“Very,” Watchman assured him, stepping to a desk at one side of the landing and picking up a knife-blade-shaped data card. “All it takes is the key.”
“Go,” Twister told him, turning the muzzle of his BlasTech toward the door they’d entered through. “We’ll watch for trouble here.”
With the key in hand, the release did indeed go quickly. But as the imprisoned Eickaries began to emerge, blinking, into the brighter light of the cavern, Twister could sense that something was wrong. Many of them, not surprisingly, cringed back at the sight of Watchman’s armor as he opened their doors, staring with the same fascinated suspicion at the other three stormtroopers grouped together on the landing. More baffling was the fact that they seemed to be avoiding not only their fellow prisoners but Su-mil and his soldiers as well.
It was Shadow who caught on first. “They’re all from different tribes,” he murmured.
“And they were captured before the United Tribes Agreements were put together,” Twister said, a sour taste in his mouth as he understood. “Which means they’re still fighting their petty little tribal disputes.”
He thought he’d been speaking quietly. Apparently, not quietly enough. “Our disputes are not petty,” Ha-ran insisted, glowering up at the stormtroopers from his position at the foot of the stairs.
Twister frowned down at him. After his loud complaints in the tailor shop, the older Eickarie hadn’t said a word during the trip through the tunnel. As Twister thought about it, though, he realized that, silent or not, Ha-ran had always been close at hand, hovering at Su-mil’s elbow.
He was just wondering what that might mean when Ha-ran started up the steps, his gait suddenly stiff. “Move away,” he ordered the stormtroopers, gesturing them back. “Su-mil?”
Su-mil was instantly at his side, taking his arm and assisting him up the steps. “Was he hit?” Shadow asked quietly.
“I didn’t think so,” Twister said, looking Ha-ran up and down. There certainly weren’t any bloodstains or scorch marks on his clothing.
“He is merely old,” Su-mil said, gesturing the stormtroopers back as he and Ha-ran reached the landing. “Older than you realize. Move back, please. Prince Ha-ran wishes to address the prisoners.”
Twister felt his jaw drop. “Prince Ha-ran?”
Ha-ran ignored him, turning instead to face the mass of Eickaries below. “Ha-ran mish-ra hee-sae sha-kae drof-si-shae-ral,” he called, holding a hand out over the crowd.
Twister frowned in concentration. Aurek Company had gotten a two-day crash course in the main Eickarie trade language on the trip here, which had so far served him fairly well in his limited contacts with the natives. Unfortunately, Ha-ran was going way too fast for him to keep up.
Apparently, the others weren’t doing any better. “Where’s a protocol droid when you need one?” Cloud muttered as Ha-ran continued speaking.
“He said, ‘I am Ha-ran of the Family Mish-ra, Clan Sha-kae, prince of the Tribe Si-shae-ral,’ ” Su-mil said softly from beside them. “ ‘I am here to speak of the present and of the future.’ ”
Cloud stirred. “Twister, we don’t have time for speeches.”
“Quiet,” Twister ordered, gazing at Ha-ran with new eyes. Eickarie princes rarely went into combat, and never without fifty thousand soldiers along for the ride. This was definitely one for the record lists. “Go on, Su-mil.”
“ ‘The present is that we are in our final battle against our oppressors,’ ” Su-mil continued, translating, as Ha-ran’s proud voice echoed from the dingy stone. “ ‘But unless you embrace the new future that we the United Tribes of Kariek have forged, we will be no better off than we were before they came.’ ”
“I don’t get it,” Shadow murmured. “Why do we even care what a bunch of shaggy prisoners think? Shouldn’t they be grateful enough at being sprung that they’ll do what they’re told?”
“You do not understand,” Su-mil said, his orange patches going a dark yellow. “These are not ordinary criminals or even ordinary opponents to the Warlord’s tyranny. Many of these Eickaries are nobles and elders, taken as hostages to ensure the good behavior of their tribes.”
“It didn’t work very well, did it?” Watchman put in. “Hostages or not, pretty much the whole planet signed on to the United Tribes Agreements.”
“The Warlord might still choose to execute them, or use them as living shields to ensure his own escape,” Su-mil pointed out. “That was the reason we feared your unexpected attack, and why I insisted they be freed before the Warlord was routed from his inner sanctum.”
“I understand,” Twister said. “You couldn’t just let them be slaughtered; but you also couldn’t afford to let them come out and try to pick up their lives where they left off. If they did, you might slip right back into the old cycle of endless tribal warfare.”
Su-mil looked closely at him. “That is indeed the danger,” he confirmed. “You are more perceptive than I had realized.”
“And you in turn are rather deeper than I realized,” Twister returned. “Let me guess: none of these prisoners is from your own tribe?”
“That is correct,” Su-mil said. “The most important are from Ha-ran’s tribe and its allies, which is why he volunteered to come with us tonight. Of all those who might have spoken to them of peace, he has the greatest chance of convincing them.”
“How’s it working?” Shadow asked.
Su-mil gazed down at the crowd. “Not well, I fear,” he conceded. “Those of the Tribe Si-shae-ral are listening closely, but many of the others seem impatient and closed-minded. They may believe it to be a deception.”
“In the meantime we have a job of our own to do,” Cloud said grimly. “And I don’t think we can afford to hang around here any longer.”
Twister nodded reluctant agreement. From the running dialogue of orders and reports streaming through his headset, it sounded like the rest of Aurek Company was in an uphill battle back in the two main tunnels. “He’s right, Su-mil,” he said. “We’ll have to leave you to sort things out on your own.”
He was starting to turn away when a sudden thought struck him. “Unless,” he went on, “you’d like to invite them to come along and see what can be accomplished by people who don’t fight among themselves.”
Su-mil’s highlights went to a shade of green only slightly lighter than the rest of his face, the Eickarie version of a frown. “You refer to the soldiers of your Empire of the Hand?”
“Of course,” Watchman said, catching on. “We’ll show them how we work together to defeat the Lakra who subjugated them.”
“And maybe even capture the Warlord along with it,” Shadow added.
Su-mil’s highlights warmed from green to pink in a tight smile. “They might indeed find that instructive,” he agreed. “Perhaps Ha-ran should invite his tribesmen to assist, as well.”
“Why not?” Twister agreed casually. “I’m sure they’d enjoy watching history in the making as the Hu-shi-crive and Si-shae-ral tribes overthrow the Warlord.”
“I will suggest it.” His highlights fading back to orange, Su-mil turned and began speaking quietly to Ha-ran.
Twister gestured to Watchman and Shadow. “There has to be an armory around here somewhere for the guards,” he said. “Go find it.”
The others nodded acknowledgment and left. “This had better not take long,” Cloud warned, his hands fingering his BlasTech restlessly.
“Understood,” Twister said, gazing out on the crowd and trying to gauge their reaction to Ha-ran’s new suggestion. “But if this works, I think it’ll be worth the wait.”
It worked, all right, and faster than Twister had expected. Faced with the possibility that some other tribes would grab more than their share of the glory, the newly freed prisoners barely let Ha-ran finish his comments before they were clamoring to be allowed to assist. At Twister’s suggestion, the prince split the new fighting force into three groups, with each group lining up along traditional tribal alliances as much as po
ssible. By the time the squads were ready, Watchman and Shadow had the guards’ armory open.
Five minutes later, they were ready. Two of the groups, under Shadow’s and Cloud’s command and bolstered by some of Su-mil’s soldiers, headed toward the two tunnel exits where Aurek Company was still trying to break through the Lakran resistance. The third group, including Twister, Watchman, and the rest of Su-mil’s force, headed inward toward the Warlord’s central stronghold.
“I do not trust the apparent safety,” Su-mil commented as the group slipped through the empty corridors. “Surely they must expect an attack in this direction.”
“That depends on whether anyone’s figured out yet how we got in,” Twister told him, keeping a sharp eye out for trouble. “Remember, the first report from the two squads that had us pincered would have indicated the attack had come from a secret way in through one of the known tunnels.”
“And since the first report was also the last,” Watchman added, “we’ve got a fair chance of getting pretty far in before they figure out what’s happening.”
“But surely they will not assume that the attackers at those tunnels will not break through,” Su-mil objected. “Surely they will be prepared for more fighting.”
“Oh, they will,” Watchman said, suddenly putting up a hand. “And I’d say they’re prepared for it right about here.”
Twister peered into the gloom as the group came to a halt. Three meters ahead, the corridor they were traveling along opened up into a large, high-ceilinged room whose stone walls were decorated with colorful flags and imprint shields. Probably those of the last tribe to own the fortress, Twister guessed, before the Warlord had come in and booted them out. There were several long and heavy-looking wooden tables laid out throughout the room, with equally heavy wooden chairs surrounding them. In the wall directly across from their corridor was a large metal door.
“It is the storm banquet chamber,” Su-mil identified it, keeping his voice low. “A place for feasting in comfort and safety when the spring storms endanger the towers.”
Twister nodded. According to the floor plans the Eickarie leaders had drawn for them, the fortress’s inner stronghold was a round room completely surrounded by a larger circular area that was broken up into four segments. From the curve of the wall he could see from where they stood, it looked like this storm banquet chamber was one of those four circular segments. “We’re almost there,” he said. “Booby-trapped?”
“Not too seriously,” Watchman said, his helmet moving back and forth as he examined the room. “There’s a scent of explosives: grenades under some of the tables or chairs.”
“Command frequencies?” Twister asked.
“Nope,” Watchman said regretfully. “No carriers, either, so I’m guessing they’re not remotes. Probably fused with proximity triggers.”
“Too bad,” Twister said. With remotes, the Imperials could often find and lock down the control frequencies, rendering such devices useless. There wasn’t much they could do with proximity fuses except identify and locate them. “I guess they’re learning. What else?”
“Two sniper hollows, one on each side of the door behind those long banners, with one Lakra hiding in each,” Watchman said. “The door itself is running enough current to kill a bantha, and the Warlord probably has fifty Lakra inside the stronghold with him. Aside from that, it seems pretty clear.”
Beside Twister, Su-mil stirred. “Do we simply stand here?” he demanded.
“Patience,” Twister advised, frowning across the room at the electrified metal door. There was something about this whole thing that didn’t feel quite right. “He’s trying to locate the grenades.”
One of the released prisoners growled something. “He says that is not possible,” Su-mil translated.
“Tell him he’d be amazed at what’s possible for the Empire of the Hand,” Twister said, still studying the door.
Su-mil turned to the other Eickarie, murmuring in their trade language, and Watchman stirred. “All right,” he said. “There are grenades beneath those chairs”—he pointed at two of the ones closest to them—“that end of that table”—he indicated one of the tables to the right—“and those chairs there and there,” he finished, pointing to two chairs on opposite sides of the hidden sniper hollows. “Those last two are probably there to blast anyone trying to sneak up on the snipers from the side. There are a few more, but they’re off to the sides, away from our optimal attack vectors.”
“Okay,” Twister said, running his eyes across the blast points and working out a sequence. The sniper and underchair grenade combination was a trick they’d seen the Lakra use before: if an attacker came in high, the sniper would get him; if he came in low to avoid the sniper, he was right in position to take the full brunt of the grenade blast. “We’ll send the Eickaries back a ways down the corridor and blow the two closest grenades. The blasts should give us enough cover to move in toward the door, avoiding the booby-trapped table. Once we’re in front of the door, we’ll use whipcords to grab the two chairs on the sides, pull them in front of the sniper hollows, and detonate their grenades. That should either take the snipers out of the game completely or at least slow them down long enough for us to get the door open.”
“Sounds good,” Watchman said, shifting his BlasTech to one hand and getting his whipcord thrower ready. “Su-mil, get them back.”
Su-mil gave a brief order over his shoulder, and the rest of Eickaries backed up a few steps. “How do we detonate the grenades?” he asked, making no move to join the rest of his people. “It will not be easy to shoot through those chairs.”
“Just watch,” Twister said, wondering if he should insist Su-mil go back with the others. But the young Eickarie would probably refuse, and they didn’t have time to argue. “Watchman?”
“Ready,” the other said.
“Go.”
With a faint hiss of compressed air, Watchman’s whipcord snapped outward toward one of the two booby-trapped chairs. The grapple on the end caught the backrest just above the seat, and with a flick of his wrist Watchman pulled backward. The chair tipped sideways toward him and toppled onto the floor, putting the heavy wooden seat squarely between the stormtroopers and the hidden grenade.
As the room echoed with the thud, Twister lobbed a concussion grenade over the edge of the seat into the path of the other grenade’s proximity sensor.
The double blast was deafening, or at least it would have been without the sonic cutoff protection of their helmets. The physical effect on the room was equally spectacular, the force of the blast rocking everything in its path and sending clouds of splinters and dust into the air. The sound of the blast had barely faded away before Watchman disengaged the grapple and fired the whipcord into the second of the nearest rigged chairs. Another yank, another toppled chair, and a second blast and cloud of debris joined the first.
Half a heartbeat later the two stormtroopers were on the move, cutting across the room at a sharp angle to avoid the booby-trapped table, then cutting back and braking to a halt directly in front of the electrified door. Twister had his whipcord thrower out, fumbling his BlasTech slightly as he tried to handle both devices at once.
“Pull the chair over,” Su-mil’s voice shouted in his ear. “I will detonate it.”
Twister blinked in surprise. Su-mil had followed right behind them and was crouched between the two stormtroopers, his own weapon held ready. “Right,” he shouted back, setting down his BlasTech and firing his whipcord. The grapple caught, and with both hands free it was a simple job to pull it over and drag it to just in front of the hidden sniper hollow. “Go!”
Su-mil fired, and Twister winced slightly as the edge of the explosion slammed into him, threatening to knock him off his feet. He glanced into his rear display, confirming that his armored body had shielded Su-mil, just as another blast rocked him from the other direction. “Clear,” Watchman called. “Cover me, and I’ll start on the door.”
“Right,” Twister
said, scooping up his BlasTech again. The grenade’s explosion had ripped the concealing banner from the wall, revealing a concave metal door with narrow viewing and firing slits in it. Nothing seemed to be stirring within; apparently the grenade had punched enough stuff through the openings to knock the sniper inside at least temporarily out of commission.
They hadn’t been so lucky with the other sniper, though. Twister turned to see a heavy blaster poke its nose through the lower slit, swiveling toward the intruders by the door. “Get behind me!” he snapped to Su-mil, swinging up his own weapon and firing a burst across the viewing slit.
There was no effect. The blaster continued to track toward them—
And then, suddenly, a withering hail of fire erupted from the corridor. The Eickaries whom Su-mil had sent down the corridor for safety were on the move, targeting the Lakran sniper as they charged across the room.
The Lakran sniper reacted to the new threat exactly the way Twister would have expected a trained soldier to. Abandoning his attack on the stormtroopers, he shifted his aim to the advancing Eickaries, and several of them toppled over with grunts or shrieks of pain as his blaster began to take its toll.
But there were too many of them, and the Lakra had too little time. Even as Twister added his BlasTech’s firepower to theirs, three of the former prisoners made it all the way across the shooting gallery. With their backs pressed against the wall to either side, they jammed the muzzles of their weapons into the slits and fired half a dozen bursts each. There was a single dying stutter from the sniper’s weapon, and then the muzzle abruptly tipped upward and slipped back inside.
“Sha-mees craa shes-ayi,” Su-mil called. “I have praised their valor in your name,” he added to Twister. “I trust that is acceptable.”
“Absolutely,” Twister assured him as another pair of Eickaries ran to the quiet sniper hollow, firing a few volleys into the slits to make sure it stayed quiet. “Add our thanks for the timely assist, and then tell them to spread out and stand guard while we get this door open.”