“I’ve had it off for most of an hour now,” said Lando. “Didn’t you wonder how anything could burn in. an atmosphere that was ninety percent nitrogen and carbon dioxide?”
“It seems I did not have the necessary data to wonder,” said Lobot. “And I was thinking about other things.”
“Well, the answer is, it can’t,” said Lando. “What I had to find out was whether it was just this room that had been oxygen-enriched.”
“And it apparently wasn’t.”
“No. Something happened while we were sleeping. Every chamber back to number one now has a breathable atmosphere. Go on, take your helmet off—try it.”
The air was cold, dry, and sweet in Lobot’s lungs. He looked at Lando in puzzlement. “Why should this be?”
“You said it first—this ship isn’t out to harm us. It was expecting visitors.”
“But we took a wrong turn after we entered,” Lobot said thoughtfully, scratching his bald head with vigor. “We weren’t supposed to be wandering through the weapons system, which has its own specific environmental needs. We were supposed to be going through the museum.”
“Which was in cold storage until we arrived,” said Lando. “It makes perfect sense. Oxygen is highly reactive—a reducing agent. Keeping the oxygen pressure low and the carbon dioxide high protects the ship from fire, the exhibits from corrosion. Imperial Star Destroyers flood key equipment compartments with an N-C02 mixture before going into battle.”
“Then what happened to all the carbon dioxide that was in the air? Scrubbers?”
“The original and best kind,” Lando said. “The ship breathed it in, locked up the carbon, and gave back the oxygen. Lobot, don’t you see? This ship is alive.”
On Captain Dogot’s orders, the Bloodprice began charging its primary ion cannon battery immediately after exiting hyperspace.
There would be no negotiations, no warning shots, no demands for surrender. Dogot did not intend to allow the captain of the intruding vessel any latitude at all. Unless a closer look at the target showed it to be a friendly, or a warship of cruiser class or heavier, Dogot intended to use the big guns quickly. The talking could begin after his gunners had disabled the other ship.
“Target acquired,” called the gunnery master. “Twenty seconds to full charge.”
“Target is confirmed unknown,” called the senior analyst. “Design class is unknown. Estimated displacement class, gamma-plus. Detecting no weapons ports forward.”
“Target real velocity is fifty-two meters per second,” called the navigation master. “Target closing velocity is one thousand, eight hundred sixteen meters per second.”
Captain Dogot studied the image on his command display. It seemed almost too good to believe—a huge, unarmed and unprotected vessel barely crawling through space. “Are there any other Prakith vessels on the board?”
“Showing the light cruiser Gorath and the destroyer Tobay approximately twenty million kilometers astern,” said the navigation master. “They won’t be here for a while.”
“Very well,” Dogot said. “Then we must do what we can ourselves. Gunnery master, you may fire when ready. Ion batteries only—I want that ship disabled, not destroyed. Troop master, prepare your units for boarding—”
Lando and Lobot had both temporarily shed their contact suits to stretch, scratch, and even scrub away their accumulated annoyances, sacrificing some of their precious water to restore a measure of dignity and comfort.
The convenience of the waste management facilities in the suits alone dictated that they would eventually climb back inside them. As a practical matter, they also couldn’t afford to sacrifice the maneuvering and communications systems. But neither man was eager to give up his unexpected freedom. The pieces of both suits floated around the chamber like dismembered corpses while Artoo and Threepio looked on, nonplussed by the display.
“Pardon me, Master Lando, but should we not continue searching for the vessel’s control room? I do not see that this has significantly altered our situation—”
Artoo suddenly began squawking shrilly.
“I’m talking to them now, Artoo,” said Threepio. “Just you wait your turn—What? There’s another ship? Heading directly toward us? Oh, Artoo—we’re saved. I knew that the colonel would come for us—”
“Slow down, Threepio—what’s going on?”
“Artoo says that the sensors on the limpet are detecting another ship on an intercept course.”
Grabbing his helmet as it floated by, Lando shot a worried look toward Lobot. “What ship? Ask him what ship—”
“The holoprojector,” Lobot interrupted. “Artoo can relay the signal from the imager.”
A few seconds later half the chamber was filled with the limpet’s wide-angle view of space outside the vagabond’s hull. The approaching ship was clearly visible to the extreme left of the projection, toward the bow.
“Imperial escort frigate,” Lando said immediately. “The original KDY design, with the heavy stuff forward. It looks like the gun ports are open, too.”
“Shouldn’t we signal it somehow, Master Lando?” asked Threepio.
“It’s not from our armada, Threepio,” said Lobot.
“The only signal I want to send that ship is a wave good-bye,” said Lando, reaching out and touching the wall of the chamber. “Come on, old lady, don’t wait around for an introduction.”
“Master Lando, Artoo says that there are two other ships approaching as well, but much farther away. Perhaps one of them is Glorious.”
“Not coming from that direction, it isn’t—Oh, hell!”
The bow of the onrushing frigate had suddenly disappeared behind the yellow-white plasma bubble of an ion cannon burst. A fraction of a second later the holoprojection turned a crackling white, then disappeared. Artoo yelped unhappily. At the same time, the ship shuddered under them.
“The limpet’s been fried,” Lobot said, spinning in midair as he struggled to pull the lower half of his contact suit up over his legs. “Artoo isn’t getting anything from it now.”
Lando pressed his palm against the wall, hoping to feel the tremor of a hyperspace jump beginning. “Of all the luck—What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why is she waiting so long to jump?”
They fell silent as one, listening to the ship, hoping to hear her sinews groaning in protest as the jump engines punched her across into hyperspace, and fearing any sounds that might mean their journey would be ending here, a long way from home.
The captain of the cruiser Gorath was cursing the name of the captain of the frigate Bloodprice even before his ship’s forward scanners lit up with the glow of a battle begun. When he saw the frigate open fire on the strange vessel, his fury knew no bounds.
“I swear, this man will dig his own grave, and I will see his children bury him alive there,” the captain said with an icy venom. “He will hear his daughters screaming, his mother pleading, while his lungs fill with dirt and his eyes are ground blind by sand.”
They were too far away, the image too jumpy and coarse, to tell what effect Bloodprice’s barrage had had on its target. But they were close enough to witness what followed—together with the crew of Tobay, they were the only witnesses.
The great hull of the target brightened fore and aft, and something almost invisible struck out across the emptiness toward Bloodprice. Seconds later, the frigate exploded with a ferocity that could only mean the ionization reactor had gone critical. It vanished from the sensor displays.
“Too quick for you,” the captain of the Gorath said coldly.
Meanwhile, the intruding vessel was turning away from the shattered hulk, away from Prakith and toward the Rim.
“Notify Tobay to prepare for hyperspace. Propulsion master, ready on my mark!” the captain cried out. “We will erase this humiliation and capture this invader ourselves.”
A bright circle of light flared out around the vagabond. “Now!” the captain screamed. “Match headings! After them!”
/> The captain’s crew was well trained to his voice. Gorath jumped into hyperspace close enough behind the vagabond to be able to detect her quarry ahead by its soliton wake.
“We have them,” the captain said with grim satisfaction. “Wherever they are going, we will be there. They are ours.”
Colonel Pakkpekatt’s new orders read simply, MISSION TERMINATED EFFECTIVE YOUR RECEIPT THIS NOTICE. BREAK OFF ALL OPERATIONS IMMEDIATELY. NRI OPERATIONS CENTER.
“This will not do,” he said, and swept out of his quarters. The threat ruffles blossoming down his back and the crimson expanse on his throat warned away any who might otherwise have tried to speak to him on his way to the bridge.
“Secure channel, isolation,” he said as he dropped his body into his combat lounge. The enclosing shell came forward from the back of the chair and closed him in. “NRI Operations Center, Coruscant, highest priority.”
It took several seconds for the hypercomm link to be made and verified.
“Operations,” said a briskly professional voice. “Go ahead, Colonel Pakkpekatt.”
“I need to talk directly to General Rieekan.”
“I’ll see if he’s available, Colonel. One moment.”
Pakkpekatt’s impatience made the wait seem longer than it was.
“Brigadier Collomus, operations senior staff,” said a new voice. “How can I help you, Colonel?”
Pakkpekatt showed his teeth. “You can help me talk to General Rieekan, as I asked.”
“General Rieekan isn’t available at the moment,” said Collomus. “If you have any questions about your orders, I should be able to resolve them. I was in the planning loop for the Teljkon expedition.”
“I know who you are, Brigadier,” said Pakkpekatt. “When General Rieekan becomes available again, please advise him that his last orders were garbled in transmission. I will require a verified voice confirmation to proceed.”
“I can give you that, Colonel.”
“No, sir, I’m afraid you cannot.”
Pakkpekatt relaxed into the cushions and left the isolation shell up. The callback came twenty-four minutes later.
“General Rieekan,” Pakkpekatt said with an acknowledging nod.
“Colonel, Brigadier Collomus tells me that you have a problem with your orders which for some reason only I can resolve. Would you care to explain what’s going on?”
“Sir, I must contest the decision to terminate the mission. This is a betrayal of—”
“Colonel, this is not open for discussion.”
“There are six men dead and a contact team still missing.”
“Colonel, those facts are not relevant to the decision.”
“Not relevant? You—”
“No, Colonel, they are not. All agents must be considered expendable, always. And your ships are needed elsewhere, most especially Glorious.”
“With all due respect, sir, you don’t understand the ramifications—”
“Colonel, I wouldn’t finish that sentence,” Rieekan said sharply. “Your reports have been carefully reviewed. The probability of any positive outcome at this point doesn’t justify further investment. The decision has been made, and your exception is noted. The mission is terminated. Bring them home, Colonel.”
“Sir, I request permission to take an all-volunteer team and continue the search in General Calrissian’s yacht, Lady Luck. This would not—”
“Denied.”
“Then I request immediate leave, in order to continue the search on my own.”
“Denied. All leaves have been canceled due to the crisis in Farlax Sector.”
“Then you leave me in an impossible position.”
“Why is that, Colonel? Do you find it impossible to follow orders?”
Pakkpekatt bared his teeth. “General, a Hortek does not leave the bodies of comrades in the hands of the enemy—ever.”
For the first time since the call had begun, there was silence. “I understand, Colonel. But I can’t help you.”
“I think you can, General.”
“I’m listening.”
“You said that all agents must be considered expendable. I am asking you to count me among the missing from the Teljkon expedition. Because even if I did return, I would still be here in ways which would compromise my ability to do any other job for you.”
“This is that important to you,” Rieekan said, settling back in his chair. “Even though these missing men were not part of your command, flouted your orders, and are principally responsible for the failure of your mission.”
“One’s comrades and allies do not come neatly out of a mold, General,” Pakkpekatt said. “They are inevitably a mixed lot, and never without flaws. And I find I often must hope for as much tolerance from them in that regard as I am able to offer to them.”
Rieekan pursed his lips. “Very well, Colonel. I will extend you a little tolerance. Lady Luck, no more than three additional volunteers, and whatever unexpended mission supplies you choose and the yacht can carry. Report any substantive developments promptly. And, Colonel—”
“Sir?”
“My tolerance is fairly inelastic. Don’t try to stretch it.”
“Thank you, General.”
Slightly more than an hour later, Pakkpekatt, Captain Bijo Hammax, and technical agents Pleck and Taisden watched from Lady Luck’s tiny flight deck as the cruiser Glorious and the escort Kettemoor turned together and jumped toward Coruscant.
“It begins,” said Pakkpekatt to the empty sky.
Penga Rift found the pilot of IX-26 keeping a lonely watch over the bodies on Maltha Obex.
“What took you so long?” he demanded. “You were supposed to be here days ago.”
“Copy, this is Joto Eckels,” came the reply. “Sorry about the delay. Frankly, we weren’t even expecting you to still be here. Our original sponsor withdrew just before we lifted, and then we got word about the accident. We were going to have to go to a contract ambulance to recover Kroddok and Josala when another sponsor came along and picked up the contract.”
“This is all news to me,” the pilot said. “I don’t know why I wasn’t recalled if the NRI pulled out. Who’s sponsoring you now?”
“A private collector—name of Drayson,” said Dr. Eckels. “He hopes to authenticate some Qella artifacts. I think he’s going to be disappointed, and very expensively so. But it helps us, and we’ll do what we can for him. Do you still have a good fix on the bodies?”
“Affirmative, Penga Rift,” said the pilot. “Nothing’s moved down there since the avalanche, unless you want to count the snow that’s fallen on top. You’re in for a cold dig.”
“We’re ready for one.”
“Then tell me how you want the data, so I can light this candle and get out of here,” the pilot said. “Because this is hands down the creepiest duty I’ve pulled in sixteen years, and I have a great need to get myself somewhere warm and crowded—and soon.”
“Understood,” said Eckels. “Ready to receive your coordinate system reference data. We’ll take the next watch here at Maltha Obex.”
Part II: Luke
Chapter Five
The skiff Mud Sloth was outbound in realspace from Lucazec at top speed—which, considering it was a Verpine Adventurer, was not enough to satisfy Akanah.
“Luke—can’t you make it go faster?”
“How? Get out and push?”
“Why—yes. Can’t you use the Force to speed us up?”
“You need a lever and a place to stand,” Luke said wryly. “The Force isn’t a magic wand—there are limits.”
“All limits exist in the mind, not the Universe,” Akanah said. “I’m surprised your tutors never taught you that.”
Luke shook his head. “Obi-Wan and Yoda both taught me to see that we limit ourselves by not trying and sabotage ourselves by believing we’ll fail.”
“Then why do you—”
“—But even Obi-Wan, in our worst moments, with millions of lives hanging in the bal
ance, couldn’t make the Falcon go any faster.” He gestured at the navigational display. “Besides, it looks like no one’s taken enough interest in our departure to try to follow.”
“They don’t need to, yet,” said Akanah. “We’re days from clearing the Flight Control Zone, aren’t we?”
Luke glanced down at the controls. “Three days, more or less.”
“Then they can just watch us for now, let us think we’re away free and see where we’re going. There aren’t many ships that couldn’t catch us before we reach the jump radius.”
“The agents who ambushed us are dead. No one tried to stop us at the port. The flight controllers gave us clearance without a peep. The skies are empty. What will it take for you to feel safe?”
“I won’t feel safe until we’ve found the Fallanassi,” Akanah said. “I can’t bear the thought of failing. I’ve waited so long—and so have you. If anything should stop us this close to the end—”
“How close are we?” Luke asked. “What did the Current writing back there say?”
“I already told you—it pointed the way home.”
“But you didn’t tell me where that is.”
“I was afraid to say anything until we were away from there,” said Akanah. “I couldn’t risk having anyone else hear.”
“We’re alone now,” Luke pointed out.
“But they could have placed a listening device in the ship while we were on the North Plateau. I want to wait until we’re in hyperspace. Then I know they won’t be able to follow.”
“No one’s been in the ship but us,” Luke said firmly. “And this isn’t going to be much of a partnership if you’re keeping secrets from me. Don’t you trust me, Akanah?”
“I know you to be a good man,” said Akanah. “But some of what you do and believe makes me uncomfortable. In the long run, I have never known a warrior or a soldier to be a friend.”
“I’m not a soldier,” Luke said softly. “And the lightsaber now only comes to my hand to protect people I care about. Is that a warrior, or a friend?”
Shield of Lies Page 9