Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [120]
“Project Minefield derived from Chubar. It involves a second, and much faster-acting, set of chemical treatments that affect the victim’s mind on a much shorter-term basis. While the chemicals are at their maximum effect, Zsinj’s agents can implant a delusion and a mission in the victim’s mind. The delusion is usually that some awful situation is in effect and can’t be stopped until the mission is accomplished.
“Both the delusion and the mission are associated with a trigger, usually a code phrase. Until the phrase is used, the victim is unaware of what has been done to him … in theory. Some of the doctors’s annotations indicate that the victims sometimes suspect that something is wrong. But when the phrase is used, the mission pops to the top and becomes the victim’s number one priority. Um, this conditioning wears off after a while. The length of time it remains viable varies from species to species, but seldom exceeds one standard year.”
She scrolled through screens of data on her terminal. “The code phrase can have a variable in it. Let’s say the mission is ‘Kidnap someone’ and the trigger phrase is ‘I need a new speeder, someone broke mine.’ You’d tell the brainwashed agent, ‘I need a new speeder, Elassar Targon broke mine,’ and the victim would interpret that as ‘Kidnap Elassar Targon.’ It’s a fairly versatile setup.” She skimmed through more screens of data. “So far, the treatment only works on mammalian species.
“Project Funeral is Zsinj’s major operation using the Minefield technique. Our brainstorming session pretty much nailed its purpose and intent—fomenting suspicion between the humans and nonhumans of the New Republic. Addenda to the files suggest that the project has recently been suspended, pending a new direction or a shutdown. In other words, it’s been stopped dead, at least temporarily.
“I’m going to do what I can for the test subjects on Iron Fist. I’ll end their suffering, one way or another.
“End Session Three.” She switched off the recording and leaned back in her chair.
She felt strange. Growing up on Coruscant, raised in the planet’s long-standing traditions concerning other species, she’d always believed in the basic superiority of humans. Oh, it wasn’t necessarily wrong to have affection for a member of another species—a household servant, or a reliable merchant who knew his role in life—but Coruscant was a world for and made by humans. Imperial doctrine solidified these traditions into something like duracrete.
Then, as an infiltrator in the Rebel navy and, later, Wraith Squadron, she’d run again and again into evidence suggesting that these traditions simply made no sense. With Wraith Squadron, her long-standing assumption of superiority over even the nonhumans she’d liked simply wilted away.
And now, with only a droid—held by the Empire in even lower esteem than nonhumans—for a friend, longing to return to a society full of what she’d once considered aliens, she once again knew that the Gara Petothel that had been her childhood identity was dead. Dead and unmourned.
And the nonhumans in their cages deep in Iron Fist’s belly were beginning to haunt her dreams.
Words popped up on her screen, ARE YOU SAD?
“No,” she lied. “Just tired. But it’s time to get back to work.” She leaned forward again. “What’s our situation with the hyperdrive?”
WE HAVE UNITS IN PLACE ALL OVER THE ENGINES. THEY CAN BEGIN THEIR SABOTAGE AT ANY TIME. BUT THERE ARE NOT YET ENOUGH IN CRITICAL POSITIONS FOR US TO BE CERTAIN THAT THEY CAN DISABLE THE HYPERDRIVE.
“Keep pouring on resources,” she said. “We have to be able to bring those engines down when we want to.
“Let’s see here … even though we have some access to the ship’s computers,