The Krytos Trap (33 page)

“If you say so, sir.”

Wedge leaned forward on his elbows. “Look, Gavin, I appreciate your coming here and talking to me about Mirax. I don’t think I’m ready to go into this all the way right now, but I’m coping. It hurts, but I’m coping.”

Gavin nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Walling it away just delays things
. “If you ever decide you want someone to talk to—”

“You’ll be the first person I call.” Wedge smiled and sketched Gavin a brief salute. “Go get yourself some rest—and that goes for the rest of the squadron. If we’re going to be going after Zsinj, I want us ready to move as fast as possible.”

Borsk Fey’lya stood behind his desk and smoothed the creamy fur around his face. “Please, Asyr Sei’lar, do come in. I am honored that Rogue Squadron’s newest ace has time to visit with me.”

The black-and-white-furred Bothan bowed her head respectfully, then stood at attention as the door closed behind her. “I am honored a member of the Provisional Council noticed me.”

“Noticed you? My dear, you are quite impossible to refrain from noticing. Aside from your performance in the squadron, you were positively stunning at the Dan’kre party the other evening. Please, be seated. No need for formality here, is there?” Fey’lya remained standing until she had taken her seat. She moved with an ease and strength he recalled
possessing in his youth. Though he was not that long past his physical peak, he could already see how much he had lost from when he was her age.

Borsk Fey’lya also realized that had he been her age again, he would have been lovestalking her. He found her quite attractive, freely acknowledging that the white blazes in her fur gave her a dangerous look. The fire in her violet eyes likewise threatened to seduce him, but with maturity—unlike humans—he had moved away from personal vanity. Whereas a man might take a mistress her age to prove his continued virility, for Fey’lya that choice would prove he had not yet sufficiently focused himself on what was truly important in life.

The pursuit of power.

“I wish to communicate to you, Asyr, the congratulations and adulation of the people of Bothawui. You are well on your way to taking your place in the constellations of Bothan heroes like the Martyrs and even your predecessor in Rogue Squadron, Peshk Vri’syk. You liberated Coruscant and now fly with the New Republic’s most famous fighter squadron. Your parents are very proud of you, and other Bothan parents everywhere have virtually no reservations when it comes to their children choosing you as a role model.”

“Thank you, Councilor.” Asyr’s violet eyes blinked. “I would think parents could find far better role models for their children than me.”

“Perhaps, but I should not be concerned about your liaison with the human, Galen.” Fey’lya purposely misidentified her lover and was rewarded by a flash of anger rippling the fur of her neck and head. “Xenophilia is not unknown among us, and your dalliance adds a hint of romance to your image. Your Galen seems very capable of handling himself in a wide variety of situations—case in point being the way he defused the Kre’fey problem. Moreover, you are quite discreet—admirably discreet, actually.”

“His name is
Gavin
, Gavin
Darklighter
. His cousin was one of those who died destroying the
first
Death Star.”

“And our Martyrs died to enable the Alliance to destroy
the second Death Star. It is fitting that heirs to two heroic traditions should find comfort together.” Fey’lya raised a hand to calm her. “Please, forgive me if this mention of your personal affairs angered you. I did not mean to cause you any discomfort.
I
fully understand the sort of bonds that can be forged between people who endure adversity together. Others are not so accepting of things they see as different.”

“Thank you, Councilor.” Asyr frowned heavily. “Some other members of the Bothan community here are positively
imperial
in their xenophobic attitudes.”

“
That
is not good at all. If you will permit me, perhaps I can help you with this problem. I have ample opportunity to speak with various groups—Bothan and other—here and back on Bothawui. It does no one any good for you to be persecuted for things that really are beyond your control. I was young once. I know how hot one’s blood can be. I will use my influence to get attitudes to change.”

“That would be most kind.”

“I’m glad to be of service.” Fey’lya smiled. “In fact, I had hoped to be of service to you when I invited you here, but this was not the subject I wanted to address.”

Asyr met his gaze unflinchingly. “Yes, sir?”

“You were part of the mission to Alderaan, as I recall, yes?”

“Yes. I flew wing for Commander Antilles. I got the kills I did because he hung back and covered me.”

“I see.” Fey’lya pressed his hands together, fingertip to fingertip. “The timing of your arrival in the Alderaan system has become a point of interest for those conspiratorially-minded individuals within the government and without. You were late and the convoy was destroyed.”

The younger Bothan’s eyes narrowed. “If we had been on time, we would have been destroyed, just like the convoy.”

“Quite so, quite so, and it is a good thing you were delayed. Still, you realize that tests on the samples of bacta ice that were brought back to Coruscant do show the bacta to be tainted and spoiled—in accord with Warlord Zsinj’s allegations.”

“Forgive me, sir, but those samples were blown up, flash-boiled, and peppered with debris. That they show up contaminated and useless is really no surprise.”

“Under normal circumstances I would agree with you.”

“What do you find unusual about these circumstances?”

Fey’lya gave her an indulgent smile. “Clearly the convoy’s timetable was leaked to Warlord Zsinj. Since the Xucphra faction on Thyferra has seen fit to send bacta to the New Republic, it is safe to assume it was the rival Zaltin faction that tipped Zsinj about the shipment. Even so, we cannot rule out the possibility that members of this government sabotaged the effort to bring bacta to Coruscant.”

“You can’t be serious. That would make Mon Mothma or others out to be monsters who had sunk to Ysanne Isard’s level or below.”

“Of course I don’t believe that is the case, but the problem is that others
do
think it possible. I am afraid that
you
could become implicated in all this because of your membership in Rogue Squadron.” He pressed his hands flat on his desk and leaned forward. “I want to insulate you from any possible disaster coming down the line.”

“Disaster?”

“Rogue Squadron will be sent out with the task force being used to punish Warlord Zsinj. It could very well be that this Alderaan incident means certain superior officers in the military see Rogue Squadron as a problem. Committing you in an action that destroys the squadron would eliminate that problem. I’m not saying this is what will happen, of course, but it could and I would like to put some insurance in place that prevents this from coming to pass.”

Asyr’s head came up. “What kind of insurance?”

Fey’lya gestured toward her with opened hands. “I would like you to prepare a report that indicates the delay in Rogue Squadron’s arrival was a product of
human
error.”

“Such a report could be used to strengthen the conspiracy theory.”

“
If
I were to use it in such a capacity, yes, it could, but I would never do that.”

“
Never?
” Asyr raised an eyebrow. “You know the
Bothan saying—‘Never means the right opportunity has not yet arisen.’ ”

“Then I should amend my statement—I would never use it except if I deemed it necessary to curb human excesses. You know—and the Krytos virus is but one example—mankind’s capacity for cruelty to its own is infinite. The human members of the Alliance have not turned on us or on Rogue Squadron, but that’s not to say they will
never
do that.” Fey’lya tapped his desktop with a talon. “You are a Bothan. You were born with obligations and responsibilities. Writing this report is just one of them.”

Asyr nodded. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. I’ll want that report within 72 hours. Don’t fail me.”

“No, sir.” Asyr rose from her chair and bowed her head to him. “I understand the price of failure, sir, and I have no intention of incurring that debt.”

31

It’s too easy
. Though everything was going absolutely according to his plan, Corran Horn felt some unmitigated disaster was lurking ahead of him. The Imps who hung out near the mouth of the cavern hadn’t bothered to make comments as he and Urlor headed off down the dark corridor toward the latrines. They walked close together, letting the infrared images of their bodies merge into one, creating a single image for the IR monitors at either end of the corridor.

Once inside the latrine area, Corran had doffed his tunic and soaked it in the single sink, then pulled the clammy garment back on. He likewise soaked his head, then smiled up at Urlor through the water running down his face. “I’m set.”

Urlor raised a bushy eyebrow.

Corran nodded.
Yes, I have to go. I have no choice
. Corran slapped him on the arm, then headed to the entrance. Urlor followed, patted him on the back, then walked back toward the billet cavern, weaving slightly from side to side to widen his IR image.
Thanks, my friend
.

Corran, still sodden, turned to the left and walked on toward the mine. He kept his pace slow and turned sideways to present a narrow profile to the IR monitor near the gate. He wasn’t certain that this would really minimize his heat
image, but it was worth a try. His wet hair and tunic would be more effective in that department. Urlor’s efforts to present a big target farther up the corridor might also help eliminate him from notice.

Thirty paces beyond the latrines he reached the doublegate. In the darkness he groped along the flimsy metal surface for the lock and chain. His fingers gently brushed across the number pad on the lock, but he resisted the temptation to try random combinations. He didn’t know if a failure would set off an alarm somewhere or not, but he did know that trying to figure out the right combination would take enough time to make him drier than a Tusken Raider.
Unless I got lucky, and no one is
that
lucky
.

From the lock to the opposite door Corran counted sixteen links and winced. Seventeen links had provided him a tight squeeze two nights previously. Corran gripped the gate-halves, pulled them as far apart as possible, then tucked his right shoulder through the opening. He exhaled as much as he could, worked a leg through, then pushed and pulled himself the rest of the way to the other side.

He squatted on the other side of the gate and rubbed at his chest.
Just as well none of the others wanted to try to get out. Aside from some of the older prisoners and a few of the sick ones, no one could have fit through there
. Staying low, he worked his way forward. When he reached the entrance to the mine corridor, he turned into it and allowed himself a quiet sigh.

I can’t believe how stupid they’ve been
. Corran realized his criticism of the guards was not fair, primarily because their lack of security seemed deficient only in light of his theory about the orientation of the prison itself. No prisoner in his right mind would attempt to escape and head deeper into the bowels of the planet. The laxity in securing the path to the mines served as a strong clue that the mines did not offer a way out—if they did, they would be more secure.

Security is predicated on two things: the odd orientation of the prison
and
the fact that even if someone gets out of the prison, getting off whatever world we’re on is by no means assured
. Corran shivered.
If we’re in the depths of Hoth, or
in the desert of Tatooine or on the back side of Kessel, this escape attempt will end quickly enough
.

Despite those inauspicious thoughts, which sparked new feelings of unease in him, Corran pushed on. He reached the hatchway leading into the caverns and found it open.
Well, perhaps I am lucky, just a bit
. He would have felt luckier if he had a light of his own, but the prisoners had no access to anything more technologically sophisticated than a shovel. To navigate through the darkness all he had to guide him was the faint glow from the amber ready-lights at the base of the floodlights they used when working in the mine. Corran had mentally mapped them the way an astronomer mapped constellations, and he knew exactly where to head to get to the gravel loader. Having oriented himself toward his goal, he stood straight and started to make his way down the slope.

Pain exploded across the middle of his back, numbing his legs. He pitched forward and tried to tuck into a ball, but his legs ignored him. He knew from the pain in his back and knees, as they alternately struck the stone slope in his tumble, that his spine hadn’t been severed. While this was good news, it paled within the larger context of his having been attacked in the mines.

He hit bottom and skidded to a halt on his back. He could feel the burning tingle of sensation returning to his legs, but they felt like lead and had no strength in them. The poor footing provided by the gravel combined with the weakness in his legs to keep him down, which he saw as a distinct problem as a massive, bulky shadow eclipsed several of the amber lights. The orange glow, though very weak, clearly illuminated the edge of the upraised shovel the man held.

“Nothing personal, Horn, but you’re my way out of here.”

Derricote?
“How did you get past the gate? You couldn’t have squeezed through.”

The shovel remained at the top of the arc for an overhead blow. “I have money hidden away, in numbered accounts. I bribed a guard for the combination to the gate lock, same as I bribe them for ingredients for my nectar.”

Appeal to his vanity. Buy yourself time to be able to move
. “Very clever, General.”