Star Wars: The Old Republic: Fatal Alliance (18 page)

The
droid nodded, and she addressed him directly. "Who has captured
Nebula? A Mandalorian?"

The
answer was yes.

No
wonder, Larin thought, the droid had been looking for reinforcements.
"Is Nebula the only prisoner?"

The
answer was no.

"Do
you know where they are?"

An
emphatic yes. The droid took Larin around to the corner, where he'd
scratched a detailed map into the metal wall. She recognized that
location from her own data. It was a dining room not a dozen meters
away.

"I
think we can help each other, " she told the droid, who nodded
solemnly. "Weapons ready, " she told the squad. "This
Mandalorian is big and dangerous. If you get a shot, take it. But
watch out for the prisoners. We can't afford to harm the envoy. "

The
droid tapped her firmly on the shoulder with one square, metal
finger.

"Or
Nebula, " Larin added.

They
took their safeties off and fell in around her. Only when they were
moving, with the droid taking the lead, did she realize that she had
given the orders, not Potannin, who had obeyed along with the rest of
his squad. That made her feel both guilty and pleased, although
technically, she supposed, she had no rank now, which meant she had
no superiors to worry about. That was the thought she clung to as she
ran to face Dao Stryver for the second time.

*
* *

It
was Ula's turn to have the Mandalorian's rifle wedged under his chin.
He arched his back as far as it went, but the barrel followed him,
digging deep into his throat. He was so close to Stryver now that he
could hear the whir of his suit's many mechanisms, even the hiss of
air through its respirator as the Mandalorian drew in a breath to
speak.

"Answer
this question very carefully, Envoy Vii, " Stryver said.

Ula
nodded. After his solitary act of defiance, he had no intention of
doing anything other than exactly as he was told. His eyesight still
sparkled from the dazzling effect of the holoprojector shoved into
his face.

"I
will. "

"You
pointed to a location on the map. Was the vault you indicated the
correct one?"

"Yes.
"

"It
contains the wreckage recovered from the Cinzia?"

"Yes.
" He nodded as vigorously as he could to convince Stryver of his
sincerity.

The
pressure of the rifle fell away. Ula rocked forward, chest heaving.
He hadn't noticed that he'd stopped breathing.

"And
you?" Stryver asked Jet. "Do you have any more questions?"

"What,
me?" The smuggler watched the weapon closely. It was aimed right
at his chest. "Just one. What now? I can't help commenting that
you've welded yourself in here with us... "

Something
thudded against the sealed door. Stryver and his two captives turned
to look at it. The thud came again, and a faint voice calling:

"Open
up!"

The
Mandalorian turned away and busied himself with his suit, stowing his
rifle and pushing buttons with swift, practiced movements.

"I
can assure you "said Ula, "that I have very little value as
a hostage. "

Stryver
said nothing. As a bright red line began creeping across the
reinforced door, the Mandalorian stepped away from them and looked
up. A rising whine came from his backpack.

"I
suggest closing your eyes, " said Jet, turning his head toward
Ula and shielding it as best he could with his shoulder.

There
was a flash of light. Smoke and debris filled the air. The whine
became a roar, and at that moment the door burst in.

Ula
ground his eyelids shut on a cloud of stinging particles. He heard
shouts and blasterfire, and felt bodies moving rapidly around him.
Something crashed into him, and he felt gloved hands working at his
bindings.

"It'll
be all right, sir, " said a familiar voice. "We've got you
covered now. "

Potannin!
Ula could have wept.

When
he opened his eyes, the smoke had cleared along with the sparkles
from the holoprojector, and Dao Stryver was nowhere to be seen. Two
members of Ula's escort stood guard over the door, while two more
picked through the wreckage. The droid Stryver had disabled was
pulling Jet free. A soldier in scruffy white armor was peering up
into a giant hole in the ceiling, her rifle held at the ready.

Stryver
had never had any intention of going out the door, Ula understood.
His plan had always been to go up.

The
scruffy soldier turned to him. "What did Stryver say to you? Did
he tell you what he was looking for?"

"He's
gone to get the navicomp, " said Jet, wiping dust from his eyes.

"Why?
Are the Mandalorians after the same thing as we are?"

"I
don't think that's the only reason. The navicomp wouldn't just show
the ship's origin, would it? It'd show the intended destination as
well. "

The
soldier's helmet cocked slightly. "What difference does that
make to anyone?"

"Not
to anyone, I'm guessing. Just to him. "

The
soldier nodded. "Are you Nebula or the envoy?"

"Call
me Jet. "

Ula
staggered to his feet, freed at last from the Mandalorian's sticky
web. "Ula Vii, at your service. Thank you, all of you, for
rescuing us. Both of us. "

"It's
our duty, sir, " said Potannin with a brisk salute.

"Me,
" added the soldier, "I'm just here for the fun of it. "

With
that, she slipped her helmet off, revealing the most beautiful woman
Ula Vii had ever seen.

CHAPTER
13

Under
a massive statue of Tassaa Bareesh, Shigar sealed the outer door
behind him, using the Force to assist the hydraulics he'd damaged on
the way through. He recognized this type of room; the inner door
wouldn't open until the outer door was closed. He crossed the
circular expanse of the security air lock, noting but not being
distracted by the gentle tinkling of the glass chandelier above. The
air stank of smoke, which was odd. The mysterious explosions had been
distant, and he assumed the air-conditioning system of the vault was
completely independent.

His
senses prickled. Moving slowly and silently, he approached the inner
door.

It
was unlocked.

There
was one thing he would say about the Hutts: when it came to
protecting their valuables, they didn't scrimp. The door was a
marvelous piece of machinery, precision-tooled to very precise
measurements. It might not withstand a Jedi and his lightsaber, but
it would keep a horde of safecrackers busy for a month, and would
easily withstand a small nuclear blast.

It
certainly wouldn't open itself.

Shigar
deactivated his lightsaber and stood still for a full minute.

His
slow, shallow breathing and steady heartbeat were all he could hear.
If there was anyone on the other side of the door, they were being as
quiet as he was.

Reaching
out a hand, he tugged on the door's handle. So well balanced was it
that it swung smoothly aside, revealing the antechamber he had been
looking for. The four vault doors were exactly as Sergeant Potannin
had described. None of them had been interfered with. Behind one of
them was the mysterious wreckage that consumed so many people.

In
the center of the room, a black pit had been burned into the floor,
scarring its otherwise impeccable whiteness. That was where the smoke
was coming from. He approached cautiously and looked down. Someone
had burned into the room from below, presumably to steal the vault's
contents. But how had they avoided triggering any alarms? And where
were they now?

He
looked around. The antechamber was empty. There was nowhere to hide.
None of the vaults appeared to have been tampered with. All four
doors were sealed. There was no other way out, except back through
the hole, or...

The
small of his back itched. He turned to face the door he had come
through. Certainty filled him. Activating his lightsaber, he strode
into the air lock room.

"You
don't look like a Jedi, but you sure smell like one. " With a
tinkling smash, a skinny girl dressed all in black dropped out of the
chandelier. Her hair flailed in thick red dreadlocks like the
tentacles of a living thing. "You stink of repression. Let's see
what we can do to change that!"

The
girl activated a brilliant crimson lightsaber.

Shigar
didn't return her bloodthirsty grin. He kept his heartbeat steady,
raised his lightsaber in return, and adopted a stance of readiness.

She
came at him in a storm of blows, feet moving lightly across the
floor, almost dancing, blade swinging like a propeller. Their weapons
clashed with a furious electric sound. He matched her move for move,
but doing so sorely tested him. Every block jarred through him like a
hammer blow. His opponent was small, but she was strong, and her eyes
were full of hate. The dark side flowed through her in powerful
waves.

She
drove him back to the room's inner door and, with a telekinetic
sweep, slammed it shut behind him.

"Nowhere
to run now, Jedi, " she gloated. "Why don't you stop
fighting defensively and show me what you've got? I'm going to kill
you either way, but let's at least make some sport of it. "

Shigar
ignored her. He knew that some Sith used verbal attacks alongside
physical ones, to dispirit their opponent, but he would not fall
victim to such a ploy. Neither would he allow fear or anger to
dictate the way he fought. His Master had trained him well. He knew
how to tight a Sith-and that was the same way he would fight anyone.
The key was to make fewer mistakes than your opponent, and to take
every opportunity when it came. The element of surprise could make
the difference between a drawn-out battle and a decisive early
victory.

Smiling
calmly, he faced the snarling girl and reached out his left hand.

*
* *

Ax
heard the sound of glass tinkling from behind her and ducked barely
in time. Hundreds of tiny shards rushed at her, ripped out of the
chandelier by the power of the Jedi's mind and hurled at the exact
spot she had been standing. A second stream followed her as she
rolled and flipped away, pushing off with her hands and landing on
her feet halfway across the room. Recovering her poise, she wrapped a
kinetic shield about her and flung the shards away. Only a handful
got through, one cutting her arm and another putting a bloody gash
over her left eye. She blinked blood away, relishing the sharpness of
the pain.

The
tall, skinny Jedi was coming for her, green blade foreshortened by a
strong, stabbing blow aimed at her midriff. She swept it aside, only
to find that the move was a feint. He aimed a kick at her right knee
and brought the blade sweeping around for her head. With a grunt, she
took the kick on her shin and saved herself from decapitation only by
reducing the hold on her hilt to one hand. Their lightsabers met just
centimeters from her skin.

They
locked there for a moment, his blade pressing down toward her face,
her left leg twisted behind her, in a difficult position to use her
weight against him. He was physically stronger than she, and wasn't
above taking advantage of that fact. One solid push and his blade
would be burning more than air.

He
was stronger, but she was more cunning. Whirling his cloak around his
face and throat took barely more telekinetic energy than it did to
think of it, and the move had the effect she needed. Taken by
surprise, he reeled backward, clutching at the flapping fabric. She
retreated only long enough to regain her footing and balance before
moving in again, while he was blinded.

Even
without the use of his eyes, he still matched her. He anticipated her
moves and blocked them one-handed. His other hand tore at the cloak,
fighting its strangling folds. When he finally threw it away, he
faced her two-handed again, lips pursed and bare-shouldered, and she
knew that the game was really on now.

They
fought back and forth across the room, slashing and blocking and
leaping and running, using walls, floor, and ceiling as launching
pads for each new attack. Glass crunched beneath their feet and
swirled around them in distracting, potentially blinding streamers.
He was good-she had to grudgingly admit that-but she was good, too,
and she fought to the very edge of her abilities. Her mission wasn't
going to end here, skewered on a Jedi's lightsaber. If Darth Chratis
was going to stand before the Dark Council and admit that he had
failed, then she was going to be there to see it.