Star Wars: Shadow Games

by Michael Reaves

  The crowd packed onto the external catwalks and balconies recognized the popular song and roared their approval.

  Dash put a hand over his stomach, reflecting that of all the experiences he’d had in his life, this was the first one that had made him wonder if he was developing an ulcer. He heard Mel chuckle and looked over to see that the other man was grinning at him wryly. “You, too, huh?” he said, patting his own stomach.

  “I guess she just has that effect on everybody.”

  “Only everybody who cares about her. So thanks,” Mel added, “for caring about her.”

  Dash shrugged. “All in a day’s work. And now, if I’m going to be useful to the diva, Eaden and I had better get out there and keep our eye on things. D’you need Leebo for anything? If not, I’ll put him to work, too.”

  “Hey, he’s your droid. You can have him. As a matter of fact, you can have Oto as well. That way you can have a man—or a droid—on each module.”

  “We could use more,” Dash observed.

  “Sorry, we don’t have more … at least not that we can trust.”

  Amid the swirl of light and sound, Dash and Eaden collected the two droids and made their way out through the force shield Rishyk had grumblingly erected around the holostar’s backstage area at D’Vox’s order. Once beyond the barrier, Dash made sure his team had the passcode Rishyk had provided (with equal reluctance) that granted them access to the restricted security walkways running along the fronts of the public platforms. Thus prepared, they ascended via grav-lift to the topmost platform and then split up.

  “I’ll take the primary module,” Dash decided. “Eaden, take 2A; Leebo 5C; Oto 3C. We’ll each move from the highest level to the lowest then back up again. Got it?”

  “Affirmative,” said Oto.

  “Got it, boss,” said Leebo. “I keep an eye out for baleful Anomids. How hard can that be?”

  Dash held Eaden back until the two droids had headed off for their respective assignments. “So, is this a good hair day or a bad hair day?” he asked, hoping the Nautolan would tell him he was comfortable in this festival atmosphere. Alas, it was not to be.

  “I am not at my best with so many sentients focusing so much attention in such a small area.”

  “So your … Force thingamagummie is broken, then.”

  “It is not a ‘Force thingamagummie,’ Dash. It is a sensitivity to the Force and to other individual energies—nothing more, nothing less. It is not broken. It is, however, a bit overwhelmed. This makes it more difficult to sort through the input.”

  “Well, happy sorting, then. Let me know if you feel any murderous rages from anybody except Rishyk, okay?”

  “I doubt that the individuals we’ll be watching are likely to have murderous rages. They’re more the cold and implacable type.”

  Dash looked at his friend sharply. Had he just made an offhand comment? The Nautolan’s expression had not changed. It was as impenetrable as always.

  “Great, then keep a tentacle out for cold and implacable as well.”

  “I shall.” Eaden inclined his head then moved gracefully away down the catwalk to his assigned module.

  Dash’s promenade along the audience platforms was slow and methodical. The viewing galleries were about ten meters wide, allowing for quite a few viewers to gather. He wended his way along the foremost edge, using the narrow security catwalk just below the main platform only to maneuver around knots of tightly clustered celebrants. The security walk allowed access to its semi-enclosed space at regular intervals, fortunately. Unfortunately, when he was forced to use it, someone would inevitably try to squeeze in after him. An apologetic smile and a flash of the ID Javul had furnished him, which proclaimed him officially her security chief, was enough to avoid argument.

  He covered the top level and paused to signal Eaden before descending to the next. The Nautolan was fairly easy to spot among Javul’s mesmerized audience. For one thing, he was moving purposefully through the crowd. For another, his height and the distinctive shape of his pale head made him a standout. He reached the lift pad at the extreme end of the platform and paused to make eye contact with Dash across the many meters of space between them.

  Eaden gave a slight shake of his head. Dash did likewise. Then he descended to the next level, pulling out his comlink as he went. He checked in with Leebo and Oto, got negative reports from both of them, and started across the broad gallery. He glanced out at the “stage” area as he went. A gigantic Javul looked back at him from the center of the module, singing a mournful song about lost love. The crowd had quieted, hanging on every note. This had distinct benefits for Dash and company as they wended their way through the swarm of sentients.

  Dash reached the halfway point along the front of Module 1A and worked his way to the rail. Javul had begun to dance in the air, using the crystal Helix as a prop. He checked the module to his left and could just make out Leebo moving through the audience, his head swiveling this way and that. He looked to the right—Oto had gone down to the security catwalk and was working his way along it. Dash looked across the quad and picked Eaden out of the crowd, just emerging from behind Javul’s holoimage.

  As he watched, the Nautolan stopped moving and lifted his head, his tresses in subtle motion.

  A frisson of tension scuttled between Dash’s shoulder blades.

  Eaden’s gaze swept to his left … and he froze.

  Dash tried to follow his line of sight, peering at the crowd gathered along the second platform that fronted Module 3C. At the far end of the catwalk, the shaft cowling of the grav-lift threw a thick shadow against the bulkhead of the module. Someone stood in that shadow—a stark contrast to all of those pressing forward to the edge of the rail, seeking the reflected and refracted light of Javul Charn’s holographically projected self.

  Eaden unfroze and began to move purposefully toward Module 3C. At almost the same moment, Javul’s dance ended and her audience responded with a roar of approval and a paroxysm of jubilant movement. Dash was almost toppled over the platform rail and onto the roof grille of the security catwalk. He regained his footing on a surge of raw, cold adrenaline and began shoving his way toward the right end of the platform. He was met with instant resistance.

  “Hey, you fraggin’ lunatic!” snarled a Zabrak he tried to squeeze past. “I’m trying to watch the show!”

  “Security,” said Dash. “I need to get through.”

  “Security, my horns. I’ll give you security—!”

  Dash ducked out from under the Zabrak’s swinging arm and scurried several yards bent double, before coming upright again. He sought the bar of shadow on the next module over. It was empty. Whoever had been standing there, whoever Eaden had seen, was gone.

  Dash pushed forward, but the music had changed: a deep, sonorous note overlaid with a persistent and persuasive drumbeat had the crowd swaying in ragged unison. The holographic Javul had gone into another sinuous dance, seeming to bend herself around the Helix.

  Dash pushed his way to the rail, seeking an access to the security catwalk. He lifted his gaze to the far platform and saw Eaden plunging along it, bodily lifting resistant members of the audience out of his way. His gaze was fixed on Module 3C. Dash hesitated, desperate to see what the Nautolan was looking at. This time, he saw it—a huge Anomid moving through the crowd and toward the rail. He was approaching Oto’s position on the security walk below.

  Dash pulled out his comlink and called the droid. “Oto! It’s Edge! Above you on the platform!”

  The droid’s movement slowed. “Above me, sir?”

  “Yes, blast it! Yes! Directly above you!” Dash reached an access to his own security walk and fed in the passcode.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Over on 3C, Oto had stopped and reached up to open the access panel to his own walkway.

  “Wait, Oto!” Dash shouted. “Wait!”

  The access panel opened just as Edge reached it. Without the least hesitation, the Anomid dropped down onto
the catwalk next to the droid. Oto backed up a step, releasing the access panel. It slammed shut. He stood, frozen in apparent mechanical confusion, as Edge drew a large-bore dart shooter from his belt and aimed at the holographic Javul as if he could see the real woman at the heart of the projection.

  Dash swung himself over the gallery railing and onto the gridded covering of the security walk, drawing his blaster as he went. His boots clattered and slid on the durasteel surface as he touched down. He teetered and gasped in the cool night air—there was nothing between him and the clouds below. There was no time to aim; he fired wildly at the Anomid, feeling an instant’s gratitude for the lack of recoil. Firing a slugthrower might have sent him backward over the walk’s edge.

  The bolt went wide, but it distracted the assassin—made him hesitate before he fired his dart. It flew … and disappeared into the hologram.

  A second later the projected Javul’s face contorted in fear. Her dance cut off in midmotion, and she screamed. Her shrill of terror, amplified through the elaborate stage system, flayed every nerve in Dash’s body. He scuttled along the top of the security catwalk, forcibly shutting out the sudden unrest of the crowd. Was this part of the performance? they would wonder. Was this one of her dramatic selections, or was something wrong?

  Mel would know immediately, of course, that something was wrong, but Dash had no idea what he’d do in response. Nor was there any time to communicate. He and Eaden had to proceed as if there were no backup. Even now, they were converging on the spot where the Anomid assassin stood. Dash, his DL-22 in both hands, was running, ignoring the hundreds of meters of empty, mist-shrouded space below, insensible to anything but that big, deadly Anomid. The end of the catwalk seemed an interminable distance away.

  Edge tilted his masked face toward Dash, his strange orange eyes gleaming. For a split second, Dash was sure he was going to turn a weapon on him. But he didn’t. Instead he sketched a taunting salute, then threw one leg over the railing of the security walk.

  What the hell was he doing?

  It was only as he drew nearer the end of his own catwalk that Dash realized that a cable of thin, laminasteel filament now connected the assassin to the goddess-sized Javul—or, rather, to the structure she stood on. The dart hadn’t been intended to kill, only to provide him a means to get closer to his target. To get within striking distance. Because he liked to kill at close range.

  Shouting like a berserker, Dash pounded the last few meters to the end of the catwalk, his boots ringing the steel cage like a tuneless bell. Edge swung the other leg over the railing.

  Blast! He would never make it in time.

  Eaden, uttering a freakish sound that would have put the fear of the Force into a bull wampa, flew out of nowhere to land gracefully atop the 3C security walk, no more than a meter from Edge. The assassin barely flinched, but it was enough to allow the teräs käsi master to dive, catch the edge of the catwalk roof, and swing his long legs in a swift arc that ended in Edge’s midsection. The Anomid was bowled backward over the rail. His dart gun—a heavy Velocity-7—rattled to the catwalk floor, half dangling by the cable he’d run out to the crystal Helix.

  Dash dared a glance in that direction and saw that the holographic Javul was intent on something—her eyes were fixed on it, her movements suggested she was making her way toward it. Dash figured it must be the dart. But why? Why didn’t she just use her antigrav harness to get herself to safety?

  He brought his attention back to where Eaden was now facing off against Edge. He stumbled to a halt and raised his pistol, praying for a clear shot.

  The Anomid reached over his back and drew the Morgukai cortosis staff; its business end lit up like a torch as he swung it at the Nautolan … who simply wasn’t there when the staff reached the target. Eaden had leapt to the rail again and into something like the Sleeping Krayt position Dash had seen him perform in meditation. But there was nothing sleepy or meditative about this. With his forearm serving as a pivot, the adept swept torso and legs about, catching his opponent beneath the jaw and flinging him against the rear of the catwalk.

  Edge went down. Eaden landed softly next to him and kicked the cortosis staff aside. The assassin responded by grasping at the Nautolan’s legs, but again there was nothing there to grasp—Eaden had flipped himself backward, coming to his feet next to the dart gun. He reached for the weapon, but Edge was already up and coming at him, his clawlike Kerestian darkstick in hand.

  Unable to get a clear shot at the assassin, Dash rushed forward again, calculating the distance he’d have to clear to reach the other catwalk.

  Eaden crouched.

  In the time it took Dash to reach the end of the roof grating, Eaden had leapt straight up, grasped the grillwork above his head, and punched both feet into the Anomid’s masked face. The thirty-centimeter-long poison-tipped claw swept harmlessly beneath him. He dropped to the catwalk, grasped Edge’s wrist, and twisted.

  There was a grinding sound that Dash could hear even over the crowd noise and the sound of his own passage—then the Anomid grunted and dropped the darkstick. Eaden scooped it up and tossed it behind him.

  Dash reached the end of his metal road and launched himself toward the other catwalk. In the blur of flight, he saw Edge reach for another weapon with his free hand. Eaden anticipated him and blocked the movement with a forearm, then performed a move that Dash, sighting his landing spot, did not see but heard well enough.

  There was the solid sound of a well-placed kick, the rattle of something hitting the metal floor of the walk. As Dash landed, the Anomid assassin was rolling to a stop several meters from where he’d started out. He rose, casting a glance at Oto, who was standing, stone-still, against the rear of the catwalk bare centimeters away. The droid began to inch his way toward Eaden’s end of the catwalk. Edge shadowed him.

  Puzzled, Dash swung himself from the roof into the catwalk, alighting about two meters behind Eaden. The Nautolan said nothing, but gestured at the dart shooter hanging over the railing.

  Yeah, if he could eliminate that avenue of escape …

  He moved toward the dart shooter, intending to disengage the cable. He’d just picked it up when several things happened at once: Edge charged, Eaden leapt to meet him, and Oto scrambled around behind the Nautolan to get out of the way. The two warriors met in a tremendous collision, both flung backward by the encounter. Edge caught his balance against the catwalk railing; Eaden staggered back into Oto, then fell heavily to the steel decking.

  He landed on his back, but instead of flipping back to his feet as Dash had seen him do with great grace any number of times, he gasped and writhed, his body contorting in a horrific seizure.

  Dash hurled the dart shooter over the railing, then dropped to his knees at Eaden’s side. Reaching beneath the fallen Nautolan, his hand met the hard, cold hilt of the darkstick, slick with Eaden’s blood. Dash felt as if all the warmth had been sucked from his body. He looked up at Oto.

  “Help him, you kriffing tin pot!”

  The words had no more than left his lips when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. He glanced up to see Edge standing farther down the catwalk with a second dart shooter in his hand. Dash reached for his pistol, but the Anomid paid him no heed. He swung himself up and over the railing and fired a second dart into the holographic image of Javul Charn. The cable played out.

  Dash aimed and fired, but the assassin was gone, swinging through the air at the end of his laminasteel tether. As Dash watched, he disappeared into the hologram.

  Oto hadn’t moved.

  “I said help him,” Dash repeated. Gritting his teeth, he pulled the darkstick’s claw-like blade from Eaden’s back, knowing that it was too late. He looked down into his friend’s face as the droid finally responded. Eaden’s eyes were deep, dark pools of agony.

  “Javul …,” Eaden mouthed.

  “Yes, but you …”

  He shook his head feebly. “Leave me.”

  “I can’t—”


  Eaden heaved himself onto one elbow and used the other arm to shove Dash backward.

  “Go!”

  Dash hesitated, glancing at Oto, now down on his spindly metal knees. The droid seemed indecisive. “I’m not programmed as a medical droid.”

  Eaden raised a hand to Dash’s arm. “Dead … already.” His voice was barely a whisper.

  “I’m … I’m sorry,” Dash whispered. But Eaden could no longer hear him.

  He left Eaden in Oto’s metal arms and scrambled to the railing. The holographic Javul loomed above him, her body twisted in a defensive posture, her eyes wide and bright with terror.

  Why hasn’t she fled to safety?

  Maybe her harness had failed, stranding her on the Helix. Even as the thought crossed his mind, the holographic image winked out, leaving only the terrifying reality: out in the center of the module, the great crystal spiral had begun to swing from its suspension guy wire, propelled by the force of Edge’s leap. The assassin clung to one of the lower treads of the Helix, crawling to more solid footing. Above him by seven or eight meters, Javul was already climbing toward the top of the piece. But when she got there, there would be no place for her to go.

  Dash swore. He’d thrown the first grapple over. No doubt it was dangling somewhere below, but he couldn’t see it. The distance between him and the Helix was ever-changing. He swung up onto the rail. The Helix was on its outward arc now, but if he waited until it neared the end of its inward journey, he might make it.

  No, he would make it. He would.

  He had to.

  He shut everything out of his mind except that glittering mass of fake crystal. The roar and scream of the crowd, the scent of their fear, the vibrations their panic sent through the framework beneath him—all faded as he focused his entire being on that swinging spiral stair. It reached the end of its outward trip and swung back. Dash was vaguely aware of Javul making her way slowly toward the top of the structure, of Edge moving up from below. Dash’s muscles tensed, and pinpricks of light danced before his eyes.