Star Wars: Knight Errant (41 page)

And Narsk had simply been invited in. Or commanded to attend, rather. For this ship was for
him
… now.

Shining before the renewed darkness outside the magnetic field, the shuttle was little more than a fighter with a longer crew cabin. A droid pilot sat in the cockpit, its torso fused to the frame of the ship. The passenger section appeared slightly more comfortable; wide enough for the new hoverchair Arkadia’s techs had constructed to replace the shoddy brown one from
Diligence
. The floating throne sat, soft and resplendent in regal burgundy, at the edge of the gangway.

“The boy will be here soon.”

Narsk looked behind to see Arkadia in the doorway to the dome. No longer in her showy Bequest finery, she had surrounded herself in a flowing turquoise shift. Gone
were the fur accessories and the great headdress; now, her silvery tresses hung before her in long braids. In the hours since leaving the anteroom, she’d gone from anger to complete ease. Amazing, given what she’d just ordered him to do.

“Your technicians have been showing me the vessel,” Narsk said. “I can see where Lord Quillan sits. Where will I be?”

Arkadia walked aft to the three cylindrical engines, each pointing backward. When she twisted a hidden control atop the central rocket, the exhaust port cycled open to reveal a hollow area inside, just large enough for a small human. Or a large Bothan.

Stepping to the back, Narsk peered inside. There was an oxygen mask and water supply; not a cubic centimeter of space had gone to waste, and yet Narsk could see a passenger riding inside without too much discomfort. “Won’t they realize the engine isn’t lit?”

Arkadia cycled the cover shut and waved to a technician. Suddenly a furnace-blast of flame and noise came from the false exhaust port, singeing Narsk’s whiskers.

As the din subsided, Narsk patted the ship’s frame. Such a difference from what he’d seen in the Black Fang. Arkadia’s people knew their design.

“We’ve calculated that the jump to the target’s world will take seven hours. You’ll have oxygen in the compartment for eight.”

“That’s not a lot of extra time,” Narsk said.

“If you take extra time, you will already have failed,” Arkadia said. “As I told you, the target is a Sith Lord—elderly, but not to be trifled with.” She studied the spy’s face. “You’ve studied the visuals. I’m guessing you have some sense of who Vilia is, Bothan.”

Narsk tried to appear indifferent. “I hear things.”

“Then you know I am entrusting you with a great deal.”

“And you know my reputation,” he said. “It’s why
you hired me, to enter the Dyarchy. Even if the Jedi hadn’t happened along, I would have given you the opportunity you needed.”

The Sith Lord stared. “And if you’re captured?”

“Ask Daiman what I reveal when I’m captured,” Narsk said. “I never say more than I need to say. Besides,” he added, “as far as anyone off this planet knows, my last employer was Odion.”

Arkadia smiled. “That could work for me.”

Narsk nodded. He hadn’t known what had come of the Bequest, but it was likely that Odion now had a grievance against the dowager. Nothing pleased him.

Arkadia crossed the packed-snow floor to the front of the shuttle, explaining how the ship would automatically carry Quillan and the hidden Narsk to Vilia’s hideaway. She was describing the secret passcodes that would bring the vessel safely through her planetary defenses when Narsk noticed movement out on the tundra, beyond the magnetic field.

“What?” Arkadia said, seeing Narsk’s expression. Turning, she saw a space-suited figure ambling aimlessly on the ice. “What in the—”

Seeing the Sith Lord reaching for her weapon, Narsk stepped forward. “I think this is the delivery you called for.” Stepping to the shimmering aperture, the Bothan waved to the newcomer. Spotting him, the figure waved back excitedly and loped across the wasteland toward their structure.

“It’s the fool Duros!” Arkadia stared as Beadle Lubboon approached in an environment suit clearly fitted for a Wookiee. The transparent helmet, barely secured, wobbled around his green head. His armored left arm hung limply at his side as the trooper stumbled across the slick surface. Looking to Arkadia for approval, Narsk stepped to the controls and allowed the young Duros to enter.

Beadle lumbered into the dome, boots clapping against
the deck plating. The Duros fumbled awkwardly with his free hand for a pouch slung over his right shoulder. Failing miserably, he began chattering an apology—or, at least, that’s what Narsk imagined. The helmet had fogged completely over inside. “Turn your speaker on or take your helmet off, Duros.”

With Narsk’s help, Beadle unlatched the helmet, which clattered to the frozen floor. “Thank you, sir. If you’re Narsk, I have something for you.”

Narsk pulled the pouch over the recruit’s shoulder. He unzipped it and peeked inside. After many days and several planets, the Mark VI was his again.

Arkadia eyed its courier. “Why did you
walk
here? Rusher could have sent you across on the back of one of the trundle cars.”

“He did, ma’am. I fell off.”

“They move four kilometers an hour!”

“Really? The one that hit me felt like it was going faster,” he said. “I think I broke my arm.”

Arkadia rolled her eyes. “Pride of the mercenaries.” She pointed to the exit. “Your commander should arrive shortly with the refugees, Duros. Wait for him in Patriot Hall.” Seeing Beadle shuffling in the doorway, she growled, “The big room with the door leading outside!”

Beadle smiled meekly. “Is your infirmary open? I’d like to have something for the pain, if I could.”

Arkadia nodded, gesturing for an aide to lead the recruit.

Narsk watched the door close behind them. “Hopeless,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, he’ll be gone, soon.” He paused. “You’re really going to let the mercenaries leave?”

“They can leave,” Arkadia said. “They just won’t
live
. Those hyperspace coordinates I gave the brigadier will drop them into the Nakrikal Singularity.”

“Why not simply seize his ship?”

“Why bother? He said they were down to just a couple of artillery pieces. And if I want a cannon carrier, my people can build a much better ship than that from scrap.” She looked down at the pouch. “Is that the great Narsk Ka’hane edge?”

Narsk pulled out the stealth suit and displayed it, trying to hide his dismay. The Jedi had put it through a lot of punishment. It indeed looked as if a child had been playing with it. He’d be lucky to buff out the smudges before he needed it.

At least Arkadia seemed impressed with it as it was. She ran her hand inside the seam, marveling. “How did you come by such a device?”

“If I revealed all my sources and methods, you wouldn’t have much of a need for me, would you?” Narsk said. “But it will get me close to this Vilia, easily enough.”

“She’s still Sith. She’ll sense you coming.”

“One doesn’t challenge Sith Lords as I do without learning how not to be sensed.”

Watching Narsk meticulously return the suit to its container, Arkadia turned back to the shuttle, where the workers were removing the hoverchair after its fitting. His mission would be a simple one. When the vessel arrived on Vilia’s world, Narsk would slip out unseen, shadowing Quillan. Once he confirmed that Quillan was in Vilia’s presence, he would kill the old Sith Lord.

Narsk looked around uneasily. “You have a weapon for me?”

“It’s right here,” Arkadia said, walking to the hoverchair. Tipping it on its side, she opened a hidden panel to reveal five orbs of bluish gas. The pods were attached to a detonation device.

“A bomb?”

Arkadia chuckled. “Not up on everything, are you, agent?” She gestured to the alga light fixtures, above. “I
meant it when I said we use all of the Synedian alga. One of the organism’s little-known by-products happens to be an incredibly potent nerve gas.” She jabbed her thumb at Narsk’s pouch. “I’d wear the oxygen mask underneath that thing, if I were you.”

Narsk’s eyes widened. “Your … brother will be in the chair.”

Arkadia looked at the chair coldly. “There are losses in war.” Facing Narsk, she folded her arms. “Had the Jedi gone in your stead, I might only have needed this as a backup. But whatever your talents, you are no Jedi. Thus,
you
are the backup.” She passed him a small remote control. “This triggers the gas.”

Narsk looked at the device and nodded. So Arkadia had tried to recruit the Jedi—and failed. Arkadia was clearly her cousin Daiman’s equal when it came to scheming.

“When the trap activates and you’ve confirmed that she is dead, you will find the location of your payment inside the chair.” Producing a small tablet from within the folds of her garment, Arkadia showed it to Narsk before tucking it above the central gas canister. “The datachip contains all the intelligence I have gathered about all my neighbors—enough information to make you very popular with your future employers for years. But you and I will never meet again.”

Narsk smiled weakly and turned toward the exit. He would be expected to leave within the hour.

Crossing the threshold, Narsk froze when Arkadia called after him.

“Bothan. If the suit allows you to do anything, why didn’t you assassinate Daiman? And why didn’t the Jedi, when she had it? It sounds as though you would have had the opportunity.”

“I can’t speak for the Jedi,” Narsk said, turning in the doorway. “I’m not sure anyone can. She’s clearly insane.
And I won’t speak of my orders from Odion, except to say that, had I been ordered to kill Daiman, Odion would be an only child today.” Seeing Arkadia studying him, he continued. “I do owe Daiman a debt for his treatment of me. But as much as I might like to punish him for that, I don’t do things for the sport of it.”

That much was true, he thought, backing up. “I’m sorry, but I need to visit your infirmary before the flight. Your algae don’t agree with the Bothan system.”

“Follow the useless Duros,” Arkadia said, turning back to study the vessel.

“I’ll do just that.”

Whoever claimed ice was smooth had never been to Syned. The icecrawler’s treads amplified every bump, sending vibrations through the cabin and along a path that terminated in Rusher’s molars.

The rumbling rhombus was enormous, easily half the size of
Diligence
. Rusher looked back down into the cavernous cargo compartment. Arkadia’s staff had suspended several levels of seating on metal scaffolds toward the rear of the vehicle, more than enough room to accommodate all the refugees. The Sith Lord was going to get this done in one trip.

“We’re here, mercenary,” the shiny-eyed driver said.

Rusher had seen the hairy-headed Nazzar before. “Weren’t you driving the rumblecar that brought us over?” he asked.

“Promotion.”

Rusher looked through the viewport. The icecrawler loomed above
Diligence
’s starboard arm, edging closer to its giant clawed base. His team had removed the jutting cannon barrels on one side to permit the crawler’s approach.

Turning back, Rusher leaned across the back railing to the driver’s compartment and called down to the Citizen
Guards, waiting by the enormous door some forty meters below. “We’re extending the bushing! We need you guys in the hole, ready as the door opens, in case there’s any breach!” Obediently, the space-suited figures set down their weapons and disappeared into the short tunnel. Seeing them appear on the cockpit’s video display, Rusher lifted his comlink. “We’re here, Dackett. You know the drill.”

A different kind of rumbling rocked the icecrawler’s frame as the corrugated door began to open. Seeing the long-faced driver release the controls, Rusher spoke again. “Hey, I think they’re going to need help down there.”

“Not my job. And if you did your part, they shouldn’t be having any trouble!” The flinty-voiced driver looked idly up to the security monitor. Seeing commotion on the screen, he began to rise …

… only to have his head snap backward. A clump of the Nazzar’s mane in each glove, Rusher yanked the driver’s head back before slamming it forward against the console. An agonized groan came from the stunned creature’s throat as the brigadier pulled him from his seat and shoved him over the railing, into the yawning cargo area behind the cockpit.

Turning quickly back to the security monitor, Rusher deactivated the feed just before the unlucky driver’s body hit the grating. “Sorry, pal,” he said, hearing blasterfire below. “Not every promotion’s a step up!”

Rusher looked down into the cargo area. The Nazzar’s body was only one of several now. Zeller and the armored troopers of Team Ripper were in the tunnel, blasting away. The icecrawler’s Arkadianite crew was dead before the pressure equalized between the two vessels.

Spying her superior officer above, Zeller yelled, “Master Dackett sends his regards. And—begging the brigadier’s pardon—he says you’re crazy!”

“He’s not the only one!” Already sliding down the ladder from the upper level, Rusher called out, “Did our runner make his delivery?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Get the cutters in here to bring down this decking!” Rusher scanned the cargo compartment. They’d need all the room they could get. “We’re going to have to do this in record time!”