Arming the lower turret, Kierra interfaced with the sentry gun, timing
a sporadic burst across the forefront of the attacking ship.
Not expecting retaliation from the crippled freighter, the fighter
stuttered through the atmosphere, its left wing section erupting into
flames.
Avoiding the turret's deadly accuracy, the Z-95 dropped back,
barrelling out of range. "That should keep his head down for a
while."
"Not long enough," Ross argued. Eluding Brandl's cautious eye, he
grumbled, "If there's something in your Jedi survival book, now's the
time to spring it."
Brandl nodded, his face notably drained and haggard.
Reaching inside the fold of his robe, he again produced the peculiar
capsule. The cylindrical-shaped device was cleverly fitted for
concealment as a hydrospanner or mechanic's tool. Staring at the
object, Ross recognized it from their brief excursion at the theater.
As he watched, fascinated, the control head flashed intermittently from
a hidden power cell.
"What's that?" Kierra crooned. Intrigued by the odd unit, her optical
orb brightened, extending the focus on the transmitter.
"It's a transponder," Brandl replied. "And it's been transmitting for
nearly an hour." The Jedi sighed with effort, leaning against the
broad back of the acceleration chair. In the harsh light of the flight
cabin, his arrogance could not hide the gaunt cheeks and stress lines
that had begun eroding the handsome visage of a once proud man. The
morbid signs of resignation and surrender were easily read in his noble
face.
Without warning, the Headhunter broke off the chase, banking sharply
toward the planet. Its aft engines betrayed haste, glowing with the
throttle thrown full open as the fighter vanished into the dense cloud
cover above the planet. Suspicious, Ross glared at Brandl, feeling the
constriction of fear in his throat. "What's the catch?"
"You had better prepare yourself," Brandl whispered.
The proximity alarms blared, sending a deafening echo into the
freighter's corridor and accessways. Exploding with tactical data and
imminent warnings of ship-to-ship collision, the sensors closed on the
gigantic structure of the massive Imperial Star Destroyer, newly
emerged from hyperspace.
As the Star Destroyer moved across the viewscreen only a scant 100
meters from him, Ross slumped against the back of his chair, defeated
before one shot could be fired.
Slowly, scores of turbolaser batteries turned on them, targeting his
freighter. Still hampered by a faulty ion drive, the Kierra bucked and
lurched toward the Star Destroyer.
"Have they got us?" Ross moaned, massaging his eyes and forehead.
Kierra snickered nervously. "Does Boba Fett enjoy his job?"
"Could we outrun them?"
"We couldn't even out-think them at this point, flyboy.
They've got us locked in tight."
Resting his head and arms against the flight console, Ross sighed,
accepting the inevitable. "You've managed to sign my death warrant!"
"On the contrary, I've guaranteed your reprieve." The Jedi's mouth
hinted at a sly grin.
"I have a price on my head! An Imperial bounty!"
"You are about to discover that the Emperor is quite generous,
especially when one of his citizens sees fit to return his property."
"You're one of the Emperor's freaks?" Ross argued.
"What were you doing on Najiba . . . You were run
ning!" Staring at the Imperial Star Destroyer, he gasped, "You were running from the
Empire? Why?"
"It no longer matters," Brandl whispered. "The time has come to
confront the darkness and forsake it for what it is . . . just so many
shadows."
"Well some shadows can kill!"
As they passed into the outer docking field, the freighter was engulfed
in darkness. "Then let all be perfected in death."
Prying the forward deck plate from the flight console, Ross quickly
unbuckled his blaster, stashing the belt inside with a hidden cache of
thermal detonators and other illegal weaponry. Motivated by Imperial
penalties for unauthorized equipment and arms, he retreated to a
general utility closet in the corridor beyond the command cabin.
Retrieving a small stash of blaster power packs, the flustered
Corellian returned to the bridge to find Brandl peering curiously into
the hidden compartment. "Kierra, make certain the shield housing is
intact. I don't want them finding your power cell."
"A girl's got to have her privacy," she quipped. "Good thinking,
boss."
Closing the hidden panel, Ross tripped the contamination seal. If the
Imperial sensors went over the ship, they would bypass this area for
contaminated mechanic's tools.
Abruptly, the interior lights fluctuated as the power levels dropped,
shifting to auxiliary mode. "All clear," Ross hollered.
"I've switched over my power couplings to a subordinate cell.
Even if they do find my main generator, they won't know what it is.
But," she teased, "that means I can't eavesdrop over the comlink or
scan the perimeter!"
"For your own safety," Brandl began, "I advise you not to mention
Trulalis."
Remembering Brandl's wife and son back on the planet, Ross nodded
pensively. "Kierra, sweep all records and logs since we left Najiba,
input data from a previous job. Where does that put us?"
"We dropped that baby tris off on Tatooine, remember?"
"Don't remind me," Ross replied wistfully. "Just erase the reasons and
submit an addendum about engine trouble above Trulalis."
"Right, boss."
"And Kierra? Lose yourself. They'll probably go over every centimeter
of this ship."
"Is that a hint of concern in your voice, flyboy?"
"Yeah," he grumbled. Shrugging the tension menacing his shoulders, he
walked through the corridor to the hatch and deactivated the seal.
Before the ramp could fully lower two Imperial storm-troopers charged
aboard the ship, leveling their weapons at Ross, shoving him against
the hull wall. The force of the blow knocked the wind from his lungs
and the Corellian doubled over, coughing desperately to catch his
breath. Twenty or more stormtroopers were staggered outside the
freighter, their weapons pointing into the ramp lift, trained on the
dark Jedi.
Undaunted by the show of Imperial might, Brandl scanned the parade of
white-on-black armor, until he met the familiar face of an Imperial
officer beyond the periphery of armed soldiers. Stepping aside, the
Jedi allowed three stormtroopers to rush past him into the ship.
"I trust you will cooperate," the officer announced.
Pompously, he adjusted the brim of his black cap. "If not for your own
sake, then for the sake of your companion."
Disguising a hint of defeatism with dramatic poise, the Jedi
proclaimed, "How can I cooperate?"
"Think nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing until you are told."
Offering a hand to the panting smuggler, Brandl grinned slyly, his back
to the Imperial entourage. "Captain
Grendahl, you'll find that I do
nothing very well."
Grendahl's face was menacing. "We're scheduled to rendezvous with the
Interrogator within the hour. Inquisitor Tremayne is eager to see you
again, Lord Brandl . . .
very eager." Pointing to Ross, Grendahl demanded, "Take him to the
isolation area for questioning." Changing his demeanor with obvious
fraudulence, Grendahl tipped his hat with mocking respect, "Please,
Lord Brandl, your quarters have been prepared."
Massaging the bruises swelling on his chest and arms, Ross leaned his
head against the antiseptically clean wall of the holding cell.
Several hours had slowly passed, marked with isolated sessions of
routine questioning.
Abruptly, the door opened, admitting two stormtroopers and Captain
Grendahl, who he recognized from the hangar bay. Pleasantly, the
Imperial officer sat down across from him, setting a large datapad on
the table between them. "Do you recognize this gentleman?" he asked,
keying up a picture on the small screen.
Ross laughed softly, recognizing the distinguished curves of his own
face. "Would it help if I said I didn't?"
Grendahl smiled generously. "No." Folding his hands against the table
top, he sneered, "Interfering with an Imperial investigation is a crime
punishable with imprisonment."
"An Imperial investigation?" Ross jeered. "It was a fight, and not a
fair one," he argued. "Two storm-troopers against a Jawa, come on!"
"Never mind the odds," Grendahl replied evenly. "You still interfered;
however . . ."
"However?" the Corellian scoffed, mocking the insipid officer.
"However, I am authorized to extend a generous amnesty if you will
cooperate and answer a few questions."
"Amnesty?" Ross chuckled. He scratched his head, agitated.
"Imperial amnesty is about as valuable as a Wookiee dwarf with no
hair."
Grendahl frowned, covering his dismay with shrewd professionalism.
"You have the Emperor's guarantee,
Captain Ross. Help us with one short investigation and you will be cleared of all charges."
Stalling, Ross demanded, "He owes me money!"
"I can't promise you will get it," Grendahl countered, "but you are
entitled to 10,000 credits." Grinning malevolently, he watched the
smuggler's startled reaction.
"That's 10 percent of the bounty offered for Brandl's safe return."
Intrigued, Ross leaned over the edge of the table. "You mean to say
Brandl's worth 100,000 credits?"
Anxious to keep the smuggler's attention, Grendahl silently
acknowledged the query. "You're lucky to even be alive, Captain
Ross.
Adalric Brandl is highly unstable, capable of inconceivable
atrocities.
However, his value to the Emperor makes him an essential resource.
Where did you find him?"
"Najiba."
Grendahl's face darkened, perplexed. "Najiba has stringent ordinances
restricting traffic through the asteroid belt."
"By the time I got there," Ross explained, "no one cared about port
control penalties. They just wanted him off the planet."
"Was there trouble? Was anyone harmed?"
The Corellian shrugged casually. "I never left my ship," he lied, "so
I can't really say."
"And where were you going?"
"Mos Eisley, but," Ross laughed, "considering my last visit, I only
planned to take him as far as Anchorhead.
After that, he was on his own."
"Did he ever mention his connection with the Emperor?"
"Not until you had us in the tractor beam."
"The damage to your ship?"
"We were attacked by pirates," Ross replied rhythmically.
"My hyperdrive failed and we just barely managed to arrive here."
Grendahl hesitated. "You keep accurate ship records,
Captain Ross.
Your flight log and manifests substantiate your story."
"Call it a throwback to my bounty hunting days," Ross offered.
"If you wanted your expenses, exact documentation was a necessity."
Tentatively peering into the room, a junior-grade lieutenant saluted
Grendahl, ignoring the prisoner with him.
"Captain Grendahl, sir, Admiral Etnam requests your presence on the
bridge immediately, sir. Lord Brandl has been given the task of
escorting the civilian to his ship."
"What!"
Ross concealed a sly grin behind the collar of his duster.
Feigning surprise, he rose from the chair and leaned against the glossy
table, pondering how Brandl managed to arrange this escort.
"Captain Grendahl," the lieutenant whispered, appalled by the
outburst.
"Admiral Etnam's instructions were quite specific. He is anxious to
rendezvous with High Inquisitor Tremayne." Being Etnam's personal aide
and fearing no reprisals from Grendahl, he nodded to the nearest
stormtrooper and whispered, "Retrieve the prisoner."
Grendahl struggled to retain his composure, chafed by Brandl's
influence, which despite his moment of dishonor to the Emperor, still
held weight, even with the intrepid character of Admiral Etnam.
Nostrils flared, he hissed between gritted teeth, "Very well." Then to
eestablish his ego in the company of those under his command, he
straightened his hunched shoulders, erasing the sour scowl from his
face. "You're free to go, Captain Ross," he growled. "The Emperor's
clemency can be bountiful and far-reaching; but the next time you
meddle with an Imperial investigation," he paused, "you may find
yourself at the wrong end of Imperial justice." Folding his hands
behind his back, Grendahl started up the corridor. "Remember that the
next time you consider beating the odds."
Over the polished shoulders of several stormtroopers,
Brandl watched Grendahl's retreating back. Sneering behind the Imperial officer, the
Jedi sniffed disdainfully as he led the smuggler into the corridor.
"Are you a superstitious man, Captain Ross?"
Preoccupied by the armed escort behind them, Ross whispered, "My
grandfather used to say that superstition was the foundation of a weak
mind."
"Then we are surely doomed, for the basis of our civilization lays in
the hands of high priests, shamans, and monks." Brandl laughed with
genuine good nature.
There was a spark of emotion betrayed by the brilliance of his eyes and
Ross noted the deepening of the laugh lines framing his mouth.
Adalric Brandl was in good spirit.
"Your grandfather was a wise man."
Ross shrugged off the compliment. "Just another smuggler who found
himself on the wrong end of Imperial justice." He sniffed, recalling
Grendahl's threat. "That's why I became a bounty hunter, hoping to
avoid what happened to him."
"And then?"
"And then I got bored. Guess it wasn't meant to be."
"We spend nearly the whole of our lives searching for the appropriate
role that will mark the end of our existence with some moment of glory,
ignoring the fact that fame and reputation are but mere perfumes of
virtue.
They never last."
"Is that another line?" Ross te
ased.
"Acting is a profound education in human nature and that is why I
became so obsessed; but as my intellect improved, my morals failed and
I became the very thing I most despised."
"And what was that?"
"Human. I was not a king, not a hero, not a god. Just a man trapped
in the passion of the play."
"So what happens now?" Ross probed.
"My life has been one continuous drama," Brandl whispered, "a tragic
one, I'm afraid. And I have stumbled through it, scene by scene, act
by act, like some terrified
neophyte. Tonight, Fortune calls for the final exit. I can no longer live the lie."
"You're going back to the Emperor, aren't you? After what he's done to
you?"
"He did nothing but point in a general direction. I chose to go and do
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