Star Wars: Knight Errant (12 page)

Leaving the main thoroughfare, the guards rolled Narsk’s prison down a side hallway. Darkness lay ahead. For a time, Narsk felt only the bumps of the tiles as his prison rumbled onward.
Back to the dungeon
, he assumed.

Then he was alone.

Narsk blinked. The Gamorreans had parked his wheel against a wall and wandered off. The Bothan craned his neck forward and behind, straining to see anything down the hallway. Nothing.

For five minutes.

“Just leaving me? Fine!” If this was a new kind of torture, it was working. Narsk ranted. Days with no food
and only enough water to keep him talking. Days of mental invasions from the monomaniac and his minions. And today, spinning on display like a child’s toy. All of it came pouring, foully, out of the Bothan’s mouth—

—until an unseen hand clasped his muzzle shut. A foreign thought touched his mind.

Shut up
.

Startled, Narsk felt the wheel turning again. Propelled seemingly by nothing at all, the frame rolled down the darkened hall and through an open doorway into a deserted service passage. The door closed behind, leaving him in a small, dim maintenance area. An unused scullery for one of the countless dining rooms he’d been wheeled past, he expected.

The wheel stopping gently against a wall, Narsk smiled. “You’ve come to return my property, I hope.”

“That depends,” Kerra said, removing her mask, “on what you tell me.
And how quickly you tell it
.”

The remains of the Togorian oozed untouched on the temple floor. Daiman donned his cape, unconcerned; the generals parted to let him pass. “You will deploy to Gazzari in four days,” he resumed. “More vessels will arrive. Remain in your positions. You will not disturb them.” With a wave of his hand, more holograms appeared, depicting several ships.

Rusher studied them. There were four personnel transports, each labeled with the corporate logo of Industrial Heuristics, and a much larger structure. A floating cluster of connected towers, the city-in-miniature also bore the climbing-arrow logo that symbolized the “manufacturer of intellects.” He’d heard of the firm, back when working in Bactra’s territory. A few on his crew had even learned their trades there. “An arxeum,” he spoke aloud. “Some kind of war college, isn’t it?”

“And our personnel to be trained within it. They will
arrive first, before the facility. And, then,” Daiman said confidently, “Odion will arrive.”

Rusher flinched.
Why?

“He will come to destroy the facility Bactra sends. Or he will try. He will certainly know of it.” Daiman didn’t say how. “And he will know we are sending our bright young prospects there to meet it. Industrial Heuristics has been recruiting openly on Darkknell for days—and my brother is known to have spies here,” Daiman said, waving offhandedly toward the entrance. “You met one as you entered.”

“You’re using the training center as bait,” Rusher said, looking down at his walking stick. The knob atop it glinted as he twirled it in place. “And
… the students
.”

“Yes.” Daiman returned to the center of the room. “He will not attack when the facilities are in Bactra’s hands. He’ll wait until the delivery is made, so the loss will impact me and not Bactra.”

It was a standard move for Odion, Daiman said, but as ever, he was the better gamesman. “He must see the recruits waiting on the ground to seal the illusion.”

“What do we do if he doesn’t take the b-b-bait?” Mak stammered.

“He will. I have arranged for it.”

Daiman gestured, and a shining staircase descended from the crystal platform at the center of the room. Setting foot upon it, he was interrupted by a statement from behind: “I’m not sure I like this.”

Daiman stopped climbing. “What?”

“I said I’m not sure I like this,” Rusher said, grasping the walking stick more tightly. Spying Mak’s wild expression, he shrugged.
No, I don’t know what I’m doing, either
. “You’re taking younglings on the battlefield, and you’re expecting them to be taken out.”

“And I’m expecting you to do as you’re told.”
Daiman crooked his head slightly in irritation. “Who
are
you?”

“Brigadier Jarrow Rusher. I carry eight battalions running medium artillery, laser and missile. I’ve worked jobs for you for years,” he said. “But I’m an independent operator—”

Daiman’s response dropped below freezing. “As you’ve just seen, there is no such thing.”

Rusher swallowed. He could feel the Sith Lord’s supplicants glaring at him—and it didn’t help that the other generals were edging out of the way.
Some colleagues
. “We’re not part of your army, Lord Daiman.”

“That can be corrected,” Daiman said. To one side, the violet-clad Correctors took a step forward. He waved them off. This moment was his. “I created you,
Brigadier
,” the young Sith said, raising his metal-tipped hand. “You will function as I desire.”

Yanked by an unseen power, Rusher rose several meters into the air. The walking stick clattered to the marble beneath as Rusher’s gloved hands clutched at his neck, just above his collar. There was nothing there, but he could feel the presence of Daiman’s hand. Even the false fingertips, clawing at the back of his neck. Shaking, Rusher coughed and kicked—and tried to speak.

“I’m … just doing …
what you created me to do …
”

The pressure subsided slightly. Still suspended in midair, Rusher watched Daiman step toward him. Mismatched eyes looked up. “What?”

Rusher’s mind racing, his mouth moved to match. “Having autonomous forces was
your
idea. We were created for the purpose.
Your
purpose!”

Daiman lowered his hand, and his victim dropped violently to the floor. Blond eyebrows tilted in amusement. “
Tell
me the purpose,” Daiman said, smirking.

Ignoring the shooting pain in his shin from the rough
landing, Rusher fought to get to his knees. “We look different. You can’t send your regular forces ahead to Gazzari without him sensing a trap—”

“Any ship can be disguised!”

“—and the truth is,” Rusher said, shifting gears, “you’d rather rent than own!”

“What in blazes are you talking about?”

“I’m saying you’ve got more important things to think about,” Rusher said, getting to his feet. “There are too many details to running an artillery brigade—”

“Details I have designed!”

“And that’s the problem,” Rusher said, searching for his retail smile. “You worked so many complexities into this universe, Lord Daiman, that it’s hard for us
lesser beings
to cope. Not all organics are up to it.” He slapped his chest. “You created us specialists to manage these systems—and our own affairs—for greater efficiency. We’re like anything else you created to work your will,” he said, “just a little different.”

Rusher watched the Sith Lord, burning eyes still set on him. They really did look like the double stars outside. The brigadier stepped over to retrieve his cane. “And you know what’s really amazing?” he asked. “It all
works
. The variety you’ve designed into the universe is really something. Genius, really.” He looked back at Daiman.
“As my lord knows.”

Daiman stood stone-silent amid the generals and Correctors.

At last, he spoke. “You have your assignments. Prepayments of ordnance and fuel are already being delivered to your ships.” He turned back toward the stairs. “Leave me.”

The sentries opened the doors outward. The generals didn’t waste any time stepping over the Togorian’s remains.

* * *

“Where’d you
go
?”

Kerra lifted her mask and faced the Bothan, still bound to the round frame. He seemed perturbed by her disappearance; as annoyed as she’d been at his unwillingness to talk, earlier. He’d only agreed to trade information for his freedom, and only after he was freed. “I’m not in the business of helping Jedi,” he’d said.

I’m not in the business of freeing Sith spies
, she’d thought.

Hearing approaching voices, she’d headed back into the hallway just in time to see Daiman’s procession depart the heptagonal temple, heading in the opposite direction.

If Daiman was at the front, she hadn’t been able to see him. But where else would he be? “Where is he going?”

“I can answer that,” the spy replied. “And you know how.”

Kerra groaned. Seeing no alternative, she came to a decision. “Hold on.”

“Wait!
Whulp!
”

Kerra started the wheel moving again, careful not to upset anything as she rolled it through the storage area. The kitchen outside looked as though it had never produced a meal, and yet the larder was fully stocked with fresh food and shining cooking implements.
While everyone outside works three shifts for a ration
, she thought.

“Is this really necessary? Cut me down from this thing!”

“Just let me do this. There’s a way out of here, but you’re in no shape for sneaking around,” she said. “Now, about Daiman?”

The Bothan fumed. “He’s going to Gazzari,” he said, finally. “Aboard
Era Daimanos
.”

“Gazzari?” Kerra’s brow furrowed. She thought back on the intelligence reports she’d seen in the Republic.
The world sat in a wedge of Daiman’s space between Bactra’s territory and Odion’s. “Does this have to do with what’s going on with Bactra?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And that is?”

“Only once we’re outside.”

Kerra slid up to a window and looked out. There was the flagship
Era Daimanos
, parked on a rooftop within the compound. The boarding ramps were down on the vessel, and she saw the massive rear engines outgassing. It was a ship preparing to travel.

Kerra opened her pouch. The explosives were there, beneath her clothes and lightsaber. Yes, she thought, it might be easier to do away with Daiman aboard a ship. As inviting a target as the temple had been, she’d still have the problem of escaping from what was, in effect, Corrector Central. How much easier would it be to decapitate the regime from the comfort of a life pod, on the way to someplace else?

It’d be nice to do something easy. For a change
.

Sealing the pouch, she returned to the Bothan’s torture wheel. He saw her coming. “I’ll tell you the rest, but you have to take me with you. Wherever you’re going.” The spy’s voice stirred with emotion, as it had back on the plaza, nights earlier. “I owe Daiman now, Kerra. You
must
take me.”

“Nope.”

“What?”

Kerra kicked open a door and grabbed the side of the wheel. “I don’t work with Sith. And I don’t work with people who work with Sith.”

“This again? I don’t—”

“I told you, there’s only one way to get you out of here,” she said, releasing the great wheel and walking toward a corrugated metal door. With a heave, she forced
it open, revealing a long stone trough leading downward. Down, and out of Daiman’s compound, terminating in the mountainous refuse pile that abutted the south wall.

“No!” Seeing the long chute below, the spy writhed. “Don’t!”

“If it’s any consolation,” she said, “I don’t think those bonds of yours will survive the landing. I don’t know why, but it looks like the guards loosened them.” She positioned the circular rack on the open ledge.

His eyes burned with anger. “You’ll regret this, Jedi. I’m not what you think I am!”

“So long.”

She gave the wheel a shove.

Only Mak had bothered to wait for Rusher. Using the cane for real, this time, Rusher stepped past the sentries at the gate and looked up at the black wall behind him. Daiman’s favorite suns had just set, he saw.
Diligence
’s crew wouldn’t have much time to get packed up to move. Master Dackett wasn’t going to like this at all.

There wasn’t any thought of not taking the assignment. Not if Rusher ever wanted to set foot in Daiman’s space again. And one never knew. If Daiman’s gambit proved successful, it might
all
be Daiman’s space before too long.

Mak looked up at the human and smirked. “Really, Rusher.
‘You’d rather rent than own’
?”

“It’s what came to me,” Rusher said, stretching his bruised leg. Just a little sprain; he’d walk it off. “It’s not my line. Admiral Veltraa said it about irregular units, back in the ancient times,” Rusher said.
A little history comes in handy
.

“I thought you’d converted for a mo-mo-moment.”

“Don’t worry, Mak. I’m not about to start wearing gold armor and chanting.”

Suddenly the two heard a bloodcurdling scream from
off to the right. Scanning the ramparts, Rusher saw nothing as the cry trailed off into silence. He cinched up his trench coat. “Crazy place.”

“And that Daiman’s the craziest of all,” Mak said, covering his mouth. “Not much to like about this b-b-business.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rusher said, straightening his collar. “We get to face Odion. His death-cultists
want
to be blown up. Makes for a short workday.”