a whistle so loud and high that it rattled Nate’s ears at twenty meters. The other troopers broke for their speeders, and within moments the cave was filled with screaming, dipping, blasting speeder bikes.
Nate laughed aloud, loving this moment. It was like being back with the selenome: You didn’t know what you were messing with, did you?
His laughter died as another row of arachnids crawled out of the top cavern. What in space—? They must have stumbled into the largest breeding ground in the entire mountains. This was the worst, what troopers called 10 percent, but it was too late to curse fate. Little to do now but fight.
At least six of the large spiders, and dozens of the smaller ones, had perished in blasts, lightsaber strokes, and showers of falling rock before they retreated shrieking into the caves. The largest, the enormous red-furred female, protected the others as they fled.
The troopers started to pursue, but the general raised his hands. “No!” he called. “They’re broken. Let the brood go.”
The female locked eyes with the general. Surprisingly, she lowered her head as if making obeisance, then backed into the shadows and disappeared.
The troopers landed their craft, peering into the darkness to be certain no mistake had been made before holstering their weapons.
“Perimeter sensors up immediately, ” General Fisto said.
“So we’re staying here, sir?” Nate asked.
General Fisto’s answering smile was not pretty. “Might as well assume all these caves are spider-infested. At least we know this one is clear.”
“Besides that,” Sirty whispered to Nate when General Fisto turned away, “we fought for it. It’s ours.”
As the others set up in the cave, Kit Fisto carried his broadcasting unit a kilometer out to a completely desolate area with no line of sight to their new camp. There he triggered his beacon and sat in wait.
After five seconds he turned it off. He waited five minutes, then broadcast for another five seconds, and set the automatic monitor to continue in like sequence: five minutes off, five seconds on.
After an hour he heard an answering squeal in proper coded series. He turned off the monitor and waited.
The sun was nearing the western horizon when a battered cargo ship appeared from the south. It flew in a slow, groaning circle and then settled toward the ground, frying the underbrush as it did. That thermal inefficiency implied an older model, and in merely adequate repair.
The panel door opened and a ramp descended. Kit heard a bleeping sound, and then a human female appeared at the top.
Kit had few standards by which to assess human beauty. Based on her movements and posture, however, this female was in excellent physical condition, her unblemished black skin and lustrous short hair suggested a healthy immune system, and she seemed quite aware and alert. Good. They would need these qualities to successfully implement their plans.
The woman studied Kit, her expression one of exasperation. “A Nautolan. Pretty far from an ocean, aren’t you?”
The Jedi was unamused. “I’m waiting,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “No sense of humor. All right: ‘Alderaan has three moons.’”
“‘Demos Four but two,’” Kit replied without hesitation.
She nodded as if he had confirmed more than identity. “Name’s Sheeka Tull. I was told to expect you.”
“What precisely were you told?”
She scuffed her toe across a line in the ground, raising a tiny plug of fine, dry dust. “They said if I helped you, certain things in my past would be forgotten. That right?” She looked back up at him, defiance sparkling in her eyes. He nodded, and she seemed relieved. “So. What do you need?”
“What I need is a reliable contact. There were cave spiders.”
She shook her head. “There are spiders all through these mountains, but I didn’t see any when I checked out that cave. Sorry.”
Kit locked eyes with her, a test of wills. Was she telling the truth?
Nate laughed aloud, loving this moment. It was like being back with the selenome: You didn’t know what you were messing with, did you?
His laughter died as another row of arachnids crawled out of the top cavern. What in space—? They must have stumbled into the largest breeding ground in the entire mountains. This was the worst, what troopers called 10 percent, but it was too late to curse fate. Little to do now but fight.
At least six of the large spiders, and dozens of the smaller ones, had perished in blasts, lightsaber strokes, and showers of falling rock before they retreated shrieking into the caves. The largest, the enormous red-furred female, protected the others as they fled.
The troopers started to pursue, but the general raised his hands. “No!” he called. “They’re broken. Let the brood go.”
The female locked eyes with the general. Surprisingly, she lowered her head as if making obeisance, then backed into the shadows and disappeared.
The troopers landed their craft, peering into the darkness to be certain no mistake had been made before holstering their weapons.
“Perimeter sensors up immediately, ” General Fisto said.
“So we’re staying here, sir?” Nate asked.
General Fisto’s answering smile was not pretty. “Might as well assume all these caves are spider-infested. At least we know this one is clear.”
“Besides that,” Sirty whispered to Nate when General Fisto turned away, “we fought for it. It’s ours.”
As the others set up in the cave, Kit Fisto carried his broadcasting unit a kilometer out to a completely desolate area with no line of sight to their new camp. There he triggered his beacon and sat in wait.
After five seconds he turned it off. He waited five minutes, then broadcast for another five seconds, and set the automatic monitor to continue in like sequence: five minutes off, five seconds on.
After an hour he heard an answering squeal in proper coded series. He turned off the monitor and waited.
The sun was nearing the western horizon when a battered cargo ship appeared from the south. It flew in a slow, groaning circle and then settled toward the ground, frying the underbrush as it did. That thermal inefficiency implied an older model, and in merely adequate repair.
The panel door opened and a ramp descended. Kit heard a bleeping sound, and then a human female appeared at the top.
Kit had few standards by which to assess human beauty. Based on her movements and posture, however, this female was in excellent physical condition, her unblemished black skin and lustrous short hair suggested a healthy immune system, and she seemed quite aware and alert. Good. They would need these qualities to successfully implement their plans.
The woman studied Kit, her expression one of exasperation. “A Nautolan. Pretty far from an ocean, aren’t you?”
The Jedi was unamused. “I’m waiting,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “No sense of humor. All right: ‘Alderaan has three moons.’”
“‘Demos Four but two,’” Kit replied without hesitation.
She nodded as if he had confirmed more than identity. “Name’s Sheeka Tull. I was told to expect you.”
“What precisely were you told?”
She scuffed her toe across a line in the ground, raising a tiny plug of fine, dry dust. “They said if I helped you, certain things in my past would be forgotten. That right?” She looked back up at him, defiance sparkling in her eyes. He nodded, and she seemed relieved. “So. What do you need?”
“What I need is a reliable contact. There were cave spiders.”
She shook her head. “There are spiders all through these mountains, but I didn’t see any when I checked out that cave. Sorry.”
Kit locked eyes with her, a test of wills. Was she telling the truth?
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