Crisis at Crystal Reef

19

Czethros was on the run. He could see no way out of his situation.

If he managed to escape Kessel and elude the young Jedi Knights and Nien Nunb’s security team, he might be even worse off … because then he would have to explain this failure to his brutal superiors in Black Sun. Czethros was certain those people could think of much more imaginative punishments than any New Republic justice organization could. Even his old nemesis, Han Solo, would probably be more kind.

With the signal generator destroyed, Czethros had no way to rally his scattered forces around the galaxy. The few operatives he had planted in appropriate positions of power controlled key systems—but unless everything happened simultaneously at Czethros’s command, it would all come to naught. The few isolated emergencies would easily be dealt with by the New Republic.

His chance had now been lost. Even his grasp on the spice mines of Kessel had slipped. Instead of orchestrating the sudden overthrow of industries and minor governments across what remained of the Empire, Czethros found himself running for his life. Hiding in the dark mines. Humiliated.

The tide had turned. Nien Nunb and his security troops controlled the catacombs. Second Administrator Kymn and the other infiltrators Czethros had planted here had either been captured or otherwise neutralized.

Perhaps if he could get to a docking bay, he could steal a ship and get away. Perhaps Czethros could make a new life for himself, hiding somewhere in the Outer Rim. He didn’t seem to have much of a chance, but it was better than waiting here. And it was better than letting himself get caught by Black Sun.

As silently as possible, he crawled up ladders, rung by rung. He wasn’t used to such physical exertion. During all the many years he had been running the show on Ord Mantell, he hadn’t had to fend for himself much. He’d always had droids or henchmen.

But now Czethros was alone. He knew he could trust no one.

Furtively, he consulted one of the electronic wall maps of the spice mines. The projection grids were frequently out of date, since new shafts were always being drilled and new excavations dug. But the main docking bays were permanent structures, and so most of the directions remained valid.

Czethros followed narrow ventilation shafts. He felt uneasy, as if he were a poisonous insect creeping into a peaceful home, but he had to get to an empty ship and escape somehow.

When he emerged into the main cargo bay, he poked his head out of the shadows to make certain he could move without being seen. There among the stranded empty spaceships he spotted a little man moving about, tinkering with the engines on his craft. Czethros recognized him as the hapless and not terribly bright smuggler, Lilmit.

The small man used his webbed fingers to fiddle with the external flow controls, and the sublight engines sent out a bright blast. Then the repulsors made a rewarding and satisfying hum. Lilmit jumped up and down with glee.

Czethros’s heart swelled with hope. This was what he needed to see. He marched forward, squaring his shoulders to look as intimidating as possible. Lilmit was his employee, someone he could easily manipulate.

Czethros crossed the docking bay floor. Lilmit didn’t even notice him until the Black Sun lieutenant was nearly at his side. “Keep those engines running, Lilmit,” he said. “You and I are going to get out of here—right now.”

The small smuggler squawked. “Czethros! I was just leaving! What happened to your takeover?”

“There’s been a change. Nien Nunb has regained control—and you are going to help me escape.”

“But then they’ll chase after my ship. I have only minimal weapons and—”

“I’m offering you a great honor, Lilmit. Don’t let me down.”

Just then, shouts erupted from the far side of the docking bay. Han Solo’s brat Jaina, the Wookiee Lowbacca, the meddling Chief Administrator Nien Nunb, and some troops from the Kessel guard forces surged into the docking bay.

“There now. You see?” Em Teedee chirped. “I tracked his voice via the station audio system! Didn’t I tell you he would be here?”

“Czethros, halt!” one of the guard captains shouted.

Nien Nunb chattered something loud and harsh in Sullustan. Jaina and Lowie powered up their lightsabers.

Lilmit squealed in terror and scrambled up the boarding ramp of his ship faster than Czethros had ever seen a panicked rodent move. The Black Sun lieutenant turned, knowing that Lilmit now had no choice but to get them out of there.

But as he moved toward the hatch, hydraulics roared and the heavy door slammed shut in his face. With a hissing sound, the pressure seal engaged. Lights winked on, indicating that access was no longer possible.

With a roar of rage, Czethros pounded on the outer door. “Lilmit, let me in!” He heard only a distant squeak of terror. The Kessel guards rushed forward, and Czethros knew he could not stand and argue with the treacherous little coward.

Spotting an open turbolift to one side of the docking bay, he ran at full speed. He was closer to it than his pursuers.

Some of the guards fired blaster bolts, only a few of them set on “stun.” He dodged. Sparking bolts ricocheted off the insulated walls. Czethros dove headfirst into the turbolift and activated it.

The guards ran toward him, howling with frustration at losing him again. The door hissed shut. Czethros felt the floor drop out from under him as he plunged down, down into the deepest mines.

“Where does that turbolift go?” Jaina shouted, her face flushed from the exertion of the chase.

The Sullustan administrator jabbered an answer, and Em Teedee politely translated. “Master Nien Nunb says that turbolift is a direct link to the new andris spice processing facility. He calls it an ‘express tube.’ It would appear that Czethros is heading directly down to the new assembly lines and carbonite chambers.”

“How do we catch up with him?” Jaina cried.

The Sullustan chittered, and Em Teedee said, “Because of the recent addition of the carbonite-freezing facilities for the andris spice, Master Nien Nunb had a second, freight-only turbolift installed to handle the increased load.”

Lowie roared and pointed to an adjacent turbolift. The mousy administrator nodded.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Jaina was already rushing toward the open doors.

Crowded with Nien Nunb, Lowbacca, Jaina, Em Teedee, and several guards, the turbolift plummeted. Since this lift was designed primarily for hauling cargo at high speed, the passengers were forced to hang on for dear life. Fortunately, the group was so tightly packed that there was little room for jostling about.

As soon as the doors whisked open again, a blaster bolt streaked into the turbolift. Jaina and Lowie ducked. A guard cried out as a scorching bolt singed the shoulder of his uniform.

Jaina and Lowie dove out and rolled as they hit the floor. Keeping low, they crept around the equipment in the assembly line. They could see the polished black legs of the blind beetles that worked there. The sharp insectoid limbs were suddenly thrown into a frenzy as the unexpected violence disrupted their daily work.

Czethros blasted one of the beetles. Its shell split open, and it fell dead beside one of the open vats of raw carbonite, clacking its jaws. Steaming green ooze poured from the smoking wound. Another wild bolt shattered vials of andris on the conveyor belt line, and the machinery groaned to a halt. Sparks and smoke filled the air. The Kessel guards took up defensive positions, laying siege to the lone fugitive.

“Czethros, you can’t get away now. Give yourself up,” Jaina said. Lowie roared, adding his encouragement.

Czethros did not surrender. Instead, more blaster fire rang out from where he had hidden himself between the bubbling vats of carbonite and their monitoring systems.

“Dear me! It would appear that he doesn’t wish to be taken alive,” Em Teedee said.

“I’d rather not kill him,” Jaina said. “I’m hoping the New Republic’ll find him a nice comfortable prison cell off on an asteroid somewhere. But first we have to capture him.” She raised her voice. “We know all about your plan, Czethros! You can’t send your signal. Black Sun has failed. It’s over.”

“Maybe,” Czethros bellowed back. “But we’ve still got a thousand traitors in a thousand important positions throughout the New Republic. You’ll never figure out who they are. Someone else will pick up the plan.”

Jaina wondered if he wanted to bargain with them, but she didn’t have that kind of authority, nor did anyone here. They would just have to capture him and let the New Republic deal with his crimes. “That’s possible,” she said, “but right now the entire plan is useless without your coordination. We’ll ferret your people out sooner or later.”

One of the guards shouted, “Why don’t you surrender, Czethros? It’s the only way you’ll come out alive.”

“Black Sun will kill me no matter what prison you choose. I don’t have a chance anyway.”

“But we could try to protect you,” the guard argued. Lowbacca roared, urging Czethros to come out.

“All right then. I’ll surrender.” Czethros’s answer came too easily; Jaina sensed a subtle devious intent in his voice. “I’m holding out my weapon. I’m coming out. Don’t shoot.”

Czethros slowly eased from his sheltered position between equipment, moving around boxlike storage alcoves, cabinets, and engine housings. He held his blaster in front of him, carefully pointing it away from all the others. They watched uneasily as he crept forward, edging along the side of the carbonite vat where the dead beetle he had gunned down still sprawled.

His face looked cloudy, uncertain, just the way a prisoner’s should. The moment the majority of the guards had lowered their weapons by the merest fraction, Czethros rolled, swung up his blaster rifle, and stepped sideways, screaming, “You won’t take me alive!”

But as he let fly a full-power blast from the rifle, his foot came down in a pool of slick, oozing green blood from the beetle he had killed. He slipped and stumbled over the carcass. With a loud cry, his blaster rifle firing harmlessly toward the ceiling, Czethros lurched backward—and fell into the open vat. The carbonite enveloped him in its fog of absolute, penetrating cold.

Tendrils of white vapor whirled up as the carbonite made quick work of the Black Sun lieutenant.

In an instant, Czethros was frozen solid … perfectly preserved by the frothing liquid.

Grumbling, Lowie crept forward to stand carefully at the edge of the vat. Guards stood in shock. Nien Nunb chattered under his breath, not sure what to do.

Lowie looked down into the swirling, metallic-gray currents and mumbled something. He felt the unrelenting cold waft up to freeze the fur on his face.

Jaina agreed. “You’re right, Lowie. This is one way to capture him.”