X-wing_ The Krytos Trap Part 16

"Yes, Chief Councilor." Cracken's dark eyes sharpened. "What the Admiral is suggesting is that we cannot be certain Captain Celchu was the only spy in service to the Empire. The potential for betrayal does exist here and on the Ryloth side of things. While sending her out might endanger her, holding her back might be taken incorrectly by officials on Thyferra, dooming that deal."

"But if she dies, that could also hurt us." Mon Mothma shook her head.

"The lack of clear-cut decisions is what makes this job so difficult. The Thyferrans seem to set great store by Erisi Dlarit's flying with Rogue Squadron. I suppose we will have to let her go."

Ackbar nodded. "I concur. That is the tide on which you should sail."

"And you, General Cracken," Mon Mothma said, "will have to make certain security around this mission is not breached. We cannot afford to have the mission disrupted, nor can we afford to lose Erisi Dlarit."

"Of this, I am aware." General Cracken nodded sol-emnly. "I understand the gravity of the situation. If there is a leak, we'll find it--find it and eliminate it. The New Republic can afford for us to do nothing less."

20.

"I am fairly certain, Colonel Vorru, that I do not like this turn of events at all." Kirtan Loor peered down at the smaller man but clearly did not have quite the intimidating effect on him that Loor wanted. "I invited you here to inform you of my plan as a courtesy, not to allow you to veto it."

Fliry Vorru shrugged. "Ah, but I have vetoed it."

No! "No! I cannot allow this." Loor's hands balled into fists. "My agreement with you was to let you select domestic targets that help weaken the New Republic's government. I have abided by your decisions in any case where the target was of that sort. This is not one of those cases."

Loor stalked around his darkened office, flitting like a moth around the circle of light that anointed Fliry Vorru and made his white hair shine brilliantly. "The destruction of Rogue Squadron has been a priority with me since well be-fore they took Imperial Center, and now, now they are within my grasp. I have a squadron of X-wings here on Im-perial Center that I will use to attack Rogue Squadron's base and destroy them on the ground. It will be perfect and will allow me to finish a mission that has taken far too long to complete."

Vorru leaned back in Loor's tall chair and put his booted feet up on the surface of the desk, scattering a stack of data-cards. "What were once your priorities do not matter to me. I deem this attack too risky.

Cracken will suspect I leaked information about Rogue Squadron's impending mission to you."

"No, no he won't." Loor's fingers itched to be punching data up on his datapad--or to be strangling you, Vorru. "I uncovered evidence of a run to Ryloth based on fluctuations in the secondary ryll-derivatives black market. I traced it back to a woman in the medical corps who's been making extra money producing her own brand of patent medicine. It's mostly lure, with ryll and a drop or two of bacta in it-- useless, of course, but she's begun to raise the price. It's as-sumed that when Rogue Squadron brings the rytl back to Coruscant, its effectiveness against the virus will be touted and her medicine will be in high demand. I can give her to you and you can point her out as the leak."

"Suggesting that a quack producing a folk remedy led you to Rogue Squadron is what will get me implicated."

"Nonsense." Loor slapped his hands against his hips in frustration. "You know as well as I do that Ryloth is as dark a den of iniquity as exists this side of Varl. The Twi'leks have not supported the Rebellion in any great numbers, so the most prominent Twi'lek in the New Republic is Nawara Ven. The Republic has to use him as their negotiator and, lo and behold, the prosecution asks for and gets a continuance of the case. That leaves plenty of time for Rogue Squadron to make the trip to Ryloth and back. The only obvious a.s.sump-tion is that they're going to make the trip."

Loor shook his head. "I've known where Rogue Squad-ron has been stationed for a while now. This is my opportu-nity to hit them right at a time when the failure of their mission will severely hurt the New Republic."

"Your reasoning is flawless, Agent Loor, but that con-cerns me not at all." Vorru's dark eyes glittered. "I even find your devotion toward the elimination of Rogue Squadron admirable. However, your taking action against Rogue Squadron does not suit me at this time; therefore you cannot launch your a.s.sault."

"And if I choose to ignore your advice?"

Vorru twisted his head slightly sideways. "Do you really want to test me, Kirtan Loor?"

Loor hesitated, losing his chance to snap back a defiant answer. Anyone else asking that question would have filled the words with impending doom, but Vorru asked it in an easy tone, as if asking a child if she were certain she wanted to do something that was obviously dangerous. His expres-sion, his posture, bore no obvious menace, and yet Loor found himself more fearful of Vorru than he would be of a buzzadder coiled and ready to strike in his place.

"Testing you would get neither of us anywhere."

"I always thought you were more than reasonable." Vorru swung his feet off the desk and swiveled the chair around so he could stand. He withdrew a datacard from inside his militia tunic and tossed it on the desk. "You and your people have been good and have done nothing of im-port for nearly two weeks. I have found you a new target."

Loor exchanged places with Vorru, spun the chair around, and dropped into it. He pulled himself around to face the desk and saw Vorru's shadowed form standing op-posite him. Loor shoved the datacard into his datapad, punched up a directory, then opened the file labeled "tar-get.die." The architectural renderings of a building showing stress points filled the small screen.

The Intelligence agent looked up. "It's small. I don't see bacta storage areas or barracks facilities. What is it?"

"A school."

"School?" Loor frowned. "You mean a training acad-emy?"

"No, a school. For children."

"Children of the Rebel leadership?"

"Hardly. They've been too busy to breed." Vorru shook his head quickly.

"This is just a normal school, with normal children--some aliens, but mostly human."

"Why?"

"Why? Because the students are drawn from the local population."

Loor's frown deepened, and confusion made his voice tenuous. "No, why hit a school?"

"Come now, Agent Loor, you didn't expect to get great results without inflicting great pain, did you?" Vorru laughed lightly. "You probably thought you could cling to some shred of honor. By hitting factories and military facilities and places where adults congregated, you could put fear into them. By hitting bacta distribution centers, you could make parents concerned about the welfare of their children, but it would be the Krytos virus that killed the children, not you. Is that it?"

"I . . . perhaps ..."

"Perhaps nothing, that is exactly what you were think-ing. And because of it, your efforts would have been for naught." Vorru leaned forward, supporting his body on both arms. The light from above hid his eyes in black triangles. "Threaten a child and you will unite the parents against you. Kill a child and those who have lost it will retreat in mourn-ing.

Those around them will feel their pain and likewise look to their own families. They will keep their children close and out of schools. This will shatter the Rebellion's ability to indoctrinate the young. It also makes the Rebellion look un-forgivably weak. People will demand things be done and it will be left to me to do them."

And one of the things you shall do is use me as a scape-goat for your evil. The illusion of control over his own situa-tion evaporated in a heartbeat. To Loor his future was clear: He would carry out more and more heinous missions for Colonel Vorru; then, eventually, Vorru would betray him. He would remain alive and free until Vorru had no further use for him, then he would be broken and displayed as proof of Vorru's virtue.

It struck Loor as almost comical that he could see Vorru's desire to strike at a school as evil, yet his desire to hit Rogue Squadron was nothing more than duty. The differ-ence, ultimately, was that the strike at Rogue Squadron would advance the cause of the Empire, while the strike at the school would only strengthen Vorru's position. We are not as far apart as ! would like to think, but neither are we as close as Vorru sees us.

Nor am I as stupid as he thinks I am. Loor hit a b.u.t.ton on the datapad and read the list of materials needed to un-dertake the operation.

"When?"

"A week. There will have been no news of the trial in that time, so this will really attract attention."

Loor's head came up. "Will you need me to sacrifice some of my men to your militia?"

"Not immediately." A shadowed smile spread across the small man's face.

"I have several troublesome individuals who need to die in an airspeeder explosion. The chemical composition of the explosives will match those in the school bombing. That will send Cracken's people off in a direction I want and leave you free to operate."

"Will you be selecting another target for us?"

Vorru straightened up, retreating into shadow. "No. Just go ahead and pick out a half-dozen targets you want to hit and I'll pick one or two from your list. I'll use them as tests for my subordinates to see if they can figure out how we can profit from these things. Compet.i.tion will keep them sharp."

"I would imagine."

"I'm certain you would, Agent Loor." Vorru sketched a mock salute. "I look forward to the results of your handi-work."

Wedge looked around the lab set deep in the bowels of the Imperial Palace complex. "So this is where the Krytos virus was developed?"

General Cracken nodded. "You noticed, when you came in, that the place is kept under negative pressure. If the seals are breached, air flows in, not out. It precludes the possibility of pathogens getting out."

Wedge frowned. "But I thought the Krytos virus could not be spread by air, only by fluid contact--in drinking wa-ter or when someone came in contact with bodily fluid from an infected person."

"That's absolutely true, but in this lab they were manu-facturing a virus that had never existed before. They wanted something that would mutate relatively quickly so it could spread between species. With that sort of thing the chance of a spontaneous mutation that would let it become airborne and still remain infectious is one that must be guarded against." Cracken led him on through a throng of white-coated lab a.s.sistants to a back room where Qlaern was using its hands to enter information into a datapad. A number of droids worked in and around the room, apparently orches-trated by a Verpine droid that looked much like a metal avatar of the Vratix.

Qlaern drew its hands back to its thorax as Wedge en-tered the room.

"Commander Antilles, we are pleased to see you." The Vratix's right hand came out and gently brushed Wedge's cheek.

Wedge stroked the Vratix's arm in return. "The honor is mine. You know, I expect, that my squadron will be leading the expedition to Ryloth."

"Yes, of this we are aware. We also know that Mirax will be traveling with you."

"Right." The trip to Ryloth from Imperial Center would take five days, and that was a bit long to be trapped in the c.o.c.kpit of an X-wing. Ten of the squadron's X-wings would be loaded aboard a modified Rebel Transport, the Courage of Sull.u.s.t. Wedge would travel with Mirax in the Pulsar Skate, with his X-wing ensconced in the cargo bay that would, if things went as planned, be filled with ryll for the return trip. The X-wings would fly escort out of Ryloth; then they would be loaded aboard another transport after the first leg of the journey, for the rest of the trip to Coruscant.

Airen Cracken patted the Vratix on the shoulder. "As you asked, I have brought Commander Antilles. You have something to tell him?"

"Yes, of course." Qlaern rested both hands on Wedge's shoulders. "We have a.n.a.lyzed the virus and various medici-nal preparations. Ryll will have some effect against the virus. Its efficacy varies widely. We have been pursuing the reason for this. We have been advised that ryll is cla.s.sified in a number of different grades by the Twi'leks. Most of the ryll available off Ryloth is of the lowest grade."

"They don't export the best, I can understand that."

"Good. The rarest grade of ryll is known as ryll kor. It makes up approximately three percent of all ryll. The com-pound contains in it trace elements that appear to work against the virus, but exactly how and why we are not cer-tain. We need as much ryll kor as we can get."

Wedge nodded and patted the backs of the Vratix's hands. "How will I know it?"

"The ryll kor tastes . . ." Qlaern stopped. "You would not be able to differentiate the taste, we think."

"Probably not."

"Kor absorbs light except in the ultraviolet range."

Wedge glanced at Cracken. "Meaning?"

"It looks black, like charcoal, except to someone who can see in the UV range." Cracken smiled. "I have some gear that will be able to sort kor from ryll that's dyed black. You might check, though, perhaps your Gand can see in the ultra-violet range."

Wouldn't surprise me. He doesn't breathe or sleep and can regenerate severed limbs. "I'll ask Ooryl if he can help me in that capacity." He looked back at Qlaern. "HI get you your kor."

"Do that, Wedge Antilles, and we shall cure the dis-ease."

And then I'll be bound by my promise to represent you to the Provisional Council. Wedge smiled and brought Qlaern's right hand up to feel his face. "We'll be back before you know it, I promise. And you know I keep my promises."

21.

Corran Horn shuffled along in line with the other prisoners. He affected the dull-eyed, hopeless stare most of them dis-played for their guards.

He moved when told to move and stopped when told to stop. In no way should any of the guards in stormtrooper armor conducting them to the mines have noticed anything out of the ordinary about him. To them he should have appeared to be just like all the other prisoners being herded to the mines.

He hoped against hope the facade he put forward fooled them, because as dull and soporific as he might seem on the outside, he was seething and anxious on the inside. After only a week in the general population he had decided to make his first stab at escape. He had briefly discussed his plan with Jan and found the man's insights useful, but he had ignored Jan's entreaties to put off his attempt.

The prospect of being killed in his first try did daunt Corran, but not as much as he thought it should have. He had a hunch that he wouldn't be killed if he was captured. He knew that was foolish, and that he had no factual basis for making that judgment, but it felt right. During his career with CorSec, and as a pilot with Rogue Squadron, he'd gone with gut feelings before, and won more times than he'd lost.

Although he did not have any facts to support his feel-ings about escape, he did have some circ.u.mstantial evidence that made him optimistic. First and foremost was the fact that he wasn't dead yet. He couldn't imagine Ysanne Isard keeping him or anyone else around unless they were useful.

As long as he did not prove to be more of a bother than he was worth to Iceheart and her plans, he'd be kept alive.

Second, and it was a rather bizarre fact, was the method of return for the unsuccessful escapees. Most of them came back as fire-blackened skeletons, or parts thereof. The only way to match them up with the people who had escaped would be through genetic testing. Since that was unavailable to the prisoners, they had to a.s.sume the bodies were, in fact, those of the escapees. However, since confirmation was im-possible, Isard could have simply picked a prisoner out of the less secure prison levels, and had him burned beyond recog-nition and dumped in the high security area. As long as she could identify who had escaped, returning a close match would be pretty easy, and the high-security prisoners would be left imagining escape was impossible.

Third and finally, Corran saw that Jan really did care for the men under his control. His fear for Corran's safety was genuine, and not based in any fear of retribution against himself. As the leader of the Rebel contingent, Jan felt re-sponsible for the other Alliance prisoners. He'd seen enough people die in the fight against the Empire that he wanted to prevent people from throwing their lives away needlessly. He clearly believed that some day, that day being sooner rather than later, the Alliance would find them and free them, and he wanted as many of his people alive on that day as possi-ble.

As wonderful as Jan's care and concern was, it also tor-tured the older man. Corran could clearly see Ysanne Isard's fine hand in that. By letting Jan take responsibility for all the Rebel prisoners, she created dozens and dozens of avenues to attack him. With each one of them who went away or died, a little piece of Jan died. How he had endured that much pain for so long Corran could not imagine, but he hoped, by taking responsibility for himself, he could ease the burden on Jan's shoulders.

Seventy paces from the cave mouth they pa.s.sed the opening to the latrine.

The fixtures in it were rudimentary, but did include a water spigot so a minimum of hygiene could be observed. Thirty paces beyond it, about halfway to the mine complex, the line of prisoners pa.s.sed through a barred gateway that was locked closed at night. Corran thought its presence was unnecessary, since the Imps had placed infrared detection units at both ends of the corridors. Then again, those units aren't really that hard to defeat, es-pecially if the people monitoring them are as alert as the guards marching through the dust with us.

A full 203 paces from the mouth of the cavern complex, Corran pa.s.sed through what had once been a ship's hatch-way and into the prisoners'

workstation. Rumor among the prisoners had it that Lusankya dated from before the Clone Wars and incorporated parts from various ships that had been blasted to pieces in a naval action beyond the atmo-sphere. The scavenged hatch and the condition of the old, worn tools did suggest a certain amount of antiquity to the facility, but that conclusion came so easily that Corran was disinclined to trust it. If that's what Isard wants us to think about ber Lusankya, then I don't want to think it.

Beyond the hatch they proceeded down a steep grade to a long rectangular cavern that had five tunnels shooting off it like fingers off the palm of a hand. All the fingers ended in doors that were cobbled together from ship bulkhead panels and held closed by chains and locks. The tunnels were big enough to allow a small mining droid to pa.s.s through them, but the doors were always shut when the prisoners came into the room, so Corran never saw the droids digging out the ore they processed.

At the far end of the chamber from the entryway sat several piles of huge boulders. Men would work on them with heavy sledgehammers, bit by bit breaking them down into smaller rocks. Other prisoners would carry those smaller rocks to the middle of the chamber, where more pris-oners would smash them with smaller sledges. Yet more pris-oners with shovels and screens would sift the debris, pitching back the larger stones. The resulting gravel would then be hauled in buckets to a conveyor belt that carried the gravel up and away. At the top of the conveyor belt the gravel disappeared through a heavy steel grate.

No one knew much about what lay beyond the grate. They knew air was blowing out of it because they could see a fair amount of dust blown back into the air around the con-veyor belt. Most of the prisoners a.s.sumed the belt led to a blast furnace where the gravel was melted down, or a mixing container where it was being made into ferrocrete. Corran argued that it was just as likely that the gravel was being dumped into hovertrucks and taken out to pave walkways in some Moff's garden, and if that was true, the grate was all that stood between them and freedom.

All of the prisoners knew what they were doing was simply make-work, but the Imps had taken the precautions necessary to prevent work stoppages.

]'he conveyor belt's workings had been sunk into the ground so the prisoners couldn't get access to the motor and sabotage it. Steel fibers had been woven into the length of the belt to keep it strong and had been tightened so virtually no slack appeared in the belt on its return trip to the depths of the mine's floor. A railing had even been set up to prevent prisoners from acci-dentally falling onto the belt or getting caught in the mecha-nism.

Corran dumped his bucket of gravel into the maw of the container bolted on the conveyor belt. Hunnning away loudly, the belt started the gravel on its twenty-meter journey to the grate. Corran watched it go for a second, then allowed the next man in line to b.u.mp him out of the way.

Heading back to where Urlor was shoveling gravel into buckets, Corran took a quick inventory of the guards watch-ing over them. A full squad of men in stormtrooper armor guarded them, providing one trooper for every ten of the eighty prisoners in the work detail. Six of the troopers carried blaster carbines. The other two crewed an E-Web set up just inside the hatchway, making any attempt to rush out of the mine suicidal. The sharp slope up which the prisoners would have to charge would slow them enough that the two-man heavy blaster would cut them all down. Though none of the guards were as big as stormtroopers, nor seemed as well disciplined as the Empire's shock troops, even they would have been enough to quell a prisoner revolt.

Urlor tossed a shovelful of gravel toward Corran's bucket but missed with half of it. "Don't do this, Corran." He kept his voice low enough that the rattling chuffof gravel pouring through a screen hid it from outsiders. "Wait. Learn more."