X-wing_ The Krytos Trap Part 19

Jan's eyes narrowed. "Tycho Celchu? He was here once for several months.

They called him out one day and he vanished. Was he a traitor?"

"He's the reason I'm here. He gave the Imps override code data on a Headhunter I was flying. They took control and I'm here." Corran forced his balled fists open. "Isard told me Tycho is on trial for my murder, so justice does prevail."

Urior scratched at his jaw. "Celchu was a sleeper, wasn't he?"

As much as Corran hated Tycho, that description sent a shiver down his spine. Within the prisoner population were individuals who were suffering severe shock from their inter-rogations. Most were ambulatory, but not much beyond that. In the brief time he'd been in the general population he'd seen one or two of them recover to a certain extent, but their attention spans and short-term memory were short and shot respectively.

They did seem to get better, but only grad-ually.

"I believed he was, but that must have been an act. If you think about it, being a sleeper meant many people would speak in front of him. When he recovered he'd have folks trying to help him with his memory." Jan shook his head. "When he got to the point where he should have been better, they pulled him out and debriefed him. He had me fooled."

"He had a lot of people fooled, Wedge Antilles in-cluded." Corran nodded firmly. "He's not fooling folks any longer, though. Just goes to show the Empire doesn't win them all, not by a long shot. And if my experiment works, we'll give them one more loss to account for."

In some ways Wedge was surprised by his reaction to the display of hospitality Koh'shak put on for his benefit. He found it both barbaric and somehow naive. An area had been cleared near the Alliance ships.

Opalescent glow-stones--technological lamps designed to look like natural stones--had been brought out from homes and arranged in a circular pattern. While red and gold highlights played through them, the illumination they produced was coldly blue and white. It made the humans into pale ghosts and rendered the Twi'leks as cyanotic ice creatures.

Rogue Squadron and the ships' crews had been invited to the celebration.

The visitors arrayed themselves in a circle that put them five meters from the outer edge of the glow-stone circle. Twi'leks from various clans interspersed them-selves among the visitors, with one who spoke pa.s.sable Basic acting as interpreter for two or three others. Wedge harbored no illusions about what was going on--his people were being interrogated, albeit politely. Their stories would be com-pared at Twi'lek councils, and decisions would be made about the future of Ryloth based on what the Twi'leks learned.

Servants pa.s.sed around the outside of the circle, offering the visitors food, drink, and gifts. The musicians who had been a.s.sembled opposite him played a variety of string and wind instruments producing notes that ran up and down on a thirteen-note scale. Wedge found the music only marginally painful, while Liat Tsayv and Aril Nunb seemed to be mov-ing in sync with notes he couldn't hear. Out behind the cold spectral light cast by the glowstones, life continued as usual in Kala'uun. People walking by gawked for a moment or two, and many braintails--or lekku, as Wedge had learned they were called in Rylothean--twitched with silent messages about the a.s.sembly.

Wedge didn't really have eyes for much of what was happening outside the visitors' circle, primarily because of what was going on at its heart. A lithe, pet.i.te Twi'lek female dancer spun and leaped through the air. Her tattooed lekku lashed out like whips, then whirled down and enfolded her like ivy. The tails of the loincloth she wore similarly clung to her body, sliding away as she whirled, to reveal silken flesh over taut and powerful muscles. She gave Wedge a pixie-wink, prompting a smile from him, then she twirled off to charm another of the visitors.

Cazne'olan draped a braintail over Wedge's shoulder. "Sienn'rha is the only positive thing Bib Fortuna ever accom-plished. He stole her from her darkside family and meant to present her to Jabba the Hutt. In preparation for that he had her taught to dance as well as she does. She was saved from Jabba by your Lukesky'walker. She always dances wonderfully, but this night she approaches perfection because of the grat.i.tude she feels to the Alliance."

"She is spectacular." Wedge could not deny that he found her dance exciting and even stimulating, but that both-ered him just a bit. By seeing her as being so seductive and beautiful, and reacting to her on a physiological level, it was very easy for him to forget she was a living, thinking crea-ture. That made it deceptively simple for him to see how the Imperials found objectifying and dehumanizing other races justifiable--if they seem like animals or appeal to you on an animal level, clearly they are animals.

Cazne'olan tapped him on the shoulder. "It would be possible for a private dance to be arranged for you, my friend."

"I appreciate the offer, but . . ."

Cazne'olan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sienn'rha asked me to convey that suggestion to you, on her behalf. She is well aware of your history and considers you quite a hero."

"I see." Wedge considered for a moment all the offer implied and felt sorely tempted. Sienn'rha's sensuous beauty, from her full lips and dark eyes to her fluid and athletic grace, hinted at pleasures he'd not had time to enjoy for . . . If l can't remember off the top of my head, it's been well and nigh too long. But is here and now, with Sienn'rha, the time to change that?

Wedge smiled at Cazne'olan. "Convey to her my pro-found appreciation of her offer, and my sincere regret at having to refuse. Ultimately I am here as a representative of the Alliance. Perhaps some time when I am merely here as myself .... "

"She will understand, I think."

"I hope so." Wedge frowned for a moment. "I have a question to ask you about something you said a moment ago."

A lek twitched. "Ask."

"You p.r.o.nounce my name as Wedgan'tilles and Nawara Ven's name as Nawar'aven, running them together. When you mentioned Bib Fortuna, you distinctly broke his name up. Why?"

Cazne'olan nodded slowly and let his iekku slip from Wedge's shoulder.

"Bib Fortuna was a member of the Una clan. Because of his predations on his own people, he was cast out. The joining of personal and clan names is, among us, a sign of belonging. Breaking the names apart is a statement of the distance between that person and his people."

Wedge nodded. "How do you decide what a name will become? Nawara is a member of the Ven clan, but you make his surname into 'aven' when you p.r.o.nounce it."

"And I know your surname is Antilles, but I break it in twO."

"Exactly."

The Twi'lek laughed lightly. "Naming conventions are determined by a venerable set of rules--superst.i.tions al-most-that transform names into auspicious omens. Ven, for example, translates into Basic as 'silver.'

Nawara would translate roughly as 'speaker' or 'tongue,' either of which suggests a gifted negotiator. However, if his name were pro-nounced as Nawara'ven, because of peculiarities in Rylothean, his name would mean 'tarnished silver.' By changing the p.r.o.nunciation slightly we retain the correct meaning."

"l'm impressed." Wedge smiled openly. "So, what does my name mean, the way you p.r.o.nounce it?"

The Twi'lek shrugged. "There is no good, direct transla-tion of foreign names, but Wedgan'tilles comes close to 'slayer of stars.'"

"I like it."

"It is much to be preferred to the alternative suggested by the Basic p.r.o.nunciation."

"Which is?"

"Difficult to translate."

"Give me a rough go at it."

Cazne'olan's braintails twitched sharply. "Being gener-ous, it is 'One so foul he could induce vomiting in a ran-COt.' '~ Wedge shuddered. "I prefer your p.r.o.nunciation, I think."

A gentle vibration running through the ground fore-stalled further lessons about Twi'lek culture. He a.s.sumed the vibration was produced by the raising of the portcullis, so he looked off toward where the tunnel entered the Kala'uun cavern. Boiling up out of it, in three pairs, came a half-dozen Uglies. The X-wing fighter's distinctive S-foils jutted out from the sides of a TIE fighter's ball c.o.c.kpit. The stabilizers had been fastened to a collar that surrounded the c.o.c.kpit, and as the fighters maneuvered and cavorted in the air above the a.s.sembly, he saw the S-foils rotating around the c.o.c.kpit, making the design similar in principle to that of the B-wing fighter in service with the Alliance.

Never seen those before. Must be a homegrown Twi'lek design. The S-foils collapsed into a single wing on either side of the c.o.c.kpit, then landing skids extended from the bottom of the collar and the peculiar ships descended. They landed in a rough semicircle facing the Alliance ships, easily menac-ing all the visitors.

One of the c.o.c.kpit hatches opened and a huge Twi'lek pilot emerged from the top of the sphere. He wore a black Imperial flight suit, but a scarlet loincloth and cloak had been added to make it seem closer to native warrior attire. His lekku had been tattooed with a variety of sinuous and serpentine shapes which Wedge supposed were Rylothean glyphs, but he could not even guess at their significance.

As the warrior strode over to the circle, the music died and the servants shrank back. Sienn'rha stopped her dance and retreated into Wedge's shadow. Wedge stood, with Cazne'olan on one side and the great, lumpish Koh'shak on the other. As the warrior came closer, Wedge saw he was positively huge, easily forty centimeters taller than Wedge and ma.s.sing at least another thirty kilos. How he actually managed to jam himself into the TIE c.o.c.kpit Wedge couldn't imagine.

The warrior stepped through a quickly widening gap in the circle, then stopped five meters from Wedge. "I am Tal'dira, first among Twi'lek warriors. You, the lekku-less who wears the clothes of a warrior, you are Wedge Antilles?"

Wedge did his best to ignore the faint retching sound Tal'dira made in the back of his throat as he p.r.o.nounced Wedge's name. "I am Wedgan'tilles."

The Twi'lek warrior raised an eyebrow at Wedge's reply. "And you have come here for ryll?"

"I have come for ryll kor." Wedge's reply won a gasp from Koh'shak and a !ekku-twitching from Tal'dira. "Is there a problem?"

"None, Wedge Antilles, if--" Tal'dira drew a pair of slender vibroblades from sheaths hidden in his bandoleer, "--you are willing to fight to prove you are a warrior. A warrior should deal with warriors. Win the fight and the kor shall be yours."

Wedge's stomach tightened and his heart began to pound. As a pilot, in his X-wing, he had no doubt at all that he'd be able to vape Tal'dira and his X-ball. In a vibroblade fight, though . . . As much as he would have preferred to avoid fighting, he knew he really didn't have any choice in the matter. The kor was vital to stopping the Krytos virus. If I have to carve this Twi'lek behemoth up to get it, I will.

He held out his right hand. "I will fight."

Tal'dira tossed him one of the vibroblades. "A warrior should deal with a warrior."

"My thoughts exactly."

The warrior's lekku writhed up and down once affirma-tively. "Good."

Wedge flicked the blade on with his thumb. "Come on. I'm ready."

"You are, but your opponent isn't." Tal'dira looked around, studying each of the Rogues. They all wore Twi'lek warrior garb, and the disdainful expression on Tal'dira's face suggested he found something wrong with that. He openly appraised them, looking each of them up and down before pa.s.sing from one to the next.

Will he pick one of them as my foe? Wedge felt his stom-ach begin to implode. ! know Twi'leks can be cruel Is he going to force me to slay one of my own people because of some affront we've given him?

Tal'dira looked back at Wedge. "I have made my choice. Prepare yourself."

Wedge nodded. "I'm still ready."

"Good." The warrior casually tossed the vibroblade to Koh'shak. "I choose you."

The starport master's eyes ballooned as he bounced the inert vibroblade from hand to hand. It slipped from his grasp and ricocheted off his stomach before tumbling toward the ground. The obese Twi'lek began to bend over, thick fingers wriggling slothfully in a vain attempt to catch the blade be-fore it could hit the ground.

In one flowing motion that nearly shamed Sienn'rha's performance, Tal'dira swooped forward and plucked the blade out of the air. It hummed to life and with one deft cut, split the brooch holding Koh'shak's cloak closed. The gar-ment puddled around Koh'shak's feet and a stiff-arm blow to the chest dropped the starport master on top of it.

Tal'dira grabbed one of Koh'shak's braintails and yanked none too gently on it, then pressed the vibroblade to the Twi'lek's throat. "Warriors should deal with warriors, Kohsh'ak! Wedgan'tilles came to us as a warrior, leading a band of warriors, including our own Nawar'aven. You knew of this mission to Ryloth but hid that knowledge from me so you could profit from the gifts our visitors would bring. That is fitting conduct for a merchant, but not a warrior, Kohsh'ak!"

Tal'dira's delivered the altered p.r.o.nunciation of the starport master's name harshly, filling it with scorn. Wedge had no idea of what it meant, but he was glad Tal'dira's anger wasn't directed at him.

Tal'dira released Koh'shak and turned the vibroblade off. He resheathed it, then turned toward Wedge. "The blade you possess is my gift to you, Wedgan'rilles. This kor you want will be delivered to you, a gift between warriors. It is happily given in the hopes it can heal those who have been touched by treachery and cowardly action. All I ask in return is your forgiveness for this breach of etiquette."

Wedge turned his vibroblade off and tucked it into the top of his right boot. "A warrior does not hold another war-rior responsible for the actions of a merchant." He turned and pointed to the Alliance ships with his left hand. "On those ships I have gifts from my warriors to yours, offered in spirit shared by warriors."

Tal'dira clapped Wedge on both shoulders. "There is much honor in you, Wedgan'tilles, and in your Rogue Squad-ron. I will be most pleased if, while the merchants scurry about unloading and loading our ships, you will continue to join me in Twi'janii." Looping a lekku over Wedge's shoul-ders, Tal'dira pointed at the musicians. "Play for our guests, play the best you ever have. You are playing for the pleasure of warriors now, and nothing less than the best will do."

25.

Corran's mouth felt like a desert, and it wasn't just because of the dust created by working the grater. He'd been plan-ning his little experiment so he could test his theory about the prison's orientation for the last two days, and was fairly certain that what he had in mind would work perfectly. De-spite his confidence, he'd hesitated, telling himself he'd wait for the rock that would work the best.

He'd found the rock on the grate. It had something of a clamsh.e.l.l shape--momentarily reminding him of Emtrey's head. It fit easily in his palm and would fly well. It had enough ma.s.s to it to make his throw possible, and yet had a narrow enough cross-section and dark enough color that it wouldn't easily be seen in the cavern.

His mouth was dry because the fear coiling in his belly was sucking all the moisture out of him. He couldn't think of what he had to be afraid of. His life couldn't get any worse. He was locked in the highest security prison the Empire had ever known. Most people had never even heard of Lusankya, and most of those who had thought it was a rumor. Even during his time on the Corellian Security Force he'd only heard pa.s.sing references to it. Beyond believing that it ex-isted and was not a good place, he'd known nothing about it.

Corran caught other prisoners in his work group look-ing at him, and in their expectant glances he found the source of his fear. I'm afraid of being wrong and disappointing them. Only Jan and Urlor knew what he intended to do, but a number of other prisoners had been recruited to stage the distraction that would allow him to act. They had figured out he was going to be doing something related to escape, but they had no clue what it was, nor did they expect to be told. Despite their ignorance, they were all enthused with the idea of helping him out. Hopes they had long since aban-doned were being revived by his escape attempt.

Corran closed his fist around the stone. This had better work.

He looked over at Urlor who, in turn, nodded to two men working with the smaller sledgehammers. One of them brought his sledgehammer down on the ground hard, then loosened his grip so the tool cartwheeled away. The handle grazed another man, who screamed, clutched at his shin, and started hopping around madly, all the while swearing he was going to kill the clumsy oaf who let go of the hammer. The workers backed away from the careening hammer and the two men, then started shouting encouragement to them in hopes of goading thein into a fight.

Corran retreated along with the others, then stopped when Urlor and a knot of three prisoners screened him from the guards. He looked at the rock, gave it a kiss, then hauled back and hurled it up toward the apex of the ceiling, thirty meters away. Come on, come on!

Corran's theory had been simple. If the prison was ori-ented upside-down, then gravity generators would be operat-ing beneath his feet to keep him in place. The generators were clearly strong enough at this surface to hold him to it, but the farther he got from them, the weaker their grasp would be. If, in fact, the cavern's ceiling was actually closer to the core of the planet than where he stood, the planer's natural gravity would be strong there.

If that were true, if his theory was correct, the rock would hit and hold.

Down on his level the guards began shooting into the crowd. Stunned prisoners began to collapse in waves.

Up above, the stone clipped a stalact.i.te. Deflected, it continued to travel upward, but now at an angle. As Corran watched, the stone seemed to slow and begin to stall.

All around him blue stun-bolts dropped prisoners. Two of the men screening him went down. Then Urlor twitched and fell to the ground. Down to the ground. The stone fell up!

The stone rattled up in between two stalact.i.tes and nes-tled there safely. As it settled into place, two tiny points on it twinkled, and Corran imagined it was Emtrey's head and he'd just gotten confirmation of his theory from the droid. I was right! There is a way to escape!

The stun-boWs blue agony played over Corran. Once again every nerve in his body fired, every muscle tightened, and every joint creaked. Wracked by pain, he collapsed with the others and rolled onto his back. The world swam in and out of focus and he knew, this time, he was going to black out. That should have filled him with dread, but when he could see clearly, Emtrey looked at him from afar.

And looking at the stone, he knew he was looking down, which meant things for him were definitely looking up.

Evir Derricote, slaving with the other Imperial prisoners at the far end of the cavern, turned to look at the commotion the Rebels were causing, but he did not hurry to do so. It would have been beneath him to let them think their squab-bles were of interest to him. Affecting an air of nonchalance, he turned and watched them disinterestedly. Then he saw Corran Horn.

The diminutive Rebel had irked him the first time they had met, then had compounded his error by gloating over his part in taking Borleias. As the Rebel reared back to throw something, Derricote almost called out a warning to the guards, but something forestailed him. He watched Corran make his throw and saw a small missile shoot up toward the ceiling.

Derricote lost it in the shadows above and began to wonder what Horn was up to. The rock he had thrown clearly was insufficient to dislodge a stalact.i.te or trigger a collapse of the ceiling. As unwise and annoying as Horn had appeared to be, Derricote never would have cla.s.sed him as suicidal, yet if he was successful in an effort to dislodge a big piece of rock, it would drop straight down on him and the carpet of stunned prisoners covering the cavern floor.

The Imperial General saw Horn go down. The little fool will likely be bit by the rock he threw. Serves him right. Derricote almost turned away, but stopped to see if his pre-diction would come true. It did not.

He did not see the stone fall back to the earth.

This started General Derricote thinking. He prided him-self on being intelligent. He had, after all, created the Krytos virus. It was not his fault that Ysanne Isard's expectations for it were unrealistic. He had done his best, but that was not good enough for her, so he ended up in her private prison, subject to her whims. The whims that imprisoned me can also free me.

Derricote could think of dozens of explanations for why the stone did not fall back to the cavern floor. The simplest explanation was that it had become lodged between stalac-t.i.tes. However, for that to happen, Horn would have to be incredibly lucky. He doubted the prisoners would have staged the sort of charade that shielded Horn's effort just so he could test his luck in a place that, ultimately, housed those who were utterly without luck.

One by one Derricote examined and discarded explana-tions for the rock remaining on the ceiling and, at last, hit upon the only one that seemed to make sense. Iceheart has us standing on our heads. Any fool who tries to escape to the surface will just go deeper and deeper into her prison.

Horn discovered this fact, tested his hypothesis, and has his result.

And, just as obviously, he means to use it to escape.

The general slowly smiled. He could easily let the guards know Horn was planning to escape, but doing that would make him nothing more than an informant. Informing was weak and would not be rewarded by Ysanne Isard.

She wanted action. She wanted him to do something to atone for his failure. To please her he would have to act, because tak-ing action was strong.

This Horn will bear watching. When he moves, I will be ready. Derricote tugged at the abbreviated sleeves of his tu-nic. He will become the source of my redemption and I will once again know the glory of service to the Empire!