X-wing_ The Krytos Trap Part 17

"This is learning." He winked at the bigger man. "Guards have their blasters selected for stun."

Jan looked over from the end of the screen he was hold-ing. "You'll risk your life on the flick of a thumb?"

Corran tapped himself on the chest. "Rogue Squadron, remember."

"Corellian, more like." Jan shook his head. "None of you have any respect for odds."

"Why respect what you have to beat?" Corran gave each of them a nod.

"Trust me, I have to make this run."

Urlor dumped a final shovel's-worth in the bucket. "May the Force be with you."

"Thanks." Corran, letting the bucket dangle down be-tween his legs, started the awkward, hunched-over Rybet-walk back toward the conveyor belt. His plan was simple: he'd dump his bucket, then hop over the railing and ride the belt up to the grate. Up there, at least as viewed from the work floor, there appeared to be enough shadowed s.p.a.ce to conceal him. If he could then get down through the grate, or find a hidden pa.s.sageway out, he'd be free. "You there."

Cotran looked over at the guard pointing at him. "Me?"

"Come here." Why me? Cotran shuffled over toward the man. "Sir?"

"Don't question me, prisoner." The guard, clad in the lighter weight scout version of the armor, loomed over him. "As for the reason I picked you, you're new and need a lesson."

Without warning the guard brought the blaster carbine up and around in a one-handed backhand stroke that caught Corran over the right ear. Stars exploded before his eyes and the clank of metal on skull started a fierce ringing in his ears. A f.l.a.n.g.e on the barrel cut his ear and split his scalp, while the force of the blow spun Corran around to the left.

Pain overrode panic. As Corran whirled he held on tight to the bucket, brought it up, and let it fly when his tormentor came into view again.

The gravel-filled container smashed into the guard's faceplate. The man's head snapped back as the blow knocked him from his feet. He stumbled backward as the bucket flew on comet-like, spraying out a gravel tail.

Corran's vision cleared and seconds seemed to take hours to pa.s.s. The guard's carbine, the muzzle glistening with his blood, hung in the air.

Corran knew he could s.n.a.t.c.h it before it hit the ground and burn down the two closest guards in a heartbeat. Half the guards in the detail would have been accounted for. Getting the rest would be difficult, but the other prisoners could swarm them. They'd take the guards' weapons and . .

And die trying to clear the E-Web. Or die trying to fight our way out of the belly of this prison. All of them will die, and their deaths will be on my head, if I grab that gun.

He heard the whine of a blaster and saw something blue shoot past him.

All the prisoners dove for the floor. They shrank into a huddled carpet of dirty arms and legs, ducking their heads to avoid recognition, yet peeking out to see what would happen.

All of them went down save for one.

Jan.

Eyes filled with horror and pride, he nodded to Corran.

Cotran, understanding, nodded back.

The stun-bolt caught Corran square in the middle of his chest. It did to his nervous system what an ion-bolt did to a machine. In one instant every nerve in Corran's body fired, instantly wracking him with pain, burning him up, shak-ing, crushing, and freezing him. All of his muscles con-tracted, bowing his back, grinding his teeth, and kicking him up into the air with a little hop. His limp body's impact on the ground probably hurt, but his nervous system couldn't route reports to his brain properly, so he really didn't know how he felt.

Except it's not good.

He saw Jan crouching over him. "I'll see they get you help."

Corran wanted to nod, wanted to blink, wanted to do something to let Jan know he heard him, but he couldn't. About half the time he'd been hit with a stun-bolt before--in training exercises and a couple of times with CorSec in the field--he'd lost consciousness. The times he hadn't, he'd wished he had, because the feeling of helplessness created by being trapped inside a body that didn't work was worse than any pain.

The medical team called for by the guards arrived rather quickly, bringing with them a repulsorlift stretcher. After they loaded their unconscious comrade on it, they reluctantly draped Corran over the man's legs, leaving Corran's head dangling and his hands and feet sc.r.a.ping along the ground as they hauled the two individuals out of the mine.

Staring down at the floor, he couldn't see much on the trip out. The medtechs wrestled the stretcher into a lift, and the one to the right of the door, at the foot of the stretcher, punched a b.u.t.ton and started the box ascending. Corran heard three tones, which he took to mean they had ascended three floors, then the lift stopped and the medtechs again struggled to get the stretcher out of the lift.

They floated Corran on through corridors that appeared much more modern and maintained, if floor tile was any indication, than the rest of the facility. Finally they brought the stretcher to a stop in a place where he caught the familiar scent of bacta, and unceremoniously dumped him to the floor. He rolled onto his left side, his cheek pressed against the cold flooring.

He caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of the conversation between the medtechs and the Emdee droid that would be caring for the guard, but the ringing in his right ear made it difficult for him to catch everything. Moreover, he wasn't certain he could trust any sensory inputs, because what he was hearing through his left ear was simply impossible.

Starting from above his head and continuing on down toward his feet, he heard the dopplered sound of storm-troopers--real, well-disciplined stormtroopers--marching along. That was not remarkable in and of itself except in that if they had been there, they'd have been marching over him, and as messed up as he was, he was fairly certain he'd have noticed that. The only other alternative was that they were in a room below him, marching on the ceiling, and what that meant was, at that time, well and truly beyond his ability to comprehend.

22.

Wedge thumbed his comlink on. "What do you need, Mirax?"

"Coming up on the Kala'uun Starport, Wedge. I thought you might like to be up here on the bridge as we come in. It's quite the sight."

"On my way." He glanced around the cargo hold and nodded at his R5 unit.

"Hang on, Mynock, we're almost there. Keep a scanner on these crates for me, will you?"

The cylinder-headed droid beeped affirmatively. The R5 unit then exchanged some softer tones with the Pulsar Skate's Verpine maintenance droid.

No, they can't be talking about me. Wedge laughed at his flash of paranoia and stepped out of the hold. The doors crunched shut behind him.

Letting a hand trail along the corridor's ceiling, he made his way along the spine of the ship to the bridge. He thought he might have been imagining things, but heat from the atmosphere already appeared to be bleeding in through the ship's hull. Scant wonder there are Twi'leks that think of Tatooine as a suitable place to flee to during the hot season here.

He stepped down into the bridge and dropped into a seat behind Mirax.

"I'd forgotten how impressive this is."

The tortured surface of Ryloth spread out before them like the shams of a shattered earthenware vase. Black basalt mountains thrust up into a dusky red sky. Centermost in their view of the planet stood a ma.s.sive mountain with a huge tunnel cored into the interior at its base. The smaller holes dotting the face of the mountain would have appeared to be natural openings except for the regularity with which they were arranged.

Because the planet rotated on its axis once per year, the same side of Ryloth always faced the sun. Kala'uun existed near the terminus line--where day and night met--making it one of the cooler sunside locations.

Because of Ryloth's ellip-tical orbit, the planet did have seasons, though most humans could not tell the difference between summer and the cool season since both were unbearably hot.

"Yeah, impressive and impressively treacherous. Liat, watch the crosswinds as we enter the tunnel."

The Sull.u.s.tan pilot chittered angrily at her.

"I know you can't miss the rocks out there, I just want to make sure we miss the rocks." Mirax smiled. "No heat storm activity today, it seems, but the currents can still be tricky."

"Right."

Liat Tevv took the Pulsar Skate down into the canyon that led to the tunnel. Harsh winds had smoothed the stone to the consistency of polished gla.s.s in some spots, and had torn away huge dagger-like slabs in others.

Smaller areas of damage to the rocks--some graced with a splash of paint or metallic debris--gave mute testimony to the need for care in negotiating the approach to Kala'uun.

The Pulsar Skate slipped into the approach tunnel with plenty of room to spare on all sides. Liat flicked on the ship's external running lights and floods, filling the dark tunnel with jagged shadows. Up ahead a ma.s.sive portcullis slowly rose into the tunnel's ceiling. As they flew past it Wedge guessed it was at least thirty meters thick and would require a lot of pounding before it admitted unwanted visitors.

Mirax glanced back at him. "Ever get the feeling that the portcullis is as much for keeping folks in as it is for keeping them out?"

"Only when I'm on the inside of it." Three years had pa.s.sed since his first and last trip to Kala'uun, when he and the rest of Rogue Squadron had arrived unbidden and in pursuit of a Twi'lek. The circ.u.mstances of this trip were cer-tainly more favorable. Even so, just to make certain there were no grudges being borne against him, he'd put Emtrey's scavenging abilities to good use and had him round up a plethora of gifts for the Twi'leks.

Mirax nodded. "Kala'uun is the one place my father figures he didn't make out like a bandit. The Twi'leks are tough negotiators."

"I hope that skill holds for Nawara's efforts on behalf of Tycho."

Mirax's brown eyes narrowed. "I hope so, too, I think. I know you believe Tycho had nothing to do with Corran's death, but I can't be so sure. I wish I could, really, because Tycho helped me save Corran at Borleias."

"Don't forget that Tycho saved me and the rest of the Squadron on Coruscant."

"I've not forgotten that, but while he was saving you, Corran and I were saving each other from the Empire and the traitor in Fliry Vorru's organization." She patted Wedge on the knee. "We've been over this a dozen times and I'm getting better about it, I really am. I don't cry nearly as much right now as I did."

Wedge tipped her face up with his left hand and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "Hey, being sad doesn't reflect badly on you at all."

"Thanks." Mirax sniffed a little. "It's just that it seems so ridiculous sometimes. We'd not even dated. We didn't know each other that well. For his death to hurt this much we should have been a lot closer."

"That's the trick of it, Mirax, you were a lot closer than you imagine.

The two of you shared a lot of the same quali-ties." Wedge smiled. "Your father and Corran's father were mortal enemies. Why? Because they were a lot alike, too. Both of you had strong relationships with your fathers, which is reflected in how you turned out. Under different circ.u.mstances old Booster and Hal Horn probably could have been friends. You and Corran became friends because you met under those different circ.u.mstances."

She frowned for a moment. "You are probably right. I could also help myself get over this, I think, if I could just finally accept the fact that Corran's dead. Listening to the comlink call when he went in, that was pretty nasty, but we never found a body. I know it's stupid to make anything of that, what with the building coming down on him and all, but my father always said that if you don't see a body, don't count on someone being dead. He did once--"

"And it cost him his eye. I remember the story." Wedge laughed lightly.

"Now I remember it. That explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"Biggs, Porkins, Corran, my parents--I never saw their dead bodies.

Partly because of your father's story, I suspect, and just human stubbornness, I find myself sometimes ex-pecting to see them walk into my office."

Mirax's face brightened. "Or you think you see them walking along in a crowd. You catch a glimpse of them." She glanced down. "Part of me thinks that we see them because we don't truly believe they're dead. Maybe the barrier that separates the living from the dead is permeable as long as there is someone who doesn't accept death. Sithsp.a.w.n, listen to me. I'm talking like a glitbiter."

"That's not a problem, Mirax, I understand." Wedge leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. "And I don't think your theory is all that wrong. I don't imagine we can bring people back to life by hoping, but letting their memo-ries live on inside us is not a bad thing to do at all."

The Sull.u.s.tan cheebled something at Mirax, prompting her to spin around in her command chair. She hit several switches above her head, then punched a b.u.t.ton on the con-sole. "Landing gear deployed, repulsorlift drives engaged. Kill thrust and set her down gently."

Liat's melodic grumble accompanied the delicate thun-der of the Pulsar Skate's landing. Mirax slapped a b.u.t.ton on the command console and Wedge immediately felt a rush of warm air as the ship's gangway lowered itself.

Mirax nodded toward the aft and the opening. "After you, Commander Antilles."

"Thank you, Captain Terrik."

Mirax smiled. "By the way, I think you look slicker than a Hutt's slime trail in that native garb."

"Thanks." Since the mission was diplomatic in nature, Rogue Squadron had been supplied with clothes like those their counterparts on Ryloth would wear. Because of the planet's oppressive heat, the natives tended to wear loose, bulky, hooded cloaks over their other garments. The nature of the clothes they wore beneath the cloaks depended upon their occupation.

Twi'lek warriors tended to be clad in a loincloth, wrapped leggings to the knee, fingerless gloves, and a highly decorative bandoleer that did still serve a mar-tial function. Their cloaks also tended to be abbreviated, as if their whole costume was meant to show they were tough enough to endure even the harshest of conditions on the planet.

Wedge's attire varied only slightly from that Twi'lek warriors wore. His brown boots came up to his knees and beige trousers had been tucked into them. To that he added an emerald green loincloth and a bandoleer of the same color. All of his battle ribbons and awards had been embroi-dered on the bandoleer, starting with two Death Star repre-sentations at his right shoulder and ending with a symbol representing Coruscant near his left hip. The crests of the Alliance and Rogue Squadron stood side by side over his heart. His cloak was a darker green than his bandoleer and had been lined with a shiny red fabric that formed two red wings when he folded the cloak back behind his shoulders.

He descended the gangway and looked up. Kala'uun Starport occupied a colossal cavern which had been hol-lowed out of the heart of the mountain that sheltered it. Above his head lay level upon level of Twi'lek clan warrens, comprising the living quarters and work areas of over 100,000 Twi'!eks. He could only guess at what the warrens looked like--according to Nawara, few were the non-Twi'leks who ever saw them, and those individuals were peo-ple a clan had acknowledged as a friend.

The Courage of SuUust had landed off the Skate's star-board wing. Nawara Ven disembarked and came walking over toward Wedge. They wore similar clothes, though Nawara's loincloth, bandoleer, and cloak were all a deep shade of purple. His cloak had been lined with a grey that was slightly darker than his skin tone. "Are you ready, Com-mander?"

Wedge nodded. "Lead the way."

Nawara did, and Wedge followed a step behind him and one to his left. "It looks like our welcoming party. Is the Shak clan still the Head-clan here?"

One of Nawara's braintails ran back along his spine. The tip of it jerked up and down in what Wedge had been told was the Twi'lek equivalent of a nod. "Koh'shak is still the master of the starport. It would appear, from the colors of the individual next to him, that someone from the Olan clan has chosen to greet us as well."

"Cazne'olan, perhaps?"

Nawara shrugged. "Possibly. I don't know him. The Olan clan and mine do not mix much--no animosity, just little a.s.sociation with each other. His presence here could be good or could be very bad."

Wedge smiled, stepping up beside Nawara as they both stopped before their hosts. Nawara Ven bowed deeply, bringing both his braintails down to dangle limp by his knees. Wedge aped his bow, then opened his hands and pressed their backs against his thighs. The gesture was slightly awkward but was meant to symbolize exactly what the limp braintails did: a lack of negative feelings and thoughts about the people in front of him.

Without braintails he had to rely on the universally peaceful symbolism of an empty, open hand to make his intent clear.

Wedge and Nawara straightened up at the same time, then their hosts bowed to them. Scarlet cloth swathed the corpulent Koh'shak. The gold badges of his office and clan held his outer cloak closed at his throat, though his round middle poked through the central opening. Wedge got an eyeful of Koh'shak's red robe and a wide cloth of gold sash pressed into the double duty' of containing his girth and sup-porting a pair of Sevari flashpistols.

Cazne'olan would have seemed thickset except by com-parison with Koh'shak. His black cloak covered a bright yellow robe and blue sash. The gold office and clan badges he wore were smaller than Koh'shak's, but the craftsmanship on them seemed more delicate and less overpowering.

Cazne'olan held his bow for a second longer than Koh'shak, but straightened up with less effort.

The heavier Twi'lek opened black-taloned hands. "In the name of Kala'uun's Clans, I bid you welcome, Nawar'aven."

"In the name of my clan, I am pleased to be accepted at Kala'uun." Nawara turned to his left. "I am pleased to pre-sent to the Clans of Kala'uun my commanding officer .... "

Cazne'olan stepped forward between Nawara and Koh'shak, extending his hand to Wedge. "Nawar'aven, you have no need to introduce Wedgan'tilles to us. We remember him from his last adventure on our world."

Wedge smiled and shook Cazne'olan's hand. "Good to see you again."

"And you." Cazne'olan took a step back and paused for a second before his headtails began to twitch up and down. "You have done much and learned much in the time since we have seen each other. Not the least of which is learning how to dress."