I don’t care if they see me, Kerra thought, ducking beneath the cargo ramp. I’m not going to die wearing this thing!
Crouching in the shadows after her impromptu wardrobe change, Kerra thanked the Force for her freedom. It was good to be back in her old brown-and-black outfit again, augmented with her gun belt and lightsaber. And something new: the bandolier she’d fashioned aboard ship for carrying the explosive packets. One wire running to a receiver triggered the whole thing. Folding the stealth suit into the now-empty pouch, Kerra strapped the pack around her shoulders and stood.
Her bones ached from days in cramped compartments. Her hair, once fine, was a dirty clump. She’d had to wear the Mark VI just to get to the refresher stations aboard ship. Food had been whatever she could abscond with.
It had to end.
She bolted from beneath the ramp into the open. Time to join the fight.
“How’re we doing, Dackett?” Rusher said, amused. It hardly seemed necessary to ask.
“We can’t get Kelli Two-Five out of the hold,” the ship’s master said, stubbing out a smoldering cigarra. “Some idiot loaded it wrong back on Whinndor.” Dackett slapped his datapad, jowls shaking as he did. He’d just climbed the six ladder flights to the rooftop without complaint, stopping only to relight. The man was a marvel.
Rusher was almost afraid to ask how old Dackett was. He knew the ship’s top noncom went all the way back to the days before Lord Mandragall, but “born during an artillery barrage—and conceived there, too,” was Dackett’s only line on the score. A pulse cannon was just a giant puzzle to him; he’d helped assemble his first ion cannon when he was seven, alongside his father and stepmother. Rusher didn’t know how many battles lay between then and his own first meeting with Dackett, but the brigadier never would have gone into business for himself without him. They’d started with a single gun crew and “Bitsy,” a long-barreled heavy laser cannon salvaged from some old derelict. They could barely get her into the hold of their transport back then.
Now they ran a crew of nearly three thousand—and according to Dackett’s report, nearly everyone was in position, having constructed dozens of guns less than fifteen minutes after pads-down. “Still a few problems with the bulk loaders we salvaged,” Dackett said. “But, you know, the port hydro’s runnin’ like a dream. Your Duros boy’s folks came through.”
“You’re welcome,” Rusher said.
“Yeah, well, Novallo didn’t get everything on her list, now, did she?”
Rusher smiled. “Is it my fault the kid was an only child?”
“I’m wishin’ his parents had taken a vow of chastity.” Dackett gestured toward the starboard side.
Rusher pointed the new pair of macrobinoculars. There, beyond one of the cargo ramps, sat Beadle Lubboon in a tracked power-loader vehicle, hopelessly mired in the brackish mud. “I didn’t think there was any of that guck up here on the ridge.”
“He found it.”
The teenager poked tentatively at controls, one after another, to no avail.
Rusher snorted. The recruit had been a total disaster. Most crew slots they’d traded for equipment had netted them something. Few lived long in Sith space with no skills whatsoever. Beadle’s talent must have been stealth, Rusher thought. His virtues had, thus far, escaped all notice.
“Good day, sir!” Beadle yelled, standing in his driver’s seat and saluting the ship.
“Right,” Rusher nodded, flashing the kid half a grin before turning to Dackett. “Please tell me you’ve already got that pod unloaded.”
Dackett shrugged. “Breathe, Brig. All that’s left on that side is the Kelligdyd we can’t get out of the hold anyway. I wouldn’t put the kid on anything that mattered.” The master ambled back toward the hatch leading down. “Oh, and we should be fully deployed in … about a minute.”
“Will you marry me, Master Dackett?”
“Three wives is enough, sir,” Dackett said. “But if one of them dies, I’ll let you know.”
Era Daimanos brought more people than Kerra had imagined. Hundreds of troopers crisscrossed the edge of the valley and erected defensive positions. She’d had a lot of ground to cover unseen, but the rock spires had offered inviting shadows. Gazzari didn’t seem to have day and night so much as it had blankets of gray clouds alternating with waves of fire-lit black smoke.
Slipping from pillar to pillar, Kerra grinned. She loved hunting at night. The winding path to the command dome was working out to be closer to half a kilometer, but at least she was—
“Hey!”
Kerra looked up to see the glistening black eyes of a Nautolan trooper. One of Daiman’s soldiers, the green-skinned bruiser held a blaster rifle loosely in one hand—and a container of spice tightly in the other.
Without thinking, Kerra grabbed the surprised trooper’s head-tentacles with either hand and yanked, pulling his head into her launching knee. The drug and weapon both flying from the brute’s hands, Kerra drove her shoulder into his armored midsection, toppling him. Staying atop his crashing form, Kerra jammed a tentacle into his gaping mouth, stifling his cry.
The Nautolan’s right hand slapped violently in the gravel, searching. Kerra found her weapon first. She ignited her lightsaber—and deactivated it again within the same second.
Kerra looked in all directions as life drained from the guard. No one had heard, and she hadn’t had to resort to use of the Force. Breathing, she returned her gaze to the body in the dirt. The guard hadn’t been trying to recover his rifle, but the little container of spice.
Dragging the body into a crevice between broken stone pillars, Kerra lifted the warrior’s rifle and resumed her circuitous trek to the dome. There were sentries out front, but none behind, where the canvas structure abutted the rocky spires. Light inside casting outsized shadows on the fabric, Kerra could tell that two people were within.
Patting the explosives on her bandolier anxiously, Kerra bit her lip. This wasn’t close enough. And she had to know who was in the mega-tent. She’d seen Daiman enter the dome earlier, but that was before her wardrobe change.
Creeping behind the structure, she saw an opportunity. While the workers had cleared some of the ground for Daiman’s command tent, the surface was still uneven enough that light slipped from gaps underneath. Edging toward the dome, Kerra took the sentry’s rifle and slipped the muzzle beneath the canvas.
“You’re breathing. I didn’t tell you to.”
Hearing the Sith Lord’s voice, Kerra froze.
“I am sorry, my lord.”
The respondent’s voice was scratchy and female. Kerra lifted the fabric as much as she dared. It was the Woostoid woman she’d seen earlier, in Daiman’s palace. Wearing a silken white dress, she sat atop a silver trunk, staring mindlessly into the bright glow lamp at the center of the room.
His back to Kerra, Daiman stood behind the woman. He was now in a black sleeveless tunic, and his biceps shone with sweat. Kerra could never let herself forget that, for one seemingly sedentary, he was an energetic and dangerous fighter. Daiman’s focus was entirely on his aide, his hands digging into her purple hair. “Time to try it again, Uleeta.”
Kerra rocked back, nauseated. The last thing she wanted to see was pre-battle action in a Sith warlord’s boudoir. But what she heard from the Woostoid regained her attention.
“Flesh is an atrocity,” Uleeta chanted.
“Flesh is a prison,” Daiman said, digging into her purple scalp. He didn’t appear to be wearing the talons. “I exist beyond. Form is a prison to keep me from achieving all my mind imagines. But I can transcend the rules I have created—with the dark side of the Force. My Force.”
“We are The Encumbered,” she chanted.
“You are without the light,” Daiman intoned. “You have form, but not spirit. You are a husk.” He brought his hands around, raking urgently at her temples. “I knew that the first time I saw into another mind. But if I am to transcend, I must expand my reach.”
“I am no
thing. There is no Uleeta. Only an agency of Daiman.”
“You are nothing—and you are Daiman. I will see with your eyes. Breathe with your lungs. Now.”
Kerra recoiled. If this was seduction, it was the worst date she’d ever seen. But she continued to look. The woman was shaking, now, under the Sith Lord’s concentration. Kerra could feel the waves of Force streaming off them. The aide’s heart was nearly as black as Daiman’s. And yet she was letting down all her defenses, burying her will to serve as a conduit for his power. Uleeta’s right hand, clasped in her lap, trembled and lifted into the air before the light.
“Very good. My will raises your hand,” Daiman said. “My hand.”
“As my lord knows,” Uleeta said.
“I did not will you to speak.”
The woman went immediately silent. From behind, Daiman gripped her skull harder, growing frustrated. “No—it isn’t true. This isn’t real. I’m not the one raising your hand!”
Uleeta paused before speaking. “You have told me to, lord. I am doing it.”
“You do not exist in this. My will should activate your motion directly,” Daiman said, releasing his hold on her. “And look!” He grabbed the Woostian’s wrist. “A pulse. Your heart is beating!” Offended, he glared at her. “And you’re breathing! I’m not willing this. I should be in control!”
“I am sorry, Lord Daiman,” Uleeta said. “These things are autonomous—”
“There is no autonomy! Not unless I say so!”
The Woostoid aide burst into tears, hiding her face.
Kerra caught a flash of the woman’s emotions, still unshielded. True shame. Kerra shifted her weight on the rocks. The moment was horrific—and yet, spellbinding. The woman didn’t appear to have suffered physically, but she seemed to shrink as Daiman glared at her.
“It’s always the same,” he said, simmering. “I can animate still objects. I can persuade you to act. But I can’t act through you.” Daiman shoved his sobbing aide violently off the trunk and opened it. “I know this can work. I know it,” he said, rifling through the chest.
The woman spoke, weakly. “The holocrons tell of Karness Muur, an ancient Sith Lord who could enthrall entire populations, making them an extension of his will. He was even developing a method to move his own consciousness from one organic form into another.”
Daiman towered over the woman, crumpled on the floor. “It’s so obvious,” he raved. “Why else would I have planted such information in the past, if it weren’t the key to my escape from this—this prison?”
“Through victory, my chains are broken.”
“The Force shall free me,” Daiman said, completing the Sith Code. “Get up. There’s time before the ambush. We’ll try again.”
That does it! Kerra yanked back the rifle and skittered away from the canvas. Furious, she lifted the bandolier over her head. I don’t care who finds me. I’m blowing this freak sky-high!
“Command, Recon Knife-Two!”
Rusher tapped his helmet comlink. “Go, Knife-Two.”
“Aerial contact arriving, two seventy mark.”
“Mark, recon.” Rusher looked above the grumbling volcanoes beyond the far crater wall. There was movement in the clouds. “Stay cool, brigade. This is only Party Guest One.”
They’d arrived suddenly, their screaming thrusters reaching Kerra’s ears the moment she’d knelt over the explosives. Daiman’s “ambush” comment and the presence of the armed welcoming party had led her to expect Odion’s forces, although why they’d willingly come to such a place was beyond her. But the vessels soaring over the western crater wall looked nothing like warships.
Kerra slipped the bandolier over her shoulder and crept away from the dome, climbing toward a protected perch higher on the ridge. Looking down, she saw four transports hovering over the center of the valley, their retro-rockets sending circular ripples across the pudding that served for ground.
She’d seen Daiman’s personnel transports before, on Chelloa. These looked more like commercial vehicles. And the markings weren’t Daiman’s at all. Instead of his symbol, the tail fins of each transport bore insignias she couldn’t quite make out. Vertical lines—or perhaps arrows.
Where have I seen those before? Kerra blinked through the ash. To her left, flashes came from the eastern crater ridge. Macrobinoculars—and plenty of them—were trained on the new arrivals. What I wouldn’t give for a pair now!
Rusher spotted the new contact just as his crew did. They could hardly miss it. The skies wrenched with something new, something much larger, descending into the valley.
He shook the ash from his hair. It was helmet time for the brigadier, too. Daiman may not have created the universe, Rusher thought, but he certainly ran things to the minute. “That’s Guest Two, crew. We’re on the timer!”
“What in blazes is that?”
Kerra spoke aloud for the first time since her encounter with the Bothan, days earlier. There was obviously something the spy hadn’t told her.
At first glance, she’d thought it was nine different vehicles, descending through the clouds in perfect formation. She’d soon realized it was all one vessel, with nine building-like assemblies the size of city blocks connected into a grid by colossal crossbars. And city was the right term, for as the vessel continued to fall, she realized how vertical the thing actually was, with towers rising from the base structure. Kerra rubbed her eyes in disbelief. It was one of the largest vessels she’d seen in Sith space, comparable in size to Daiman’s mobile munitions factories.
Kerra gawked as the vehicle—if that was what it was—hovered above the crater floor. Nine mighty engines pummeled the surface, exposing the rock beneath the goo. Finding a spot northeast of the crater’s center, the complex eased downward, sinking heavily into the remaining muck.
Silence. The Jedi shot one look down the hill to Daiman’s forces near the temporary buildings, followed by another glance at the eastern wall. None of Daiman’s people seemed to be reacting, anywhere.
The first movement came, in fact, from the four transports. Parked a kilometer to the west of the monstrous new arrival, the ships all put down their landing ramps, at the same moment. Kerra watched as figures began streaming out of the transports. Straining to see, she finally gave up and crept downward to a closer vantage point. At least so far, Daiman’s forces on the ground were facing the center of the bowl, paying no mind to the hills.
Squinting from her new location, Kerra saw hundreds of beings assembling in rows outside the transports. But the ranks weren’t orderly, and the figures weren’t in military dress. Members of dozens of air-breathing species milled about, kicking and playing in the mud—
Younglings!
There were hundreds of them. Youths and teenagers, with some young adults mixed in, all in slave dungarees. All looking excitedly at the sky, the far-off volcanoes, and the giant new city that had followed them into the crater. Each of its nine towers terminated just beneath the low overhanging clouds, each sporting the same three-arrow logo, now clearly visible to Kerra.
“No,” she said, standing and nearly giving herself away. “Oh, no!”
She remembered where she’d seen the logo: on the Ishi Tib’s badge, days before, on Darkknell. And scanning the crowd, she felt a familiar presence. Focusing, she saw exactly what she feared: an animated Sullustan girl, obviously excited about her first visit to another planet.
Of all places and times—Tan Tengo was here!
“Facility down, Brigadier!”
So that’s an arxeum, Rusher thought. Big. He opened his helmet comlink. “That’s the last of our party, Rushies. Look alive!” This was happening quickly. A voice on another band had just told him what he needed to hear. “Daiman called, people. Our crashers are at the edge of the system.”
Rusher had guessed right. Daiman had hidden a surveillance probe in the nebula surrounding Gazzari’s parent star. The cosmic display made for a pretty sight and a fine place to watch for sudden arrivals. The
rest of Daiman’s force, both his ground regulars and his attack fleet, were set to leap in from hyperspace as soon as they got word of Odion’s arrival. It was up to Daiman’s escort and the specialists on the crater rim to keep Bad Brother occupied until then. “Weapons live, brigade! Confirm!”
“Coyn’skar, live!”
“Serraknife, live!”
“Dematoil, live!”
One by one, all eight battalions—all named for the exotic ancient weapons etched on their helmets—checked in. Rusher had found the names in his studies, names connecting his troopers with the past. It was a tough thing, nearly dying for a different Sith Lord every year. It helped to have a connection to something.
Snapping the visor down on his helmet, Rusher pointed toward a technician looking back at him from a hemispheric window in Diligence’s hull. Responding to the gesture, the tech threw a switch—and the entire vessel hummed as the ship’s energy shield came alive. Diligence made too nice a target, sitting there amid the emplacements. The invisible shield wouldn’t stop a projectile, but it might dissipate some of the other fire directed their way. Rusher expected plenty. His flak jacket had been on, beneath his overcoat, since touchdown.
“Guns hot,” he called. “Rusher out.” Looking down again at the four transports, with their passengers gathering outside, he reactivated the comlink. “And if anyone targets within a klick of those kids, I’ll strap them to Bitsy and pull the trigger myself!”
“No! No!”
She recognized the visitors’ garments, now. These were all factory workers—slaves from Darkknell and other planets—recruited by Industrial Heuristics. Adolescents, like Tan. Led by droid minders, the group made its way slowly through the sludge toward the giant facility.
There’s still time before the ambush. Daiman had said it in the dome—and she could see Daiman’s forces readying lower down the north crater wall. There were more forces in the highlands to the east. Who knew how many blasters, how much artillery might be trained on the innocents?
Star Wars: Knight Errant Page 10