Star Wars_ The Old Republic_ Revan - Drew Karpyshyn [20]
“See?” Sechel said. “No alarms. No assault droids. Nothing to worry about.”
“We’re not done yet,” Scourge replied, shouldering past him and into the manufacturing plant.
They found themselves standing in a narrow, dimly lit corridor. If the blueprints they had were accurate, it should lead them into the plant from the rear. From there they would have to cross the production floor to the records office, where Sechel would slice into the plant’s network to find out who had paid UDM to manufacture the custom-built droid that had tried—and failed—to kill Nyriss.
“Stay close,” Scourge instructed Sechel as he removed his night-vision goggles with his free hand and clipped them to his belt. “If we run into trouble, hide in a corner and try not to get shot.”
“That’s what I do best,” Sechel assured him.
Scourge set off down the hall, Sechel following a few steps behind. It continued straight for about thirty meters, then made a sharp left turn that terminated in a closed door.
Unlike the door that had given them access to the plant, this one didn’t appear to be reinforced or locked. From the other side Scourge could clearly hear the deep, rhythmic thud of heavy machinery churning away.
He pressed the access panel on the wall, his muscles instinctively coiling as he dropped into a fighting crouch. The door slid open to reveal the plant’s main production floor, and a wave of intense heat smacked him in the face, momentarily taking his breath away. But he relaxed a second later when he realized there was no ambush waiting for them on the other side.
The manufacturing floor was massive—at least a hundred meters across and easily twice as long. Numerous doors and passages lined each wall, dozens of exits all leading to different areas of the plant. A network of metal catwalks and stairwells crisscrossed the room. In the center was the source of the intense heat: four enormous vats of molten metal, each ten meters tall and twenty meters in diameter.
Half a dozen long conveyor belts extended from the vats to run the entire length of the manufacturing floor, each covered with thousands of individual parts and pieces waiting to be assembled into functional droids. The giant engines powering the belts crashed and churned, drowning out all other sound.
Hundreds of bipedal assembly droids lined the conveyor belts, but Scourge knew they didn’t present any type of threat. Assembly droids were severely limited in their programming, incapable of performing anything other than the simplest jobs. Unlike the patrol drone he’d dispatched earlier, these would ignore his presence and continue working at their assigned tasks. Apart from the assembly droids, there didn’t appear to be anyone around. The plant’s flesh-and-blood supervisors would have left for the night long before. Reaching out with the Force, he could sense no other living beings in the vicinity.
“Well?” Sechel asked, trying to peer past Scourge’s massive frame to get a better view of what lay beyond the door.
Even though Sechel was right behind him, it was almost impossible to hear his voice over the conveyor belt’s pounding engines. Scourge signaled all clear and stepped through.
The records office was located in the southwest corner of the plant, adjacent to the manufacturing floor. They’d have to cross nearly the entire length of the room to get there, and Scourge was perspiring heavily under his armor after only a few seconds. The heat was oppressive; the air almost seemed to stick in his throat. The deafening clang of the engines was relentless.
He cast a glance back at his companion. Even though Sechel wasn’t wearing armor, he was lagging well behind. Clearly, a life of upper-class luxury had left him thoroughly unprepared for the physical demands of the manufacturing floor’s unexpectedly harsh environment. But he struggled gamely onward, wheezing with every labored step.
The entrance to the records office turned out to be locked.
“Hurry