by Troy Denning
Barduun’s gravelly voice rumbled out from a distant corner. “Over here, Captain Solo. This you will want to see.”
“Give me a few minutes,” Han called back. It was impossible to see what Barduun was doing, and given the fiend’s sadistic nature, Han wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “I’m going to disable this air lock.”
“I will give you two minutes,” Barduun replied. “No more.”
Han heard a whir in an aisle to his right, and he and Ohali stepped over to look. A pair of bipedal, slender-faced laboratory droids was moving from vat to vat, monitoring the readouts and vital signs. More droids were crawling overhead—big spidery things that ticked through a gleaming maze of feeder pipes and filter lines.
And both kinds of droids were taking too much interest in Han and Ohali. Several of the spidery droids had scurried over to peer down from the edge of a boxy air duct, while one of the slender laboratory droids had stepped away from his duties and was coming up the aisle to meet them.
“Great,” Han muttered quietly. The last thing they needed was an audience. “Any idea what the setup is in here?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Ohali said softly. Ignoring the droid coming toward them, she pulled Han into the next aisle over. “I was brought here several times, when the Qrephs were just beginning to experiment with Force-sensitive biots.”
Han raised his brow. “You mean like Ditto?”
“Precisely. As you have seen, they have some way to go before perfecting the technique. Force sensitivity seems to interfere with the mental development of biots.” She led him about halfway down the aisle and pointed to a vat. “But they keep trying.”
Peering inside, Han could just make out a blurry blue form matching Ohali’s size and build. She leaned her blaster rifle against the vat, then touched a control pad on the front panel. The interior lit up, revealing a half-formed Duros. Its flesh appeared to be growing—or maybe coalescing—over a naked vanalloy skeleton.
The thing’s eyes popped open, and it began to paddle its arms, using its still fleshless hands to bring itself closer to the clearplas panel. The facial features were incomplete, and there was a long bulge forming along one cheekbone. Even so, Han knew that when the thing was finished, it would look more or less like Ohali.
“Still having a few problems, I see,” Han whispered. He pointed at the bulge along her cheek. “Will that go away?”
The answer came from a cheery synthetic voice in the aisle behind them. “It’s quite unlikely.”
Han turned to see a slender-faced lab droid coming toward them. It was probably the one they had ignored earlier, but it was hard to be sure. They all looked identical.
“They rarely do,” the droid continued. Its gaze shifted toward the vat in front of them. “In all likelihood, it will fail its next quality-control inspection.”
“What happens then?” Han asked, hoping to hold the droid’s attention until he could locate its primary circuit breaker. “Do you just recycle her?”
The droid tipped its head forward in a sort of nod. “Exactly. We are a highly efficient facility.” It stopped three paces away, then said, “Please state your authorization code and your reason for visiting. Do you have instructions for me?”
“Sure, I’ve got instructions,” Han said. He brought his blaster rifle up, pointing the emitter nozzle at the droid’s head. “They’re right here.”
The droid drew its slender head back and retreated two steps. “You are not authorized to carry a weapon. Please put that away before I contact—”
Han pulled the trigger, sending a bolt straight through the droid’s vocabulator and out the back of its head. It stumbled a couple more steps, then clanged to the floor in a sputtering heap. A storm of ticking and rattling broke out overhead as dozens of spidery droids retreated deeper into the maze of pipes and vents.
“Was that necessary?” Ohali asked. “I’m sure the Qrephs already know where we are.”
“Let’s hope so.” Han began to fire into the feeder pipes and control panels, trying to cause as much destruction as possible. “Now we just need to get their circuits burning.”
Ohali reluctantly retrieved her blaster rifle. “Because?”
“Because angry beings make mistakes,” Han said. “And for my plan to work, the Qrephs have to start making mistakes.”
Ohali wrinkled her blue brow. “Care to fill me in?”
“Captain Solo!” Barduun’s voice interrupted. “It does not sound like you are disabling an air lock.”
Han ignored him and quickly outlined his plan to Ohali.
“Ah.” The Duros picked up her own weapon and began to fire into the overhead maze of pipes and ducts. “Now I understand.”
Two seconds later, they were standing in a rancid-smelling shower of green unfiltered vat goo, with control pads and power cables sparking on both sides of the aisle. Han heard something slosh behind him and spun to find two skinny droids fleeing toward the far end of the aisle. He put a bolt through each of their torsos. Ohali fired three bolts toward the ceiling, and three spidery droids splashed onto the flooded floor beside them.
Good. The droids were the key. For Han’s plan to work, they had to eliminate them.
“Captain Solo?” Barduun called again. “Exactly what are you doing?”
Knowing it would not be long before the Nargons and Mandalorians began to arrive, Han ignored Barduun—and motioned for Ohali to follow. They quickly moved into the next aisle, where they repeated what they had just done, then moved on to the next, where they eliminated two more laboratory droids. Han worked his way up the aisle, destroying control pads, while Ohali continued to fire into the maze overhead.
Every once in a while, one of the biots would awaken and come to the clearplas panel to watch. The biots weren’t sentient beings—not yet. But they weren’t droids, either. They were sad monsters whom the Qrephs had created to serve them and die in misery, and as Han passed by, he found himself wondering whether he was doing the biots any favors by leaving them to their fates. Most had deformities that would doom them anyway. The others would never be given a chance to leave Base Prime alive—not if Han had his way.
He and Ohali were about halfway up the next aisle when a familiar face pressed itself to the clearplas. With brown hair, brown eyes, and a remarkably handsome chin, it was the same face Han had seen in the mirror every morning—about thirty years ago.
Han stopped and stepped closer to the vat. The biot furrowed its brow and pressed its fingertip against the clearplas, pointing at Han’s chest. Then it turned to study its reflection in the opaque wall that separated its vat from the adjacent one. It looked back to Han, then pressed the finger to its own chest.
Han couldn’t decide whether he should blast the thing or set it free.
“It’s very unsettling, I know,” Ohali said. Following Han’s plan, she picked up a short length of filter line from the debris in the aisle. “The first time I saw one of my Dittos, I wasn’t sure whether to protect her or destroy her.”
Before Han could say that destroying them was an act of kindness, Barduun’s voice boomed out from the next aisle.
“Han Solo, it is time! Come to me now.”
Han caught Ohali’s eye. “We’d better do this fast.” He checked the aisle and, when he saw no droids, nodded toward the vat. “Ready?”
Ohali blew into the filter line to make sure it was clear, then nodded.
“If you are determined.” She used the Force to hide her blaster rifle atop an overhead duct, then turned toward the vat containing Han’s replica. She reached up. “Can you give me a boost?”
“Sure.” Han set his blaster aside, then pulled Gev’s vibroknife from his waistband. “But take this, in case Freaky Boy gives you any trouble in there.”
Han passed the weapon to Ohali, then cupped his hands to give her a boost. She used the Force to lift the lid on the tank, then scrambled up into the vat. A moment later, Han saw the tip of the filter line poking up above the green li
quid. Then Ohali appeared in the front panel, just long enough to give him a thumbs-up.
The biot just looked confused.
A muffled crump rolled through the room, and Han realized he had finally run out of time. He retrieved his blaster rifle and started toward the front of the lab, desperately trying to figure out how he could get past the Nargons to take a shot at the Qrephs.
“Not that way, Han Solo!” Barduun’s voice came from behind him, at the end of the aisle. “If you want revenge, you must come with Jhonus Raam.”
Han felt himself start backward before he turned around. He considered opening fire on Barduun but decided it would be unwise to start blasting his allies before he’d killed the Qrephs—no matter how much those allies scared him.
“Jhonus Raam does not see Jedi Soroc,” Barduun said. “Where is Jedi Soroc?”
“Um, she didn’t care for the company,” Han said, taking his time turning around. He wasn’t sure how closely Barduun’s use of the Force mirrored that of a Jedi, but he knew that a Jedi’s ability to sense lies was one part “feeling”—and one part reading a liar’s face. He kept his eyes averted and chose his words carefully. “Maybe she took off.”
“Took off where?”
Han shrugged. “What am I, her handler? Look, I’m here to get the Qrephs. If you’re not interested …”
Han let his sentence go unfinished as he completed his turn—and saw Barduun’s new companion. “Where in the karking void did she come from?”
Barduun sneered. “Is that not obvious?”
She was a young Leia—a stunning biot replica complete with long brown hair and big brown eyes. Her belted smock reminded Han of the white gown Leia had been wearing the first time he saw her, and the biot’s head was even cocked at the same haughty angle. But where Leia’s eyes were intelligent and appraising, the biot’s were vacant. And where Leia exuded confidence and determination, the biot looked nervous and bewildered.
Even so, the sight of her made Han’s heart ache.
“Uh … thanks for thinking of me, pal,” Han said, unable to take his eyes off the biot. “But you’re crazy if you think a few kilos of vanalloy and vat-grown flesh could ever replace my wife.”
The biot slipped behind Barduun, then peered out from behind his huge biceps.
“This Leia is not for you,” Barduun said. “She is Jhonus Raam’s princess.”
Han studied the empty-eyed biot for a moment, trying not to imagine what Barduun had in mind. “Well, you’d better put her back,” he said. “She’s not done yet.”
Barduun’s face grew dusky. “She is not,” he agreed. “But that will soon change. Jhonus Raam knows a secret.”
He raised both hands in Han’s direction.
“All right, all right—I’m coming,” Han said, starting forward again. “No need to get huf—”
Instead of feeling the usual Force tug, Han was surprised to see tiny blue sparks at the end of Barduun’s fingers. He dived, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. A hot sheet of Force lightning crackled past above his back, just centimeters from his head. The air grew acrid with the smell of the dark side, and Han went flash-blind.
He landed in spilled vat fluid, then spun onto his back so he could bring his blaster out of the sour-smelling goo and open fire. He couldn’t see, but that didn’t stop him. He sprayed bolts down the aisle in Barduun’s direction.
Barduun roared in pain, and the crackle of lightning suddenly stopped. Han did not—he kept moving, sliding along the wet floor under his own momentum.
When he heard heavy steps behind him and the screeching of Nargon blasters, he realized his mistake. He swung his own rifle back toward the front of the lab and opened fire. His vision returned—just in time to see a dozen of his bolts ricocheting off the chests of three charging Nargons.
Then Han felt himself being grabbed in the Force again. Barduun pulled him down the aisle backward and dragged him behind the last vat in the row. Han’s little misunderstanding about the Force lightning had left a smoking blaster hole in Barduun’s thigh, but Barduun was standing on the leg anyway. He swung Han around behind him.
“Jhonus Raam is on your side.” Barduun used the Force to stand Han on his feet, between himself and the wide-eyed Leia doll. “Try to remember.”
“Sorry for the, uh, confusion,” Han said. “I thought you were sore because I didn’t like your girlfriend.”
Han stepped past the biot—who gasped in fear as he passed—and peered up the adjacent aisle. He didn’t see much, just a wall of green scales spraying blue bolts in his direction.
Han pulled back, then cringed as the Nargons’ bolts ricocheted off the rear wall and came flying in for a second try.
Barduun was already spinning past, outstretched palms turned toward the three finheads. “Go!” he ordered, putting the Force behind his voice. Blaster bolts began to bounce off his palms. “Take Jhonus Raam’s princess.”
Han cradled his blaster rifle under his arm, then grabbed the biot’s wrist with his free hand.
“Where am I taking her?” Not wanting to sound too awed by Barduun’s Force powers, Han did his best to sound casual. “The hatch on the—”
“Back wall,” Barduun finished. “Jhonus Raam has entered the access code.”
Barduun lowered one hand, then waved it up the aisle. Half a dozen biot vats ripped free of their mountings and went sailing into the charging Nargons.
“Go,” Barduun repeated. “Jhonus Raam will catch up.”
Han raced off, more or less dragging the Leia biot behind him. Another blast of Force lightning shook the room. When Han looked back, Barduun was deflecting blaster bolts with one palm and spraying waves of Force lightning with the other.
Clearly, Jhonus Raam was no stranger to the Force.
A dozen steps later, Han and the “princess” reached two hatches in the back corner of the lab. True to Barduun’s word, one of the status lights read UNSECURED. Han released the biot’s wrist long enough to hit OPEN, then was surprised to reach back and not find her waiting. Han turned to see her backing away.
He caught her by the wrist. “Are you trying to get killed? Come here.”
The hatch rasped open an instant later, and Han pulled her through, entering a tunnel-like corridor with an arched ceiling. It curved away in both directions, as though part of a circular hallway. A quick glance revealed no other hatches, but the curvature of the passage was so sharp that he could see only five meters in either direction.
The hatch rasped closed again.
The status light changed to SECURED.
A synthetic voice cackled from an overhead speaker. “You have entered a most-restricted area.”
A hidden panel above the hatch controls slid open, revealing a biometric sensor pad.
“Present your access authorization now.”
Han stared at the pad, trying to think of a way to fool the security system—and unable to do more than curse Barduun for forgetting to give them the override code.
A series of clunks sounded from the apex of the arched ceiling, and Han looked up to see pivot-mounted blaster cannons dropping out of a series of hidden doors.
“Present access authorization now.”
And that was when Barduun’s princess asked, “You don’t have access authorization, do you?”
Han looked over. “You can talk?”
She cocked her head first in one direction, then in the other. “Of course I can talk,” she finally said. “Jhonus Raam taught me.”
“Jhonus Raam.” Han pinched his eyes shut. “It figures.”
He gave up trying to think of a way to fool the sensor pad and simply stabbed the OPEN button on the control panel.
Nothing.
A soft hum came from the ceiling as the blaster cannons began to power up.
“I know you, don’t I?” The princess biot blinked her brown eyes. “Are you … my father?”
“Your father?” Han blurted. “Great. Just what I want in my head at a time like this
.”
“A time like what?” the biot asked.
A chorus of soft whirs filled the corridor as the blaster cannons began to track their movement.
“Intruder eradication commences in fifteen seconds,” the voice warned. “Present access authorization immediately.”
Han glanced up, then said, “A time like that.” He pointed at the blaster cannons. “We’re about to die.”
“We’re not going to die,” the biot said. “Jhonus Raam would not let us.”
“Yeah?” Han waved his hand around the corridor—drawing a soft whir from the blaster cannons as they tracked his movement. “Then where is he?”
The biot’s eyes shifted away from Han, but only briefly. “Some rescue. You’re not much in the courage department, are you?”
Han let his jaw drop, dumbfounded. “Okay, Creepy Leia—keep it down so I can concentrate.”
He turned back to the hatch. He thought about blasting the sensor pad or the controls but decided that was just what the Qrephs would expect from an intruder: panic. And panic was always the fastest way to get killed—especially when dealing with Columi.
“I do know you, Han Solo,” the biot continued. “Are you sure you are not my father—”
“You’re a biot,” Han replied. “You don’t have a father.”
“Of course I do. My genes come from somewhere.” The biot stepped closer. “And you know me. I feel it.”
“Look, sister, I don’t care what you feel …” Han paused, realizing what the biot had just said. “When you say you can feel it, do you mean … Please tell me you mean feel it in the Force.”
The biot smiled. “Jhonus Raam says I am strong in the Force. He has been teaching me.”
“Good.” Han dropped his blaster rifle on the floor, then turned her toward the hatch and pointed at the OPEN button on the control panel. “Can you reach out to the other side of the hatch and push that button?”
“Of course I can,” she said.
The voice said, “Eradication begins in … ten seconds.”
Han had to stop himself from shaking the biot. “Then do it!”
