Star Wars Republic Commando: Hard Contact

by Karen Traviss

  He waited for him to stop moving, then scrambled to his feet to see Atin standing over the other Trandoshan, still cursing. There was a lot of blood, and it didn’t look like Atin’s.

  “I could have done without that interruption,” Darman said.

  “Ruins your concentration,” Atin said. “Where were we?”

  “About to use my universal key.” Darman retrieved the ribbon charge from the floor, wiped it on his sleeve, and set it with its detonator against the lock. They moved quickly to the hinge side, and Atin drew the Trandoshan array blaster he’d been so unwilling to abandon.

  “Atin, it’s capture alive, remember?”

  “She’s got company.”

  “You make sure you need to use it, then. If they’d wanted her disintegrated they’d have said.” Darman took out the stun grenade and the mini EMP: she might have droids in there, too. He juggled both spheres in one hand. “Okay, I blow the lock, and in these go. They’re down for five seconds. I take Uthan and you shoot anything else still moving.”

  “Got it.”

  “Cover.”

  Whump. The door exploded, showering kuvara splinters, and Darman leaned forward and threw in the surprises. A blinding three-hundred-thousand-candlepower white light and 160 decibels of raw noise flooded the room for two seconds, and Darman was inside before he realized it, pinning Uthan flat to the floor as Atin pumped the array blaster across the room.

  The dust and smoke settled. Darman had cuffed Uthan. He didn’t actually recall doing it, but that was adrenaline working. For some reason he had expected a fight, but she was simply making an odd incoherent groan. He’d become used to Etain’s resilience. Uthan was a regular human, untrained, unfit, and—apart from her intellect—nothing special.

  Darman picked up the Verpine and aimed it at a wall. It

  made the faintest of whirring noises, then jammed. Niner was right. Verpines didn’t bounce, or maybe the mini EMP had temporarily fried its electronics.

  “Darman here. We have Uthan, repeat, we have Uthan.”

  Fi’s whoop hurt his ears. Niner cut in. “Are we done here?”

  “Let’s check we haven’t missed anything. Atin?” He glanced over his shoulder. Atin was cradling the array blaster, staring down at four bodies on the floor. It was all a bit of a mess, as Fi would say.

  Three of the dead were Trandoshans, and the fourth was a young red-haired woman who wasn’t pretty any longer, or even recognizable. Darman wondered if the girl was Uthan’s daughter. Then he had another thought.

  “How many staff do you have here, ma’am?” He took his helmet off and rolled her over so they were face-to-face. “How many?”

  Uthan seemed to be regaining her composure. “You murdered my assistant.”

  “She had a blaster,” Atin said, almost to himself.

  Darman shook her. “Ma’am, I’m going to detonate an awful lot of ordnance under this building very soon, and your staff, if you have any, will be dead anyway.”

  She was staring up into his face, seeming totally distracted by him. “Are you really a clone?”

  “I’d like to say the one and only, but you know I’m not.”

  “Amazing,” she said.

  “Staff?”

  “Four more. They’re just scientists. They’re civilians.”

  Darman opened his mouth, and Kal Skirata’s voice emerged unbidden again. “Not all soldiers wear uniforms, ma’am. High time those scientists took responsibility for their role in the war effort.”

  Yes, it was personal. War didn’t get much more personal than a virus aimed specifically at you and your brothers. “Darman here. Sarge, Uthan’s staff members are somewhere in the building, too. What do you want to do? Retrieve them as well?”

  “I’ll check with Majestic. Wait one.” Niner’s link went dead for a few moments and then crackled into life again. “No, not required. Get her clear and let us know when you’re going to detonate.”

  “They were just following orders,” Uthan said.

  “So am I,” Darman said, and trussed, gagged, and hooded her with salvaged parasail cord and a section of sheeting. He replaced his helmet and heaved her over his shoulder. It was going to be a tough job getting her down those tunnels. Atin followed.

  They slipped back down the drain. Darman hoped that they could find their way back to the surface without Jinart as their guide.

  Hokan could feel the sweat stinging his eyes. He withdrew the lightsaber and examined the substantial dent in the bulkhead.

  It wasn’t deep enough or fast enough, and he knew it. This was displacement activity. He was little help to Hurati, so he vented his frustration on the alloy and all he seemed to succeed in was making the stale atmosphere even hotter and more suffocating.

  Then he heard a hiss of air, and he wondered if it was the seal breaching: but it wasn’t.

  It was Hurati.

  Hokan ran the few steps along the corridor to the office. He feared that the young captain had electrocuted himself, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he actually cared what happened to him. But Hurati was intact. He was leaning over the desk, both hands braced on the surface, head down, shoulders shaking. Then he looked up, and his face was a big, sweaty grin. A bead of perspiration ran down his nose and hung there for a moment before he batted it away with his finger.

  “Check the status board, sir.”

  Hokan swung around and looked for the board. The unchanging pattern of red lights had now become a pattern of red and green.

  “Bulkheads two, six, and nine, sir,” he said. “Now I can clear the rest. I had to try every sequence. That’s a lot of permutations.” He shook his head and went back to carefully prodding a piece of circuit board with the tip of his knife. “They’ll be jammed open, though.”

  “Better than jammed shut.”

  As Hokan watched, the lights changed from red to green, one by one, and a cool draft hit his face.

  The front doors had opened.

  Hokan expected a missile or blaster volley to punch through them, but all that entered was the silent, refreshing, fire-scented night air.

  “Hurati,” Hokan said, “Right now, I couldn’t love you more if you were my own son. Remind me I said that one day.” He drew his blaster and raced down the corridor, past droids, stumbling over shattered metal plates and the body of an Umbaran, and into the room where he had left Uthan with her Trandoshan guards.

  He had half expected to see her lying dead on the floor with them. In a way he had hoped for it, because it would mean the Republic hadn’t stolen her expertise. But she was gone. He picked up the Verpine and tested it for charge: it made a faint whir and then ticked. Either Uthan hadn’t managed to get a shot off or they’d used an EMP grenade.

  Hokan worked his way down the passage to the biohazard chamber, pausing on the way to check inside prep rooms and storage cupboards, wary of booby traps. As he opened one door, he heard whimpering in the darkness. He switched on the light.

  The remaining four members of Uthan’s research team— three young men and an older woman—were huddled in the corner. One of the men held a blaster, but its muzzle was pointed at the floor. They blinked at Hokan, frozen.

  “Stay here,” he said. “You might be all that’s left of the virus program. Don’t move.” There seemed little chance that they would.

  When Hokan reached the central chamber, the only sign that anything untoward had taken place was that the con-

  cealed drain in the center of the floor was now a charred, gaping space.

  He looked around the walls, shelves, and cupboards. A mistake. He’d made a mistake, a terrible oversight. He hadn’t taken the time to check what the virus containers looked like, or how many there had been. He could see gaps on shelves through the transparent doors; he pulled on the handles, but they were still locked.

  He ran back up the corridor and grabbed one of the young men from Uthan’s team. “Do you know what the nanovirus looks like?”

  The boy blinke
d. “It has a structure based on—”

  “Idiot.” Hokan jabbed fiercely toward his own eye, indicating look. “What does the container look like? How many? Come on. Think.”

  He hauled the scientist to his feet and dragged him down the corridor to the biohazard chamber.

  “Show me.”

  The boy pointed to a plain-fronted cabinet. “Fourteen alloy vials in there, inside their own vacuum-sealed case.”

  “Open it and check.”

  “I can’t. Uthan has all the security codes and keys.”

  “Is it conceivable that the enemy could have opened it and simply shut it again?”

  “Normally I’d say that was impossible, but I also remember thinking that it was impossible for anyone to breach this building.”

  The hole where the drain had been was now a jagged fringe of scorched, broken tiling and twisted metal frame. Hokan looked down into the void and saw debris.

  For a moment he wondered if he was actually dealing with human beings and not some bizarre, unknown life-form. He knew where they’d gone. Now he had to hunt them down and stop them from taking Uthan off the planet with whatever was left of the nanovirus project.

  If this was what a handful of clone soldiers could achieve, he was almost afraid to think what millions might do.

  18

  You never have perfect knowledge in combat, gentlemen.

  It’s what we call the fog of war. You can either sit around worrying what’s real and what’s not, or you can realize the enemy hasn’t got a clue either and fire off a few rounds of psychology. A truly great army is one that only has to rattle its saber to win a war.

  —Sergeant Kal Skirata

  Omega to Majestic. Check check check. Cease firing.”

  Niner waited several minutes before moving. There had been trees to the northwest of the facility that weren’t there anymore. You couldn’t stake your life on the accuracy of gunnery support. He edged forward on his stomach and propped himself on his elbows to check the area, first with his binoc visor and then through the scope of the DC-17.

  Nothing was moving, although nothing with any sense would present itself in a bright-lit doorway anyway.

  The facility was now stripped completely of its wooden farmhouse shell, and its alloy doors were wide open. For a few seconds, Niner almost expected to see Darman and Atin walk out into the yard, and for Kal Skirata to shout Endex, endex, endex—end of exercise. But there were no more exercises, and this night wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

  Behind him, Fi switched to his Deece and trained the sniper attachment on the entrance, waiting to pick off anything insane enough to walk out. Niner wasn’t sure if Fi

  would pause for thought if anyone did come out, even with raised hands.

  “Dar, Atin, can you confirm your position?”

  Niner waited.

  “Somewhere pitch black and smelly, and dragging a semiconscious woman behind me,” Atin said.

  “Sounds like happy hour at the Outlander,” Niner said, although he had no idea what a nightclub was really like, and probably never would. The comment sprang from his subconscious. “Is Uthan injured?”

  “Dar got fed up with her struggling and sedated her.”

  “How long before you can detonate?”

  Muffled noises filled Niner’s helmet. It sounded as if Atin was conferring with Darman without the comlink. Maybe he’d removed his helmet to sip some water. A woman was making incoherent noises, and Niner heard Darman’s voice clearly: “Shut up, will you?” He didn’t need a medic to check Dar’s stress levels.

  Atin was back on the link. “At this rate, half an hour.”

  “Fi, how fast could you cover one klick right now?”

  “Unladen and suitably motivated? ‘Bout three minutes.”

  Now it was the timing that was giving them grief. They needed to keep whoever was in the facility right where they were until Darman was in position to detonate the implosion device. Niner wondered how long Majestic could wait, and how long it would be before they had more company. He decided to ask.

  “Omega here, Majestic. What’s that Techno warship doing?”

  “Listing to port and smoking a bit, Omega.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “If we get busier, we’ll let you know. We’re dispatching the gunship now. It’ll be waiting when you reach the extraction point.”

  Niner crawled back to Fi’s position and nudged him. “You might as well make a move for the EP now with Etain. I can hold this position.”

  “No.”

  “Can I give you an order?”

  “I might call you Sarge, but right now I’m ignoring you.”

  Etain appeared on the other side of Fi, with Jinart. “What’s happening?”

  “The gunship’s on its way. I suggest you and Fi head out and meet it.”

  “Where’s Darman?”

  “About fifty meters down the tunnel. It’s heavy going.”

  “It’s still the quickest path through the warren,” Jinart said. “Short of digging them out.”

  “Digging through five meters of soil without power tools or explosives is going to take a long time.” Niner turned to Etain. “Is there anything you can do, ma’am?”

  Etain pushed her tangled hair back from her face. “If Jinart can find the shallowest point of the tunnel, I can try to part the soil. If you explain to me what needs to happen, I can picture it. The more accurately I can picture it, the better my chances of bringing the Force to bear. I have to see what’s happening in my mind.”

  “I can find their position,” Jinart said.

  “By all means bring your lightsaber, ma’am,” Fi said. “But only use it if you miss with this.” He handed her his blaster.

  Etain shoved it in her belt. “You persuaded me.”

  Jinart was fast. Etain had trouble keeping up with her when she was running on all fours, her snout to the ground. The Gurlanin’s rhythmic sniffs were in counterpoint to Etain’s gasping breath.

  They were moving in a square search pattern across the field to the east of the facility, trying to locate the exact section of tunnel that Darman and Fi had taken. Etain could sense Darman now. They were close.

  “Are you following scent?” Etain panted.

  “No, I’m listening for echoes.”

  “With your nose?”

  “Where I keep my ears is my own business.” Jinart stopped

  dead and pressed her snout into the soil with a few short, strong snorts. “Here. Dig here.”

  “I hope they know we’re right above them.”

  “We aren’t. They’re about ten meters back up the tunnel. If you excavated where they are you could bury them completely.”

  Etain wasn’t sure if Jinart was making a general point about rescue procedure, or commenting on her competence. She didn’t care. Darman was down there and he needed her help. Atin was down there, too, but the thought of Darman focused her because. . . because he was a friend.

  She could almost imagine him advising her that sentimentality was a luxury that a commander could never afford.

  “Here we go,” she said, more to herself than to Jinart.

  Etain knelt to one side of the line of the tunnel and placed her hands flat on the ground. When she closed her eyes, she visualized the warren, seeing its uneven walls with tree roots emerging from them like knotted rope. She saw small stones and seams of amber clay.

  Then her focus became more intense. She saw smaller roots, and then the individual grains of mineral and veins of organic material. She felt her breathing slowing, changing, as if her lungs weren’t moving within her but rather the air outside her body was pressing and relaxing, pressing and relaxing, slowly and rhythmically.

  And she finally saw the space around each microscopic grain. It wasn’t empty. It was invisible, but it was not a void. Etain felt it. She had control of it at a fundamental, subatomic level. She could feel the pressure throughout her body.

  Now all she had to
do was shape it.

  At the sides of the tunnel, she pictured the space thinning and reducing, compacting the walls, strengthening them against collapse. Overhead—and she now felt like she was lying flat on her back looking up at the vault above her—she saw the space expand.

  The grains moved farther apart. The space flowed in to

  displace them. The space flowed upward to lift them. And then the space was suddenly all there was.

  Etain was aware of something cold and slightly damp across the backs of her hands and opened her eyes. She was kneeling in fine, friable soil. It looked as if a patient gardener had sieved it to prepare for planting seeds.

  She was looking down into an open trench. There was a domed line of soil along both sides, as neat and regular as if an excavator had done the job.

  “That,” said Jinart’s voice beside her, “was quite extraordinary.” The Gurlanin’s tone was almost reverent. “Quite extraordinary.”

  Etain knelt back on her heels. Instead of the exhaustion she normally felt after using the Force to shift objects, she felt refreshed. Jinart slipped down into the trench and disappeared. A few moments later, a familiar blue-lit, T-shaped visor popped up from the darkness below, and it didn’t alarm her at all.

  “There’s always a career for you in the construction industry, Commander,” Darman said.

  He scrambled out of the trench, and Etain threw her arms around him without thinking. Her blaster clunked against his armor plates. It was odd to hug something that felt like a droid, but she was overwhelmed by relief that he’d made it. She let go and stepped back, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Yeah, I’ve been in a sewer,” he said, all guilt. “Sorry.”

  Atin’s voice carried from the trench. “Dar, are you going to stand there all night posing for the commander, or are you going to help me lift this?”

  “As if I could forget,” Darman said.

  After some grunting and cursing, the two commandos managed to lift a thoroughly trussed body onto the edge of the trench. Etain pulled off the hood and stared into the half-closed eyes of Dr. Uthan. She was drifting in and out of consciousness.