He was allowed to carry a weld-bar on his walks, which would do absolutely nothing against any animal attack. Still, the weight of it was comforting in his hands, as if he actually had a chance.
Mattis wasn’t expected to repair the fence himself. It had been made clear that Mattis couldn’t be trusted with tools, nor was he likely clever enough to fix anything. So, on his daily rotation, he was joined by Patch. Patch was armed with an FWMB-10 repeating blaster, a weapon favored by stormtroopers. Patch had modified his blaster for more power in case of an attack, though Mattis doubted it would do much to a rancor’s thick hide other than slow the creature down. But the FWMB-10 also accomplished the task of intimidating Mattis.
As if one stormtrooper guard wasn’t enough, Mattis was also guarded by Jo, who led the group on its march around the compound. Jo now wore a stiff First Order uniform. He carried himself in the same way he always had, aloof and superior. Upon seeing him on his first day of the detail, Mattis’s jaw had dropped and he’d been about to speak or yell or complain or ask his former friend a question, but Jo had shut him down with just a look. Other than that, he hadn’t done more than bark the occasional order or point out some break in the fencing. Another friend lost.
The final companion on these day-long treks was Ymmoss, the Gigoran. The memory of her attack on his first day in the detention center didn’t do much to ease Mattis’s anxiety.
Their first day on perimeter detail, Ymmoss had knocked through Patch and Jo and come after Mattis with swinging paws. Mattis was glad to have his weld-bar that day. He swung it at the Gigoran and even hung on to it when Ymmoss tried to knock it from his hands. Mattis got in a couple of solid defensive blows, too, and he was proud of himself. The fight ended when the powerful Gigoran pulled Mattis’s weapon from his grip. He watched the weld-bar get flung to the ground and then found himself following it there. Ymmoss stood over him, bellowing. Mattis was saved when Patch hit Ymmoss with the shock-stick. The jolt she took would have made a happabore roll over, but Gigorans were uncommonly sturdy. There hadn’t been any incidents with Ymmoss since then, but Patch mostly stayed between them. If Mattis caught her eye, Ymmoss gave an angry snarl.
Mattis wished Ymmoss would realize that they were in the same boat. Both of them were prisoners on Vodran. Both of them were enemies of the First Order. He wished Ymmoss had a little more empathy and a lot less rage.
He also wished that he could take that weld-bar back to his cell with him after his detail finished each day. Its long body and spade-shaped grabber at the end would be perfect for chipping away at the concrete cell wall. If he could get through that, he could dig an escape tunnel. It might take years, even with a tool so solid, but at least he’d be free. But the weld-bar was collected by Jo at the end of every day like a ritual. Mattis handed the bar to Jo, who quickly inspected it (for what, Mattis couldn’t figure), and then Jo passed the tool over to Patch, who stowed it in his pack. The same was done with Ymmoss’s tools. The prisoners were then marched back to their cells.
Every night, Mattis lay awake listening to the scratching in the walls, fearing it would turn to laughter. It hadn’t yet, but he grew more despondent as the nights wore on.
After a few days, Mattis rediscovered hope. It came in the form of a stubbed toe and a tarnished hunk of heavy junk.
Where most might hang their heads in despair, Mattis’s depression left him with a tendency to tip his face skyward and get lost in the slate of gray clouds that were omnipresent over Vodran. He often needed reminding that while he trudged along the perimeter fence he was meant to do a job. Jo usually did that prodding, sometimes literally, poking Mattis in the chest or arm when Mattis drifted too far into space and missed some section of the fence that wanted repair. When this happened, Ymmoss would let out a gurgling growl-laugh and Patch would say something like, “Why bother with this kid?” Jo ignored them but made it clear to Mattis that he ought to do better.
Mattis was too tired and too forlorn. So the pattern repeated, and he was lucky that he didn’t trip over the bramble or construction rubble that still scattered the detention center property. Until he did.
“Ow!” Mattis took a few stumbling steps then plopped down in the mud, holding his foot in his hand.
“Get up, prisoner,” Patch said, and prodded Mattis with the nose of his gun.
“What happened?” Jo asked, annoyed.
“I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Mattis admitted.
Ymmoss groaned.
“I know, I know,” Mattis replied, even though he couldn’t understand the Gigoran.
“Can you walk?” Jo asked in a way that sounded more like an order than a question.
Mattis scowled at him. “Of course I can walk. Can you not act like a jerk?” It was sweaty and muggy out there, and though Mattis knew it was a bad idea to mouth off to Jo—even before finding out his so-called friend was a First Order flunky—sometimes he couldn’t help himself. It was that little piece of Dec that he kept inside of him.
“Can you not act like a whiny baby tauntaun?” Jo shot back at him.
“Baby tauntauns don’t whine,” Mattis corrected. “They bleat.”
“I’m gonna bleat you if you don’t shut up and keep walking.”
The silly pun almost made Mattis laugh, but the threat wasn’t lost on him.
Mattis gave his big toe another rub, then stood and scanned the ground for whatever he had tripped over. He didn’t see anything, and figured it was a small branch or maybe a tawd bone that had fallen from a rancor’s mouth, so he continued on his detail, stopping every so often to massage his foot, to the exasperation of all three of his attendants.
It was a couple of hours before they completed the circuit again and Mattis found himself back in the spot where he’d stubbed his toe. He didn’t realize it, of course. He was, again, staring into the sky, thinking how nice it would be if it rained. It always seemed about to rain on Vodran but rarely did. If it rained, Mattis thought, certainly his minders would return him to his cell, where he might see Lorica, possibly even talk to her if her mood toward him had thawed. They hadn’t spoken much since he’d been removed from the construction detail. Though she was, Mattis noticed, quite chatty with Ingo, who seemed to visit their cell more often than his position ought to allow, as far as Mattis was concerned.
He was lost in this disheartening thought when, again, he stubbed his toe on a piece of debris.
“Ow!”
“What now?” Patch gave Mattis a shove to keep him walking, but Mattis stopped.
“Watch where you’re going, Mattis,” Jo demanded.
Mattis again examined the ground for whatever had tripped him. This time he saw it: a dingy metal cylinder about the size of his forearm. He didn’t know how he’d missed it earlier, and he was surprised that none of the others had seen it, either. It was similar in size and shape to his weld-bar, and it struck Mattis immediately that it would make an excellent digging tool. He tried to casually toe some mud over it, but Jo watched him, so Mattis just lifted his foot and pretended to scratch his other leg with it. He smiled at Jo, who didn’t smile back.
“Ready to go?” Jo asked—again, more a command than a question.
Mattis nodded. Ymmoss growled, then followed it with a louder bark and growl. Jo broke his study of Mattis to look over at the Gigoran, who carried on and on, probably complaining about the clumsy orphan from Durkteel. Mattis took the opportunity to kick mud and leaves over the metal rod he’d found. He’d need to remember this spot, so he could claim it later. He figured he had a few more circuits around the perimeter to try for his prize. Hopefully another distraction would present itself, and he could shove the tool into his pants or boot or otherwise hide it. He didn’t have much optimism that this would happen, but there it was, like a ray of sunlight slicing through the heavy blanket of clouds: hope.
The third time around, Mattis had a moment of panic when he didn’t see his treasure in the mud. He’d hidden it too well. He’d also been
too distracted by despair and the sky to correctly remember the precise spot he’d left the tool. Fortunately, he tripped over it again.
“Ow!”
“Mattis!” Jo was fed up. “Get it in order, or I’ll—or I’ll—” Jo stopped, unable to think of a punishment worse than Mattis’s current situation.
“Sorry,” Mattis said softly, and resumed his walk. Jo had been watching Mattis as if Mattis were either a pressure bomb or about to dissolve into the mist. Mattis thought it was important to keep Jo calm, maybe even so relaxed that Jo would drop his guard and allow Mattis the opportunity to grab the debris. Mattis repeated, “Jo. Sorry.”
Jo lowered his brow skeptically and nodded. “Just keep moving,” he said.
Mattis noted the spot along the fence line as well as he could—a collection of brambles there, perhaps three hundred paces from the palace steps—and kept moving. Knowing that the object was there, waiting, made the trek around the perimeter interminable. His frustration skyrocketed when, just down the line, Mattis actually did discover a breach in the fencing that needed repair. It served him right, he thought, for actually paying attention instead of getting lost in a gloomy daydream.
He waited, a fidgety itch crawling up and down his limbs and between his shoulder blades. Ymmoss purred as she mended the fencing wire, either not caring or not revealing that she cared when the barbs stuck in her paw. While she did her slow work, Jo and Patch wondered what might have created the hole in the fence.
“It’s a small tear,” Patch said. “Maybe a paulef?”
“Paulefs have those delicate hands,” Jo said. “This was bit clear through. A jhadd?”
“Strong. Talons. Razor-sharp beak. Coulda been.”
Ymmoss growled.
“Does it matter?” Mattis translated, correctly or not.
Both Jo and Patch looked at Mattis. He shrugged and looked away. Next time, he wouldn’t speak up.
Ymmoss finished her repairs, and all of them started again around the perimeter. This time, when they were nearing the spot where he’d hidden his find, Mattis was ready. He knew it was risky to further irritate his minders, but he didn’t have a choice. As they approached the area—the collection of brambles, the mounded mud and leaves—Mattis threw himself into the muck face-first.
“Ooow!” he shouted, sliding and kicking about as if he’d tripped and was now stuck on something. He flung his weld-bar into the air and it landed sticking up out of the mud not far from him. He kicked around some more.
“Is it a dianoga?” Patch asked, flicking his blaster to life.
“No!” Mattis yelled. Then, more calmly, “No. I tripped. Got stuck on something.”
But he didn’t get up. He was just a meter from the metal rod. If he reached out, he’d be able to grasp it, but they would all see, and then it would be for nothing.
“Get up, Mattis,” Jo sighed.
If he got up, he’d lose his chance. He stayed facedown in the mud. He blew a bubble of it from his nostril.
“Mattis.”
Ymmoss roared. Alarmingly fast, as if she’d held all her energy in reserve until that moment, she yanked Mattis’s weld-bar from the mud and wielded it like a sword. She took a hard whack at Patch, who caught the weapon in the chest, the blow cracking his armor. He was down instantly but just as quickly back on his feet. Patch reached for his FWMB-10 and aimed it at the Gigoran, but she was upon him, the muzzle of his blaster clutched in her grip. Patch fired and the plasma-blast went wild. Jo rushed to where they tussled over the weapon.
Mattis saw his chance. As fast as he could, he snatched the scrap. Another shot came from behind him and the mud around his head flew up. Just a stray shot from Patch’s blaster.
“My shock-stick!” Patch shouted at Jo. “Get it! Get her off!”
Ymmoss was on top of Patch, clawing at his helmet and his armor.
Mattis yanked the metal rod closer to him and hugged it against his body. He just needed to squirrel it away somewhere.
“Down your pants.” Did that harsh whisper come from inside his own head? Was the Force done sleeping, finally? Mattis jolted from the voice and almost bumped skulls with Jo, who crouched over him. “Quickly. Hide that thing,” Jo, not the Force, continued to whisper.
Was Jo really telling him to hide the tool he’d found? Mattis didn’t dwell on the implications. He stuffed the rod into his belt and pulled his shirt down over it. The small lump it made was disguised by all the mud covering Mattis.
“Sir!” Patch yelled at Jo. Ymmoss roared, her face to the sky. Jo turned away from Mattis and reached down to snag Patch’s shock-stick from his holster. He didn’t wait for it to charge fully before zapping Ymmoss in the side with it. The Gigoran roared again and fell over into the muck, taking Patch with her. Mud flew. Ymmoss scrambled to a crouch, Jo zapped her again, and she again dropped into the mud. Patch recovered his blaster and regained his footing.
“Okay?” Jo asked.
“Fine,” Patch reported.
“Prisoner!” Jo yelled at Ymmoss. She lay on her side in the mud. “Can you stand?” Ymmoss mewed, nodding, and got to her feet. “We’re done here today. You have restraints, Ess-Bee-Three-Seventy-Nine?”
Patch did, and he tossed them to Jo.
“You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you, prisoner?” Jo said as he approached Ymmoss. The Gigoran growled but shook her head. “That’s good.” Jo bound Ymmoss in the restraints and turned her back toward the palace. “She won’t trouble you,” he told Patch. “We’re right behind.”
Patch nudged Ymmoss with his blaster—clearly, he still didn’t trust her—and escorted her to the detention center.
“You,” Jo snapped at Mattis, who dropped his gaze guiltily. “Let’s go.”
Jo sidled up beside him and gave Mattis a sharp shove in the same direction. They were a few meters behind Patch and Ymmoss. Mattis thought he’d imagined Jo’s unexpected cooperation earlier, but then Jo asked, very quietly, “You have it?”
Mattis nodded.
“Good. Get to work.” Mattis nodded again. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but Jo cut him off. “Wanten believes I’m on his side. We need to coordinate on this—you, me, Lorica. We need to talk.”
“When?” Mattis asked. “How?”
“Shhh,” Jo snapped. “I’ll figure it out. Wanten has a desperate desire to get in good with the top brass of the First Order. I can string him along for a little while by telling him you and Lorica will break as soon as you’re worn down. I’ve kept them from interrogating you this long. I’m hoping they let me do it. Are you listening to me?”
He was. They were getting closer to the palace steps, and Mattis was trying to remember what Jo was saying, word for word, so he could report it to Lorica accurately. But when that time came, he would only remember the most important part. He would only recall the last thing Jo said.
“I need you and Lorica to tell me everything you know about the Resistance. I’ll put it together with what I know, mix it all up, and give Wanten a fake version. I need it to be believable, though, and that’s why I need you two to tell me everything. Everything.”
Before Mattis could ask any questions, before his brain could even process the information and conclude that perhaps the reason Jo wanted to know everything they knew was because he really was a traitor working for the First Order, they were back on the palace steps, where Patch was waiting.
“Bring both prisoners back to their cells,” Jo told Patch. “And you,” he added to Mattis. “Watch your step.”
Mattis looked puzzled.
“Don’t trip on these steps. You’ve made enough of a nuisance of yourself today.”
It was something both the old Jo—Mattis’s squad leader—and the new Jo—a young heir of the First Order—would say. Mattis ended his day more confused than ever.
MATTIS WAS TOO EXCITED to get to work chipping away at the cell wall with his new tool to clean himself off much, so he was covered with uncomfortable drying mud and
looking like something a rancor had coughed up when Ingo delivered Lorica back to their cell.
“That’s a good look,” Lorica told him as Ingo slid the cell door closed behind her.
“Go easy, prisoner,” Ingo told Lorica. The way he said “prisoner” made it seem like just a bit of fun. Like he was calling her “pal” or “buddy.” “Your friend has had a difficult day, from what I understand.”
“That so?” Lorica asked. She had a playfulness in her voice that shouldn’t have been there after so many grueling hours working construction.
“I fell down a lot,” Mattis said unhappily.
Both Lorica and Ingo laughed. It unnerved Mattis to see a First Order soldier happy. Lorica remained by the bars, keeping Ingo close. Maybe all that was happening was that Lorica’s Zeltron abilities were affecting Ingo, but to Mattis, it seemed like more. He wished Ingo would go away. He wanted to tell Lorica about the tool he’d found.
Lorica was saying something about her day spent working on the wall, but Mattis couldn’t hear her. The scratching in the walls had grown too loud. If he heard it, did that mean he was too far gone or that there was no coming back once he went crazy enough to hear it in the first place? Did it mean that his new hope, so recently acquired, was false? Didn’t Lorica hear it?
“Don’t you hear it?” he asked.
She stopped talking and looked at him as if he were insane, which was always possible.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Tell me more about your wonderful day hauling timber and sheet-rocking your own prison.”
Lorica turned away from him and said something in hushed tones to Ingo.
Ingo looked around her to Mattis and said, “You’ll be uncomfortable in those muddy clothes all day.” Then he turned and left them alone.
“Mattis, what the foito are you doing?” Lorica flung a Zeltron swear at him.
“What am I doing?”
“Yes!”
“What am I doing?” Mattis repeated. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, so insistent was the rasping sound from the wall behind his bunk. Whatever was in there, whatever was clamoring for his attention, was moving around, getting closer to him.
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