“Your memory is excellent, sir,” Luke answers. He suddenly feels very uncomfortable. Every officer in the center watches to see the outcome of his inadvertent encounter with the Governor-General.
“You outfitted the platoon detailed to capture Erling Tredway, did you not?”
Luke breathes a sigh of relief. “I was involved with that project, yes.”
Parnell turns away, impressed with his own memory. “Carry on with the good work, Colonel.”
Luke moves toward the back of the center, anxious to escape the scrutiny of Sebastian Parnell and the officers watching him. He works his way past row after row of black uniformed men inconspicuously and jealously studying him. Finally, he reaches an open door guarded by two elite stormtroopers. A vidsign above the door reads: “Sub-facility task-force only.” Inside, a ragged Twi’lek with a moon-shaped scar above his left eye talks with two senior staff generals.
Luke searches for an empty computer interface. He hopes information regarding Erling Tredway will be available to Command Center terminals. Unfortunately, he senses he is still the object of considerable scrutiny, so it may prove difficult to find a work station that affords the privacy he needs.
“Don’t let ’em bother you,” says a grim-faced colonel. “They’re jealous. The old man wouldn’t remember most of their faces if he shared a survival bubble with ’em. You’re one of the lucky ones – he’ll promote you to general the next time you meet.”
“If someone in here doesn’t reassign me to waste disposal,” Luke says. The colonel has the weathered features of a field commander, but his left leg is missing. Despite his friendly manner, the man has a cold and ruthless bearing.
“You look like you need a hand. New to Command?”
Luke nods. “New to Tol Ado. I came here from the Belt.”
“Pirate patrol?”
Luke nods.
“Maybe I can help. It never hurts to know someone who knows the general.”
“Thanks,” Luke says. “I’m working on a follow-up report for the Tredway operation. The terminal in my office is locked out and I don’t have the proper authorization code.”
“Why don’t you request authorization through central computer services?”
“I’ld like to finish the report before General Parnell finishes Tredway,” Luke says. “Maybe he won’t flinch so much when he sees what it cost.”
“I see your point,” the colonel says. “Hold on.” He rattles a string of commands into his interface. A moment later, a diagram of a tiny block appears on his screen. It has no more than 500 cells, but twice the normal nubmer of heavy weapons emplacements and guards. In the center of the block is an interrogation arena. Judging from the specifications of the equipment in the arena, interrogations in this block are not pleasant. The colonel reports, “Erling Tredway is being held in the Deathblock, level two, cell five. That’d be 205.”
“The Deathblock?”
“You are new, aren’t you? Directly below us – at the bottom of administration central. You’d better rush that report, by the way. Nobody lasts more than two days down there.”
“Then what?” Luke asks.
“They don’t escape, that’s for sure. “
“he can’t kill Tredway!”
The old colonel studies Luke carefully. “Why not?”
Luke hesitates, afraid he has let his prejudice give him away. “Tredway’s arrest caused a lot of unrest. His death might throw the whole system into revol.” If Sidney’s devotion is any example of the fanaticism of Erling’s followers, Luke doubts he is exaggerating.
The colonel nods. “True. But some thigns are worse than a revolt.”
“But the economics – Like what?”
“I’ve said too much already. Just finish your report.”
Luke studies the Imperial. The older man has set his jaw and returned his attention to the vidscreen. “Thanks for your help,” Luke says.
“Remember, you owe me a favor.”
“You can count on me,” Luke says. He returns to his repulsor cart and smiles menacingly at Gideon and Sidney. “It’s to the Deathblock with you two.”
Both their faces pale appropriately.
He follows the ramp system down through a complicated series of spirals and turns. They finally reach a dark level barrne of traffic and personnel. The single lit corridor stretches straight to the center of the complex. On this level, the prison consists of 500 solitary isolation cells and a platoon of crack stormtroopers.
A dull set of gray doors comes into view. In front of the doors rest two light ion cannons. Each cannon’s crew stands in front of their weapons. An officer stands before the doors.