Narsk looked around uneasily. "You have a weapon for me?"

"It's right here," Arkadia said, walking to the hoverchair. Tipping it on its side, she opened a hidden panel to reveal five orbs of bluish gas. The pods were attached to a detonation device.

"A bomb?"

Arkadia chuckled. "Not up on everything, are you, agent?" She gestured to the alga light fixtures, above. "I meant it when I said we use all of the Synedian alga. One of the organism's little-known by-products happens to be an incredibly potent nerve gas." She jabbed her thumb at Narsk's pouch. "I'd wear the oxygen mask underneath that thing, if I were you."

Narsk's eyes widened. "Your ... brother will be in the chair."

Arkadia looked at the chair coldly. "There are losses in war." Facing Narsk, she folded her arms. "Had the Jedi gone in your stead, I might only have needed this as a backup. But whatever your talents, you are no Jedi. Thus, you you are the backup." She passed him a small remote control. "This triggers the gas." are the backup." She passed him a small remote control. "This triggers the gas."

Narsk looked at the device and nodded. So Arkadia had tried to recruit the Jedi-and failed. Arkadia was clearly her cousin Daiman's equal when it came to scheming.

"When the trap activates and you've confirmed that she is dead, you will find the location of your payment inside the chair." Producing a small tablet from within the folds of her garment, Arkadia showed it to Narsk before tucking it above the central gas canister. "The datachip contains all the intelligence I have gathered about all my neighbors-enough information to make you very popular with your future employers for years. But you and I will never meet again."

Narsk smiled weakly and turned toward the exit. He would be expected to leave within the hour.

Crossing the threshold, Narsk froze when Arkadia called after him.

"Bothan. If the suit allows you to do anything, why didn't you assassinate Daiman? And why didn't the Jedi, when she had it? It sounds as though you would have had the opportunity."

"I can't speak for the Jedi," Narsk said, turning in the doorway. "I'm not sure anyone can. She's clearly insane. And I won't speak of my orders from Odion, except to say that, had I been ordered to kill Daiman, Odion would be an only child today." Seeing Arkadia studying him, he continued. "I do owe Daiman a debt for his treatment of me. But as much as I might like to punish him for that, I don't do things for the sport of it."

That much was true, he thought, backing up. "I'm sorry, but I need to visit your infirmary before the flight. Your algae don't agree with the Bothan system."

"Follow the useless Duros," Arkadia said, turning back to study the vessel.

"I'll do just that."

Whoever claimed ice was smooth had never been to Syned. The icecrawler's treads amplified every bump, sending vibrations through the cabin and along a path that terminated in Rusher's molars.

The rumbling rhombus was enormous, easily half the size of Diligence Diligence. Rusher looked back down into the cavernous cargo compartment. Arkadia's staff had suspended several levels of seating on metal scaffolds toward the rear of the vehicle, more than enough room to accommodate all the refugees. The Sith Lord was going to get this done in one trip.

"We're here, mercenary," the shiny-eyed driver said.

Rusher had seen the hairy-headed Nazzar before. "Weren't you driving the rumblecar that brought us over?" he asked.

"Promotion."

Rusher looked through the viewport. The icecrawler loomed above Diligence Diligence's starboard arm, edging closer to its giant clawed base. His team had removed the jutting cannon barrels on one side to permit the crawler's approach.

Turning back, Rusher leaned across the back railing to the driver's compartment and called down to the Citizen Guards, waiting by the enormous door some forty meters below. "We're extending the bushing! We need you guys in the hole, ready as the door opens, in case there's any breach!" Obediently, the space-suited figures set down their weapons and disappeared into the short tunnel. Seeing them appear on the cockpit's video display, Rusher lifted his comlink. "We're here, Dackett. You know the drill."

A different kind of rumbling rocked the icecrawler's frame as the corrugated door began to open. Seeing the long-faced driver release the controls, Rusher spoke again. "Hey, I think they're going to need help down there."

"Not my job. And if you did your part, they shouldn't be having any trouble!" The flinty-voiced driver looked idly up to the security monitor. Seeing commotion on the screen, he began to rise ...

... only to have his head snap backward. A clump of the Nazzar's mane in each glove, Rusher yanked the driver's head back before slamming it forward against the console. An agonized groan came from the stunned creature's throat as the brigadier pulled him from his seat and shoved him over the railing, into the yawning cargo area behind the cockpit.

Turning quickly back to the security monitor, Rusher deactivated the feed just before the unlucky driver's body hit the grating. "Sorry, pal," he said, hearing blasterfire below. "Not every promotion's a step up!"

Rusher looked down into the cargo area. The Nazzar's body was only one of several now. Zeller and the armored troopers of Team Ripper were in the tunnel, blasting away. The icecrawler's Arkadianite crew was dead before the pressure equalized between the two vessels.

Spying her superior officer above, Zeller yelled, "Master Dackett sends his regards. And-begging the brigadier's pardon-he says you're crazy!"

"He's not the only one!" Already sliding down the ladder from the upper level, Rusher called out, "Did our runner make his delivery?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Get the cutters in here to bring down this decking!" Rusher scanned the cargo compartment. They'd need all the room they could get. "We're going to have to do this in record time!"

Kerra could feel her energy failing. The lights and sounds continued to hammer at her-but even without them, she felt like she'd reached the end. For weeks, she'd been fueled alternately by compassion and outrage. But now she was the lone quadractyl, just like the one she'd seen as a child, struggling to stay afloat in the icy waves.

She could barely move in the tight compartment; her awkward position was cutting off the circulation in her arms and legs, and she felt her muscles were going soft. If she didn't get out soon, she'd be no risk for escape at all.

She should have struggled more against the jailers, she thought. Anything would be better than this. The screeching died down again, in advance of more questioning from the droid. Kerra winced. It was all too much. How many days, how many weeks, would they keep her here? Was this this the execution Arkadia mentioned? the execution Arkadia mentioned? Just kill me already! Just kill me already!

But this time, the voice was different. An organic whisper. "Hold fast."

Kerra opened her eyes into the blinding light. The Bothan! The Bothan!

Long minutes passed, during which Kerra wondered if it was all a joke, one more method of torturing her. The Bothan worked for Arkadia, after all. But finally, she felt movement, as the entire chamber around her slid outward. Cool air rushed in.

Pawing at the oxygen mask, the Jedi forced herself to sit up. Light-headed, she struggled to make sense of the whirling world outside. It was dimmer, and the space directly outside her metal vault was churning.

Kerra lanced out with her hand, grabbing at anything. She caught something. "Hello, Narsk."

The Bothan deactivated the Mark VI and removed his mask. "Sorry," he said. "It took a while to figure out which drawer you were in. And I had some company to deal with." Floating beside Kerra's prison on a hoverlift, Narsk pointed to the remains of the interrogator droids, smashed on the floor meters below. "Evidently, droids can't see you coming in this suit, either."

"Not unless you've been on Gazzari," Kerra moaned, rolling out of the box and onto the Bothan's platform. She coughed. "If you're here for revenge, I was already locked in a bin all day."

"Happy to hear it." Narsk quickly shut the door to her cabinet and lowered the hoverlift. "It makes letting you go now a little easier."

Slumped against the railing, Kerra glared suspiciously. "Why do you want to help me?"

"I don't," Narsk said, pulling the pouch from his back. "Let's just say I represent someone who wouldn't appreciate Arkadia's plan. And to complete my mission, I'm going to need a diversion-more than the mercenary alone can provide."

The mercenary? Kerra wavered. "Rusher?" Kerra wavered. "Rusher?"

The hoverlift touching down, Narsk unzipped the pouch and fished for an object inside. Successful, he handed it to Kerra.

"Wait. This is my lightsaber!"

"Observant."

"But this was on Rusher's ship," Kerra said, staring at the weapon. She looked up. "You've been there?"

"No-but it arrived with the person who returned my property." Narsk removed a writing instrument from the pouch before slinging it over his shoulder. "I was lucky to get it to you at all. He hid the lightsaber in the arm of his space suit-but it got stuck between his elbow and the joint ring. He couldn't move his arm the whole time he was walking here."

Kerra gawked. "Beadle? He sent Beadle Beadle?"

"I told Rusher to send someone Arkadia would never think to frisk," Narsk said. "I think it actually improved the trooper's balance." The spy opened the side gate to the hoverlift. "We've got to move."

Scrambling after him, Kerra found staying upright difficult. Fortunately, Narsk didn't want to go far, directing her to a sheltered alcove between stacks of prisoner cabinets. Arkadia was busy preparing for something big, he said, something that required her full attention.

"The assassination," Kerra offered.

"The assassination is the first chapter," Narsk said. "I've only had a short time to scout the city in the Mark VI, but I've already seen half a dozen war parties preparing to head to Arkadia's various borders, poised to act. Should her plot succeed, chaos will follow, all across this sector and more. Knowing it's coming, she likes her chances."

And Arkadia had something else: the organophosphate distilled from the Synedian algae. Chagras's Blood Chagras's Blood, as it was called, evaporated instantly, killing at a rate that made the Celegians' atmospheres seem healthy by comparison. Narsk waved to the towers of cabinets on either side of them. "From what I can see, this place isn't so much a prison as another testing center testing center. When they're done asking questions, they see what their gas does to various species."

And now, he said, that nerve toxin was being loaded into shells for delivery to Arkadia's warships, moored across the tundra.

No wonder she didn't need Rusher's brand of artillery, Kerra thought. "But Rusher's helping you?"

"Helping us us," Narsk said. "You and your refugees."

"Why would he care what happens to the kids? To me?"

"I don't know that he does," Narsk said. "But he knows you have this this." Grabbing her wrist, he pushed her sleeve back and scrawled several numbers on her arm with his static pen.

"These-these are hyperspace coordinates," Kerra said. "But it's only half of a location."

Narsk slid her sleeve back down. "He has the other half-half payment for what I've asked him to do. If your gunner general wants them, you two are going to have to reconnect. He has to give me my diversion, one way or another."

Kerra shook her head. "He can find a way out of Arkadia's space," she said. "He'd never come here for this!"

"Possibly not. But these lead to a jumping-off point in uncontrolled space-the beginning of another lane. Leading to the Republic Leading to the Republic." Tossing the pen to the floor, Narsk started to turn away.

Kerra, dazzled by his revelations, grabbed at his arm. "A route to the Republic?" Rusher had never come across anything like that in all his travels. "How did you get such a thing? Who are are you?" you?"

Narsk glared at her. "I told you when we met. I'm not Sith. I just work for them."

"Evidently several at once!"

"No," Narsk said. "Not really. Just one." Stepping to a security monitor, he tuned to a scene of the tundra outside. The icecrawler was on its way back, right on schedule. "We have ten minutes, at most. Head for the Patriot Hall-and I'd find a space suit."

Anxiously, Kerra looked back and forth at the metal prisons lining the aisle. "I've got to free these people!"

"You're wasting valuable time," Narsk said. "Most are already dead." Even though the toxin went inert after a few minutes, Kerra would have to open a lot of cabinets to find anyone alive-and anyone she found would be in worse shape than she was.

Reminded of the toxin, Kerra thought of the factories she'd toured, producing shell casings. The so-called Chagras's Blood could wreak immense harm on the innocents neighboring Arkadia's realm. But there were so many factories-and so little time. Desperate, she dashed to the security monitor, looking for a map.

"You can't do everything, Jedi," Narsk said, watching her search. "There's no time."

"People are counting on me!"

"Which people?" Narsk barked. "Look, I don't care what you do now. Free the prisoners! Charge the factories! Blow yourself up! It's the diversion I want, either way." He stepped from the alcove. "But decide whether you want to die helping every everybody-or live helping some somebody."

Footsteps echoed in the halls, far away. Kerra looked back at the stacks of cabinets in anguish.

"You landed here with a mission, Jedi. You want to do more? Do it on your own time." The Bothan pulled the mask over his snout and spoke, his voice muffled. "If you want to survive out here, you focus on the job."

Kerra turned her attention from the monitor to the lightsaber, back in her hand at last. Focus Focus. It was one thing she knew how to do. One of several One of several, she thought, gripping it.

Rounding the corner, Kerra realized something with a start. Narsk had had the same employer all along, and there was only one person it could be.

She called out. "Narsk! If you're protecting Vilia, why are you letting a Jedi who knows about her live?"

The shrouded figure at the end of the aisle looked back at her for a moment. "Because I wasn't ordered to kill you." Pressing a control, he disappeared.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

"Good luck to you, sir!"

Passing Citizen Guards as he strolled to the Embarkation Station turbolift, Narsk nodded casually and waved, feeling like an explorer leaving on a mission of discovery. That's what it was, for all they knew; with the mask removed, the Cyricept system resembled the jumpsuits he'd seen Arcadia's test pilots wearing. They knew he wasn't one of them, but he was a specialist working for their cause.

If they'd known how fast he'd just been running, they wouldn't have been smiling. Narsk gasped for breath as the lift doors closed. It had taken too long to find the Jedi. He'd just trusted to the Mark VI and hoped for the best, bolting headlong across Calimondretta. He hadn't stayed long enough to learn anyone's reactions, but surely a phantasm had been seen that day. At least no one had raised an alarm. He didn't need that.

Not yet, at least.

The lift doors opened to reveal the hangar dome at the end of a long hallway. Narsk could hear the shuttle's preflight preparations under way. Time was short. He stepped quickly, wondering if he had done the right thing. Freeing the Jedi had been a calculated risk. He'd only been ordered to watch her, and releasing her went a great deal beyond watching. But even before he'd heard Arkadia's plans for Vilia, he'd known he would need a diversion. He couldn't count on the cannoneer alone. Mercenaries could be bought off. Jedi couldn't.

If Narsk dealt in backup plans, the Sith Lord did so doubly. The Bothan remembered what he'd seen earlier, when Arkadia had slipped the datachip beneath the gas canister assembly in the hoverchair. There was a second device, in addition to the receiver for his remote detonator: a timer. He'd seen enough in his work to recognize it immediately. Arkadia had planted a fail-safe. If Narsk didn't trigger the poison gas trap in Vilia's presence, it would go off anyway, at some period following the shuttle's touchdown at his destination. How long would he have? He didn't know. But it ruled out simply stealing away with Quillan and never triggering the bomb.

Quillan. Where was he? Narsk scanned the hangar floor for the hoverchair. The boy was supposed to have been brought here by now for transport. If he wasn't, the whole scheme could unravel in a ...

"What kept you?"

Narsk turned to see Arkadia, just inside the doorway, wearing her battle armor again. Her hair bound in a metal cap, the woman stood beside Quillan, the young man still huddled in the brown hoverchair. To their right, Narsk saw the swanky new chair, innocent and ominous as he'd remembered.

"I had to run the suit through some diagnostics," Narsk said, bowing to Arkadia. "The Jedi had not been taking care of it."