"Are they in or near the target area?"
"No, my lord. In spite of the fact that the subsurface probes confirm an extensive system of caves within the confines of the valley, they are not associated with significant mineral deposits. And while the facilities required to process ore might have disappeared over the millennia, the probes found no sign of tailings."
Jerec nodded. "Continue."
"The planet supports two cultures — the first consists of approximately 20,000 preindustrial sentients. They seem to be indigenous, although surface artifacts suggest that other species lived here as well, raising the possibility that they originated somewhere else."
"Yes," Jerec agreed. "The legends speak of many species — and a rich civilization. Tell me more about the humans."
Sariss shrugged. "There isn't much to tell . . . Space trash mostly, mixed with dissidents. The probes kept their distance but were able to monitor and record their comm traffic. Content analysis, combined with call mapping, confirms that most of the humans live and work in the vicinity of a Class Two military installation."
Jerec's eyebrows shot upward. "A military installation?"
"Yes, my lord. It appears that a gang of smugglers uses Ruusan to warehouse their contraband and built the fort to protect their property. They call it 'Fort Nowhere.' A rather apt name, all things considered. Our forces will attack tomorrow."
"No," Jerec said firmly, "they won't. Not without a visit. Take Yun and Boc. See what you can learn. Report to me."
The fact that Jerec had seen fit to countermand her plans brought blood to Sariss' face. His approval meant a great deal to her, and she worked hard to maintain it. Making a bad situation even worse was the fact that she disagreed with his orders. She cleared her throat. "May I ask why, my lord? Wouldn't such a visit put them on alert? And cause additional casualties among our troops?"
Jerec allowed himself a frown. "You doubt our ability to win?"
"No, my lord. Of course not."
"Good. There are reasons for my orders even when they aren't apparent to you. These people have lived on the planet for some time. Are they aware of the Valley? And if they are, did they loot the chambers? And if they did, what happened to the materials found there?"
They were intelligent questions, and the fact that she had failed to consider them brought even more blood to the Jedi's checks. She bowed, assured Jerec that his orders would be implemented, and backed out into the corridor.
Jerec waited until his subordinate had left, allowed his fingers to trail through the touchstones, and found a treat. It was shaped like Ruusan and cool to the touch. He brought it to his lips, popped the sphere into his mouth, and broke the outer skin. The liqueur tasted of cinnamon and contained a mild intoxicant. He smiled, thought about the embarrassment Sariss had experienced, and laughed out loud.
Grif was tired, very tired. He was in better shape than most men his age — no, half his age — but fifty kilometers is a long way to go. The sun had both risen and set since the battle with the droid.
He paused, took a moment to check his back trail, and produced a self-satisfied grunt. The sky was clear, the triplets were up, and there was nothing to he seen. No droids, skimmers, or speeder hikes rushing to catch up with him. Perhaps the probe had been on its own. He certainly hoped so.
Mountains had forced the settler toward the west. Assuming he was right, and this was the reverse slope of "Katarn's Hill," he was almost there.
Gravel slid out from under the colonist's boots. He swore, resisted the temptation to use the blast rifle as a walking stick, and fought his way upward.
The stench of a garbage-filled ravine confirmed his skill as a navigator. Grif wrinkled his nose, hurried to put the odor behind him, and crested the hill.
The homes, many of which had been sited with help from Morgan Katarn, were more than half buried in the soil, a strategy that helped them stay cool during the day and warm at night.
A scattering of yellow-orange rectangles marked the location of windows and hinted at the hospitality that waited within. Grif passed them by. It was evening, and that meant the majority of the colony's elected and unelected leaders would be gathered within the Smuggler's Rest, drinks in hand.
Grif licked his lips at the thought, ignored the half-tamed bush runner that lunged at the end of its chain, and followed the well-worn path toward the fort. He heard a snatch of conversation, the slamming of a door, and the whine of a multi-tool. Common sounds that he found comforting.
Fort Nowhere was laid out in the shape of a six-pointed star. Blaster cannons had been mounted at each of the star's points — a strategy that would place attackers in a withering crossfire.
The cannons, plus hidden missile batteries, were a potent threat against anything short of an Imperial assault, the very thing he had come to warn them about.
A voice called out from the shadows and asked, "Who goes there?" in a voice that didn't seem to care.
The settler paused. "Grif Grawley."
The sentry, a smuggler named Horley, stepped out into the moonlight. "Grif? Carole called. She's worried sick."
"I'll get back to her," Grif promised. "Soon as I can. Where's the fat guy who thinks he's mayor?"
Horley chuckled. "Same as always, sitting around the Rest, complaining about the Empire."
"Good. Keep a sharp eye out — or there might be even more to complain about."
The sentry wanted to ask what the comment meant, but Grawley was gone. Horley shivered, blamed the cool night breeze, and turned toward the badlands. Clouds claimed the triplets, and darkness obscured the land.
Grif heard the Smuggler's Rest before he actually saw it. The music, popular on Corellia two years before, was punctuated by laughter and the bong of the drink gong. Someone had bought a round.
Grif rounded a corner, nodded to a passing spacer, and strode the width of the inner courtyard. The all-too-familiar doors swung open at the touch of his hand, and he blinked in the sudden light. The bar had been crafted from a damaged fuel tank and lined one side of the room. A dozen mismatched tables made islands on the seldom-swept floor. The walls, which were covered with an unplanned montage of memorabilia, had launched many a story. There were fifteen or twenty people present. They turned as he entered the room.
"Look!" someone exclaimed. "It's Grif Grawley! Hey, Grif! Carole's looking for volunteers. Ya ain't gettin' any lighter, ya know!"
There was a chorus of guffaws as regulars had a laugh at Grif 's expense. They remembered the night six months before, on the eve of little Katie's birthday, when Grif had attempted to anesthetize himself with an entire bottle of Old Trusty. Carole had been summoned and, with help from the regulars had loaded him onto a skimmer. Anger flared —anger and resentment.
Grif swiveled toward his right, fired from the hip, and watched the sound system explode. Silence settled over the bar — interrupted only by the drip, drip, drip of liquefied components and the cooler's monotonous hum. Mayor Devo, his paunch hanging over his belt, was the first to recover. He came to his feet. A stubby index finger stabbed the air.
"And that will be enough of that! We've had enough from you, Grif Grawley. Place the weapon on the floor and take three steps backward."
The settler made no effort to obey. He reached under his jacket, found the flat piece of metal, and pulled it free of his waistband. It clanged as it hit the table.
Devo looked down and up again. He frowned. "And what's this supposed to be?"
"An ID plate. Read it."
Reluctantly, his face flushed with anger, the mayor did as he was told. The words seemed to echo through the bar. "Imperial Probe Droid PD 4786. So? What's your point?"
Grif allowed his eyes to roam the room. "So, I tangled with an Imperial probe droid, rammed it with my airspeeder, and hoofed it here. It could have been a loner, dumped into our atmosphere by a passing ship, or it could be part of something a lot worse. I suggest you pack what you can, load your families on skimmers, and follow me. There
are places where you can hide."
There was silence for a moment followed by complete pandemonium. It seemed as if everyone had something to say.
"Throw the idiot out!"
"What if he's right? How did they find us?"
"I told you this would happen . . ."
"Grif wouldn't know a probe droid if it was floating in his whiskey .. ."
Grif tapped the gong with a half-empty bottle of Old Trusty. The babble ceased. Grif scanned the faces before him. "Believe what you want. One question, though. How do you explain the fact that the weather sats are down? Not just one of them . . . but the whole bunch?"
The settler turned toward a woman named Peeno. She was Captain Jerg's second in command — and some said more than that. "How 'bout it, Marie? You got those sats up and running, vet?"
The smuggler, a woman with short red hair and a nose stud, shook her head. "They all went down about the same time. We've been unable to contact them since."
Grif persisted. "How 'bout ships? Got any in orbit?"
Jerg had left more than thirty days before and had taken the shuttles with him. Everyone knew he was gone, and everyone knew it would be another month before he returned. Peeno shook her head again.
Grif nodded. "Just as I thought. Heads in the sand — butts in the air. Good luck, 'cause you're gonna need it."
So saying, the settler took a long, hard pull from the bottle in his hand, slammed it down, and tossed a coin onto the bar. It spun, fell, and landed heads-up.
Grif was halfway across the courtyard by the time the yelling started —and only twenty klicks from home. It would be good to see Carole.
The sun had been up for some time when the Imperial assault shuttle approached from the south. It made a series of circles, each smaller than the last, as if those on board were sightseeing, which in a sense they were.
Sariss released her safety harness, stepped into the cockpit, and peered over the pilots' heads. Fort Nowhere shimmered in the heat. "What a dump."
Yun, a young, almost-boyish Jedi with a shock of brown hair, moved to join her. Partly because he was curious — and partly because she was his mentor. "That's for sure. I don't know what they ran away from, but it must have been pretty bad."
"It was pretty bad," Boc agreed, as he took up a position behind them. "They were running from us."
Peeno's head tracked the shuttle in concert with the fort's energy cannon. She wore a headset, torso armor, and carried her blast rifle on a sling. The number-three gunner, a colonist named Dinko, wanted to fire. "I can take her, lieutenant! Just say the word."
The shuttle turned, and Peeno turned with it. "Not a good idea, Dinko. That assault boat didn't come here all by herself. There's at least one ship, maybe more, in orbit above. If they wanted to grease us, they would have done it by now. Take your weapon off-line ... and that goes for the rest of you, too. They want to talk, so let's give them the chance."
The shuttle flared, gave the colonists a peek at the registration numbers painted on its belly, and settled onto the pad. Grit sprayed sideways, and the noise brought even more of Fort Nowhere's citizens to the scene.
The settlers had expected stormtroopers, followed by an officer, but were in for a surprise. Eyes widened and mouths dropped as Sariss, Yun, and Boc exited the ship.
"Who are they?"
"They have lightsabers!"
"What's a worm-head doing here?"
"What's wrong with you people? Shoot them!"
The last comment came from a settler named Lasko. His first wife had given her life in defense of the Sulon G-Tap. The very sight of the Imperials filled him with hate.
The intensity of his emotions sent ripples through the Force. Sariss stopped, turned, and picked Lasko out of the crowd. The colonist looked surprised, brought his hands up to his throat, and struggled to breathe. His face turned blue, his knees buckled, and he thumped to the ground. Then, just as the life force started to leak out of his body Sariss relented.
Lasko sucked air into his aching lungs, rubbed his throat, and stood. His friends and neighbors averted their eyes as the settler shouldered his way through the crowd. Then, having put the throng behind him, Lasko broke into a run. He had a new wife now and a six-month-old baby. He'd load the skimmer, head out into the badlands, and hope for the best.
Sariss took pleasure in the fear that surrounded her. Thanks to the settler, and his big mouth, a lesson had been learned. Resist, and you will die.
The crowd started to back away, to disperse, but Yun shook his head. "What's the hurry? Stick around — you'll stay healthy that way"
Boc started to laugh, a high-pitched gibbering sound that brought fear to the settlers' faces. Sariss stood with hands on hips. "So, who's in charge?"
There was silence, followed by sidelong glances and the shuffling of feet. That's when Mayor Devo was nudged, shouldered, and pushed out into the open. Once exposed, the politician tried to make the best of a bad situation. He adjusted his paunch, found a smile, and took three steps forward. "That would be me . . . Mayor Byron Devo III at your service. And you are?"
"My name is unimportant," Sariss replied coldly "The important thing is that you, and your treasonous constituents, have established an illegal settlement for the purposes of smuggling and tax evasion. Both punishable by death."
Devo swallowed, realized that his hands had gone to his throat, and forced them down. It seemed as if the woman knew everything. Still, words had gotten him out of trouble before, and they might do so again. "No, no, you've got it all wrong! Give me a chance to explain!"
Sariss looked doubtful. "You have an explanation? That seems hard to believe. Still, everyone deserves a chance. That's the Imperial way . . . Take me to your office. You have one, don't you?"
"Oh, yes!" Devo burbled happily. "Follow me . . ."
The crowd parted to let them through. Yun smiled, and Boc laughed.
It took less than an hour for Sariss to pump Devo full of false assurances, drain the politician of relevant information, and confirm her findings through subsequent conversations with Peeno and the tapcafe keeper.
Yun, with assistance from Boc, used the time to survey Fort Nowhere's defenses.
More than 300 pairs of eyes watched the Jedi board their ship and lift off. Mayor Devo, eager to reassert his authority and regain whatever credibility he might have lost, offered an obscene gesture. "That's for you and the Emperor!"
The shuttle had just disappeared over the horizon as Peeno sidled up. "So, Byron, what do you think? Why all the interest in ruins and artifacts?"
Devo had small, beady eyes. They darted hither and yon. "Something valuable would be my guess. Something worth sending a task force to Ruusan."
Peeno nodded. "Exactly, so keep it to yourself. Who knows? Maybe we can find it."
Devo's eyes glazed over as visions of valuable treasure danced in his head. "It could be ours, Marie! All ours!"
Peeno nodded, wondered if the Imperials were that stupid, and feared that they weren't.
The bridge was large and open as befitted a capital ship. Jerec, hands clasped behind his back, stood with his back to the command area. The crew, who occupied semicircular trenches cut into the highly reflective deck, hung on every word. He liked it that way. His voice was pitched to carry. "And your conclusion?"
Sariss, who like Yun and Boc was still aboard the shuttle, brought her report to a close. A holo of her head and shoulders hovered in the air. "So, my lord, based on interviews with members of the criminal community and the squalor in which they are forced to live, it seems safe to conclude that the Valley remains undiscovered."
Jerec paused, allowed the tension to build, and nodded his head. "I concur. Destroy the settlement."
The Imperial raiding party had been gathering for more than twenty-six hours. The flat area, surrounded by hills, made a perfect staging area. A maintenance facility had been set up, fuel bladders had been buried, and a perimeter established. It was patrolled by a pair of AT-ST wa
lkers and supported by heavily armed troopers.
The unit, which would depend on speed, surprise, and overwhelming force, consisted of four assault shuttles and six TIE fighters. They were manned by the best the larger task force had to offer and ready for action.
Sariss, her hair whipped by desert wind, took one last look at the ships under her command and spoke into the wire-thin boom mike. "All right, you know the plan. TIE fighters first . . . assault boats second. Let's wind 'em up."
The Jedi felt the ramp bounce under her weight as she entered the ship. She slipped into the co-pilot's position, fastened her harness, and gave the pilot a nod. He ran up the power, pulled back on the controls, and scanned the readouts. The ship rose, rocked in the breeze, and vectored away. The rest of the shuttles followed.
The smugglers had anticipated the possibility of a space-borne attack, which was the reason for the satellites. However, once the orbital surveillance system had been neutralized, and with no ground-based detectors to fall back on, the attack would have caught the colony by surprise if it had not been for the Jedi's visit. Still, even with advance warning, they were only partially prepared.
The TIE fighters came first, low and slow, their cannons spitting death. The initial volley punched holes in the rammed earth walls, destroyed the southern gate, and set a storage shed on fire. The smoke made an excellent marker and helped orient the pilots during successive attacks.
The fort's defenses were manned — Peeno had seen to that. Turrets swiveled as gunners tracked the incoming ships, and Dinko whooped with joy. "I nailed one of the slimeballs, lieutenant — look at that!"
Peeno, who was directing the defensive effort from an underground bunker, consulted her monitors. There weren't very many of them, all sitting on an old cargo module, connected by a maze of wires. She watched a TIE fighter explode, saw flaming debris fall on Katarn's Hill, and knew there would he casualties. "Nice shooting, Dinko — keep it up."
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