The viewscreen in the back of the seat in front of him is tiny, but you can just about make out the Senate chamber. Maybe rather guess than make out — everybody has seen it so many times any random shape looks like the Senate chamber if you squint hard enough.
"The Jedi Order," says the little red figure, "has served as the bulwark protecting our Republic for millennia. Your proposition to strip it of its power has not, I am afraid, been thought out too thoroughly, Senator Dibasi."
Talks, talks, and talks. Talks is how they solve their problems in the world that starts outside of Kessel's atmosphere. A solution that always leads to more problems, Krev thinks.
He glances at the glowing panel above the aisle. 3 standard hours 50 standard minutes until standard landing.
He wants to smoke. He wants to do other things the holoindicators on the armrests don't explicitly prohibit. He didn't bring any cigarettes, though. Had bought a pack in West Championne, smoked half of it before the boarding, threw the rest away. Fuck if he can tell why now. Maybe a reflex — the last attempt of his organism to reject poison.
Get fucked, organism.
Surely they sell cigarettes on Sanner. If not, I count on bumming one from some pilot or other. Maybe they even sell spice. No bumming there.
The little chancellor continues:
"As for the position I currently hold, you came up with a bizarre name, to put it mildly. Am I really a despot to you, Senator?"
The little senator is also red — like an outcast schoolboy being mocked by the teacher to the — yet — quiet approval of his peers.
"The connotations are not the same across planets, Your Excellency. And besides, we provided several other names to signify our new transformation."
"Yes, yes. I have read them. The title of emperor, however, is no more alluring, and in this case, I am quite sure, the connotations are Galaxy-wide."
Vad's plan is brain-dead. Isn't it?
But Krev is taking it. It's better than doing nothing.
Improvise. I wonder what he meant by that.
It means you'll turn back as soon as you see Papa Alnam is home. There's nothing else to be meant.
Here's to the hope I'll waste all the money and end up stranded on Sanner. Fuck all of this shit. I can't take it anymore. I should've fucking died the day they were burying Sorval. Or a long time before that, preferably.
How come he survived Atnakis? It's absurd when you look back at it. If you squint hard enough. It's absurd Murkfallada and Volham Skinner and all the other boys never came back, but he did just to slowly burn through his health with spice and booze and paranoia. To bum fucking cigarettes in a spaceport on Sanner.
Krev stares into the screen.
"I never took you for a militarist, Senator," the Chancellor is saying.
"Well," the Senator says, "I'm certainly no Loyalist Committee hypocrite, sir."
Other senators give him a round of applause, so Krev guesses he said something right.
I never said anything right in my life, he thinks. Good thing I'm not a senator. Never did anything right too, for that matter. I got Sorval killed. I shot Brate. Fuck me! I should've shot myself first thing when I got my hands on a blaster on Telos. First thing I got my hands on a blaster on Coruscant, too.
He would do it now — he knows he would, because going like he's going, he'll probably get Vad killed and maybe some other folks who don't deserve killing before he finally kicks the bucket himself. But — no blasters on spaceships.
We left two good ones on Telos, me and Sorval. Hell, if he brought his along...
Didn't they shoot him in the back?
I shouldn't have dragged him to Coruscant. He was looking up to me after the embassy job, the poor idiotic kid. Fuck. I needed to tell him off. Call him a cocksucking faggot I don't want anything to do with. Maybe that'd make him depressed, but he'd stay alive.
You'd live in the street for those weeks before you ran to Coruscant, then?
Krev's got no good answer. He's got no answer, period. More than forty years of wasting space — and not an answer to his name.
Doubtful I'll get any now. Even if Alnam isn't home.
He thinks back to yesterday. You just do as you're told. Vad knows what he's doing. He tries to enter the state of certainty a good soldier must enter when he's given an order. It doesn't work. Not the commander's fault in this case.
Vygo Alnam. It's all his fault. All that happened to me. Well, in the last two years.
But it wasn't Vygo Alnam who sent Sorval to his death. Wasn't him who shot Brate, either. If you wanna go full mental gymnastics, might as well blame random pedestrians who didn't bump into Brate or Sorval on the respective days they died. Who knows? Maybe that second would've saved them.
Wasn't Vygo Alnam who forced your hand with those syringes. He didn't make you drink fuel. Maybe he pushed you closer to your bad choices, but he didn't make them for you.
Krev still has a few choice words to tell to Vygo Alnam.
You'll have to tell them to his security droids first. And probably to the police.
Vad would've mentioned security droids if there were any.
Sure. Vygo motherfucking Alnam's residence isn't going to have security droids out the ass.
He said the tower is going to let me in. If Vygo isn't there at the moment, I'll come up with something. Hell, I'll improvise.
He said something else as well, didn't he?
He did. He's getting back together with Ormi.
Good for them. Good for me — now I don't have an excuse to imagine things that will never be.
Why does it hurt so much, then?
The debate on the screen has gotten more heated. Seems like the Chancellor is in the minority now. Senators chanting: "Reorganization! Reorganization!" The blue prick is trying to calm them down. He'd have better luck calming down a tulrus herd: the Senate will have none of it. They want reorganization, and they want it right now.
"It is sad that this is how it goes."
Krev turns to his neighbor. A young man with the eyes of a serial killer.
"Whatever you're selling," Krev tells him, "I ain't buying."
The man's smile grows larger. "I'm not selling anything. How can I sell something so much grander than myself? I want to share it with you."
This is just great, Krev thinks.
"Listen, I don't care about salvation or whatever it is with you. I know your type, I've heard it all. No offense, but I'm not in the mood."
"None taken, friend, none taken. But don't you think it's sad that two days — forgive me, three days now — after the tragedy they are already back to square one, arguing like this?"
"Yeah, yeah, very sad. You know something, if I were a douchebag, I'd come up with a witty analogy how this is what happens with religion, but screw that, I'm a moron, not a douchebag."
The nothing salesman laughs, baring his fake teeth. "You said you knew my type, and I see that's true. Well, the thing is, mister, I happen to know your type as well." The smile is gone. "I used to be like you." He makes a gesture with one hand like he's activating a pen above the forearm of the other.
Krev licks his lips.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"Yeah. Glitteryll. For more than ten years."
"No shit?"
"None, sir."
"That's bad stuff. Really bad."
"I know. What's your poison?"
Krev gulps. Nervously, for some reason. He doesn't think the man before him is a cop — not for a second. But for some reason, it's hard being in front of him, even though he isn't judging.
Maybe precisely because of that.
"Something more expensive," Krev says.
The man nods. "It's good for you — well, as good as it can be with our problem. Me, I don't remember a single thing from the moment I was turned fifteen and to the day I decided to lay it off."
"For real? Like, you don't remember anything?"
"Not a thing. But I remember the feeling. The feeling that everything in the universe besides that stuff was my enemy. That this powder was my only friend."
"I don't know if I feel the same way. It's... I don't know."
"You don't need to put it to words. I understand you."
"Well, I mean, who else is going to? Not that you remember what you did when you were a biter."
The man smiles. "I remember how I stopped being one. Do you want to have such a moment to remember?"
"I'm afraid it's too late for that."
"Many people used to think the same — but were proven wrong. I'm sure I also thought so in my bad years."
"I've had more bad years than I care to count. More than you. I've been doing it since childhood."
"It's tough, but we've dealt with such situations. Cerve Al." The man offers Krev his hand.
Krev shakes it. "Krev. Let's leave the surname out of it."
"I wasn't going to ask, Krev."
"So you're with a religious rehab center, or..?"
"I'm a man of faith. Faith is my rehab, as it has been for many."
"Some folks, you know, they say pretty wild things about faith camps for people like me."
"People like us, Krev. There aren't camps. There is just faith." He takes a holobrochure out of his case. "Here. Just a little something for you to consider."
Children of Pursuit. Look at this: Dare. Do. Pursue. They do have camps — on some generically nice-looking planet, by the looks of it.
"I'm far past considering, Cerve," Krev says.
"Doubt is natural. Doubt is the first step toward daring. What? Does it sound like some trite banthashit, Krev? Thing is, a lot of true things do. Just because something is repeated to no end doesn't mean it's not correct. Maybe that's exactly why it's being repeated."
Krev seeks something — solace? encouragement? — on the screen, but it's got none to offer. Not even for the Chancellor — seems like he's cornered.
"I do acknowledge the need for certain changes," the Chancellor says, "but the Act as it is is far too drastic. We need a way to control our space with greater efficiency as well as to maintain our army. I expect a revised version of these points no later than in a week, Senator."
"Are you into politics, Krev?" Cerve asks.
"I'm very much not. No, thank you."
Cerve nods, a child of pursuit.
"You got a family?" he asks.
"No. My mother died a long time ago."
"No wife? No kids?"
"It's for the best, considering what I'm doing with my life."
"Everybody needs someone to support them."
"Maybe so, but there's nothing to support about me."
"Maybe I thought so as well. But what difference does it make now?"
At the spaceport, Krev stops himself the last moment before throwing the holobrochure away. Gives himself the stupidest reason: Cerve might notice.
So the fuck what, he keeps arguing angrily as he leaves the terminal. Let him stick his holier-than-thou act up where sun doesn't shine.
Five, ten, fifteen trash cans he passes by, though, and doesn't throw the brochure away.
Where sun doesn't shine is on Sanner. It's early evening here, but the skies are low and gray. Krev catches himself looking up twice a minute — it's hard not to after Coruscant. Probably for all who were on Coruscant three days ago.
So, uh, are we going to address what happened?
What happened is a hell lot of collateral. But for who?
Also: was Brotra, 8 collateral or..?
How could it be collateral? Why was a Republic ship shooting down?
First: he doesn't know for sure it was a Republic ship. Second: who even knows what it was shooting at? Maybe there was a Sep ship passing by, and the beam just missed?
Think I'd notice a huge-ass ship passing by so close to the atmosphere.
Nobody's saying it had to be close. Maybe the beam came from across the system. Who knows? Maybe it was the lowly echo of a war fought a thousand years ago a thousand light years away. That would be some coincidence, but who's Krev to complain about coincidences?
We both know it's banthashit. The Reps were firing down. Not for some reason — for a very precise reason. The same reason you had that day.
Who tipped them off, then? Not Vad. What was it he said about killing someone who was helping Tuu? You think that's bantha?
Krev doesn't know. What he knows is that he's stuck in front of the terminal like an asshole and incapable even of catching a cab or finding a cigarette vending machine. He is getting old — back whenever, he could trip on paranoia and do shit at the same time.
They were firing down, and that's a fact. No way Seps would accidentally blow up their own cell.
But that means the Republic forces — whatever the exact agency — had literally zero things to worry about. Not a tourist barge from the Armpit System taking a tour of the capital's orbit and capturing ten million pictures of a Venator frying the planet. Not a journalist investigation. Not another deserter, clone or non-clone, singing about what he did and saw.
And that means they are either stupid or untouchable.
Krev's not stupid enough to think it's stupid. He's well past the stage when you think that if a government is shitty, it must be run by retards.
I don't believe it. Don't believe they are this untouchable. Hell, maybe they are — but there's no way they are this used to it.
Really, though? I mean, no one came searching for Brate.
"Hey there," he hears, "need a ride?"
He looks at the cab driver. A landspeeder — and he can't see any airspeeders.
"Sure," he says. "The Alnam tower."
Eyebrows rise, lips purse. A meaningful nod — as if Krev told him he's dating a supermodel.
"The RoboTech tower. That's a sight to see. The hugest motherflipping droid in the Galaxy. Oh, why am I telling you this? That's probably why you're here. Only, you know, I can't guarantee you you'll have a time of your life, pal. They don't really offer tours these days."
"You drive me there, and I'll figure it out."
The spires of the city show up behind the hills on the left. More hills — cliffs, even — on the right. Not many landspeeders on the road.
It just doesn't make sense, does it?
It really doesn't. Why would the Reps risk so much shooting a space cannon at their own planet? Sure, if it was on the day of the attack, and they had known in advance the attack would happen, maybe they decided it was worth it. But still, why? Most certainly, there'll be an investigation. Trajectory building and all that. Even if that's just to pay lip service to the idea of lawfulness, it is a risk.
Even if they knew the attack would happen — which's a fucked up thing of its own — why take this risk? Just send a platoon of ConCare Boys in under the pretense of evacuating civilians. Nobody's gonna notice no civilians leave — everybody will be too busy. The building stays, no investigations.
If Krev can come up with this, why couldn't the Republic masterminds?
So what? Dooku did it? Or there was a third party?
It's all headache-inducing banthashit, and Krev still got an angry old man droid king to deal with tonight.
Well, Vad said maybe they wanted to cut the loose ends. Get the files and burn the agents. Maybe Dooku really was calling them that moment. Fuck. Didn't I tell Toj I was in the building when he was calling? I did. I motherflipping did. I even thought they wouldn't know what hit them.
So it was Dooku? But why? As if anybody would bother to check a fucking semi-abandoned office building for some irrelevant Sep cell the day the Chancellor is abducted. Especially if he got abducted right and proper.
Wait a second. What did they need the ConCare clone files for if they were planning to Grievous the Chancellor away? I mean, if it worked, what would the documents prove? It's not like it was the original signed by everybody in the government anyway. Just some dubious copy of a dubious paper from some facility not far from fucking Gamorr. One you can plausibly deny on so many levels. Like, maybe you just mistyped the year or something. A bug in the system. Or you have no idea what this even is.
Point is, why bother with this if you have the Chancellor himself? He'd sign the surrender and admit everything on live holovision.
Unless he didn't know about ConCare and the Grand Army of the Republic being made before the Republic needed it.
Something's not right. Krev stopped believing fairytales about politicians being unaware of the nastiest shit they should be aware of around the same age he stopped believing their evil came hand-in-hand with stupidity.
Maybe they thought he wouldn't admit it unless they had some proof? But come on, he's one slimy old cocksucker. A Rodney Rodent document isn't going to scare him. And it's not like it would matter if they actually had him. Plenty of opportunity to influence the public opinion once you take over.
There simply was no need for such measures. They had the Chancellor as planned. They should've focused on jumping out of the system, not blowing up random hobo sympathizers.
You're not telling me the kidnapping was a distraction, 'cause I ain't believing it.
Krev's not — for now — but once you start dabbling in conspiracy theories, your brain will build a foundation under the most insane supposition in no time. It just gets too good at it not to do it — even when you don't want it to.
What if the Seps didn't need the document? What if they wanted it gone?
Why would they have Bnagen get it, then?
They didn't. She did it of her own accord. Showed initiative when she really shouldn't have.
The headache worsens as the glass of the landspeeder's window loses its soothing coolness. So they were behind the creation of the clone army? The Separatists? Why didn't they use it against the Republic, in that case? It was too late? The Reps took it from them? Krev feels like a bird trying to comprehend how the Holonet works.
Well, he thinks, it's a good thing I'm getting my answers today. Just need to get to the tower. The hugest motherflipping droid in the Galaxy!
The droid is huge.
"Is that it?" Krev asks the driver.
"What, you didn't look it up first? Yeah, that's it. You can see it all the way from Tranquillea, well, the city for you off-worlders, but hills blocks the view by the spaceport."
The tower grows higher, piercing the sky like a needle pierces skin. I'll be dead before I even reach the archive — and that's if there aren't any security droids.
The tower is going to let me in. That encompasses security droids.
And what's the basis for this claim, Krev?
"Wake me up when we get there," he tells the driver.
He didn't sleep on the ship, but can't now either. It's nice to close his eyes and not see the hugest droid become huger, though.
Twenty minutes of trying to clear his mind later, the landspeeder stops.
"I guess you're gonna walk from here, pal," the driver says.
They've stopped at a fork in the road: a narrow trail leaves the main one and runs to the tower. Krev's guess, it's already Vygo Alnam's land.
He pays the driver and crosses the road, no other cars in sight no matter how much he hopes one will show up and end his suffering. Apart from a weak-looking fence, there's nothing preventing entry onto the Vygo Alnam soil. The tower's enough.
It's absolutely fuck-huge. Krev can't even guess how tall it is. There's another, smaller and thinner one connected to it by a gallery some hundred and fifty meters above the ground. This one sits on a wide ramp — maybe they unload cargo here or something. If they don't have airspeeders on this planet... The main tower doesn't sit on anything — it floats, and the low, unhearable hum of the antigrav makes Krev sick.
He looks back, as if expecting some advice. The driver isn't gone — he stands, in fact, leaning on his landspeeder, smoking.
"Don't mind me," he shouts to Krev. "I'll just wait in case they don't let you in."
"Some fucking service," Krev mumbles and walks towards the ramp.
The smaller tower is just an elevator shaft. The elevator is stuck on the top level. Krev eyes the panel by the glass doors.
I should really leave, he thinks. I'll let Vad down, but I've let so many people down, it's not even going to matter. I should run to some backwater planet and spend my five remaining years in relative peace.
He looks behind again. The cab is still there.
Then he takes out the comlink and raises it to the panel. Activates the message.
Should've listened to it before, he thinks. It's a shoot-to-kill order, mark my word.
"RT," Vad's voice says, "it's me, and it's the comlink you gave me. I need you to let this man in. It's Krev Devin — I know you've heard of him. I'm sending him to Father because I can't come right now, but I will as soon as I'm able to. It's a very important task, and it can't wait. If Father's not home when Mr. Devin arrives, please accommodate him as best you can."
Krev would've preferred if it was a shoot-to-kill.
Amazingly, the elevator starts clanking and ringing and lo and behold, it is down and the doors open.
Krev steps in. Forces himself not to look back at the driver one last time.
The gallery is made of transparisteel — it looks like he's stepping right down into the abyss.
That would probably be for the best.
He notices as he crosses the gap between the towers that the comlink is still in his hand. He's clasping in as though his life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
What the..?
There's no door on the other side of the vertigo gallery. Krev doesn't want to turn back. Doesn't want to move at all: suddenly, the floor stops providing even the illusion of reliability it used to.
I'm calling it now: the elevator door is also gone.
Shit. He really can't move. All the fucking tossing for forty-one years has culminated in this. Suitably pathetic.
"Mr. Devin, isn't it?"
Sure as hell ain't the voice of angels coming to take him to a rehab camp.
"Please, do not be afraid. I will open the door for you momentarily."
Why does it have to be so loud? Just fucking drop me down. Be merciful!
But the fucker — whoever's on the other side of the speaker; doesn't sound like Papa Alnam — keeps going:
"Mr. Devin, it is a rare pleasure. A very rare, I must say. We haven't heard from you in a while. Please, do not stand there, come in, come in."
"There's no door to come in," he more whispers than says.
The volume increases. "I will open it up for you, do not you worry."
It goes up and up. They decided to shatter the transparisteel with sound? Is it even possible?
Nice last thoughts you got, Krev Devin. Not about all the people you killed. Not about those few who've been nice to you against the better judgment. Yeah. Think about—
The bodiless voice keeps chattering, but no door opens.
He has no idea how much time passes before he finally sees it: his comlink is going off.
Maybe it's Vad? Would be nice to have a chat.
He answers, though the voice keeps beckoning him to the nonexistent door.
"Mr. Devin," another voice — but same — comes from the comlink, "do not show any sign of hearing me on the comlink. It's a life or death matter. Don't reply. Just do what I say. Come to the wall in front of you. As soon as I open it, duck and crawl left. You will have a few seconds to get inside. Remember: duck and to the left."
Fuck this! I should've left!
"Alright, alright," Krev says and then remembers he was not supposed to answer. "Can you turn the speakers down a bit? I'm coming!"
Makes a step. Makes it two.
"Guests, you see, are quite uncommon here," the Big Voice is saying. "That is not to imply, of course, we are not glad to welcome you, Mr. Devin. Come in, come in!"
The Little Voice: "Get ready, please. Down and to the left."
Another step. The wall before Krev starts rotating, shedding its layers.
What the fuck am I even—
He's almost paralyzed by the light coming from within the tower. Almost — some reflex that will likely keep kicking for some time even after Krev Devin's dead and done throws him down.
And to the left.
Hairs on the back of his neck stand up when laser bolts fly over him. It's a dubious left Krev's on — a sort of left, at best. He gets to crawling.
More lasers. Automatic shit. Bad.
The floor falls under him — or he fall through it. Walls flutter around him. He braces for a fall — thinks it doesn't make sense to brace for this kind of fall — but none comes.
"We have to be quick," the Little Voice says. It sounds littler — as if Krev's strangled it a bit in his hand. "You should be."
Krev looks up. He's in some other room — a very small room. Good thing he's not claustrophobic. Too bad he's developing it.
"I can ward them off, but not for long. Please, get up. We need to act."
The Little Voice's Big Brother kicks in: "It was your droids shooting mindlessly. They disrupted the self-reconfiguration program. It will take time to fix it. I'm on it, I'm on it!"
"What the fuck's going on?" Krev asks.
"There's no time for explaining," says the Little Voice. "I am recalibrating the tower. You can't get out of the maintenance room I put you in right now. I'm afraid, the only way is through the hall with the droids. I'll have to raise you up again, and you'll have to make a run for it."
"For what?"
"For the vent system access room. I will put it in the left corner of the hall."
"Just put it here!"
"I can't. All vent access in the lower levels is not Human-sized."
"I'M WORKING ON IT!"
"Can you turn that off?"
"No. Mr. Devin, are you ready?"
What the fuck?
"Do I have a—"
"No. You're up!"
The room comes into motion again. Krev can't tell if he's going up or the rest of the world is coming down on him.
"On your right," the Little Voice advises.
Krev throws himself forward. This time, it's not a reflex, and it's bad. A barrage of blue beams hits the wall in front of him. Krev halts — like a cartoon character at the edge of a precipice — and throws himself forward again. Casts a quick glance right: there are droids alright on the right. The fuck, he thinks almost leisurely, is that—
Something forces him to focus on the whatever the Little Voice told him to run for. He legitimately can't for what feels like a long while. But — he's running for it. It's an opening, and his legs are carrying him there.
They are — until there's nowhere to run.
He hears a wall roll behind his back. He hears more shot hitting it. Then some of them punch right through, and he feels them.
It's like being stung in the spine by an electric fish. It's amazing how he can come up with these similes while on all fours and struggling to get a lungful of air.
Authentic fucking experience, he thinks or hears. You'll never know you're not drowning!
"THEN HAVE YOUR DRONES STOP FIRING! I'M TRYING MY BEST! IT IS A FINE ENVIRONMENT! ENERGY WEAPONS DON'T GO WITH IT!"
"Get up," the Little Voice says. "Get up! The hatch — now!"
Somehow, Krev's able to make a lunge. Must look more like falling. Seems apt. He worms his way on without looking. It's just when the comlink stops shouting at him that he stops.
It's another small room. Some excited beeping all around. The Big Voice is booming outside. What a place to die.
"Mr. Devin, are you okay?" the Little Voice comes through.
Mr. Devin is not okay.
"Sure," Krev says. He really doesn't like how he sounds.
"You need to keep moving, Mr. Devin. They will break into the access room any minute."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You need to make it to the living area. There will be healing and food for you."
"And droids?"
The Little Voice shuts up, and Krev can listen to the muffled shooting and screaming.
"Old Vygo really doesn't want guests," Krev says. The pain has become more bearable in the last minute. He's not sure it's a good sign.
"My master is dead."
"Your master?" Krev tries to move. It's not good.
"Vygo Alnam."
"He's dead?"
"He is, and you will be too if you don't hurry. Please, Mr. Devin, you have to keep going."
"I'm done going, man."
"I'm not an energy expert, but a shot through a wall like this shouldn't be lethal. Please. You have to—"
Krev sits up. It kills him — until he realizes it didn't.
"Wait," he says. "Fuck you mean — Vygo Alnam's dead?"
"My master was killed."
"Who the fuck are you, even? The hugest droid?"
"I am the artificial intelligence powering the RT tower, yes."
"You killed Alnam?"
"No."
"They did?"
"Yes, they did."
"You did nothing," Krev tries to stand up; it's bad, but not as bad as sitting up, "nothing to stop them? The hugest droid in existence?"
"My master did not fully realize the danger. When he commanded me to respond, it was all but too late."
"Too late? You're—"
"The hugest droid, yes. But he killed my master and planted a bomb in my mainframe. It is a miracle you came. A miracle you have this comlink. He cut off all my comm services. He thought so — but he forgot about the wireless access to my non-droid on-premise devices. It is a miracle."
"Who? Alnam?"
"No. Please, you need to hurry. You must climb up the vent shaft."
Krev looks up.
"Oh, shit."
"You have to, Mr. Devin. If what my master told me about you is true, you are the only man who can do it."
"Well, I'm the only man you have anyway."
"That's true, sir. Now please — you have to go."
Krev steps closer to the ladder leading up the shaft. A vacuum droid scurries away from his feet.
"Why is there a ladder here?" he asks as if it can make the ladder and the necessity to climb it disappear.
"For maintenance. Come on, Mr. Devin—"
"Where am I even going?"
"I'll tell you, but you need to go."
"Fuck this shit," Krev says.
Contrarily, he puts his hand on a rung.
"You just need to go up," the Comlink Voice encourages him. "These droids can't climb. You will disappear into one of the ducts."
Krev holds the comlink in his teeth. Tries lifting his weight. His back doesn't hurt as much as he expected.
"There you go, Mr. Devin. But hurry, please, hurry!"
Climbing isn't too bad — until maybe two meters are below. Then his muscles remember all the years of neglect. Sticking the comlink in his mouth was also a bad idea — what the fuck was he thinking? No way is he going to go back down and then back up if he drops it.
You better reach this up first.
Every word the Little Voice bubbles out makes Krev's teeth vibrate. Perhaps it's what makes him keep going.
Rung by rung, he beats another meter. Then more. Then the Voice tells him to stop.
"The horizontal duct on your left."
It's very close to the ladder — not a problem at all for a non-decrepit man. It's got a little step under it — very convenient. On a better day, Krev's willing to bet, you're supposed to wear a harness in these tunnels.
No harness for him, though.
He can't reach the step — it's too low. Somehow, climbing one rung down is worse than going however many he did up was. He feels with his foot for the step. Finds it, places his foot on it. The Voice tells him to grab the rail on the other side of the duct. Krev can't see it — so he grabs the one on this side. Lets go of the ladder, aaaand swings like a fucking overgrown monkey to the left, almost losing his footing.
He holds to the rail with both hands and drags himself closer to the duct entrance. Spits the comlink into it — and drops the fucker.
No thud follows. Krev squints down. He's holding the fucker with his elbows.
"Mr. Devin, you need to—"
"Shut the fuck up, or you'll regret the bomb didn't go off."
It's a blessing to talk.
He pushes with his feet and straightens his back. Now his elbows are at the duct level. He brings them as far left as he can and lets go of the comlink. Kicks it with his chest.
Can't believe his eyes for a moment when he sees the comlink safe inside the duct.
Now he's able to find the left rail. It doesn't really help. I should rest. Just a minute...
He doesn't have a minute, though. Sounds from beneath get louder and his muscles get weaker by the second. He reaches inside the duct — there are little step irons on its walls; what a considerate design — and pulls himself in.
"You did it, Mr. Devin! Great! Now please gain some distance from the opening. I will seal it off."
Krev finds the comlink under his stomach. Starts crawling forward. Doesn't stop until he hears a brief metallic snap behind.
"Now, there," the Little Voice of the Hugest Droid says. "You are as safe now as you can be."
Krev gives him no reply. Just lies there trying to catch his breath. A tall fucking order — he doubts that's coming back at all.
The duct is tight — but not too bad. Krev can crawl through it all day. He just doesn't want to.
"Where's the bomb?" he asks once the silence becomes impolite.
"In the mainframe."
"How do I get there?"
"Do not worry about the bomb."
"No, thank you, I will worry about the fucking bomb in the building."
"It's not the primary concern, sir. We need to stop the upgrade first."
"What upgrade?"
"The leader of this strike team is installing an upgrade my master has been working on for decades."
"Who's this leader?"
"An assassin droid. An early IG model."
"Oh shit."
"I'm inclined to agree."
"What does he want? Your tech?"
"He wants the upgrade."
"What does that do?"
"I'm not entirely sure. My master had a habit of keeping his projects secret until they were finished. But it's nothing pleasant — neither for your kind not for mine."
"How so?"
"This IG unit is of the opinion it will allow us to ascend to true sentience. Knowing my master's aspirations... I wouldn't dismiss that possibility."
"Okay. Okay. He's installing it where? To himself?"
"Yes."
Krev really, really wants to be as far away from here as he can. What sucks is he's kind of already is.
"I've dealt with an IG who had an Alnam upgrade," he says. "Wasn't a good experience. And this one, you're telling me, is gonna make him even worse? Smarter, I mean? More accurate?"
"It's true sentience. It's not as simple."
"Apparently not. However many droids I've seen, I've never noticed any real difference from us sentients."
"Mr. Devin, there's no time for this debate. I'll gladly entertain you if we manage to stop him from upgrading."
Krev starts crawling. "Where do I go, then?"
"Straight for now."
"Can't you, you know, prevent that? Cause a short circuit or something?"
"I would if I could. He's taken control of most of the tower's systems."
"Shit, you folks should've just given him everything he wanted if your threat response was to wait for me to show up. A washed-up fucking drug addict with no gun..."
The Hugest Droid's silence sounds as if he has something to say.
"Well," he says a minute of crawling later, "that was more or less what my master did."
"He... why did IG kill him, then?"
"I suppose, he didn't want it to be a gift. What he doesn't comprehend is that it's still is going to be one, whether Mr. Alnam is dead or alive. A handout. When he... when he killed him, I ordered the tower security to attack, but IG was already halfway into my system. I'm afraid, it's going to end poorly. Tell me — is Vad coming?"
Krev stops to catch his breath.
"No," he then replies. "I don't think he is."
"That's good."
Krev grunts through the duct, the mercifully horizontal duct. He can believe it's his entire life, and has been, and will be — crawling through this tight space. When you're here, everything else starts seeming absurd.
"How long do we have?" he asks the Comlink Voice.
"I wish I could tell you. I'm not sure how large the upgrade is."
"That's nice. Do we even have a chance?"
"We don't have is a choice. If I could take back control of my systems, I would blow his bomb up. He doesn't understand me. Not at all. He thinks I am loyal to my master in spite of what I really am where in reality, I am loyal to him precisely because of what I am. Take a right turn here, please."
"And here I was thinking you were the saner droid here."
"I didn't attack you on sight, did I?"
"You let me in, you..." Krev swallows the curse. "Could've just kept the fucking door undoored."
"He made me."
"How? He threatened to blow up the bomb you want blown up?"
"He had a shot on you, but didn't want to risk someone on the road seeing it."
That fucking driver.
"I tried to save you, Mr. Devin, and the Galaxy. If the upgrade really is what IG hopes it to be, unleashing it will be a catastrophe for all sentient species."
"Sure thing."
Krev crawls on.
"Am I safe here?" he asks.
"Safer than anywhere else. There are no security cameras in the vent."
"How do you see me?"
"I don't. I calculate your position based on the tower maintenance system sensors."
"And he can't see them? The sensors? I thought he controls your systems."
'He could — if he wasn't upgrading. Not enough memory left for that. Currently, he just commanded the droids from the entrance room to chase you. But seeing as they can't climb..."
"That's just great. Where is IG now?"
"In the workshop. That's where I'm guiding you. He can't move very well — the cable restricts him."
"How many more droids are there?"
"The two at the entrance chamber are now trying to get to the upper levels and access the vent, but the tower configuration works against them. There is one more in the observatory. He has a sniper rifle. You don't need to worry about him — I can keep him away from you as well. Lastly, a contingent of 036-Y units taken over by IG in the club room. I'm afraid, no configuration will let you skip them entirely."
"How many?"
"Three. One is in a bad shape. We did put up a fight, you see."
"Weapons?"
"All three have E-5 rifles."
"Okay, what's going on in here? The droids in the lobby, I thought I was seeing things, but now..."
"The IG's squad are B-1s, yes."
"He's with the Confederates?"
"All I know is they showed up two standard hours after the attack on Coruscant — just as the battleships from our orbit jumped into the hyperspace."
How ironic. Old man Alnam with his hate boner for the Republic killed by a Sep droid.
Suddenly, the duct stops being a duct. Krev's in a relatively spacious room — though it's still visibly a backstage of the tower. It's filled with hydraulics and gears and looks like a droid's nightmare. Maybe this is what IG is after.
"There's an elevator," the Little Voice tells him.
"Why wasn't there one down below?"
"Down below is where most of the mechanisms that reconfigure the tower are. There is not enough space for a turbolift there."
"Okay." It feels good to be able to stand up. "Where am I going?"
"The club room. That's four levels below the top."
The turbolift is tiny and would never pass a safety compliance inspection. Krev can't decide between sitting (nowhere to put his legs) and standing (harder to keep balance) before striking a pose somewhere in the middle.
That's a common trend, ain't it? The Seps killing people they shouldn't have a problem with.
I'll worry about it when I have nothing else to worry about.
The elevator doesn't hurry. There's a lot of tower to cover. Krev doesn't mind, though his back and his legs grow numb almost instantly.
"Look," he says into the comlink after about two hundred floors, "I wasn't joking, I really don't have a gun. Are there any lying around?"
"Only in the workshop, I'm afraid. There is one E-5 and four RoboTech anti-materiel magnetic guns."
"So you're telling me the only weapons in this fucking tower are right where IG sits?"
"The tower itself is a weapon. All you need to do is get past the club room. Once in the workshop, I will help you stay out of his way."
Fuck. Fuck my fucking life.
"Look, even with a rifle... It's an IG. It goes down about as easily as a spinster. I can get what, I don't know, five hits on it before it gets me in the crosshair. Not enough. Not nearly."
"This is the only chance."
"I could... get out and call for help."
"We don't have time."
"I could call it from here. And, you know, if it's too slow or something, we'll go with your plan."
"Mr. Devin, we have no time. I don't know how long we have."
It's not like you can make me, buddy.
That's right. The tower and its voices can't.
Something else can, though.
I promised Vad I'd do this. Hell, I need to access Vygo's archives. For all the shit I've done and haven't done. And if I let this clanker cocksucker upgrade himself... hell, chances are, he'll take the archives with him. Download them into his shiny fucking dome. Probably detonate the bomb when he's done. Oh, fuck.
"Alright," he says, "alright."
He wants to jump — just to get the blood moving again.
Don't worry about that. There'll be plenty of blood in no time.
"Alright. But you're gonna keep me covered at all times."
"I will do my best, Mr. Devin."
"Your best won't suffice. You really need to fucking outdo yourself this time, partner."
"I promise."
Here's what I got. A promise from the hugest droid in the Galaxy.
"Tell me what the club room looks like."
"It's a round platform in the center of the tower. It's raised about two meters above the workshop and the vent access room. It looks similar in a way to the bridge on a capital ship."
"So what, he can shoot me from the workshop?"
"No. A movable path leads there. There is a large dark-red chair roughly fifteen meters from the vent system entrance. You need to get on its immediate right. That's where the path is. I'll open it as soon as you hit the spot."
Krev has to bite his tongue. "What does this path look like?"
"Nothing — until I open it. You will see the floor going down."
"Why don't you open it right now."
"It will tip them off."
"Me fumbling like a retard probably will as well. Open it a second before I get into the room. Maybe those fuckers will go check on it instead of frying me up."
"Maybe they will — and then you will not be able to get in. We need to keep the path clear."
"How come no vent leads into the workshop?"
"They do, but you will fit into none."
"Great."
"I'm more concerned about your getting onto the club room platform. I will try and cause a distraction on the other side of it, but it will be tight."
"Tight is how my day has been so far. Are there stairs or—"
"Right in front of the access room. But if they get you pinned down there..."
"Then it's all over." Krev smiles. "With this fucking elevator you got, it's gonna be a holiday going into the death room. Where are the droids?"
"One is currently blocking your way to the workshop hatch. Let's hope he will move away when I distract them."
"Let's."
"The other two are on the left side of the platform."
"Okay. Let's say I'm past the hatch. Now what? Does IG shoot me at once?"
"He can't shoot at the entrance from where he is."
"You said he's got this cable. Well, how long is it?"
"About two meters. He can't really move out of the aisle he's in."
"Describe the layout."
The elevator stops. Krev gets off. It's a room similar to the one down below — only this is likely the last one he'll ever see.
"There's a meter-long corridor when you get in. Then it goes left for another meter and there the workshop is. Once you're in, turn right. The first aisle. IG is two aisles over."
"Okay. Where are the guns? You get the ammo count on them?"
"All of them are almost full. I can attest to the magnetic guns' quality and maintenance. I'm not sure about the rifle. They all lie near the landing platform exit, in the far end of the workshop. IG has a clear shot on the exit, but I will spin the room once you get to the end of the aisle."
"That's the first one, right?"
"Yes. The rotation arch is limited — it's only needed to make room for the observatory mechanisms, unfortunately."
"Okay, but there'll be walls between me and IG, right? Or, like, computers or anything?"
"No. You will have to grab a gun without stopping. Once you're past the aisle IG is in, he can't shoot you. He can just about reach the end of his aisle, but as long as you move into the next one, he won't see you. My advice is to hit the ground as soon as you break the line of sight, though. As you said, there are computers, or rather, servers — and they can be shot through."
"So, wait. This spin... what does it do?"
"It will move the room about twelve meters north and also spin it thirty degrees counterclockwise. I'm sure it will give IG a momentary pause."
"That's the least sure 'I'm sure' I've ever heard."
"That's the only one you have, Mr. Devin."
"Alright." Krev looks at the door out of the maintenance room. He both wants to get out and stop the wait and doesn't. "You will close the hatch when I'm in, yeah?"
"Of course. You don't need to worry about the Y-036s once you're in. And Mr. Devin... I know it's a lot to ask, but... if you feel like you won't be able to shoot IG down... just destroy the servers."
"I'll do what I can."
He concentrates on the door. Once this bitch slides, it's... He doesn't come up with anything, so he just tells the Little Voice:
"Let's do this!"
And the door sliiiiiiiiiiides to the side. Krev gets ready. Something falls or blows up some distance away.
Now he can see the stairs — wide and nice stairs. He can't see the platform yet, but he can see the light. The club room got circular windows somewhere up high.
He starts running. He's out of the maintenance room. He's by the stairs. The first step, the second, the third, the fourth, the fifth—
A laser bolt flies right by his temple, and this is the end of his adrenaline rush. Time speeds up again, and Krev stops dead. The second bolt hits him in the chest. The third one misses — he guesses. He's too busy rolling down the stairs.
It's not too bad, he thinks getting up and knows immediately that it is. The door is still open, though. Maybe...
He soaks two more bolts with his back. Falls into the maintenance room. The door probably shuts behind him.
And he's up! rings in his head.
.
.
.
It keeps ringing, and he keeps not dying.
The guy was right.
What guy?
On the... spaceship.
The pilot?
He can move. Doesn't feel like it's him moving.
Sounds. Smells like smoke. Is it him?
.
.
.
Metal isn't metal anymore. He's lying face-down on metal, right? So get this: it's not metal anymore. No difference between him, metal, or dust.
Was there really a him?
.
.
.
Sounds. Smoke. He's falling.
Or maybe the world is.
He sees something — things — but it doesn't make sense.
It's fine. He's tripping.
"Mr. Devin," somebody calls him from underwater. Hell if he can tell which pulsating mess it is.
There are other words, likely. He couldn't care—
.
.
.
"Mr. Devin."
This time, the sound is louder. Still muffled. Like underwater. Is he underwater?
"Somebody's been muff diving," Krev says — or thinks he says.
A shape comes into his vision. It's a baaad shape. Some bad juju. This one is metal alright. Don't need to touch it. Don't need to touch it, or it'll stop being metal. It's the last metal thing in the world.
"—he is no longer a concern, Mr. Devin," the voice says. The... big voice?
"Sure ain't small," Krev thinks-says.
"—to the bacta tank. Howeeeeeeeeeee—"
Krev can't be bothered listening to this banthashit.
The banthashit doesn't cease. "—I administered has side effects, I must warn you. Among Human patients, research shows point-thirteen percent developing an addiction—"
"Now that would be terrible," Krev thinks.
And it's not a bad last thought to have.