The young man nodded. “I know something. I’m going to take something out. Don’t kill me.” He reached into a pants pocket.
The voxyn roared and surged farther down the corridor, dragging their handlers behind them, drawing the attention of the other Yuuzhan Vong warriors.
The young man held out his hand. Viqi reached for him, and he dropped something into her outstretched palm. “It’s the ugly—”
“Our prey is close,” Raglath Nur said. “We don’t need him.”
Viqi turned toward him and crossed her arms, a gesture she hoped would hide the object the prisoner had given her. “I’m not through.”
But Denua Ku exerted himself, and Viqi heard the snap of the young man’s neck.
Denua Ku dropped the corpse back into the dark pool. “Now he will bloat.”
Viqi glared at him.
Raglath Nur set the warriors into motion, following the frantic voxyn. “What did the human want to show you?”
Viqi shrugged. “I might have found out, if Denua Ku hadn’t been so quick to exterminate him.” She waited until Raglath Nur’s attention was on the voxyn before she tucked the object out of sight under the neckline of her robeskin. She got a glimpse of it before it was concealed; it seemed to be a tiny remote, one with a pair of buttons on one side, another button and a screen so small as to be nearly useless on the other.
The ugly what?
The handlers, dragged by the voxyn, were first to pass through the ruined metal doors, which were three times the height of a human and broad enough to permit ten pedestrians walking side-by-side. The lettering above the door read:
ELEGAIC FABRICATIONS
THE COMFORT YOU DESERVE
Raglath Nur paused outside the doorway and stared with suspicion at the darkness beyond. He whirled on Viqi. “What is this?”
“A manufacturing plant,” she said. “They manufacture furnishings. Very expensive, very functional furnishings.”
“Such as what?”
“Such as chairs that convert into extravagantly comfortable beds, chairs that carry their owners about in the air, furnishings that massage those who sit in them …”
“Massage?” Evidently that didn’t translate well through Raglath Nur’s tizowyrm. “Inflict pain?”
“Inflict pleasure.”
The warrior gave her a revolted look and led his fellows into the darkness. Viqi, alongside Denua Ku, followed.
Though the manufacturing concern had seemed pitch-black from outside, once her eyes began adjusting, Viqi discovered that it was not so. There were light sources everywhere, but dim ones, mostly at floor level—emergency lighting, she decided, probably running low on battery power. In the faint glows from the light sources, she could see looming production-line machinery and immobile fabricator droids, some of them huge.
She wondered if any samples of their stock were still in existence. But doubtless her Yuuzhan Vong companions would not let her enjoy such a chair, not even for a moment.
She heard the voxyn’s hisses go from excited to ferocious, heard their handlers call after them as they yanked leashes free from the handlers’ grips.
“Jeedai!” called one of the warriors. “Now you die!”
Viqi heard the distinctive snap-hiss of a Jedi lightsaber igniting. One point on the far wall of the manufacturing chamber and the ceiling above it were illuminated by red light—moving light. The claws of the voxyn scrabbled as they charged for their prey.
Then there was another snap-hiss, and another, and another. The distant red glow brightened. Viqi saw the silhouette of a voxyn leaping high, vaulting intervening machinery, backlit by the glow—and then something rose to meet the voxyn in mid-flight.
It was not a Jedi, not a lightsaber blade. A block of machinery two meters on a side flew up from below and crashed into the leaping voxyn, striking with such force that Viqi heard the creature’s bones shatter. The impact smashed the voxyn back through the air, a wobbly caricature of a once-living beast. The voxyn’s body crashed onto the factory’s duracrete floor and the block of machinery landed upon it, breaking more bones, and stuck there, not bouncing or rolling forward as it should have.
“Forward,” Denua Ku said. He whipped his amphistaff free from his waist and charged after the other Yuuzhan Vong warriors, who now howled in rage and anticipation.
Viqi took two steps in Denua Ku’s wake and then something crashed into her, took her from her feet, slapped her to the duracrete.
It was not a physical thing. It was despair and hatred, loathing and worthlessness, fear and howling rage. It was as though Viqi had spent every one of her years packing all the hateful emotions an ordinary person felt into a storeroom—and suddenly all the pressure had burst through the door and swept her away. She could only lie there, her arms and legs twitching outside her control, her stomach rebelling, her heart hammering inside her.
She heard the howl of the second voxyn, heard the ripping noise of the creature vomiting its acid at its prey. Then there was the sound of lightsabers swinging, hacking. Meat in great quantities slapping down onto duracrete.
Viqi writhed in time with the war cries of the Yuuzhan Vong and, one by one, she heard them die under the almost musical tones of the lightsabers.
Then there was only the sound of lightsabers cutting, and cutting, and cutting.
The emotional agony that had gripped Viqi lessened—only a little. She managed to roll over onto her stomach and slowly, painfully came upright.
She knew the beings on the other side of the chamber had just killed everything that had entered the chamber with her. She wanted nothing more than to charge at them, to rip them to pieces with her bare hands.
But as she stood, some faint instinct of self-preservation rose within her, and one thought made up of words emerged: Run, or die.
She turned toward the doorway, and lurched out toward the light.
As she reached the doorway, she put her hand out to steady herself against the metal door that had once protected the factory’s interior. It fell away from her grip, crashing down onto the duracrete with a tremendous clang.
The lightsabers in the distance switched off. Viqi froze. She waited, ears straining at the sudden silence.
Then she heard it, the padding of feet coming her way.
A noise like a sob escaped her and she ran, her speed enhanced by adrenaline and fear.
Luke came awake and rose in a single smooth motion.
He didn’t have to ask if Mara had felt it, too. She was awake, gripping her lightsaber, ready to ignite it.
Luke stepped out into the corridor. It was dimmed for sleeping, but Danni, too, was emerging, and Tahiri, who had been on guard in the corridor as the others slept, stared into one wall, through the wall, at something that was far away and toward the ground. “It’s there again,” she said, her voice faint.
Luke took a few deep breaths. He couldn’t remember what he had just been dreaming—only that, for a moment, he had been filled, even saturated, with a desire to rise and kill every living thing in his vicinity. Absurdly, he still felt loathing and contempt for his companions, for his wife, but as his mind and memory struggled to assert themselves, those emotions began to fade. “What did you feel?” he asked.
Tahiri shook her head, and Luke could finally see the lone tear flowing down her farther cheek. “Awfulness,” she said. “More awful than when I was coming out of my conditioning and started to figure out what I’d almost become. It was all through me, through the Force. It almost had control of me. I think maybe it could have had control, if it had known I was here.” The despair in her voice was heartbreaking.
None of the Wraiths had emerged from their new quarters. That made sense. This was a Force sending, a Force problem, and the Wraiths, largely oblivious to the Force, were not troubled.
Mara, dressed, moved down the corridor, rapping on doors. “Everyone up. Get into your armor. It’s time to hunt.”
Four stories up from the manufacturing chamber, Viqi
came off a pedestrian ramp at a dead run. Her legs trembled from her flight but she could not afford to rest—she’d heard her pursuers crash through doors she’d dragged shut behind her.
She rounded a bend in the corridor and abruptly there was an arm in front of her, stretched at just under neck height. She hit it at full speed, her legs going out from under her, and suddenly she was on her back, looking into two human faces illuminated by dim glow rods, at two blaster pistols pointed at her face.
It was a man and a woman. The man had an ill-trimmed beard. The woman’s eyes were a startlingly pretty blue in eerie contrast to her unsympathetic expression. The two stank and seemed as thin as plasteel support beams.
“Look at you,” the man said.
“About fifty kilos, I’d guess,” the woman said. “Good eating, looks like.”
“How’d you stay so clean?”
“Never mind that. Just kill her.”
There was a distant noise, a low-pitched roar that raised the hair on Viqi’s arms and the nape of her neck. The man and woman hesitated, looking back the way Viqi had come.
Then it washed across her again, the feeling of hatred and lowness that had brought her down in the manufacturing chamber. It had the same effect on the man and woman; they paled and sank to their knees, the woman gagging, perhaps prevented from vomiting only by near-starvation.
Viqi scrambled around on the floor, turned toward her original direction of flight, and crawled as fast as paralysis gripping her arms and legs would let her. It occurred to her that it would be better to die than flee, better to face her tormentors rather than have to continue running, but the rational side of her mind, forcing its way to the forefront, kept her moving.
She made it a few meters, until the curve in the corridor made it impossible to see the man and woman.
She heard them scream, heard the snap-hiss of lightsabers igniting.
There was a maintenance panel ahead of her, set in the wall at ground level. She reached it and tugged at its handle. It resisted, probably held in place by simple magnetic bolts or locks.
She put all her slight frame into it, yanking, and the panel came loose; her effort sent the panel skittering across the floor. Beyond the new hole was a vertical shaft not more than a meter in diameter, steel rungs making a ladder of the far side.
Viqi crawled into the shaft and climbed. Her arms and legs trembled, threatening every instant to fail her.
She heard the man and woman scream again, then heard the noise of lightsabers chopping. As she ascended, the noise faded, but the fear and loathing did not.
By Luke’s chrono, it had taken them four hours to find the first evidence of the thing or things they sought. They stood in the main manufacturing chamber of a furnishing concern and looked down at the dismembered bodies of Yuuzhan Vong warriors—and voxyn.
It was not evidence or deduction or luck that had led them here. Luke and the other Jedi could feel lingering dark-side energy imbued in the walls, the machines, the corpses. The sensation, so like what Luke had experienced within a certain cave on Dagobah, caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.
Mara dispassionately looked at the body of a Yuuzhan Vong warrior who had been cut into at least eight pieces. The wounds were all burned, cauterized. “Our Dark Jedi again. Or whatever they are.”
“Dark Jedi might be able to impose their will on normal people,” Tahiri said. She had her arms crossed, and Luke suspected her pose was an effort to keep herself from trembling. “But not on fully trained Jedi. This was like jumping into an ocean of the dark side of the Force. It was like feeling Anakin die again. And wanting again to die with him.” More tears came, and she looked away so that the others would not see them.
“I wonder,” Luke said, “what it’s going to be like to confront them face-to-face.” He prodded a severed Yuuzhan Vong leg with his toe. He hadn’t always done well when faced with the dark side. “The Yuuzhan Vong are invisible to the Force. They couldn’t feel it. We aren’t. Especially the Jedi.”
“I had a thought on that.” Face was on guard duty, blaster rifle in hand, his attention on the entryway. “A tactic I’ve used from time to time in bad situations.”
“What’s that?” Luke asked.
“Snipers. Set up a couple of kilometers away in a blind with a laser rifle and someone who really knows how to use it, and when your enemy wanders by, ‘zap.’ ”
Luke smiled. “Not exactly fair.”
“Who wants to be fair?”
Viqi woke up in absolute blackness and thought for a moment that she might be dead. In a panic, she sat up, but before she came upright her head banged into something, resulting in a sharp pain to her forehead and a hollow metallic noise.
Then she remembered. She’d climbed and climbed, hearing the roars and the lightsaber hums of her pursuit. Her pursuers had cut their way through durasteel bulkheads to follow her, but she’d found side channels from the access duct—ventilation ducts that were smaller and smaller, adequate for a diminutive Kuat woman but too constricting for whatever followed her.
After a long time of groping along in the dark, she had let exhaustion overcome her.
Now she was alone, weaponless and friendless, surrounded by kilometers of crumbling duracrete and metal in all directions.
Not to mention thirsty, hungry, and blind.
She forced herself to become calm and went through a ritual checklist that helped her regain control of whatever situation troubled her. Checklist, she began. One extravagantly capable political strategist whose skills are of no use here. One Yuuzhan Vong robeskin, a living garment whose sole virtue is that it’s better than running around naked, and matching footwraps.
That’s about it.
That wasn’t quite it. She’d been given something a million years ago, shortly before starting her run. She dug around under the robeskin neckline and held the object that pretty, doomed boy had handed her. It fit her palm so that a button fell under her thumb; there were two others on the reverse side. She pressed the first button.
A tiny red screen lit up on the remote, illuminating her surroundings—a sheet-metal duct, layered with dust, a meter wide by half a meter high. The screen showed a wireframe sphere with one bright red dot at its center and another at one point on its circumference. She slowly rotated her hand and saw the second dot move around, always staying at the circumference, always pointed in the same cardinal direction.
It was a location finder of some sort. A distant object transmitted a regular signal, and this device always pointed in the direction of that object.
She pressed one of the buttons on the reverse side. The wire-frame image disappeared, replaced by the words OUT OF RANGE.
She pressed the last button. The device spoke with the voice of a woman: “Remember, pick up a new charge for the speeder, and we’re having dinner with the Tussins tonight.”
Viqi supposed that the recording would have depressed someone of less personal strength. She didn’t even bother to wonder how dinner had gone. The woman who’d recorded the message was gone, either crushed or vaporized or in some slavering idiot’s stew-pot, and her sole virtue was that one of her possessions was now going to benefit Viqi Shesh. Whatever it might lead to, it was, for now, a light source.
She rolled over onto her stomach, shining the light in front of her, and began crawling.
Viqi stood at the center of what had once been a large living chamber, centerpiece of the apartment of some wealthy business family. There were numerous doors and hallways off this chamber, all leading to bedchambers, refreshers, recreation areas—all now wrecked by looters and invasive plant life.
To Viqi’s right, a few meters away, was a huge hole in the wall that had once been a viewport half again the height of a man, and twice as broad as it was high. Now creepers growing on the building’s face hung over the gap, and pieces of shattered transparisteel littered what had once been heated flex-carpet.
Fungus was everywhere, grayish mushroomlike grow
ths that were larger toward the hole. She’d stepped on one of the tiny ones and it had detonated beneath her foot, making her instep very sore and damaging the living footwrap she wore. She was careful not to touch any more, and it was clear that much of the damage to the chamber had come about because of the fungi—obviously, many of them had exploded over the last several weeks. Perhaps vibrations in the crumbling buildings set them off, perhaps they simply detonated when they reached a certain size.
The wall in front of Viqi was ferrocrete that had once been decorated, its utilitarian strength disguised, by a thick layer of flexible sheeting decorated in a starfield pattern. Attached to building power, the sheet’s stars and nebula would glow. Now the sheeting hung in strips. She’d torn most of it away and could find nothing beyond but ferrocrete.
On the other side of it was another crumbling skyscraper. In her explorations, she’d managed to get onto the corresponding floor of that building, but on its far side; collapsed hallways and walls had prevented her from getting closer.
The tracking device had led her here, and this was the point that was closest to whatever it indicated. On the little screen, the white dot representing that object and the dot indicating her current position were almost one point.
She shrugged. So she hadn’t been able to find her way to the object. It might just be a matter of ascending one floor, descending one, searching more diligently to find the spot that gave her access.
Then she remembered the OUT OF RANGE message she’d received. She held up the remote and depressed that button again.
There was a noise, a faint “ponk” of some mechanical apparatus being activated, from above her head. She looked up and then jumped aside just in time to avoid a descending ceiling panel. Its bottom edge came down to rest against the floor. She moved around to look up.
It was a set of metal stairs, narrow and without rails, leading up into darkness.
Breath catching in her throat, she hurried up the staircase. She found herself in a narrow, low corridor that led for three meters straight to the wall she had found so impassable—straight to a corresponding gap in that wall, a gap that was lit from the other side.
Rebel Stand: Enemy Lines II Page 12