dancer spun and leaped through the air. Her tattooed lekku
lashed out like whips, then whirled down and enfolded her
like ivy. The tails of the loincloth she wore similarly clung to
her body, sliding away as she whirled, to reveal silken flesh
over taut and powerful muscles. She gave Wedge a pixie-
wink, prompting a smile from him, then she twirled off to
charm another of the visitors.
Cazne'olan draped a braintail over Wedge's shoulder.
"Sienn'rha is the only positive thing Bib Fortuna ever accom-
plished. He stole her from her darkside family and meant to
present her to Jabba the Hutt. In preparation for that he had
her taught to dance as well as she does. She was saved from
Jabba by your Lukesky'walker. She always dances wonder-
fully, but this night she approaches perfection because of the
gratitude she feels to the Alliance."
"She is spectacular." Wedge could not deny that he
found her dance exciting and even stimulating, but that both-
ered him just a bit. By seeing her as being so seductive and
beautiful, and reacting to her on a physiological level, it was
very easy for him to forget she was a living, thinking crea-
ture. That made it deceptively simple for him to see how the
Imperials found objectifying and dehumanizing other races
justifiable--if they seem like animals or appeal to you on an
animal level, clearly they are animals.
Cazne'olan tapped him on the shoulder. "It would be
possible for a private dance to be arranged for you, my
friend."
"I appreciate the offer, but . . ."
Cazne'olan's voice dropped to a whisper. "Sienn'rha
asked me to convey that suggestion to you, on her behalf.
She is well aware of your history and considers you quite a
hero."
"I see." Wedge considered for a moment all the offer
implied and felt sorely tempted. Sienn'rha's sensuous beauty,
from her full lips and dark eyes to her fluid and athletic
grace, hinted at pleasures he'd not had time to enjoy for . . .
If l can't remember off the top of my head, it's been well and
nigh too long. But is here and now, with Sienn'rha, the time
to change that?
Wedge smiled at Cazne'olan. "Convey to her my pro-
found appreciation of her offer, and my sincere regret at
having to refuse. Ultimately I am here as a representative of
the Alliance. Perhaps some time when I am merely here as
myself .... "
"She will understand, I think."
"I hope so." Wedge frowned for a moment. "I have a
question to ask you about something you said a moment
ago."
A lek twitched. "Ask."
"You pronounce my name as Wedgan'tilles and Nawara
Ven's name as Nawar'aven, running them together. When
you mentioned Bib Fortuna, you distinctly broke his name
up. Why?"
Cazne'olan nodded slowly and let his iekku slip from
Wedge's shoulder. "Bib Fortuna was a member of the Una
clan. Because of his predations on his own people, he was
cast out. The joining of personal and clan names is, among
us, a sign of belonging. Breaking the names apart is a state-
ment of the distance between that person and his people."
Wedge nodded. "How do you decide what a name will
become? Nawara is a member of the Ven clan, but you make
his surname into 'aven' when you pronounce it."
"And I know your surname is Antilles, but I break it in
twO."
"Exactly."
The Twi'lek laughed lightly. "Naming conventions are
determined by a venerable set of rules--superstitions al-
most-that transform names into auspicious omens. Ven, for
example, translates into Basic as 'silver.' Nawara would
translate roughly as 'speaker' or 'tongue,' either of which
suggests a gifted negotiator. However, if his name were pro-
nounced as Nawara'ven, because of peculiarities in
Rylothean, his name would mean 'tarnished silver.' By
changing the pronunciation slightly we retain the correct
meaning."
"l'm impressed." Wedge smiled openly. "So, what does
my name mean, the way you pronounce it?"
The Twi'lek shrugged. "There is no good, direct transla-
tion of foreign names, but Wedgan'tilles comes close to
'slayer of stars.'"
"I like it."
"It is much to be preferred to the alternative suggested
by the Basic pronunciation." "Which is?"
"Difficult to translate."
"Give me a rough go at it."
Cazne'olan's braintails twitched sharply. "Being gener-
ous, it is 'One so foul he could induce vomiting in a ran-
COt.' '
Wedge shuddered. "I prefer your pronunciation, I
think."
A gentle vibration running through the ground fore-
stalled further lessons about Twi'lek culture. He assumed the
vibration was produced by the raising of the portcullis, so he
looked off toward where the tunnel entered the Kala'uun
cavern. Boiling up out of it, in three pairs, came a half-dozen
Uglies. The X-wing fighter's distinctive S-foils jutted out
from the sides of a TIE fighter's ball cockpit. The stabilizers
had been fastened to a collar that surrounded the cockpit,
and as the fighters maneuvered and cavorted in the air above
the assembly, he saw the S-foils rotating around the cockpit,
making the design similar in principle to that of the B-wing
fighter in service with the Alliance.
Never seen those before. Must be a homegrown Twi'lek
design. The S-foils collapsed into a single wing on either side
of the cockpit, then landing skids extended from the bottom
of the collar and the peculiar ships descended. They landed
in a rough semicircle facing the Alliance ships, easily menac-
ing all the visitors.
One of the cockpit hatches opened and a huge Twi'lek
pilot emerged from the top of the sphere. He wore a black
Imperial flight suit, but a scarlet loincloth and cloak had
been added to make it seem closer to native warrior attire.
His lekku had been tattooed with a variety of sinuous and
serpentine shapes which Wedge supposed were Rylothean
glyphs, but he could not even guess at their significance.
As the warrior strode over to the circle, the music died
and the servants shrank back. Sienn'rha stopped her dance
and retreated into Wedge's shadow. Wedge stood, with
Cazne'olan on one side and the great, lumpish Koh'shak on
the other. As the warrior came closer, Wedge saw he was
positively huge, easily forty centimeters taller than Wedge
and massing at least another thirty kilos. How he actually
managed to jam himself into the TIE cockpit Wedge couldn't
imagine.
The warrior stepped through a quickly widening gap in
the circle, then stopped five meters from Wedge. "I am
Tal'dira, first among Twi'lek warriors. You, the lekku-less
who wears the clothes of a warrior, you are Wedge Antilles?"
Wedge did his best to ignore the faint retching sound
Tal'dira made in the back of his t
hroat as he pronounced
Wedge's name. "I am Wedgan'tilles."
The Twi'lek warrior raised an eyebrow at Wedge's reply.
"And you have come here for ryll?"
"I have come for ryll kor." Wedge's reply won a gasp
from Koh'shak and a !ekku-twitching from Tal'dira. "Is
there a problem?"
"None, Wedge Antilles, if--" Tal'dira drew a pair of
slender vibroblades from sheaths hidden in his bandoleer,
"--you are willing to fight to prove you are a warrior. A
warrior should deal with warriors. Win the fight and the kor
shall be yours."
Wedge's stomach tightened and his heart began to
pound. As a pilot, in his X-wing, he had no doubt at all that
he'd be able to vape Tal'dira and his X-ball. In a vibroblade
fight, though . . . As much as he would have preferred to
avoid fighting, he knew he really didn't have any choice in
the matter. The kor was vital to stopping the Krytos virus. If
I have to carve this Twi'lek behemoth up to get it, I will.
He held out his right hand. "I will fight."
Tal'dira tossed him one of the vibroblades. "A warrior
should deal with a warrior." "My thoughts exactly."
The warrior's lekku writhed up and down once affirma-
tively. "Good."
Wedge flicked the blade on with his thumb. "Come on.
I'm ready."
"You are, but your opponent isn't." Tal'dira looked
around, studying each of the Rogues. They all wore Twi'lek
warrior garb, and the disdainful expression on Tal'dira's face
suggested he found something wrong with that. He openly
appra ised them, looking each of them up and down before
passing from one to the next.
Will he pick one of them as my foe? Wedge felt his stom-
ach begin to implode. ! know Twi'leks can be cruel Is he
going to force me to slay one of my own people because of
some affront we've given him?
Tal'dira looked back at Wedge. "I have made my choice.
Prepare yourself."
Wedge nodded. "I'm still ready."
"Good." The warrior casually tossed the vibroblade to
Koh'shak. "I choose you."
The starport master's eyes ballooned as he bounced the
inert vibroblade from hand to hand. It slipped from his grasp
and ricocheted off his stomach before tumbling toward the
ground. The obese Twi'lek began to bend over, thick fingers
wriggling slothfully in a vain attempt to catch the blade be-
fore it could hit the ground.
In one flowing motion that nearly shamed Sienn'rha's
performance, Tal'dira swooped forward and plucked the
blade out of the air. It hummed to life and with one deft cut,
split the brooch holding Koh'shak's cloak closed. The gar-
ment puddled around Koh'shak's feet and a stiff-arm blow to
the chest dropped the starport master on top of it.
Tal'dira grabbed one of Koh'shak's braintails and
yanked none too gently on it, then pressed the vibroblade to
the Twi'lek's throat. "Warriors should deal with warriors,
Kohsh'ak! Wedgan'tilles came to us as a warrior, leading a
band of warriors, including our own Nawar'aven. You knew
of this mission to Ryloth but hid that knowledge from me so
you could profit from the gifts our visitors would bring. That
is fitting conduct for a merchant, but not a warrior,
Kohsh'ak!"
Tal'dira's delivered the altered pronunciation of the
starport master's name harshly, filling it with scorn. Wedge
had no idea of what it meant, but he was glad Tal'dira's
anger wasn't directed at him.
Tal'dira released Koh'shak and turned the vibroblade
off. He resheathed it, then turned toward Wedge. "The blade
you possess is my gift to you, Wedgan'rilles. This kor you
want will be delivered to you, a gift between warriors. It is
happily given in the hopes it can heal those who have been
touched by treachery and cowardly action. All I ask in return
is your forgiveness for this breach of etiquette."
Wedge turned his vibroblade off and tucked it into the
top of his right boot. "A warrior does not hold another war-
rior responsible for the actions of a merchant." He turned
and pointed to the Alliance ships with his left hand. "On
those ships I have gifts from my warriors to yours, offered in
spirit shared by warriors."
Tal'dira clapped Wedge on both shoulders. "There is
much honor in you, Wedgan'tilles, and in your Rogue Squad-
ron. I will be most pleased if, while the merchants scurry
about unloading and loading our ships, you will continue to
join me in Twi'janii." Looping a lekku over Wedge's shoul-
ders, Tal'dira pointed at the musicians. "Play for our guests,
play the best you ever have. You are playing for the pleasure
of warriors now, and nothing less than the best will do."
25
Corran's mouth felt like a desert, and it wasn't just because
of the dust created by working the grater. He'd been plan-
ning his little experiment so he could test his theory about
the prison's orientation for the last two days, and was fairly
certain that what he had in mind would work perfectly. De-
spite his confidence, he'd hesitated, telling himself he'd wait
He'd found the rock on the grate. It had something of a
clamshell shape--momentarily reminding him of Emtrey's
head. It fit easily in his palm and would fly well. It had
enough mass to it to make his throw possible, and yet had a
narrow enough cross-section and dark enough color that it
wouldn't easily be seen in the cavern.
His mouth was dry because the fear coiling in his belly
was sucking all the moisture out of him. He couldn't think of
what he had to be afraid of. His life couldn't get any worse.
He was locked in the highest security prison the Empire had
ever known. Most people had never even heard of Lusankya,
and most of those who had thought it was a rumor. Even
during his time on the Corellian Security Force he'd only
heard passing references to it. Beyond believing that it ex-
isted and was not a good place, he'd known nothing about it.
Corran caught other prisoners in his work group look-
ing at him, and in their expectant glances he found the source
of his fear. I'm afraid of being wrong and disappointing
them. Only Jan and Urlor knew what he intended to do, but
a number of other prisoners had been recruited to stage the
distraction that would allow him to act. They had figured
out he was going to be doing something related to escape,
but they had no clue what it was, nor did they expect to be
told. Despite their ignorance, they were all enthused with the
idea of helping him out. Hopes they had long since aban-
doned were being revived by his escape attempt.
Corran closed his fist around the stone. This had better
work.
He looked over at Urlor who, in turn, nodded to two
men working with the smaller sledgehammers. One of them
brought his sledgehammer down on the ground hard, then
loosened his grip so the tool cartwheeled away. The handle
grazed another man, who screamed, clutched at his shin, and
started hopping around madly, all the while swearing he was
going to kill the clumsy oaf who let go of the hammer. The
workers backed away from the careening hammer and the
two men, then started shouting encouragement to them in
hopes of goading thein into a fight.
Corran retreated along with the others, then stopped
when Urlor and a knot of three prisoners screened him from
the guards. He looked at the rock, gave it a kiss, then hauled
back and hurled it up toward the apex of the ceiling, thirty
meters away. Come on, come on!
Corran's theory had been simple. If the prison was ori-
ented upside-down, then gravity generators would be operat-
ing beneath his feet to keep him in place. The generators
were clearly strong enough at this surface to hold him to it,
but the farther he got from them, the weaker their grasp
would be. If, in fact, the cavern's ceiling was actually closer
to the core of the planet than where he stood, the planer's
natural gravity would be strong there.
If that were true, if his theory was correct, the rock
would hit and hold.
Down on his level the guards began shooting into the
crowd. Stunned prisoners began to collapse in waves.
Up above, the stone clipped a stalactite. Deflected, it
continued to travel upward, but now at an angle. As Corran
watched, the stone seemed to slow and begin to stall.
All around him blue stun-bolts dropped prisoners. Two
of the men screening him went down. Then Urlor twitched
and fell to the ground. Down to the ground. The stone fell up!
The stone rattled up in between two stalactites and nes-
tled there safely. As it settled into place, two tiny points on it
twinkled, and Corran imagined it was Emtrey's head and
he'd just gotten confirmation of his theory from the droid. I
was right! There is a way to escape!
The stun-boWs blue agony played over Corran. Once
again every nerve in his body fired, every muscle tightened,
and every joint creaked. Wracked by pain, he collapsed with
the others and rolled onto his back. The world swam in and
out of focus and he knew, this time, he was going to black