by James Luceno
Unhappily, the ease of their entry did little to allay Has’s unrelenting dread.
As they maneuvered the containers deeper into the complex, holosigns in several languages including Basic began to appear, warning visitors away from restricted areas and cautioning against possible contamination.
The team’s destination was the biotics research lab, where three Separatist scientists were known to be overseeing the creation of a biological warfare agent aimed at infecting the clone army. A final set of airtight doors opened into the laboratory itself, where the trio of Morseerians were waiting, clearly impatient to unpack what Has had delivered from a warehouse across the stars. Enthusiasm grew as they removed each flimsiplast-wrapped item from its memory-foam bed, handling everything as gingerly as they might a newborn baby.
“Wonderful,” one of them said in Basic, gesticulating with his upper pair of arms. “You were able to procure the Saloflex.”
“Eighty-nine percent pure,” Has told him through the mask enunciator.
“Perfect, perfect. Your professionalism never fails to impress us.”
Has grimaced behind the mask, and could feel Krennic’s eyes on him. Just what the lieutenant commander needed to hear: that Count Dooku’s Separatists could always count on Has Obitt to deliver.
The rangers moved into position while the Morseerians were preoccupied. On Matese’s subtle hand gesture, one member of his command activated a microdevice that dazzled the lab’s security cams, while another armed a triggering device implanted in his wrist.
By then, the tallest of the three Morseerians had found and extracted Krennic’s surprise: a cylinder no larger than a fire suppressant canister, fitted with a single flow valve.
“What is this?” the alien virologist asked Has. “This isn’t on the manifest.”
“Look again,” Has said. “All we did was load the cargo.”
A second Morseerian turned the device about in his lower hands and looked hard at Has.
“Captain, what’s going on here?”
Through his earbead Has heard the high-pitched undulating whine of the weapon initiator, and watched as a cloud of white neuroparalytic gas vaped from the canister, quickly filling the room and immobilizing the Morseerians. One tried desperately to sound an alarm, but Matese was on him before he had moved a meter. The other two researchers simply crumpled to the floor. Immediately the rangers went into action, tearing the foam inserts from the shipping containers then hauling the researchers to their feet and lowering them into the now empty antigravs, as if preparing them for burial.
“We need to provide them with methane as soon as we get them aboard the ship,” Has said. “Otherwise they’ll die.”
Krennic dismissed the warning with a negligent wave of his hand. “The containers are rigged to supply an atmospheric mix. That will have to do for now.”
“This one’s too tall for the container,” one of the rangers said.
“Fold him in there,” Matese ordered.
Has tried to intervene. “No one is supposed to get hurt!”
Krennic shot him a gimlet look and waved him back. “Get with the program, Has. We’re not going to break him.”
Has restrained himself from saying anything more. Getting with the program was precisely what he didn’t want to do, and the reason he’d become a smuggler in the first place. Up until now he had devised his own program, and suddenly he was taking orders.
On a nod from Krennic, the team began to conduct the containers out the way they had come in: through sliding doors and along corridors until they had returned to the customs area. They were meters from exiting onto the landing zone apron when one of the customs agents called to them, gesturing to the final container—the very one into which the tall Morseerian had been folded.
“Something’s hanging out there,” the agent started to say when he realized that it was a three-fingered hand. Efficiently then, he drew a serious-looking sidearm from its holster and leveled it at Matese. “Open it.”
Matese, though, had already sprung into action, and felled the Morseerian with a stiff-fingered blow to the windpipe before he could utter another word. Quick to react, the rest of the customs agents drew their weapons and the rangers dived for cover behind the antigrav containers. Alarms began to blare and additional Morseerians, armed to the teeth, began to spill through the doorway of an adjacent building.
Has flattened himself to the ground as blaster bolts streaked overhead and ricocheted, the rangers returning fire from a host of carefully concealed weapons. Has saw three customs agents go down, holed through and through. Then Krennic’s voice battered his eardrums.
“Change of plans! We’ll have to make do with two!”
Has couldn’t make sense of it until he saw Matese steering the telltale shipping container directly into the thick of the advancing customs agents. Without warning the rest of the rangers dropped to the apron, and a blinding flash leached all color from the immediate world.
The shaped charge built into the antigrav container made mincemeat of half a dozen Morseerians and rendered most of the others unconscious. On his belly at the edge of the blast, Has took some of the brunt of it and regained consciousness to find Matese and Krennic dragging him across the apron toward the ship while the rest of the team was maneuvering the two remaining containers into the Good Tidings’ forward cargo bay.
“No one was supposed to get hurt,” Has stammered as Matese picked him up and deposited him in a heap on the cold deck of the hold. “No one was supposed to get hurt…”
The last sight he saw before lapsing back into unconsciousness was Krennic’s eyes beaming above the transpirator.
“The unpredictable nature of deception,” Krennic told him through the mask mike. “But congratulations, Has. You’re a full-fledged operative of the Republic now.”
—
It was just dawn when Lyra was stirred from sleep and told that she had been ordered to leave the Keep at once. None of the handmaidens could tell her why, and two of them were sobbing uncontrollably. Lyra dressed while one of the Valltii swaddled six-month-old Jyn in blankets, kissed her, and pressed her into Lyra’s arms. She hugged each of them tightly, and left them wailing on the landing as she was escorted down the stairs by a pair of guards. Outside, despite the sun being much higher in the sky than it had been only a month earlier, the air was chill, whipped by a persistent northern wind, and she shivered as she was ushered to the waiting carriage.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked.
She hadn’t expected an answer, and so was ill prepared when the driver said:
“Tambolor prison.”
Her heart pounded. Were she and Jyn being transferred there? Had Galen’s continued refusal to swear fealty to the new regime resulted in imprisonment for the three of them? Far worse, had Galen been slated for execution?
Had all of them?
Uncertainty preyed on her as the carriage trundled through the city streets; then the prison rose into view, cold and forbidding. She had gazed at it so often from her chambers in the Keep that drawing to a stop in front of the detested place felt unreal, like a bad dream.
The tall gates swung open and suddenly Galen was standing alongside the carriage, bracketed by two prison guards, looking much thinner than she allowed herself to admit and wearing a beard as long as a bib. The guards, however, made no effort to restrain him when he shuffled to her, embracing her and Jyn for a long moment.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment,” he said, stepping back to take them in. His eyes went to Jyn. “Let me hold her.”
Lyra passed Jyn to him. Carefully he peeled away the swaddling that masked her face and smiled more broadly than Lyra had ever seen him smile. Jyn stirred in his arms, and Lyra said: “She remembers you, Galen.”
“She’s beautiful,” he said, inspecting her face. “Her eyes have changed color.”
Lyra nodded. “They’re sort of flecked.”
“Stardust,” Galen said. “That’s what’s
in her eyes.”
“Galen, what’s happening?” Lyra risked asking. “Why have we been brought here. They’re not going to—”
“I haven’t been told anything. They took me out of my cell before dawn.”
“The same with us. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be.” He showed her his grimy hands. “See? No restraints. And no one has brandished a weapon at me all morning.”
Lyra didn’t find much relief in it. “Could they be sending us somewhere else? Is there a worse prison?”
Before he could reply, one of the guards ordered Galen up into the carriage.
He did as instructed, and the drivers snapped their whips over the heads of the lead taqwas, which set off at a brisk pace. The carriage’s wooden wheels bounded over bumps and ruts, and Lyra inadvertently bit down on her tongue. When Tambolor had disappeared from view, Galen raised himself up on the bench seat to take a look around.
“We’re heading for the spaceport.”
Lyra’s eyes widened. “You don’t think—”
“I don’t want to jinx anything by thinking.”
Lyra held her breath as the circular landing zone came into view below them, only to have her hopes dashed. Fifty or more Separatist battle droids stood in formation at the edge of the field, commanded by a male Koorivar sporting a tall cranial horn and a richly cloaked uniform. The lackluster drop ship that had delivered them sat off to one side.
Galen looked stricken. “I guess Phara changed her mind about handing me over to Count Dooku.”
Lyra fought back tears. From one prison to another. Would the Separatists use her and Jyn to coerce and ultimately break Galen, forcing him to join the war?
Opposite the battle droids were several taqwa riders, including Chieftain Gruppe, dressed in her signature brown uniform and wearing an earflapped cap tugged down over her braided hair. When the carriage had drawn to a halt and Galen and Lyra had climbed down, Gruppe dismounted and approached.
“I’m almost sorry to see you go,” she told them.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Galen said with a mix of anger and disappointment. “What happened to the charges being overturned and our being allowed to leave?”
Gruppe grinned. “You misunderstand, my friend.”
As if on cue, a starship appeared high overhead and began a very controlled descent toward the landing zone. Trained to take down surveillance drones and small craft, a dozen sky-kings followed it down.
The Koorivar uttered a barely audible command and the battle droids brought their rifles to port arms.
Galen squinted at the emblem emblazoned on the light freighter’s underbelly. “Zerpen!”
Lyra put the edge of her hand to her brow and followed his gaze. “Since when does Zerpen fly anything that ragged?”
Galen ignored the question. “I knew they wouldn’t forget us.”
Lyra gave her head a shake, as if to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She hugged Jyn closer as the Zerpen vessel settled on its trio of landing gear, blasting everyone with grit. The boarding ramp lowered and a sole figure in a white environment suit similarly emblazoned with the company logo descended to the pad. Lyra felt her jaw drop, and when she turned to Galen she saw that he, too, was agape.
“Orson Krennic?” she whispered.
He nodded, seemingly incapable of speaking or looking away.
“But—”
“We need to play this by ear,” Galen managed.
The Koorivar commander and Chieftain Gruppe met Krennic halfway, and the three of them stood regarding one another for a long moment.
Krennic looked around with purpose before speaking. “Which of you is in charge?”
Gruppe answered him in Basic. “Marshal Phara has granted me authority to settle this matter.”
“And you?” Krennic said to the Koorivar.
“I’m here to make certain you honor the terms of the exchange.”
Krennic sniffed with clear purpose and took a few steps back toward the boarding ramp. “Please deboard our guests,” he called up into the ship.
Lyra watched closely as a muscular human appeared, similarly attired in Zerpen garb, followed by a pair of distressed-looking four-armed humanoids wearing elaborate breath masks and enviro-suits, and a Dressellian whose big eyes darted every which way while he and the human escorted the humanoids to where Gruppe and the Koorivar were standing.
The Separatist commander appraised the humanoids. “Identify yourselves.”
“I am Dr. Nan Pakota,” the taller of the masked aliens said. “This is my colleague, Urshe Torr.”
Gruppe turned to Krennic. “I need further confirmation.”
Krennic opened his jacket and pulled out a datapad, calling Gruppe’s attention to something on the display screen. “Satisfied?”
Gruppe nodded and the Koorivar followed suit.
Krennic handed the datapad to the chieftain. “Yours to keep.”
Gruppe dropped the datapad into one of her coat pockets and motioned to where Galen and Lyra were standing. “I don’t suppose there’s any need to introduce you.”
Krennic grinned and sauntered over to them. Reaching for Galen’s hand, he said: “Dr. Erso, I’m so relieved to find you in good health.” He turned to Lyra while he was still pumping Galen’s hand. “And Mrs. Erso, and—oh, my, is this the child?”
Lyra had her mouth open to respond but nothing emerged.
“May I have a peek?”
She removed the wrappings that covered Jyn’s face.
“Precious! She looks just like you!”
Businesslike once more, Krennic returned to Gruppe and the Koorivar. “Speaking for Zerpen Industries, I must say that this has been a regrettable incident—as was the Republic’s abduction of two Separatist researchers. But we are glad to have been in a position to broker their release, as well as that of Dr. Erso and his family, who should never have been subjected to so much as harsh words, let alone imprisonment.”
Gruppe shrugged. “War gives rise to all manner of irascible behavior.” She glanced at Galen. “Personally I can add that it has been a privilege getting to know Galen Erso, and I hope that he and Lyra will find it in their hearts to forgive our inhospitality.”
“I’m working on it,” Galen said.
“Remember that Jyn is a Valltii citizen,” Gruppe said.
Krennic’s eyes narrowed in distaste, and he swung to the Dressellian. “Ready the ship, Captain. The sooner we’re off this wretched world, the better.” Glancing at Galen, he gestured offhandedly to the boarding ramp. “Dr. Erso, if you and your wife would be so kind as to hurry aboard.”
“I hope that your journeys are fruitful,” Chieftain Gruppe called out as Galen and Lyra were climbing into the ship.
Once inside, Krennic whirled Galen into an embrace. “How wonderful to see you after all this time!”
“Orson, I don’t under—”
“Not now,” Krennic interrupted, stepping back but continuing to grip Galen’s biceps. “I’ll explain everything in due course, but right now there are more important matters to attend to.”
Everyone moved into the main cabin, where three other humans with close-cropped hair were seated at various duty stations. All eyes were on them as Galen and Lyra strapped into one of the acceleration couches. Lyra cradled Jyn close.
“Contact Commander Prakas as soon as we lift off,” Krennic told the comm tech as he was strapping in. “Tell him to give us just enough time to get up the well.”
The freighter lifted off and rocketed into Vallt’s pale sky. Galen turned his attention to the cabin’s starboard-side viewport as stars began to reveal themselves.
“Brace yourselves for evasive action,” Krennic warned.
Galen twisted slightly in the direction of the viewport. A sudden shift in the starfield was followed by a brief glimpse of a Separatist warship bristling with weapons; then the darkening sky came alive with crisscrossing hyphens of laserfire.
“Ha! So much for honoring the terms
of the exchange!” Krennic shouted.
Lyra pressed Jyn more tightly to her chest as the freighter was jolted by fire. A flash of nova-bright light filled the viewport and the freighter rolled over onto its port side, its belly peppered with debris.
“Hold tight!” Krennic shouted above the sound of Jyn’s crying. “There may be other enemy ships in the area.”
Clamping his arm around Lyra’s shoulder, Galen cut his eyes to the viewport once more and glimpsed a dagger-shaped Republic cruiser appearing out of hyperspace. Simultaneously, a voice issued from a comm station speaker.
“Lieutenant Commander, we’re in position.”
Krennic swiveled toward the console. “Right on schedule, Prakas! There were droids and a Settie-class drop ship on the surface, though it might be in the air by now. When you’re done with them, target the Keep.”
“Orson, no!” Lyra said in an anguished voice. “It’s done. It’s over with!”
“Not quite,” Krennic said without looking at her. His gaze favored Galen. “A strike will give the pro-Republic legions an opportunity to reclaim power. What’s more, we promised Zerpen that they’d get their ignition facility back.”
“They’re harmless, Orson,” Galen said, “Separatists or no.”
Krennic’s look was patronizing. “Perhaps. But we’re at war, and they’re on the wrong side.”
—
Galen was still shaking when the freighter made the jump to hyperspace. The thought of Gruppe and so many others immolated by bolts of starfire left him weak-kneed and nauseated. Lyra had to be feeling the same, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet her dejected gaze.