Dark Tide: Onslaught Read online

  Jacen hustled his uncle along. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going to where others need us, and we can’t be late.” Luke stroked his right hand across his face, painting it with traces of Jacen’s blood. “We’re going to Dantooine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Dr. Pace shook Corran gently awake. He blinked his eyes. “Yes, what is it, Doctor?”

  She straightened up and pointed a finger back toward the excavation chamber. “Jens has got something on those beetles you brought back.”

  “Really? So soon?”

  “She’s good. What can I tell you?”

  “I guess. Thanks. Give me a moment.” Corran slowly sat upright and pulled the soles of his feet together. Snugging his heels in as close as he could to his groin, he leaned forward, stretching out aching muscles. Using Jedi techniques to get rid of the pain was nothing, but that wouldn’t give him back the flexibility tight muscles stole away. The hike back from the lake-bed village they’d seen had been uneventful, and Corran hadn’t minded Ganner’s silent brooding. It gave him time alone with his thoughts, and what he was thinking demanded lots of brain sweat.

  In his years with the Corellian Security Force, he’d seen plenty of cruelty. Among the criminal classes, the strong tended to prey upon the weak, which really came as no surprise. In a world where the only rule was that the most lethal individual was at the top of the food chain, cruelty became a survival trait. Corran had seen the result of hideous tortures and casual cruelty. While all of it had been horrible, none of it quite equaled what he saw with the Yuuzhan Vong beating that prisoner to death.

  What got to Corran about the death was that the poor slave had clearly gone mad because of the growths on him—and the growths were something the Yuuzhan Vong had caused to become part of him. It struck Corran that if the growths were meant to be used as a means of control, one wouldn’t want those means of control to be something that eventually drove the slave beyond control. It would be akin to fastening a restraining bolt to a droid that, eventually, started issuing random commands that required the droid to be destroyed.

  From what he had witnessed, Corran began to get a sense of something else going on with the Yuuzhan Vong and their slaves. The abandon and apparent glee with which the two had killed the slave suggested to Corran that this was something they looked forward to. It almost seemed as if the small shells were presents that would unwrap themselves and give the Yuuzhan Vong a chance to indulge themselves in something they found pleasurable. It also seemed to be something beyond recreation for them, which disturbed Corran. While the growths were useful as a means of control, they were also meant to do more.

  It is as if the Yuuzhan Vong want to inflict pain and suffering just to see how long it takes for their slaves to break and run. The problem this idea gave Corran was that he primarily understood slavery in terms of greed. With a slave, one got work with minimal compensation to the worker—very economical for the owner of the slaves, especially if the slaves could be controlled enough that revolt was impossible. Using the slaves as agony engines just made no sense unless the pain in some way sustained the Yuuzhan Vong or had some other significance for them. If that is true, this invasion is going to be worse than any war of political or economic gain. Victory for the Yuuzhan Vong demands that every sentient creature live in pain.

  He shivered, then rolled to his feet. He pulled on his blaster belt. His lightsaber dangled at his right hip, just in front of the holstered blaster. He adjusted the belt until it rode snugly on his hips, then descended through the passage to the excavation chamber.

  In addition to Jens and Dr. Pace, Corran found Ganner and Trista waiting for him. Ganner just glared at him, whereas Dr. Pace turned to Jens and nodded.

  The blond archaeogeneticist waved a hand at a holograph that showed images of all three beetles. “Despite having only a couple of specimens of each beetle to work with, I’ve been able to figure a number of things out. Mostly I’ve been analyzing their excreta—”

  Corran arched an eyebrow. “Bug dust?”

  Jens rolled her blue eyes. “More than that. The sentinel beetle, the one that raised the alarm about the slave, is fairly unremarkable. The other two, though, are interesting. The littlest ones are excreting a compound that is being laced into the soil. Chemically it’s a lot less complex than stink, but its molecular makeup is such that it bonds to the olfactory neuroreceptor sites in the slashrats. It’s what is keeping them away from that camp, since all the dirt there, as far as the slashrats are concerned, is permeated with stink.”

  “The beetles are making synthetic stink?” Corran frowned. “That’s some fairly advanced genetic engineering, isn’t it?”

  Jens shook her head. “Not really. These beetles, along with a lot of other life-forms—ourselves included—have a symbiotic relationship with microscopic organisms in their bodies. We might chew food and produce acid that breaks it down further, but it’s the bacteria in our guts that takes complex molecules and chops them up into things our bodies can absorb. They nourish themselves on the food we provide, too, and give off waste products. In this case, some of the bacteria in the beetle’s gut produces this stinklike substance. Engineering a bacteria is much easier than engineering the beetle; they’re just the packaging for the bacteria.”

  Ganner nodded and pointed to the image of the middle beetle. “What does it do?”

  “I’ve been analyzing the gases it gives off, and it is producing a lot of carbon dioxide. The content of carbon dioxide in the valley, based on the air in the sample bottles that you filled there, is elevated beyond that of the rest of Bimmiel. If I had to guess, since you’ve reported the growths on the slaves are hard and rocklike, the elevated carbon dioxide content might be promoting growth of the things on the slaves.”

  Trista bit at her lower lip for a moment. “If enough of those beetles were let loose, could they raise the carbon dioxide content enough to help the world retain heat during its outward orbit?”

  The blond geneticist thought for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s possible. I don’t have the sort of planetary data needed to figure out how long it would take, but if these beetles are prolific in their reproduction, it could happen. Staving off the winter would utterly destroy the ecosystem here, since we’d have moisture, but too little solar energy to let the plants grow. The shwpi come out of hibernation early, the slashrats nab them, then the slashrats die of starvation.”

  Corran tugged at his goatee for a moment. “Jens, you’ve managed to use the equipment here to manufacture stink, and you know how to manufacture killscent, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Could you, with the equipment you have here, create a bacteria that would, instead of manufacturing that artificial stink, create an artificial killscent?”

  Jens shook her head. “We don’t have the right stuff for making such a bacteria. That would take a lot more specialized gear than I have here.”

  Corran slammed his right fist into his left palm. “Sith-spawn! If we could get the slashrats to overrun the Yuuzhan Vong camp . . .” He pointed over at the corner where the mummified Yuuzhan Vong remains had been recovered. “We already know the little beasts have a taste for them.”

  Jens’s face brightened. “Oh, if that’s what you want, no problem. The equipment I have here would let me create a virus that would infect the bacteria that produces the stink, inserting new genetic coding that will make it produce killscent instead. For that matter, I can make another that will stop the carbon dioxide concentrators, too.”

  Corran smiled. “And could you produce a virus that would make the Yuuzhan Vong themselves exude killscent?”

  “Killer sweat? Possible. I can check the bones here for viral traces and work from them.” Jens positively beamed. “Which one do I start on?”

  Corran was about to answer, then Dr. Pace slammed her fist down on the table with the holoprojector on it. “None of them.”

  The older Jedi Knight blinked. “What?”<
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  “She’ll do none of them.” Pace stared hard and unblinking at Corran. “Unleashing such viruses could trigger a worldwide calamity that would alter Bimmiel forever.”

  “Unleashing them will counter the Yuuzhan Vong attempt to do exactly that sort of thing.” Corran pointed back toward the surface. “If the Yuuzhan Vong succeed in making changes to the ecology of the planet, they will use it as a base to continue their conquest in our galaxy. We have to stop them, and given the resources we have, using this sort of virus is our best bet. Jens can probably tinker with it so extreme cold will kill it, destroying the viruses when the planet gets to the apex of its orbit.”

  “Not tough at all.”

  Pace turned and pointed at Jens. “You’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  Trista weighed into the fray. “You seem to think, Horn, that we’re somehow involved in your fight with the Yuuzhan Vong here.”

  Corran’s jaw shot open. “You’re up to your neck in it. Best case here is that they’re just scouting. Worst case is that they’ve come to recover the body of a lost explorer and you’re sitting right on top of it. You dug it up, have measured and analyzed it. They might consider that some sort of desecration, and they might be looking to destroy anyone who would do such a thing.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t understand. We’re just here to study this world. We are just observers.”

  “Oh, I understand that attitude perfectly. I question whether or not the Vong will understand it or will see the distinction as significant.” Corran looked past her to Ganner. “Your thoughts?”

  “Dr. Pace and Trista are correct. Your plan could lead to a planetary holocaust that could render it sterile.” Ganner’s comment brought an adoring smile to Trista’s face. “There is another alternative.”

  Trista nodded. “There, you don’t need the virus.”

  Corran’s eyes narrowed. “And that choice is?”

  “We go back and do what we should have done last night when you stopped me.” Ganner’s hand dropped to his lightsaber. “We stop the Yuuzhan Vong very directly.”

  Pace got a sour look on her face, and Trista’s face drained of color. “Ganner, you can’t take that risk.”

  “It is what I do, Trista. You’re right. You and the others here are not combatants. Enlisting you in this struggle would compromise you and your beliefs. Corran and I will protect you as you make your escape.”

  Corran turned back to Dr. Pace. “You’ve seen the flaw with his plan.”

  She nodded. “You can’t kill all the beetles because you don’t know how widely they’ve been spread. Even destroying the Yuuzhan Vong won’t counter their work. Still, I can’t authorize this sort of action.”

  “I understand what you’re saying.” Corran sighed. “I’d also point out that, like it or not, combatants or not, you’re all right in the middle of a war zone. While I respect your position, we might do well to bring everyone in here, tell them what’s going on, and let them vote on what we should do.”

  Dr. Pace fell silent as she considered his proposal. Corran purposely shut himself to the mixed emotions pouring off her and instead stretched his senses out to encompass the whole of the cave complex. If she goes for the vote, gathering up the twenty people here and polling them won’t take long.

  Corran suddenly frowned. “Ganner, counting us, how many people are here in the cave complex?”

  “Twenty.” The quick sneer on his face dissolved. “But there should be twenty-two here. Two people are missing.”

  Trista shook her head. “No one is missing. Vil and Denna just went out to their meteorological station to fix the antenna. They stopped getting data last night and headed out before you two returned.”

  Ganner blinked at her. “You let people go outside, let them head away from the base?”

  Her head came up defiantly. “Oh, so only you Jedi are brave enough to escape slashrats and do your duty? We’ve been here dealing with this world’s perils for longer than you have.”

  Dr. Pace dug for a comlink. She switched it over to a particular frequency. “Vil, this is Dr. Pace. Report.”

  Only static came back through the open channel.

  “Sithspawn!” Corran spun on the ball of his right foot and started pacing. “If the Vong have found the remote reporting station, they might have disabled it, given their hatred of technology. They could have left something in its place, something that those two disturbed. The Vong come out and get them—”

  Trista shook her head. “There is no evidence to suggest—”

  Ganner reached out and took Trista’s shoulders in his hands. He turned her to face him. “I find you intelligent, passionate, and fascinating, but you know, as well as we do, that the chances are excellent that your companions are now Yuuzhan Vong captives.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head, lashing her shoulders with black hair. “I never would have let them go if I thought—”

  Corran held a hand up. “Doesn’t matter. You let them go before we had proof the Yuuzhan Vong were here in the present, not just in the past. We have a problem, and we have to deal with it. Could be that Vil and Denna will come wandering back in with a comlink that had a bad power cell.”

  Dr. Pace swallowed hard. “And if they don’t?”

  “Someone will have to find them.” Corran forced a weak smile onto his lips. “And I think I know where our search will begin.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Mara’s deteriorating condition had Anakin worried. She was being very brave and very strong, but she was tiring more easily and had begun to withdraw. He could feel her drawing on the Force more and more to sustain herself. It clearly fortified her, but demanded so much of her attention and concentration that he was pretty sure she had no idea where she was or who he was a chunk of the time.

  He did his best to see that she did not want for anything. He kept the camp clean and fixed all of the meals. By observing the Dantari, he was able to find edible plants and spices, which he used to make their bland rations into something different, if not always appetizing. Mara seemed to take the failed experiments in stride along with the good and livened up a bit at mealtimes.

  Tuber—which was the name Anakin had given the elder Dantari root trader—clearly had some concerns about Mara. He kept bringing firewood but wouldn’t accept the last couple of roots Anakin had. Instead they traded for other things—most of them being trinkets, which Tuber braided into his hair to frame the button Mara had provided.

  Anakin set out from the camp just after a supper that Mara had eaten listlessly. She wandered back to her cot and started sleeping again. He cleaned up, then saw his supply of firewood wouldn’t last through the night. It struck him as odd that Tuber had not yet appeared, so he headed down the trail to the Dantari encampment.

  He was still a good five hundred meters off when a spike of pain reached him through the Force. He thought immediately of Mara, but it didn’t have the feel he would have expected from her. He next thought of Tuber, then caught an undercurrent of fear rolling out from the Dantari camp.

  Anakin crouched in the lavender grasses and slowly made his way forward. He smiled, putting into practice all the things Mara had taught him about moving stealthily through the grasses. He could have reached out with the Force to move branches that might crack underfoot or to smooth out grasses so they wouldn’t rustle. I would have done just that, but I don’t need to. I can save the Force for later.

  He worked his way in toward the camp, and twenty meters away he paused in the shadow of a rock. Looking past the boulder, he saw Tuber on his knees, bleeding from cuts over one eye and across his chest. The Imperial crest there had been taken off in strips. It looked as if his captors had decided to flay him. The Dantari’s hands had been bound behind his back. The other Dantari likewise were on their knees, all looking drawn and terribly frightened.

  And they had good cause to be. Standing before Tuber were two tall and lean Yuuzhan Vong warriors, both wearing chitinous armor
. One bore a staff that had a flattened end like a spear point. The other had a weapon that looked the same, but was flexible and clearly functioned like a whip. The whip wielder held the jacket button in his left hand, waved it under Tuber’s nose, then snarled a question at him.

  Tuber grunted a response.

  The Yuuzhan Vong’s whip cracked, and another wound blossomed on the Dantari’s broad chest.

  A coldness settled in Anakin’s stomach. Without a doubt he knew the Yuuzhan Vong was asking where Tuber had gotten the button. Clearly the Dantari couldn’t have produced it, and it was far newer than any of the Imperial artifacts, suggesting to the Yuuzhan Vong that other people had been here recently. Tuber was refusing to give the Yuuzhan Vong the information they wanted. He’s in trouble because we are here, because we befriended him. There was no question in Anakin’s mind that he had to do something to save the Dantari.

  For a heartbeat he almost despaired. Here he was, a fifteen-year-old Jedi apprentice. He didn’t have the experience a full Jedi Knight would have. Mara had experienced trouble killing one of the Yuuzhan Vong on Belkadan. Saving the Dantari seemed impossible. It was a task that would overwhelm him.

  Size matters not. Despite Mara’s having chided him for overusing Yoda’s aphorism, Anakin knew it applied now. His job, as a Jedi Knight, was to protect those who could not protect themselves. He took a deep breath, opened himself to the Force, and felt it flood through him in a way it never had before. It was water to a being dying of thirst; it was sunshine after days of rain; it was warmth after bitter cold. It was all that and more.

  Anakin touched the stone behind which he crouched, and nudged it with a fraction of the Force flowing through him. The five-hundred-kilogram stone ripped itself free of the ground and hurled itself at the Yuuzhan Vong. Dirt flew off it in clumps as it spun through the air. It hit the ground again, five meters from its targets, then bounced up and caught the staff wielder in his flank. A crunching, crackling sound came from beneath the stone, then the Yuuzhan Vong’s arms and legs beat out a furious but slackening death tattoo.