by James Luceno
Anakin frowned in confusion. "Any of the repulsors buried on Corellia, Drall, Selonia, or the Double Worlds is capable of fending off an attack by an entire fleet of starships. And with Centerpoint reenabled, Corellia will be as well defended as any system in the New Republic- including Coruscant. So I don't see why everyone's protesting what we're trying to do."
Marcha and Ebrihim traded knowing looks. "I fear you haven't been given all the facts, Anakin," the onetime tutor said. "You're under the impression that you've been summoned to aid in Corellia's defense, when in fact, reenabling Centerpoint Station has more to do with offense than defense."
"I knew it would be something like this," Jacen blurted.
Anakin smiled falsely. "Drall's lighter gravity is going to Jacen's head," he told everyone. "He's convinced that our coming here is going to upset the balance of the Force or something."
Jacen smoldered. "You're not far off, Anakin."
"You're the one who's far off. Anything that will stop the Yuuzhan Vong has the Force on its side."
"What's come over you boys?" Marcha interrupted. "You never used to argue."
"We disagree about this mission," Jacen said, staring at his younger brother.
"Among other things," Anakin said under his breath. Jacen gestured toward Ebrihim. "You heard what he said, Anakin This has more to do with offense. And you were the one who described Centerpoint as Corellia's lightsaber."
"Yeah, which means it can be used to parry or thrust. It all depends on who's wielding it."
"Meaning what-that you'll refuse to help if you find out it's going to be used for attack?"
"Meaning that I'm waiting to hear all sides of the argument." Anakin turned to Ebrihim. "Is there proof the New Republic plans to use Centerpoint as a weapon instead of a shield?"
Ebrihim mulled over his response. "The problem, as I see it-and as you yourself assert-is that Centerpoint has the capacity to be both. Even if used as a shield today, there's no guarantee it won't be used as a weapon tomorrow. But that inherent duality isn't the reason for the protests. The cause runs deeper than that."
"How much do you remember about what the Triad attempted to do during the crisis?" Marcha asked.
"Actually, I don't remember all that much," Anakin confessed. "I know they used Centerpoint to create a sys-temwide interdiction field, capable of trapping hostages and repelling rescue attempts at the same time."
Ebrihim nodded. "We strongly suspect that the New Republic will attempt to do the very same thing. You see, this operation isn't about using Centerpoint to safeguard Corellia; it's about using the station to ensnare the Yuuzhan Vong fleet, and utilizing this system as a battle arena."
"Oh, brother," Jacen groaned. "No wonder Corellia's ready to riot."
Anakin looked from Jacen to Ebrihim. "You said 'suspect.' "
"That's correct. We're not privy to all that's going on inside Centerpoint, much less inside the minds of the Defense Force command staff. What we do know is this That despite the proximity of the Yuuzhan Vong fleet to Corellia, the system is effectively undefended. Oh, the New Republic has seen fit to deploy three of our own Strident-chss Star Defenders at Corellia, and the flotilla that has been safeguarding Duro has been pulled back to shore up the Outlier systems. But even that amount of firepower is insufficient to ward off a full-scale attack."
"Which is precisely what the Defense Force would like the Yuuzhan Vong to conclude," Marcha added.
"Our conspicuous vulnerability is meant to lure the invaders here," Ebrihim said, "to prompt an assault. Then, once Centerpoint has immobilized their fleet, New Republic ships deployed at Bothawui, Kuat, and other worlds will supposedly jump to engage them."
Anakin's forehead creased in concern. "How is the Defense Force expecting to get ships through the interdiction field that's holding the Yuuzhan Vong fleet at bay?"
"By outfitting the ships with the same hyperwave iner-tial momentum sustainers the Bakurans used during the crisis," Ebrihim said. "You must understand, Anakin, this operation has been in the works for some time."
Marcha confirmed it with a nod. "Just how much of it is understood by the demonstrators, or even by the Centerpoint Party, is immaterial. The protestors are reacting to the fact that Coruscant has withheld defense and commandeered Centerpoint without factoring Corellia's citizenry into the equation."
Anakin grew pensive, then looked at Marcha. "You make it sound like everything is already set. It doesn't sound like I'm really needed here."
Marcha smiled faintly. "I wish that were so. But, in fact, the success of the strategy rests very much with you."
Ebrihim explained. "The Defense Force has had their best people working nonstop to bring the entire network on-line, including the repulsors housed on the Five Brothers-Corellia, Drall, Selonia, Talus, and Tralus. The goal now is to slave all five planetary repulsors to Centerpoint itself, providing it with even greater power and range than it already enjoys from tapping the gravitic energies of the Double Worlds. Theoretically, the station will then be capable of creating interdiction fields wherever Admiral Sow and the rest desire them to be created. Centerpoint would also have the ability to alter the course or location of distant planets, or cause stars to explode, as occurred twice during the crisis."
"But the scientists have not yet been able to realize their ambitions," Marcha emphasized. "As was the case during the crisis, the mysteries of Centerpoint continue to elude everyone. The station remains unpredictable and unstable, and at this point no one is certain that it can re-create a massive interdiction field, let alone that it can incite a distant star to go nova.
"And this is where you and you alone figure in the scheme, Anakin, because many of the scientists are convinced that the system still bears the imprint you imparted to the repulsor here on Drall, and that such a network can be brought into synchronization only by you."
Ebrihim reinforced it. "Eight years ago you were responsible for disabling Centerpoint. Now you may be the only person who can successfully rehabilitate it."
Concern shone from Anakin's eyes. "Jacen sensed this from the beginning, but ..." He glanced at everyone. "It's not that I don't trust what you're telling me, but I have to go to Centerpoint and see for myself. I might be able to reenable it as a shield only. That way, Corellia and Drall and the rest can at least protect themselves from attack, no matter what plans the Defense Force or any others devise."
Marcha smiled sadly. "Yes, perhaps you'll be able to do just as you say, Anakin. But a word of warning before you go When it came to reactivating the repulsors and the station, Coruscant had no choice but to call on many of those who were directly involved in fomenting the crisis."
Anakin nodded. "The Sacorrian Triad, you mean."
"Along with several others who played a role in those events," Ebrihim said.
Marcha looked from her nephew to Anakin and Jacen. "It's just this, boys You may not like what you're going to find on Centerpoint. Therefore, you must take care. Think carefully before you agree to anything."
TWEIITY-TWO
"We've got an inspector here from Comestibles and Curatives," the sentry posted at the entrance to Sal-liche Ag's district headquarters said into his comlink. "Human. Yeah, I already told him that we'd had some CCA folks through here last week, but he claims it's a spot inspection. Yeah, all his documentation check s out."
With his hair and beard dyed jet-black and a brimmed cap tugged low on his forehead, Han acted nonchalant while he waited outside the security booth. Baffle, who had dropped him at the gate, had assured him that the pale-green lightweight suit was standard issue for Comestibles and Curatives Administration inspectors, and in fact, the corpulent human sentry had scanned the computer-coded identity card with the indifference of one who had seen hundreds in his day.
"What areas you interested in seeing?" the man asked suddenly.
Han adopted an officious smile. "Divulging that information would effectively undermine the nature of my visit."
The sentry frowned. "He isn't saying," he muttered into the comlink mouthpiece. "Claims it'll spoil the surprise. No, I didn't laugh either. Okay, he'll be here when you arrive." He switched off the comlink and returned the identity card to Han. "Sit tight, pal. An escort's on the way."
The casually dressed man who arrived moments later in a four-seater landspeeder was even heftier than the sentry and had the same sunburned and stubbled farm-boy toughness. Both men were a world apart from the aristocratic Harbrights, who ran Salliche Ag and were apparently intent on throwing in with the Yuuzhan Vong. The escort took in Han as he approached the land-speeder, an alloy case dangling from his right hand.
"Surprised they haven't retired you yet, old-timer," he remarked. A name tag stitched to the pocket of his untucked shirt identified him as Bow.
So much for the deceptive qualities of hair dye, Han thought as he climbed into the rear seat of the speeder. "With any luck, this will be one of my last assignments."
"You know, Salliche has never had a problem with you people," Bow said around what remained of a toothpick protruding from between his front teeth. "We pay good money to see to that."
"I wouldn't know," Han said, blinking. "I'm simply carrying out my assignment."
"Fine. Just make sure you're quick about it. I don't have all day."
Han forced a nervous laugh. "I'm as eager to have this over with as you are."
They set off, but had traveled only a short distance when the Salliche man brought the landspeeder to a halt alongside a large map and directory. With some difficulty, Bow rotated in the front seat to face Han.
"Where to first? We can sample produce from a couple of nearby fields, or you can run your tests on random samples that have already been harvested." He pointed north. "Shipping is over that way, in case you're interested in cargo container decontamination procedures."
Han pretended to study the map, then said, "Suppose we begin at product enhancement." Bow's bushy brows knitted. "You're kidding." Han cleared his throat. "Is there some problem?" "No problem. I just hope CCA is paying you well." The landspeeder flew down narrow dirt roads, many of which twisted through fields of burrmillet waiting to be harvested. As tall as trees, the slender umber stalks of grain formed palisades to either side. Han's nose alerted him to the fact that they were nearing the fertilizer works long before a sign announcing product enhancement came into view. At yet another checkpoint he was issued a disposable jumpsuit and a rebreather helmet with a tinted face bowl. Similarly outfitted, Bow led the way toward an enormous, flat-roofed warehouse, whose loading bays were crowded with banthas, rontos, and other beasts of burden, waiting to receive cargos of fertilizer.
Baffle had already explained that, in keeping with Sal-liche's aim to please the antitech invaders, the company was in the process of switching over from machine-produced nutrients to live production; so Han wasn't as surprised as he might have been to see thousands of craw-maws, wingles, and nightseers-genetically manipulated to be wingless and mute-being force-fed in cages and perches that lined the interior of the building. Beneath the cages, and filled to the brim with the avians' abundant droppings, were wide troughs that funneled the manure to the loading bays for eventual dispersal. Other areas of the warehouse were given over to water tanks crammed with stink fish and fingerfins dredged from Ruan's bountiful seas. Mashed by mallet, the fish were being tossed into the troughs to serve as a fertilizing additive. Considering the debilitating effect it was having on some of the bare-faced Gotals, Bimms, and hapless others whose task it was to gather and shovel excrement overspill into the troughs, Han could well imagine the stench. But he could only guess at the offenses, real or trumped up, the former refugees had committed to have earned themselves such punishment. Among one group, knee-deep in the grounded avians' ordure and leaning feebly against the wooden handle of his shovel, stood Droma.
"I'm going to run a few quick tests," Han told Bow through the rebreather's annunciator. He popped open the carry case and made as if to extract one of the test kits Baffle's coterie of droids had provided, then stopped abruptly and pointed to Droma in elaborate incredulity. "Is that... is that a Ryn?"
The Salliche man stared, then nodded his head. "Yeah. He's new here."
"New or not," Han continued, growing more agitated as he spoke, "doesn't anyone realize that Ryn have proscriptions against bathing and other habits most sapients consider essential to good health?" "But he's working with manure." "That is hardly the point. Do you know what would happen if word leaked that Salliche Ag has Ryn on the premises?"
"It's only one Ryn," Bow started to say. "He'll have to be removed this instant. I demand that he undergo a complete medical evaluation before he is permitted to return to work-even work of this sort."
Letting his exasperation show, Bow prized a slim corn-link from his shirt pocket and, raising the face bowl of his helmet, began to speak briskly into it.
Han wondered what Salliche Ag was going to do about replacing its comlinks and landspeeders if and when the Yuuzhan Vong showed up.
"All right," Bow told Han a moment later, "we're cleared to bring him to medical in the east wing." He swung angrily toward Droma. "Ryn! Leave your shovel and get over here."
Droma looked up, set the tool aside, and clomped toward them, shaking one leg, then the other, then his tail, in an effort to rid himself of some of the gray filth clinging to him.
"Whatever you do, don't touch him," Han warned Bow, "or you'll have to be evaluated along with him."
Reeking of dung, Droma stopped a few meters away, clearly without recognizing Han behind the rebreather mask.
"Hose him down!" Bow ordered a nearby worker.
Han winced as the high-pressure flow from a thick hose nearly swept Droma off his feet. "Ill-starred creatures," he said, loud enough for the Salliche man to hear, "forever getting themselves into trouble."
Bow puffed out his lips and nodded grimly. "You can say that again."
With Droma dripping wet and looking hopelessly forlorn, Bow snapped stun cuffs around his wrists and shoved him toward the warehouse exit. At the checkpoint, Han surrendered the rebreather, deposited the jumpsuit into a shredder/recycler, and followed Droma into the rear seat of the landspeeder. Downcast, Droma didn't glance at him until they were under way, and even then he didn't recognize Han immediately. Then his eyes widened appreciably and his jaw dropped.
"Please, hurry," Han shouted to Bow before Droma could ruin everything with a surprised outburst. "I find it quite distasteful to have to share a seat with this .. . malefactor."
"East wing's dead ahead," Bow said over his shoulder. Han exchanged veiled glances with Droma, but didn't look at him again until the three of them were in a turbo-lift car, descending for the east wing's sublevel-one medical lab. Then, throwing Droma a warning look, he drew a small blaster from the durinium shoulder holster the droids had fabricated, and pressed the weapon's emitter nozzle to Bow's temple.
"Do exactly as you're told and you'll walk away from this." When the big man nodded in a manner that mixed surprise and anger, Han added, "Stop the lift and move to the far corner of the car, then key the stun cuff remote." He cut his eyes briefly to Droma, then told the turbolift to ascend to level five.
Rubbing his freed wrists, Droma glanced at him. "We're going up?"
"I've got a job to do." Han gestured with his chin toward Bow. "You'll have to deal with this one. Take him down to the maintenance sublevel and find a closet to stick him in. If he gives you any trouble, shoot him. Then meet me on level five."
Bow worked his jaw, but managed to keep from saying anything that might provoke Droma to take Han at his word.
While the lift was climbing, Han stripped off the pale-green suit to reveal an expensive business suit beneath it. Droma's curiosity was palpable.
"No time to explain," Han said. Handing Droma the bundled-up suit and the open stun cuffs, he added, "Hold on to these; we're going to need them later."
At level five, he slipped a sheer glove
onto his right hand and headed down a broad, gleaming corridor toward the transceiver room. In his left hand he palmed the fatal data card the droids had given him.
The handprint reader was housed in a niche alongside the control room door. When Han laid his gloved hand on the pad, the device's screen identified him as Dees
Harbright, cousin once removed of Count Borert Har-bright and senior vice president of marketing for Sal-liche Ag, whom the black-bearded, finely tailored Han resembled-sufficiently, at any rate, to bring the half-dozen control room technicians to their feet as he entered.
"Sit down, everyone, sit down," he said in the most cavalier tone he could muster. "I just wanted to have a look at our deactivation system. Are we operating on schedule?"
"One thousand two hundred fifty droids have been shut down and warehoused this quarter, sir," a whip-thin female tech chirped. "During the same period, personnel acqu isition division has succeeded in recruiting over three thousand refugees, who have agreed to remain on Ruan as employees."
"Splendid, splendid," Han said, moving about the room, the data card still palmed in his left hand. While the female tech went on to offer additional statistics, Han-with his back to a peripheral device he hoped would prove the path of least resistance-slotted the disk, which Baffle promised would literally disappear once it had worked its sorcery.
"We're expecting to have at least fifteen hundred more droids warehoused by the end of the next quarter," the cheerful woman was saying when the computer system loosed a series of strident tones that struck Han as the machine equivalent of a distress cry.
"System crash!" another technician shouted in obvious disbelief.
At every duty station, lights began to blink out, display screens went gray, and technicians did all but tear their hair out in an effort to resuscitate the system before it crossed over to wherever machine minds went when they crashed. So desperate were their efforts, Han experienced a twinge of guilt-at least until he reminded himself that the machine had been responsible for deactivating thousands of droids.