Thrawn_Alliances_Star Wars

by Timothy Zahn

  So the Separatists apparently had a mine here associated somehow with their factory. But what in the galaxy could the mine be producing that it made sense to pour time and money into doing it way out here? Even doonium and quadranium weren’t that valuable.

  Unless they’d found an incredibly rich deposit of one of those metals. In that case, the factory would be producing…what?

  It seemed insane. Surely it would be easier to simply ship the metal to some other, more secure factory that was already geared up to produce hull plates or droid armor. But instead, they’d set up here.

  Unless Duja had been wrong. Unless the mine was all there was, and she’d been mistaken about the factory.

  Padmé stared out at the murky water swirling around her. No. Duja had never been wrong before. She wasn’t wrong now.

  So Padmé would cultivate her patience and wait until she reached the coordinates. And then she would see what exactly her friend had sent her to deal with.

  * * *

  —

  The sky overhead had darkened to night by the time the pod reached the factory’s coordinates.

  Now came the tricky part.

  Padmé had already stowed two extra outfits, boots, comm, datapad, glow rod, her favored ELG-3A blaster pistol, and the sturdier S-5 Security-grade blaster/ascension gun in a—hopefully—watertight backpack. Now, taking several deep breaths to flush as much carbon dioxide from her lungs as possible, she again hit the hatch control. This time, though, instead of just a crack she was going for a full opening.

  The hatch mechanism had other ideas. It opened to the same crack it had earlier, then stopped as if unable to make more progress against the outside pressure.

  Padmé tried again, forcing down the sudden surge of panic. If the hatch stayed jammed she would have bare seconds to dig her blaster out of the bag and try to shoot off the hinges before she drowned.

  Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. Even as the churning water rose to her waist the pressure on the hatch equalized to the point where it could resume its outward motion. She waited until it was open just enough, then ducked down into the water and maneuvered herself outside. Ignoring the numbing cold, letting out a small trail of bubbles from the corner of her mouth to make sure she was headed the right way, she swam to the surface.

  She popped up into a dark night and a welcome warmth of air. For a moment she floated with the current, awkwardly treading water with one hand while she looped the backpack’s straps over her shoulders, and looked around.

  The river was about thirty meters across at this point, its surface about five meters below the tops of the banks on both sides. On one side, the side where Duja’s coordinates put the factory, all was darkness, while the other side showed hints of bright lights somewhere beyond the bank. Above, the stars blazed down, their twinkling occasionally interrupted by wispy clouds.

  For a moment she looked back and forth between the banks, trying to decide what to do. The lighted bank was probably a town, where she might find food, warmth, and local clothing. On the other hand, more people also meant a better chance of being noticed, talked about, and captured.

  Besides, she wasn’t here for her comfort. She was here to make sure Duja hadn’t died in vain. Fifty meters downstream she could see a copse of tall trees clustered along the river’s edge, trees that might have sent a few roots out through the edge of the bank where they could be climbed. Turning toward them, shivering so hard her teeth were chattering, she began to swim. She’d seen numerous fish moving past the pod’s viewport during the day, some of them as long as her arm. Hopefully, any disturbance she made would be attributed to one of them.

  Even in the dim reflected light from the town behind her she could see at least a dozen gnarled roots twisting their way in and out of the dirt. Grabbing the lowest, she pulled herself out of the water and started to climb.

  It wasn’t easy. The roots were wet, and the soil around them crumbled at her touch. But she’d done some rock climbing back in the Gallo Mountains, and this really wasn’t all that different. She reached the top and carefully eased her head up to look.

  In the distance she could see a long, dark structure, two or three stories high, with castlelike turrets at the corners. Between her and it was rolling grassland and the hint of a deep cut in the ground, possibly a creek or syncline. She could see no sign of the metallic glint that might indicate droids, but in the faint light that didn’t necessarily prove they weren’t there.

  Still, there was nothing to be gained by staying where she was. Pulling herself the rest of the way up onto the bank, she stood up, brushing a strand of hair back out of her eyes. She took a moment to map out her best approach, and started toward the building.

  And gasped as a hand shot out from nowhere, grabbed her by one of her backpack’s straps, and hauled her sideways into the cover of the trees. “Get back here, you idiot,” a gruff voice breathed in her ear. “You want them to see you?”

  A second later he abruptly pushed her back to arm’s length again, and she found herself gazing at a startled human face, bearded and wide-eyed, resting atop a thick neck and a stocky body. “Wait a second,” he said, his voice as surprised as his face. “You’re not Cimy.”

  “Will you shut up?” a second voice called softly from deeper in the trees. “You want them to hear you?”

  “I think they already did,” the man said, turning toward the voice. The movement dragged Padmé around with him. “Look—I found a spy.”

  “I’m not a spy,” Padmé protested. “Ow—that hurts.”

  “What?”

  “Your knuckles,” Padmé said, wincing. “They’re digging into my shoulder.”

  “Oh.” Instantly, the man let go. “Sorry.”

  “Who are you talking to?” the second voice came. There was a rustle in the bushes around the trees, and a second man appeared, this one taller and less stocky but with a more impressive beard. “Whoa. Who the frost is this?”

  “I thought it was Cimy,” the first man said apologetically. “He—”

  “She, you idiot.”

  “What?” The first man peered more closely at Padmé. “Oh. Right. She. Sorry. Anyway, she was standing out in the open and I thought it was Cimy—”

  “Who thought who was me?” a third man cut in, stepping into view. He was shorter than the others, beardless but sporting a thin mustache.

  Even in the dim starlight Padmé could see that he and the second man had a strong family resemblance. Brothers?

  “I thought she was you,” the first man said patiently. “So I pulled her back out of sight—” He paused, turning back to Padmé. “You’re wet,” he said, frowning as he looked her up and down. “Were you in the river?”

  “I was just out for a swim,” she said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering. The air, which had felt warm compared with the river water, was starting to chill her again. The steady breeze now that she was out of the shelter of the banks wasn’t helping, either.

  “A swim?” the second man scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  “Okay, fine, I wasn’t swimming,” Padmé said. Cimy was holding something that looked like a fishing pole…“I was out fishing and my boat sank.”

  “Are you crazy?” Cimy demanded. “Bad enough to be out at night in the first place—but in a boat? The scavs would have caught you for sure.”

  “I suppose,” Padmé said. “Must be a lot safer up here in the trees.”

  “That’s why we’re here and not someplace else,” the first man said. He peered at her again.

  Then, to her surprise, he pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Here—you look cold. I’m LebJau, by the way. This is Huga and his brother Cimy—”

  “LebJau, are you crazy?” Huga cut in viciously. “We don’t know anything about her.”

  “She’s wet, she’s cold, a
nd she was fishing,” LebJau said. “What else do we need to know?”

  “Let’s start with who the frost she is and what the frost she’s doing here,” Huga shot back. “She wasn’t fishing, you frosted idiot.”

  “Wait a minute,” Cimy said, his voice starting to shake. “This morning—remember when the scavs took off and headed upriver?”

  “Oh, krink,” Huga muttered. “LebJau was right—she is a spy. Only not for the metalheads. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  “It’s nothing that concerns you,” Padmé said, trying to think. Her blasters were still sealed up in her backpack, and with her captors’ suspicions aroused there was no way to get to a weapon before they could stop her. Besides, she could hardly justify shooting a group of harmless locals. “If you let me go, I promise you’ll never see me again.”

  “And what if the metalheads find you?” Cimy demanded. “Huh? What if they trace you back to the river, and back to us?”

  “Hey, it’s not a big deal,” LebJau said, sounding puzzled. “We can find somewhere else to fish.”

  “Will you just shut up?” Huga growled.

  “It’s not the fishing, LebJau,” Cimy said patiently. “It’s if the metalheads get mad at us for letting her go.”

  “Well, there’s one quick way to fix that,” Huga said. “Grab her arms. We’ll stash our gear here for later and take her in.”

  “No, wait,” Padmé said quickly. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not?” Huga said. “Might even be some reward money in it.”

  And there it was: the hook she needed. “Is that what you want?” Padmé asked. “Money?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Huga countered. “The duke sure as frost doesn’t pay much.”

  “I don’t suppose he does,” Padmé agreed, wondering who the duke was. Another local, or one of the Separatists? “Let me show you something.” Reaching under her blouse, she pulled out her necklace. “This is a Corusca gem,” she said, unfastening the chain and handing it to Huga. “They’re used as money some places around the galaxy.”

  “Not here they’re not,” Huga said. But his voice had changed as he peered at the gem.

  “It’s worth a lot of money everywhere,” Padmé said. “Way more than the duke would ever give you for handing me over. If he gave you anything at all.”

  “No problem,” Huga said with a shrug. “We can take this and turn you in.”

  “You’re not seeing the bigger picture,” Padmé chided. “I only have the one gem with me. But the fact that I have one means I’m rich. And my family is rich. So…?”

  For a second they looked back and forth at one another. Huga got it first. “Are you saying…we hold you for ransom?”

  “Why not?” Padmé asked. “You want money. I don’t want you giving me to the duke or the metalheads. This is a way to keep everyone happy.”

  “Yeah, but—” Huga floundered. “You’re not supposed to volunteer to be kidnapped. Are you?”

  “I’m hardly volunteering,” Padmé said. “You’ve already got me, right?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “If it makes you feel better, you can think of the money as rent,” she suggested. “You can put me up until someone from my family can get here with the money, then we go our separate ways. Is it a deal?”

  Again, the three looked at one another. “What do you think?” Huga asked.

  “I don’t know,” Cimy said, looking furtively at her. “We can’t take her inside—the metalheads know everyone who’s supposed to be in there. Anyway, she talks funny.”

  “We could put her in the riverboat,” LebJau suggested. “No one goes there, and we can take food for her out the back door.”

  “Wait a minute,” Huga growled. “Food? How long is this going to take, anyway?”

  “No more than a week or two at the most,” Padmé assured him. “Just long enough to get a message back to my uncle Anakin. He’ll bring the money, and you’ll be done with me.”

  “I don’t know,” Huga said. “A week’s an awfully long time. What if they find her?”

  “They won’t,” LebJau promised. “I’ll do all the bringing—they don’t pay much attention to me. You and Cimy just do your jobs like you’re supposed to, and I’ll do the bringing.”

  “You going to give her wood shavings to sleep in, too?” Huga growled. “She’s not a pet, you know. If she takes off—or if they catch her—we’ll be frosted.”

  “She won’t.” LebJau looked at Padmé. “You won’t, will you? Run off?”

  “Not until my uncle arrives and you get your ransom,” Padmé said. “I promise.”

  “She says she won’t run,” LebJau said, turning back to the others.

  “I don’t know,” Huga said again. But he was still rubbing the gem gently between his thumb and fingers.

  “You’ve got nothing to lose,” Padmé pointed out. “If I run, you’ll still have the gem, remember?”

  “Okay,” Huga said. He still had reservations, she could tell. But for the moment, at least, greed was winning out over fear. “How do we contact this uncle of yours?”

  “I have a contract with one of the independent message services in the region,” Padmé said. “Interstel Systems. I can—what’s the matter?” she interrupted herself as something flashed across all three faces.

  “Nothing,” LebJau said. “It’s just that we heard the other day that Interstel’s comm triad is down.”

  “Someone was grousing about having to hand-ship messages over to Plood or Batuu,” Cimy added. “Pain in the neck.”

  “Really,” Padmé said between suddenly stiff lips. “What are they doing about it?”

  “Probably just hanging on to the messages until they’ve got enough to make it worth a trip to Plood to hook ’em into the triad there,” Cimy said. “That’s what they usually do.”

  “I see,” Padmé murmured. How convenient that the system had just happened to crash right when she needed it.

  Could someone have spotted Duja’s outgoing messages to Coruscant and wrecked the triad to keep anything else from leaking out? If so, did that mean neither of her messages had made it to Anakin?

  Because that would be a disaster. Her ship had copies of all her messages; but assuming he could even find the ship, those records were all wrapped in the Senate’s automatic encryption.

  She squared her shoulders. So Interstel needed a thick stack of messages before they would do anything? Fine. She was more than happy to oblige. “Any idea what the magic number is that’ll get them to send a ship to Plood?” she asked.

  Huga shrugged. “Dunno. A couple of hundred, probably. Not that much traffic out here.”

  “Fine,” Padmé said. “We’ll send five hundred.”

  Huga’s jaw dropped. “Five hundred?”

  “Hopefully, that’ll get their attention,” Padmé said. “And Uncle Anakin’s. I’ll put a message together as soon as you get me settled. Oh, and my name’s Padmé. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah,” Huga said, still sounding sandbagged. “Sure. Well…come on. Watch out for the roots.”

  He headed off deeper into the copse of trees, Cimy at his side, Padmé and LebJau walking behind them. They’d gone about ten meters when LebJau wrapped his hand gently around Padmé’s upper arm. “Careful,” he murmured. “It goes down.”

  Padmé nodded—she’d already seen Huga’s head dip as he and Cimy headed down a steep slope. The defile was nearly five meters deep, she saw as she and LebJau followed, the end running into the river. A dry creekbed, from the look of it, possibly part of a seasonal tributary, and almost certainly the cut in the ground she’d noticed before LebJau grabbed her. Huga turned his back on the river flowing past the end and headed up the gorge.

  The defile was deep enough that the Separatist building was mostly o
ut of sight as they made their way along the rocky ground. But there were places where other cuts intersected theirs, and as they passed those spots Padmé was able to catch glimpses of her destination.

  Her first impression had been that the place was like a castle. But now she could see that that wasn’t quite accurate. What she’d taken to be turrets at the corners were in fact the narrow pyramid shapes of vertical anchors for the vulture droids, sites where they could hook on and refuel, yet could launch into action at a moment’s notice without the need to come out of a hangar. The rest of the building was low and wide, no more than fifteen meters tall but a solid half kilometer wide and at least that deep.

  “Used to be a multi-factory,” LebJau said, nodding toward the building. “Big power generators in the center courtyard, with a bunch of hundred-by-hundred-meter fabricators and manufacturers under the same roof.”

  “Everyone had windows and sunlight coming in both sides,” Cimy added wistfully. “ ’Course, one side was also kind of noisy, with the generators. But at least there was light.”

  “Right,” LebJau said. “But then the duke and the metalheads came in, threw everybody out, and took over.”

  “Any idea what they’re doing in there?” Padmé asked.

  “Stuff that’s none of our business,” Huga growled back over his shoulder.

  “It used to be our business,” LebJau countered sourly. “We worked in one of the electronics factories. Now they’ve got us doing maintenance.”