by James Luceno
Moving briskly and in anger, Subaltern S'yito approached the bower and snapped his fists to the opposite shoulders in salute. "Commander, the prisoners are awakening."
Carr looked over to the center of the yard, where Major Cracken,
Captain Page, and some fifty other officers sat on their haunches, their
hands secured behind them to wooden stakes that had been driven
into the soft ground. Indeed, eyelids were fluttering; heads were nod-
ding and swaying; lips were smacking in thirst. Selvaris's suns were
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almost directly overhead, and heat rose from the glaring sand in shimmering waves. Sweat had plastered the prisoners' soiled clothing to their scrawny bodies. It fell in fat drops from unshaved faces and matted fur.
Carr pushed himself upright and stepped into the unforgiving light, S'yito and a dozen warriors flanking him as he crossed the yard and stood with his hands on his hips in front of Cracken and Page. A priest joined him there, black head to toe with dried blood. Carr refrained from speaking until he was satisfied that the two prisoners were attentive and aware of their circumstance.
"I trust you enjoyed your naps," he began. "But look how long you've slept." He raised his face to the sky, pressing the inner edge of his right hand to his sloping forehead. "It is already midday."
He clasped his hands behind him and paced in front of the prisoners. "As soon as our sentinel beetles alerted us to the fact that some of you were outside the walls, I ordered that sensislugs be placed in all dormitories. It is never an agreeable experience to awaken from their sleep-inducing exhalations. The headaches, the nausea, the irritated nasal membranes . . . But I take some comfort in assuming that each of you luxuriated in pleasant dreams."
Stopping in front of bearded Page, he allowed some of his anger to show. "There will come a time when even your dreams won't provide you with escape, and you will look back on your days here as blissful."
On first learning of the predawn escape, Carr had nearly hung a tkun around his neck and prodded the living garrote to choke off his life. It was because of his failure at Fondor, more than three years earlier, that he had been demoted to the rank of commander and placed in charge of a prisoner-of-war camp at the remote edge of the invasion corridor. Worse, on distant Yuuzhan'tar, his former peers—Nas Choka, Eminence Harrar, Nom Anor—had been escalated and made members of Supreme Overlord Shimrra's court.
The prospect of further indignity had filled Carr with such self-loathing that he wasn't sure he could go on. Ultimately, however, he decided that if he was careful—and if he could keep Warmaster Nas Choka from hearing of the escape, or at the very least maintain that it
was part of his plan to obtain information on local resistance groups—
he might yet be released from the prison fate had fashioned for him.
Toward that end, he had been relieved to learn that the search parties he had dispatched had been partially successful. Two escapees had been killed, and a third had been captured. But a fourth had been whisked offworld by an enemy gunship.
Carr turned to S'yito. "Fetch the prisoner."
S'yito and two other warriors saluted and rushed off to the front gate. When they returned a moment later, they were dragging behind them a near-naked Bith, who, from the look of him, had fallen victim to a lav peq web. It pleased Carr no end to see expressions of surprised dismay flare on the faces of Page, Cracken, and the rest—even when those expressions were quickly transformed to scowls of hatred for the warriors who dropped the captive unceremoniously onto his face in
the sand.
Carr stood over the Bith, whose hairless cranium was scratched
and bleeding, and whose arms and legs were shackled.
"This one," Carr began, "along with three others who failed to survive ..." Deliberately, he let his words trail off, if only to observe the effect of the lie on the assembled prisoners. "Well," he started again, "it's a pity, isn't it? So much effort expended for so little gain. Still, I can't help but be impressed. A well-engineered escape tunnel, carefully concealed flying machines . . . It's almost enough to make me forget what cowards you were for allowing yourselves to be captured in the first place."
He caught Page's eye and returned the stocky captain's glower. "You sicken me. You bring your spouses, your mates, your spawn with you into battle. You yield rather than fight to the last. You are crippled, yet you display no shame. You persist, but without clear purpose." He gestured to the Bith. "At least this one showed that he still retains some shred of courage."
Carr began to pace again. "But I admit to a certain curiosity.
From what I know of the Bith species, he probably could have sus-
tained himself in the jungle, subsisting on the natural foodstuffs I have
permitted to be brought inside these walls. The question is, why would
he choose to endanger the rest of you by his show of disobedience? It
can only be that all of you conspired in his escape, perhaps to deliver a message of some import. Was such the case here?"
Carr waved his hand in dismissal. "We'll return to that shortly. Beforehand, those who were truly responsible must be punished." He looked hard at Cracken and Page, then swung to S'yito. "Subaltern, order your warriors to form two rows. The smaller in one row; the taller in the other."
S'yito relayed the order in Yuuzhan Vong, and the warriors obeyed.
"Now," Carr continued, "the smaller warriors will execute the larger."
S'yito saluted, then nodded gravely to the warriors.
Those sentenced neither protested nor defended themselves as they were run through with coufees or struck with amphistaffs. One by one, they collapsed, their black blood draining into the sand. Tonguelike ngdins oozed from niches in the yorik coral walls to sop up what the porous ground didn't absorb.
Carr waited for the creatures to finish their work before striding over to the Bith and lowering himself to one knee. "After the act of courage you displayed, it would pain me to condemn you to an artless death. Why not escalate yourself in the last moments of your life by telling me why you tried to escape? Don't force me to extract the truth from you."
"Go ahead, Clak'dor," Pash Cracken said. "Tell them what you know!"
"He was following orders," Page added, gazing at Carr. "If you want to punish someone, punish us."
Carr almost grinned. "In due time, Captain. But I suspect that if you know what this one knows, you would have been the one to escape." He walked back to the bower. From beneath the seat, he pulled out the tkun he had nearly draped over his own neck that morning. Carrying the thick-bodied biot to the Bith, he arranged it around the prisoner's thin neck.
"This is a tkun," he explained for the benefit of the captives. "Normally it is a docile creature. When provoked, however, it registers
its displeasure by coiling itself around the object on which it rests. Allow me to demonstrate ..."
Carr prodded the tkun with his sharp forefinger.
Page and the others cursed and struggled in vain against their
bindings.
The Bith began to gasp for air.
Carr watched dispassionately. "Unfortunately, the tkun cannot be persuaded to relax its grip once it has begun to contract. It has to be killed." Again he kneeled alongside the Bith. "Tell me why you were so desperate to leave this wonderful home we've provided for you. Recite the information you carry."
The Bith cocked his head to the side and spat at Carr.
"Not unexpected," Carr said, wiping his face. Again he prodded the tkun, which contracted its body. The Bith's black eyes bulged; his wrinkled face and dome of a head turned color. "I will gladly kill the tkun, if you tell me what I wish to know."
The Bith crawled forward, then flopped on the sand like a fish out of water.
Carr poked the tkun a third time.
A rasp issued from the Bith's throat; then he began to recite a formulaic series of numbers. Interested suddenl
y, Carr bent down to place his ear next to the Bith's lips. He glanced up at the priest. "What is this?"
"A calculation of some sort. A mathematical equation, perhaps."
"There it is," Page shouted. "He told you. Now kill that blasted thing before it's too late!"
Carr firmed his scarred lips. "Yes, he's telling me something—but what?"
The Bith repeated the formula.
"Is it a code?" Carr asked him. "Listen to your commanders. You've already been a hero. You've no further need to prove your dedication."
All color drained from the Bith's head, and a prolonged rattle escaped his puckered mouth.
Carr shook his head back and forth, as if in sadness. He drew a
coufee from the belt that cinched his skirt and plunged it into the tkun, which straightened briefly, then died. Standing up, he looked directly at Page. "Your comrade appears to have taken your secret to his grave."
Page had murder in his eye, but Carr only shrugged and turned to S'yito.
"Escort the prisoners to the immolation pit where we incinerated their infernal machines. Fill it to the top, and make certain that they remain inside until midday tomorrow. We'll let Selvaris's suns sort out which of them are worthy of continued life."
A brigade of guards hurried into the yard. Carr waited in the shade for the prisoners to be hoisted to their feet. Then he followed the procession through the prison gate to the pit where the dozens of droids had been slagged.
"Subaltern, it's obvious that our captives had help engineering the escape," Carr said. "Take a complement of warriors and execute everyone in the surrounding villages."
S'yito saluted and trotted back through the bone gate.
Captain Page insisted on being the first to walk the wooden plank that extended out over the deep hole.
"A moment, Captain," Carr said, from the edge of the pit. "I offer you a final chance to pass this night on a bed of leaves rather than atop the skeletons of your droids."
Page snorted. "I'd sooner die."
Carr nodded pensively. "You'll die soon enough in any case."
Without another word Page dropped into darkness. Carr turned away from the pit and set out for his grashal.
A code, he told himself.
He was certain of that much. But, deciphered, what information would it reveal? He gazed at the blinding sky, wondering where the rescue ship was bound.
Proximity alarms hooted insistently in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. Irritated by the distraction, Han muted the speakers, while Leia concentrated on making certain that the ship steered clear of the cause of the alarms.
"Seismics?" Han asked.
Leia shook her head. "Hapan pulse-gravity interdiction mines. The latest thing."
Seen through the curved viewport, the explosive devices might have been asteroids, basking in starlight. The Falcon's scanners had said differently, though they had only reinforced Han and Leia's initial hunch. Beyond the rocky field appeared the bright side of a brown-and-blue world, circled by satellites and gifted with two fair-sized moons.
"Guess you can't be too careful nowadays," Han said.
"Especially this close to the Perlemian Trade Route," Leia added.
Han pointed to an orbital facility of spherical modules and multiple docks. "The shipyard."
"It looks abandoned."
"Deliberately, would be my guess."
Weaving a sinuous path through the minefield, they maneuvered the Falcon closer to the planet. The freighter was midway between the moons when a voice issued from the comm.
"Millennium Falcon, this is Contruum control. On behalf of General Airen Cracken and the rest of the command staff, allow me to be the first to welcome you."
Contruum was the homeworld of Airen Cracken and his equally illustrious son, Pash. An industrious planet with ore-smelting plants and a modest shipbuilding franchise, it was often touted as being the most Core-like world outside the Core, in a class with Eriadu, though not nearly as ecologically devastated. Certainly there was no planet in that part of the Mid Rim to rival it. The fact that it had thus far escaped enemy attention was nothing short of marvelous. That Contruum had continued at its own peril to contribute generously to the war effort had rendered the planet a model of courage and sacrifice.
"Sirs, General Cracken is eager to know if you were successful in retrieving any of our lost merchandise?"
Leia answered for them. "Tell the general we're returning with only one of four that were originally available for pickup. Two were lost, and there is reason to believe that one may have ended up back at its point of origin."
"We're very sorry to hear that, Princess."
"That makes it unanimous," Han said.
"Millennium Falcon is cleared for entry. Would you care to have us take you in, Captain?"
"I'd rather fly—if it's all the same to you."
"Of course, sir. Routing and landing coordinates are being transmitted to your navigation computer."
Han and Leia watched the flight data come onscreen, then Leia enlarged the routing map.
Han laughed shortly. "Figures."
"Can't be too careful."
Han adjusted the Falcon's course. Outside of a few harmless-looking ships lazing in stationary orbit, local space was almost free of traffic. Instead of bearing straight for the planet's heavily populated equatorial band, he banked the freighter for Contruum's innermost moon, a silver sphere dimpled with impact craters and crusty with mountain ranges.
"The large crater just to starboard," Leia said.
Han tapped the control yoke. "Got it."
There was nothing to mark the crater as a berthing space; nothing to mark the moon as a military base. Han lowered the Falcon toward the crater, close to its upthrust eastern rim. Leia shook her head in wonder. "You could almost believe it's
empty."
"Holoprojection masking a magnetic containment field," Han SAID. "That technique hasn't been used in a long time." She nodded sadly. "There hasn't been need for it." The Falcon passed through what appeared to be the rocky floor of the crater and into an enormous hollow below, ultimately settling down on a hexagonal landing platform emblazoned with well-worn markings and numerals. The interior of the hidden base hummed with activity. A nearby transport bore the name Twelve Ton, after a beast of burden indigenous to Contruum. Han recalled that the sleekly designed destroyers once produced by the now abandoned shipyard had typically been given virtuous-sounding names: Temperance, Prudence, Equity. . .
It took several minutes to get the Falcon shut down. Leia asked Cakhmaim and Meewalh to remain aboard with C-3PO, who took the request as a personal affront. Then she, Han, and Thorsh—the Jenet they had rescued—headed for the landing ramp. At the top, Han paused briefly to assess the minor damage done by the swoop, which had been jettisoned above Selvaris shortly before the Falcon had made the jump to lightspeed.
An escort detail was waiting for them on the landing platform— security personnel, meditechs and a medical droid, and a sturdy, dark-complected young woman who introduced herself as General Cracken's adjutant. The meditechs quickly surrounded Thorsh, inspecting his limbs, gently palpating his torso, and examining his vaguely leonine head.
"You look like you were dragged through a field of thorns," one
said.
Thorsh sniffed in sardonic derision. "More like propelled. But thanks for noticing."
"We did what we could for him," Leia said.
The same meditech glanced at her. "Any battlefield medic would be proud to have done as much."
The droid finished its scans with a concluding melody of chitters and tones. "Malnourished, but otherwise fit," it announced in a deep voice.
Major Ummar, Cracken's adjutant, nodded in approval. "I don't see any reason why we can't proceed directly to debriefing."
Han turned to Thorsh and smirked. "Good job, Thorsh. We'll buy you lunch some other time."
Thorsh shrugged. "We all play our parts. I go where I'm sent, I do
what I'm told."
"And the rest of us are the better for it," Leia said. She put her hand on Thorsh's bristly shoulder. "I can't begin to guess at what you're carrying, but it must be vitally important."
Thorsh shrugged again. "I wish I could say."
Han surmised that the Jenet wasn't holding back for security's sake. Thorsh really didn't know what intelligence he had locked away in his memory trap of a brain.
Han and Leia hadn't gone far when a speeder pulled up alongside them. On the bench seat behind the hover vehicle's Rodian driver sat General Wedge Antilles and Jedi Master Kenth Hamner.
"Wedge!" Leia said in delighted surprise, as the handsome dark-haired human climbed from the speeder. She hugged him in greeting, while Han pumped Wedge's extended hand.
Wedge nodded to Han. "Boss."
The two men had known each other for almost thirty years, since the Battle of Yavin, where Wedge had flown with Luke Skywalker against the Death Star. At Endor, Wedge had been instrumental in destroying the second Death Star, and during the fledgling years of the New Republic he had distinguished himself in countless operations with Rogue Squadron and other units. Like a lot of Galactic Civil War veterans, he and his wife, Iella, had come out of retirement to fight the Yuuzhan Vong. At Borleias, Wedge had formed a secret resistance force called the Insiders, whose membership—including Han, Leia, Luke, and many others—had agreed to borrow some of the tactics the Rebel Alliance had employed against the Empire.
had always liked Wedge, and what with Jaina's growing closeness to Wedge's nephew Jagged Fel, there was an outside chance that the Solo and Antilles families would end up allies of an even
deeper sort.
