straightening up. less-than
The guard already had his knife out, a nasty-looking serrated weapon with
a handguard consisting of a series of thick, needle-sharp spikes alternatively
curving up and down from the base of the blade. "I mean we unpack it out here,
" he said, digging the blade in beneath the lid. "Never can tell what someone
might try to slip inside the packaging, you know."
Mara flicked a glance over his shoulder at the second guard, a sense of
things gone suddenly and terribly wrong rippling through her. Nestled in its
hiding place between the inner and outer shells of the cylinder, she would
have bet heavily that her lightsaber could slip through any standard weapons
scan Praysh's guards might have put the package through. But unpacking it
outside the fortress was not a possibility she'd expected. "But what if you
break it?" she asked anxiously.
"Don't worry-we do this all the time," the guard assured her.
"Have'sishi, I thought I told you scavengers you were supposed to stay behind
the mark line."
[Your pardon,] the Togorian said, her tone almost groveling. [I saw the
shiny metal-were'
"And hoped you could get first grabs, huh?" The guard finished slicing
off the top and peeled away the first plate of packing foam. "Here you go,
scavengers," he called loudly, hurling the lid and the foam down the street.
Abruptly, the gathered loiterers exploded into action, diving toward the
flying pieces as if they were prize jewels instead of unwanted garbage. The
guard continued digging down, throwing more foam plates into the melee, until
he reached the floater globe at the center. "There it is," he said, reaching
in and carefully pulling out the globe. "Nice. Okay," he added, handing the
globe to Mara. "Now you can go in."
Mara swallowed, glancing down at the cylinder as the guard continued to
unload the packaging from the bottom and throw out the pieces. She looked up-
To find Have'sishi's yellow eyes steady on her. Mara felt her lip twitch;
and then, to her surprise, the alien bared her teeth slightly, as if she'd
found a hint she'd been searching for. There was a movement from the side, and
Mara looked back just as the guard hefted the cylinder itself over his head
and hurled it toward the seething, quarreling crowd.
A dozen of the derelicts abandoned their fight for the foam scraps and
charged toward the spot where it would land. But Have'sishi was faster. With a
single leap she got under the cylinder, snatching it into her arms and hissing
a warning at the two or three who tried to grab it away. Another hiss, and the
crowd reluctantly fell back.
"I guess she really did want the shiny metal," the guard said with a
sneer. "Okay, human, let's go."
Despite the fortress's sleek and modern exterior, the interior was dark
and decidedly dank, its twisting and rough-floored corridors clearly modeled
on the hiding tunnels much prized by Drach'nam on their homeworld. Mara didn't
bother to keep track of the route as her five-guard escort took her ever
deeper into the fortress, concentrating instead on evaluating Praysh's overall
defense structure and gradually increasing the level of nervousness she was
displaying in her body language and infrequent attempts at conversation. Her
lightsaber was going to be severely missed, but even if she'd been able to
smuggle the weapon inside, she'd already concluded that the best hope of
getting out would be in Sansia's impounded ship. Fighting their way back along
the tunnels and out into the grounds was not an option she was interested in
trying.
Still, that lightsaber had been Luke's once, and he was going to kill her
if she lost it. Hopefully, when this was all over, she'd be able to track
Have'sishi down and buy it back from her.
They reached Praysh's audience chamber at last, a large, high-ceilinged
room that by its gloom, smells, and general repulsiveness brought back
unpleasant memories of Jabba the Hutt's throne room on Tatooine. His First
Greatness obviously lacked Jabba's egalitarian sensibilities, though; the only
beings in the room were more of Praysh's fellow Drach'nam.
"Well, well," Praysh called, swiveling his throne around to face the
incoming group. "What have we here? A present from the Mrahash ofKvabja, is
it?"
"Yes, Your First Greatness," Mara said, putting a nervous quaver into her
tone as she glanced surreptitiously around. There was a pair of camouflaged
blaster ports in the false wall behind Praysh's throne, but other than that
the only defenses were the handful of guards standing between her and the
slaver chief. Unlike the door wardens, this group carried no blasters, but
were armed only with the same type of long knives and neuronic whips. Probably
the intent was to keep the more dangerous weapons away from rioting prisoners
or slaves; still, it was an overconfidence she might well be able to exploit.
"He sends you greetings and-was
"Take that bauble, someone," Praysh cut her off, waving a gem-encrusted
scepter toward her. "You-human- - step forward."
One of the guards took the floater globe and nudged her forward.
Stretching out with all her senses, Mara walked toward the throne. Somewhere
along here there would undoubtedly be a test to make sure she was nothing more
than the useless slave she appeared....
She'd gone no more than three steps when it came. Abruptly, one of the
guards ahead pulled his whip from his side andwitha casual flick of his wrist
sent the lash snaking toward her.
Mara gasped and threw her hands uselessly in front of her face, forcing
back the reflex to dodge or duck or do something-anything-that would be more
effective.
To her relief, the lash cracked a few centimeters short of her face.
"Your First Greatness," she gasped, taking a quick and unsteady step backward.
"Please, sir-whichat have I done?"
The only answer was the sound of another whip from behind her. She half
turned-
And suddenly the lash curled itself around her knees and a wave of pain
surged through her body.
Mara screamed, an explosive sound that was only partially role-playing,
as she toppled onto the floor, the whip's current arcing agonizingly through
her body. She clawed once at the lash, screaming again as the current burned
at her fingertips. "Please-noto-please-was..."
"Here-defend yourself," a voice called out, and she looked up as a small
blaster landed on the floor beside her legs.
She grabbed at the weapon, forcing her fingers to fumble as if dealing
with a totally unfamiliar object, clenching her teeth against the waves of
pain as every part of her being screamed at her to do something. The blaster
was undoubtedly useless, just another part of Praysh's sadistic test, but if
she swiveled on one hip, swinging her legs hard around, she might at least be
able to yank the whip out of her attacker's hand.
But if she did that-if she showed any sign of combat skill whatsoever-she
would probably die.
And then so would the Wild Karrde's crew.
She got a grip on the
blaster at last, bending awkwardly around to try to
bring the weapon to bear on her assailant. The muzzle wavered uncontrollably,
and she tried to prop her elbow on the floor to steady it, sobbing now like a
child. The blaster sagged and dropped from her paralyzed fingers-
And abruptly, thankfully, the current shut off.
Mara lay there, unmoving, still sobbing through clenched teeth as she
worked out the sudden cramps in her leg muscles. If she'd misjudged Praysh's
intentions- - if he'd decided to kill her for sport instead of putting her
down in the slime pits...
"That was an object lesson," Praysh said conversationally. There was a
movement beside her, and rough fingers began unwrapping the lash from around
her legs. "Now that you've seen what a neuronic whip feels like, I'm sure you
won't ever want to provoke its use again."
"No-please-noto," Mara managed, the words coming out mangled through her
gasping sobs. A pair of hands grabbed her upper arms and hauled her up onto
her feet. She took a second to confirm that her legs were recovered enough to
hold her weight, then let her knees wobble and collapse again beneath her. The
two Drach' nam pulled her up again and turned her to face Praysh. "Please-was
she whispered.
"You belong to me now," Praysh said quietly, his colorless eyes staring
at her. "Your safety-your well-being- - your life-are all in my hand. If you
serve well, you will survive. If not, there will be neuronic whips around you
for the remainder of a short and excruciatingly painful life. Do I make myself
clear?"
Mara nodded quickly, dropping her gaze and hunching her shoulders, the
helpless terror of a beaten animal. "Good," Praysh said, waving off-handedly
toward a different door leading out of the chamber. The show was over, and
already he was bored with the performer. "Take her to the slavekeeper," he
ordered. "Enjoy your new life here, human."
Halfway down a long flight of stairs her escorting guards apparently
decided they'd had enough of carrying her and cut her loose to walk on her
own. Aside from a lingering tingle in her muscles Mara had completely
recovered, but she was careful to maintain a weak-kneed stagger for their
benefit the rest of the way down. Neuronic whips were the ultimate
glorification of savagery and degradation, just the sort of thing Praysh's
thugs would use as their primary persuader, and she had no intention of
letting them know how fast she could recover from their effects.
The slime pits were in the lowest level of the fortress, composed of a
series of interconnected trenches about two meters wide and a hundred meters
long set into the fl oor. On the walkways between them strolled the Drach'nam
guards, idly fingering their whips or playing with the hilts of their knives.
Perhaps two hundred women, most of them young looking, slogged slowly through
the waist-deep gray muck in the pits, bent over double with their arms dug
into the slime, their faces bare centimeters above the surface. All those Mara
could see wore identical expressions of blank hopelessness that sent a shiver
through her.
"I'll explain it just once," the slavekeeper said, gesturing almost
genially toward the pits. "The nutrient slime in there is home to the pupal
form of the krizar creatures His First Greatness uses to patrol the grounds.
The pupae are hard-shelled and ellipsoid, about the size of one of your
pathetic little thumbs. Your job is to find the ones that are starting to
break out of their shells and put them up on the walkway where they'll be
retrieved and moved to the main hatchery."
"How do I know when they're ready-his"
"You'll know when they're ready when they start to wiggle and chew their
way out," the slavekeeper cut her off sharply. A couple of heads turned at the
sudden harsh tone; most of the women didn't even bother to look up. "And don't
try just pulling out every one you find. If the pupae are out too long before
they're ready, they'll die."
He waved his whip in front of her nose. "And dead pupae make us very
unhappy. Understood?"
Mara swallowed, forcing herself to shrink back from him. "Yes, sir," she
murmured.
"Good," the slavekeeper said, his tone back to genial again, a being who
clearly enjoyed his work. "Your head fur is an interesting shade of color. It
will be of no use to you in the pits; perhaps you would like to sell it to me.
"
"In exchange for what?" Mara asked cautiously.
"Favors. More food, perhaps, or other kindnesses."
Mara fought back a grimace. The thought of her hair hanging from a
slavekeeper's trophy wall was utterly abhorrent. But on the other hand, he
could probably take it without any payment at all if he chose. Hopefully, she
wouldn't be here long enough for him to get around to that. "Can I think about
it?" she asked timidly. his
you wish. Oh, one more thing. If you don't get the pupae out fast enough,
they'll start digging through the shells on their own. No problem with that;
except that their mouth palps are always the first things that come out. If
they get those into your skin, you'll need a trip to the med facility to get
it taken off."
"Oh," Mara said in a small voice. Now, that was very useful information.
"Does it hurt?"
He gave her one of those evil smiles that Drach'nam did so well. "No more
than the whip. Now get in there."
Mara looked down at her jumpsuit. "But-was
She didn't even get a chance to finish her protest. Putting a massive arm
around the back of her waist, the slavekeeper swept her off the walkway into
the nearest of the trenches.
She managed to hang on to her balance as she landed, keeping her head and
most of her torso up out of the slime. But the impact sent a wave of thick
muck splashing outward at the nearest workers. "Sorry," she apologized.
One of the women looked up at her, a dab of the slime oozing slowly down
her cheek. "Don't worry about it," she said in a voice that sounded more dead
than alive. "Don't worry about getting dirty, either. You'll never be clean
again."
A neuronic whip cracked warningly overhead. Mara shied back, but the
other woman didn't seem to notice or care as she dug into the slime again.
Stomach twisting with revulsion, Mara eased her arms into the muck and got to
work.
It took her three hours of nauseating, backbreaking sifting before her
search pattern finally paid off. "Your name Sansia?" she asked quietly as she
came up beside the woman whose holo Bardrin had showed her earlier.
The other woman looked up at her, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yes," she
acknowledged warily. "What about it?"
Mara glanced casually around. None of the Drach' nam were in earshot at
the moment. "A close relative of yours asked me to get you out of here."
She'd expected elation, or barely contained joy, or at least a certain
amount of surprise. But Sansia's reaction wasn't any of those. "Did he really?
" she said, her voice dark and scornful. "How v
ery kind of him."
Mara frowned. "You don't seem very pleased."
"Oh, I'm overjoyed," Sansia said sarcastically. "The joy is merely
tempered by a somewhat cynical disbelief. You're what, some kind of mercenary?
"
"Not exactly," Mara said. "Disbelief in what?"
"In Daddy dear's motivations," Sansia said, digging down into the slime.
"Let me guess. He told you about my terrible plight, and how important I am to
him and the business, and that he would do anything and give anything to get
me back. Once you were properly teary eyed, he turned up the heat and either
talked, maneuvered, or bribed you into charging here to my rescue. Right so
far?"
"Close enough," Mara said cautiously.
Sansia's hand came out of the slime holding one of the krizar pupae. She
glanced at both the long ends, then tossed it back in behind her. "But though
he desperately wanted his darling daughter back, he also made it clear-subtly,
of course-that he wanted the ship back even more. In fact, he probably gave
you all the access and command codes you'd need to get it flying whether I was
with you or not. Am I still right?"
Mara felt her throat tighten. "He said I needed to be able to fly the
ship if you were incapacitated during the escape."
Sansia snorted. "That sounds like him. Plausible straight to the top, but
phony as Imperial confidence. The fact is, there, that he doesn't care about
me one single bit. If he did, he wouldn't have sent me to Makksre on that half
daft run in the first place. He wants the Winning Gamble back, pure and