emplacements will be quite invisible when the Great Enemy arrives.” Beneath the haze, Gazzari’s pockmarked surface was ridden with lofty ridges overlooking wide rills, providing excellent spots to set up for an ambush.
Sounds like a lovely place , Rusher thought. He and the others only had a minute to study their assigned locations before the image vanished.
“Ambush. That’s about what I expected.” Kr’saang turned on a massive clawed foot and began walking toward the exit.
Daiman looked down, clearly puzzled. “What?”
The Togorian turned back and stuck out his armored chest. “It’s what I expected from you. Like on Chelloa. Odion’s people are still talking about that one.” Rusher noticed others stepping back from the Togorian. It seemed a good idea.
But Daiman reacted mildly. “You expect fairness, do you?”
“I expect a straight-up fight—but I heard you don’t do those. Looks like they’re right.” He reached for the gilded doorknob.
A spray of multicolored light flashed against the door in front of Kr’saang. Turning his head, he saw Daiman’s lustrous cape thrown in the air, catching the sunlight from above. Its owner, freed, hurtled downward toward the floor. Kr’saang pivoted, reaching for a blade hidden in his belt—only to see a flash of crimson ahead of him. Before he hit the ground, Daiman quartered the massive alien with two great strokes of his lightsaber.
For several moments, Daiman looked down in seeming fascination at the disgusting remains at his feet. Finally, he looked up. “Where’s my cape?”
Daiman’s attendants sprang to his side, delivering therequested garment as he deactivated his lightsaber. “What was he?”
“Kr’saang,” Uleeta said. “He led shock troopers, as my lord knows. Specialist Unit Two Hundred Seven, in our accounting. His transport, the Dar’oosh , is at the north end of the old parade grounds.”
“Send Correctors there and induct the lot.”
Rusher winced. Kr’saang’s warriors had just become part of Daiman’s slave army.
“I’m telling you, there’s a Jedi here! I have to talk to Lord Daiman!”
The sentries didn’t speak. The burly Gamorreans simply continued to wheel the imprisoned Narsk down a hallway, ignoring his every plea. Narsk wondered for a moment if this was why he got into the Black Fang so easily. Does Daiman only hire the deaf?
More likely, he thought as he heard their guttural grunts, they simply didn’t understand Basic. He tested the theory with a remark about Gamorrean females. A further stream of insults confirmed it. There was literally no talking to them.
Leaving the main thoroughfare, the guards rolled Narsk’s prison down a side hallway. Darkness lay ahead. For a time, Narsk felt only the bumps of the tiles as his prison rumbled onward. Back to the dungeon , he assumed.
Then he was alone.
Narsk blinked. The Gamorreans had parked his wheel against a wall and wandered off. The Bothan craned his neck forward and behind, straining to see anything down the hallway. Nothing.
For five minutes.
“Just leaving me? Fine!” If this was a new kind of torture, it was working. Narsk ranted. Days with no foodand only enough water to keep him talking. Days of mental invasions from the monomaniac and his minions. And today, spinning on display like a child’s toy. All of it came pouring, foully, out of the Bothan’s mouth—
—until an unseen hand clasped his muzzle shut. A foreign thought touched his mind.
Shut up .
Startled, Narsk felt the wheel turning again. Propelled seemingly by nothing at all, the frame rolled down the darkened hall and through an open doorway into a deserted service passage. The door closed behind, leaving him in a small, dim maintenance area. An unused scullery for one of the countless dining rooms he’d been wheeled past, he expected.
The wheel stopping gently against a wall, Narsk smiled. “You’ve come to return my property, I hope.”
“That depends,” Kerra
Sounds like a lovely place , Rusher thought. He and the others only had a minute to study their assigned locations before the image vanished.
“Ambush. That’s about what I expected.” Kr’saang turned on a massive clawed foot and began walking toward the exit.
Daiman looked down, clearly puzzled. “What?”
The Togorian turned back and stuck out his armored chest. “It’s what I expected from you. Like on Chelloa. Odion’s people are still talking about that one.” Rusher noticed others stepping back from the Togorian. It seemed a good idea.
But Daiman reacted mildly. “You expect fairness, do you?”
“I expect a straight-up fight—but I heard you don’t do those. Looks like they’re right.” He reached for the gilded doorknob.
A spray of multicolored light flashed against the door in front of Kr’saang. Turning his head, he saw Daiman’s lustrous cape thrown in the air, catching the sunlight from above. Its owner, freed, hurtled downward toward the floor. Kr’saang pivoted, reaching for a blade hidden in his belt—only to see a flash of crimson ahead of him. Before he hit the ground, Daiman quartered the massive alien with two great strokes of his lightsaber.
For several moments, Daiman looked down in seeming fascination at the disgusting remains at his feet. Finally, he looked up. “Where’s my cape?”
Daiman’s attendants sprang to his side, delivering therequested garment as he deactivated his lightsaber. “What was he?”
“Kr’saang,” Uleeta said. “He led shock troopers, as my lord knows. Specialist Unit Two Hundred Seven, in our accounting. His transport, the Dar’oosh , is at the north end of the old parade grounds.”
“Send Correctors there and induct the lot.”
Rusher winced. Kr’saang’s warriors had just become part of Daiman’s slave army.
“I’m telling you, there’s a Jedi here! I have to talk to Lord Daiman!”
The sentries didn’t speak. The burly Gamorreans simply continued to wheel the imprisoned Narsk down a hallway, ignoring his every plea. Narsk wondered for a moment if this was why he got into the Black Fang so easily. Does Daiman only hire the deaf?
More likely, he thought as he heard their guttural grunts, they simply didn’t understand Basic. He tested the theory with a remark about Gamorrean females. A further stream of insults confirmed it. There was literally no talking to them.
Leaving the main thoroughfare, the guards rolled Narsk’s prison down a side hallway. Darkness lay ahead. For a time, Narsk felt only the bumps of the tiles as his prison rumbled onward. Back to the dungeon , he assumed.
Then he was alone.
Narsk blinked. The Gamorreans had parked his wheel against a wall and wandered off. The Bothan craned his neck forward and behind, straining to see anything down the hallway. Nothing.
For five minutes.
“Just leaving me? Fine!” If this was a new kind of torture, it was working. Narsk ranted. Days with no foodand only enough water to keep him talking. Days of mental invasions from the monomaniac and his minions. And today, spinning on display like a child’s toy. All of it came pouring, foully, out of the Bothan’s mouth—
—until an unseen hand clasped his muzzle shut. A foreign thought touched his mind.
Shut up .
Startled, Narsk felt the wheel turning again. Propelled seemingly by nothing at all, the frame rolled down the darkened hall and through an open doorway into a deserted service passage. The door closed behind, leaving him in a small, dim maintenance area. An unused scullery for one of the countless dining rooms he’d been wheeled past, he expected.
The wheel stopping gently against a wall, Narsk smiled. “You’ve come to return my property, I hope.”
“That depends,” Kerra
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