Tales From The Empire

by Peter Schweighofer

  prisoners; standard smugglers-suspected-of-Rebel-sympathies scenario.

  Gowan and Enkhet are storm-trooper guards, I'm the officer in charge.

  Aurin--" he turned to me, "you'll have to be another prisoner. You're

  taking passage with Melenna and Liak to Sestooine, you've been picked

  up by mistake, and you don't know anything about anything. Just keep

  your mouth shut and you'll do fine. How much equipment will you need

  to bring?"

  Luckily I'd had the foresight to think this out ahead of time. "I can

  manage with one medpac," I replied a little shortly. "I'll need to

  pack it with extra Clondex and some special equipment."

  "Good. We'll get to the prison sector, find out where he is, then get

  rid of the guards and break into his cell.

  Once we get in, your job is to get him alert and moving quickly if at

  all possible. If you can't, we'll have to . . .

  break out without him." The others nodded casually; I had the feeling

  his hesitation was entirely for my benefit.

  "Once he's up, we get back to the shuttle. For this part, we'll take

  the repair access tunnels." He touched a button on the tabletop

  console, and a holographic schematic of an Imperial-style installation

  leaped out of the center of the table; another adjustment, and a series

  of passages were outlined in red. The route from the prison cells to

  the docking bays was long, tortuous, and confusing.

  Melenna chuckled. "This is where Liak comes in. His people are

  tree-dwellers; he can find his way through any strange maze of branches

  with never a wrong turn. For some reason it works on space stations as

  well. We don't understand it, but we don't argue with it."

  "The tractor beam's just a single," Haslam continued.

  "Weak design--says they don't think anyone can escape.

  Gowan, you'll break into the main computer and disengage it while our

  medic here is fixing Vibrion. At full power and with some of Enkhet's

  fancy ship-handling, we should be able to break free long enough to

  make the jump to hyperspace. Questions?"

  If anyone else had any, they weren't admitting it; the only response

  was a series of crisp nods from the other team members. I had one, and

  it was bothering me enough that I didn't even react to the interesting

  fact that Gowan and not Enkhet was the computer jock.

  Haslam looked at me sharply, but only said, "Okay, dismissed.

  We'll meet outside the shuttle at 0600 tomorrow, bay 36.

  Get some sleep, everyone. Aurin, stay a moment, please."

  Once we were alone, I said, "You left something out of the briefing.

  What if I can't get him moving? I don't think you mean for us to just

  go off and leave him alive. Who gets to do the dirty deed?"

  "Frankly, I'd rather have a medical droid along," Has-lam said

  coolly.

  "Put a glitch in its programming, and it does exactly what the mission

  calls for and it doesn't develop any moral scruples at the last

  minute.

  Unfortunately, Emdees are expensive. Human medics are a lot cheaper

  and easier to replace."

  "Nice to know I'm expendable," I murmured under

  my breath.

  Haslam ignored the comment, but after a moment some of the coldness

  faded from his face, leaving a look of almost--helplessness.

  "Aurin, I don't get any thrill out of killing. I've got a job to do

  here, just like you. The fact is, we can't leave him to die at the

  hands of the Imperials, or of his disease.

  And it's not just because of the information he'll spill.

  Interrogation is . . . well, not a pleasant way to die. I want to get

  him out as much as you do, but it may not be possible. The question

  is, if it comes to that--can you give him something to make it quick

  and easy for him?"

  "You're asking me to kill him. I can't do that." If I was sure of

  nothing else in this confusion, I was sure of that much. Apart from

  any other considerations, I'd sworn an oath before they let me out of

  the Byblos Academy of Medicine: boiled down, it consisted of "First, do

  no harm."

  Haslam wasn't surprised. "Okay," he sighed, "it's my responsibility.

  I'll take care of it." Then, in a whisper, "Blast it, I wish they

  wouldn't do this to me."

  I hesitated. I didn't like the train of thought developing in my mind:

  Look, if the guy's gonna die anyway, isn't it your job as a physician

  to make sure it as easy as possible? If we can't get him out, Haslam

  is gonna shoot him. If you can't Square your conscience enough to

  overdose him with potassium and make it fast and painless, can you at

  least sedate him enough so he sleeps through it?

  But that means I'm helping Haslam kill him. I'm being dragged along on

  this mission to save his life if it's at all possible, not to help end

  it.

  You're on this mission to serve your patient as best you can, whether

  it means saving his life or helping him die as easily as possible.

  Skies, I hate this!

  "I can give him some conergin," I heard myself saying abruptly. I was

  dimly surprised to hear that my voice was flat, steady; my insides

  certainly weren't. "It won't kill him, but it'll put him down deep

  enough to let you do what you have to."

  Haslam looked up sharply. "You'll help me?"

  "I'll help you. But only after I've tried everything I can to get him

  moving and out of there. And this is a medical problem, not a military

  one. It has to be my decision. Not yours." I held his eyes with my

  own, feeling sick. "If that's not acceptable, you and the Rebellion

  can find yourselves another medic. Or a droid."

  "Done," Haslam replied, grasping my wrist as if closing a business

  deal. Which, of course, we were.

  The flight to Selnesh was relatively short, only four days in

  hyperspace. Of course, four days with the dilemma I had hanging over

  my head is an eternity and then some. I spent them packing and

  repacking my medpac for greatest efficiency, mentally reviewing the

  resuscitation plan, and getting used to the weight of the hold-out

  blaster up my left sleeve. Melenna had handed it to me just after

  boarding as a matter of course.

  "Wait!" I'd blurted. "I don't want this. I don't even know how to

  use it."

  "Real simple." Melenna shrugged. "Point and shoot."

  "But I don't want it! I'm a doctor! I don't shoot people!"

  "This go-around, you may have to." Disgustedly, Melenna pushed up my

  tunic sleeve, fastened-the little holster around my forearm, and

  snapped it down with a final-sounding click. "If you can't, don't.

  Just try not to shoot any of us, okay?"

  We popped back into normal space over Selnesh about the mid-afternoon

  of the fourth day. If I'd set out to build a prison planet from the

  core outward, this would have been it: a gray rocky ball in the middle

  of nowhere, its sun no more than a bright bluish star. "Bleak" did not

  even begin to describe it. The surface was totally bare of color or

  vegetation. The sterile white plasteel dome of the prison sat like a

  fungus directly below us as we descended.

  There was literally nowhere else to go on t
his world that

  would support life for more than a few hours. I could see why nobody escaped

  from here.

  While Enkhet, already in his stormtrooper armor, exchanged code strings

  and pleasantries with the docking bay, the rest of us lined up in

  preparation for deception.

  Melenna wore free-trader's gear, Liak only his fur, and I a plain

  civilian tunic and trousers; the precious medpac was fastened around my

  waist under the loose, long tunic. All three of us wore wrist

  binders.

  Gowan, also in armor, held a blaster rifle carefully pointed at the

  floor. Haslam was in a gray officer's uniform and looked, at least to

  me, thoroughly official and intimidating.

  The jar of landing in the bay was slight; evidently Enkhet was as good

  a pilot as everyone said he was. I clenched my fists tightly, the cut

  of the binders into my wrists announcing, I don't like this. I want to

  go home. Right now. I'm not cut out for a life of adventure.

  Somehow sensing my nervousness, Liak turned around and growled

  something incomprehensible but reassuring-sounding.

  "Pretend you're in a holovid," Melenna suggested brightly.

  "Playing the part of a prisoner. That's what I do.

  Just don't say anything. Let the Lieutenant do the talk-ing-it's what

  he's here for."

  "Thanks," I muttered. Nerves always take me in the stomach, and mine

  was turning somersaults just then. Better the stomach than the hands,

  anyway--a doctor had better have steady hands, whether she's nervous or

  not.

  Enkhet joined us from the cockpit. "All clear," he announced

  casually.

  "No challenge. They sound bored."

  "Good enough," observed Haslam. "Let's move out."

  Getting past the docking bay was a lot easier than I'd expected.

  Haslam, doing a perfect imitation of an Imperial officer---clipped

  speech, formal stance and all--identified himself as one Lieutenant

  Grailant, operating number 13398247, and us as smugglers and possible

  Rebel sympathizers. The base commander, who looked as

  if he'd heard

  it all one too many times before, waved us tiredly back toward the

  passage I figured had to lead to the holding area.

  We filed down the gray hallway, ending up in a large bay with

  cell-lined hallways branching off at regular intervals.

  The central computer bank was inhabited by four stormtroopers holding

  blaster rifles at least as big as the ones Enkhet and Gowan wielded,

  and a crisply pressed officer type wearing captain's insignia who

  looked a whole lot more alert than his commander. The officer glanced

  up as we came in, and the troopers all shifted slightly to aim their

  rifles not precisely at us but definitely in our direction. I suddenly

  found it harder to breathe.

  Part of my brain was seriously considering saying "Count me out,

  thanks, I don't want to play anymore," turning around and walking back

  to the ship. Since this would have ruined Haslam's pretty scenario,

  and I was too frozen to move anyway, I kept still and silent.

  Haslam repeated the name-rank-and-operating number business for the

  officer, who (thank the skies) didn't seem inclined to be

  challenging.

  Instead, he helpfully fired up the computer and assigned the three of

  us cell numbers.

  Prisoner processing apparently took place inside the cells, rather than

  in the open area--to reduce the incidence of breaks, I guessed.

  Since a break was precisely what we had planned, I didn't find this

  information encouraging.

  Enkhet pressed the muzzle of his blaster into my back, pushing me

  forward. Captain Whoever stepped forward to help get us hardened

  criminals into cells for processing.

  Haslam stopped him with an upraised hand.

  "I'm going to have to ask you and your men to leave for a few

  minutes."

  "What?" the captain asked blankly.

  "I need you and your men to leave the area temporarily."

  Haslam spoke even more quietly, with an air of complicity.

  "I'm with Intelligence. We suspect these prisoners have had access to

  top-secret information about the movements of various Rebel cells.

  It's not that we don't trust a

  loyal Imperial officer, but the presence of these prisoners here has to be kept absolutely top secret

  until interrogation is complete. I'm sure you understand."

  "Does Commander Caton know about this?"

  "No, and it's important to the war effort that no one knows just now.

  I can't tell you any more. I shouldn't even have said this much, The

  reason I brought them here is because I know the reputation of this

  base's officers and men. There's no more secure place in the

  galaxy."

  "I understand," the captain said gravely, and motioned the troopers to

  follow him out the door. Evidently flattery went a long way.

  "I'll also have to disable the security cameras temporarily.

  Just until they're processed, you understand. No one must know of

  their presence here."

  "Understood." And it was as easy as that. The Imps simply walked out

  and closed the doors behind them.

  Gowan, helmet off, was already slicing into the computer; after a

  moment, the cameras mounted around the ceiling went dark.

  Haslam moved lightly around the room checking for I didn't know what,

  while Enkhet removed our binders.

  Melenna stretched her arms and hands forward to remove the stiffness.

  "You didn't have to tighten them quite so much," she complained

  mildly.

  "My hands are asleep."

  "You're the one wanted to be convincing."

  Liak growled an admonishment, and the squabble--probably the latest

  chapter in an ongoing saga--ceased.

  Meanwhile, I was digging into my medpac again, assuring myself one more

  time that none of the precious equipment or drug vials was damaged.

  The ticklish clenching of my muscles, the usual prelude to a full-bore

  resuscitation, was beginning to push through my fear. "Where is he?"

  I demanded.

  "I'm looking," Gowan replied absently, his attention entirely occupied

  by the flashing images on the screen.

  "Okay, here it is. Cell 2826."

  "Well, come on, let's go[" "Aurin," Haslam spoke quietly. "I'm in

  command of this mission. We go when I say."

  "Haslam," I said in the same tone, "you got us past the Imps. Now it's

  a medical mission. That's my department, remember? There's a man

  dying in one of these cells. I've got work to do. Let me do it." The

  words "or else" hung in the air. I didn't know quite what "or else"

  would involve, but Haslam realized I was serious anyway. He

  half-laughed, half-sighed, and gave the move-out signal.

  The cell was at the far end of the center hallway. While Enkhet stood

  guard near the hall entrance---Gowan had stayed behind to compute some

  more Haslam entered a complex code into the keypad at the side of the

  door. It slid open to reveal a thin, gray-haired human male lying on

  the pallet at the far end of the small room. He rose half up on one

  elbow, eyes widening at the sight of us. I absorbed details as I moved

 
; quickly to his side, unstrapping the medpac from around my waist: he

  was very pale, his eyes sunken and his lips dry, indicating

  dehydration, but he was awake, alert and aware. I'd been prepared for

  a patient at death's door, and was surprised at how relatively good he

  looked.

  "Is this the rescue party?" His voice was soft and hoarse, but held a

  hint of wry humor.

  "That's us." Melenna had followed close behind me, and gave him a

  dazzling smile I suspected would get any man off a deathbed in short

  order. She'd probably intended it that way. "Anything to make the

  mission a success," she'd commented briefly during the ride in. If

  flirting with the rescuee would help, she'd do it.

  "I wasn't . . . expecting you." He had to breathe in the middle of

  the short sentence; yes, he needed some help. During the exchange I

  had been rapidly unpacking my equipment; now I placed the IAU

  Intravenous Access Unit--on his upper chest and pressed the activation

  switch. While the catheter burrowed through his skin in search of the

  large subclavian vein leading directly to his