Tales From The Empire

by Peter Schweighofer

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.