Star Wars: The Old Republic: Annihilation

by Drew Karpyshyn

  The corridor he was in took a ninety-degree turn to his right before coming up against another sealed door. This time Theron was more careful, crouching low to the side of the door as he slipped his backpack off and set his assault rifle on the floor beside him. He dug around until he found what he wanted—a pair of detonators—then leaned in and let the scanner read his retinal signature.

  As the door slid open Theron pressed himself against the wall, taking cover behind the edge of the doorjamb. He poked his head out just enough to see down the corridor, then pulled it back as the waiting guards unleashed a volley of blaster bolts in his direction.

  There were three this time, strategically spread out at various points along the hall. Theron pressed the small button on the first detonator to prime it, then tossed it down the corridor with a flick of his wrist, careful to keep from exposing himself to the enemy’s line of fire.

  Even before the inevitable explosion, he was already priming the second detonator. The first blast went off and Theron made his move. He wanted to get this one all the way down to the far end of the hall, so he had to lean out to get enough leverage for the throw, momentarily leaving himself open.

  As he did so he saw one of the guards lying on the floor, a casualty of the first blast. The other two had been far enough down the hall to survive, but the explosion had left them distracted and disoriented, and neither one was able to get off a clean shot in the brief second Theron was exposed.

  In the aftermath of the second detonator’s explosion, Theron scooped up his assault rifle and peeked around the edge of the doorjamb. Another soldier was down, and the third was reeling from the explosions. He fired at Theron, but his shots flew high and wide. Theron remained calm as he took careful aim and dropped his foe with a short burst.

  He threw the backpack on once more and continued down the hall, counting the doors on his left. When he reached the third one, he stopped and went through the necessary routine to unlock it. He stepped into the minister’s office then sealed the door behind him, just in case.

  The office was large—ten meters by ten in Theron’s estimation. A number of comfortable-looking chairs were arranged around a small, circular meeting table near the front. In the back was a massive desk made of dark brown wood. Intricate designs had been carved into the front and sides, and the heavy legs were sculpted into ornate, sweeping curves. Theron had expected to find propaganda posters or a self-portrait of the minister, but the walls were surprisingly empty.

  According to Vinn’s blueprints, the minister’s private communications room was through an exit in the back—the most logical place to store the black cipher. But as Theron stared at the massive durasteel door at the rear of the office, he realized Vinn’s blueprints hadn’t shown everything.

  He approached the security panel of the locked door and quickly determined that a simple badge and retinal scan weren’t going to get him in this time. There was a numbered keypad beside the door, and Theron guessed only the minister himself knew the access code.

  Theron quickly reviewed his options. He still had some plasma gel left, but not enough to burn through the heavy steel door. He had his slicing equipment; he could probably crack the code, but that would take time he didn’t have. And even if he managed to get lucky and crack the code quickly, it was possible the door wouldn’t even open until the lockdown was over.

  “This is going to be a problem,” Theron muttered.

  CHAPTER 17

  MASTER GNOST-DURAL didn’t need a chrono to know it was time to send the anonymous tip; being attuned to the Force made his internal clock as accurate as any manufactured timepiece.

  He punched a button on the holocomm belted to his waist to scramble the signal, which would distort the image and make it harder to trace. Then he sent a transmission to the Imperial garrison next to the Orbital Defense Command Center.

  Because of the scrambler, when they answered the signal was a mess of static-snow, flickering low-res images and bad audio.

  “Imperial Garrison Three Forty-Three.” He could just barely make out a woman’s voice over the crackles and hiss. “Check your holo settings,” she advised. “We’re getting strong interference.”

  “The minister’s life is in danger,” Gnost-Dural said. “They’re setting explosives in his office.”

  “Who are you?” the voice on the other end demanded sharply. “How did you get this frequency?”

  “I’m a friend of the Empire,” the Jedi lied. “If you hurry you can stop them.” Abruptly, he ended the call.

  Even if the woman on the other end suspected the call was a hoax, they couldn’t afford to ignore it … not with the citywide blackout.

  “Your friends are on their way, Theron,” Gnost-Dural whispered to himself. “I hope you’re ready for them.”

  Theron raced down the hall outside Minister Davidge’s office, heading for the stairwell with the assault rifle clutched in one hand, and the pack with the damaged cipher core inside still strapped to his back.

  The pack was much lighter now that he’d finished planting the explosives and setting the timer in Minister Davidge’s office, but he was behind schedule. Thanks to Gnost-Dural’s anonymous tip, it wouldn’t be long before the emergency response team converged on the third floor to try to catch the would-be assassins in the act.

  If everything had gone according to plan, he would already have the cipher core and all he’d have to do was get far enough away from the office to be clear of the blast radius. When the team showed up the detonite would go off “accidentally,” and he’d slip away in the ensuing chaos.

  Unfortunately, the durasteel security door between him and the comm room had thrown a kink into his plans. Theron had stared at it for several minutes, his mind desperately trying to figure out a solution. He couldn’t open it, and he couldn’t go through it. But, he realized, he could still go around it.

  The walls of the minister’s communications room were probably reinforced with the same durasteel as the door, but the ceiling would have to be made from more conventional building materials to allow the minister to transmit and receive signals from the room.

  Theron didn’t have enough plasma gel left to eat through the durasteel, but if he got into the office directly above the room, he could make a hole in the floor and drop down.

  As he raced toward the stairwell, he saw the status light shift from red to yellow, even though he was still too far away for the scanner to read his badge. By the time it switched to green he had realized what was happening, and as the door slid open he dropped to the ground in a tumbling roll, bracing himself for the collision with the man on the other side.

  The Imperial soldier was bent over and leaning forward so the retinal scanner could confirm his identity, the other five members of his team huddled close behind him, alert and ready. Two were watching the stairs above and below, guarding against an enemy ambush. The other three had their weapons trained on the hall, ready to fire on any available target the instant the door opened. But their weapons and their focus were at chest height; they hadn’t expected someone to come rolling in like a human wrecking ball.

  In the split second before their collision, Theron recognized the man on the other side of the door—his old friend Captain Pressik. Theron plowed into his knees, sending them both crashing to the ground. In the tight confines of the stairwell the momentum of their flailing bodies had a domino effect on the other guards, and the entire team was sent sprawling. The one farthest back from the door tumbled down the stairwell, while the others were knocked from their feet in a pile of thrashing limbs.

  Theron’s impact jammed his sore shoulder, and the pain made him lose his grip on his assault rifle. Despite this, he was still the first to regain his feet. Pressik’s eyes opened wide in recognition as he saw who was responsible for the carnage.

  As Pressik reached for the pistol on his hip, Theron delivered a hard kick to his jaw, stunning him. Then he scooped up his assault rifle from the ground and sprang backw
ard into the hall.

  One of the other soldiers had managed to collect himself enough to fire off a wild shot with his own weapon. The bolt whizzed by Theron’s ear as he slapped at the panel, shutting the door with a sharp whoosh. He heard the ricochet of a second shot deflect off the door panel as he turned and sprinted back toward the minister’s office. He managed to duck inside just as the stairwell door opened again and a barrage of bolts whisked down the corridor.

  Theron slung the backpack off his shoulders so it wouldn’t impede his movement. Staying low to the floor, he poked his head around the corner to return fire. Knowing he’d present too tempting a target if he took the time to aim, he squeezed off a burst of wild shots, hoping to get lucky.

  He didn’t hear any cries of pain, but he also didn’t hear the sound of feet charging down the hall toward him. He may not have hit his target, but at least he’d made them think twice about coming after him. Unfortunately, they had him pinned down and they knew it. The hallway was filled with a steady barrage of blaster bolts—suppressing fire to keep Theron from getting off a return shot.

  He reached into the backpack and pulled out a small reflective mirror. Carefully, he angled it so he could see down the hall without exposing himself to the endless rain of enemy shots. What he saw didn’t fill him with encouragement.

  Captain Pressik was back on his feet; he and other members of his team were crouched low and advancing down the hall, pressing themselves up against opposite walls of the corridor. The others were positioned several meters behind them, weapons trained on the office door, ready to unleash with their assault rifles if Theron exposed himself again.

  Theron realized his situation was hopeless. If he still had his detonators he might be able to toss one down the hall. Even though leaning around the corner to make the throw would be the last thing he ever did, at least he’d take a few of the Imperial scum with him.

  Actually, Theron realized, I can take them all with me.

  He scrambled over to the explosives by the minister’s desk, knowing he could set off the entire charge just by pulling out the wrong wire on the timer. With the amount of detonite he’d used, the blast would take out the entire team … and reduce him to ashes and dust.

  He took a deep breath, readying himself for a martyr’s death. He knew the men outside were getting close; in a few more seconds it would all be over.

  Guess Jace and I aren’t going to get to know each other better after all.

  The sound of a single assault rifle echoed down the hall. A second later it was joined by screams of pain and surprise, and then the sound of several weapons firing. But to Theron’s surprise, the bolts weren’t ricocheting off the floor and walls around the still-open door of the minister’s office.

  He scrambled over to the door and poked his head around the corner, his weapon ready. Two of Pressik’s men were down; the captain and the others had turned their attention to a figure firing at them from the shadows just beyond the door leading to the stairwell. Seizing his chance, Theron opened up with his own weapon. In a matter of seconds the deadly cross fire had mowed the trapped Imperials down.

  “It’s me,” the voice of Master Gnost-Dural called out, careful not to use any names. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay,” Theron called back, stepping out into the hall.

  A second later the Jedi emerged from the darkness of the stairwell. In the glow of the emergency lights, Theron could see that he was still wearing his disguise, his features carefully hidden by his robe and hood. But over the fabric that concealed his face he wore a monocle-like lens, and pinned to the front of his robe was an ID badge identical to the one on Theron’s uniform.

  “Seal that door,” Theron said.

  The Kel Dor leaned in close enough for the retinal scanner to read the holoimage off his monocle, then hit the button to close the door when the status light turned green.

  “Any reason you didn’t tell me you made copies of the badge and retinal image for yourself?” Theron asked.

  “You seemed to think the mission would be easier if you went alone,” Gnost-Dural told him. “I didn’t see the point in arguing.”

  “So you were planning to show up the whole time?” Theron asked. “What, did the Force give you a vision that I was going to need some help?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” the Kel Dor said, missing the fact that Theron was joking. “When you were late arriving at the rendezvous point I feared something had gone wrong. Fortunately, you left the grappling gun set up on the building across the street. I was able to use it to follow your path and get inside.”

  “Well … thanks,” Theron said. “I owe you one.”

  “The Jedi don’t keep track of such things,” he replied, and Theron wondered if the Kel Dor was trying to be funny.

  “It won’t be long before they send another emergency response team to this floor,” Gnost-Dural continued. “We need to get out of here.”

  “One problem,” Theron said. “Follow me.”

  He led the Jedi into the minister’s office and showed him the durasteel door.

  “So … any chance you can use the Force to just rip that thing open for me?”

  “Some of the great Masters of legend might have had that kind of power, but such a feat is beyond me.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Okay, new plan. I need to get to the fourth floor, but like you said: there could be another emergency response team coming up the stairwell at any moment. I know that durasteel door’s too thick for your lightsaber to cut through it, but I’ll bet you can slice a hole in the ceiling of this office for me to crawl through, right?”

  “I could, but it would leave a very distinctive mark.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Theron told him. “When that detonite blows all that’s going to be left of this office are splinters and ash.”

  The Jedi nodded. He pulled out the hilt of his lightsaber and ignited the blade. Reaching up, he slowly carved a perfect circle in the ceiling above them. Tiles, plaster, and a shower of insulation came tumbling down.

  “Imperial reinforcements are coming,” Gnost-Dural said. “I can sense them.”

  “How close?”

  “Close. I’ll hold them off to buy you some time.”

  Theron nodded and scooped his backpack off the floor, tossing it up and through the hole in the ceiling. Then he jumped up, his fingers wrapping around the lip as he pulled himself up and into the fourth floor office above them, grunting with the effort and the burst of pain that flared up in his injured shoulder.

  The minister’s office was larger than the one he was now standing in. After slinging his backpack over his good shoulder, he had to go out to the hall and into the office next door before he was standing above the communications room.

  He pulled out the igniter rod and the tube of plasma gel, using the last of it to melt a hole in the ceiling as he heard the sound of blasterfire rising up from the floor below. Knowing Gnost-Dural wouldn’t be able to keep the Imperial reinforcements at bay for long, he dropped down into the communications room.

  The black cipher was sitting on the communications console in the center of the room. Extracting the core without triggering the self-destruct sequence was a delicate process—one wrong move and the entire mission became nothing but a waste of time and resources. Fortunately, Theron had practiced the procedure hundreds of times on the damaged ciphers the Republic had recovered. When he started, it had taken him almost ten minutes. But with each attempt he got faster and faster, cutting his time to under a minute.

  No need to try for a personal record, he reminded himself as his nimble fingers worked their magic.

  Ninety seconds later, the prize was his. He wrapped it in a protective layer of microweave fabric and pulled out a hard-sided protective case from his backpack. He opened it up and removed the damaged core, slapping it into the cipher. Then he placed the working core into the protective case, snapped it shut, and stuffed it in his backpack.

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nbsp; “It’s time to go.” Gnost-Dural’s voice came from above him. Looking up, he saw the Jedi peering down at him through the hole in the communications room ceiling.

  Theron jumped up and grabbed Gnost-Dural’s offered hand, allowing the Jedi to help haul him up so he didn’t have to put any further strain on his aching shoulder. The wounded joint had gone from sore to outright painful, but Theron pushed all thoughts of it aside.

  “What happened to the reinforcements?” he asked.

  “I was unable to keep them from advancing into the room,” the Jedi told him. “Once they were in close quarters, I had no choice but to use my lightsaber.”

  “It’s okay,” Theron told him. “The blast will cover up the evidence. The timer’s ticking—we need to get clear.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  Theron checked his chronometer.

  “Sixty seconds—run!”

  Theron led the way, his mind tracing the optimal escape route from his memory of the ODCC’s architectural diagrams.

  It took them ten seconds to reach the fourth-floor stairwell and use the badge/retinal scan combo to open the door. Ten more to head up two flights to the sixth floor and over to the emergency roof access. Ten more to race to the far side of the roof.

  There Theron realized one of them wasn’t going to make it.

  “I packed an emergency chute into my backpack,” he said, struggling to take it off so he could hand it to Gnost-Dural. “Take a running leap off the edge and pull this cord to deploy.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” the Jedi told him. “The Force will protect me.”

  And with that, he disappeared over the edge. Theron blinked in surprise, then scrambled to get the backpack securely on again.

  His chrono beeped, warning him he only had five seconds until detonation. He took three running steps toward the edge and jumped, pulling the cord to deploy the chute as the building erupted behind him. A wave of hot air propelled from the blast seized his parachute, launching him high in the air and sending him spinning and tumbling out of control. The guide wires tangled together, partially collapsing the chute. Instead of floating gently to the ground, he began to pick up speed, his legs and arms flailing as he tried to control his rapid descent.