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CHAPTER 41

Crix Madine and Trandia locked down their A-wing fighters in the dense shadows of rocky outcrop bristling from the rugged surface of a small asteroid.

“All systems on standby and powered up,” Madine said. “Even if everything goes as planned, we need to be ready to leave here fast.”

Trandia responded with the grim fatalism she had shown since the death of Korenn, the third member of their team. “Are we going to return from this mission, sir?” she said.

Madine thought of responding with a reassuring answer, then decided she deserved something more honest. “We must remain optimists,” he said. “There’s a chance we’ll get back home eventually.”

Trandia said, “Good enough for me, sir.”

Madine and Trandia wore heavily padded, single-mission spacesuits, walking outfits of armor like self-contained mobile ships. They stood on the crumbly surface of the asteroid, checking their complement of detonators, life-support packs, and surveillance systems.

“Ready to go, sir,” Trandia said.

Madine stood beside her, bulky in the hardened survival suit. They looked out at the enormous structure taking shape as it hung at a stable point in the asteroid belt. “Launch,” Madine said.

He and Trandia leaped upward, tearing themselves free of the asteroid’s negligible gravity. Momentum carried them across the gulf of space toward the superweapon under construction. As he and Trandia drifted like tiny pieces of rubble toward the giant cylindrical assembly, Madine had a good deal of time to stare at the Hutt project through his faceplate.

The design concerned him. He was aware that the Hutts had copied the Death Star plans from the Imperial Information Center—but this was no Death Star. It appeared instead to be no more than the superlaser, a straight cylinder that would serve as a destructive offensive weapon. If this weapon were completed, the Hutts would show little reluctance to use it against any system that failed to pay them for protection.

And the construction seemed nearly finished.

The two suited figures floated in, specks against the kilometers-long assembly. Madine spoke in a focused line-of-sight beam at Trandia. “We may be able to cripple the weapon if we can get inside and place our detonators in appropriate spots.”

“From the looks of it, we’d better not wait too long, sir,” Trandia said. “Seems like the Hutts are ready to go.”

At last, their magnetic boots made contact with the armor plates, black metal that reflected little starlight. Using his adhesive gloves, Madine clambered like an insect along the hull. The Hutt weapon was so vast that the curvature of the cylinder was unnoticeable beneath him.

He and Trandia worked their way along the metal plates, and Madine was surprised to see that many of the hull segments were mismatched and loose, welded together but leaving gaps and uneven seams. Such a construction couldn’t possibly hold an atmosphere. He was appalled by the reprehensible workmanship.

At least it would be easy to get inside.

They came upon one particularly loose plate, and Madine removed a crude crowbar from the tool compartment of his bulky suit. With it he was able to peel free some of the crumbling welds. The sheet of metal drifted away, tumbling end over end. The missing plate left an opening large enough for Trandia and Madine to crawl through even in their cumbersome suits.

They entered a darkened, half-completed corridor, little more than an access space between the shoddy outer hull and a not-much-better inner wall. Bright beams from their helmets lit the way as they pulled themselves along. Finally they reached a bulkhead door that allowed them to pass deeper inside the construction and work their way toward the aft interior chambers. They cycled one at a time through a cramped airlock.

Clomping in his heavy boots, Madine entered another dimly lit passageway and stood waiting for Trandia. When she joined him, Madine removed his helmet. “There’s atmosphere here. Let’s take off our suits,” he