waited quietly in the musty wings of the chamber as Brandl continued
into the hall toward the shadowy form.
"Adalric Brandl, is that you?" the old man croaked pleasantly.
"Master Otias," Brandl whispered, kneeling at his mentor's feet.
"I am ashamed that you care to remember me."
Otias ignited a glow rod, casting a warm beam of light across his
scaling face. He was dressed in a faded gray tunic, stained with lamp
oil and sweat. The veins and muscles of his arms were pronounced and
defined, built up from a lifetime of toil and lean with age. Clouded
gray eyes were nearly imperceptible against a splash of dark spots and
freckles. "Since when did shame ever come between an actor and his
task director?" Brushing a trembling hand through his thinning silver
mane, Otias whispered, "It's been 12 long years, Adalric. What brings
you back to this stage?"
"Master O--" Brandl fell silent, cutting himself short.
"Come, come lad . . . there is nothing more obvious than an actor with
a need to confess."
Abruptly, Brandl cowered beneath the glow rod.
"I . . . I live my life . . . in a whirlwind!"
Dignified, Otias beamed proudly, recognizing the famous line.
"Old Soveryn's final words of the fourth act.
How closely you've come to rivalling his life." Resigned,
the aging
taskmaster sighed, a lifetime of exhaustion evident by his labored
breathing. "Actors are granted license to live a thousand lives,
Adalric; but you, you chose to live a thousand lies. If you have come
to me as your advocate then speak from your heart, not from the void of
a tragic character who has never been born."
Spittle flying from the corners of his mouth, Brandl raged, "I
cannot!"
"Every tragic figure is tainted by a flaw, possessed by a need to save
the world or himself from some unpardonable crime. No man can set
himself before humanity and judge it, not without himself being
judged." Otias gently unwrapped the makeshift bandage swathed about
Brandl's left hand, wincing at the severity of the burn.
The lightsaber's cauterizing bite was undeniable. "When we pursue
shadows, we are destined to find the darkness."
Staring into Brandl's face, Otias whispered, "And as you well know, the
dark side has always had its price."
"What happened to me?" Brandl implored.
"You stared into the collective pith of all beings and judged it,
without first looking into your own heart. Frustrated, you went
looking for the tragic flaw without much success. When the Emperor
came calling, you couldn't resist!" Otias whispered, "No one knows
darkness better than a Jedi Knight, and no one was more suited to play
such a role than you."
"I killed a woman!" Brandl gasped. "Suffocated her! I could feel her
heart in my hand . . . in my mind! And I squeezed and squeezed--"
"You've killed many," Otias accused. "The Emperor has no blood on his
hands; but he keeps an army of others who do."
"Otias, please, help me find the way."
"The way of the Force brings balance to the anarchy of life; but you
Adalric," he shook his head reprovingly, "you didn't want balance.
Your pride was so great and despite my warnings, you went in search of
the unatone
able crime, which inevitably separates the hero from the indigent masses. And you found it, didn't you?"
Gasping for breath, Brandl croaked, "Yes! It was within me, within my
black heart the whole time."
"It lies within all of us," Otias whispered, "if we dare to see."
Exhausted, he sighed bitterly, again brushing a hand through his
thinning hair. "I cannot vindicate you of the evil that you have
brought upon yourself, an evil that you have wielded in the name of the
Emperor for so long. I've spent the last decade watching, waiting for
your return, rehearsing what I would say to you." Sadly, he whispered,
"What you ask, I cannot give you. There can be no redemption for your
crimes. The dead cannot forgive."
Extinguishing the lamp, Otias turned his back on the distraught Jedi
and moved away toward the stage.
Brandl slowly turned from the familiar silhouette, stung by the reality
of Otias's words. Pressing the damp bandage against his wounded palm,
he stepped into the outer arena, moving into the darkened wings in the
rear of the theater. Without comment, he retraced his steps through
the spacious corridors, past the archaic displays, and into the
courtyard beyond the doors. Steeling himself against the violent
images sparking through his mind, the Jedi surrendered to Trulalis's
last waning sunlight, imagining that the impotent rays had the power to
burn into his flesh.
Angrily, he fumbled beneath his robes, producing a large cylindrical
object. Ross flinched momentarily, traumatized by his encounter with
the Jedi's lightsaber. With recovering confidence, he noted that this
object was much larger and was covered with minute control levers and
data screens. As if wrenching the neck of an invisible foe, Brandl
twisted the object before replacing it within his robes. Lightly, he
heard the smuggler's footsteps behind him, moving with guarded
discretion, as if to avoid disturbing his troubled thoughts. "I prefer
your contempt, Captain," he whispered, his eyes flashing with
violence.
"Your pity disgusts me." Extending his long stride,
he stormed out of the theater yard, unhindered by the thickened dust at his feet.
Framed by the dark cowl of the forest canopy, the Kierra's ivory hull
gleamed, a smooth, round tooth jutting from the heath. Guided by these
moonlight reflections, Ross stumbled through the rutted trail, twisting
his ankles against unseen rocks. "Kierra, lights!"
Squinting into the brilliant array of search beacons, the smuggler
shivered, pulling the collar of his duster across his neck. A potent
wind was descending from the high country, bringing with it the promise
of rain. Inside the cramped corridor, Ross brushed a hand through his
hair, reassured by the warmth flooding the freighter's interior.
"Pump up the main boosters," he ordered with distraction, noting that
Brandl had not followed him onto the ship.
Growing accustomed to the Jedi's erratic mood swings, Ross peered from
the protection of the ramp door. Below him, standing at the foot of
the ramp, Brandl stood motionless staring into the darkness as pale
mists crawled over his shoulders and beneath his feet. "Brandl?" With
his smuggler's sense aroused, Ross ordered, "Kierra, kill the exterior
lamps."
"You can come out now," Brandl whispered, as the austere beacons were
extinguished. "No one will harm you."
Ross pressed himself against the interior hull wall, propping his
blaster and steadying his arm and shoulder to draw a clear shot.
Hearing him, Brandl stared up into the darkened passage, disarming the
Corellian with his sharp gaze. As the lanky figure of a boy emerged
from the heath, Ross could feel the tension fade and stepped off the
ramp, recognizing the child from their brief encounter in the<
br />
settlement. Dressed in dark green clothes to match the forest at
night, the child's face was flushed and
sweated. Cautiously, he approached the two men and the freighter.
Awed by the sight of Brandl, enshrouded by darkness, yet haloed by the
moon, the child moved gingerly toward the ship, compelled by an
insatiable curiosity. He made no effort to shield his wonder, noting
every measure of the figure before his eyes, as if committing his mere
presence to memory. "It's true," the boy whispered. "You are a Jedi
Knight."
"Who are you?" Brandl demanded, but there was no strength in his
words. Even Ross could detect the half lie of denial trembling in his
voice.
Handsome, the child grinned, turning his face up to meet his father's
eyes. "Don't you know me?" he asked.
Staring intently at the lightsaber swinging from the Jedi's belt, the
boy angrily cried, "You named me! Jaalib, remember?"
Recovering his manners, he rubbed the toe of his shoe into the yielding
earth. "My last name is Brandl tOO."
Gently, Brandl caressed the boy's hair and cheeks, feeling the smooth
skin beneath his fingertips. It was a peculiar sensation, which fired
every nerve across his body.
Despite the tenderness of that caress, Ross felt a sense of unease
crawling into his belly.
"Is that a real lightsaber? I've never seen one." Chatty, the
youngster added, "I've seen props for the stage, but . . ." His soft,
tenor voice fluttered, prey to the silence as Brandl handed the weapon
to him. Staring at it, Jaalib reached hesitantly for the lightsaber,
then dropped his hand.
"Don't be afraid," Brandl urged.
"I'm not afraid," Jaalib said with confidence, taking his father's
hand, rather than the lightsaber. A thin film of tears glistened in
the corner of his eyes. Swallowing the emotion, Jaalib whispered,
"I've come to warn you. I heard Menges and the others talking.
They're angry that you came back to the settlement. Mother doesn't
think they'll do anything; but I know that Menges has a ship."
Overhearing the boy, Ross snapped, "Kierra, check the sensors!"
Abruptly, the interior corridor lights went dark. "I suggest that you
all duck!"
A tremendous explosion erupted near the aft of the ship and forest
perimeter, accompanied by the afterburn blast of an outgoing star
fighter. Dodging churned up roots, debris, and stone particles, Ross
slid under the ramp, diving for cover beneath the freighter's hull.
Sparks and molten debris scattered about his head and shoulders,
singeing his clothing and hair. Thrashing wildly, he swiped the heated
material from his skin.
Nearby, Brandl was helping the frightened boy to his feet, whispering
encouraging words to the traumatized child.
"Damage report."
"They got us, boss," Kierra pined. "Concussion missile."
There was a brief pause as she analyzed the incoming data.
"Shields are out. Engines are at 70 percent.
There's a good chance the ion coils may seize if we push them too
far."
"Can we lift off?"
"With you at the reins, flyboy," she chuckled, "anything's possible."
Protectively embracing the boy against him, Brandl whispered, "As long
as we don't make ourselves known, he will pass."
"Look," Ross barked, "this is all very touching, but that last pass was
just to get an approximate location. Next time--" he snorted
anxiously, "forget it, I'm not waiting around for next time. Let's
scratch gravel, now!"
Agitated by the sudden turn of events, Brandl cupped the boy's face in
his hands. "Does your mother know you're here?"
"No."
"Then . . ." Brandl stammered, "how did you know?"
Playfully holding his father's hands, Jaalib smiled, "Otias told me the
truth a long time ago. He let me watch the holos of your stage work.
Mother didn't like it at first,
but she came with me and she cried the whole time."
Sadly, the boy glanced away, avoiding Brandl's eyes.
"When we saw you in the settlement common, as soon as we got home she
started to cry. So I knew it was you."
Staring at Ross, the boy frowned, knowing the inevitable parting was
soon at hand. "Will you ever come home?"
Brandl cradled Jaalib's smooth cheeks and gently kissed the child's
forehead. "I can make no promises."
Jaalib forced a smile. "I understand. Otias said that you had other
important roles to play, parts that a small world like Trulalis could
never offer." Clinging to his father's presence, the boy whispered,
"When I'm old enough, I'm going to act offworld too. Otias said that
he would help."
He hesitated. "I want to be as great as you are, Father."
The thin film of tears returned, threatening to spill over his
cheeks.
"I won't ever forget you." Using the thick canopy of the forest as a
shield, Jaalib sprinted down the trail and vanished into the night
shadows.
"They never told him the truth," Brandl swallowed desperately, fighting
back his emotions.
"Why didn't you tell him?" Ross snarled, sealing the outer hatch.
"You give me credit for courage? A man of courage is a man of
conviction, Captain Ross." Brushing past the Corellian, the Jedi
whispered, "I lost mine the moment I chose to believe in old
legends."
Throwing himself into the acceleration seat, Ross frantically began
throwing the flight controls. His hands moved diligently across the
console with consummate skill. Roused by the threat of a hostile
starfighter swinging in on the sensor scope, he initialized the booster
ignition, cradling the crippled ship in his hands. A low whine
engulfed the flight cabin in static echoes and vibrations as the ion
drive labored to lift the freighter. The metallic rattle of the deck
plates reverberated through every corridor and in the spacious cargo
bay.
"Oh," Kierra groaned, "that sounds bad."
"Never mind how it sounds, get started on bringing the
shield generators on line!" Struggling to maintain control of the freighter,
Ross brawled with the partially ionized throttle, maximizing the power
output through the damaged engine.
"The hard part will be getting through the atmosphere," Brandl
whispered, glancing over the readout screens.
"We may never get off the ground!" Ross grumbled.
"Kierra, where is he?"
"One Z-95 Headhunter, headed right for us and according to my readings,
the ship exceeds the normal weight ratio for its class."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning more concussion missiles. He's fully loaded."
"Power up the main sentry turret," Ross mumbled, concentrating on the
hampered freighter. "When will the shield generator come on line?"
"Give me five more minutes. Hydraulic pressure is building to
functional levels."
"Well hurry it along. At this rate, we won't even get into space
before he catches us." Ross stared into the underlying blanket of the
lower atmosphere, shrouding his departure in the fr
enzy of night
mist.
"What can you do about fixing the ion drive?"
"Think happy thoughts," Kierra replied. "We have no cargo. We have no
surplus material. And," she added with a hint of feminine pride, "this
ship has always been under its weight ratio. We're lighter than a
Gamorrean brain sack."
"How long before he intercepts us?"
"Let's just say I'm putting up the shields now."
Abruptly, the modified light freighter shook with the impact concussion
of another direct hit. Bucking beneath the. powerful blow, the Kierra
drifted beneath the cloud cover as the destructive energy ricocheted
over the aft shields, dissipating harmlessly against the hull.
"Damage?" Ross panted.
"The shields took it," Kierra replied wearily, still accessing the
information from her multiple systems. "But the hydraulic level is
already dropping. We won't survive much more of that."
Angling across the stratosphere, the Headhunter aggressively continued
its pursuit. Hampered by the thickened atmosphere of Trulalis, it
swayed from side to side, approaching for another strafing run.
Tales From The Empire Page 11
