Refugee: Force Heretic II (34 page)

“There are two more behind us,” Soontir Fel said. One thick finger stabbed at a display. Ten swift targets surrounded the barge. Software identified the objects as smaller than a snowspeeder, but just as heavily armed and shielded. They looked like fat coins tipped on their sides, ripping edge-first through the air. “Single-person fliers, I imagine, given the speed they’re moving.”

A warning shot on the port side bounced off the barge’s shields and into a snowbank. Steam exploded from the point of impact, sending a white cloud high into the air.

“Pirates?” Master Skywalker asked.

“Possibly.” Fel rocked the barge in the direction of the snow-flier, forcing it to swerve away.

“Shouldn’t we try to contact the spaceport to let them know what’s happening?” Mara asked.

“Already tried,” Fel said, shifting the barge suddenly to starboard. A loud
thump
sounded as the barge’s shields connected with one of the fliers. “But we’re being jammed.”

“If they’re not pirates, could they be enemies of yours?” Stalgis asked.

“Sure, but which ones?” Fel grunted. “Whoever they are, we can’t outrun or outshoot them. Our one advantage is the shield, which I’m fairly certain they can’t take out. Unless they bring in something bigger, we should be safe in here.”

Syal Antilles put a hand on his shoulder. “When we reach the spaceport, security will drive them away.”

A nearby explosion rocked the ice barge from nose to stern. Fragments of ice ricocheted off the barge’s shield and swept into its wake. Another explosion cracked the ice ahead of them, sending spreading fingers across the endless white plain. Fel banked to avoid the instability.

When he tried to return to his original course, more fire from the snow-fliers forced him back.

“That’s
if
we can make it there,” he belatedly responded to Syal’s comment.

“They’re trying to force us off course,” Mara said.

“I think you’re right,” Fel growled. “If it was just me, I’d take my chances over those crevasses. But—” He glanced at Syal, standing behind him with her hand still on his shoulder. He shook his head. “I’m not prepared to take that risk right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke said. “It’s us they want.”

“Don’t be too sure. I’m not popular with some of the syndics because I want to change their ways. All it would take is for one of them to decide to make a move while I’m distracted—”

Another explosion rocked the barge, forcing it to turn farther starboard.

“Either way,” Mara said, “we’re all in this together right now.”

“Maybe if I give myself up to them, they’ll leave the rest of you alone,” Fel said.

“No!” Syal responded instantly. “I won’t let you do that!”

Luke agreed. “It would be a pointless sacrifice. They won’t leave any witnesses. You know that. In fact, if anything they’ll use us as scapegoats. What could be more believable than a spat between old enemies—especially if the accused are killed resisting capture?”

Fel acquiesced with a nod. “So what do you suggest?”

“There’s clearly no point running, and we can’t beat them with brute force.” Luke’s gaze wandered around him as he thought for a moment. “I suggest we stop trying altogether.”

“I thought you just said we shouldn’t give them what they want,” Syal said.

“I did.”

“So what are you saying?” pressed the woman.

Master Skywalker smiled. “I’m saying we should maybe give them a little more than they’re expecting.”

Leia followed an usher to their seats, accompanied by Han, C-3PO, and her two Noghri bodyguards. The stadium was enormous, practically a giant crater lined with stalls, with the more comfortable booths higher up, affording the more privileged guests a better view of the proceedings that would soon be taking place in the stadium’s center. The delegation from the Galactic Alliance was, of course, among those privileged guests. They had reserved seating to the right of Prime Minister Cundertol’s stand, where he would be surrounded by senior Senators atop a large podium that jutted out from the ring of seats. The day was warm; floating sunshades circulated lazily above the crowd, propelled by the ever-present repulsors. Among the crowd, she made out signs and banners, although she couldn’t quite make out exactly what they were saying. She guessed that they’d belong to both protestors and supporters of the Keeramak and its P’w’eck revolutionaries. This was a big day for Bakura, and a lot hung in the balance.

Nothing much was happening just yet, though. The Prime Minister had still to appear and, after the early-morning meeting, he would no doubt be avoiding the Galactic Alliance when he did. Fifty P’w’eck soldiers maintained a perfect ring around the area on which the ceremony was to take place, well away from the nearest seats in the center of the stadium.

Han’s hand found hers and gave it a tight squeeze. Warmth flooded through her, reminding her of why she loved him. Even in difficult times, when events threatened to overtake everything, he was always there for her. Flashes of irritation hid a depth of emotion that
surprised even him, sometimes, and of which she was always grateful to be the recipient.

“Do you think the rain’s going to hold off?” he asked.

She followed his gaze. Dense clouds were building on the western horizon, promising a tropical storm.

“If it doesn’t,” she said, “then I guess we’re going to get wet.”

“Great. That’s really going to add insult to injury.”

A fanfare sounded as they took their seats, announcing the formal arrival of the Bakuran and P’w’eck leaders. Prime Minister Cundertol, dressed in a magnificent purple robe, and the Keeramak led a large group of human, Kurtzen, and P’w’eck officials in a cleared path from the base of the stadium to the central ring. There, to the stirring sound of the Bakuran anthem, they turned to address the crowd and, symbolically, Bakura itself.

“My people,” Cundertol began, his voice magnified a thousandfold by speakers floating high above the stadium, “welcome to you all on this magnificent occasion. With our new allies, the P’w’eck, we join together to usher in a new era of prosperity and peace. As neighbors and friends, we will embrace the universal truths that bind together all cultures. Today, Bakura achieves its destiny, free from fear of old enemies and working with new allies to build a common future.”

The crowd responded with equal parts cheers and boos as he stepped back to allow the Keeramak to speak. The mutant Ssi-ruu looked radiant in a shining silver harness trailing multicolored ribbons and tiny bells that jangled delicately with each movement. Its scales glinted in the weakened morning light, making it hard to tell where its outfit stopped and its skin began. Not even the growing cloud cover could dim its unique beauty.

The powerful tones that issued from its throat boomed deafeningly across the stadium.

“People of Bakura,” came the translation when it had
finished its address, “I am proud to be here as the leader of a liberated people. The P’w’eck species, no longer bound to an oppressive regime rooted in cruelty and bloodshed, joins with you in spiritual communion as our two great nations create a bond that will run much deeper than mere friendship. With the signing of the treaty, we will be one, our fates forever linked!”

The response from the crowd was as mixed as it had been for Cundertol, but it didn’t seem to faze either leader. They bowed to one another, then the Prime Minister and his contingent made their way back through the crowd to their seats. As Leia had guessed, he acknowledged her and Han with only a formal nod.

Han muttered something to the effect that he wouldn’t trade a bootful of mynock droppings for Cundertol on a good day. Leia shushed him. There was no sign of the Deputy Prime Minister—an absence no one had mentioned, but which she found interesting.

There was no time to ponder it, however, as the ceremony was immediately under way. P’w’eck priests bedecked with streamers began warbling some monotonous chant as the Keeramak prowled the edges of the cleared space, scattering glinting shards in a perfect circle around the alien contingent. Every few seconds, in counterpoint to the chanting, the Keeramak would raise its head and intone a phrase in its own tongue. This time there was no public interpreter to explain what was being said.

“Can you translate this?” Leia whispered to C-3PO.

“Only in part, Mistress. The dialect is not the same in which the P’w’eck converse. It appears to be an ancient, ritual tongue, perhaps preserved for—”

“Spare us the details, Goldenrod,” Han said in an irritable undertone, “and just get to the point, will you?”

“As you wish, sir. The Keeramak is addressing the life spirit of the galaxy, beseeching it to hear him and grant his wishes. ‘The golden light of this morning is yours,’ it
is saying. ‘The blue-tinted skies and white clouds are yours. Where leaves are green and flowers bloom in many colors, you are there. Where children grow strong in limb and heart, you are there.’ ”

“Very poetic,” Han muttered. “How much more of this is there?”

“The ceremony is scheduled to last one hour, sir.”

“That’s just great.” Han stretched his legs in front of him and locked his hands behind his head. “Wake me when it’s over, will you, Leia?”

The floating van pulled up outside an unguarded entrance to the stadium. Goure, at the controls of the aircar following the van, drove past, rounded a corner, and came to a halt. Tahiri was the first to climb out, running back to the corner. Goure was close behind. Once there, the two of them cautiously peered around just in time to see Blaine Harris lead Jaina, Malinza Thanas, and two others into the stadium.

“So much for security,” Tahiri muttered over the sound of chanting coming from speakers within the stadium. “There’s no one at the gates. They just walked right in!”

“I suspect it was arranged that way.” The Ryn’s tail brushed rhythmically against her legs. “And if we’re quick enough, we might be able to take advantage of the situation, too.”

Together they approached the entrance, their pace hurried but wary, aware that at any moment alarms might start to ring out. In the end, they managed to reach the gateway without incident and slip inside undetected. The rumble of the crowd within wrapped around them like a warm and comforting embrace. Whatever was taking place inside the stadium, Tahiri thought, it certainly sounded impressive.

“Can you sense your friend?” Goure asked.

Jaina’s mind had been shining like a beacon since well before she’d left Blaine Harris’s office, just minutes after Tahiri and Goure had arrived. While she and the Ryn had been trying to convince a security guard to let them in to see the Deputy Prime Minister, Tahiri had detected that Jaina was on the move. Retreating from the ministerial offices, Tahiri and Goure had found a droid interface, via which the Ryn had been able to determine from security cam images that Harris was moving with Jaina. Although they had no idea of where exactly the Deputy Prime Minister was taking Jaina, they’d set out in pursuit, with Tahiri beginning to despair of being able to reach Harris in time to stop the ceremony. That they had ended up at the stadium where the ceremony itself was taking place was indeed a stroke of luck. Perhaps, she thought, the Deputy Prime Minister had the same idea they had, and was wanting to stop the ceremony before Cundertol’s plan—whatever it was—came into effect.

But there was an edge to Jaina’s thoughts that undermined Tahiri’s confidence. Something wasn’t quite right. If Jaina was Harris’s prisoner, then what did that mean? Tahiri was finding it increasingly difficult to tell who was on what side—which made knowing what to do almost impossible.

“Well?” Goure asked.

Tahiri nodded. “Yeah, I can sense her all right.”

Then together they padded silently down the corridors, following Jaina’s presence deep into the bowels of the stadium.

“Where are you taking us?” Jaina demanded.

Harris, a few paces ahead, ignored her. Salkeli gave her a shove in the shoulder from behind with the butt of his weapon. It was a simple message:
Shut up and keep moving
. She did so, following the Deputy Prime Minister down a wide ramp and through a series of archways
barely high enough to accommodate his large frame. A short time later, they stopped before a sealed door that looked big enough to drive a landspeeder through.

It opened when Blaine Harris keyed a long alphanumeric sequence into the lock.

“Move,” he ordered curtly, waving her and the surviving members of Freedom ahead of him.

Jaina found herself in an equipment locker, empty except for a single metal container in the center of the room.

“A little bare for my tastes,” she said dryly. “But I guess it will do for now.”

“As good a place as any to die, you think?” Harris countered. He closed the door and strode over to stand beside Jaina. “Take a look at the box; tell me what you see.”

Jaina squatted to take a closer look, carefully maintaining the pretense that her wrists were still securely bound. After a moment’s consideration, she shrugged. “A remote detonator?”

“Very good,” said Harris. “Now press the red button.”

She laughed humorlessly. “You can’t be—”

“Do it,” Harris insisted, raising his weapon and pressing it to Malinza’s forehead. “Do it or I shoot the girl.”

Jaina glanced at Malinza. Her expression was determined, but her eyes couldn’t hide her fear. They both knew that Harris’s threats weren’t idle.

“Okay,” she said, reaching out with her seemingly bound hands and depressing the button. A numeric timer came to life, counting down from ten standard minutes.

Harris nodded in satisfaction, lowering the blaster to his side. “And now that your fingerprints are on the button, your fate is effectively sealed. Once you’re dead and the bomb goes off, there’ll be no one to plead in your defense.”

Jaina focused her energy, forcing herself to remain calm.
Soon
, she told herself.
Just a little bit longer …

“You know,” she said, standing, “blowing up the stadium isn’t going to help relations with the P’w’eck.” It was as much to stall Harris as it was to fish for information from the man.