Star Wars_ The New Rebellion - Kristine Kathryn Rusch [172]
Brakiss?
Kueller shook his head. He would have sensed the betrayal. No. It had come from a source he hadn’t suspected, hadn’t even known existed. Someone on Coruscant must have discovered the droids.
He should have thought of that.
But no matter. The government on Coruscant was self-focused. They wouldn’t think to warn all the governments in all the sectors. And Brakiss had outfitted all new droids with the detonators—had done so now for nearly two years. That would be enough to put terror in the hearts of the entire galaxy.
Kueller would do that shortly. First he would guarantee he had all the power he needed.
It was time to take care of Skywalker and his sister.
Kueller had sensed the disturbance in the Force when Organa Solo landed on the planet. His own private monitor had shown her ship landing near the towers, and he had felt Skywalker’s valiant attempt to drive off his guards. Kueller had ordered that there be no reinforcements.
He wanted them for himself.
The tower wasn’t far from here.
With Skywalker weakened, and Organa Solo untrained, Kueller would have the advantage.
He gripped his lightsaber in his right hand. An advantage did not guarantee a win. He would have to have some backup.
Skywalker and Organa Solo would not leave Almania alive.
Forty-seven
As Brakiss and his droids marched Cole deep into the factory, Cole’s mother’s angry description of him ran through his head like a mantra: impetuous, stubborn, impulsive. She had said those words to him when he wanted to go to the Jedi academy, when he went to work in Anchorhead, and when he left Tatooine. She had said his desire to be a hero would get him in trouble one day.
She was right.
Even though her words ran like background music through his brain, his conscious mind was examining the possibilities. Brakiss had him at blaster-point. The assassin droids also had their weaponry out, and up ahead, he saw old-style Imperial gladiator droids.
Cole was alone, with one rather flaky protocol droid and one savvy R2 unit, both of whom were, at the moment, not available to help.
Maybe by now, Mon Mothma or Admiral Ackbar might know where he was, but there was no guarantee that they’d care.
Impetuous, stubborn, impulsive.
Might as well add stupid to the list. His faith in Artoo was so great that he had somehow thought the little droid would have things under control.
Strike that.
His faith in himself hadn’t allowed him to think of this possibility. He had thought that a hero only needed to be on the right side in order to win.
The floor sloped downward, and all the signs had disappeared. The walls were unfinished, and the glow panels above were bare—something he had never seen before. They gave a starkness to the scene, a bleakness that matched what he was feeling inside.
Of course Brakiss knew about the detonators. He’d put them there. And he seemed to have the same sort of charisma that Leia Organa Solo had, something that Cole was beginning to understand came from the Force.
He was letting them take him far from the freighter, but he saw no other choice. He had to give Artoo time to work, to do whatever he thought he could do here.
Finally they reached a large steel door. Brakiss keyed in a code, and the door hissed open. Cole tried to take a step back, but Brakiss placed a hand against Cole’s back.
The room was large and smelled of ozone and burning metal. Sparks flew as droids screamed. Large zaps and zots filled the air, followed by more cries from artificial voices. This was a droid torture chamber. Cole had heard of them but had not believed in them.
It took a particularly sadistic mind to determine effective ways to torture creatures that could not feel pain.
But Cole could.
The steel on the door had double reinforcements, and so did the walls. A thin droid made from unfinished