Alliances (Star Wars: Thrawn, #2)(79)
He gestured to the control board. “More than that, we see that they had already activated the engines and begun the preflight sequence when they were stopped.”
He paused, apparently waiting for Vader to speak. But the Dark Lord stood silently, gazing at the board.
“The Darkhawk is equipped with modern weapons and equipment,” Thrawn said. “The prisoners from the Grysk freighter had seen it in combat and knew it would be a prize worth capturing. But at the same time, it is at heart a relic of the Clone War. And there is only one place in this region where they could have studied this type of freighter and learned how to operate it.”
Vader rumbled something under his breath. “Mokivj.”
“Indeed, my lord,” Thrawn said. “More specifically, the Separatist factory on Mokivj that we once assaulted.”
Vader straightened to his full height. “That you once assaulted,” he corrected. “No one else aboard the Chimaera was ever there.”
“Of course,” Thrawn said, inclining his head. “I misspoke.”
For a long moment, they gazed at each other in silence. Faro found herself holding her breath, feeling a fresh edge of tension crackling through the room. There was something going on here, something deep beneath the surface.
Only she had no idea what it was.
“You are the commander,” Vader said at last. “If you believe this factory is the key, that is where we shall begin.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Thrawn again turned to Faro. “Commodore, prepare a course for Mokivj. We leave in two hours.”
“Yes, sir,” Faro said.
“That will give you time, my lord,” Thrawn added, looking at Vader, “to speak with the remaining prisoners. If you so choose.”
“Indeed, Admiral,” Vader rumbled in a voice that sent a fresh chill up Faro’s back. “You have uncovered some of their secrets. I will uncover the rest.”
Padmé wasted another twenty minutes searching through every inch of the factory’s west wing, all three floors, in search of something useful the previous occupants might have left behind. But the entire place had been cleaned, down to the bone.
The low barriers that marked out the space in LebJau’s old work area, however, were held in place by metal uprights: sturdy metal rods, hollow, with square cross sections five centimeters across. On one of the uprights the fasteners were loose enough that she was able to carefully work them the rest of the way out with her fingernails. Once she had one bar free, she was able to use its end to unscrew others.
Even with that to help her many of the fasteners were still too tight to work free. But in the end she was able to gather twenty-three of the rods.
It cost all twenty-three of them, broken or bent, to lever the trapdoor lid far enough for her to squeeze back through it.
She didn’t know exactly where the corresponding trapdoor into the south wing was located, but if the access points had been laid out symmetrically she should be able to find it. After that, the next task would be getting it open. Hopefully, LebJau’s comment about how heavy the lids were without power meant that the south wing’s lids did have power, and that the controls were someplace where Padmé could get to them. If not, she was going to have to get creative.
From the confident manner in which LebJau had walked through the service level she gathered the droids didn’t come down here very often, if at all. But it wasn’t an assumption she was willing to bet her life on. She used her glow rod sparingly as she worked her way across the permacrete floor, keeping it on its lowest setting and only flicking it on for a half second or so every dozen steps, just to make sure she wasn’t heading straight toward a pillar or a pile of debris. Better to err on the side of caution.
It was just as well she did. She was halfway back to the spot where she and LebJau had entered when she spotted a faint glow in the distance.
She froze, pressing against the pillar beside her, straining her eyes and ears. The glow was still there, moving slightly with the rhythm of someone walking. She couldn’t hear anything, but the light was far enough away that even soft voices would probably be inaudible.
Soft voices, or the muffled clank of droid feet on permacrete.
So: either LebJau or his friends heading back to the south wing, or a battle droid patrol that would ultimately return to the east wing. Either way, it was a direction she needed to go. Taking a deep breath, she headed off toward it, using her own light even more sparingly.
She had nearly caught up when the light suddenly stopped and swiveled upward. Padmé slowed her pace, and a few seconds later she felt the familiar puff of air that marked a trapdoor lid opening.
And now, finally, she was close enough to hear a pair of muffled human voices as the figures climbed the ladder. The lid closed, and darkness and silence returned.
Padmé hurried forward, using her light openly now. Ahead, she could see the cone and the ladder with the lid above. She rounded the last pillar—
And nearly dropped her light as a pair of arms snaked around her shoulders and yanked her back against a hard, muscled torso. The arms twisted up and to her right, trying to throw her to the ground, while a knee jabbed hard into the back of her right knee, further threatening her balance. “Whoever you are—” a voice muttered in her ear.
And broke off as Padmé snatched her blaster from her hip holster, twisted it around and over her left shoulder, and pressed the muzzle against his throat. “You should let go now,” she murmured back.