Crucible: Star Wars

by Troy Denning

  “Is this proof enough?” Yus asked, directing the question at Leia—and looking even more pale than she had a few moments earlier. “Or do I need to show you my fiber-optic nerves?”

  “I’ll take your word for the nerves,” Leia said. “But I still have my doubts about your change of allegiance.”

  Yus sighed. “You’re right. I haven’t changed allegiance. I could never raise a hand directly against the Qrephs—the chip in my brain would explode.” She turned to Luke. “But I do want to live. That is the reason I’ve done … well, just about everything.”

  “And helping us find Base Prime helps you stay alive?” Luke asked. “How, exactly?”

  “I can’t live without a regular injection—an enzyme cocktail the Qrephs create at Base Prime. But they don’t consider me useful any longer, so they’ve stopped supplying me.”

  Yus paused. Her eyes began to burn with real hatred—at least it felt that way in her Force aura—then she glanced toward the 2-1B droid.

  “They didn’t even think I was worth killing. They left me in the infirmary to die slowly and alone.” She pointed an accusing finger at the droid. “While he monitored my decline and recorded the whole process.”

  Luke cocked a brow at the 2-1B. “Is that true?” he asked. “You didn’t try to help her?”

  “Her biochemistry is unique,” the droid said, sounding almost defensive. “It’s impossible to synthesize a replacement without access to the proper formula.”

  “And it’s impossible to reverse-engineer the enzymes,” Yus said. “That’s how the Qrephs controlled me. It’s how they control all their biots. We obey or they stop providing the enzymes.”

  “All their biots?” Leia echoed. “I’m not sure I want to ask this—but how many like you are there?”

  “I’m guessing dozens,” Luke said. He turned to Yus. “Isn’t that how the Qrephs have been taking over so many conglomerates? By infiltrating biots like yourself into their management?”

  Yus looked away. “It was how they were trying to take Lando’s operation.” She cast an apologetic look in Lando’s direction—and was rewarded with an icy glare. “But I wouldn’t know about any other acquisitions.”

  “You must have some idea.” Leia crossed the deck to Yus and braced both hands on the arms of her chair. “You’ve already said you were part of a generation of biots. How many generations are there? And how many in a generation? A hundred? A thousand?”

  Instead of shrinking away, Yus met Leia’s gaze evenly. “Does this mean we have a deal?”

  “With you?” Lando scoffed. He turned to Luke. “Be careful, old friend. Dena may be desperate for those so-called enzymes, but that doesn’t mean helping us is her best shot at getting them. For all we know, she might be hoping to trade us for a lifetime supply.”

  “Clearly you don’t understand the Qrephs,” Yus said. “They may promise a lifetime supply, but they’ll deliver only as long as it suits them. That’s why I need you—to help me enter Base Prime and find the formula for my enzymes.”

  “Then we’ll make the same deal with you,” Luke said. “We’ll do what we can for you—as long as you’re useful to us.”

  “I suppose that’s fair.” Yus turned back to Leia. “To answer your questions, I don’t think there could be more than thirty biots in my generation and a few hundred in the Nargons’ generation. The lab isn’t large, and maturation takes two years—at least it did for me.”

  “Two years? That’s impossible,” Luke said, starting to grow angry with her. “The Qrephs have been in the Rift less than a year.”

  Yus’s expression grew more confident. “You need my help even more than I realized, Master Skywalker,” she said. “You’re not accounting for the time dilation. A year in the Rift is closer to five years at Base Prime.”

  “Time dilation?” Luke echoed. “Are you saying the lab is …”

  He stopped, trying to understand exactly what Yus was suggesting. Every starship pilot knew that as gravity and velocity increased, time slowed relative to an outside observer. But Yus seemed to be describing the opposite effect—that time moved faster in the lab.

  “Are you saying the Qrephs have found a way to accelerate time?” Tahiri asked, finishing the question for Luke.

  “It’s not a way so much as a place,” Yus replied. “That’s why they built Base Prime where they did. Time seems to run faster on the artifact than it does in the rest of the Rift.”

  “Which sort of makes sense, given what’s happening in the Bubble,” Ben said. “If space is expanding around the artifact, it’s not too surprising that time might be dilated on it.”

  “Or that the Qrephs would find a way to exploit the fact,” Lando said, sounding almost envious. “If I could expand my production time without affecting my delivery date—that’s a heck of an advantage, even for a legitimate business.”

  “But what does that have to do with Han?” Leia asked. “Why would they need him for any of this?”

  Yus thought for a moment, then finally shook her head. “I have no idea,” she said. “I couldn’t begin to guess.”

  Luke studied her, searching her Force aura for the bitter taste of a lie. All he found was the same cloying despair that he had been sensing all along.

  “But you’re sure that’s where they took Han?” Leia asked, pointing at the holograph. “To Base Prime?”

  “It’s where I assume they took Captain Solo,” Yus corrected. “But it only makes sense. Base Prime is the ideal place to hide from the Jedi—from anyone. Only a handful of beings know how to reach it—and I’m not one of them.”

  Luke knelt closer to the holograph, his heart starting to pound in excitement as he studied its dark surface. He and the others had already discussed the possibility that Ohali Soroc had actually found the Mortis Monolith—as unbelievable as that seemed—and Yus’s descriptions of its time-dilation properties only made that more likely. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Finding a legendary place like Mortis after only a year of searching seemed almost too easy, and there was still the question of why Ohali’s astromech had referred to it as a space station instead of a monolith.

  He turned to Yus. “Who built that thing?” he asked, trying to make the question sound sincere. “Was it the Qrephs?”

  Yus shook her head. “I doubt it,” she said. “I don’t think they understand it very well themselves—at least, they didn’t when I was there half a year ago. They were still trying to create a gate so they could go inside.”

  “They were trying to go inside?” Luke asked, more worried than ever. Whatever the Qrephs had found—Mortis or not—it was clearly a place of great power, and the thought of them experimenting with it like some kind of corporate research project chilled him to the bone. “How close were they to succeeding?”

  “Close, I think,” she said. “But Savara Raine was trying to talk them out of it. I once heard her tell Marvid that only a fool toys with power he can’t even perceive.”

  At the mention of Savara’s name, Luke glanced over to check on his son. He had already broken the news about Vestara’s new role as the Qrephs’ assassin, and now Ben’s eyes had gone distant and cold.

  After a moment, Ben finally said, “Vestara is playing them. That’s just what she does.” He paused, then added, “But right now her goals aren’t as important to us as whether she’s there alone.”

  “Alone?” Yus looked confused. “Of course she is not alone. There are the Mandalorians—”

  “We’re not talking about Mandalorians,” Tahiri interrupted. “Did there seem to be other people like Savara Raine around? Someone who could use the Force?”

  Yus thought about it, then shook her head. “I’m not sure exactly what you are asking,” she said. “But the answer is no. There is no one like Savara Raine.”

  Nineteen

  Marvid followed Craitheus down a hundred meters of durasteel corridor, all the while fighting the urge to activate an arm cannon and start blasting. Naturally, Marvid
had known all along that Han Solo was playing on his emotions—trying to turn him against his own brother. But the human was good. Solo had a way of picking at psychic scabs—even a Columi’s psychic scabs—and understanding the man’s strategy had done little to stop it from working.

  Of course, Marvid recognized that the strategy had worked only because he already had suspicions about his brother’s loyalty. Calrissian’s offer to strike a separate deal had been a crude ploy, which made the delay in bringing it to Marvid’s attention even more disturbing. Clearly, Craitheus had wanted time to analyze the offer, and that could only reflect the degree to which he had been tempted.

  To Marvid’s surprise, the messenger led them completely out of the laboratory wing and into the barracks annex. Craitheus transmitted a complaint about Savara expecting them to come to her. Marvid ignored him. Craitheus felt threatened by the girl’s strategy of trying to insert herself between them, and at the moment Marvid wanted his brother to feel threatened. Besides, Savara was a valuable asset to him, one that balanced his brother’s control of the Mandalorians, and he was glad to have her safely back at Base Prime.

  Finally the Mandalorian opened the airtight hatch of a security-team briefing room and stepped aside. Inside, Savara stood at the front of the room, still dressed in a crimson flight suit as she addressed half a dozen Mandalorian officers. They were all studying the wall-sized vidscreen, which showed a detailed schematic of Base Prime’s layout. The heavy-weapons emplacements were highlighted in bright yellow.

  As the Qrephs whirred into the room, Savara glanced in their direction, then turned back to the Mandalorians. “That’s all for now. I’m sure you’ll be receiving orders shortly.”

  The Mandalorians looked warily at the Qrephs, then nodded brusquely and departed. Marvid started toward the aisle that ran up the center of the room between the metal benches. Craitheus sped up a smaller aisle along the wall and beat him to the front of the room.

  “You are growing presumptuous, Savara,” Craitheus said. “It is we who issue the orders, not you.”

  Savara’s eyes grew cold and narrow, and she seemed to be debating the wisdom of killing him on the spot. Deciding he wasn’t ready to disabuse her of the idea that she might actually be capable of playing the brothers off each other, Marvid raced the rest of the way and stopped at her side.

  “Pay Craitheus no attention,” Marvid said. “Captain Solo has put us both in a foul temper.”

  By way of explanation, he looked toward the end of his powerbody’s armrest. Savara’s eyes quickly followed. But when her gaze fell on his still-inflamed fingertips, her expression betrayed neither the sympathy nor respect he had expected—merely puzzlement.

  “What happened?” she asked. “You stick your fingers in a power socket?”

  Marvid had his powerbody spread its pincer arms. “Hardly. Barduun wanted to play pain stakes,” he said. “And Captain Solo agreed. What can I say? I thought it would be fun to see Solo suffer.”

  Savara’s brows arched. “You let Barduun play sabacc?” she asked. “With you?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?” Craitheus demanded. “He’s our employee.”

  “He’s your mistake,” Savara retorted. “You should never have sent him through the gate with me. He nearly got us both killed.”

  “And yet you returned him to us alive,” Marvid said.

  “Before he went barvy,” Savara pointed out. “Besides, you needed to see him. You should know what will happen if you go in there yourselves.”

  “Your concern is noted,” Craitheus said. “And so is your fear that, once we have acquired the Force for ourselves, you will no longer be needed.”

  Savara merely rolled her eyes and turned to Marvid, but she was clearly seeking support where none would be found. Marvid and Craitheus had discussed the gate many times, and they were in complete agreement. Whatever had happened to Barduun inside the artifact, it had bestowed on him the ability to use the Force. And, now that they realized it was possible, the Qrephs were determined to have the Force for themselves. The emperor Palpatine had been a mental gnat compared to them, but he had also been a Force-user—and that had been enough for him to subjugate the galaxy.

  So the brothers were determined to go through the gate—when they were ready. First they needed to determine the cause of Barduun’s insanity and to learn more about what had happened inside the artifact. Unfortunately, given Barduun’s mad ramblings and Savara’s absolute refusal to discuss the subject, neither task was proving easy. And because only a Force-user could open the gate, they would need to take along a Force-user they could confidently control—and even Marvid realized that Savara did not qualify in that regard. Still, the Qrephs would be going through the gate … just as soon as they had identified all the risks and minimized the unknowns.

  When Marvid’s only reply to her appeal was a pointed silence, Savara’s expression turned petulant. “Fine. Let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll dump you through the gate myself.” She let her gaze drop to Marvid’s inflamed fingertips, then added, “Maybe you’ll have better luck in there than you did in your sabacc game.”

  “The game was a calculated risk,” Marvid said. He knew that Savara’s insolence was deliberate, a tactic designed to irritate Craitheus and make Marvid treat her as an equal, but he couldn’t help feeling defensive. She just had that effect on him. “Solo’s stress levels weren’t rising high enough to accurately map his mind.”

  “That’s because he’s a better sabacc player than you are,” Savara said. “I’m surprised he doesn’t own Base Prime by now.”

  “And I’m surprised we continue to tolerate your insolence,” Craitheus retorted. “Now, if you’re done wasting our time, where are the bodies?”

  “We’d like to show them to Captain Solo before he dies,” Marvid added. “Especially Princess Leia’s. That will generate some interesting stress peaks.”

  “There aren’t any bodies,” Savara said. “Or body parts. The crash on the Ormni didn’t produce any.”

  Craitheus expressed his frustration by loudly extending his powerbody into a more upright configuration. Marvid merely settled onto the floor, remaining in his nonthreatening, semi-seated shape.

  “Pity, but you aren’t to blame,” Marvid said. “We knew there was a chance their corpses would be incinerated in such a fiery crash.”

  “You’re missing the point,” Savara said. “There were never any corpses. Luke Skywalker is alive. So is Leia Solo.”

  “Impossible,” Craitheus hissed. “We saw them crash.”

  “We kept a record of it,” Marvid added. “We studied it on the trip from the Ormni. There was no possibility of survival.”

  “The temperatures reached three thousand degrees,” Craitheus said. “No one could have escaped that.”

  “Jedi could,” Savara said. “And they did.”

  “My dear, you must try to mitigate your awe of the Jedi.” Marvid paused, then added, “The explosion when they struck the Ormni—”

  “Was a concussion missile penetrating the hull,” Savara interrupted. “And the inferno that followed was their fusion core blowing—after they abandoned ship. I am not in awe of the Jedi. I know what they can do.”

  Marvid began to feel nauseous.

  Craitheus scoffed. “I assume you found evidence that led you to such an implausible conclusion?”

  “Of course,” Savara said.

  “And what is that evidence?” Craitheus asked, clearly still more annoyed than alarmed. “Would it be too much to hope for something more tangible than your opinions and feelings?”

  “Not at all,” Savara replied. “How about the trail of bodies they left during their escape? Is that tangible enough for you?”

  “Escape?” Marvid had to have his powerbody inject him with a dose of stomach calmer. “You’re certain?”

  “If Skywalker and his sister were still aboard the Ormni,” Savara asked, “would I be here?”

  “Well, you do make a point at ever
y opportunity of telling us how dangerous Skywalker is,” Craitheus said, “so coming here would appear to be the smart move.”

  “The smart move would be to leave and let you handle them on your own,” Savara countered. “But that would mean abandoning Base Prime.”

  “You led them here?” Craitheus demanded.

  “Of course not,” Savara said. “But they captured Dena Yus. And even if she doesn’t know how to find Base Prime, she knows it exists. That’s all the Jedi will need.”

  Marvid glanced at his brother. I TOLD YOU THE MANDALORIANS WERE A MISTAKE. THEY DID NOTHING BUT ATTRACT JEDI ATTENTION.

  Craitheus looked away. WE HAD TO PROTECT OUR INVESTMENT. CALRISSIAN WASN’T GIVING UP.

  “Did you hear what I said?” Savara demanded. “They have Dena Yus. They’re going to find Base Prime—any time now.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be stopping them?” Craitheus asked.

  “That’s Luke Skywalker out there,” Savara said. “I wouldn’t have a chance. Not alone.”

  “But you think we could win here?” Marvid asked, growing hopeful. “Together?”

  Savara shook her head. “I can win here,” she said. “You don’t understand how Jedi fight, and you have no concept of the power of the Force.”

  “So, of course, you want command of our security force,” Craitheus surmised. “Otherwise we are on our own.”

  A half smirk came to Savara’s face. “Well, you still have Mirta Gev, if you’d rather trust your lives to a buckethead.”

  “You may wish to reconsider that statement.” Marvid was pleased to see the flash of surprise that his ire brought to her face. He might be fond of the girl, but she was still an employee, and it was always wise to remind one’s underlings of their place. “You know how we feel about ultimatums.”

  “It’s a strategy, not an ultimatum,” Savara said, only slightly chastened. “And it’s a fact. Gev can’t win this fight. If you leave her in command, Han Solo is as good as free—and you two are as good as dead.”

  “And yet you are the one who let them escape from the Ormni in the first place,” Craitheus pointed out. To Marvid, he transmitted, YOU KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS.