FOUR

In a leafy bower that supplied the only pool of shade in the prison yard, Yuuzhan Vong commander Malik Carr permitted himself to be fanned by two reptoid Chazrach whose coral seed implants bulged from their foreheads.

Exceedingly tall, and thinner than most of his peers, Carr wore a bone-white skirt and patterned headcloth, the tassels of which were braided into his long hair, forming a tail that reached his waist. His glory days as a warrior were evidenced by the tattoos and scarifications that adorned his face and torso, though the most recent of them revealed for all to see that he had once held a more lofty rank. Even so, the prison guards were unfailing in the deference they showed him, out of respect for his steadfast devotion to the warrior caste, and to Yun-Yammka, the god of war.

Moving briskly and in anger, Subaltern S’yito approached the bower and snapped his fists to the opposite shoulders in salute. “Commander, the prisoners are awakening.”

Carr looked over to the center of the yard, where Major Cracken, Captain Page, and some fifty other officers sat on their haunches, their hands secured behind them to wooden stakes that had been driven into the soft ground. Indeed, eyelids were fluttering; heads were nodding and swaying; lips were smacking in thirst. Selvaris’s suns were almost directly overhead, and heat rose from the glaring sand in shimmering waves. Sweat had plastered the prisoners’ soiled clothing to their scrawny bodies. It fell in fat drops from unshaved faces and matted fur.

Carr pushed himself upright and stepped into the unforgiving light, S’yito and a dozen warriors flanking him as he crossed the yard and stood with his hands on his hips in front of Cracken and Page. A priest joined him there, black head to toe with dried blood. Carr refrained from speaking until he was satisfied that the two prisoners were attentive and aware of their circumstance.

“I trust you enjoyed your naps,” he began. “But look how long you’ve slept.” He raised his face to the sky, pressing the inner edge of his right hand to his sloping forehead. “It is already midday.”

He clasped his hands behind him and paced in front of the prisoners. “As soon as our sentinel beetles alerted us to the fact that some of you were outside the walls, I ordered that sensislugs be placed in all dormitories. It is never an agreeable experience to awaken from their sleep-inducing exhalations. The headaches, the nausea, the irritated nasal membranes … But I take some comfort in assuming that each of you luxuriated in pleasant dreams.”

Stopping in front of bearded Page, he allowed some of his anger to show. “There will come a time when even your dreams won’t provide you with escape, and you will look back on your days here as blissful.”

On first learning of the predawn escape, Carr had nearly hung a tkun around his neck and prodded the living garrote to choke off his life. It was because of his failure at Fondor, more than three years earlier, that he had been demoted to the rank of commander and placed in charge of a prisoner-of-war camp at the remote edge of the invasion corridor. Worse, on distant Yuuzhan’tar, his former peers—Nas Choka, Eminence Harrar, Nom Anor—had been escalated and made members of Supreme Overlord Shimrra’s court.

The prospect of further indignity had filled Carr with such self-loathing that he wasn’t sure he could go on. Ultimately, however, he decided that if he was careful—and if he could keep Warmaster Nas Choka from hearing of the escape, or at the very least maintain that it was part of his plan to obtain information on local resistance groups—he might yet be released from the prison fate had fashioned for him.

Toward that end, he had been relieved to learn that the search parties he had dispatched had been partially successful. Two escapees had been killed, and a third had been captured. But a fourth had been whisked offworld by an enemy gunship.

Carr turned to S’yito. “Fetch the prisoner.”

S’yito and two other warriors saluted and rushed off to the front gate. When they returned a moment later, they were dragging behind them a near-naked Bith, who, from the look of him, had fallen victim to a lav peq web. It pleased Carr no end to see expressions of surprised dismay flare on the faces of Page, Cracken, and the rest—even when those expressions were quickly transformed to scowls of hatred for the warriors who dropped the captive unceremoniously onto his face in the sand.

Carr stood over the Bith, whose hairless cranium was scratched and bleeding, and whose arms and legs were shackled.

“This one,” Carr began, “along with three others who failed to survive …” Deliberately, he let his words trail off, if only to observe the effect of the lie on the assembled prisoners. “Well,” he started again, “it’s a pity, isn’t it? So much effort expended for so little gain. Still, I can’t help but be impressed. A well-engineered escape tunnel, carefully concealed flying machines … It’s almost enough to make me forget what cowards you were for allowing yourselves to be captured in the first place.”

He caught Page’s eye and returned the stocky captain’s glower. “You sicken me. You bring your spouses, your mates, your spawn with you into battle. You yield rather than fight to the last. You are crippled, yet you display no shame. You persist, but without clear purpose.” He gestured to the Bith. “At least this one showed that he still retains some shred of courage.”

Carr began to pace again. “But I admit to a certain curiosity. From what I know of the Bith species, he probably could have sustained himself in the jungle, subsisting on the natural foodstuffs I have permitted to be brought inside these walls. The question is, why would he choose to endanger the rest of you by his show of disobedience? It can only be that all of you conspired in his escape, perhaps to deliver a message of some import. Was such the case here?”

Carr waved his hand in dismissal. “We’ll return to that shortly. Beforehand, those who were truly responsible must be punished.” He looked hard at Cracken and Page, then swung to S’yito. “Subaltern, order your warriors to form two rows. The smaller in one row; the taller in the other.”

S’yito relayed the order in Yuuzhan Vong, and the warriors obeyed.

“Now,” Carr continued, “the smaller warriors will execute the larger.”

S’yito saluted, then nodded gravely to the warriors.

Those sentenced neither protested nor defended themselves as they were run through with coufees or struck with amphistaffs. One by one, they collapsed, their black blood draining into the sand. Tonguelike ngdins oozed from niches in the yorik coral walls to sop up what the porous ground didn’t absorb.

Carr waited for the creatures to finish their work before striding over to the Bith and lowering himself to one knee. “After the act of courage you displayed, it would pain me to condemn you to an artless death. Why not escalate yourself in the last moments of your life by telling me why you tried to escape? Don’t force me to extract the truth from you.”

“Go ahead, Clak’dor,” Pash Cracken said. “Tell them what you know!”

“He was following orders,” Page added, gazing at Carr. “If you want to punish someone, punish us.”

Carr almost grinned. “In due time, Captain. But I suspect that if you know what this one knows, you would have been the one to escape.” He walked back to the bower. From beneath the seat, he pulled out the tkun he had nearly draped over his own neck that morning. Carrying the thick-bodied biot to the Bith, he arranged it around the prisoner’s thin neck.

“This is a tkun,” he explained for the benefit of the captives. “Normally it is a docile creature. When provoked, however, it registers its displeasure by coiling itself around the object on which it rests. Allow me to demonstrate …”

Carr prodded the tkun with his sharp forefinger.

Page and the others cursed and struggled in vain against their bindings.

The Bith began to gasp for air.

Carr watched dispassionately. “Unfortunately, the tkun cannot be persuaded to relax its grip once it has begun to contract. It has to be killed.” Again he kneeled alongside the Bith. “Tell me why you were so desperate to leave this wonderful home we’ve provided for you. Recite the information you carry.”

The Bith cocked his head to the side and spat at Carr.

“Not unexpected,” Carr said, wiping his face. Again he prodded the tkun, which contracted its body. The Bith’s black eyes bulged; his wrinkled face and dome of a head turned color. “I will gladly kill the tkun, if you tell me what I wish to know.”

The Bith crawled forward, then flopped on the sand like a fish out of water.

Carr poked the tkun a third time.

A rasp issued from the Bith’s throat; then he began to recite a formulaic series of numbers. Interested suddenly, Carr bent down to place his ear next to the Bith’s lips. He glanced up at the priest. “What is this?”

“A calculation of some sort. A mathematical equation, perhaps.”

“There it is,” Page shouted. “He told you. Now kill that blasted thing before it’s too late!”

Carr firmed his scarred lips. “Yes, he’s telling me something—but what?”

The Bith repeated the formula.

“Is it a code?” Carr asked him. “Listen to your commanders. You’ve already been a hero. You’ve no further need to prove your dedication.”

All color drained from the Bith’s head, and a prolonged rattle escaped his puckered mouth.

Carr shook his head back and forth, as if in sadness. He drew a coufee from the belt that cinched his skirt and plunged it into the tkun, which straightened briefly, then died. Standing up, he looked directly at Page. “Your comrade appears to have taken your secret to his grave.”

Page had murder in his eye, but Carr only shrugged and turned to S’yito.

“Escort the prisoners to the immolation pit where we incinerated their infernal machines. Fill it to the top, and make certain that they remain inside until midday tomorrow. We’ll let Selvaris’s suns sort out which of them are worthy of continued life.”

A brigade of guards hurried into the yard. Carr waited in the shade for the prisoners to be hoisted to their feet. Then he followed the procession through the prison gate to the pit where the dozens of droids had been slagged.

“Subaltern, it’s obvious that our captives had help engineering the escape,” Carr said. “Take a complement of warriors and execute everyone in the surrounding villages.”

S’yito saluted and trotted back through the bone gate.

Captain Page insisted on being the first to walk the wooden plank that extended out over the deep hole.

“A moment, Captain,” Carr said, from the edge of the pit. “I offer you a final chance to pass this night on a bed of leaves rather than atop the skeletons of your droids.”

Page snorted. “I’d sooner die.”

Carr nodded pensively. “You’ll die soon enough in any case.”

Without another word Page dropped into darkness. Carr turned away from the pit and set out for his grashal.

A code, he told himself.

He was certain of that much. But, deciphered, what information would it reveal? He gazed at the blinding sky, wondering where the rescue ship was bound.