde shook his head. "I don't know why. It would appear that not everyone accepts the significance of the intelligence we provided."
"Fey'lya," Kyp said.
"And others on the Advisory Council. But spice has nothing to do with what I have for you." Karrde paused briefly. "Are rescue missions off-limits to Jedi? I ask only because I don't want to be responsible for widening the rift between you and Sky walker."
"There is no rift," Kyp said firmly. "We don't see eye to eye on some things, but there's no rift. He approved my coming here."
"That's good, because I'm reluctant to take this information to Rogue Squadron. Even with Jaina Solo flying with them, I'd have a lot of explaining to do." Karrde's eyes narrowed as he assessed the two Jedi. "Is Wurth Skidder still missing?"
Ganner suddenly leaned forward. "Yes."
"No other Jedi?"
"What have you heard, Karrde?" Kyp demanded.
"This comes direct from Crev Bombaasa, so I'm trusting that it's reliable information. Yuuzhan Vong forces are holding a Jedi aboard a ship headed for Kalarba. The ship is carrying a war coordinator, so there's a good chance it's either well armed or traveling under escort."
"Kalarba," Kyp said with a nod. "That's why you chose to meet here. We're only a jump away."
"You'll have to move fast regardless. Skidder's slated to be transferred to another ship and handed over to some top commander. Once that happens, your chances of getting near him are probably next to none."
Ganner tightened his lips and nodded. "Thanks for bringing this to us, Karrde."
Karrde got to his feet. "You're certain Skywalker won't object."
Kyp gave his head a shake. "Rescue is our mandate."
Several thousand demonstrators-most of them Drall and humans but with some Selonians mixed in-railed from behind the majestic gates that had once allowed Governor-General Marcha of Mastigophorous to maintain a tranquil enclave for herself on that part of Drall. Squads of Public Safety Service guards reinforced the fence that encircled the compound, though in fact any determined Drall could simply have burrowed their way onto the grounds.
From a round-topped window in the sitting room that overlooked the estate's expansive front lawn and Marcha's beds of prize nannariums, Jacen trained elec-trobinoculars on some of the placards and signs hoisted high by the vociferous crowd.
" 'Jedi warmongers,' " he read aloud. " 'Servants of the dark side.' 'Corellia will live to see Coruscant die.'" Lowering the binocs, he swung to his younger brother. "Here's one you'll like, Anakin 'Solos, go home.' " He bit his lower lip and shook his head. "Wait'll Dad gets wind of this."
The shuttle that had delivered Anakin and Jacen to Drall sat on a shrub-enclosed permacrete pad behind Marcha's hemispherical white manse, close to the river. Beyond the pad, manicured lawn stretched to the edge of luxuriant forest. Droid servants busied themselves outdoors and in, trimming the hedges that lined the estate's brick walkways and making minor adjustments to the fountain in the central foyer.
"I don't know how word got out that you boys would be stopping here before continuing on to Centerpoint Station," Marcha said as she served pieces of dark-brown, homemade ryshcate, heavy with vweliu nuts. "But don't feel singled out. Most of that crowd has been here for the past month. Things are even worse in Coronet and on some of the worlds of the Outlier systems. And on Talus and Tralus the Federation of t he Double Worlds has recently formed a coalition with the archaeologists the New Republic forcibly removed
from Centerpoint."
"The Centerpoint Party," Marcha's nephew Ebrihim said as he reached for a wedge of the sweet cake. "Extremists who have borrowed freely from the rhetoric of the old Sacorrian Triad."
Nearby, and attentive to every word, stood Q9-X2, Ebrihim's jet-black and bullet-headed astromech droid, who, when it spoke, was usually quick to express a high opinion of itself.
"Because this system is comprised of worlds captured by Centerpoint Station and installed into orbit around Corell," Marcha said, "the party advocates increased representation in the New Republic Senate."
Ebrihim nodded in affirmation. "With five votes instead of one, the party leaders believe that they might have been able to prevent Coruscant from commandeering Centerpoint."
Furred and somewhat chubby bipeds, Ebrihim and Marcha had clawed feet, elongated whiskered muzzles, and small ears set high on their heads. Like most Drall they v/ere keenly intelligent and honest to a fault, if at times maddeningly fastidious. But where age had tempered Ebrihim's tendency to pontificate, Marcha-while some years Ebrihim's senior-was as fervently self-reliant as Jacen remembered her being during the Center-point Station crisis, almost eight years earlier.
What had begun then as a family holiday had turned into open rebellion, with the Sacorrian Triad making use of Centerpoint Station's awesome interdiction and nova-inducing power to force the New Republic into recognizing the sector's autonomy. Ebrihim, hired by Leia to tutor Jacen, Jaina, and Anakin, had ended up being their rescuer by spiriting them from Corellia to Drall, where Marcha had not only sheltered them but had also led them to the planetary repulsor Anakin activated to thwart the Triad's plans.
"Couldn't you have prevented the New Republic from commandeering Centerpoint?" Jacen asked.
Marcha was gentle in her ridicule. "I'm a political appointee, Jacen. Given that many of my own staff have turned on me for not taking a firmer stand, it probably would have been a wise move to challenge or at least denounce Coruscant's actions. But without your mother to back me, Borsk Fey'lya would have simply removed me from office and the military would have taken possession of Centerpoint regardless."
