he wanted as many of his people alive on that day as possi-
ble.
As wonderful as Jan's care and concern was, it also tor-
tured the older man. Corran could clearly see Ysanne Isard's
fine hand in that. By letting Jan take responsibility for all the
Rebel prisoners, she created dozens and dozens of avenues to
attack him. With each one of them who went away or died, a
little piece of Jan died. How he had endured that much pain
for so long Corran could not imagine, but he hoped, by
taking responsibility for himself, he could ease the burden on
Jan's shoulders.
Seventy paces from the cave mouth they passed the
opening to the latrine. The fixtures in it were rudimentary,
but did include a water spigot so a minimum of hygiene
could be observed. Thirty paces beyond it, about halfway to
the mine complex, the line of prisoners passed through a
barred gateway that was locked closed at night. Corran
thought its presence was unnecessary, since the Imps had
placed infrared detection units at both ends of the corridors.
Then again, those units aren't really that hard to defeat, es-
pecially if the people monitoring them are as alert as the
guards marching through the dust with us.
A full 203 paces from the mouth of the cavern complex,
Corran passed through what had once been a ship's hatch-
way and into the prisoners' workstation. Rumor among the
prisoners had it that Lusankya dated from before the Clone
Wars and incorporated parts from various ships that had
been blasted to pieces in a naval action beyond the atmo-
sphere. The scavenged hatch and the condition of the old,
worn tools did suggest a certain amount of antiquity to the
facility, but that conclusion came so easily that Corran was
disinclined to trust it. If that's what Isard wants us to think
about ber Lusankya, then I don't want to think it.
Beyond the hatch they proceeded down a steep grade to
a long rectangular cavern that had five tunnels shooting off it
like fingers off the palm of a hand. All the fingers ended in
doors that were cobbled together from ship bulkhead panels
and held closed by chains and locks. The tunnels were big
enough to allow a small mining droid to pass through them,
but the doors were always shut when the prisoners came into
the room, so Corran never saw the droids digging out the ore
they processed.
At the far end of the chamber from the entryway sat
several piles of huge boulders. Men would work on them
with heavy sledgehammers, bit by bit breaking them down
into smaller rocks. Other prisoners would carry those
smaller rocks to the middle of the chamber, where more pris-
oners would smash them with smaller sledges. Yet more pris-
oners with shovels and screens would sift the debris, pitching
back the larger stones. The resulting gravel would then be
hauled in buckets to a conveyor belt that carried the gravel
up and away. At the top of the conveyor belt the gravel
disappeared through a heavy steel grate.
No one knew much about what lay beyond the grate.
They knew air was blowing out of it because they could see a
fair amount of dust blown back into the air around the con-
veyor belt. Most of the prisoners assumed the belt led to a
blast furnace where the gravel was melted down, or a mixing
container where it was being made into ferrocrete. Corran
argued that it was just as likely that the gravel was being
dumped into hovertrucks and taken out to pave walkways in
some Moff's garden, and if that was true, the grate was all
that stood between them and freedom.
All of the prisoners knew what they were doing was
simply make-work, but the Imps had taken the precautions
necessary to prevent work stoppages. ]'he conveyor belt's
workings had been sunk into the ground so the prisoners
couldn't get access to the motor and sabotage it. Steel fibers
had been woven into the length of the belt to keep it strong
and had been tightened so virtually no slack appeared in the
belt on its return trip to the depths of the mine's floor. A
railing had even been set up to prevent prisoners from acci-
dentally falling onto the belt or getting caught in the mecha-
nism.
Corran dumped his bucket of gravel into the maw of the
container bolted on the conveyor belt. Hunnning away
loudly, the belt started the gravel on its twenty-meter journey
to the grate. Corran watched it go for a second, then allowed
the next man in line to bump him out of the way.
Heading back to where Urlor was shoveling gravel into
buckets, Corran took a quick inventory of the guards watch-
ing over them. A full squad of men in stormtrooper armor
guarded them, providing one trooper for every ten of the
eighty prisoners in the work detail. Six of the troopers car-
ried blaster carbines. The other two crewed an E-Web set up
just inside the hatchway, making any attempt to rush out of
the mine suicidal. The sharp slope up which the prisoners
would have to charge would slow them enough that the two-
man heavy blaster would cut them all down. Though none of
the guards were as big as stormtroopers, nor seemed as well
disciplined as the Empire's shock troops, even they would
have been enough to quell a prisoner revolt.
Urlor tossed a shovelful of gravel toward Corran's
bucket but missed with half of it. "Don't do this, Corran."
He kept his voice low enough that the rattling chuffof gravel
pouring through a screen hid it from outsiders. "Wait. Learn
more."
"This is learning." He winked at the bigger man.
"Guards have their blasters selected for stun."
Jan looked over from the end of the screen he was hold-
ing. "You'll risk your life on the flick of a thumb?"
Corran tapped himself on the chest. "Rogue Squadron,
remember."
"Corellian, more like." Jan shook his head. "None of
you have any respect for odds."
"Why respect what you have to beat?" Corran gave
each of them a nod. "Trust me, I have to make this run."
Urlor dumped a final shovel's-worth in the bucket.
"May the Force be with you."
"Thanks." Corran, letting the bucket dangle down be-
tween his l egs, started the awkward, hunched-over Rybet-
walk back toward the conveyor belt. His plan was simple
he'd dump his bucket, then hop over the railing and ride the
belt up to the grate. Up there, at least as viewed from the
work floor, there appeared to be enough shadowed space to
conceal him. If he could then get down through the grate, or
find a hidden passageway out, he'd be free. "You there."
Cotran looked over at the guard pointing at him. "Me?"
"Come here."
Why me? Cotran shuffled over toward the man. "Sir?"
"Don't question me, prisoner." The guard, clad in the
lighter weight scout version of the armor, loomed over him.
"As for the reason I picked you, you're new and need a
lesson."
Without warning the guard brought the blaster carbine
up and around in a one-handed backhand stroke that caught
Corran over the right ear. Stars exploded before his eyes and
the clank of metal on skull started a fierce ringing in his ears.
A flange on the barrel cut his ear and split his scalp, while the
force of the blow spun Corran around to the left.
Pain overrode panic. As Corran whirled he held on tight
to the bucket, brought it up, and let it fly when his tormentor
came into view again. The gravel-filled container smashed
into the guard's faceplate. The man's head snapped back as
the blow knocked him from his feet. He stumbled backward
as the bucket flew on comet-like, spraying out a gravel tail.
Corran's vision cleared and seconds seemed to take
hours to pass. The guard's carbine, the muzzle glistening
with his blood, hung in the air. Corran knew he could snatch
it before it hit the ground and burn down the two closest
guards in a heartbeat. Half the guards in the detail would
have been accounted for. Getting the rest would be difficult,
but the other prisoners could swarm them. They'd take the
guards' weapons and . . .
And die trying to clear the E-Web. Or die trying to fight
our way out of the belly of this prison. All of them will die,
and their deaths will be on my head, if I grab that gun.
He heard the whine of a blaster and saw something blue
shoot past him. All the prisoners dove for the floor. They
shrank into a huddled carpet of dirty arms and legs, ducking
their heads to avoid recognition, yet peeking out to see what
would happen.
All of them went down save for one.
Jan.
Eyes filled with horror and pride, he nodded to Corran.
Cotran, understanding, nodded back.
The stun-bolt caught Corran square in the middle of his
chest. It did to his nervous system what an ion-bolt did to a
machine. In one instant every nerve in Corran's body fired,
instantly wracking him with pain, burning him up, shak-
ing, crushing, and freezing him. All of his muscles con-
tracted, bowing his back, grinding his teeth, and kicking him
up into the air with a little hop. His limp body's impact on
the ground probably hurt, but his nervous system couldn't
route reports to his brain properly, so he really didn't know
how he felt.
Except it's not good.
He saw Jan crouching over him. "I'll see they get you
help."
Corran wanted to nod, wanted to blink, wanted to do
something to let Jan know he heard him, but he couldn't.
About half the time he'd been hit with a stun-bolt before--in
training exercises and a couple of times with CorSec in the
field--he'd lost consciousness. The times he hadn't, he'd
wished he had, because the feeling of helplessness created by
being trapped inside a body that didn't work was worse than
any pain.
The medical team called for by the guards arrived rather
quickly, bringing with them a repulsorlift stretcher. After
they loaded their unconscious comrade on it, they reluctantly
draped Corran over the man's legs, leaving Corran's head
dangling and his hands and feet scraping along the ground as
they hauled the two individuals out of the mine.
Staring down at the floor, he couldn't see much on the
trip out. The medtechs wrestled the stretcher into a lift, and
the one to the right of the door, at the foot of the stretcher,
punched a button and started the box ascending. Corran
heard three tones, which he took to mean they had ascended
three floors, then the lift stopped and the medtechs again
struggled to get the stretcher out of the lift.
They floated Corran on through corridors that appeared
much more modern and maintained, if floor tile was any
indication, than the rest of the facility. Finally they brought
the stretcher to a stop in a place where he caught the familiar
scent of bacta, and unceremoniously dumped him to the
floor. He rolled onto his left side, his cheek pressed against
the cold flooring.
He caught snatches of the conversation between the
medtechs and the Emdee droid that would be caring for the
guard, but the ringing in his right ear made it difficult for him
to catch everything. Moreover, he wasn't certain he could
trust any sensory inputs, because what he was hearing
through his left ear was simply impossible.
Starting from above his head and continuing on down
toward his feet, he heard the dopplered sound of storm-
troopers--real, well-disciplined stormtroopers--marching
along. That was not remarkable in and of itself except in that
if they had been there, they'd have been marching over him,
and as messed up as he was, he was fairly certain he'd have
noticed that. The only other alternative was that they were in
a room below him, marching on the ceiling, and what that
meant was, at that time, well and truly beyond his ability to
comprehend.
22
Wedge thumbed his comlink on. "What do you need,
Mirax?"
"Coming up on the Kala'uun Starport, Wedge. I thought
you might like to be up here on the bridge as we come in. It's
quite the sight."
"On my way." He glanced around the cargo hold and
nodded at his R5 unit. "Hang on, Mynock, we're almost
there. Keep a scanner on these crates for me, will you?"
The cylinder-headed droid beeped affirmatively. The R5
unit then exchanged some softer tones with the Pulsar
Skate's Verpine maintenance droid.
No, they can't be talking about me. Wedge laughed at
his flash of paranoia and stepped out of the hold. The doors
crunched shut behind him. Letting a hand trail along the
corridor's ceiling, he made his way along the spine of the
ship to the bridge. He thought he might have been imagining
things, but heat from the atmosphere already appeared to be
bleeding in through the ship's hull. Scant wonder there are
Twi'leks that think of Tatooine as a suitable place to flee to
during the hot season here.
He stepped down into the bridge and dropped into a
seat behind Mirax. "I'd forgotten how impressive this is."
The tortured surface of Ryloth spread out before them
like the shams of a shattered earthenware vase. Black basalt
mountains thrust up into a dusky red sky. Centermost in
their view of the planet stood a massive mountain with a
huge tunnel cored into the interior at its base. The smaller
holes dotting the face of the mountain would have appeared
to be natural openings except for the regularity with which
they were arranged.
Because the planet rotated on its axis once per year, the
same side of Ryloth always faced the sun. Kala'uun existed
near the terminus line--where day and night met--making it
one of the cooler sunside locations. Because of Ryloth's ellip-
tical orbit, the planet did have seasons, though most humans
>
could not tell the difference between summer and the cool
season since both were unbearably hot.
"Yeah, impressive and impressively treacherous. Liat,
watch the crosswinds as we enter the tunnel."
The Sullustan pilot chittered angrily at her.
"I know you can't miss the rocks out there, I just want
to make sure we miss the rocks." Mirax smiled. "No heat
storm activity today, it seems, but the currents can still be
tricky."
"Right."
Liat Tevv took the Pulsar Skate down into the canyon
that led to the tunnel. Harsh winds had smoothed the stone
to the consistency of polished glass in some spots, and had
torn away huge dagger-like slabs in others. Smaller areas of
damage to the rocks--some graced with a splash of paint or
metallic debris--gave mute testimony to the need for care in
negotiating the approach to Kala'uun.
The Pulsar Skate slipped into the approach tunnel with
plenty of room to spare on all sides. Liat flicked on the ship's
external running lights and floods, filling the dark tunnel
with jagged shadows. Up ahead a massive portcullis slowly
rose into the tunnel's ceiling. As they flew past it Wedge
guessed it was at least thirty meters thick and would require
a lot of pounding before it admitted unwanted visitors.
Mirax glanced back at him. "Ever get the feeling that the
portcullis is as much for keeping folks in as it is for keeping
them out?"
"Only when I'm on the inside of it." Three years had
passed since his first and last trip to Kala'uun, when he and
the rest of Rogue Squadron had arrived unbidden and in
pursuit of a Twi'lek. The circumstances of this trip were cer-
tainly more favorable. Even so, just to make certain there
were no grudges being borne against him, he'd put Emtrey's
scavenging abilities to good use and had him round up a
plethora of gifts for the Twi'leks.
Mirax nodded. "Kala'uun is the one place my father
figures he didn't make out like a bandit. The Twi'leks are
tough negotiators."
"I hope that skill holds for Nawara's efforts on behalf of
Tycho."
Mirax's brown eyes narrowed. "I hope so, too, I think. I
know you believe Tycho had nothing to do with Corran's
Star Wars - X-Wing - Krytos Trap Page 22