Riptide

by Paul S. Kemp

A beep of greeting announced R-6’s appearance in the cockpit. He whooped and whistled.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Ar-Six,” Jaden said, and patted the astromech on his domed head. “Connect to the subspace transmitter and inform the Order that we’ve left Fhost in pursuit of the clones. Give the details of the attack and …”

  He trailed off. Marr eyed him sidelong.

  “… and that’s it.”

  R-6 plugged into Junker’s computer core and started to transmit.

  “I’ve got the beacon,” Marr said, tapping a finger on the scanner screen.

  “I see it,” Jaden said, checking the instrument panel. “Let’s get after them.”

  The dull buzz of voices pulled Khedryn out of the blackness. At first he heard the voices only as garbled nonsense, the rise and fall of pitch and timbre, not words. The stabs of pain in his ribs, head, and nose sharpened as his mind began to clear.

  When he remembered what had happened, he forced his eyes open and looked on dim surroundings. Overhead lights cast only a slight glow. He tried to focus through blurry vision. His head throbbed with pain.

  More words, something about a mother, a hyperspace course.

  He was on the floor, propped against a wall. His hands were bound behind his back, the bonds cutting into the skin of his wrists. Small items lay scattered on the deck. He stared at them a long while before he realized that they were hypos.

  He heard another hypo discharge and its empty cylinder hit the floor. He looked up and around. He saw an elaborate instrument panel, four swivel seats, a large viewport that showed stars and open space.

  He was on a ship, in a cockpit.

  On the bulkhead above the viewport, he saw the star-burst symbol of Pharmstar Industries.

  He was on the medical supply ship.

  “He’s awake,” said a coarse voice from off to the side.

  A large form stepped before him and blocked his view. He squinted through the pain and focused on worn boots, a ragged cloak, tattered clothing, a lightsaber hilt hanging from a belt. Glancing up, he looked into the blotchy, bearded face and wild eyes of the clone he’d shot at back on the landing pad of the medical facility.

  A clone.

  He’d been captured by the clones. The mad clones.

  He tried to keep the flash of fear from his face, but he must have failed, because the clone before him grinned, showing yellow teeth.

  “I think he knows where he is,” the clone said, chuckling. He stepped away from Khedryn, sat in the pilot’s seat, and started to work at the navicomp.

  Khedryn’s mind, still clunky, tried to piece together events, draw conclusions. The clones had gotten off Fhost. Did that mean that Marr and Jaden were dead? Why had the clones taken Khedryn instead of killing him?

  He had no answers. He could barely breathe. His nose was broken. He blew out sharply and expelled a stream of snot and blood onto his face and shirt. The clones seemed not to notice or care.

  A female clone stood beside the pilot’s seat, one hand on the back of it. She stared out at space and he could see her in profile—her delicate features, her bald head. He would have thought her beautiful had he met her in a cantina somewhere. Her eyes were closed and she swayed slightly, as if in a trance. A second woman sat in another of the chairs, her back to Khedryn, her long red hair pooling on the gray material of the seat. She seemed to be sleeping.

  A child, a girl, sat on the floor near the woman’s feet, nestled against the chair. Her long hair, also red, hung almost to her waist. She smiled at him, a guileless, friendly smile. The gesture struck Khedyrn as so out of place that he did not know how to respond. Finally he stuck his tongue out at her, and she giggled.

  A hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him roughly around. Another clone crouched before him, looking him directly in the face.

  “I’m Soldier,” the clone said.

  Khedryn saw only a hint of wildness in the gray eyes of Soldier.

  Gray eyes.

  He blinked, thinking how familiar the eyes seemed. He noted the narrow, angled features, the hatchet nose, the jaw … and his mouth fell open.

  “Stang,” he whispered.

  He was looking at Jaden Korr—a shaggy Jaden Korr worn thin by a harsh life on a forgotten moon, but there was no mistaking the eyes.

  “I want you to tell me how the Jedi found us,” Soldier said.

  Khedryn deflected the question, his response on autopilot. “What Jedi? I’m just a salvage jockey who was visiting a relative at—”

  “I saw the recognition in your eyes when you looked at me just now,” Soldier said. “I saw the same thing in the Jedi’s eyes when he first saw me.”

  “You should have let me kill him back on Fhost,” said the wild clone in the pilot’s seat.

  “His name is Runner,” Soldier said, nodding at the wild clone. “If you lie to me, I will let him do what he wishes with you. Do you understand?”

  “You’re going to kill me anyway,” Khedryn said.

  Soldier did not gainsay it. He leaned in closer. “Tell me how you found us.”

  “Jedi can do things. I don’t know how—”

  Runner whirled in his seat and lunged for Khedryn, his face twisted in anger. He pushed through Soldier, took Khedryn by the throat, and jerked him to his feet. Khedryn gasped for breath, his feet kicking. He thumped a boot off Runner’s chest. The impact troubled the clone not in the least.

  Khedryn began to see spots. He looked down and saw the little girl, curled up in a ball, hiding her eyes. He looked into Runner’s bloodshot eyes, saw barely controlled madness there.

  “Tell me how you found us,” Soldier said. Then to Runner, “Put him down.”

  Runner hesitated.

  “Put him down.”

  Runner dropped Khedryn and he hit the floor in a heap, gasping, wheezing. Soldier crouched beside him.

  “Tell me.”

  Khedryn rolled onto his backside and sat up.

  “Happenstance,” he said, and Runner growled. “That’s the truth. We returned to Fhost from the frozen moon, heard about the attack on the medical facility, and put two and two together.”

  Soldier seemed to consider this. “Then they are not following us now?”

  Khedryn answered truthfully. “I don’t know. I don’t see how.”

  “Bah!” said Runner, and returned to his seat.

  Soldier studied Khedryn’s face for a moment. “I believe you,” he said, and stood.

  As Soldier turned away, Khedryn said, “How can you be him? Jaden? This … doesn’t make any sense.”

  Soldier turned back and looked down on him. “Jaden? That is the Jedi’s name?”

  Khedryn nodded, wondering if he’d said too much.

  “I’m not him,” Soldier said. “I’m Soldier.”

  Khedryn looked away, looked over to the little girl, but she was gone. He did not see her anywhere in the cockpit.

  “What are you going to do with me?” he asked Soldier.

  Soldier stared down at him with Jaden’s intense eyes. The clone cocked his head as if asking himself the same question. He looked to the bald woman, then to Runner.

  “This ship has an escape pod,” he said to them. “We can put him in it and eject him into space. Maybe someone will find him.”

  Runner spun in his seat. “Why waste an escape pod? We should space him.”

  Khedryn’s heart beat faster. Sweat formed on his brow, and he despised himself for it.

  “Or maybe just kill him right now,” Runner said. He lurched to his feet, took his lightsaber hilt in hand, and advanced on Khedryn.

  Soldier stepped between them.

  “Wait.”

  “He shot at me,” Runner spat, still trying to push through Soldier. “And he travels with the Jedi who tried to kill us both.”

  Soldier looked back at Khedryn. Khedryn found it unnerving to see such coldness in that face, Jaden’s face. He knew his life hung on Soldier’s next words.

  “It’s just an
escape pod,” Soldier said.

  “Seer?” asked Runner of the woman. “What do you say?”

  Seer, the bald clone, did not turn from the viewport. She stared out at the black as if it held some answer she sought. “Mother has no need of him. And neither do we. He should be killed.”

  Runner grinned and moved toward Khedryn. Soldier hesitated for only a moment before he stepped out of the way, his shoulders slumped. He turned and looked into Khedryn’s face. There was no apology in Soldier’s expression, but neither was there pleasure.

  “There’s no reason to kill me,” Khedryn said, pleased that his voice remained steady.

  “There’s no reason to keep you alive,” Runner said, and ignited his lightsaber.

  “You’re murderers, then,” Khedryn said. “Typical Sith.”

  “We’re not Sith,” Soldier said.

  “Might as well be,” Khedryn said. He stared the big clone in the face and used the wall to scramble to his feet. His burgeoning fear vanished in the face of the inevitable. He would not die afraid. He stuck out his chin.

  “Not with a lightsaber, you Sith bastard. I’m a spacer. You put me out the damned airlock. At least give me that.” He’d always figured he’d die in a vacuum somehow. He looked past Runner. “Soldier, give me that.”

  Soldier looked to Seer, who gave no indication she’d heard Khedryn’s plea. Soldier turned to Runner.

  “Space him,” he said to Runner.

  The two clones glared at one another, Runner’s blade spitting sparks.

  “Do it,” Soldier said.

  Runner grinned darkly and deactivated his weapon.

  “Doesn’t matter to me. Dead is dead.”

  He grabbed Khedryn by the collar and dragged him out of the cockpit, toward the back of the ship, toward the airlock. Khedryn looked back, trying to see the little girl for some reason, but she was nowhere to be found.

  * * *

  Nyss prowled the corridors of the supply ship. He moved in silence, the darkness clinging to him while he familiarized himself with the ship’s layout. The clones, four adults and the child, congregated in the cockpit, where they held Khedryn. He set about preparing things.

  He found a power transfer, cracked it open to reveal a nest of wires and conduits. Most of them were labeled with small tags. He found the power lines that fed the main lights in the cargo bay and the rear of the ship and cut them with his vibroblade.

  All around him, the main overhead lights failed. Emergency lights flared to life, small and dim, creating an environment rich in shadows. He felt right at home.

  Khedryn and Runner passed out of the forward section to find that the main lights in the middle section of the ship had failed. Emergency lights cast the corridors and rooms in a dim glow. Runner slammed his palm against the activation switches, but the main lights stayed out.

  Runner pushed Khedryn before him through the dark corridors. It barely occurred to Khedryn to resist, maybe take Runner by surprise. It would be futile. His hands were bound and he had no weapon. Besides, if he resisted, Runner would kill him with a lightsaber, and Khedryn did not want to die on the end of a mad clone’s blade. He’d take the vacuum every time.

  As they walked, Khedryn felt as if he were moving into a tunnel, a womb, not from out of which he would be born, but in which he would die. Chaotic thoughts swirled through his mind, a rush of memories: his time as a child in the ruins of Outbound Flight, the face of his mother, his friends, his enemies, men and women he’d known, his life bouncing off theirs, all of them helping to make him who he was.

  People are not equations, he heard Marr say in his mind.

  No, he thought, and smiled. People were the sum total of their interactions with other people, the choices they made. He’d made some bad ones in his life, but also many good ones.

  Words and arrows painted on the bulkhead pointed the way to the airlock, directions to Khedryn’s execution chamber.

  “Keep moving,” Runner growled.

  Khedryn had not realized that he’d slowed. His legs felt weak under him. His breath came rapidly, trying to keep pace with the demands of his racing heart. The corridors seemed too narrow; the walls were closing in on him. He tried to calm himself, determined to die with dignity.

  Runner squeezed his arm and pulled him to a stop. The hum and sizzle of the clone’s lightsaber split the dimness of the dark corridor. Khedryn fought to keep himself upright.

  “The airlock,” he said, his voice steadier than he had supposed it would be. “Not like this. We had an agreement, clone.”

  “Shut up,” Runner said, his expression tense, wild, but not focused on Khedryn at all. He looked down the corridor in one direction, spun and looked down another. Khedryn saw nothing but darkness down the corridor in all directions.

  Runner’s breathing came almost as fast as Khedryn’s. Khedryn tried to make sense of what was happening.

  The madness, he supposed. Runner was having some kind of episode.

  Or maybe …

  Runner voiced a low, dangerous growl. His hand squeezed Khedryn’s bicep so hard it made Khedryn wince.

  The darkness before them seemed to swirl and deepen. Runner leaned forward, eyeing it warily, his blade held before him. The sizzle of his lightsaber grew less pronounced; the blade began to sputter. Runner held it before his eyes, staring, as the blade shrank.

  “What is—” Khedryn started to ask.

  The blade flickered and fizzled out altogether, the puff of smoke from the hilt like a leftover ghost.

  A hiss sounded from the corridor before them and Runner jerked to the side and snatched at something in the air. By the time Khedryn registered what had happened it was already over.

  Runner held the shaft of a crossbow quarrel. He’d snatched it right out of the air. The silver tines of the tip looked like razors.

  A susurration sounded within the darkness of the hallway, the sigh of a soft boot on the floor, or the rustle of a cloak. Runner dropped the quarrel but held on to Khedryn.

  The darkness in the hall thickened, rolled toward them, a pale form at its head closing fast. For a moment, Khedryn, his mind still stuck on his pending execution, thought it an apparition of death.

  But it wasn’t. It was an Umbaran.

  Runner shoved Khedryn against the wall so hard it knocked the wind from him and sent him to the floor. Khedryn caught the flash of blades in the pale form’s hand. And then the Umbaran and Runner were engaged, their movements so fast that Khedryn could scarcely follow them.

  The Umbaran stabbed at Runner’s abdomen. Runner sidestepped the stab and punched for the Umbaran’s temple with his lightsaber hilt. The Umbaran ducked under the blow, slapped Runner’s arm out wide, and stabbed at the clone’s chest with his other blade. Before the knife could connect, Runner caught the Umbaran’s wrist, planted his feet, spun, and whipped the Umbaran against the wall so hard the pale man’s breath blew out of him in an audible whoosh.

  Runner charged him and feinted with his off hand while he loosed an overhand slam at the Umbaran’s head with the hilt of his lightsaber. The Umbaran ducked and the hilt slammed hard into the bulkhead. A leg sweep put Runner on the ground and the Umbaran leapt after him, his blades stabbing downward.

  Runner rolled to the side, away from one stab, away from another, and unleashed a prone kick to the Umbaran’s chest that drove the pale man back enough for Runner to regain his feet. He was breathing heavily. The Umbaran, unwinded, held his blades a little away from his body and studied the clone’s defenses, looking for openings. They circled, a meter apart. The Umbaran feinted lunges to draw Runner out.

  Impatient with the games, Runner charged. The Umbaran drove his blades at Runner’s chest but the clone caught him by the wrists, held the knives out wide, and used his greater weight to drive the Umbaran against the bulkhead. There, he slammed one of the Umbaran’s hands against the wall until the Umbaran gasped with pain and dropped one of the knives.

  The Umbaran shifted his stance and dr
ove his left knee into Runner’s abdomen, once, twice—both blows landing solidly—before Runner could position his body too close for knees to do any damage. The Umbaran continued to try and snake his hands free of Runner’s grasp, but he could not loose himself from the clone’s grip.

  Runner grunted, pressed the Umbaran against the bulkhead. A head butt from the Umbaran into the side of Runner’s face elicited a grunt of pain from the clone. Snarling with pain and rage, Runner heaved the Umbaran up the wall, off the ground.

  The Umbaran did not resist, but used the opportunity to attack, flinging his legs up and scissoring them around Runner’s throat. The clone gasped, grunted, his eyes wide as the Umbaran’s legs pinched off his carotid. The clone pivoted away from the wall and ran at the far bulkhead, slamming the Umbaran against it.

  The impact jarred the Umbaran. He loosed Runner’s neck from the grip of his legs but quickly unleashed a straight kick that caught the clone’s jaw flush. The blow staggered Runner, and he lost his grip on the Umbaran’s right wrist. The Umbaran twisted, put his feet on the floor, and drove his blade into Runner’s chest. Runner staggered toward him, his mouth already filling with blood, and the Umbaran drove the blade home again, then again.

  Runner’s mouth moved as if he were chewing on his final thoughts. He gagged, gurgled, and then collapsed to the floor, dead.

  Staring at the Umbaran, Khedryn realized that he should have fled ten seconds earlier. He clambered to his feet and ran off into the dark corridor as fast as he could.

  The first turn he came to, he took. The second, he took. The third, he took. He was hopelessly lost and did not care. He slammed himself into a cul-de-sac, a power-exchange port. He tried to control his breathing while listening behind him.

  He heard nothing but the gong of his own heartbeat. He tried to process events. Had the Umbaran been aboard the whole time? What did he want? Was he a potential ally? And most important, was the Umbaran following him?

  The hallway darkened, or so Khedryn thought, but that didn’t make any sense.

  He struggled against his restraints, which did nothing but cause them to cut deeper into his flesh. He bit his lip against the pain and stuck his head out, looking back the way he had come. He needed to find a way to get his hands free, then find a weapon—