The alarms kept ringing, a throbbing sound that increased the chaos in the muster room. More guards rushed out of the communal area. Blue stun bolts rippled through the air, mowing down the rioting prisoners and taking out other guards at the same time.
“Enough!” Boss Roke shouted into a microphone on his collar. The voice exploded through the muster-room speakers. “Stop it, or we’ll stun you all and then dissect you to learn what’s wrong with your brains!”
One more stun bolt was fired, dropping two struggling workers to the floor like sacks of gelatin.
Han yanked himself free of the guards and rubbed his split knuckles. Anger continued to seethe through his mind, and he had to work double time to calm himself so he wouldn’t get shot.
“Everybody to the bunks! Now!” Boss Roke said. His lip curled; bluish-black stubble looked like a smear of dirty oil on his chin. His lumpy body seemed coiled and dangerous.
Kyp Durron lifted himself up, but as he caught Han’s gaze, he flashed a smile. No matter what their punishment would be, Kyp had enjoyed lashing out.
Two very uneasy guards hauled Chewbacca to his feet, draping his hairy arms over their shoulders. Another guard wearing a battered old stormtrooper helmet trained his gun on the Wookiee. Chewbacca’s arms and legs twitched as if still trying to struggle, but the stun bolt had thrown his nerve impulses into turmoil. The guards tossed him into one of the holding cells and activated the door before Chewbacca could engage his muscular control. He sagged to the ground in a flurry of mussed brown hair.
His eyes dark with anger, Han moved with taut readiness. He followed Kyp to the line of metal bunks. The guards brushed themselves off and glared at him. Han climbed into his uncomfortable sleeping pallet. Around him the metal rods holding the mattresses and bunks apart seemed like another cage.
Kyp climbed to the upper bunk and leaned down. “What was that all about?” he said. “What set you off?”
One of the guards rapped a stun stick against the side of the bunk. “Keep your head inside!”
Kyp’s face popped back into his own area, but Han could still hear him moving. “Just touchy, I guess,” Han mumbled. He felt a hollow sorrow inside. “I just realized that today is the day my kids are coming home. I wasn’t there to be with them.”
Before Kyp could acknowledge, Boss Roke flicked on the sleep-generating field that pulsed around the bunks and sent Han, still resisting, on an endless plunge into dull nightmares.
Standing outside the doorway of the spice-processing annex, Moruth Doole fitted an infrared attachment into place over his mechanical eye. He hissed in his own uneasiness, flicking his tongue in and out to taste the air, to keep himself safe.
The recent transmission from Solo’s woman made him very nervous about what the New Republic might do to him. In the warm darkness of the spice-processing rooms, he could relax. Looking at the blind and helpless workers that did his bidding hour after hour made him feel stronger, more in control.
The heavy metal door thudded into place, sealing out the light. The secondary entrance slid open to a womblike vault that glowed in his IR attachment, warm and red from the body heat of the workers. Doole took a deep breath, sniffing the musty dankness of the gathered life-forms.
He looked at the blurry orange images crouched over the processing line. They stirred, silently afraid of his presence. That made Doole feel good. He strode in among them, inspecting their work.
Hundreds of blind larvae, pale and wormlike with large sightless eyes, fumbled with four slender arms to handle the delicate spice crystals. They wrapped the fibrous segments in opaque paper and loaded them into special protective cases, which would then be ferried up to the shipyard and transfer base on Kessel’s moon. With the larvae working comfortably in the total darkness necessary for spice processing, Doole’s operation ran much more smoothly than it had under Imperial control.
The brief telepathic boost offered by glitterstim spice had made the substance a valuable commodity tightly controlled by the Empire. Other planets had a weaker form of spice, sometimes known as the mineral ryll, but Kessel was the only place where glitterstim could be found. The Empire had kept an iron fist around Kessel’s spice production, keeping the glitterstim for espionage and interrogation purposes, as well as checks on loyalty and the granting of security clearances.
But there had always been a vast demand on the invisible market: lovers wanting to share an ephemeral telepathic link, creative artists seeking inspiration, investors trying to obtain inside information, scam operators wanting to dupe rich clients. Many smugglers delivered the spice to Jabba the Hutt and other gangster distributors.
But the Empire no longer controlled spice production. Doole had expected to have no further problems—until Solo came back.
Doole had been waiting for the call from Coruscant for days. He had rehearsed his answers over and over, knowing exactly what he should say. Perhaps he had rehearsed too much, coming up with snap answers that might make Minister Organa Solo suspicious.
Skynxnex told Doole he was overreacting, that they just needed to play their part. Solo and the Wookiee had been safely exiled to the spice mines. No one would ever find them. But there was always a chance something could go wrong. Maybe it would be best if he just ordered Solo killed and got rid of all the risks.
Doole walked along the rows of larval workers. His vision in the blurry infrared was not much worse than the normal eyesight from his mechanical eye. The caterpillarlike larvae bowed in silence, working slavishly. Doole had taken them from the egg sac and raised them here, centering their existence on processing spice. He was a god to them.
As Doole passed, one of the largest males reared up in a defensive posture, waving his frail arms as if to ward off Doole from his territory. To his shock Doole noticed that the male larva had nearly reached maturity. Had time gone by so quickly? This one would soon shed his skin and emerge as a strong adult.
Doole would have to kill him well before that. The last thing he needed right now was competition—even if it did mean killing one of his own children.
Boss Roke stood in the muster room with hands on his hips, giving the workers a lumpy, appraising smile. “We lost another team yesterday. A guard and four workers, down in the deep new tunnels.” He waited for that to sink in, but most of the prisoners had already noticed the missing workers.
“The samples brought up earlier show that this could be one of the richest strikes of spice we’ve found, and I’m not going to let incompetence and superstition cheat me out of a big payoff. I need some volunteers to go down with me to the lower tunnels and check it out—and if I don’t get volunteers, I’ll pick them anyway.” Boss Roke waited. “Don’t all volunteer at once.”
He scanned the room. Watching him, Han knew that because of his part in the brawl the day before, he would be one of those picked. But he didn’t mind—not if his suspicions were correct. Rather than give Roke the satisfaction of coercing him, Han stepped forward. “I’ll volunteer. Beats another day of getting dirt under my fingernails.”
Roke looked at him in surprise, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
“I’ll go along, too.” Kyp Durron stepped beside Han. Han felt a happy warmth swell up inside him, but he pushed it back. He didn’t want to explain anything, not just yet.
Chewbacca yowled in surprise, then grunted a question about Han’s sanity.
“What did he say?” Boss Roke asked.
“He’s volunteering, too,” Han said.
Chewie let out an uncomfortable snort of denial but made no further argument.
“One more volunteer,” Roke said, then scanned the room. “You, Clorr.” He pointed to a former prison worker who had done a lot of damage in Han’s brawl. “I’m taking one guard and you four. Suit up. Let’s go.”
Roke didn’t waste any time. By now Han had grown used to pulling on his thermal suit and adjusting the breath mask. He switched on the power pack to start warmth pulsating through his suit. Chewbacca lo
oked ridiculous with his suit’s empty third sleeve limp and taped flat against his torso.
Kyp and Chewbacca kept staring at Han, wondering what he had in mind. Han moved his hands slightly to quell their questions for the time being. Of course he had a plan.
One of the other guards, looking fidgety and uncomfortable, shifted a blaster rifle from shoulder to shoulder.
“Let’s go!” Boss Roke said, and clapped his hands.
The four volunteers and the second guard lined up at the opening to the long metal chamber that housed the floating mine cars. They entered, and Boss Roke disengaged three cars from the long train. Roke and the guard sat up front, while the others crammed into the remaining two cars.
“Hey, how about some of those infrared goggles?” Han called. “If there really is something out there, we’ll need to be able to see where to run.”
Roke contemptously put his own goggles over his eyes. “You’re expendable.” He activated the guidance system on the front car’s controls. The lights went out, and the opposite door groaned open, flooding the compartment with cold, thin air.
“So much for that idea,” Han said, then scrambled to put his breath mask in place.
The unenthusiastic prisoner, Clorr, groaned in dismay. Then the floating cars lurched into motion, gaining speed until they bulleted through the tunnels. The air whooshed as the car sped close to crumbling rock tubes from which generations of spice miners had peeled glitterstim deposits.
When the wind of their passage drowned out other noises, Kyp leaned closer to Han, speaking through his breath mask. “Okay, so tell me what we got ourselves into.”
Han shrugged. “I have an idea, and if I’m right, we can all get out of this mess.”
Chewbacca made a skeptical sound but ended in a question.
“Think about it, Chewie. People have been disappearing off and on from the same place—what if they found a way to escape? They’ve been working new tunnels, going into unexplored areas looking for spice, then suddenly a bunch of them don’t come back. You and I know there are plenty of abandoned shafts from the illicit miners that slipped through Imperial security. This planet is honeycombed with entrances to the spice tunnels.”
Han paused, hoping they had already figured it out. “Roke’s teams usually have one guard and five blind prisoners. What if they came around the corner and suddenly found an opening to the surface, letting them see again. They could overpower the guard and make their way to freedom.
“Once Roke discovers the way out, though, he’ll block it up and we won’t have another chance. If we’re ever going to get out, if I’m ever going to get back and see Leia and the kids, I’ve got to try. I thought maybe this desperate gamble would be worth it.”
“Sounds like a good chance,” Kyp said. “I’ve been down here so long, I’m willing to try anything.”
Chewbacca agreed, but with somewhat less enthusiasm.
They plunged down and down, whipping around sharp corners. Several times Han thought the rocky walls brushed within a handbreadth of his head, and he tried to crouch down inside the car. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Chewbacca’s head struck an outcropping at the speed they were moving.
In the black spice mines Han rapidly lost all conception of time. He had no idea how long they traveled, how far they went, or how fast the floating cars moved through the tunnels. Boss Roke brought the vehicle to a stop and called for the prisoners to dismount. The guard noisily unshouldered his blaster rifle.
Han paid extra attention to the small noises he heard, building the best mental picture possible of where Boss Roke and the guard were standing at all times. That was something he would need to know if he had to make a quick escape. But they had gone down so deep now, he could not imagine finding a passage to the surface.
“Follow me,” Boss Roke said. “I want one prisoner up front ahead of me and the guard taking the rear.”
Han heard a shove and a gasp, then someone stumbled forward. Was it Kyp? No, from the unpleasant groan he determined that the point man would be Clorr, the former prison worker.
Boss Roke rustled in his pack, withdrawing some piece of equipment. Han heard an electronic clicking and pinging sound. It was some sort of detector. Han strained his ears, listening to the tones change as Roke moved the scanner from side to side.
“Spice all around us,” Roke said. “Just as we thought, and the concentration seems even higher up ahead. Move forward.”
Clorr stumbled into the blackness, followed by Boss Roke. Han walked blindly. He felt Kyp taking hold of his waist, and he heard Chewbacca’s breath echoing behind his breath mask.
As they went farther, the tunnels grew colder and colder. Han’s naked fingers crackled when he bent them. He turned up the heat in his suit, but the warmth comforted him little.
The electronic clicks from Roke’s detector grew louder. “Concentration increasing,” he said. “These are some of the densest, freshest veins of spice we’ve ever uncovered. There’ll be a lot more work for you prisoners to do.”
The detector clicked, and they shuffled ahead. Other than their own noises, the spice tunnel seemed a mouth of silence.
Han thought he heard a sudden scuttling noise farther down the passage, something massive that moved, stopped, moved again, then slowly began to come back, as if stalking. Up front Clorr muttered to himself, but Han heard Boss Roke shove him onward.
“The reading gets stronger right up around the corner.” Boss Roke’s gravelly voice carried a childlike hint of excitement. “I’m going to have to recalibrate this sensor.”
Han heard the distant skittering sound again, but it seemed farther ahead. It wasn’t a noise that anyone in their party had made. It sounded like sharp metal points ticking against glass.
The tenor of shuffling human footsteps changed as they turned the corner. “Spice reading is off the scale!” Boss Roke cried.
Suddenly Clorr screamed.
“Hey!” Roke said.
Clorr screamed again, but the sound came from much deeper in the tunnel, as if something had yanked him away and fled, carrying him to a secret lair.
“Where are—” Roke said, then he, too, gave a startled shout.
Han heard booted feet turning around, running back. Han nudged Kyp aside, back the way they had come. “Watch yourself!”
Boss Roke stumbled into Han, then fell backward. Han reeled against the rocky wall but kept his balance. Roke clawed at the floor, desperate to flee.
“Turn around!” Han shouted to Kyp, giving the young man a push toward the floating cars. “What is it?” he yelled to Boss Roke. He heard the pointy, ticking sound again, moving closer, skittering like many sharp legs that ended in stiletto claws.
Roke screamed, then gave an oooof! as the air was knocked out of him. Han heard a thud as the man hit the ground, but Roke clambered to his feet again, or at least to his knees, crawling forward.
As Han started to run, Roke grabbed his leg and held on. Han tried to jerk free, shouting, “Stop it! We’ve got to get out of here!”
But before Roke could let go, something behind him—something very large and very, very close—grabbed Roke and yanked him backward, breaking his grip. Roke’s fingernails were like claws as he tried to grasp the slick fabric of Han’s thermal suit, but with a quick whisking sound he was dragged away down the tunnel, still gurgling and crying out.
In the darkness Han could see nothing at all.
“Run!” Han shouted.
Chewbacca roared, then plowed like a demolition vehicle into the guard behind him. Kyp followed the Wookiee and leaped over the fallen man, but Han stumbled on him, sprawling flat on the broken rocky floor. Nobody could see anything.
The guard scrambled to his knees and started thrashing and pummeling as if Han were the enemy. But Han, blinded and desperate, grabbed for something else. He snatched at the infrared goggles on the guard’s face and pulled them free.
The walls were closing in around him. The screams a
nd sounds of panicked fleeing and the tick tick noise of the approaching monstrous thing made claustrophobic thunder around him.
The fallen guard’s wail of sudden blindness and dismay was muffled by his breath mask. He clutched at Han, but Han knocked the breath mask free. The escaping oxygen made a whistling sound. The guard had to release Han to replace his mask.
Han scrabbled forward. He had to see. They needed to find the floating cars so they could get away. “Run, Chewie! Straight ahead! Make sure Kyp goes with you!”
He slapped the goggles over his head. He heard the scuttling, thumping sounds of the sharp, scampering legs again. Had an army of the things come to attack, or was it just one very large specimen with many legs?
Looking through the goggles, he could see the bright blob of the fallen guard’s infrared signature and the fleeing brilliant shapes of Kyp and Chewbacca. He heard the thunder of hard, pointed legs coming back up the tunnel, stampeding down on them.
The guard moved, clambered to his feet, and began stumbling behind Han, but the man could not see. He weaved back and forth and struck the wall, smacking his head on a hard outcropping.
Running, monstrous feet came closer, like a patter of meteorites pelting the side of a ship. The guard screamed.
Han turned around to watch him, but he saw nothing else in the blackness of the tunnel, no shape, no signature, no body heat from any creature—nothing that was alive.
The guard suddenly froze, as if a giant invisible hand had grabbed him from behind. Then Han saw, to his horror, the silhouette of a long, spindly leg reaching around in front of the guard’s waist and another one clipped over his shoulder, totally black, like a cutout from the infrared form of the guard. The man struggled and wailed.
The guard yanked at something—his blaster rifle. Han gasped as a brilliant lance erupted in the pitch darkness, striking against the multilegged thing, illuminating it for the shaved splinter of a heartbeat. Han saw what seemed to be a writhing mass of sharp twigs, a rat’s nest of spindly legs and claws and fangs intermixed with eyes—many, many eyes. Then the creature absorbed all the light, plunging the tunnels back into opaque blindness.
Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy I: Jedi Search Page 15