The Krytos Trap (24 page)

“No, a school. For children.”

“Children of the Rebel leadership?”

“Hardly. They’ve been too busy to breed.” Vorru shook his head quickly. “This is just a normal school, with normal children—some aliens, but mostly human.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because the students are drawn from the local population.”

Loor’s frown deepened, and confusion made his voice tenuous. “No, why hit a school?”

“Come now, Agent Loor, you didn’t expect to get great results without inflicting great pain, did you?” Vorru laughed lightly. “You probably thought you could cling to some shred of honor. By hitting factories and military facilities and places where adults congregated, you could put fear into them. By hitting bacta distribution centers, you could make parents concerned about the welfare of their children, but it would be the Krytos virus that killed the children, not you. Is that it?”

“I … perhaps …”

“Perhaps nothing,
that
is
exactly
what you were thinking. And because of it, your efforts would have been for naught.” Vorru leaned forward, supporting his body on both arms. The light from above hid his eyes in black triangles. “Threaten a child and you will unite the parents against you.
Kill
a child and those who have lost it will retreat in mourning. Those around them will feel their pain and likewise look to their own families. They will keep their children close and out of schools. This will shatter the Rebellion’s ability to indoctrinate the young. It also makes the Rebellion look unforgivably weak. People will demand things be done and it will be left to me to do them.”

And one of the things you shall do is use me as a scapegoat for your evil
. The illusion of control over his own situation evaporated in a heartbeat. To Loor his future was clear: He would carry out more and more heinous missions for Colonel Vorru; then, eventually, Vorru would betray him. He would remain alive and free until Vorru had no further use for him, then he would be broken and displayed as proof of Vorru’s virtue.

It struck Loor as almost comical that he could see Vorru’s desire to strike at a school as
evil
, yet his desire to hit Rogue Squadron was nothing more than duty. The difference, ultimately, was that the strike at Rogue Squadron would advance the cause of the Empire, while the strike at the school would only strengthen Vorru’s position.
We are
not as far apart as I would like to think, but neither are we as close as Vorru sees us
.

Nor am I as stupid as he thinks I am
. Loor hit a button on the datapad and read the list of materials needed to undertake the operation. “When?”

“A week. There will have been no news of the trial in that time, so this will really attract attention.”

Loor’s head came up. “Will you need me to sacrifice some of my men to your militia?”

“Not immediately.” A shadowed smile spread across the small man’s face. “I have several troublesome individuals who need to die in an airspeeder explosion. The chemical composition of the explosives will match those in the school bombing. That will send Cracken’s people off in a direction I want and leave you free to operate.”

“Will you be selecting another target for us?”

Vorru straightened up, retreating into shadow. “No. Just go ahead and pick out a half-dozen targets you want to hit and I’ll pick one or two from your list. I’ll use them as tests for my subordinates to see if they can figure out how we can profit from these things. Competition will keep them sharp.”

“I would imagine.”

“I’m certain you would, Agent Loor.” Vorru sketched a mock salute. “I look forward to the results of your handiwork.”

Wedge looked around the lab set deep in the bowels of the Imperial Palace complex. “So this is where the Krytos virus was developed?”

General Cracken nodded. “You noticed, when you came in, that the place is kept under negative pressure. If the seals are breached, air flows
in
, not out. It precludes the possibility of pathogens getting out.”

Wedge frowned. “But I thought the Krytos virus could not be spread by air, only by fluid contact—in drinking water or when someone came in contact with bodily fluid from an infected person.”

“That’s absolutely true, but in this lab they were manufacturing a virus that had never existed before. They wanted something that would mutate relatively quickly so it could spread between species. With that sort of thing the chance of a spontaneous mutation that would let it become airborne and still remain infectious is one that must be guarded against.” Cracken led him on through a throng of white-coated lab assistants to a back room where Qlaem was using its hands to enter information into a datapad. A number of droids worked in and around the room, apparently orchestrated by a Verpine droid that looked much like a metal avatar of the Vratix.

Qlaern drew its hands back to its thorax as Wedge entered the room. “Commander Antilles, we are pleased to see you.” The Vratix’s right hand came out and gently brushed Wedge’s cheek.

Wedge stroked the Vratix’s arm in return. “The honor is mine. You know, I expect, that my squadron will be leading the expedition to Ryloth.”

“Yes, of this we are aware. We also know that Mirax will be traveling with you.”

“Right.” The trip to Ryloth from Imperial Center would take five days, and that was a bit long to be trapped in the cockpit of an X-wing. Ten of the squadron’s X-wings would be loaded aboard a modified Rebel Transport, the
Courage of Sullust
. Wedge would travel with Mirax in the
Pulsar Skate
, with his X-wing ensconced in the cargo bay that would, if things went as planned, be filled with ryll for the return trip. The X-wings would fly escort out of Ryloth; then they would be loaded aboard another transport after the first leg of the journey, for the rest of the trip to Coruscant.

Airen Cracken patted the Vratix on the shoulder. “As you asked, I have brought Commander Antilles. You have something to tell him?”

“Yes, of course.” Qlaern rested both hands on Wedge’s shoulders. “We have analyzed the virus and various medicinal preparations. Ryll will have some effect against the virus. Its efficacy varies widely. We have been pursuing the reason for this. We have been advised that ryll is classified in a
number of different grades by the Twi’leks. Most of the ryll available off Ryloth is of the lowest grade.”

“They don’t export the best, I can understand that.”

“Good. The rarest grade of ryll is known as ryll
kor
. It makes up approximately three percent of all ryll. The compound contains in it trace elements that appear to work against the virus, but exactly how and why we are not certain. We need as much ryll kor as we can get.”

Wedge nodded and patted the backs of the Vratix’s hands. “How will I know it?”

“The ryll kor tastes …” Qlaern stopped. “You would not be able to differentiate the taste, we think.”

“Probably not.”

“Kor absorbs light except in the ultraviolet range.”

Wedge glanced at Cracken. “Meaning?”

“It looks black, like charcoal, except to someone who can see in the UV range.” Cracken smiled. “I have some gear that will be able to sort kor from ryll that’s dyed black. You might check, though, perhaps your Gand can see in the ultraviolet range.”

Wouldn’t surprise me. He doesn’t breathe or sleep and can regenerate severed limbs
. “I’ll ask Ooryl if he can help me in that capacity.” He looked back at Qlaern. “I’ll get you your kor.”

“Do that, Wedge Antilles, and we shall cure the disease.”

And then I’ll be bound by my promise to represent you to the Provisional Council
. Wedge smiled and brought Qlaern’s right hand up to feel his face. “We’ll be back before you know it, I promise. And you know I keep my promises.”

21

Corran Horn shuffled along in line with the other prisoners. He affected the dull-eyed, hopeless stare most of them displayed for their guards. He moved when told to move and stopped when told to stop. In no way should any of the guards in stormtrooper armor conducting them to the mines have noticed anything out of the ordinary about him. To them he should have appeared to be just like all the other prisoners being herded to the mines.

He hoped against hope the facade he put forward fooled them, because as dull and soporific as he might seem on the outside, he was seething and anxious on the inside. After only a week in the general population he had decided to make his first stab at escape. He had briefly discussed his plan with Jan and found the man’s insights useful, but he had ignored Jan’s entreaties to put off his attempt.

The prospect of being killed in his first try did daunt Corran, but not as much as he thought it should have. He had a hunch that he wouldn’t be killed if he was captured. He knew that was foolish, and that he had no factual basis for making that judgment, but it felt right. During his career with CorSec, and as a pilot with Rogue Squadron, he’d gone with gut feelings before, and won more times than he’d lost.

Although he did not have any facts to support his feelings about escape, he did have some circumstantial evidence that made him optimistic. First and foremost was the fact that he wasn’t dead yet. He couldn’t imagine Ysanne Isard keeping him or anyone else around unless they were useful. As long as he did not prove to be more of a bother than he was worth to Iceheart and her plans, he’d be kept alive.

Second, and it was a rather bizarre fact, was the method of return for the unsuccessful escapees. Most of them came back as fire-blackened skeletons, or parts thereof. The only way to match them up with the people who had escaped would be through genetic testing. Since that was unavailable to the prisoners, they had to assume the bodies were, in fact, those of the escapees. However, since confirmation was impossible, Isard could have simply picked a prisoner out of the less secure prison levels, and had him burned beyond recognition and dumped in the high security area. As long as she could identify
who
had escaped, returning a close match would be pretty easy, and the high-security prisoners would be left imagining escape was impossible.

Third and finally, Corran saw that Jan really did care for the men under his control. His fear for Corran’s safety was genuine, and not based in any fear of retribution against himself. As the leader of the Rebel contingent, Jan felt responsible for the other Alliance prisoners. He’d seen enough people die in the fight against the Empire that he wanted to prevent people from throwing their lives away needlessly. He clearly believed that some day, that day being sooner rather than later, the Alliance would find them and free them, and he wanted as many of his people alive on that day as possible.

As wonderful as Jan’s care and concern was, it also tortured the older man. Corran could clearly see Ysanne Isard’s fine hand in that. By letting Jan take responsibility for all the Rebel prisoners, she created dozens and dozens of avenues to attack him. With each one of them who went away or died, a little piece of Jan died. How he had endured that much pain for so long Corran could not imagine, but he hoped, by
taking responsibility for himself, he could ease the burden on Jan’s shoulders.

Seventy paces from the cave mouth they passed the opening to the latrine. The fixtures in it were rudimentary, but did include a water spigot so a minimum of hygiene could be observed. Thirty paces beyond it, about halfway to the mine complex, the line of prisoners passed through a barred gateway that was locked closed at night. Corran thought its presence was unnecessary, since the Imps had placed infrared detection units at both ends of the corridors.
Then again, those units aren’t really that hard to defeat, especially if the people monitoring them are as alert as the guards marching through the dust with us
.

A full 203 paces from the mouth of the cavern complex, Corran passed through what had once been a ship’s hatchway and into the prisoners’ workstation. Rumor among the prisoners had it that Lusankya dated from before the Clone Wars and incorporated parts from various ships that had been blasted to pieces in a naval action beyond the atmosphere. The scavenged hatch and the condition of the old, worn tools did suggest a certain amount of antiquity to the facility, but that conclusion came so easily that Corran was disinclined to trust it.
If that’s what Isard wants us to think about her
Lusankya,
then I don’t want to think it
.

Beyond the hatch they proceeded down a steep grade to a long rectangular cavern that had five tunnels shooting off it like fingers off the palm of a hand. All the fingers ended in doors that were cobbled together from ship bulkhead panels and held closed by chains and locks. The tunnels were big enough to allow a small mining droid to pass through them, but the doors were always shut when the prisoners came into the room, so Corran never saw the droids digging out the ore they processed.

At the far end of the chamber from the entryway sat several piles of huge boulders. Men would work on them with heavy sledgehammers, bit by bit breaking them down into smaller rocks. Other prisoners would carry those smaller rocks to the middle of the chamber, where more prisoners would smash them with smaller sledges. Yet more prisoners
with shovels and screens would sift the debris, pitching back the larger stones. The resulting gravel would then be hauled in buckets to a conveyor belt that carried the gravel up and away. At the top of the conveyor belt the gravel disappeared through a heavy steel grate.

No one knew much about what lay beyond the grate. They knew air was blowing out of it because they could see a fair amount of dust blown back into the air around the conveyor belt. Most of the prisoners assumed the belt led to a blast furnace where the gravel was melted down, or a mixing container where it was being made into ferrocrete. Corran argued that it was just as likely that the gravel was being dumped into hovertrucks and taken out to pave walkways in some Moff’s garden, and if that was true, the grate was all that stood between them and freedom.