Star Wars: Knight Errant

by John Jackson Miller

  Beadle lumbered into the dome, boots clapping against the deck plating. The Duros fumbled awkwardly with his free hand for a pouch slung over his right shoulder. Failing miserably, he began chattering an apology—or, at least, that’s what Narsk imagined. The helmet had fogged completely over inside. “Turn your speaker on or take your helmet off, Duros.”

  With Narsk’s help, Beadle unlatched the helmet, which clattered to the frozen floor. “Thank you, sir. If you’re Narsk, I have something for you.”

  Narsk pulled the pouch over the recruit’s shoulder. He unzipped it and peeked inside. After many days and several planets, the Mark VI was his again.

  Arkadia eyed its courier. “Why did you walk here? Rusher could have sent you across on the back of one of the trundle cars.”

  “He did, ma’am. I fell off.”

  “They move four kilometers an hour!”

  “Really? The one that hit me felt like it was going faster,” he said. “I think I broke my arm.”

  Arkadia rolled her eyes. “Pride of the mercenaries.” She pointed to the exit. “Your commander should arrive shortly with the refugees, Duros. Wait for him in Patriot Hall.” Seeing Beadle shuffling in the doorway, she growled, “The big room with the door leading outside!”

  Beadle smiled meekly. “Is your infirmary open? I’d like to have something for the pain, if I could.”

  Arkadia nodded, gesturing for an aide to lead the recruit.

  Narsk watched the door close behind them. “Hopeless,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, he’ll be gone, soon.” He paused. “You’re really going to let the mercenaries leave?”

  “They can leave,” Arkadia said. “They just won’t live. Those hyperspace coordinates I gave the brigadier will drop them into the Nakrikal Singularity.”

  “Why not simply seize his ship?”

  “Why bother? He said they were down to just a couple of artillery pieces. And if I want a cannon carrier, my people can build a much better ship than that from scrap.” She looked down at the pouch. “Is that the great Narsk Ka’hane edge?”

  Narsk pulled out the stealth suit and displayed it, trying to hide his dismay. The Jedi had put it through a lot of punishment. It indeed looked as if a child had been playing with it. He’d be lucky to buff out the smudges before he needed it.

  At least Arkadia seemed impressed with it as it was. She ran her hand inside the seam, marveling. “How did you come by such a device?”

  “If I revealed all my sources and methods, you wouldn’t have much of a need for me, would you?” Narsk said. “But it will get me close to this Vilia, easily enough.”

  “She’s still Sith. She’ll sense you coming.”

  “One doesn’t challenge Sith Lords as I do without learning how not to be sensed.”

  Watching Narsk meticulously return the suit to its container, Arkadia turned back to the shuttle, where the workers were removing the hoverchair after its fitting. His mission would be a simple one. When the vessel arrived on Vilia’s world, Narsk would slip out unseen, shadowing Quillan. Once he confirmed that Quillan was in Vilia’s presence, he would kill the old Sith Lord.

  Narsk looked around uneasily. “You have a weapon for me?”

  “It’s right here,” Arkadia said, walking to the hoverchair. Tipping it on its side, she opened a hidden panel to reveal five orbs of bluish gas. The pods were attached to a detonation device.

  “A bomb?”

  Arkadia chuckled. “Not up on everything, are you, agent?” She gestured to the alga light fixtures, above. “I meant it when I said we use all of the Synedian alga. One of the organism’s little-known by-products happens to be an incredibly potent nerve gas.” She jabbed her thumb at Narsk’s pouch. “I’d wear the oxygen mask underneath that thing, if I were you.”

  Narsk’s eyes widened. “Your … brother will be in the chair.”

  Arkadia looked at the chair coldly. “There are losses in war.” Facing Narsk, she folded her arms. “Had the Jedi gone in your stead, I might only have needed this as a backup. But whatever your talents, you are no Jedi. Thus, you are the backup.” She passed him a small remote control. “This triggers the gas.”

  Narsk looked at the device and nodded. So Arkadia had tried to recruit the Jedi—and failed. Arkadia was clearly her cousin Daiman’s equal when it came to scheming.

  “When the trap activates and you’ve confirmed that she is dead, you will find the location of your payment inside the chair.” Producing a small tablet from within the folds of her garment, Arkadia showed it to Narsk before tucking it above the central gas canister. “The datachip contains all the intelligence I have gathered about all my neighbors—enough information to make you very popular with your future employers for years. But you and I will never meet again.”

  Narsk smiled weakly and turned toward the exit. He would be expected to leave within the hour.

  Crossing the threshold, Narsk froze when Arkadia called after him.

  “Bothan. If the suit allows you to do anything, why didn’t you assassinate Daiman? And why didn’t the Jedi, when she had it? It sounds as though you would have had the opportunity.”

  “I can’t speak for the Jedi,” Narsk said, turning in the doorway. “I’m not sure anyone can. She’s clearly insane. And I won’t speak of my orders from Odion, except to say that, had I been ordered to kill Daiman, Odion would be an only child today.” Seeing Arkadia studying him, he continued. “I do owe Daiman a debt for his treatment of me. But as much as I might like to punish him for that, I don’t do things for the sport of it.”

  That much was true, he thought, backing up. “I’m sorry, but I need to visit your infirmary before the flight. Your algae don’t agree with the Bothan system.”

  “Follow the useless Duros,” Arkadia said, turning back to study the vessel.

  “I’ll do just that.”

  Whoever claimed ice was smooth had never been to Syned. The icecrawler’s treads amplified every bump, sending vibrations through the cabin and along a path that terminated in Rusher’s molars.

  The rumbling rhombus was enormous, easily half the size of Diligence. Rusher looked back down into the cavernous cargo compartment. Arkadia’s staff had suspended several levels of seating on metal scaffolds toward the rear of the vehicle, more than enough room to accommodate all the refugees. The Sith Lord was going to get this done in one trip.

  “We’re here, mercenary,” the shiny-eyed driver said.

  Rusher had seen the hairy-headed Nazzar before. “Weren’t you driving the rumblecar that brought us over?” he asked.

  “Promotion.”

  Rusher looked through the viewport. The icecrawler loomed above Diligence’s starboard arm, edging closer to its giant clawed base. His team had removed the jutting cannon barrels on one side to permit the crawler’s approach.

  Turning back, Rusher leaned across the back railing to the driver’s compartment and called down to the Citizen Guards, waiting by the enormous door some forty meters below. “We’re extending the bushing! We need you guys in the hole, ready as the door opens, in case there’s any breach!” Obediently, the space-suited figures set down their weapons and disappeared into the short tunnel. Seeing them appear on the cockpit’s video display, Rusher lifted his comlink. “We’re here, Dackett. You know the drill.”

  A different kind of rumbling rocked the icecrawler’s frame as the corrugated door began to open. Seeing the long-faced driver release the controls, Rusher spoke again. “Hey, I think they’re going to need help down there.”

  “Not my job. And if you did your part, they shouldn’t be having any trouble!” The flinty-voiced driver looked idly up to the security monitor. Seeing commotion on the screen, he began to rise …

  … only to have his head snap backward. A clump of the Nazzar’s mane in each glove, Rusher yanked the driver’s head back before slamming it forward against the console. An agonized groan came from the stunned creature’s throat as the brigadier pulled him from his seat and shoved him ove
r the railing, into the yawning cargo area behind the cockpit.

  Turning quickly back to the security monitor, Rusher deactivated the feed just before the unlucky driver’s body hit the grating. “Sorry, pal,” he said, hearing blasterfire below. “Not every promotion’s a step up!”

  Rusher looked down into the cargo area. The Nazzar’s body was only one of several now. Zeller and the armored troopers of Team Ripper were in the tunnel, blasting away. The icecrawler’s Arkadianite crew was dead before the pressure equalized between the two vessels.

  Spying her superior officer above, Zeller yelled, “Master Dackett sends his regards. And—begging the brigadier’s pardon—he says you’re crazy!”

  “He’s not the only one!” Already sliding down the ladder from the upper level, Rusher called out, “Did our runner make his delivery?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Get the cutters in here to bring down this decking!” Rusher scanned the cargo compartment. They’d need all the room they could get. “We’re going to have to do this in record time!”

  Kerra could feel her energy failing. The lights and sounds continued to hammer at her—but even without them, she felt like she’d reached the end. For weeks, she’d been fueled alternately by compassion and outrage. But now she was the lone quadractyl, just like the one she’d seen as a child, struggling to stay afloat in the icy waves.

  She could barely move in the tight compartment; her awkward position was cutting off the circulation in her arms and legs, and she felt her muscles were going soft. If she didn’t get out soon, she’d be no risk for escape at all.

  She should have struggled more against the jailers, she thought. Anything would be better than this. The screeching died down again, in advance of more questioning from the droid. Kerra winced. It was all too much. How many days, how many weeks, would they keep her here? Was this the execution Arkadia mentioned? Just kill me already!

  But this time, the voice was different. An organic whisper. “Hold fast.”

  Kerra opened her eyes into the blinding light. The Bothan!

  Long minutes passed, during which Kerra wondered if it was all a joke, one more method of torturing her. The Bothan worked for Arkadia, after all. But finally, she felt movement, as the entire chamber around her slid outward. Cool air rushed in.

  Pawing at the oxygen mask, the Jedi forced herself to sit up. Light-headed, she struggled to make sense of the whirling world outside. It was dimmer, and the space directly outside her metal vault was churning.

  Kerra lanced out with her hand, grabbing at anything. She caught something. “Hello, Narsk.”

  The Bothan deactivated the Mark VI and removed his mask. “Sorry,” he said. “It took a while to figure out which drawer you were in. And I had some company to deal with.” Floating beside Kerra’s prison on a hoverlift, Narsk pointed to the remains of the interrogator droids, smashed on the floor meters below. “Evidently, droids can’t see you coming in this suit, either.”

  “Not unless you’ve been on Gazzari,” Kerra moaned, rolling out of the box and onto the Bothan’s platform. She coughed. “If you’re here for revenge, I was already locked in a bin all day.”

  “Happy to hear it.” Narsk quickly shut the door to her cabinet and lowered the hoverlift. “It makes letting you go now a little easier.”

  Slumped against the railing, Kerra glared suspiciously. “Why do you want to help me?”

  “I don’t,” Narsk said, pulling the pouch from his back. “Let’s just say I represent someone who wouldn’t appreciate Arkadia’s plan. And to complete my mission, I’m going to need a diversion—more than the mercenary alone can provide.”

  The mercenary? Kerra wavered. “Rusher?”

  The hoverlift touching down, Narsk unzipped the pouch and fished for an object inside. Successful, he handed it to Kerra.

  “Wait. This is my lightsaber!”

  “Observant.”

  “But this was on Rusher’s ship,” Kerra said, staring at the weapon. She looked up. “You’ve been there?”

  “No—but it arrived with the person who returned my property.” Narsk removed a writing instrument from the pouch before slinging it over his shoulder. “I was lucky to get it to you at all. He hid the lightsaber in the arm of his space suit—but it got stuck between his elbow and the joint ring. He couldn’t move his arm the whole time he was walking here.”

  Kerra gawked. “Beadle? He sent Beadle?”

  “I told Rusher to send someone Arkadia would never think to frisk,” Narsk said. “I think it actually improved the trooper’s balance.” The spy opened the side gate to the hoverlift. “We’ve got to move.”

  Scrambling after him, Kerra found staying upright difficult. Fortunately, Narsk didn’t want to go far, directing her to a sheltered alcove between stacks of prisoner cabinets. Arkadia was busy preparing for something big, he said, something that required her full attention.

  “The assassination,” Kerra offered.

  “The assassination is the first chapter,” Narsk said. “I’ve only had a short time to scout the city in the Mark VI, but I’ve already seen half a dozen war parties preparing to head to Arkadia’s various borders, poised to act. Should her plot succeed, chaos will follow, all across this sector and more. Knowing it’s coming, she likes her chances.”

  And Arkadia had something else: the organophosphate distilled from the Synedian algae. Chagras’s Blood, as it was called, evaporated instantly, killing at a rate that made the Celegians’ atmospheres seem healthy by comparison. Narsk waved to the towers of cabinets on either side of them. “From what I can see, this place isn’t so much a prison as another testing center. When they’re done asking questions, they see what their gas does to various species.”

  And now, he said, that nerve toxin was being loaded into shells for delivery to Arkadia’s warships, moored across the tundra.

  No wonder she didn’t need Rusher’s brand of artillery, Kerra thought. “But Rusher’s helping you?”

  “Helping us,” Narsk said. “You and your refugees.”

  “Why would he care what happens to the kids? To me?”

  “I don’t know that he does,” Narsk said. “But he knows you have this.” Grabbing her wrist, he pushed her sleeve back and scrawled several numbers on her arm with his static pen.

  “These—these are hyperspace coordinates,” Kerra said. “But it’s only half of a location.”

  Narsk slid her sleeve back down. “He has the other half—half payment for what I’ve asked him to do. If your gunner general wants them, you two are going to have to reconnect. He has to give me my diversion, one way or another.”

  Kerra shook her head. “He can find a way out of Arkadia’s space,” she said. “He’d never come here for this!”

  “Possibly not. But these lead to a jumping-off point in uncontrolled space—the beginning of another lane. Leading to the Republic.” Tossing the pen to the floor, Narsk started to turn away.

  Kerra, dazzled by his revelations, grabbed at his arm. “A route to the Republic?” Rusher had never come across anything like that in all his travels. “How did you get such a thing? Who are you?”

  Narsk glared at her. “I told you when we met. I’m not Sith. I just work for them.”

  “Evidently several at once!”

  “No,” Narsk said. “Not really. Just one.” Stepping to a security monitor, he tuned to a scene of the tundra outside. The icecrawler was on its way back, right on schedule. “We have ten minutes, at most. Head for the Patriot Hall—and I’d find a space suit.”

  Anxiously, Kerra looked back and forth at the metal prisons lining the aisle. “I’ve got to free these people!”

  “You’re wasting valuable time,” Narsk said. “Most are already dead.” Even though the toxin went inert after a few minutes, Kerra would have to open a lot of cabinets to find anyone alive—and anyone she found would be in worse shape than she was.

  Reminded of the toxin, Kerra thought of the factories she’d toured, pr
oducing shell casings. The so-called Chagras’s Blood could wreak immense harm on the innocents neighboring Arkadia’s realm. But there were so many factories—and so little time. Desperate, she dashed to the security monitor, looking for a map.

  “You can’t do everything, Jedi,” Narsk said, watching her search. “There’s no time.”

  “People are counting on me!”

  “Which people?” Narsk barked. “Look, I don’t care what you do now. Free the prisoners! Charge the factories! Blow yourself up! It’s the diversion I want, either way.” He stepped from the alcove. “But decide whether you want to die helping everybody—or live helping somebody.”

  Footsteps echoed in the halls, far away. Kerra looked back at the stacks of cabinets in anguish.

  “You landed here with a mission, Jedi. You want to do more? Do it on your own time.” The Bothan pulled the mask over his snout and spoke, his voice muffled. “If you want to survive out here, you focus on the job.”

  Kerra turned her attention from the monitor to the lightsaber, back in her hand at last. Focus. It was one thing she knew how to do. One of several, she thought, gripping it.

  Rounding the corner, Kerra realized something with a start. Narsk had had the same employer all along, and there was only one person it could be.

  She called out. “Narsk! If you’re protecting Vilia, why are you letting a Jedi who knows about her live?”

  The shrouded figure at the end of the aisle looked back at her for a moment. “Because I wasn’t ordered to kill you.” Pressing a control, he disappeared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “Good luck to you, sir!”

  Passing Citizen Guards as he strolled to the Embarkation Station turbolift, Narsk nodded casually and waved, feeling like an explorer leaving on a mission of discovery. That’s what it was, for all they knew; with the mask removed, the Cyricept system resembled the jumpsuits he’d seen Arcadia’s test pilots wearing. They knew he wasn’t one of them, but he was a specialist working for their cause.