Kyle Katarn had been a soldier for the Empire and an agent for the Rebellion. He had traveled from the Core Worlds to the edge of the Outer Rim, battling and confronting and outwitting and, occasionally, working alongside some of the roughest, coldest, and most violent creatures the galaxy had to offer, under the most unpleasant and inhospitable conditions imaginable. Sometimes under unimaginable conditions, as well.
In short, he had been some places, seen some things.
But nothing quite like this.
Flanked by his teammates, he stood just inside the door with the comlink clenched in his fist, staring into Utric Sandov's office, not wanting to move, not wanting to believe what he saw, but knowing there was no other choice.
Wade Vox broke the silence again. "I'm gonna be sick."
"Don't you dare," Kyle said out the corner of his mouth.
He stood at once in two places, two universes, two lifetimes. Staring into this room aboard Alliance Hospital Platform BW-1, but also into Maximum Security One, in the sublevel of the Rebel detention facility on Dathomir. He could feel, almost taste the blood-red glow of the lights, strained against their harsh reflections off the beetle-black metal of the walls.
With the practiced, durasteel will of a hardened soldier he crushed his emotions, his disgust, his dismay, all the feeling in his body—compacted it down into a mass small enough to handle. He was in charge of this mission, so he was supposed to know what to do. They were waiting on his orders.
Recon. Evaluate. Execute. It was a maxim from his Imperial Academy days, and he grabbed it like a lifeline. His hand found his bryar pistol. "Wade, with me. The rest of you, don't move."
"As you wish, Commander," said a trembling voice that had to be Ktrame Zaposug. The Ruurian doctor stood straight as a magnaflare pole on two sets of legs, the rest of his digits locked together before his rigid form. His multicolored coat quivered, his antennae arched. MIMIC, still disguised as Deena Demarakesh, simply crossed his arms and took in the scene with an inappropriate air of boredom.
Kyle moved into the room one step at a time, his eyes scanning methodically as he went, but even hyper-focused, he kept almost seeing the wrong thing...
—unbelievable filth. A half-meter mound of encrusted dishes piled atop the food processor, the synth-carpet floor strewn with empty ale bottles and plastisynth medication receptacles and food foil wrappers and bits of glass and articles of clothing and torn or balled-up flimsiplast—
—the sublevel air cold, so cold that he couldn't believe he wasn't seeing the reddish fog of his breath—
—modest bed in the far corner, a necessity for an overworked Alliance bureaucrat. The flexo-mattress torn to shreds, its foamcast spread across half the office like a cloud of Lantooinian lice—
—force field to Crix Madine's cell, red energy shimmering with white flecks like static or snow falling into Hell—
—main desk, everything swept to the floor except the computer console bolted atop it, where strands of smoke curled out of the smashed screen—
—Madine hanging there by a knotted bedsheet, his eyes sunken, his tongue purple and swollen and hanging out like a Vulpterian bloat eel—
—doorway to the refresher. A lank, furry humanoid was sprawled on his side across the threshold. Blood saturated the carpet and coated the quad-tiles in the tiny room beyond. Particles from the shattered mirror glistened in that crimson pool like tiny Aur diamonds. Ironic, as they had been infamously extorted for blood money by Kybo Ren, captain of the notorious Space Pirates of Tarnoonga.
With glass and flimsiplast crunching under his shock boots, Kyle approached the corpse and crouched at the edge of the blotchy red stain. A standard-issue Alliance Army vibro-knife rested in the center of the Bothan's throat, having carved a ragged path through the side of his neck.
Kyle Katarn closed his eyes. Too late, he thought.
Too kriffing late.
If we'd only gotten here a few standard days ago, a few hours, just one hour, one kriffing hour—
"It would appear that our target is already dead, Commander," said the voice of Deena Demarakesh.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" demanded a pale Wade Vox. His DL-44 XT tugged his left hand down like a twenty-kilo weight.
Kyle got to his feet and turned toward MIMIC, toward the droid that still wore the image of Utric Sandov's accomplice, the monster he had sent plummeting to his death in the bowels of the Vertical City... The man he had killed recklessly, foolishly, harming the cause. Now they had been outmanuvered again, just as Kyle and Jan had been outmanuvered on Dathomir.
The grip on his bryar blaster pistol tightened to a death grip. He could almost feel the pounding of his heart there until he forced the weapon back into its holster. He switched on his comlink.
—the transparisteel viewport overlooking the main gate, with the seething black jungle beyond, and the empty lip of duracrete where a mysterious escort shuttle had surely been only moments ago—
"Dirtfarmer, checking in." Speaking was like digging rocks out of his throat. "Situation, unable to extract package. Package is... dead. Dead when we got here. We're too late."
Jan swore and the channel went silent for a time. Kyle imagined her head bowing before the console aboard the Moldy Crow, weighed down by the gloom and agony of another bitter defeat.
"Kriffing Chaos. Kriffing Chaos," Wade muttered, his eyes darting about the room. "We've gotta get out of here. We can't stay."
"It would be unwise not to gather information first," replied MIMIC.
"Kriffing look at this place, you pile of circuits. They'll think we did this. They'll throw us in the brig!"
Dr. Zaposug spoke out. "Commander, Mister Vox has a point. Remember what the receptionist told us. Utric Sandov has an appointment with the platform's senior staff in..." He cleared his throat. "...by now, much less than half a standard hour. When he fails to appear..."
Wade was nodding frantically, his face pale, his voice shaking. "They can't find us here. They can't know we were ever here. Jan needs to slice the security footage, erase everything!"
"Already working on it, Demolition Man," replied Jan, using Wade's code name. "I'll do what I can, but listen—"
Kyle ignored her. Now he was the one looking around the room wildly. "We can't leave here empty-handed! There's got to be data here, evidence, something that can tell us what Sandov was up to and what the hell happened here. Start looking, but don't touch anything unless I tell you!"
Jan was talking again, and so were Kyle's teammates, but their words didn't quite make it to him. He was back to being hyper-focused on the mission, scanning the details of the repulsive scene...
Primary Objective 1 — Extract Utric Sandov — Failed
Secondary Objective 1 — Gather Evidence — In Progress
They didn't have the tools or the time to pry open the main computer console. If there was anything useful in this shattered and stained room, it was dropped or strewn somewhere, but there was so much garbage. And the smell of this place...
"Dirtfarmer, come in..."
"Hey, this looks like a personal datapad."
Kyle glanced over at where Wade was squatting and made sure the guy had his gloves on. "Grab it."
He spotted a peculiar device sitting half-under the desk as though trying to hide there. Picking it up, it looked like a custom-built holographic image caster. Off in the corner was a data tape, its casing cracked—perhaps from being stepped on or thrown. Kyle took both.
"KYLE!"
Kyle winced and came back to himself. That was a tone of voice that he knew not to defy. He flicked the comlink's volume up so the others would all hear. "What is it, Moldy Crow?!"
"I said he's gone! Zak is gone!"
Wade clapped a hand to his forehead.
Kyle all but crushed the comlink in his fist. Jan worked for Alliance Intelligence. She was one of their best. "How in the eternal blue blazes—," he started.
"He tricked me, all right!? I can explain later, and you can tear me a new exhaust port later, but he's not on the ship or in the hangar. He stole a comlink, too. Right now it's on, and the carrier signal looks like it's in the Medical Wing. He must have gone there to look for his sister."
Kyle took a long stride toward the door and froze, energy rolling back and forth in him as he checked the impulse to break into a sprint. He'd been so focused on Sandov that he'd forgotten he still had another primary objective—and now it turned out that the mission had spiraled even further out of control.
"That stupid kid," he growled. "Can you find him on the cameras?"
"I've been trying, but it's taking time to slice into the Medical Wing. I should be able to guide you to the comlink signal, though."
"Zak, if you can hear me— I know you can hear me, you little— Look, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, just stop. Stop and stay put, get out of sight and wait for us. We'll find you and your sister. Do you copy, Zak? Answer me!"
A long moment passed. Kyle's team was staring at him expectantly. Before he could start shouting again, Jan cut him off.
"Dirtfarmer, I've got eyes on administration. Someone's approaching Sandov's office. Looks like a page, probably from that meeting you mentioned! You've got to get out of there—evac now!"
Wade turned a disgusted look on the blood-soaked corpse of the Bothan youngling rapist meters away. "Don't need to tell me twice."
"You okay, Zak? You look spooked."
"I'm fine. Just pay attention to where we're going."
"Yeah, yeah..."
Zak's mind was whirling after what he'd just heard from the Bryar Force. Somehow the Bothan they'd come here to capture was dead, and it looked as though Kyle and his team were about to be framed for it. And now Zak himself was in big trouble, as he'd known he would be.
Kyle's furious voice continued to blast over the channel, telling Zak to stop moving. Part of him wanted to argue, but he couldn't do that while running with Rosh. Tired of the distraction, he detached the earphone and put it away, but left the comlink on. At this point, if Jan Ors was able to track him, that was just as well.
The two boys' luck seemed to be holding out. Not only was the block of rooms outside Special Sentient Needs apparently deserted, but Superintendent Versch's office was clearly marked on a conveniently located holomap. They only had a brief scare when passing a laboratory of some kind. Alerted by clanking footsteps, they stopped and peaked inside from the edge of the room's elongated window. Zak expected to see the Mon Calamari, Dr. Rottwerm, again, but it was a spindly 2-1B medical droid. Passing through shadows cast by the multicolored lights of various apparatuses, it plodded over to what looked like a large chemical dispenser and plugged its injector arm into a port.
Zak stared a moment, his head pulsing with surprisingly sharp pains, and he realized he was again on the edge of his last memories in this place, the black muddle of torment that Kyle Katarn and his allies had rescued him from... and that they had to rescue Tash from. That droid, he was certain he'd seen it before. Then again, the Alliance used lots of 2-1Bs, and the medical droids here—
He thought of the ones in the bacta tank wards, and the maintenance ones back in the tunnels. Both kinds were single-minded and ignored anything that didn't interfere with their tasks. This one was no different. It was only that big, weird, spider-crab-shaped one with the metal tentacles, Jaykay... Thinking of it again, Zak was convinced something was off about that droid, even if everyone else was used to its presence.
Well, it's not here, he reminded himself in relief. He nudged Rosh with his elbow. "It's just a stupid medical droid. Look, he's not even looking this way. Come on."
They went quickly down the hall, and after several more turns they found Superintendent Versch's office. Rosh complained of the thick gloom, but Zak refused to let him turn on the glowlamps or even open the shade to let in light from the hall.
"Don't tell me you're scared of the dark," Zak needled, making his way cautiously into the room.
"Of course I'm not scared of the— Ouch!" Rosh yelped, banging into something.
"Stop messing around and come over here."
Rosh shuffled over to the large desk in the center of the room. Zak sat on the edge of the chair to accommodate his backpack and booted up the computer console. The screen came on. Green numbers, letters, and other symbols flickered across a black background until they stitched together into a simple interface. Half the office was left awash in an an eerie, dim glow.
HELLO, SUPERINTENDENT VERSCH.
PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD: _
"Blaster bolts," said Rosh over Zak's shoulder. "How do we figure out his password?"
Zak didn't miss a beat. "Guess it. Most people are pretty careless about their passwords." He tapped at the keyboard:
HOSPITAL
INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
Rosh scoffed. "Well, so much for that. Now what?"
"Look around," said Zak, irritated that his friend would admit defeat so quickly. "There's probably a clue in here somewhere."
He stood up, and the two boys wandered the room by the light of the screen, inspecting whatever they saw, and Zak kept trying passwords. Holobook titles and authors, a flimsiplast map of the Koradin sector, the names of knickknacks and other items, and anything they brought to mind.
BRINT-WO
INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
REBEL
INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
SUPERINTENDENT
INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
"That was a really lame one."
"You got any better ideas?"
"Try bacta."
BACTA
INCORRECT PASSWORD. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.
"I'm running out of ideas here, Zak..."
Zak stared into the green-black glow, scrunching his face up. This was taking too long. Tash needed him, the Bryar Force needed him whether they'd admit it or not, and here he was, spinning his turbo-jets. And even with Utric Sandov dead, maybe danger still lurked on this space platform. Zak still couldn't remember if the Bothan rapists had other accomplices...
A fresh headache threatened to form, constellations of dark stars taking shape in his mind like the birth of a new galaxy of fear. Closing his eyes, Zak tried to force himself to be calm again, to clear his mind, to reach for the serenity and peace in the Force that Tash always talked about. He'd long assumed that peace, that belonging, would forever remain outside of his reach. The only time he'd truly felt it had been on Dagobah, about two standard years ago, and these days even that usually seemed more like a dream than anything.
Desperately Zak typed the next thing that came into his head:
PLEASE ENTER YOUR PASSWORD: 2-1B
WELCOME, SUPERINTENDENT VERSCH. LOGGING IN...
"Well, that's funny," commented Rosh.
Zak grinned and got to work. He liked to brag that he was a wizard with computers, and it was no empty boast. It took only another minute to find what he was looking for: a security monitoring program for the Special Sentient Needs sub-ward. Blocks of cell numbers filled the screen. Whenever he selected one, options for LOCK and UNLOCK would appear.
"Wizard. Now we just need to..." Zak's voice faltered. "Rosh, what was the number for Tash's room?"
"Huh? Won't the computer tell you?"
Zak spent a moment reviewing the program, but only found a list of patients. Nothing indicating their individual cells. "Come on, Rosh. What was the number?"
"Um... Something with a six in it, I think. Zero six one... something. Uh, I'm sorry, buddy. I thought you'd remember it."
Every cell number was five digits long. Zak ground his fists against the desk, but he couldn't be mad at his friend. He knew Rosh was dumb enough to forget, which was why Zak had made sure to look at the cell number himself... but then, with his nerves going haywire, he'd forgotten it anyway!
Rosh lightly punched his arm. "Hey, it's no big deal. Why don't you just open all the cells? That'll solve the problem."
Zak turned in the seat to stare. Rosh had his hands planted on his hips, and his thoughtlessly confident grin looked particularly sickly in the monitor's green glow. "Have you gone off your repulsors? We can't have all those kids wandering around! A lot of them are barvy. They'll hurt themselves—maybe even hurt Tash!"
His friend instantly deflated, his shoulders slumping. "Oh, man, I didn't think of that... Zak, I'm so sorry, I can't believe I... Wait, I've got it! I remember the way to Tash's cell. I'll just run over there real quick, write the number down on... this—" He rifled through the desk and pulled out a random flimsiplast document and a synthink stylus. "—then come back. You stay here!"
Zak blinked, surprised and not a little unnerved to see the other boy's confidence return so quickly. Technically, Rosh had gotten them lost once already. "Maybe I should go with you," he began.
But the other boy was halfway to the door. "No, if there's two of us, we're more likely to be heard. Trust me on this one, Zak. I'll be right back before you know it!"
Zak hesitated, feeling in his gut that there had to be a smarter way, but he was too frazzled of think of it. Beside that, he could tell that Rosh (again) was not going to be swayed. "Okay. Just hurry, and don't get caught!"
Rosh smirked at him from the doorway. "Hey—it's me."
Then he was gone and the door slid shut, sealing Zak in a room full of gloom. He sagged in the chair, breathing deeply while cradling his head in his hands. He was so tired. All this danger and excitement, not to mention his dark memories, was wearing him down. When they finally got out of this star system, he was sure he'd sleep through whatever lectures Kyle Katarn and Shaparo and whoever else had in store for him.
Minutes ticked by. Dread crept into the room like silent, stalking kouhuns. Zak's thoughts wandered to Uncle Hoole, who had left him and Tash at Brint-wo Colony with practically no explanation...
The boy frowned into the dark. Even after all the time he and Tash had spent traveling with their adoptive uncle, slowly but surely bonding with him through their adventures... Even after they'd discovered his past with the Empire, and helped him to atone by destroying Project Starscream, he still had mysterious errands that he wouldn't trust them to know about.
Their time on the swamp world of Dagobah had given Zak a feeling that everything was about to change for what was left of the Arranda family, but in many ways they'd gone back to what they were before.
Then again, maybe things had changed permanently this time. More than once, Hoole had disappeared before, but then he always came back soon enough to pull his niece and nephew out of danger at the last minute. This time he hadn't come back; he hadn't rescued Zak from Nar Shaddaa, and he wasn't rescuing Tash from the Hospital Platform either. Zak didn't believe for a moment that Hoole had abandoned him and Tash, but sitting in that office, lit only by the baleful light of the computer screen, it was hard not to wonder if something terrible had happened to their uncle, if they would ever learn what it was, or if they would ever see him again...
Blast it, Rosh, will you hurry up already? You'd better not have gotten lost.
No sooner had he passed that thought than footsteps sounded in the hall outside... except as Zak listened, he could immediately tell that they didn't belong to Rosh Penin. It was a steady, plodding, heavy footfall, almost the clanking of a machine...
Zak swallowed, fear charging his limbs with energy that he could not harness or direct. Glancing at the computer screen, he realized that its light might be visible through the shade. If he turned it off now, though, maybe that would be what drew attention instead.
A thin shadow crossed the window. It was bipedal, but not quite human.
The door opened. The feeble light of the hallway reduced the stranger there to a threateningly vague outline of darkness. Glowing yellow eyes peered out from the cavernous recesses of a head that looked like nothing more than an exposed humanoid skull. In a flash of panic, Zak kicked away from the desk, causing his chair to roll back two meters.
Then, as the menacing figure entered the room on heavy, gyro-balanced feet, he recognized it as the 2-1B medical droid that he and Rosh had spotted in the lab not long ago. The lower half of its torso was sheathed in transplastic, leaving its components there partially visible, and hydraulic lines snaked about its extremities, with one linking its cranial unit to the core chassis.
It gazed at him for a long moment, then in a mild tone (and a masculine voice) said, "Excuse me, young sentient. I need to use the console in this office for a moment."
Zak laughed once and stood up from the chair, shaking with relief. "Oh! Uh, no problem. Be my guest."
It made no reply, merely approaching the desk in a slow, almost gingerly manner. Now Zak wasn't nervous at all. He had a lot of experience with droids, going back to DV-9—formerly his and Tash's tutor and Uncle Hoole's assistant, and consequently a reluctant companion on many of their misadventures, until he had retired to do research work on the planet Koaan. Deevee had a fully developed personality matrix, and Zak could tell the difference between droids like that and, for instance, these dumb medical units which never calculated anything that they were not specifically programmed to. This 2-1B was no different. When it was done with whatever mundane task it had on this computer, it would be off—and surely Rosh would be back soon after.
"May I ask who you are, young sentient?" it asked nonchalantly as it bent down over the console.
"I'm Han Solo," said Zak, smugly putting his hands on his hips like Rosh had. The effect was diminished, though, by the fact that the 2-1B wasn't even looking at him. Still, his sense of security was only reinforced. Sometimes drones like this were programmed make meaningless small talk.
"My memory banks have no record of a youngling named Han Solo."
"That's fine. I'm only visiting the station anyway."
The 2-1B typed at the console with the servogrip pincers of its right hand. In place of the left, it had a bulky module housing several tools, most prominently a hypodermic injector, which was currently retracted.
Taking note, Zak thought, Right. This 2-1B is the surgeon droid variant. That's its function... Kinda strange to see it doing office work.
"Due to the Rebellion's shortages in staff, I have a wide range of duties beyond my manufacturer's standard protocols," it said, as though it had guessed Zak's train of thought. "Though originally commissioned to assist Dr. Rottwerm with surgeries, my responsibilities and authorities were rapidly expanded."
Zak shivered involuntarily. At first he thought he was remembering his instinctive discomfort at the cyborg Mon Calamari... but no, it was something else. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd think that just looking at this 2-1B was starting to give him another headache...
"Oh, that must be... tough," he said absent-mindedly, trying to snap out of it. "I guess you've got to go in for maintenance a lot more often, then."
"Not as much as you might think. Us specialist droids, we are built to last. Better than organics such as yourself."
Zak grimaced. "Oh, great. A surgical droid with an ego complex, huh? I bet your patients are really fond of you."
"I am unconcerned with the emotions of sentient meat." The 2-1B droid straightened as the console sang several affirmative notes. "My assigned task in this office is completed."
The chill which ran down Zak's spine at that moment was so strong that it reminded him of Hoth, and his headache had already gotten worse. A lot worse, in fact, like a Necropolian boneworm had started chewing at the base of his skull. Even as he gritted his teeth against the pain, though, he kept his eyes on the 2-1B.
Zak had a lot of experience with droids—good but also bad, and a comment of the sort this one had just made was not normal for droids. In fact, that show of contempt (as well as its general arrogance) reminded Zak of nothing so much as SIM—Systems Infiltration Manager, the mavolent Imperial AI which had nearly killed the Arrandas and the smuggler Dash Rendar aboard a space liner.
He shook his head, desperate to deny it. A droid, any droid, was likely to develop personality problems if it went too long without being memory-wiped, but even then it was extremely rare for them to actually become dangerous as a result. That was all. That had to be the real explanation...
"I have just finished authorizing the release of patient Tash Arranda. She is to be transferred to undergo a more permanent treatment at another facility."
Or...
Not.
The 2-1B faced him, backlit by the idling console.
Zak clenched his teeth to hold in a scream of pain. The imaginary boneworm was chewing, gnawing, burrowing in, rooting through his brains, he could feel it laughing, but he kept his eyes wide open and staring into the 2-1B's glowing photoreceptors even as they multiplied and swirled like stars being drawn into a singularity, and they spun and they spun until they disappeared into blood-black nothingness and the blood-black nothingness began to spin—
His vision snapped back into focus. "I... I remember you..."
"And I you," said Superintendent Versch, nodding once. "I'm most curious as to how you've returned from Nar Shaddaa..." He raised his injector arm, and the crystalline needle extended from its hypodermic socket with a sharp click. "...and I'm sure you'll be kind enough to tell us once we're off this platform together."
The droid lunged, thrusting his injector arm. Zak yelped and threw himself back. His skimboard, still folded up inside the backpack, jabbed against his spine as he hit a filing cabinet, knocking several knickknacks onto the floor. Versch stomped toward him, sweeping his manipulator arm in a wide arc to grab him. Zak narrowly ducked underneath and threw himself past the desk. Spinning to track him, Versch tried again, this time swinging outward, but Zak was just a millimeter beyond his reach. The droid's pincer-hand ripped into the computer screen with a flash of sparks, and the room went dark.
Zak bolted out of the room and down the hall, heading for the door to Special Sentient Needs. He thought he'd never ran this fast before in his life. Terror and enlightenment made for a powerful cocktail. He could finally remember! The 2-1B droid was Superintendent Versch. He was the one who had kept Zak and Tash drugged so that Sandov and Demarakesh could abuse them, and now he wanted to abduct them both!
Kyle Katarn would want to know that—and, more urgently, Zak needed help because he was unarmed and burning energy fast. Heaving and panting, he yanked the comlink out of his pocket while slowing down to make a turn, only for the device to slip from his grasp and disappear in the gloomy air. He stumbled and caught himself hard against the wall, heard the comlink clattering to the floor somewhere, and squinted as he tried to look for it.
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!
He looked over his shoulder. Versch was visible from a long way down the corridor by his golden photoreceptors, which burned like glowlamps.
And he was sprinting full tilt toward Zak, as fast as Zak's skimboard had ever carried him.
Abandoning the comlink, Zak ran through the doorway into Special Sentient Needs. "SOMEBODY HELP! ROSH, WHERE ARE YOU?! HELP! HELP ME!"
No one answered his pleas but the molested and mentally disturbed younglings in the cells all around him. They went berserk, forming a chorus of screams even more freakish and tormented than Zak's own.
Zak quickly lost his sense of direction and fled blindly through the maze of the sub-ward. All he saw was cell doors—no place to escape to or hide, nothing to defend himself with.
But then his ears picked a familiar voice out of the din. Turning his head, he saw Rosh waving from another junction some distance off. Zak flailed and almost fell head-over-heels as he stopped to change course.
Anger flashed through him, raw and red-hot like a laser bolt. Rosh, you lump of tauntaun snot, where have you been!? he wanted to yell...
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!
...but the sound of Versch closing in from behind stopped that maglev of thought. He charged toward his friend.
"ZAK! Where've you been?!" called Rosh when he was halfway to him. "What's going on?!"
"The medical droid is after me! He's chasing me!" Zak bellowed. His lungs felt ready to explode like a pair of starfire grenades.
"Huh?! What?!"
"THE DROID IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
Zak no longer had the strength to run at full speed—and that was a good thing, otherwise when Rosh slammed into him and caught him in a bear hug, they'd probably both have been knocked out. Even so, they went spinning and almost fell to the ground. Zak heaved and gasped. Rosh's bulging face was centimeters away, his oversized mouth flapping, but none of the words made sense.
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK!
Rosh backed off a step, looking toward the sound, his jaw going slack. Then he grabbed Zak's arm and they were running together.
They didn't go far, though. Rosh guided his hyperventilating friend around one bend before pulling him to a stop. Zak struggled to take in his surroundings as he staggered about. Rather than the usual cells, the hall on this end had a few regular doors. One led into play room for the children, with a window looking in on a large room strewn with tooka dolls, borgleballs, and other toys that could not be swallowed or otherwise accidentally do harm. Another much narrower door led into a dark closet, the contents of which Rosh was furiously tearing through.
CLANK-CLANK-CLANK-CLANK, came the noise of Versch's pounding metal feet.
"Rosh... Rosh!" gasped Zak in panic. His voice was so high that he sounded like Peppi Bow from the holocartoons.
Something inside the closet fell with a clatter. Rosh came out lugging a large, cumbersome device that seemed almost too heavy for him: some kind of canister with a handle, a nozzled hose, and some gauges. "Hang on, I'll— I'll get him with this! Stand back!"
With a final CLANK-CLANK, Superintendent Versch turned the corner.
Rosh flicked a control lever on his improvised weapon, and there was a tremendous, sizzling hiss as the nozzled hose discharged fine white mist in a powerful, pressurized stream. Unfortunately, because he was not holding onto the nozzle at the time, it whipped in random directions like a crazed Hismauli hawk-snake, spewing its payload without discrimination. One of its arcs caught Zak in the face and he stumbled back, spitting and gagging. From the taste, he recognized halogen fire-dousing foam.
Versch took a step toward Rosh, but in another second the two were enveloped by an expanding chemical cloud. Zak watched through the nauseating haze as the idiot who was his friend luckily got hold of the fire douser's nozzle and directed its blast at Versch's head. Concentrated properly, the pressure was strong enough to push the droid back a little, and his extended servogrip pincers closed only on air.
Three standard seconds later, the pressure died out with a pitiful choking sound. The murderous medical droid gave a growl from his vocabulator and reached for Rosh again, but the boy smacked his arm aside with a swing of the now-inert fire douser. Then, shouting in exertion, he lifted the canister over his head and brought it down on Versch's shoulder. Versch bent under the blow, but immediately rose back to full height.
"Rosh... Rosh, run," croaked Zak, but his friend either ignored or could not hear him. Clangs echoed down the corridor as Rosh slammed Versch again and again to no visible effect. Meanwhile, he had been covered in slimy white halogen foam and was barely keeping his footing.
Suddenly Versch stepped back. Rosh's next wild swing missed by a parsec. The boy cried out, "WOAHHH!" as he spun a full turn on the treacherous floor. The fire douser slipped from his fingers, flew past Zak's head, and went tumbling down the corridor. Dodging after the fact, Zak windmilled and fell harshly on his back, the folded-up skimboard jabbing his spine yet again.
Meters away, Versch rammed the flat end of his injector arm into Rosh's chest, knocking him flat. Rosh lay there stunned until the medical droid bent over, picked him up off the floor by his collar, and threw him aside. The window to the playroom exploded as Rosh tumbled through it like a sack of Iridonian potatoes, landing in a heap of glass shards and tooka dolls.
"ROSH! NO!" Zak screamed.
Superintendent Versch turned toward him, the injector needle deploying with a click. "Fortunately for him, this is a Hospital Platform." He stalked forward. Zak had hoped that the halogen foam might slow him down, but to his dismay, the droid lost none of his speed. Zak recalled then that the surgical configuration for the 2-1B included magnetized feet, in case surgery needed to be performed in zero-g conditions.
He got up and tried to run, but coughed and staggered. He had used up most of his energy already. Even with a head start on Versch, he could hear the droid closing in fast and yelped in terror. "Someone... help..."
Just short of the next intersection, a male human stepped into view. As much from shock and relief as exhaustion, Zak fell to his knees, begging incoherently.
"Son of a Pervickian dung camel, what's with all this noise?! Who are you?!"
Zak stared up at the man, gulping, unable to speak. The man wore an Alliance Naval Security uniform, including the white blast helmet with an extended neck guard, and reflective black goggles that hid his eyes. His face was in shadow, but it had always been, so Zak still recognized him—it was the same guard he had always seen while imprisoned here, who he now knew was named Bavo.
A click sounded behind Zak. He sucked in a breath and pointed over his shoulder. "He's chasing me! He's trying to kill me!" he squealed.
"Private Bavo, I apologize for alarming you," Superintendent Versch said mildly, his vocabulation devoid of menace. "This young sentient somehow got out of his cell and had an accident. I have been trying to return him, that's all."
Bavo looked from the droid to the boy and then back again. He stood up straighter. "Oh... A breakout? That's very serious, superintendent! Why wasn't an alarm sounded?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, but I'll make sure to—"
Zak Arranda—slimy with sweat and halogen foam, tears dripping down his face, reached for the Rebel trooper's ankle, but the man instinctively stepped back. "The droid t-tried to kill me! He killed Rosh! H-he threw him into the—" Zak's voice shattered into a coughing fit.
"Sir, what in the galaxy is he talking about? Who's Rosh?"
"I'm afraid I couldn't say, sir. This patient has been diagnosed with schizoid personality disorder. When I tried to return him to his cell, he attacked me with a fire douser. Obviously he is experiencing a paranoid episode."
The Rebel trooper blanched. "Attacked?! Sir, are you damaged?"
"Oh, I may need to go for an oil bath later, but I'll be fine. I appreciate your concern."
Zak cocked his head back, gaping with horror at the affable superintendent (who had retracted the injector needle), then gazed up pitifully at Private Bavo. From the way Versch was handling this, it was clear that the Rebel trooper had no idea what was going on and how he was being used. "P-please, sir. Please k-keep me away from him. You've got to believe me, this droid is a killer..."
Private Bavo showed the palm of his hand. "Easy, son. You need to calm down. Nobody here wants to harm you. Everything's going to be just fine."
Zak pushed himself up to his knees. He heard clanking as Superintendent Versch began to circle them. His eyes fell from Bavo's calm, unconcerned expression to the blaster pistol strapped to his thigh.
Clank... Clank...
Losing his nerve, Zak sprang forward, his hands grasping, but Bavo caught him in his arms, spun, and dropped him hard against the wall. Zak groaned, fighting off dizziness, and found himself staring up into the barrel of a DH-17.
"You need to calm down," said Bavo with a voice like a block of duracrete. "This thing's set to stun, but I still don't want to use it. Superintendent, let me call in a squad. We'll get this kid back to his cell in a few minutes."
"I don't believe that will be necessary, private. The patient is already tired, and the episode is in its latter stage. If we simply wait another moment, he should become quite docile."
Versch was standing behind the Rebel trooper now... and as Zak watched, he was slowly lifting his left arm with the bulky tool module.
"Look out," Zak said... or tried to say. It was barely louder than a whisper.
"Huh?"
"Behind you. He's going to attack..."
"What are you going on about?"
Zak's voice finally came back in a tortured shriek. "He's going to kill you! Look behind you! LOOK OUT!"
The Rebel trooper cocked his head and frowned, his goggles catching Zak's visage in a black mirror. "Hey, wait a minute. You look familiar. Weren't you—"
He never finished his last words. Versch knocked him to his knees with a savage blow to the head. Though Bavo was wearing his helmet, the terrible cracking noise and lolling of his head testified to a broken neck. As drool ran from the trooper's slack mouth, the medical droid grabbed him from behind and slammed him into the wall beside Zak. Twitching, Bavo slid to the floor, tracing a dark red stain with whatever remained of his face.
Zak had no more breath with which to scream, and his mind was blank with terror. Flopping to the side, he started to crawl away, only to hesitate when he realized that the trooper must have dropped his blaster.
He twisted around just in time to see Versch smashing the weapon with the stomp of a metallic foot.
CLANK-CLANK!
Summoning the very last of his energy, Zak sprang to his feet, but froze in mid-stride. Versch's servogrip pincer-hand had caught hold of his backpack... and was lifting him into the air. Zak kicked feebly as the straps dug into his armpits.
"I've had quite enough of this," said the medical droid, and dropped him hard to the floor. Darkness surged into Zak's brain, and when it started to clear he found himself off the floor again. This time he was pressed to the wall by his throat. He lifted his half-numb hands to claw at Versch's metal arm, but it was useless.
The superintendent's glowing photoreceptors bored into his eyes, burning the darkness of the corridor away, wiping out the world. "Now to administer your treatment."
Zak heard a sharp click, but also indistinct voices shouting, and faintly saw the crystalline needle glittering in the gold glow—
And then something flashed into that glow, something like a web of lightning that entered Zak in rippling waves of electricity that burned his insides like acid. It wasn't just him, though. The lightning struck Versch as well, dancing in jagged arcs over his metal frame, causing him to twitch and jerk as sparks erupted from his joints. His injector arm lowered and his grip on Zak slackened.
The boy slid to the floor, convulsing as aftershocks rolled through him. He didn't understand what had happened, but the shouting voices were clearer now.
"ZAK, MOVE! MOVE!"
I can't, he wanted to tell them. Versch bent down over Zak like a manka cat trying to keep hold of its prey, even as he continued to spark.
"It's no good, I got 'em both! Lucky this thing's a stunner! HANG ON, ZAK!"
Pounding footfalls. Someone came between Zak and Versch, pushing the droid back a step, then scooping the boy off the floor. A metal arm flashed toward them, but Zak and his rescuer leaped away, the man taking the brunt of the fall as they hit the floor and rolled.
Messy hair fell into the rescuer's eyes as he pushed Zak off of him, then gave a cocky, ferocious grin. "That's two you owe me now, junior!" said Wade Vox. He look down at his vest and longcoat, now smeared with halogen foam. "Ugh! You know how much it costs to get this sonic-cleaned?!"
CLANK! CLANK! CLANK! CLANK!
They looked up. Versch was moving, was almost on top of them, having nearly recovered from whatever Wade had hit him with. His vocabulator emitted a roar savage enough to intimidate a Wookiee berserker.
A laser bolt ripped down the corridor and sheared through the droid's left elbow. The injector arm clattered to the floor. In the same instant, Wade drew his silver blaster pistol and fired, blowing off the top of Versch's skull-like head in an expanding halo of sparks. Then two more shots—one from Wade and the other from his ally—struck Versch in opposite ends of his torso, shattering the transplastic sheath and spinning him half around.
Zak felt heat wash over him, and he and Wade hurried to scoot backward on their rears. Just meters ahead, a soft glow bloomed within Versch's broken central chassis as the fluids of his delicate intra-hydraulic system ignited. Tiny orbs of blue-white flame traced the hydraulic tubes that coiled about his limbs. Electrical discharges flared over him and inside him in rolling rings of clawing, jagged light. Overwhelmed servomotors and micropistons popped like gobs of Krayt bacon grease on a red-hot skillet as they fused, locking his upraised arms in place. The staticky growl coming from Versch's vocabulator sliced itself apart into overlapping streams of delirious gibberish, which finally built into an unbearable, oscillating shriek that defied the category of sentient pain. The sound went on and on and on as Versch spasmed and shook, a shower of flame spewing from the opened crown of his head. Finally his photoreceptors exploded in a final eruption of sparks, and his dying electronic scream tapered off into a gurgle, then finally ended as the droid folded into a ruined husk on the floor, melted from the inside out.
With Wade Vox's help, Zak stood up to find Kyle Katarn jogging to meet them, along with Dr. Ktrame Zaposug and MIMIC, who was still disguised as Deena Demarakesh.
"M-mister Kata— K— Uh, Kyle..." Zak stammered, ready to get yelled at, ready to collapse in on himself.
"Is he all right?!" Kyle barked.
The Ruurian doctor reared up on his lower legs, waving a medical scanner over Zak's quivering form. "No major injuries," he said after a moment, his voice glum. "But I cannot say the same for him."
Following his compound-eyed gaze, they regarded the mutilated remains of Private Bavo. "Poor barve," said Wade, hanging his head. "This is a whole day of getting places too late, isn't it?"
"He died trying to do his duty to the Rebel Alliance," agreed MIMIC. "May he rest in the Force."
"It's not over yet. There's still one thing we can avoid being too late for." Grimly, Kyle raised a comlink to his mouth. "Crow, the little package is secure. How are things looking?"
"As aurek as they can be, Dirtfarmer," answered Jan Ors. "I'm inside the Medical Ward's data files. I've got the layout, and a log which notes the cell Tash was assigned to. I can guide you there, but you'll have to move fast. Platform security system's detected blaster fire."
"Copy. Dirtfarmer on the move." Kyle looked at Zak. "You okay enough to run? Or at least walk?"
Zak heaved a sigh and wiped sweat and halogen foam from his forehead. "I can go a while longer."
Kyle nodded, then listened as Jan Ors gave them instructions. "All right, let's move."
"Wait, wait!" Zak cried as his mind cleared. "What about—"
"Hey, Zak!" called a loopy voice. "Are you okay?! Did I save you from the..."
The group whirled. Kyle and Wade raised their blasters, and Rosh Penin put up his hands. "Woah, hey, easy there! Don't shoot, I'm with— Wait, are you... You must be Kyle Katarn, the Rebel agent!"
The two men lowered their weapons, but Kyle's voice was harsh. "Depends. Who the hell are you?"
"He's my friend Rosh!" Zak said quickly. "He helped me get in here! Rosh, you're alive!"
"Yeah, I, uh..." Rosh's smile was grisly and more than a little forced. Half-dried blood painted a demented pattern on his face. "I guess I am."
He yelped when Ktrame Zaposug came at him with the medical scanner, as he apparently had never seen a Ruurian before. "No broken bones or internal injuries, but those cuts need to be bandaged."
Wade was already fishing bacta patches out of his longcoat, but Kyle said, "We can do that on the move. Now let's go."
ACCESS DENIED. INCORRECT KEYCARD. ACCESS GRANTED ONLY TO SECURITY CLEARANCE RED OR BY REMOTE OVERRIDE FROM SUPERINTENDENT.
"Here's my security clearance," said Kyle, and introduced the panel to a full-charge shot from his bryar pistol. The door slid open with a grinding noise and a spitting of sparks.
Kyle was the first one inside the padded cell. "Tash Arranda? We're here to get you out of here."
Silence. The girl huddling in the corner didn't move, nor did she respond when Kyle repeated his greeting. He nodded to Dr. Zaposug, who cautiously flowed up beside Tash and activated his medical scanner.
Kyle's stomach folded in on itself as he waited. Looking at Tash Arranda was hard, not least because the first time he'd seen her, it had been on the datapad he'd taken from Deena Demarakesh.
His mouth felt dry. All he could think was, Too late, too late. They'd gotten here too late, he'd gotten to Crix Madine too late...
"What's wrong with her?!"
Zak's voice sounded like a cracked plate of dynaglass. Kyle could not look at him. Being an only child, he did not know what it was like to have an older sibling who always looked out for him.
So he did not know what it was like to lose one... which, as he gazed down at the shrunken, free-but-locked-away figure of Tash Arranda, was what Zak was now going to experience.
Because we were all too late to realize, too late to do anything about THESE MONSTERS, THESE—
"She's under the influence of an hallucinogen, Commander. I'm afraid I can't identify it here, much less treat it."
The red that had swallowed Kyle's vision melted away, dispelled by the doctor's voice. In the distance, they could hear the disturbed howls of Special Sentient Needs' other residents. "See if you can get her on her feet."
Zak and Wade each took one of the girl's hands, with Rosh Penin hovering over the former's shoulder. Tash took so long to get up that it was painful to watch, but then, seeing her at all was painful: the bruises, the loose and ragged clothes, and the eyes, those bottomless empty eyes...
"Tash, it's me. We're leaving. We're going away, Tash. Walk with me, huh? Can you walk? Let's try it..."
Zak spoke to his sister soothingly, trying to sound casual while obviously struggling to hold himself together. Kyle grimly understood that he was soon going to find out how long Zak would be able to manage that—whether he wanted to or not.
The girl wouldn't speak or even look at anyone, but she let Zak and Wade walk her to the middle of the cell. Her eyes remained fixed on something beneath the soft floor.
Kyle tried to make light of the situation. "At least she's not fighting us. If she starts having trouble moving, Wade, you carry her."
"Got it. C'mon now, let's get outside."
The comlink went off, and Kyle answered it as they returned to the hall.
"Dirtfarmer, be advised: Alliance Naval Security personnel is moving through the Medical Ward now. I've got eyes on at least five squads."
"Copy that." Kyle said nothing else. Could say nothing else. Again his mind was pulled back to Dathomir, to the awful choice he had almost been forced to make there...
Wade was the one who said it out loud—glibly, as he said almost everything. "So... Shooting our way through a station's worth of Rebel troops? Not the ending I expected for today."
"Me neither," said Kyle, trying to match the braggart's show of confidence, trying to will his own next words to be true. "That's why we're not gonna."
"Sounds better, but how? Is there another way we can get past them and back to the hangar?"
Kyle gnawed on his lip. "MIMIC? Maybe you can disguise yourself as chief of security or something? Redirect the troopers away from us?"
"I could if I had a program for the chief of security on this platform, which I'm afraid I do not," said Deena Demarakesh's ghost. Then the Bothan disappeared with a rippling flash, leaving only the droid behind. "And since neither Sandov nor his assistant have officer's ranks in Alliance Naval Security, I don't think those programs will be of much service either."
"Hey, no problem! There's another way out of here! Just follow me!"
Everyone turned toward the other kid, whose face looked even stranger with bacta patches plastered all over it. Before Kyle could even ask what the blazes he was talking about, Rosh Penin had started awkwardly ambling down a corridor.
"Who is he again?" demanded Wade.
"Follow him!" Zak urged. "He's knows this station. He's the reason I was able to get here in the first place!"
Kyle opened his mouth to argue, to yell at the stupid kid to halt, but stopped when distant, unfamiliar shouting reached his ears. Then, from the comlink:
"Dirtfarmer, they're inside Special Sentient Needs. They've covered every exit! I can't—"
"Stand by, Moldy Crow. We're not caught yet." Kyle stowed the comlink. "Okay, Rosh Penin," he growled. "Looks like our destiny's in your hands now."
With that, they all started to run.
Footsteps clattered as the band trooped its way along a catwalk in the dank, unappealing innards of the platform's maintenance sublevels. Rosh Penin had led them at first, but a wall map and some instructions from Jan Ors allowed Kyle to chart a course through the platform. Rosh had then slunk to the back of the group to keep a close eye on Tash, who was still drifting along like a sleepwalker between her brother and Wade Vox.
They drugged her, Zak told himself, just like they drugged me, but I got better, so she'll get better too. She'll snap out of it. She was always tougher than me, and she has the Force.
He kept telling himself that, because it was too dangerous not to.
"Excellent tactical thinking on your part, Rosh Penin," MIMIC said cheerfully. "By the time Alliance Naval Security realizes we escaped into these tunnels, we should be back at the hangar."
Zak risked a look at his friend. Having first been thrown through a window and then having to see what a state Tash was in, Rosh had clearly reached his limit. Even so, the holodroid's compliment brought a short-lived flicker of the old smugness back to his face. "Oh! Well, it was no problem. In fact—"
Kyle Katarn spoke over him pointedly. "In case we're not on the same data screen, he means we will be back at the hangar, meaning us and not you. Do you copy?"
"I... Eh... But... Yes, I copy, sir."
"And don't worry about Tash or her brother. We're going to take care of them and make sure they don't get hurt."
Rosh hung his head, and Zak sighed, relieved that his friend didn't have the energy to protest. Still, he felt bad for him, that he was being left behind after being put in danger while trying to help Zak... even though he had caused plenty of trouble in the process. But as they'd entered the sublevel, Zak had briefly pushed his way up to Kyle and whispered that Rosh was not fully aware of what had been going on, that he'd not been a victim of the two Bothans, nor was he aware what they had really been doing to the children on this station.
Kyle had decided then that there was no reason to take Rosh Penin back to Searchlight. The last thing that place is gonna need, he'd said, is two teenage boys making a ruckus.
Zak didn't like the implication that he and Rosh were on the same level, but he supposed that to an adult they looked the same. He was used to being underestimated, after all.
Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick!
He shivered, keeping his eyes away from the arachnid-like maintenance droids crawling about. One even skittered across the catwalk in front of them, making Wade almost stumble, and Zak was tempted to kick it off into the darkness below.
Kyle had them stop at a junction before a familiar-looking hatch, and made a summoning gesture. "C'mon up, kid. This passage will take you right to the dormitories. Go back to your room and rest up. Tell everyone you fell down some stairs, and forget you ever saw us."
Rosh's eyes were glistening as he stepped away from Tash and the others. He walked like his shoes were made of collapsium. He met Zak's gaze, and Zak caught himself fighting tears as well. Rosh had risked his life for this mission, and deep down he knew he'd done it for Tash even more than for Zak, and Tash wasn't even able to thank him. It was a wretched feeling, knowing that his heroism would go unrewarded.
"We appreciate you trying to help," said Kyle Katarn. "But it's the end of the line now."
Rosh tried to answer as he hesitated before the hatch, but swallowed his words and managed only a jerky nod. The upbeat, macho daredevil was gone, perhaps never to return. In its place was a boy with a torn shirt stained with halogen foam and blood, and a bruised face latticed with bacta patches. He'd always been so upbeat. Now it looked like there'd never been a boy so lost and forlorn.
Zak could not stand it.
Rosh Penin was a loudmouth and an idiot, but he was still a friend, and the Arrandas didn't have many friends in this galaxy.
Leaving Tash with Wade, Zak pushed his way through the group. He dug into his backpack's side-pocket and was relieved to find that it hadn't been emptied. "Rosh, don't look so long-faced like an Ithorian. We'll see you again, I promise."
Rosh's lip trembled. "...Really?"
"Of course, buddy. Listen, though, you need to get off this platform, just to be safe. Here, take these." He pulled out the fistful of metallic chips that had been in the side-pocket and put them in Rosh's hand. "They're all the credits I've got. Talk to that shuttle pilot again and get him to take you back to Brint-wo. Once you're there, just keep your head down and your mouth shut and... and when this is all over, we'll come find you. Me and Uncle Hoole and Tash, when she's better, and we'll tell you all about the crazy adventures we've had. Okay?"
Tears traced the bacta patches as they ran down Rosh's face. "You're the best, man."
"No, Rosh. You're the best."
Just when Zak thought his friend's hug would crush him, they broke apart, and the other boy went for the hatch with a bit more spring in his step. As it opened, he paused and looked back. "Soon as Tash is better, tell her I say hi."
"You've got it," Zak promised.
"Okay... See you at Brint-wo, Core Kid."
Then Rosh was gone and they were on the move again through the dark. Powerful as the farewell had been, Zak only made it a few more minutes beside Tash before his thoughts turned back to her and what had happened to her—
His grip tightened around her hand and he had to control himself, and for the first time he realized he was pleased, was glad that those two Bothans were dead.
Because of them Tash was like this now, walking mindlessly wherever they took her, mutely led about like a droid with no personality matrix. Zak went back to reminding himself, forcing himself to believe that she had to get better, was going to get better.
"Commander Katarn—a moment, please."
They stopped at another junction near another hatch. It was the Ruurian who had spoken.
"We don't have time to fool around, Doctor," said Kyle warningly.
"Then I will be quick, Commander. Utric Sandov is dead, but we know little about the circumstances of his death. An investigation will be launched, an autopsy performed, but as with Crix Madine last year, we will not be able to trust whatever statement is released by High Command."
"So what—you want to stay, try and perform the autopsy yourself?"
The Ruurian's feather-like antennae bobbed. "I would prefer that. But young Tash Arranda will need me to examine and treat her aboard the Moldy Crow—and back at Searchlight. I was thinking of MIMIC."
The holodroid blinked his photoreceptors. "An... interesting challenge."
"Yeah, interesting, but what if you get caught?" put in Wade.
"That is a risk, but I am designed for infiltration and deception. And as I demonstrated during the journey here, I can quickly assemble new holoprograms after observing a subject for only a brief time." Saying this, MIMIC reactivated his holoprojectors and turned into an Alliance Naval Security trooper. His voice changed to match. "With my slicing abilities, I should be able to get access to the full autopsy report, if nothing else."
The new disguise gave Zak a shiver, reminding him of poor Private Bavo's grisly fate. He turned to watch Kyle Katarn's face, saw the intense concentration there. No doubt the Rebel agent was calculating the risks and rewards of the proposal, as he had to make a snap decision. Zak didn't envy him.
"The droid's got enough spunk, but it's your call," Wade said with a shrug.
Kyle's eyes had a new light in them when they rose. "Do it, MIMIC. We'll need that information."
"You'll hear from me soon, Commander." With no further preamble the holodroid disappeared through the hatch, and the group—now down to Kyle, Dr. Zaposug, Wade, Zak, and Tash—continued their trek through the dark tunnels with renewed urgency.
More than once Zak felt like breaking into a run. He was still scared for Tash, and the clickclickclickclicklick sound of the maintenance droids scraped away at what was left of his nerves, but he could swear there was something else, a feeling like they were being watched or followed, but he saw nothing unusual around them. He tried his best not to worry, reminding himself that Kyle and Wade were well-armed and capable Rebel agents who had saved him once already. If the gauntlet of horrors which was this day still had something else in store for them, surely those two would handle it with ease.
"Does anyone else hear that?" asked Wade.
"Hrm, hear what?" answered the doctor, crawling along between him and Kyle.
"I dunno... something walking?"
"Just the maintenance droids," Kyle said dismissively. Sure enough, there were still plenty about...
Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick!
...as well as other models repairing or tinkering with machines on either side of the catwalk. The little spider-like ones gave Zak a scare once, as he felt their sound beginning to pull him away from himself, like the episode he'd had while walking through here alone, on the way in. The effect soon faded, but his unease didn't leave him, and as he tried to refocus, he heard something else far away... but not that far...
CLACK-CLACK-clack-clack-CLACK-CLACK!
That's not the same as the other maintenance droids, he thought to himself. It sounds like... But there's no way it'd be here.
The junction came to a four-way intersection. To the side was a niche where some machine had been damaged. A crack in the pipe leading from it was spewing a cloud of hot water vapor which set the air rolling with fog. The machine made a loud hiss, but even as they came near it, there was still that other noise.
Clack-clack-CLACK-CLACK-clack-clack!
"I'm telling you, there's someone coming," complained Wade. Still guiding Tash by one arm, he twisted to look behind himself, squinting through the mist. Zak did the same, saw nothing, but still heard it.
Finally Kyle signaled for the group to stop. "Okay, now I hear it too," he agreed, raising his blaster, but even as the inhuman steps came closer and closer, none of them could tell what direction they were approaching from.
CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK!
With heart pounding, Zak whipped his head to the right, saw only fog, whipped to the left, and he gasped.
Tash had raised her head. Her eyes were still clouded, her face drawn, everything about her thin and cold and fragile and lightyears away, and yet she had raised her head, and she broke out of Wade and Zak's guiding grip, reached ahead to grab Kyle Katarn by the sleeve, and hissed, "Hide!"
Kyle looked down at her like a corpse that had dug itself out of its grave. Zak felt it then: the tingle, the energy, that mysterious Force that Tash knew so well, and knew that it was working in her. He grabbed Wade by the arm and said, "Do it! Do as she says! Hide!"
Kyle and Wade were apparently too astonished to argue as Zak and Tash pulled them into the niche behind the damaged machine which was leaking the fog. Ktrame Zaposug crawled after them, and the five were soon pressed tight into the cramped, damp space.
Not a standard second later, a looming figure appeared in the mist, its huge segmented legs clanking against the grated walkway, its metal tentacles curling and whipping about about like ravenous Balmorran sky-serpents. It was Jaykay, the crab-like droid that had accosted Zak and Rosh in the Refugee Commons.
It shuffled into the center of the intersection and crouched there, its tendrils probing and slithering. From somewhere inside the machine came croaking, moaning sounds.
Kyle and Wade slowly leveled their blasters, but Zak put a hand on each man's shoulder and urgently whispered, "Don't!" He couldn't explain it to them, but Tash had sensed this thing coming and told them to hide. More than once in the past, Zak had bet his life on Tash's mysterious feelings and hunches, and he was certain that blaster pistols would do no good against this threat. If the men opened fire, all five of them were doomed.
Again Kyle and Wade yielded. The terrible moment stretched on and on, with them trapped in that tiny recess while the crab-like droid squatted, slowly turning about as though considering each path from the intersection... and slowly turning toward their hiding place.
Tash was at the very back, more or less squashed into the corner, her arms jammed out between the two men as though reaching toward Jaykay and its deadly wavering tentacles. Through his terror, through his exhaustion, through the fog and noise and dampness and darkness, Zak could just barely feel something tingling and swirling and stirring as it rippled out from his sister. He imagined it settling around Jaykay, encircling it, wrapping it in a shroud much deeper than the leaking water vapor.
Then he was staring, blinking, as the droid rose on its sharp legs and clanked away, down the path they had come from. The five stayed put for at least a standard minute, until Kyle stepped back onto the catwalk.
Zak didn't understand the Force, but he knew that his sister had just used it to save them. "Good going, Tash!" he said into her ear, rubbing her shoulder. "That sure was a close one! Hey, are you with me? Hey..."
He trailed off. Tash gave a shuddering sigh and her eyes lowered again as she fell back into the same stupor as before.
She's busy with herself, he thought. Pulling herself back together. She's all right, she'll be all right...
"No more messing around," announced Kyle Katarn.
The next instant, he slung Zak over his shoulder like a bundle of Reytha corn-cluster stalks. Wade did the same for Tash, then bent down slightly as Dr. Zaposug leaped to perch on his other shoulder. Thus laden, the two men (with Wade complaining profusely) raced the rest of the way through the maintenance sublevel.
They piled aboard the Moldy Crow, sweating and exhausted. Jan appeared in the galley as soon as the ramp slammed shut. "Where's MIMIC?"
"He's staying. Trust the plan. I'll explain later," said Kyle, wiping his forehead. "Engines hot? Clearance for lift off?"
"Taken care of."
"Then let's fly."
Halfway across the room, he stopped to regard Zak Arranda. "I'm not gonna yell at you. Not now. But when I've gotten some sleep, and we're back at Searchlight, we're gonna have another talk. You've got more than a few things to explain." He trudged on to the cockpit without waiting for a reply.
Zak stepped aside and plopped hard into the nearest acceleration couch. Through the open door to the medbay, he watched as Wade and the doctor gently laid his sister out on the diagnostic bed.
Funny: she was dirty and ragged and hurt and suffering, and her eyes were still empty, but somehow she looked like... Well, like she was at least trying to smile.
Zak grinned, briefly but genuinely. He'd told Kyle Katarn that he couldn't sit on the sidelines while Tash was in danger, and he hadn't. Now they were taking her far away from this horrible, evil place, and she was going to be all right.
You'd better be all right, he wanted to tell her. Don't you dare not be, after I had to put up with Versch, and that crab-droid, and Rosh, and...
He pushed out a sigh and found that his eyes were drifting shut. He didn't fight it.
Boy... am I gonna get it...
And as soon as he finished that thought, Zak Arranda slept like a dead man.
CHAPTER COMPLETE
PASSWORD: MASSASSI