Star Wars_ Labyrinth of Evil Part 8

"You'll be pleased to learn that I've chosen a world for us, Viceroy,"

Grievous was saying. "Belderone will be our temporary home." The cyborg fell silent for a moment. "Viceroy? Viceroy!" Whirling to someone off cam, he barked: "End transmission."

Dyne paused the message before Grievous had faded from view. "As high-resolution an image as I've ever seen," he said. "Technology of a different order than we're used to seeing - - even from the Confederacy."

"About his image, Sidious cares, ummm?" Mace's clean-shaven upper lip curled. "What was the source of the transmission?"

"Deep in the Outer Rim," Dyne said. "Six clone pilots pursued a core ship that jumped to the sector following the Battle of Cato Neimoidia. None returned."

"Rendezvous of the Confederacy fleet, it is," Yoda said.

Mace nodded. "And Belderone next." Again his gaze fell on Dyne. "Anything further on the source of the original Sidious transmission?"

Dyne shook his head. "Still working on it."

Mace paced away from the table. "Belderone is not a highly populated world, but it is friendly to the Republic. Grievous will kill millions just to make a point." He glanced at Yoda. "We can't let that happen."

Dyne looked from Mace to Yoda and back again. "If Republic forces are waiting when Grievous attacks, the Separatists will realize that we've managed to eavesdrop on their transmissions."

Yoda pressed his fingers to his lips in thought. "Act, we must. Lying in wait, Republic forces will be."

Dyne nodded. "You're right, of course. If no actions are taken, and word of this intelligence were to leak..." He regarded Yoda. "Do we inform the Supreme Chancellor?"

Yoda's ears twitched. "Difficult, this decision is."

"The information stays here," Mace said firmly.

Yoda sighed with purpose. "Agree I do. Use the beacon we will, to gather a force."

"Obi-Wan and Anakin aren't far from Belderone," Mace said. "But they're pursuing another lead to Sidious's whereabouts."

"Wait, the lead will. Needed Obi-Wan and Anakin will be." Yoda turned to the still image of General Grievous. "Prepare carefully for this battle, we must."

18.

In dreams, Grievous remembered his life. His mortal life.

On Kalee, and in the aftermath of the Huk War. After all the close calls on battlefields on his home system worlds, on Huk worlds, sowing destruction, exterminating as many of them as he could... After all the times he had returned home wounded, bloodied to the bone, surrounded by his wives and offspring, basking in their support - - relying on it to recall him to life.

After all the brushes with death... to be fatally injured in a shuttle crash. The unfairness, the indignity had cost him more pain than the injuries themselves. To be denied a warrior's death - - as was his due!

Floating suspended in bacta, keenly aware that no healing fluid or gamma blade wielded by living being or droid could repair his body. In moments of consciousness: seeing his wives and offspring gazing on his ravaged body from the far side of the permagla.s.s.

Offering words of encouragement; prayers for his return to health. He had asked himself: could he be content to be a mind in a body without feeling? More, could he abandon a life of combat for a life in which the only battles he fought were with himself? The struggle to endure, to live another day...

No. It was beyond him. By then, the Huk War had ended - - more accurately had been ended by the Jedi, and the Kaleesh were still reaping the whirlwind. Their world in ruins, their appeals for justice and fair play ignored by the Republic. Ever on the alert for investment opportunities, members of the InterGalactic Banking Clan had offered Kalee a dubious sort of rescue.

They would support the planet financially, a.s.sume its staggering debt, if Grievous would agree to serve the clan as an enforcer. Their hailfire weapons were proficient at delivering "payment reminders" to delinquent clients, and their IG-series a.s.sa.s.sin droids took care of the wet work.

But the hailfires had to be programmed, the IGs were dangerously unpredictable, and a.s.sa.s.sination was bad for business. The clan wanted someone with a talent for intimidation. Both to save his world and to provide himself with a touch of the life he had known as a warrior, a strategist, a leader of armies, Grievous had accepted the offer. IBC chairman San Hill himself had overseen the details of the arrangement.

Still, Grievous wasn't entirely proud of his decision. Debt collection was a far cry from warcraft. An arena for beings without principles; for beings so attached to their possessions that they feared death. But Kalee had profited from his work for IBC. And Grievous's previous notoriety was such that it could not be eclipsed. Then: the shuttle crash. The accident. The misfortune... He told his would-be healers to fish him from the bacta tank. He could bear to die in atmosphere or the vacuum of deep s.p.a.ce, but not in liquid. In the shadow of felled trees that would fuel his funeral pyre, he lapsed in and out of consciousness.

That was when San Hill had paid him a second visit. Something consequential in mind. Obvious even to someone who could barely see straight. "We can keep you alive," rail-thin Hill had whispered into Grievous's unimpaired ear.

Others had promised as much. He pictured breathing devices, a hover platform, a surround of life-sustaining machines. But Hill had said: "None of that. You will walk, you will speak, you will retain your memories - - your mind."

"I have my mind," Grievous had said. "What I lack is a body."

"Most of your internal organs are damaged beyond the repair of the finest surgeons," Hill had continued. "And you will have to surrender even more than you already have. You will no longer know the pleasures of the flesh."

"Flesh is weak. You need only gaze on me to see that." Encouraged by the remark, Hill had talked in glowing terms of the Geonosians: how they had raised cyborg technology to an art form, and how the blending of living and machine technology was the future. "Consider the battle droids of the Trade Federation," Hill had said. "They answer to a brain that is also nothing more than a droid. Protocol droids, astromechs, even a.s.sa.s.sin droids - - all require programming and frequent maintenance."

Two words had caught Grievous's attention: battle droids.

"A war is brewing that will call many droids to the front," Hill had said just loudly enough to be heard. "I am not privy to when it will begin, but when that day comes, the entire galaxy will be involved."

His interest piqued, Grievous had said: "A war begun by whom? The Banking Clan? The Trade Federation?"

"Someone more powerful."

"Who?"

"In time, you will meet him. And you will be impressed."

"Then why does he need me?"

"In every war, there are leaders and there are commanders."

"A commander of droids."

"More precisely, a living commander of droids."

So he had allowed the Geonosians to go to work on him, constructing a duranium and ceramic sh.e.l.l for what little of him remained. His recuperation had been long and difficult. Coming to terms with his new and in many ways improved self, even longer and more difficult. Only then had he been presented to Count Dooku, and only then had his real training begun. From the Geonosians and members of the Techno Union he had already come to understand the inner workings of droids. But from Dooku - - Lord Tyra.n.u.s - - he came to understand the inner workings of the Sith.

Tyra.n.u.s himself had trained him in lightsaber technique. In mere weeks he had surpa.s.sed any of Tyra.n.u.s's previous students. It helped, of course, to have an indestructible body reminiscent of a Krath wardroid. The ability to tower over most sentient beings. Crystal circuitry. Four grasping appendages..

. In dreams he remembered his past life. But in fact, he was not dreaming, for dreams were a product of sleep, and General Grievous did not sleep.

He endured instead brief periods of stasis in a pod-like chamber that had been created for him by his body's builders. While inside that chamber he could sometimes recall what it had felt like to live. And while inside, he was not to be disturbed - - unless in the event of inimical circ.u.mstances. The chamber was equipped with displays linked to devices that monitored the status of the Invisible Hand. But Grievous was aware of a problem even before the displays told him as much. As he exited the chamber and hurried for the cruiser's bridge, a droid joined him, supplying updates. No sooner had the Separatist fleet emerged from hypers.p.a.ce at Belderone than it had come under attack - - not by Belderone's meager planetary defense force, but by a Republic battle group.

"Wings of starfighters are converging on the fleet," the droid reported.

"a.s.sault cruisers, destroyers, and other capital vessels are arrayed in a screen formation above night-side Belderone."

Klaxons were blaring in the corridors, and gunner droids and Neimoidians were hastening to battle stations.

"Order our ships to raise shields and form up behind us. Vanguard pickets are to fall back in shield formation to protect the core vessels."

"Affirmative, General."

"Roll the ship starboard to minimize our profile, and reorient the deflector shields. Deploy all wings of droid tri-fighters and ready all port-side batteries for enfilade fire." Grievous braced himself against a bulkhead as the cruiser was shaken by an explosion.

"Ranged fire from the Republic destroyers," the droid said. "No damage.

Shields functioning at better than ninety percent."

Grievous quickened his pace. On the bridge, a real-time hologram of the battle was running above the tactical console. Grievous took a moment to study the deployment of the Republic ships and starfighter squadrons.

Made up of sixty capital vessels, the battle group wasn't large enough to overwhelm the Separatist fleet, but it packed enough combined firepower to defend trivial Belderone. On the far side of the dun-colored planet, a convoy of transports was angling toward the lesser of Belderone's two inhabited moons, starfighters and corvettes flying escort.

"Evacuees, General," one of the droids explained. Grievous was stunned.

An organized evacuation could mean only one thing: the Republic had somehow learned that Belderone had been targeted! But how could that be, when only the Separatist leaders had been apprised? He moved to the forward viewports to observe the strobing spectacle of battle. He would learn how he had been foiled. But survival was the first order of business.

19.

With its stubby wings and bulbous aft c.o.c.kpit, Anakin's starfighter was closer in design to the Delta-7 Aethersprite he had flown at the start of the war than it was to the newer-generation V-wings and ARC-170s flown by clone pilots. But where the Delta-7 was triangular in shape, the silver-and-yellow starfighter had a blunt bow composed of two separate fuselages, each equipped with a missile launcher. Laser cannons occupied notches forward of the wings.

As with the Delta-7, the astromech socket was located to one side of the humpbacked c.o.c.kpit. Plus, Anakin had made a few significant modifications. Already a veteran of battles at Xagobah and other worlds, the craft looked as if it had been around for ten years. But it handled better than the modified Torpil he had flown at Praesitlyn, and was faster, as well. Launched from the Integrity, Anakin poured on speed in an effort to catch up with the ARCs and V-wings that had been first to deploy from the a.s.sault cruiser's ma.s.sive ventral bay. An instrument panel monitor indicated that the starfighter's ion drive was functioning at just under optimal.

"Artoo," he said toward the comlink, "run a diagnostic on the starboard thruster." The starfighter's console display translated the droid's toodled response into Basic characters. "I thought so. Well, go ahead and make the adjustments. We don't want to be last to arrive." R2-D2's plaintive mewl needed no translation. The drive readout graph pulsed and climbed, and the starfighter surged forward. "That's it, pal. Now we're moving!"

Settling back into the padded seat, he flexed his gloved hands and exhaled slowly through his mouth. Enough spying, he told himself. He wasn't any closer to Coruscant, but at least he was back where he belonged, wedded to a starfighter, and prepared to show the enemy a thing or two about s.p.a.ce combat. Ahead of him - - spearhead to groups of needle-nosed pickets that were screening the capital ships - - slued hundreds of enemy craft.

Some were thirteen-year-old Vulture fighters with paired wings that resembled seedpods; others were compact tri-fighter droids; and still others were s.p.a.ce-capable Geonosian twin-beaked Nantex starfighters. Just now the lead ARC-170s were weaving through permutations of close combat with the droid fighters, the glowing pulses of energy beams turning local s.p.a.ce into a web of devastation. Not since Praesitlyn had he soared into such an enemy-rich environment.

Target practice, he thought, allowing a grin. He took his right hand from the control yoke to activate the long-range scanners. The threat-a.s.sessment screen displayed the signatures and deployment of the Separatist capital vessels: Trade Federation Lucrehulks and core ships; Techno Union Hardcells, with their columnar thruster packages and egg-shaped fuselages; Commerce Guild Diamond cruisers and Corporate Alliance Fantails; frigates, gunboats, and communications ships featuring huge circular transponders.

The whole Separatist parade.

Switching his comlink over to the battle net, Anakin hailed his wingmate.

"I say we leave the small stuff to Odd Ball and the other pilots, and go straight for the ones that matter."

Accustomed to Anakin's disregard for call signs, Obi-Wan answered in kind. "Anakin, there are approximately five hundred droids positioned between Grievous and us. What's more, the capital ships are too heavily shielded."

"Just follow my lead, Master."

Obi-Wan sighed into the comlink microphone.

"I'll try. Master."

Anakin scanned the threat-a.s.sessment display, committing to memory vector lines of the closest enemy fighters. Then he reopened a channel to R2-D2.

"Battle speed, Artoo!" Again, the starfighter shot forward. Indicators on the console redlined. Just short of the roiling fray, when he could sense the droid ships drawing a bead on him, he shoved the yoke into a corner for a pushover and streaked out of the maneuver with all weapons blazing.

Droids flared and flamed to all sides of him. Wending through clouds of expanding fire, he locked down the trigger of the laser cannons and made a second pa.s.s through the enemy wave, destroying a dozen more fighters in a heartbeat.

But the tri-fighters were onto him now, eager for payback. A sunburst of scarlet beams seared past the bubble canopy, and a fighter appeared to starboard. An instant later, a second volley sizzled down from overhead.

R2-D2 loosed a series of urgent whistles and tweets as the starfighter was rocked to its shields.

Blue lightning coruscated across the console, and droid fighters appeared to port and starboard. More bolts found their mark, throwing Anakin hard against the safety harness. "Just what I needed," he said, in appreciation. Swerving hard to starboard, he caught the first ship with a sideslip shot.

The second fighter sheared off as quickly as it could from the expanding fragmentation cloud. As it did, Anakin raced into its aft wash and triggered the lasers. A ball of fire, the droid careened into a flak-dazzled tri-fighter and the two of them exploded. Anakin checked the display to make certain that Obi-Wan was still with him.

"Are you all right?"

"A bit toasted, but okay."

"Stay with me."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always, Master."

Deeper into the melee now, ARC-170s, V-wings, and droid fighters were joined in a great cloverleaf of combat, chasing one another, colliding into one another, twirling out of the fight with engines smoking or wings blown away. Weapons themselves, the droids were accurate with their bolts, but slower to recover, and easily confused by random maneuvers.

While at times this made for effortless kills, there were just so many of them...

Anakin squared off with the enemy leader of the cloverleaf clash, and began to hara.s.s it with laser bolts. Adapting to his tactics, Obi-Wan fell back; then leapt his starfighter into kill position and opened up.

"Nice shot!" Anakin said when the wing leader vanished. "Nice setup!"

Signaling Obi-Wan to follow, Anakin climbed out of the main battle, veering tangent to it, and rocketed toward the nearest of the Separatists' needle-nosed picket ships. Loosing two missiles to draw the picket's attention, he yawed to port, pushed over, then came back at the vessel with lasers.

"Run the hull! Target the shield generator!"

"Any closer and we'll be inside the thing!"

"That's the idea!" Obi-Wan followed, unleashing with all cannons. They were in the thick of the heaviest fighting now, where ranged fire from the Republic capital ships was breaking against the particle and ray shields of their targets. Blinding light pulsed behind the canopy blast tinting. The picket Anakin had piqued with missiles was under heavy bombardment. He grasped that a high-yield torpedo would be too much for it, and rushed to deliver it. The torpedo tore from between the starfighter's c.o.c.kpit-linked fuselages and burned its way toward the picket. The picket's shield failed for an instant, and in that instant the huge incoming turbolaser bolts did their worst.

Struck broadside, the picket burst like an overripe fruit, venting long plumes of incandescence and spilling light and guts into s.p.a.ce. Anakin jinked away, whooping into the comlink.

"We've got a clear shot at Grievous!" he told Obi-Wan. With its tapered bow and large outrigger fins, the general's cruiser resembled a cla.s.sic-era Coruscant skysc.r.a.per laid on its side.