Razor's Edge: Star Wars (Empire and Rebellion) (12 page)

Leia inclined her head in acknowledgment. So Viest did it for fun, then. Because she enjoyed seeing desperate people struggle. Leia had thought of Viest as ruthless, but now she wondered just how twisted the woman was. “So if we lose, we can still discuss an arrangement?”

Viest shrugged. “That will depend.”

Leia prodded a little harder. “On whether we survive.”

Viest abruptly decided to stop playing with her. “Exactly.”

Leia met her gaze. “Then I look forward to discussing an arrangement with you when we win.”

They found the maintenance tunnel or, as Han now thought of it, the dark, dank hole in the floor.

The traverse corridor they had followed here had bridged a couple of low-gravity shafts, and the tunnel entrance could almost be mistaken for another one. The access to it was just a ragged hole in the rock. They had figured out that a traverse was meant for people and droids to travel from one part of the mine to another, and that a haulage tunnel was meant for automated ore carts. The difference was that haulage tunnels had either a grid or sensors to guide the carts, rough uneven floors, and no lumas. Han thought that someone smart enough to set up camp here and sell handlights and glow rods would make a hell of a lot more credits than the average pirate.

Now he sat on his heels and flashed his light down into the hole. He could make out metal support panels fastened onto the rock, with vents beneath them. The tunnel was about three meters wide and looked like it was meant for droids to move refuse loads. He said, “I'll go. You two wait up here.”

Terae frowned but didn't argue. Sian lifted a brow at him. “You sure?”

Han wanted somebody up here to take the word back if he got caught. “I'm just gonna take a look, see if we can actually use it to get near the slave pen. I don't need help for that.” He dropped down into the tunnel.

He started back in the direction of the docking ring, toward where they thought the slave pen was located. After a short distance, the dim light that fell from the access hole started to fade. It was dead quiet, and the back of his neck prickled with unease.

Han caught movement low to the ground, just at the edge of the light's beam. He froze and flashed the light down. A small, square shape scuttled by. He snorted in relief, feeling his skin itch with the unused burst of adrenaline.

It was a little cleaning droid, limping along, scraping mold off the stone floor. It didn't show any interest in him, and small cleaners like that usually didn't have any higher reasoning functions. Han kept walking.

After a short distance it became apparent that there were dozens of cleaning droids, some of them creeping around slowly, barely functioning, but not much else. Playing his light over the tunnel roof, he could see an occasional sealed hatch, with no controls and no way to open them. He suspected they were meant for droids who would open them with coded signals from below, for waste collection. Then a draft of recycled air told him there was another hole somewhere.

After a moment of flashing his light around, he found a meter-square opening in the ceiling near the wall. It couldn't lead to the slave pen or a guard station; the space above it was silent and almost completely dark. But it did have a ladder below it, built into the tunnel wall, as if it was meant for an actual living being and not just hauler droids.

Han climbed the ladder and cautiously poked his head and his light out, but saw only another traverse corridor. Two dying lumas floating aimlessly around, providing only dim light. It didn't look any more inhabited than the other traverse corridor. They were probably lucky the place was so badly sealed off that it was impossible to depressurize the unused areas, or it would have been far more difficult to move through here. Han filed the access away for future reference if needed and dropped back down to continue up the tunnel.

Right at the point where he was beginning to think this idea was a bust, he saw a faint glow ahead.

As he drew closer, he saw that the light fell through a doorway in the side of the passage. It was about a head shorter than he was, and he had to duck to step through. The new corridor looked like another maintenance passage for mechanicals, with panels hanging off the walls and slots where components had been removed; a heavy smell of mold hung in the stale air. The light grew brighter as he continued, coming from an overhead source somewhere ahead.

He found it at the end: a half-meter-square grid at the top of a short shaft. The sides bore signs that something here had been removed, leaving behind gouges, clamps, and broken fastenings. He wasn't sure what the original purpose had been, but if he was right that the space above was living quarters, this shaft might have been another kind of waste-disposal arrangement. He could hear quiet voices.

He switched his light off and tucked it away in the satchel. Then he jumped, caught hold of a bar at the bottom of the shaft, and climbed the rough projections in the wall to just below the grid. From this angle he could see there was another grid above it, this one of fine mesh, and it had been inexpertly but solidly welded into place. The voices were a little louder, and he could hear people moving around.

Suddenly he found himself looking up at a human woman. She gasped and jerked back, then leaned forward to stare at him. Now he saw that she was actually Arkanian, not human: she had the distinctive white hair and eyes, and the claws on her hands. Her clothes were torn and stained, and she wasn't armed—and she hadn't shouted for help at the sight of him, so he was guessing she wasn't here voluntarily. Keeping his voice low, he said, “Hey, I'm looking for the prisoners' lockup. This it?”

The Arkanian spun around and whispered urgently, “There's someone down here!”

There were more gasps and quiet exclamations, and then suddenly a dozen other faces, human and other sentients, peered down at him. The strange thing was, he actually recognized one of the faces. Startled, he said, “Davit?”

“Solo!” Kearn-sa'Davit crouched down close to the grid. He was a Videllan, with gold-brown skin of a leathery texture, a high forehead curving back to a fringe of fluffy golden hair, a beard, and large, expressive eyes with high, tufted brows. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, I was about to ask
you
that,” Han said. “You were on that merchant ship?” Davit was the Alliance contact who had arranged the meeting with the local merchant consortium to get the construction materials for Echo Base, though of course the merchants hadn‘t known what their cargoes were going to be used for. Han had had some suspicions of Davit, but the fact that he was currently locked up in a pirates' slave pen mitigated his instinctive distrust. “You were coming to meet us on the station?”

“Yes. You followed us here?”

Han adjusted his grip on the bars. “Sort of. Was the whole consortium aboard?”

Davit shook his head. “No, no. Only the Ceelon Syndicate, and their crew. The others meant to come but changed their plans at the last moment, and took their own vessels, so they were not trapped. At least, I hope not.”

This couldn't be a coincidence. “So somebody in the consortium sold you out to the pirates?”

“Of course. It was Janlan. He was aboard our ship, and he was not much pleased with our failure to surrender immediately when the pirate attacked.” Davit made a disgusted gesture. “Despite his shouts that we stop defending ourselves, the others didn't believe he was a traitor until we arrived here and he was conducted off for an audience with the pirate leader. He has not returned.”

Han hadn't been privy to every detail of the Alliance's arrangement for the meeting with the consortium, and he really hoped those details hadn't included Leia's presence. “Davit, this is important. Is there any way Janlan knew who specifically was coming to meet with the consortium, any way he could find out?”

“You must not fear—they know we two are only brokers, facilitators of meetings, and that we know little of our employers' business, or who they were sending to seal the agreement.” Davit kept his voice even, but Han got the message. None of the merchants knew Davit was Alliance, they just thought he was a hired middleman, and he was making certain any of them listening now thought Han was just a hired middleman, too. And none of them knew that Leia or General Willard had been on the ship they were going to the station to meet.

Imperials wouldn't have bought Davit's story, but pirates and merchants might, at least long enough for them all to get out of here. “Good.” Han met Davit's gaze, making sure the Videllan knew Han had gotten the message. “Any chance Janlan talked to the Imperials, too? That he knew where our ship was coming out of hyperspace to get your transmission?”

“No, Solo, Janlan did not know those coordinates. Only I knew them, and I sent the transmission myself. It is part of my service, as a facilitator, to make sure secrets such as that stay secret. If there was a difficulty, it did not originate from the consortium's end.” He lifted his brows, but Han didn't explain why he had asked the question.

“As to whether he betrayed us to Imperials …” Davit considered it, stroking his beard. “I don't think so. I don't think Janlan would know whom to contact among the Imperials. There is no governor over this area, you know, and not much Imperial presence beyond the occasional patrol or customs ship. Janlan knew the other merchants meant to use the profit from our deal to purchase weapons to defend their ships against the pirates. I think he sold this information in return for promises to leave his trading ships be. He's an idiot if he thinks they will fulfill his bargain. They are more likely to dump him back in here and sell him with the rest of us, once they are certain he knows no more of use to them.”

Okay, so there were two different leaks,
Han thought. One in the Alliance's communications somewhere, who had told the Imperials where the
Gamble
would be coming out of hyperspace. The other was purely on the consortium side, Janlan selling out his partners for protection from the pirates. “That's good. It means the Imperials don't know we're here.”

“That is good, I suppose. Relatively speaking.” Davit frowned. “Are you rescuing us or escaping yourself?”

“Both.” Han adjusted his hold on the grid, feeling around it for weak points. The bars were thick and strong. The mesh above prevented any chance of handing up weapons and small explosives to the prisoners, at least for the moment. Han could cut through both grids, if he brought a heavy-duty fusioncutter. That meant they would have a way to get the prisoners out, if Leia couldn't talk the pirates into handing the merchants over to the
Aegis.
And while Han had a lot of faith in Leia Organa's level of determination, he had the feeling that they were probably going to do this the hard way. “How many people are up there with you?”

“Thirty-two. Most are from our ship. We lost three on the way here, when they died from wounds received during the battle, and the pirates shot the captain and copilot of our ship when we arrived. There are a few others who have been here longer, who were captured on a passenger ship going to Commenor and were brought here to be sold.” Davit added, “They have not put collars on us yet.”

That was good news. Han figured the slaving guilds, not the pirates, probably handled that part. He hesitated over how much to tell Davit, and decided not to mention that someone was trying to negotiate for the merchant ship's release. “I don't know yet what's going to happen. Right now, we're stuck on this rock ourselves. We can't get out of dock and make it into hyperspace without getting caught in a tractor beam or blown to pieces.”

“At least we have hope now.” Davit spread his hands. “That still makes us all better off than what we were before. And Solo, make sure our employers know, whether we can be rescued or not, that I will keep my bond to them.”

I won't betray the Alliance,
was what Davit was saying. Han's hands were getting sore and he wasn't sure how much longer he could perch here. “Any time I should avoid visiting? Like when the guards come by?”

“Wait.” Davit drew back and Han heard him speaking to the other prisoners, checking with the ones who had been here longer. He leaned back over the grid to say, “Their visits are not always regular, but they tend to come about every six to ten standard hours. They don't come inside; they dump the food packets down a small shaft, so there is no chance to jump them.”

“Right. Look, it's complicated and I can't make promises, but I'm here with someone who feels responsible for your ship getting caught. If we can help you, we will.”

“Ah. Then I wish you luck, and I hope I have the chance to thank your someone in person.” Another voice murmured something, and Davit turned to listen. After a moment, he said, “You might have mentioned that earlier.” He turned back to Han. “Solo, those who have been here longer say that periodically they hear and feel rumblings under this section of the floor, as if some mechanism passes beneath it. Take care when—if—you return.”

“Thanks. See you soon, I hope.”

Han dropped to the floor, took his light out again, and made his way back through the passage into the wider tunnel.

He was mostly thinking about logistics. Getting that many people out through this tunnel and to the
Aegis
's bay would be tricky, but possible.

And after talking to Davit, Han was less and less happy with the idea of leaving him and the others behind in the slave pens. It reminded him too much of what Chewie had gone through. And there had been too many times since then when it could have been him or Chewie trapped and looking at a life of hard labor with a collar designed to kill them if they tried to escape, or a bad death if the slavers decided they were too dangerous to attract buyers. He would leave Davit and the merchants if he had to, to get Leia, Sian—and yes, even Kifar Itran—out of here alive, but he wouldn't like it. The fact that Davit had seemed so understanding about it didn't help, either.