by Troy Denning
“Time to move, sis,” he said.
Leia’s eyes snapped open, then flashed in pain as she became fully aware of her body. “Why did I think I would feel better than this when I woke up?”
“Wishful thinking,” Luke whispered. “Keep your voice down—we have company. How’s your shoulder?”
Leia braced her hands on the floor and, wincing, pushed herself upright. “I can manage,” she said. “How about your ankle?”
“I won’t win any races, but I can hobble along.” Luke grabbed two suitably sized pairs of blue GET coveralls from nearby lockers and added them to the pile of safety equipment, then began to strip out of his vac suit. “We need to get moving. Vestara Khai is here, and she knows we survived. Artoo won’t be able to stall her for long.”
“You were close enough to identify her, and she’s still walking?” Leia began to undo her own suit’s closures. “You must be hurt worse than I thought.”
Luke shrugged. “I’ll deal with Vestara later. First we need to know how she’s involved in all this,” he said. “And we need to find Han.”
“Absolutely,” Leia said. “I’ll need to know how he is before I decide how I’m going to kill that—”
“Leia—”
“Little Sith,” Leia finished. She turned one eye on him. “What, like you don’t intend to kill her?”
Luke decided not to remind his sister that vengeance led to the dark side. Right now they could both use the extra motivation, just to keep themselves going.
After he had removed his vac suit, he passed the smaller set of coveralls to Leia, and soon they were both disguised as refinery workers, complete with hard hats, safety glasses, and respirators dangling from their necks. Luke would have preferred to conceal their faces by actually wearing the respirators, but no legitimate workers would wear the uncomfortable masks outside the dusty production areas where they were actually required.
They had finished donning their disguises and had just begun to stuff their vac suits down a disposal chute when R2-D2 returned, softly tweedling an alarm.
“It’s okay, Artoo,” Luke said. “We’re ready to go.”
The droid chirped in relief, then immediately spun around and left the locker room. They followed him across the control room to a rear access hatch, which opened onto a durasteel walkway suspended high above a bank of massive transfer tubes. Both the handrails and floor grating were shiny from frequent use, but the walkway was completely deserted at the moment. Luke guessed that the entire production area had been sealed off to serve as a buffer zone around the crash site.
As they followed R2-D2 toward the far end of the walkway, the smell of molten metal began to waft through the stale air, and a steady drone sounded from below. Luke glanced over the railing. Ten meters beneath them, the tip of a crimson lightsaber was slicing through the hatch of an emergency air lock.
“Vestara won’t think that hatch jammed by coincidence,” Leia said. “Let’s move it along, before the place is crawling with Mandos and Nargons.”
R2-D2 whistled, then sped away at nearly double his original pace. Luke found himself struggling to keep up, limping on his half-healed ankle and trying to ignore the anguish of his burn-blistered skin rubbing against his coveralls. He could see by the grim determination in Leia’s face that she was also suffering.
They reached a much larger walkway, which seemed to run along the asteroid crusher’s length instead of across its beam. R2-D2 turned toward the Ormni’s stern. The cavernous space remained empty and illuminated by silver–blue glow panels. The walkway was flanked on both sides by long runs of massive transfer tubes and the durasteel shells of sealed production vaults, all eerily silent now that operations had been stopped because of the ScragHull crash.
“Our first priority is going after Han,” Luke said. “But, as much as I hate to say it—”
“We’re in no condition to succeed,” Leia finished. “If we don’t get some bandages and bacta salve on these burns soon, we won’t be rescuing anyone.”
“Exactly,” Luke agreed.
A muffled clang sounded in the distance behind them—Vestara freeing herself from the air lock, no doubt. Luke forced himself not to look back. If they were going to escape, they had to stay focused on what they were going to do, not what was happening behind them.
“And it won’t do any good to steal a Bessie and take off in pursuit of the Aurel Moon,” Luke continued. “We need to figure out where the Qrephs were headed.”
Leia frowned. “How are we going to do that?”
“I don’t know yet,” Luke admitted. “It may come down to capturing Vestara. She seems to be in charge around here. I’m not sure anyone else would know where the Qrephs went.”
R2-D2 emitted a confident chirp, then they came to a sealed bulkhead, its emergency door still lowered against the possibility of a ship-wide decompression. Luke pressed his ear to the metal and heard murmuring voices and whirring machinery on the far side.
He would have liked to reach out in the Force to see if he could sense any particular danger on the other side of the bulkhead. But he did not dare. He could not be certain that Vestara was the only Sith aboard the Ormni, and he did not want to take the chance of drawing attention by expanding his Force presence.
Instead, he tried the slap-pad on the adjacent wall.
When nothing happened, Leia said, “Vestara’s doing, I’ll bet. She would have wanted to keep the entire area sealed until she could take a look around the crash site and see whether we survived.”
“Probably,” Luke agreed. “Artoo, can you override these locks without tripping an alarm?”
The droid replied with an indignant buzz, then inserted his interface arm into the socket beneath the control panel. A moment later, the status light changed from amber to blue, and a huge bulkhead door started to slowly slide aside.
Knowing they would draw less attention by simply stepping into traffic than by standing there trying to get their bearings, Luke started across the threshold—only to find himself staring at the helmet and armored back plate of a Mandalorian guard looking in the opposite direction. The Mando was flanked on each side by scaly green walls that Luke eventually recognized as Nargons.
Standing beyond the Mandalorian and his assistants were hundreds of beings. They all wore the same blue coveralls that Luke and Leia wore, and most were heavily burdened with tools and repair supplies. Several were seated at the controls of heavy equipment. As soon as the huge bulkhead door was completely retracted, a big horn-headed Devaronian grumbled, “About time,” and started his hoversled, and the entire mass lurched forward as one body.
Luke and Leia barely had time to clear the way by pressing themselves against the walkway railing, and even the door guards had little choice except to move aside. The Mandalorian, of course, chose to join the Nargon standing on Luke and Leia’s side of the walkway.
“What happened to you two?” he demanded, staring at Leia’s burned face. “Let me see your identification badges.”
Clearly, Vestara had not yet alerted the security teams to watch for them. Whether that was because she did not realize how close behind she was or simply wanted to avoid tipping her hand, Luke could not say. He knew only that their best chance of escape lay in getting away from the crash site as quickly as possible. He reached into his pocket as though to extract his identity badge but brought his hand out empty and waved it in front of the Mandalorian.
“There is no need to see our identification,” he said. “We lost it when we were injured. We’re on our way to the infirmary.”
The Mandalorian’s visor remained fixed on Luke’s face, and Luke began to wonder if his Force suggestion was going to work. But, finally, the guard nodded.
“There is no need to see your identification.” He turned toward the crowd, then extended a hand down the rail and ordered, “Make way! These people were injured in the explosion. They’re on their way to the infirmary.”
The crowd quickly began to move
away from the rail. But the Nargon stepped into Luke’s path, then cocked his crested head and studied his Mandalorian officer out of a huge, slit-pupiled eye.
“No badges?” he asked.
“There’s no need to see their identification,” the Mandalorian repeated. Still under the influence of Luke’s Force suggestion, he motioned the Nargon away from the safety rail. “Stand aside. They’re on their way to the infirmary.”
The Nargon hissed but obeyed, then watched with a suspicious sneer as R2-D2 rolled into the lead and started down the walkway. Although Luke was careful to avert his gaze, he kept one hand tucked into the front seam of his coveralls so he could reach his lightsaber quickly if the green hulk made a sudden move.
But the Nargon seemed content to do as he was told, and Luke and Leia were soon following R2-D2 past the tail of the repair column. They quickly returned to the middle of the walkway, trying to put as many bodies between themselves and the guards as possible, and continued toward the Ormni’s stern. They passed through another bulkhead—this time unsealed—and began to see the huge transfer tubes curving off to enter the durasteel spheres and ovoids of different varieties of flocculation tanks.
After fifty meters, R2-D2 turned down an intersecting walkway that led past a series of assaying labs and production offices to a bank of turbolifts. Most of the lift-tube control panels had blue status lights, indicating they were ready for use. Their destination plates named decks such as CREW QUARTERS, MAINTENANCE, and INFIRMARY.
But two turbolifts at the end of the bank had amber status lights, denoting restricted access. The destination plate of one of these lifts listed half a dozen decks dedicated to the security hangars, training facilities, and guard quarters.
R2-D2 went to the other restricted turbolift, where the destination plate contained a single line: ADMINISTRATIVE DECKS. The droid extended his interface arm and plugged it into the droid socket beneath the control panel.
Almost instantly, a low, rasping voice boomed behind them. “Where do you go?”
Luke turned to see two Nargons striding toward them from the far end of the walkway. It was difficult to tell whether they were the same pair who had been with the Mandalorian at the sealed bulkhead, but both had empty holsters on their knees and E-18 blaster rifles cradled in their long arms.
“There’s no need to bother with us.” Luke spread his hands in a placating gesture, using the motion to hold the attention of the Nargons while he used a Force suggestion to deflect their suspicion. “We’re injured and on our way to the infirmary.”
The Nargons continued to approach. “The executive infirmary is not for crew,” said the second. “Real crew members know this.”
“Who are you?” demanded the other one. “Are you the crash survivors?”
He pointed his blaster rifle in their direction.
“Whoa! There’s no need for threats.” Luke glanced over at Leia, then said, “I think we’d better show them our identification.”
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Leia replied.
“You lost your identity badges,” the first Nargon objected. “You said.”
“Yes, we lost our badges,” Luke said. “But we have other identification.”
This only seemed to make the Nargon more suspicious. “Other identification?”
“Credit chits, operator certifications, storeroom keycards,” Luke said, naming a string of possibilities that he hoped would sound plausible. “Stuff like that.”
“Things only crew members would have,” Leia added. She turned to Luke and said, “Just make sure you show it clearly. These guys don’t have very good eyesight.”
Luke nodded, recalling what the Solos had told him about the fight in the Red Ronto cantina. Nargons didn’t go down easy.
A soft chime sounded from the turbolift, and Luke glanced over to see that the status light had changed to ready-blue.
Now the second Nargon also pointed his blaster rifle at them. “Move away.”
The Nargons were about three quarters of the way down the walkway, still six meters or so from Luke and Leia. It was certainly possible to take them out at that distance, but the fight wasn’t going to be a quiet one. Trying to stall, Luke turned to R2-D2.
“I think he means you, too,” Luke said. “You’d better uncouple and display your serial number.”
R2-D2 swiveled his dome back and forth, giving a negative chirp. By then the Nargons were only four meters away.
Luke shrugged. “It’s your scrap party.”
R2-D2 emitted a falling whistle, then withdrew his interface arm and turned his holoprojector toward the approaching Nargons. A string of holographic numerals and letters appeared in the air in front of them.
The Nargons walked through the holograph, then stopped two meters away.
Two meters would do.
The first Nargon flicked the safety off his blaster rifle. “No one cares about the droid.” He pointed the emitter nozzle at Luke’s chest. “Identification now.”
“Sure.” Luke opened the chest closures on his coveralls and, moving very slowly to avoid alarming the Nargon, reached inside. “Here it is.”
“Mine, too,” Leia said, doing the same thing. “How many pieces do you want?”
“All pieces,” the first Nargon replied.
“Sure.”
Luke used the Force to shove the Nargon’s blaster nozzle toward the ceiling, then pulled his lightsaber from inside his coveralls and leapt. The Nargon’s finger closed on the trigger anyway and sent a string of blaster bolts pinging into the ceiling. Luke hit the ignition switch beneath his thumb, and his lightsaber snapped to life, filling the air with the acrid stench of scorched scales.
A huge claw tore into the ribs beneath Luke’s upraised arm, and a blast of fiery pain spread through his entire torso. He ignored the wound and used the Force to press his own strike home, driving his lightsaber blade up through the Nargon’s clavicle into his throat.
Then Luke felt the Nargon’s hand sweeping him aside and found himself flying sideways into Leia. He bounced off, then slammed into a durasteel wall and slid to the deck, bleeding and gasping for air.
By that point Leia was leaning over her fallen Nargon, stirring her blade through his chest as he raked a set of claws down her back. Luke used the Force to hurl himself to his feet, lashing out with his lightsaber to remove the Nargon’s arm at the elbow, then spun back toward his own attacker—and discovered him lying on his back, arms and feet hammering at the deck as his body awaited signals from the head now only half attached to its shoulders.
Luke’s entire chest ached, but he had no trouble drawing a deep breath when he tried, so it seemed unlikely that he had suffered any internal damage—at least any serious internal damage. He turned to find Leia staggering away from her Nargon, her back a bloody tangle of shredded cloth and skin.
Luke deactivated his lightsaber, then asked, “How bad?”
“Not … bad,” Leia said, obviously understating the case. She turned, her gaze dropping to the red gashes down Luke’s torso. “You’re worse.”
Alarmed voices began to sound from the far end of the walkway, and Luke looked up to see a handful of workers in blue GET coveralls pointing toward them. He waved a hand over the fallen Nargons and whipped it forward, using the Force to send both huge corpses flying through the air toward the astonished spectators. Murmurs of alarm became cries of surprise, and the crowd dispersed in panic.
Leia deactivated her own lightsaber and stowed it in a thigh pocket, then slipped a supporting hand through Luke’s arm.
“Let’s get out of here.”
She dragged him into the turbolift tube R2-D2 had prepped, then wrapped her arms around him so they would not be separated. R2-D2 tweedled once, and Luke had to fight to keep from retching as the repulsorlift shot them upward.
As they ascended, Luke slid his lightsaber up inside his sleeve, where it would be both out of sight and handy if he needed it. His head cleared enough to realize just
how desperate their situation had grown. Vestara was hunting them, and by now she had a pretty good idea where they were. Even with the mess below, it would not take her long to find them. Clearly, they were in for a fight—and probably sooner rather than later.
The turbolift stopped after a few seconds, then swished open to reveal an elegant, round maleristone foyer filled with lacy green frond plants. Corridors fanned out in all directions, and from several came the sound of murmuring voices and chiming office machinery. Directly across from the turbolift, an RC-7 receptionist droid stood behind a curved lindakwood counter, her triangular head tilted expectantly as she waited for Luke and Leia to approach.
Standing behind the RC-7 were two Mandalorians in polished beskar’gam armor. As soon as they saw Luke and Leia’s blood-soaked coveralls, they drew their blaster pistols and stepped forward to intercept them.
“Quick!” Leia called, pointing back toward the turbolift. “Jedi!”
The Mandalorians looked in the direction she had indicated. Luke did not even glance toward Leia. He used the Force to push aside the closest one’s blaster hand, let the lightsaber drop out of his sleeve into his hand, and jammed the end into the unarmored area beneath the Mandalorian’s arm.
“Don’t make me.”
The Mandalorian’s helmet pivoted toward his companion, who was in a similar position with Leia. For a moment, Luke thought his guard would be foolish enough to resist, but the Mando quickly opened his hand and let his blaster clatter to the floor.
When his partner did the same, Leia nodded and said, “Now take off your helmets—and I’d better not hear anyone asking you to confirm a report about intruders.”
As the two Mandalorians obeyed, Luke turned toward the RC-7 droid and used the Force to push her away from the desk. “You—stay. And no messages, or you’re scrap.”
The droid raised her arms immediately. “Please, you have no need to threaten me,” she said. “Security is their assignment.”
As the droid spoke, the turbolift door opened with a soft chime, and R2-D2 rolled out of the tube. Luke motioned him toward the reception counter.
