Mercy Kill

by Aaron Allston

  “I think … that the Quad-Linked Militant Pacifists are a front. A cover story of some sort. For these people.”

  “Good. Go on.”

  “They have insertion skills. Combat skills. We don’t know yet if those X-wings were actually StealthXs or regular X-wings dressed up to look that way. Their activities in Glitterby Base were … weirdly undisciplined. I think we’re looking at Jedi or Sith.”

  “An interesting conclusion. And it matches some of the evidence. But, no.” Stavin shook his head. “They’re commandos. Intelligence field agents. They’re called Wraith Squadron. Their leader, a man named Loran, is dead. Their field leader, now in charge, is someone we thought for more than thirty years was dead. His name is Ton Phanan.” He looked at another officer, a male captain. “You get that, Rossin?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Put all your covert ops resources toward finding Ton Phanan and Wraith Squadron. And kill every last one of them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SKIFTER STATION, KURATOOINE, WILD SPACE

  Myri stepped aside, pressing herself more firmly into Turman’s side to let the two green-uniformed inspectors pass. Their booted feet thudded up the boxy shuttle’s boarding ramp.

  The droid who had been addressing Myri resumed his speech. With limbs like sticks, and head, hands, and feet that swelled into balloon-shaped extremities, the droid looked like he had been designed to be comforting to small children, and the wide, childlike optical sensors that served him as eyes reinforced that impression. “It’s important to understand that, though there are Alliance military bases here, Kuratooine is not a member of the Galactic Alliance. Outside those bases and the embassy, local laws apply. In fact, it’s rumored that with certain of our judges, the phrase You can’t do that to me, I’m an Alliance citizen earns an extra three months of imprisonment.”

  Myri sighed as if vexed. She spun in place and threw her arms around Turman’s neck, but she continued speaking to the droid. “We’re on our honeymoon tour, silly. Does anyone ever commit a crime on a honeymoon?”

  “Frequently, madame. Usually very thoughtless and foolish crimes. And these honeymooners raise an extra share of public sympathy while being arrested, tried, convicted, and imprisoned.”

  Myri tilted her head back and kissed Turman. He wore an especially kissable face now; his features were human and holodrama-handsome, his hair thick and dark. She tried not to think about the fact that what she was kissing was not his actual face but an organic mask. The thought of it twitching under her lips or opening an eye somewhere caused her to shudder.

  She spun again. Turman wrapped his arms around her waist in husbandly fashion. Myri appreciated the contact; this bay, like most chambers separated from the vacuum of space only by an atmosphere barrier of projected energy, was chilly. She faced the droid. “Are they going to take long?”

  “As long as it takes, madame. Would you care for a datachip about local history, regulations, and tourist attractions?”

  “Give it to Bubbo.” With a tilt of her head, she indicated the Gamorrean porter waiting restlessly on the other side of the boarding ramp. Bubbo shot her a dirty look.

  They were in the Arrivals and Customs Bay of Skifter Station, a classic, huge ring-and-spoke satellite orbiting far above the planet of Kuratooine. Fully one-quarter of the outermost ring was devoted to customs and other civilian planetary government functions. Like other ring stations, it did not use artificial gravity—spin imparted a semblance of gravity to the outer edge of the ring. The floor of this bay, gridded off into countless landing and inspection berths, curved gently, bending upward in the distance in either direction like a reverse horizon.

  The customs inspectors eventually emerged from the shuttle and presented a tablet, all screen, to Myri and Turman. The taller of the inspectors, a Mon Calamari female whose night-black skin was stippled with old scarring, gave them what was clearly meant to be a friendly look. “All clear. Thank you for not smuggling. Palm print, please.”

  Turman placed his palm on the tablet and waited while a light within the device flashed. Myri tried not to appear concerned … and the device faded to blackness. There was no sudden blinking of red text reading, He’s wearing fake skin with a fake print, arrest at once.

  The inspector continued, “As soon as we receive payment for your visas, you’ll be clear to go planetside. Welcome to Kuratooine.” With little half bows, she and the human male beside her turned to leave, heading to the next spacecraft in line, an unlikely looking Y-wing of considerable antiquity. The child-friendly droid followed.

  Myri let out a slow breath. “I hate that part.”

  “But you’re good at it.” Turman released her.

  “What I like is the gambling. I can smell the cards from here.”

  Voort joined them. “You cannot. And, by the way—Bubbo?”

  Myri grinned. “You look like a Bubbo.”

  “It’s not the name on my identicard.”

  “It could be a nickname.”

  Voort moved over to peer out the nearest viewport. Large, with curved corners, it showed Kuratooine, a large disk of blue water and mossy green continents, white at the polar caps and sandy brown at the equator.

  Myri joined him. “Very, very pretty. Too pretty for a reptile like the general to be allowed to settle here.”

  “We don’t know for certain that this is his destination.” Turman breathed the words into her ear, like an ardent husband whispering sweet nothings. “It’s just our number one choice.”

  Myri’s datapad beeped. She pulled it from her pocket and looked at the messages on the screen. “Scut’s portable lab has cleared customs. He’s arranging to get it planetside. Sharr says there are no reports from Vandor-Three of the general going on a long trip, disappearing, anything like that—obviously, he’s pretty confident. And our payment has been confirmed. We’re clear to go down ourselves.”

  The Wraiths arrived in twos and threes at their new temporary headquarters, a cluster of old office prefabs on the cliffside overlooking a played-out rock quarry. Situated only twenty klicks from the northeastern edge of Kura City, the property was remote enough to conceal Wraith movements; a deep stand of trees surrounding the cluster of buildings on three sides improved the site’s privacy. The property was also close enough to the city and the army base beyond to be convenient.

  Myri, Turman, and Voort were first to arrive, Myri piloting the Concussor’s shuttle, now painted a stylish silver with gold trim. They immediately performed a quick inspection of the site, making sure that it corresponded to the materials they’d been transmitted by the Kuratooine company that managed it.

  Scut and Trey were delivered by a commercial airspeeder that also hauled the crate, large as a Wookiee’s coffin, that held Scut’s organic tissue samples and laboratory equipment.

  Sharr and Huhunna arrived in a rented airspeeder, a long, black, closed-top vehicle that looked like it had been intended to transport celebrities inconspicuously. Under the rear hatch, its cargo area was filled with food and other supplies they’d bought in a marketplace in Kura City. Trey immediately got to work disassembling and upgrading the vehicle’s thrusters and repulsors.

  Thaymes and Drikall arrived on rented speeder bikes. They didn’t immediately come to the cluster of buildings when they arrived. Instead, they roared down into the quarry and chased each other across rough terrain while Voort watched from the clifftop and pondered possible expenses incurred by wrecked swoops and broken bones. But both men and their vehicles reached the buildings intact.

  Jesmin and Wran were last, arriving in a large, boxy gray delivery speeder they had purchased. In its spacious rear compartment it carried the “hot box,” the dirty white duraplast shipping crate that had had to be coddled all the way from Corellia, its travels made smooth by the paying of bribes at every transfer and inspection station. Within it were some of Scut’s tissue samples that would displease or even terrify local health au
thorities, plus a variety of weapons, including Wran’s sniper rifle, that would have caused any peace officers to issue an arrest warrant.

  Scut, in his new face—a tall, angular human face with a flat-top hairstyle and an enigmatic little smile—set up his lab in one of the outlying prefabs. Thaymes, assuming computer and comm duties for the team, brought in a compact holoprojector of local manufacture and set it up against one wall of the largest building’s main room, the operations center. Thaymes also set up an elaborate computer-and-communications array in a corner of the same chamber.

  Trey, in charge of equipment fabrication and maintenance, took possession of a prefab adjacent to Scut’s lab. When not fine-tuning the vehicles, he also set up an exercise floor in one end of the same building. Huhunna rigged a hammock high in the trees near the buildings and then helped Jesmin hide sensors at critical spots in foliage around the property. Drikall set up a small medical ward, as well as his own quarters, in one of the smaller prefabs, and the others chose rooms in the same building as the ops center for their individual quarters.

  By nightfall they were done unpacking and arranging. They gathered in the operations center.

  Myri looked around, annoyed. “I know what we forgot. Cookware for the kitchen.”

  Jesmin sagged into one of the chairs left behind by the property’s previous operators. “Tomorrow. We can survive on field rations tonight.”

  Voort moved along the exterior walls, sliding shutters closed. “This place actually feels weirdly like home.”

  Jesmin shook her head. “We haven’t yet put explosives under all the floors to blow the place up when we leave. Then it becomes like home.”

  Voort slid the last viewport shut. “You are your father’s daughter.” He turned to Thaymes. “All right. Give me the planetary view.”

  Thaymes sat at his computer array and began pressing keys. The holoprojector hummed into life. A glowing image appeared in midair at the center of the room, a globe showing Kuratooine’s continents. Tiny dots orbited above the globe, representing Skifter Station and other artificial satellites. More distantly, two spheres smaller than Kuratooine, the planet’s moons, orbited, sometimes disappearing into an ops center wall and then emerging minutes later from another.

  “So we have here a very pretty location where our target may have set up a nest. A nest where he’ll take refuge when he abandons his real identity. Or maybe it’s not here. That’s what we have to find out.” Voort indicated a darker patch on the planet’s surface a bit north of the equator near the center of one of the northern-hemisphere continents. The patch lay between mountains to the immediate west and an enormous lake immediately to the east. “Kura City, which was once just Kura, a mining colony. There were precious metals and gems to be dug out of those nearby mountains, including Black Crest Mountain, just at the city’s western edge, though the original veins were pretty much played out as of fifty years ago. When planets started to fall during the Yuuzhan Vong War, most members of the Kura family died, and the one survivor was right here on Kuratooine. In contrast with a lot of planetary leaders, she put out word immediately that refugees were welcome to settle here. Kuratooine was outside the control of the New Republic, the Empire, and any other planetary alliance, so Dame Kura could get away with imposing some indentured-servitude restrictions on the new settlers … but she was smart, too, giving every settler a fair buyout price after three years of indenture. Immigrants would work hard for three years, save every extra credit they could, get to know the environment, buy out their contracts … and Dame Kura would immediately loan them back their buyout funds so they could buy land.”

  Sharr looked impressed. “I get it. So what you end up with is a population of hard workers with long-term financial ties to, and even gratitude toward, the planetary leaders.”

  “Correct.” Voort reached down into the bag of field rations and other supplies Huhunna had deposited on the floor. He fetched out a small packet—a self-heating dessert—and tossed it to Sharr. “So today we have a revitalized mining industry, thriving trade, slow but continued immigration, and a growing tourism business. Including Skifter Station and lots of other gambling emporiums groundside.”

  “That doesn’t explain the military bases.” Myri dragged one of the newly purchased pillow chairs to a spot against the wall and seated herself.

  “Thaymes, give us a closer look at Kura City and its surroundings.” Voort waited until the floating globe transformed itself into a flat map showing just the city, plus a few kilometers of mountains and lake. Now the division between Kura City and the army base just south of it was obvious—the military base’s roads and buildings were arrayed in neat grids compared with the organic sprawl of the civilian city.

  Sharr frowned. “We’re in the field now. Shouldn’t it be Three instead of Thaymes?”

  Thaymes looked confused. “Am I still Three? Or is Myri Three? Sorry, I meant Other-Three.”

  Voort growled. “All right. Obviously, renumbering so soon after we all got numbers established in the first place isn’t working. And saying something like Team One, Wraith Four won’t work. So we’ll do it the way Jesmin’s father used to.” He pointed a finger at himself. “Leader, or Math Boy.” He gestured at Sharr. “Mind Boy. Myri, you’re Gamble Girl.”

  It took a couple of minutes. Turman was content with Stage Boy, and Thaymes with Comm Boy. Jesmin and Huhunna both wanted Tree Girl, but Jesmin yielded and accepted Ranger Girl instead. Trey argued that Muscle Boy was too confining, not showing him in comprehensive light, but Myri’s suggestion of Pretty Boy caused him to shut up. Voort assigned the very neutral tag of Lab Boy to Scut, and Drug Boy to Drikall. Wran accepted Gun Boy pending a better suggestion.

  “Now.” Voort wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Where was I?”

  His reward dessert half consumed, Sharr looked up. “How the military bases relate to Doomed Boy.”

  “That’s right.” Voort gestured at the army base on the map. “That was old Dame Kura again. She offered the armed services of the Alliance long-term leases on large land grants for a century for the princely sum of one credit. Plus, she or her heirs get to keep any nonmovable improvements when the military forces leave. The armed forces were anxious to accept because Kuratooine is well situated, not a tremendous distance from the Imperial Remnant border, and Dame Kura might make the same offer to the Remnant if the Alliance declined. You’ll recall that the Remnant was doing pretty well at the end of the Yuuzhan Vong War. So we have Rimsaw Station in orbit, shared by the Alliance Navy and Starfighter Command.”

  Myri smirked. “So it’s a place of calmness and cooperation, a model of how interservice relations should be conducted.”

  Voort gave her a disapproving look. “You’re too young to be such a cynic, Gamble Girl. That’s my job. And then there’s the new army base next to Kura City. Blow it up, Comm Boy.”

  Thaymes looked at him, blank-eyed. “Explosives aren’t really my—”

  “Expand the image.”

  “Sorry.” Thaymes manipulated his controls and the holomap altered again, its lower center stretching to dominate the whole image. Now the base appeared in greater detail, training yards and walkways clearly visible, barracks distinguishable from office and motor pool buildings. Square structures along the perimeter were revealed to be defense and observation towers.

  Voort’s gesture took in the entire map. “This is Chakham Army Base. An infantry battalion is stationed here, the Eighty-ninth—five companies of Pop-Dogs, a fact that brought this planet to our attention. The base was built after General Thaal assumed command of the army, another warning flag for us. It’s named for a General Chakham who was one of Thaal’s boosters after he defected from the Empire, but it may be noteworthy that General Chakham’s daughter, Norena, was one of the original Pop-Dogs and is a newly minted general herself. Chakham Base is a test site for new weapons systems being evaluated for possible deployment. The Pop-Dogs there also have starfighters, a small unit of E-wings that
are theoretically for training, a fact that annoys Starfighter Command greatly.”

  Voort moved a step away from the hologram. “So we started looking at Chakham Base. What did we find? A lot of personal attention from General Thaal. Several original Pop-Dogs were here for the groundbreaking and dedication a few years ago. And if we assume that he uses consistent tactics in his illegal activities, well, right next to the base, between it and the city, is a peak called Black Crest Mountain, which has extensive played-out mines beneath it. Old maps show that some of those tunnels reach as far as the new base south and into the city north.”

  Wran looked thoughtful. “Extensive mine works offering a lot of room to store stolen goods intended for the black market.”

  Voort reached into the bag for another dessert and tossed it to Wran. “Exactly. The more we look at Kuratooine, the more suspicious it becomes. Then there’s Usan Joyl’s new-identity profile. This world has a lot of settlers from destroyed or badly disrupted worlds. It’s a tourist world, so the local government is used to bending regulations and looking the other way when enough credits are handed around. Local people are used to seeing unfamiliar faces. Comm Boy has verified that planetary government records here are replicated across a standard number of archival machines but are theoretically editable.”

  Sharr frowned. “How about HyperTech? Any connection with HyperTech Industries of Kuat?”

  Voort shrugged. “We have no way of knowing if any of the armed forces sites here have HyperTech equipment installed. The odds say probably so.”

  Sharr frowned. “I wish …” He selected a folding chair for himself and pulled it out of its wrappings. He unfolded it and sat on it backward, leaning forward against its backrest. “I wish we knew whether the situation with HyperTech was connected with this whole mess.”

  “We do.” Voort nodded toward Thaymes. “Comm Boy figured it out just minutes before we left Vandor-Three. Things were confused during the extraction so he told me about it afterward, once we were on Corellia. Comm Boy, give me the graphic I asked for.”