31

It’s too easy. Though everything was going absolutely according to his plan, Corran Horn felt some unmitigated disaster was lurking ahead of him. The Imps who hung out near the mouth of the cavern hadn’t bothered to make comments as he and Urlor headed off down the dark corridor toward the latrines. They walked close together, letting the infrared images of their bodies merge into one, creating a single image for the IR monitors at either end of the corridor.

Once inside the latrine area, Corran had doffed his tunic and soaked it in the single sink, then pulled the clammy garment back on. He likewise soaked his head, then smiled up at Urlor through the water running down his face. “I’m set.”

Urlor raised a bushy eyebrow.

Corran nodded. Yes, I have to go. I have no choice. Corran slapped him on the arm, then headed to the entrance. Urlor followed, patted him on the back, then walked back toward the billet cavern, weaving slightly from side to side to widen his IR image. Thanks, my friend.

Corran, still sodden, turned to the left and walked on toward the mine. He kept his pace slow and turned sideways to present a narrow profile to the IR monitor near the gate. He wasn’t certain that this would really minimize his heat image, but it was worth a try. His wet hair and tunic would be more effective in that department. Urlor’s efforts to present a big target farther up the corridor might also help eliminate him from notice.

Thirty paces beyond the latrines he reached the doublegate. In the darkness he groped along the flimsy metal surface for the lock and chain. His fingers gently brushed across the number pad on the lock, but he resisted the temptation to try random combinations. He didn’t know if a failure would set off an alarm somewhere or not, but he did know that trying to figure out the right combination would take enough time to make him drier than a Tusken Raider. Unless I got lucky, and no one is that lucky.

From the lock to the opposite door Corran counted sixteen links and winced. Seventeen links had provided him a tight squeeze two nights previously. Corran gripped the gate-halves, pulled them as far apart as possible, then tucked his right shoulder through the opening. He exhaled as much as he could, worked a leg through, then pushed and pulled himself the rest of the way to the other side.

He squatted on the other side of the gate and rubbed at his chest. Just as well none of the others wanted to try to get out. Aside from some of the older prisoners and a few of the sick ones, no one could have fit through there. Staying low, he worked his way forward. When he reached the entrance to the mine corridor, he turned into it and allowed himself a quiet sigh.

I can’t believe how stupid they’ve been. Corran realized his criticism of the guards was not fair, primarily because their lack of security seemed deficient only in light of his theory about the orientation of the prison itself. No prisoner in his right mind would attempt to escape and head deeper into the bowels of the planet. The laxity in securing the path to the mines served as a strong clue that the mines did not offer a way out—if they did, they would be more secure.

Security is predicated on two things: the odd orientation of the prison and the fact that even if someone gets out of the prison, getting off whatever world we’re on is by no means assured. Corran shivered. If we’re in the depths of Hoth, or in the desert of Tatooine or on the back side of Kessel, this escape attempt will end quickly enough.

Despite those inauspicious thoughts, which sparked new feelings of unease in him, Corran pushed on. He reached the hatchway leading into the caverns and found it open. Well, perhaps I am lucky, just a bit. He would have felt luckier if he had a light of his own, but the prisoners had no access to anything more technologically sophisticated than a shovel. To navigate through the darkness all he had to guide him was the faint glow from the amber ready-lights at the base of the floodlights they used when working in the mine. Corran had mentally mapped them the way an astronomer mapped constellations, and he knew exactly where to head to get to the gravel loader. Having oriented himself toward his goal, he stood straight and started to make his way down the slope.

Pain exploded across the middle of his back, numbing his legs. He pitched forward and tried to tuck into a ball, but his legs ignored him. He knew from the pain in his back and knees, as they alternately struck the stone slope in his tumble, that his spine hadn’t been severed. While this was good news, it paled within the larger context of his having been attacked in the mines.

He hit bottom and skidded to a halt on his back. He could feel the burning tingle of sensation returning to his legs, but they felt like lead and had no strength in them. The poor footing provided by the gravel combined with the weakness in his legs to keep him down, which he saw as a distinct problem as a massive, bulky shadow eclipsed several of the amber lights. The orange glow, though very weak, clearly illuminated the edge of the upraised shovel the man held.

“Nothing personal, Horn, but you’re my way out of here.”

Derricote? “How did you get past the gate? You couldn’t have squeezed through.”

The shovel remained at the top of the arc for an overhead blow. “I have money hidden away, in numbered accounts. I bribed a guard for the combination to the gate lock, same as I bribe them for ingredients for my nectar.”

Appeal to his vanity. Buy yourself time to be able to move. “Very clever, General.”

“And too clever to let you recover. Good-bye …”

The shovel began to fall. Corran rolled to the left and felt the shovel bounce off his right shoulder. He expected another blow, but instead heard Derricote gurgle and the shovel clatter to the ground. Gravel hissed as the Imp’s bulk twisted around into Corran’s line of sight. He heard someone grunt, then the sound of a falling body, but Derricote’s silhouette remained upright.

Reaching back with his right hand, Corran grabbed the shovel’s shaft, twisted his grip, and whipped the metal end around. He caught the Imp in the back of his legs, upending him. Gravel sprayed Corran as Derricote hit the ground. Rolling up onto his knees, Corran smashed the shovel down on the man’s stomach, and when Derricote’s hands dropped to cover his belly, Corran caught him with a blow to the head.

Derricote went limp.

“Is he dead?”

Corran looked over to where the voice had come from. “Jan?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

The older man came close enough that Corran could hear the wet rustle of his tunic. “I noticed Derricote wasn’t around—he’s too big not to see. Urlor told me you were off. I assumed he was informing on you, so I came to stop you. When I saw him standing over you, I had to do something.”

Corran reached out to check Derricote for a carotid pulse and found the braided cord Jan used to tie his hair back wrapped around the man’s neck. He handed it back to Jan, then checked Derricote’s pulse. “Weak and thready. I must have broken his skull.”

“Leave him. They’ll think he fell trying to escape. We can get back before they notice.”

Corran shook his head. “Can’t do it. If they find him here, they’ll know we know Lusankya’s secret. We’ll never get out.” He grabbed the upper part of Jan’s right arm. “Come with me. We can drag the body off and deposit it somewhere. They’ll never find it until we’re long gone.”

The older man laughed lightly. “Oh, they will notice my departure more quickly than anyone else’s. I can’t go for that reason.”

“And because they’ll kill the others.”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to come back for you, you know. Whenever I get clear, I’m going to have Wedge bring the squadron in and we’ll get you out.”

“I know that, son. I’m counting on it.” Jan clapped him on the shoulders. “I might never have known your grandfather, but I’m certain he’d be proud of you. I am. May the Force be with you.”

“And you, sir.”

“I’ll clear away signs of the struggle. If you drag Derricote with you, I’ll give you a head start and then I’ll report he’s missing. They’ll be searching for him, but they’ll not be looking in the places where you could hide. We’ll cover for you as long as possible, but anything more than twelve hours is optimistic.”

“I copy, Jan.” Corran got up and began to drag Derricote’s body by one arm toward the gravel loader. Jan grabbed the Imp’s other arm and helped. Together they hefted him up on the safety railing. Corran checked Derricote’s neck for a pulse. “Nothing. He’s gone.”

“Someday, perhaps, no one else will need to die in service to the Empire.”

“Agreed.” They upended the man and let him fall. Though Corran couldn’t see Derricote hit, he did hear a crunch.

“Again, Corran, may the Force be with you.”

“Thanks. Until we meet again.” Corran shook Jan’s hand, then climbed the railing and slowly lowered himself into the darkness. He stepped on Derricote’s body, then crouched and scuttled under the conveyor belt. Beneath the belt itself, where it fed back into the drive-engine compartment, Corran felt around the outline of a hole in the sheet steel lining the pit. He’d first seen it a week earlier when shoveling gravel out of the pit, and knew it was what he wanted in the way of an escape tunnel.

Now, if only Derricote will fit. Corran wrestled the fat man’s body over to the 60-centimeter-wide hole and stuffed him through. He heard another muffled impact, then slipped into the hole himself. This has got to work.

Corran had previously noticed that there was no access panel for the drive-engine compartment. If the engine broke down, it had to be accessed from another point entirely, which meant there was another way into the compartment. Down inside it Corran found himself on a steel-grate catwalk. He crawled around, reconnoitering by touch. Finally, off to the left side of the compartment near an access hatch, he found a light switch and punched it on. One dim panel provided the illumination for the chamber. Corran quickly dragged Derricote over to the closed hatchway, then he turned the light off again.

He listened at the metal hatch but heard nothing. His mouth dry, his nostrils filled with gravel dust, Corran took hold of the hatch’s internal handle and eased it back. The latch system squeaked just a bit and rasped some, too, all of which sounded to Corran like the sounds issuing from an Imperial torture chamber. Certain he had alerted all Imperial forces in the facility to his presence, Corran carefully opened the access hatch.

The rectangular room on the other side of the opening was empty. Corran let out his breath—not realizing until that point he had been holding it. Just to be on the safe side, before he entered the room himself, he dragged Derricote’s body over and shoved it through the hatchway. So far he’s been a good point man.

Derricote fell to the floor of the room, and Corran slid easily through the hatch after him. He closed the hatch behind him and dragged Derricote’s body to the doorway. Beyond it lay a cylindrical corridor roughly three meters in diameter. A red stripe of tiles spiraled down through it, starting at the center of Corran’s side and ending up on the ceiling fifteen feet away. Decorations! And who says the Imps are all gloomy?

Corran started off into the corridor and found himself stumbling to his left. To make matters worse, Derricote’s body slid in the same direction. Waves of dizziness slammed through Corran as he tried to walk the corridor straight through. He finally lost his balance and fell, ending up with his spine pressed to the red line about a meter into the corridor.

Oddly enough, lying there felt normal, even though he could see he was lying firmly against one of the tunnel’s side walls. He shook his head as if that would clear up the problem, then he let his head slip back and rest on the red tiles. Of course! This has to be a transitional corridor. Gravity is directly oriented on the red strip. It takes you from upside-down to rightside-up.

With reason thus injected back into his world, Corran scrambled to his feet and started hauling Derricote along. His shoulders ached from the exertion, but he had no intention of leaving the man behind. Finding a place where Derricote’s body could be hidden, or allowed to fall from a height before being discovered, would provide the Imp searchers with what they wanted and buy Corran time to complete his escape. As long as they’re looking for a fat man, they won’t be looking for me.

At the far end of the tunnel Corran straightened up. The room he found himself in, though dimly lit, appeared to be a utility room. He saw panels dealing with climate control as well as electrical power and other conveniences he had so recently lived without. From the number of different zones on the climate control panel, he knew the facility beyond the door was fairly large. He listened at the fiberplast door, but heard nothing from beyond it.

He drew in a deep breath, then hit the door release and crouched in the shadows as the door cracked open. The doorway provided access to a fairly opulent hallway which reminded him, rather faintly, of images he’d seen of the Imperial Palace. Great, I escape a prison to find myself in some Imperial Moff’s palace. It’s certainly better than the hole I just got out of, but getting out of here unnoticed is not going to be that easy.

He shrugged. But easy isn’t the object of this exercise—escape is. Escape I will.