by Martha Wells
Suddenly he found himself looking up at a human woman. She gasped and jerked back, then leaned forward to stare at him. Now he saw that she was actually Arkanian, not human: she had the distinctive white hair and eyes, and the claws on her hands. Her clothes were torn and stained, and she wasn’t armed—and she hadn’t shouted for help at the sight of him, so he was guessing she wasn’t here voluntarily. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Hey, I’m looking for the prisoners’ lockup. This it?”
The Arkanian spun around and whispered urgently, “There’s someone down here!”
There were more gasps and quiet exclamations, and then suddenly a dozen other faces, human and other sentients, peered down at him. The strange thing was, he actually recognized one of the faces. Startled, he said, “Davit?”
“Solo!” Kearn-sa’Davit crouched down close to the grid. He was a Videllan, with gold-brown skin of a leathery texture, a high forehead curving back to a fringe of fluffy golden hair, a beard, and large, expressive eyes with high, tufted brows. “What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, I was about to ask you that,” Han said. “You were on that merchant ship?” Davit was the Alliance contact who had arranged the meeting with the local merchant consortium to get the construction materials for Echo Base, though of course the merchants hadn’t known what their cargoes were going to be used for. Han had had some suspicions of Davit, but the fact that he was currently locked up in a pirates’ slave pen mitigated his instinctive distrust. “You were coming to meet us on the station?”
“Yes. You followed us here?”
Han adjusted his grip on the bars. “Sort of. Was the whole consortium aboard?”
Davit shook his head. “No, no. Only the Ceelon Syndicate, and their crew. The others meant to come but changed their plans at the last moment, and took their own vessels, so they were not trapped. At least, I hope not.”
This couldn’t be a coincidence. “So somebody in the consortium sold you out to the pirates?”
“Of course. It was Janlan. He was aboard our ship, and he was not much pleased with our failure to surrender immediately when the pirate attacked.” Davit made a disgusted gesture. “Despite his shouts that we stop defending ourselves, the others didn’t believe he was a traitor until we arrived here and he was conducted off for an audience with the pirate leader. He has not returned.”
Han hadn’t been privy to every detail of the Alliance’s arrangement for the meeting with the consortium, and he really hoped those details hadn’t included Leia’s presence. “Davit, this is important. Is there any way Janlan knew who specifically was coming to meet with the consortium, any way he could find out?”
“You must not fear—they know we two are only brokers, facilitators of meetings, and that we know little of our employers’ business, or who they were sending to seal the agreement.” Davit kept his voice even, but Han got the message. None of the merchants knew Davit was Alliance, they just thought he was a hired middleman, and he was making certain any of them listening now thought Han was just a hired middleman, too. And none of them knew that Leia or General Willard had been on the ship they were going to the station to meet.
Imperials wouldn’t have bought Davit’s story, but pirates and merchants might, at least long enough for them all to get out of here. “Good.” Han met Davit’s gaze, making sure the Videllan knew Han had gotten the message. “Any chance Janlan talked to the Imperials, too? That he knew where our ship was coming out of hyperspace to get your transmission?”
“No, Solo, Janlan did not know those coordinates. Only I knew them, and I sent the transmission myself. It is part of my service, as a facilitator, to make sure secrets such as that stay secret. If there was a difficulty, it did not originate from the consortium’s end.” He lifted his brows, but Han didn’t explain why he had asked the question.
“As to whether he betrayed us to Imperials …” Davit considered it, stroking his beard. “I don’t think so. I don’t think Janlan would know whom to contact among the Imperials. There is no governor over this area, you know, and not much Imperial presence beyond the occasional patrol or customs ship. Janlan knew the other merchants meant to use the profit from our deal to purchase weapons to defend their ships against the pirates. I think he sold this information in return for promises to leave his trading ships be. He’s an idiot if he thinks they will fulfill his bargain. They are more likely to dump him back in here and sell him with the rest of us, once they are certain he knows no more of use to them.”
Okay, so there were two different leaks, Han thought. One in the Alliance’s communications somewhere, who had told the Imperials where the Gamble would be coming out of hyperspace. The other was purely on the consortium side, Janlan selling out his partners for protection from the pirates. “That’s good. It means the Imperials don’t know we’re here.”
“That is good, I suppose. Relatively speaking.” Davit frowned. “Are you rescuing us or escaping yourself?”
“Both.” Han adjusted his hold on the grid, feeling around it for weak points. The bars were thick and strong. The mesh above prevented any chance of handing up weapons and small explosives to the prisoners, at least for the moment. Han could cut through both grids, if he brought a heavy-duty fusioncutter. That meant they would have a way to get the prisoners out, if Leia couldn’t talk the pirates into handing the merchants over to the Aegis. And while Han had a lot of faith in Leia Organa’s level of determination, he had the feeling that they were probably going to do this the hard way. “How many people are up there with you?”
“Thirty-two. Most are from our ship. We lost three on the way here, when they died from wounds received during the battle, and the pirates shot the captain and copilot of our ship when we arrived. There are a few others who have been here longer, who were captured on a passenger ship going to Commenor and were brought here to be sold.” Davit added, “They have not put collars on us yet.”
That was good news. Han figured the slaving guilds, not the pirates, probably handled that part. He hesitated over how much to tell Davit, and decided not to mention that someone was trying to negotiate for the merchant ship’s release. “I don’t know yet what’s going to happen. Right now, we’re stuck on this rock ourselves. We can’t get out of dock and make it into hyperspace without getting caught in a tractor beam or blown to pieces.”
“At least we have hope now.” Davit spread his hands. “That still makes us all better off than what we were before. And Solo, make sure our employers know, whether we can be rescued or not, that I will keep my bond to them.”
I won’t betray the Alliance, was what Davit was saying. Han’s hands were getting sore and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could perch here. “Any time I should avoid visiting? Like when the guards come by?”
“Wait.” Davit drew back and Han heard him speaking to the other prisoners, checking with the ones who had been here longer. He leaned back over the grid to say, “Their visits are not always regular, but they tend to come about every six to ten standard hours. They don’t come inside; they dump the food packets down a small shaft, so there is no chance to jump them.”
“Right. Look, it’s complicated and I can’t make promises, but I’m here with someone who feels responsible for your ship getting caught. If we can help you, we will.”
“Ah. Then I wish you luck, and I hope I have the chance to thank your someone in person.” Another voice murmured something, and Davit turned to listen. After a moment, he said, “You might have mentioned that earlier.” He turned back to Han. “Solo, those who have been here longer say that periodically they hear and feel rumblings under this section of the floor, as if some mechanism passes beneath it. Take care when—if—you return.”
“Thanks. See you soon, I hope.”
Han dropped to the floor, took his light out again, and made his way back through the passage into the wider tunnel.
He was mostly thinking about logistics. Getting that many people out through this tunnel and to the Aegis’s
bay would be tricky, but possible.
And after talking to Davit, Han was less and less happy with the idea of leaving him and the others behind in the slave pens. It reminded him too much of what Chewie had gone through. And there had been too many times since then when it could have been him or Chewie trapped and looking at a life of hard labor with a collar designed to kill them if they tried to escape, or a bad death if the slavers decided they were too dangerous to attract buyers. He would leave Davit and the merchants if he had to, to get Leia, Sian—and yes, even Kifar Itran—out of here alive, but he wouldn’t like it. The fact that Davit had seemed so understanding about it didn’t help, either.
Then Han felt a faint vibration in the stone underfoot. He stopped and listened. From far up the tunnel came a faint clank. Just another maintenance droid, he thought.
But suddenly all the little cleaning droids within reach of his light scuttled into the vents at the bottom of the rock walls, one last straggler limping belatedly after the others. That’s not good.
Taking it as a sign he should get out of there a little faster, Han started to jog. He would take that second access he had found, the one with the ladder. It was much closer than the one where Sian and Terae waited.
Then the clanking turned into the low-frequency rumble of a large repulsor engine.
Han ran faster, but the sound grew louder and louder, echoing off the walls. He risked a look back, and his light framed a big round dark metal wall shooting toward him.
Han swore and almost stumbled. Yeah, that’s a problem. The brief glimpse told him the thing took up the whole width of the corridor and there was no way he could outrun it. He shoved the light into his satchel to leave his hands free and thought, You better get this right the first time, Solo.
He spun around, had time to take a breath, then lunged forward and jumped as the metal wall rushed toward him. He grabbed for the top and caught the rim. Gritting his teeth, he scrabbled to keep his grip on metal that was slick with dust and moisture. A fall would be the end. A squashed, bloody, painful end.
Then his hands found a slot he could actually wrap his fingers around, and his boots found purchase on an uneven projection at the bottom. Breathing hard, his heart pounding almost loud enough to drown out the rumble of the engine, he had time to realize that the thing he was gripping was the front of an automated hauler—for sewage, if the smell of new and ancient decay was any indication. At least, he hoped the blasted thing was automated.
Han crouched down and craned his neck, trying to examine the front of the hauler to see if there was some way to take control of it, or at least an access panel. If there was, he would have to pry it off with his teeth, because it was hard enough to hold on with two hands, let alone one. But there was nothing he could spot.
He turned his head to look over his shoulder, just in time to watch the dimly lit access up into the second traverse fly past. He thought he heard Sian yell, but wasn’t sure over the noise of the hauler. If she had seen him, at least they would know where he was—or at least where he had been a moment ago. Not that they would be able to do anything about it. The tunnel ahead was dark, and he had no idea where he was going.
Then suddenly the world rushed down into darkness, and Han’s precarious grip on the hauler was his only anchor with reality. He stifled a yell and clung for all he was worth. Belatedly, he realized that there must have been an opening to a vertical tunnel and the hauler had dropped down it, was dropping down it, moving even faster than it had in the tunnel.
Yeah, Solo, this was not one of your better ideas, Han told himself, shaking with the effort of holding on. He just hoped he survived it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEIA WATCHED VIEST CLIMB the steps to the balcony spectators’ area and join the other members of her entourage already seated there. As if that had been a signal, a technician approached Leia and Metara to hand them repulsor pads for their hands and feet, and stood by while they carefully checked to make sure each pad was working. Once they had, he nodded grimly and went to the next pair of players.
Metara glanced up at Viest, lounging on a couch on the balcony with her hangers-on. “Hopefully she’ll keep her word when we win.”
Leia wished it was that simple, and that she had any belief whatsoever that Viest would keep her word about anything. “The game is not going to be that easy to win. There has to be another factor.”
“Another factor?” Metara frowned, and looked over the arena again. “You mean something to interfere with us while we’re after the remote? Besides the other players?”
“Like more remotes, or something else,” Leia said. “It’s mainly the something else I’m worried about.” There was nothing they could do about it now but be aware that the rules might change drastically at any moment. “I’ll go for the remote; you try to keep the others off me. And please don’t get pulverized.”
Metara just looked worriedly at Leia. “Please don’t take any chances.”
Leia didn’t reply, because this was yet another argument that she was bone-weary of having. She knew Metara didn’t want to be the Alderaanian who got Princess Leia Organa killed, but Leia had been taking responsibility for herself for a long time.
The equipment below started to hum and crackle as the power increased. “Players get ready,” the technician shouted.
Following the example of the others, Leia and Metara took off their boots and put on the pads, then spent a few moments getting used to the pressure controls for toes and fingers. Leia saw that the Ishori had to take off their prosthetics to get the pads to fit over their hands, and wondered if that would put them at a disadvantage. She didn’t want anyone to be sucked into a crusher, but it would be nice if the lack of prosthetics made it difficult for them to manipulate the pads.
The technician waved the teams forward to the edge of the arena. Leia could feel the fringe of the gravity field, right at the point where it started to dissipate; it lifted her braided hair and made her steps lighter. She wondered how well regulated the gravity field was; if it varied throughout the space, that could affect the performance of the repulsor pads.
The technician explained the rules again, which were as Viest had said: knock the remote, which would be set to fire at them on maximum pain level, through one of the crushers. It still sounded deceptively simple. Leia didn’t know enough about the Ishori to interpret anything from their expressions or demeanor, but the Twi’lek looked far grimmer and her human companion far more worried than the bare description of the game seemed to warrant. They know something, or suspect something. She wished again that they had been allowed the chance to talk before the game started.
Then Viest stood, and the technician told them, “Into the arena.”
Leia, Metara, and the others stepped off into the zero-g field, and Leia felt her stomach give a tiny lurch at the abrupt transition from near-normal weight to almost none. She curled her toes and the foot pads responded; the repulsors pushed her into a gentle glide into the arena. The propulsion was much faster and more erratic here in the light-grav area than it had been up on the rock shelf, and the pad on her left foot was a bit slow to respond. One of the Ishori and the human man seemed to be having a little trouble getting both foot pads to respond at the same time, but the others looked to be getting the hang of it easily.
Along with everyone else, Leia used her hand pads to stop once they were in the center of the arena. As all the players hovered in place, the containment field sprang into life with a sizzle in the damp air and a strong smell of ozone. The faint glow of it formed a sphere around the whole arena.
Leia saw Viest draw her blaster and experienced an adrenaline spike of fear that this all might just have been an insane buildup for a summary execution. Then Viest fired toward the top of the chamber and shouted, “Go!”
Leia swore at herself, and the others dived for the remote. Leia used her foot pads to circle the outside, Metara following her. One of the Ishori reached the remote first, grabbed it despite
the volley of stinging blasts it released, and headed straight for the nearest crusher.
Leia swooped to intercept him, and his teammate dived for her. Metara knocked the teammate aside by turning her hand pads on him, and used the repulsors to propel him halfway across the arena. Then she kicked out with a foot, using the repulsor pad to deflect an assault from the male human on the Twi’lek’s team. Leia grabbed the Ishori by the legs and swung him around. He lost his grip on the struggling remote and she released him and lunged for it.
She stretched to grab it and it shot her in the right shoulder. Leia had thought she would be able to ignore the sting and just grab the damn thing, but the impact was like being stabbed by a very thin, heated blade. She jerked back, her right arm went numb, and the remote whizzed away.
“Are you all right?” Metara shouted.
“Yes!” Leia snapped. Furious, blinking back tears of pain, she circled after the remote. She flexed her shoulder to get the feeling back. Apparently they had been serious about “maximum pain level.” That might be the extra difficulty Viest had wanted to conceal until the last moment, but somehow Leia didn’t think so.
Everyone had seen Metara’s maneuver, and now they knew how to use the pads for offense and defense. The game became considerably more than just a wrestling match for the remote, with the players swooping around, sending one another spinning across the arena, and propelling the increasingly active remote out of reach. Leia almost managed to push it into a crusher three times, only to have it shoved out of its trajectory or to find herself knocked off course. Sweat was streaming down her back, plastering her hair to her forehead, and her body was covered with stinging bruises from the blasted remote. She was still wary, but so far no one had tried to shove another player into a crusher, and they all seemed to be working under an implied agreement not to try.