Path of Destruction Page 6

  Groshik must have still been awake, because he answered the door only seconds after Des began pounding on it. The Neimoidian took one look at the blood on the young man’s hands and shirt and grabbed him by the sleeve.

  “Get in here!” he croaked, yanking Des through the door and slamming it shut behind him. “Are you hurt?”

  Des shook his head. “I don’t think so. The blood isn’t mine.”

  Taking a step back, the Neimoidian looked him up and down. “There’s a lot of it. Too much. Smells human.”

  When Des didn’t reply, Groshik ventured a guess. “Gerd’s?”

  Another shake of the head. “The ensign,” Des said.

  Groshik dropped his head and swore under his breath. “Who knows? Are the authorities after you?”

  “Not yet. Soon.” Then, as if trying to justify his actions, he added, “There were three of them, Groshik. Only one’s dead.”

  His old friend nodded sympathetically. “I’m sure he had it coming. Just like Gerd. But that doesn’t change the facts. A Republic soldier is dead … and you’re the one who’s going to take the blame.”

  The cantina owner led Des over to the bar and brought down the bottle of cortyg brandy. Without saying a word, he poured them each a drink. This time he didn’t stop at half glasses.

  “I’m sorry I came here,” Des said, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence. “I didn’t mean to get you mixed up in this.”

  “Getting mixed up in things doesn’t bother me,” Groshik reassured him with a comforting pat on his arm. “I’m just trying to figure a way to get us out of this now. Let me think.”

  They downed their glasses. It was all Des could do to keep from panicking; with each passing second he expected a dozen men in ORO body armor to crash down the cantina’s door. After what seemed like hours, but was probably only a minute or two, Groshik began to talk. He spoke softly, and Des wasn’t sure if the Neimoidian was addressing him or merely talking out loud to help himself think.

  “You can’t stay here. ORO can’t afford to lose their Republic contracts. They’ll turn the whole colony upside down to find you. We have to get you offworld.” He paused. “But by morning, your picture will be on every vidscreen in Republic space. Changing your looks won’t help much. Even with a wig or facial prosthetics you tend to stand out in a crowd. So that means we have to get you out of Republic space. And that means …” Groshik trailed off.

  Des waited expectantly.

  “Those things you said tonight,” Groshik ventured, “about the Sith and the Republic. Did you mean it? Did you really mean it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  There was another long pause, as if the bartender was gathering himself. “How would you feel about joining the Sith?” he suddenly blurted out.

  Des was caught completely off guard. “What?”

  “I know … people. I can get you offworld. Tonight. But these people aren’t looking for passengers: the Sith need soldiers. They’re always recruiting, just like those Republic officers tonight.”

  Des shook his head. “I don’t believe this. You work for the Sith? You always said never to take sides!”

  “I don’t work for the Sith,” Groshik snapped. “I just know people who do. I know people who work for the Republic, too. But they’re not going to be much help in this situation. So I need to know, Des. Is this something you want?”

  “I don’t have a lot of other options,” Des mumbled in reply.

  “Maybe, maybe not. If you stay here, the ORO authorities are sure to find you. This wasn’t a cold-blooded murder. The judiciary probably won’t let you get off by pleading self-defense, but they’ll have to admit there were extenuating circumstances. You’ll serve time on one of the penal colonies—five, maybe six years—and then you’re a free man.”

  “Or I join the Sith.”

  Groshik nodded. “Or you join the Sith. But if I’m going to help you do this, I want to be sure you know what you’re getting into.”

  Des thought about it, but not for long. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to get off this hunk of rock,” he said slowly. “If I go to a prison world, I’m trading one barren, blasted planet for another. No different than staying right here.

  “If I join the Sith, at least I’m out from under ORO’s thumb. And you heard what that Republic commander said about them. The Sith respect strength. I think I’ll be able to hold my own.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” Groshik conceded. “But don’t dismiss everything else that commander said. He was right about the Brotherhood of Darkness. They can be ruthless and cruel. They bring out the worst in some people. I don’t want you to fall into that trap.”

  “First you tell me to join the Sith,” Des said, “now you’re warning me against joining them. What’s going on?”

  The Neimoidian gave a long, gurgling sigh. “You’re right, Des. The decision is made. Grim fate and ill fortune have conspired against you. It’s not like sabacc; you can’t fold a bad hand. In life you just play the cards you’re dealt.” He turned away, heading for the small stairs at the back of the cantina. “Come on. In a few hours, after they’ve searched the housing units in the colony, they’ll start searching the starport for you. We have to hurry if we want to get you safely hidden away on one of the freight cruisers before then.”

  Des reached out across the bar and grabbed Groshik’s shoulder. Groshik turned to face him, and Des clasped the Neimoidian’s long, slender forearm.

  “Thank you, old friend. I won’t forget this.”

  “I know you won’t, Des.” Though the words were kind, there was an unmistakable sorrow in the gravelly voice.

  Des released his grip, feeling awkward, ashamed, scared, grateful, and excited all at the same time. He felt like he needed to say something else, so he added, “I’ll make this up to you somehow. The next time we meet—”

  “Your life here is over, Des,” Groshik said, cutting him off. “There won’t be a next time. Not for us.”

  The Neimoidian shook his head. “I don’t know what’s ahead of you, but I get the feeling it isn’t going to be easy. Don’t count on others for help. In the end each of us is in this alone. The survivors are those who know how to look out for themselves.”

  With that he turned away, his feet shuffling briskly across the cantina’s floor as he headed to the back exit. Des hesitated a moment, Groshik’s words burning into his mind, then rushed off to follow.

  * * *

  Huddled in the hold of the ship, Des tried to get comfortable. He’d been crammed into the small smuggler’s hatch for nearly an hour. It was a tight fit for a man of his size.

  Twenty minutes earlier he had heard an ORO patrol come to inspect the ship. They had made a cursory search; not finding the fugitive they were seeking, they had left. A few seconds later the captain, a Rodian pilot, had rapped hard on the panel keeping Des hidden.

  “You stay until engines go,” he had called in passable galactic Basic. “We take off, you come out. Not before.”

  Des hadn’t recognized him when he’d climbed aboard; he had looked like any other Rodian he’d ever seen. Just another independent freighter captain picking up a load of cortosis, hoping to sell it on some other world for enough profit to keep his ship flying another few months.

  If ORO had offered a reward for Des’s capture, the captain probably would have sold him out. That meant the ORO managers hadn’t put a price on his head. They were more worried about paying out a bounty than letting a fugitive escape Republic justice. It wasn’t important that they found him, as long as they could show the Republic they had tried. Groshik must have realized all this when he made the arrangements to smuggle Des aboard.

  The high-pitched whine of the engines powering up caused Des to brace himself against the walls of his close quarters. A few seconds later the whine became a deafening roar, and the ship lurched beneath him. The repulsors fired, counterbalancing the vessel, and Des felt the press of the g’s as the ship took to t
he sky.

  He kicked at the panel once, knocking it free, and untangled himself from the hidey-hole. The captain and crew weren’t around; they would all be at their stations for liftoff.

  Des didn’t know their destination. All he knew was that at the end of the trip a human woman was waiting to sign him up for the Sith army. As before, the thought filled him with a mix of emotions. Fear and excitement dominated all the others.

  There was a slight jostling of the ship as it broke atmosphere and began to speed away from the tiny mining world. A few seconds later Des felt an unfamiliar but unmistakable surge as they jumped to hyperspace.

  A sudden sense of liberation filled his spirit. He was free. For the first time in his life, he was beyond the grasping reach of ORO and its cortosis mines. Groshik had said that grim fate and ill fortune were conspiring against him, but Des wasn’t so sure now. Things hadn’t worked out quite the way he’d planned—he was a fugitive with the blood of a Republic soldier on his hands—but he had finally escaped Apatros.

  Maybe the cards he’d been dealt weren’t so bad, after all. In the end he’d gotten the one thing he wanted most. And when you came right down to it, wasn’t that the only thing that really mattered?

  6

  Phaseera’s yellow sun was directly overhead, beaming down across the lush valley and over the jungle camp where Des and his fellow Sith troopers waited. Beneath the shelter of a cydera tree, Des ran a quick system check on his TC-22 blaster rifle to pass the time. The power pack was fully charged, good for fifty shots. His backup power pack checked out, too. The aim was off just slightly, a common problem with all TC models. They had good range and power, but over time their scopes could lose precise calibration. A quick adjustment brought it back into line.

  His hands moved with a quick confidence born of a thousand repetitions. Over the past twelve months he’d gone through the routine so many times he barely even had to think about it anymore. A pre-battle weapons check wasn’t standard practice in the Sith militia, but it was a habit he’d gotten into—one that had saved his life on several occasions. The Sith army was growing so fast that supply couldn’t keep up with demand. The best equipment was reserved for veterans and officers, while new recruits were forced to make do with whatever was available.

  Now that he was a sergeant he could have requested a better model, but the TC-22 was the first weapon he’d learned to fire and he’d become pretty good with it. Des figured a little routine maintenance was a better option than learning to master the subtle nuances of another weapon.

  His blaster pistol, however, was top of the line. Not all Sith troopers were given pistols: for most soldiers a medium-range, semi-repeating rifle was weapon enough. They’d probably be dead long before they ever got close enough to their enemy to use a pistol. But in the past year Des had proven a dozen times over that he was more than just turret fodder. Soldiers good enough to survive the initial rush and get in tight to the enemy ranks needed a weapon more suited to close-quarters fighting.

  For Des that weapon was the GSI-21D: the finest disruptor pistol manufactured by Galactic Solutions Industries. Optimum range was only twenty meters, but within that distance it was capable of disintegrating armor, flesh, and droid plating with equal efficiency. The 21D was illegal in most Republic-controlled sectors of the galaxy, a testament to its awesome destructive potential. The disruptor’s power pack carried only enough charge for a dozen shots, but when he was eye-to-eye with an opponent it rarely took more than one.

  He slid the pistol into the holster clipped to his belt, checked the vibroblade in his boot, and turned his attention to his troops. All around him the men and women of his unit were following his lead, making similar inspections of their own equipment as they waited for the orders. He couldn’t help but smile; he’d trained them well.

  He’d joined the Sith armies as a way to escape both prison and Apatros itself. But it hadn’t taken him long to actually grow fond of the soldier’s life. There was a camaraderie among the men and women who fought at his side, a bond that quickly extended to include Des himself. He’d never felt any connection to the miners on Apatros and indeed had always considered himself something of a loner. But in the military he’d found his true place. He belonged here with the troops. His troops.

  Senior Trooper Adanar noticed his gaze and responded by thumping a closed fist lightly against his chest twice, just over his heart. It was a gesture known only to members of the unit: a private sign for loyalty and fidelity, a symbol of the bond they all shared.

  Des returned the gesture. He and Adanar had been in the same unit since day one of their military careers. The recruiter had signed them up together and assigned them both to the Gloom Walkers, Lieutenant Ulabore’s unit.

  Adanar picked up his rifle and sauntered over to where his friend was sitting. “You figure we’re going to need that disruptor pistol of yours anytime soon, Sarge?”

  “No harm in being prepared,” Des replied, whipping out the disruptor and giving it a spinning flourish before returning it to its holster.

  “I wish they’d give us the go-ahead already,” Adanar grumbled. “We’ve been in position for two days now. How long are they going to wait?”

  Des shrugged. “We can’t go until they’re ready to move in with the main force. We go too early and the plan falls apart.”

  The Gloom Walkers had earned quite a reputation over the past year. They’d been in scores of battles on half a dozen worlds, and they’d tasted far more than their share of victories. They’d gone from being one of a thousand expendable front-line units to elite troops reserved for critical missions. Right now they were the key to capturing the manufacturing world of Phaseera—if someone would just give them the order to go. Until then they were stuck in this jungle camp an hour’s march away from their objective. They’d been here only a couple of days, but it was already beginning to take its toll.

  Adanar began to pace. Des sat calmly in the shade, watching him march back and forth.

  “Don’t wear yourself out,” he said after a minute. “We’re not going anywhere until nightfall at the earliest. You might as well get comfortable.”

  Adanar stopped pacing, but he didn’t sit down. “Lieutenant says this is going to be easy as a spicerun,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “You figure he’s right?”

  Lieutenant Ulabore had received many accolades for the success of his troops, but everyone in the unit knew who was really in charge when the blaster bolts started flying.

  That fact had become painfully clear nearly a year before back on Kashyyyk, where Des and Adanar had seen their first action. The Brotherhood of Darkness had tried to secure a foothold in the Mid Rim by invading the system, sending in wave after wave of troops to capture the resource-rich homeworld of the Wookiees. But the planet was a Republic stronghold and they weren’t about to retreat, no matter how badly outnumbered.

  When the Sith fleet first landed, their enemies simply vanished into the forest. The invasion turned into a war of attrition, a long, drawn-out campaign fought among the branches of the wroshyr trees high above the planet’s surface. The Sith troopers weren’t used to fighting in the treetops, and the thick foliage and kshyy vines of the forest canopy provided perfect cover for the Republic soldiers and their Wookiee guides to launch ambushes and guerrilla raids. Thousands upon thousands of the invaders were wiped out, most dying without even seeing the opponent who had fired the fatal shot … but the Sith Masters just kept sending more troops in.

  The Gloom Walkers were part of the second wave of reinforcements. During their first battle they were separated from the main lines, cut off from the rest of the army. Alone and surrounded by enemies, Lieutenant Ulabore panicked. Without direct orders, he had no idea what to do to keep his unit alive. Fortunately, Des was there to step in and save their hides.

  For starters, he could sense the enemy even when he couldn’t see them. Somehow he just knew where they were. He couldn’t explain it, but he’d stop
ped trying to explain his unique talents long ago. Now he just tried to use them to his best advantage. With Des as their guide, the Gloom Walkers were able to avoid the traps and ambushes as they slowly worked their way back to rejoin the main force. It took three days and nights, countless brief but deadly battles, and a seemingly endless march through enemy territory, but they made it. Through all the fighting, the unit lost only a handful of soldiers, and the troops who made it back knew they owed their lives to Des.

  The story of the Gloom Walkers became a rallying point for the rest of the Sith army, raising morale that had become dangerously low. If a single unit could survive for three days on its own, they reasoned, then surely a thousand units could win the war. In the end it took almost two thousand units, but Kashyyyk finally fell.

  As leader of the heroic Gloom Walkers, Lieutenant Ulabore was given a special commendation. He never bothered to mention that Des was really the one responsible. Still, he’d been smart enough to promote Des to sergeant. And he knew enough to stay out of the way when things got hot.

  “So?” Adanar repeated. “What’s the word, Des? When they finally give us the go, is this mission going to be a spicerun?”

  “The lieutenant’s just saying what he thinks we all want to hear.”

  “I know that, Des. That’s why I’m talking to you. I want to know what we’re really in for.”

  Des thought about it for a few moments. They were holed up in the jungle on the edge of a narrow valley—the only route into Phaseera’s capital city, where the Republic army had set up its base camp. On a nearby hill overlooking the valley was a Republic outpost. If the Sith tried to move troops through the valley, even at night, the outpost was sure to spot them. They’d signal ahead to the base camp so their defenses would be up and fully operational long before the enemy ever reached them.

  The Gloom Walkers’ mission was simple: eliminate the outpost so the rest of the army could launch a surprise attack on the Republic base camp. They had interference boxes—short-range jamming equipment they could use to keep the outpost from transmitting a signal to warn the main camp—but they’d have to hit them fast. The outpost reported each day at dawn, and if the Gloom Walkers struck too soon, the Republic would realize something was wrong when the daily report didn’t come in.