He staggered away, flesh tortured and smoking. She maintained the surge as long as she could, and followed it with two quick strikes to midriff and throat. He barely blocked them, swinging one-handed, holding his other arm across his eyes as though the light blinded him. Thrilled by his weakness, Ax lunged again and again, driving him backward until he hit the wall. He slid down it, blade raised ineffectually to block the killing blow.
His comlink squawked.
“Shigar, watch out. Stryver’s on his way. He’s after the navicomp!”
Triumph turned to all-consuming hatred. Dao Stryver—here!
It was her turn to be surprised.
With one swift kick, the Jedi, Shigar, knocked the lightsaber from her hand. It skittered away, blade flashing and deactivating automatically. She staggered backward, disarmed, and he came to his feet, eyes bloodshot and full of determination. Not hatred. Not anger. She didn’t even have the satisfaction of that small victory.
She ran backward, Force-pulling her fallen hilt to her even though she knew it couldn’t possibly arrive in time. The Jedi followed her, driving her toward the outer door.
When the door burst in behind her, she didn’t need to look to see who was there. She felt his presence as keenly as a dagger in her back.
Dao Stryver.
Caught between a Jedi apprentice and a Mandalorian who had already beaten her once, all she could do was hit the activation stud and hope for a miracle.
LARIN WAS HALFWAY to the vault when Yeama intercepted her. He was standing in the deserted passageway ahead with his hands upraised in the universal signal to halt. She would have pushed right past him had he not been backed up by five Weequay and a dozen ax-wielding Gamorreans.
“I see the missing envoy has returned,” he said, taking in the group behind her with baleful red eyes. “The pirate, too. My mistress will be pleased.”
Larin didn’t have time to discuss the situation. The thought of Shigar facing Dao Stryver alone filled her with urgency. It might already be too late. Her attempts to hail him on the comlink had prompted nothing but silence in reply.
“Thank her for her concern,” she said. “We’re returning the envoy to his quarters now.”
“Are you? Excellent. You may have heard the, ah, occasional disturbance in the last hour. There is nothing to worry about, I assure you of that, but it would be advisable for you to remain in the high-security wing until told otherwise.”
“Sounds like you’re under attack, mate,” said Jet. “Has Fa’athra made his move at last?”
The Twi’lek smiled tightly. “We have many items of great value stored in the palace, so attacks are not uncommon.”
“It’s not coming from outside,” said Larin, growing impatient. “It’s the Mando I warned you about earlier. He’s after the Cinzia’s navicomp.”
“Impossible. No alarm has been raised in that sector of the palace.”
“That’s bound to change, and soon.”
Hefting her rifle, she went to continue on her way.
“Not so fast.” The Twi’lek sidestepped in order to block her path. The Weequay backed him up. “You are going the wrong direction. The envoy’s quarters are that way.”
“Really? It’s easy to get turned around in here.”
“I don’t believe you’re turned around at all. I believe you know exactly where you’re going.” The Twi’lek wasn’t smiling now. “You are not a registered visitor to this palace. The kidnap was a distraction, giving you time to go about your true business. We found the trail you left in our security systems. The sabotage is another distraction. What is your business now? Are you all in league, or just opportunistic collaborators?”
His cold gaze swept the group before him.
Larin didn’t like where this was heading.
“Look,” she said, “we’re not planning to steal your precious things. But someone else is, and we’re trying to stop them. I’m serious. Dao Stryver will be in and out before we get there if you don’t step out of my way right now. Don’t make me make you.”
The Twi’lek didn’t flinch from her ultimatum. “You admit that you are heading for the vault?”
“That’s what I just told you.”
“And yet you insist that your motives are pure?”
“As pure as they’ll ever be.”
“Then you won’t mind if I advise the Imperial envoy to meet us there?”
“Whatever! Just get moving—that’s all I ask.”
Yeama signaled his entourage, who fell in around her and her companions. Once the way was clear, she set a brisk pace while Yeama growled in his native Twi’leki into a comlink.
Behind them, the Republic envoy put up a sustained display of bluster.
“I resent the implication,” he said, “that this is a conspiracy of any kind. If anything, it is I who should be suspicious. I’m the one who has been kidnapped and had my escort neutralized. I’ve been imprisoned and tortured—under the roof of a host whose servant now calls me a criminal! You’ll be lucky if we stick around at all for this sham auction of yours.”
Yeama ignored him, and so did Larin. Still nothing from Shigar.
“No alarms,” she said to the Twi’lek. “And in the middle of all this fuss, too. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
Yeama looked at her for a full three seconds. His only other response was to pick up the pace and begin barking orders into his comlink again.
ULA MAINTAINED HIS diatribe long enough to ensure that his point had been made. It wasn’t even his point. He was playacting the loyal Republic envoy in a difficult situation. Wasn’t that what one should do?
Ula didn’t know. He was light-years out of his depth and heading farther out by the minute. He wished they really were going to his secure quarters rather than rushing headlong into danger. All that stopped him from asking to be exempted from the coming action was the thought of how Larin Moxla would regard his cowardice. She didn’t seem the type to brook anything of the sort.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Everything about her—from her beaten-up armor to the black tattoos across her cheeks—captivated him.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Ula glanced at Jet. He was also watching the remarkable woman who had come from nowhere to lead their mismatched ensemble.
“What do you mean?”
“She’s no good for you, and vice versa.”
Ula flushed. He’d had no idea his instant fascination with her was so obvious.
“What are you talking about?” he said, lowering his voice so no one could overhear. “You know as much about her as I do.”
“I know she’s faking it. And that’s about the only thing you two have in common.”
Again that sly hint that Jet thought Ula was more than he was saying. Or less, if his tone of voice was anything to go by.
“What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Me? Nothing. I’m just making conversation.”
That rapidly became difficult. Their pace was increasing by the minute. Soon they were jogging alongside Potannin and the security detail, with Weequay loping long-legged beside them and Gamorreans struggling along behind. More palace security personnel joined them, Niktos and Houks mainly, forming an ever-growing caravan heading toward the vaults. It was hard to see what lay ahead past the Twi’lek and Larin, but it looked like there were further guards waiting for them. And more than that, besides.
At the entrance to the security air lock lay a scene of utter demolition. Walls had fallen in; the ceiling had collapsed. Tons of stone and reinforced ferrocrete lay between them and their objective. Evocii slaves and security guards picked at the rubble, getting in one another’s way such was their haste to clear a path. Conflicting orders flashed back and forth. Yeama hurried into the mess, trying in vain to impose order.
“This is outrageous,” announced a high-handed voice over the hubbub. It was a tall, long-nosed man in Imperial uniform, shouldering his way toward the Republic entourage.
“If you’ve had a role to play in this fraudulent affair—”
“We’ve as much to lose as you,” snapped Ula, wishing he could take his fellow Imperial aside and reveal to him the secret role he was playing. There was no need to argue, except for appearance’s sake. “And are as much in the dark.”
From the other side of the rubble came an explosion, crisp and floor shaking. Ula put his hands over his ears and backed away. Two enormous dirt-moving droids shouldered forward to plow through the mess.
“Stay here,” Larin ordered him, and he was happy for the moment to obey. She joined Yeama in the wake of the heavy lifters, clearly determined to be among the first inside. The Twi’lek didn’t disabuse her of that intention. Once again, Ula admired her confidence. What on Korriban did Jet Nebula mean that she was a faker as well?
A cry went up. The barrier was breached. A cloud of smoke and dust rolled over those assembled. The sound of combat came to them, fierce and pitched.
Larin yelled something over her shoulder.
“What did she say?” Ula asked Jet.
“Something about a Sith. I didn’t catch all of it.”
Ula glanced at the Imperial envoy, who studiously avoided everyone’s gaze.
Yeama waved for reinforcements. A line of Weequay moved in, followed by Potannin and his opposite number on the Imperial side. There was more confusion as all three columns tried to squeeze through space for one. Ula lost sight of Larin, and craned for a better view.
“Why don’t you go closer?” asked Jet.
“I, ah, don’t think that would be safe. Do you?”
“I think it’s all relative, right now.”
Shamed, Ula headed toward the widening hole. Jet followed, leaving his droid to watch the entrance. Seeing Ula moving in, the Imperial envoy followed, not wanting to be left out. The tunnel through the rubble was crowded with people. What lay at the end of it was not clear through the smoke and dust. Blasterfire cast strange lights into the haze, and Ula distinctly heard the sound of the Mandalorian’s jetpack. On top of that scraped the volatile hum of lightsabers.
They passed a twisted sheet of metal that might once have been the security air lock’s outer door. The smell of ozone was overpowering.
“Down, sir!” cried Potannin on seeing him.
Ula let himself be dragged to a relatively sheltered position behind a wall of rubble. From there he still couldn’t see the action, but he could see the back of Larin’s helmet. She was crouched next to Yeama, sighting along her rifle. Her voice came clearly across the sound of battle.
“Still no alarms, eh?”
Ula didn’t hear the Twi’lek’s reply.
A massive explosion brought down most of the ceiling, deafeningly loud. Ula put his back to the stone shield and covered his ears with his hands. Ash and debris rained on him in thick waves. He closed his eyes tightly.
When he tentatively removed his hands, an uncanny silence had fallen. All he could see were people jostling for position, as pale as ghosts. Rubble continued to fall from the roof. Beside him, Jet slowly inched his head upward to view what was going on.
His expression changed to one of astonishment.
“What the brix is that?”
Before Ula could look for himself, a voice spoke, female and full of rage.
“We do not recognize your authority.”
A chill went through him. He had heard that phrase before.
SHIGAR STOOD AT ONE corner of an equilateral triangle, with the young Sith and Dao Stryver occupying the others. The Mandalorian hesitated, clearly surprised to see them both.
“It’s a small galaxy,” reflected Shigar.
“You know him, too?” The Sith’s hostile façade cracked just for an instant.
“You should both have let it be,” said the Mandalorian. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“You were killing people on Coruscant,” Shigar said. “Of course it was my concern.”
“Stay out of this,” the Sith snarled. “He’s mine!”
“I’ve beaten you once already,” Stryver said. “Being killed won’t honor your mother’s actions.”
The young woman turned a shade of red brighter even than her hair.
The Mandalorian raised his left arm and blasted her with his flamethrower.
Shigar ducked and rolled, wondering about the scene that had just played out. Fate had delivered all three of them to the same place at the same time. They were all after the same thing—whatever it was inside the vault—and they had a narrow window before the Hutts realized what was going on and brought the entire weight of the palace’s security forces to bear on them. Stryver would want to move quickly and decisively. Yet he had stopped to chat to the Sith girl. Why?
It was clear that all the talk of her mother had been a ploy to distract her. Her rage was fully enflamed now, which would make her stronger, if she survived the next few seconds. Shigar juggled several options. Retreating to the vault and leaving them to it was one, but there was only one exit from that position, meaning that he would have to face Stryver eventually. And the Mandalorian had bested him, too. Better to fight now, when there was at least a chance that the Sith might serve as a distraction.
Flames roared after the girl’s cartwheeling silhouette. Shigar came at Stryver from the opposite side, swinging his lightsaber to deliver a crippling blow to the shoulder. Stryver raised his arm to block, and Shigar’s blade skated along the powerful Mandalorian armor, leaving a bubbling welt but not penetrating. A hatch in Stryver’s pack opened and a collapsible shockstave fired into his hand. Shigar came in for another strike, and the shockstave stabbed at his chest, blasting him from his feet.
On Stryver’s other side, the Sith burst from the flames, lightsaber upraised and hatred blazing in her eyes. Her leap took her over the flamethrower’s deadly jet and was timed to deliver a spearing thrust to the Mandalorian’s domed helmet. He ducked with startling speed for one so big and thrust the shockstave up at her. She cut it in half, kicked him off-balance, and returned for another slash.
Shigar was back on his feet, circling to take Stryver when an opportunity arose. Again the flamethrower burned, but the element of surprise was lost. The Sith girl easily batted aside the flames. Instead Stryver cast a razor net at her. She ducked its piercing barbs and attempted to shock him with lightning. His insulated suit took the charge and grounded it into the floor, blackening and buckling it. Shigar took the chance to Force-push Stryver to his knees, but the Mandalorian was as solid as a mountain, and he had other weapons he hadn’t revealed yet.
From a thigh hatch, Stryver produced a stubby pistol. He pointed it at Shigar and fired a single time. Shigar dodged but not so quickly that the fringes of the shot missed him completely. He was tossed like a leaf into the wall and slid to the ground, temporarily stunned.
STRYVER TURNED THE weapon on Ax, who dodged more effectively than the slow-witted Jedi had. She had recognized the weapon instantly and knew how dangerous it was. Disruptors were outlawed in every civilized part of the galaxy. She wasn’t surprised to see one on Hutta, in a Mandalorian’s gloved hand.
Ax also knew that handheld disruptors were effective at short range only and could manage a bare handful of shots. If Stryver kept firing and missing, the weapon would soon be useless. So she kept moving around her enemy, practically running on the walls of the battle-blackened security air lock, goading him on by hurling broken glass at his joint seals. Twice, he narrowly missed her, and even the fringes of the beam sent powerful shock waves through her flesh. Only her rage kept her going. She used the pain to fuel the dark side.
The third time he fired in their little dance—the fifth shot overall—she barely felt its aftereffects. The weapon’s charge was dying. Grinning with triumph, she turned her circling run into a headlong launch. Time to bring the fight back to him.
He met her attack with a vibroblade aimed at the throat. She screamed, trying to drive her blade through his armor with all the strength of her muscles and
willpower combined. His buzzing blade was so close it brushed her skin, raising a fine spray of blood, but still she didn’t let up. The Mandalorian was reeling back on his feet from her attack. This was the best shot she’d ever had.
His jetpack activated with a whine. Suddenly they were moving, jerking upward as though lifted by a giant puppeteer. Taken by surprise, Ax lost her grip and fell away. Stryver rose above her on twin jets of fiery exhaust. She rolled to avoid their intense heat and covered her eyes from the glare.
Stryver stopped when he reached the domed recess that had once held the tinkling chandelier, and hovered there, punching commands into his weapons systems. Ax had just enough time to realize that he now had the advantage of height before a strong hand gripped her wrist and dragged her aside.
A stream of missiles struck the ground, exactly where she’d been lying. The Jedi had saved her, and she wrenched herself from him, even as she felt a twinge of gratitude. Surely he hadn’t done it out of the vile goodness of his heart! No, she told herself. He knew he couldn’t defeat Stryver on his own. It was either save her or be the next to die.
Concussion missiles blew her and the Jedi into the security air lock’s inner door. They separated to avoid another round, which blasted the door back into the antechamber, exposing the four vault doors and the hole through which Ax had entered. She had a split instant to note that one of the vault doors was glowing bright red, then a rain of blasterfire came from an entirely different part of the room and she realized that someone else had joined the party. The Hutts, presumably, had noticed that their treasure was at risk.
Before she could take advantage of the shift in the battlefield, the Jedi launched himself at Stryver, deflecting missiles away from him as he came. The missiles exploded into the ceiling, bringing down huge swaths of masonry on all three of them. A large chunk struck the Mandalorian, dropping him from his superior vantage point. Ax dodged a slab large enough to crush a bantha and sought her bearings in air suddenly thick with dust. Shadowy figures danced around her—tasseled Weequay, officers in Imperial uniforms, Gamorreans, and more—but Stryver was nowhere to be seen among them. Either a stunned silence had fallen or her ears were overwhelmed by the most recent explosions.
The Old Republic Series Page 13