Tyrant's Test

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “But that doesn’t explain—”

  Taisden shouldered forward past Pleck. “Colonel, I can have the hyperdrive offline in thirty seconds.”

  “I doubt very much if you can, Agent Taisden. I also doubt very much if you have thirty seconds.”

  “Let me try.”

  “No,” Pakkpekatt said.

  “You think she’s going to take us to them,” Hammax concluded.

  “The most likely person to have installed the slave circuits is also the most likely person to have activated them,” said Pakkpekatt. “We will know in”—he glanced down at the nav display—“six hours if that person was General Calrissian.”

  Seconds later, Lady Luck vaulted forward through a tunnel of stars.

  “Where are they?” Captain Gegak screamed at the bridge crew of the destroyer Tobay. “Where is the target? Where is Gorath?”

  “There is no sign of either ship, Captain,” the sensor master ventured. “I do not detect Gorath’s transponder.”

  “Idiot! Do you think I cannot read a tracking screen?” Gegak bellowed, balling both hands into fists. His rage was indiscriminate and comprehensive, leaving no one on the bridge feeling safe enough to move or speak. “I am betrayed! One of you is in league with Captain Dokrett. Someone has conspired to steal our share of the prize.”

  Gegak stalked behind the officers at their stations. “Who is the thief? Who is the traitor? Is it you, Frega?” He seized the hair tuft of the navigation master and used it to roughly yank his head backward.

  “Captain, I depend on the sensor master. Not five seconds passed from his call before we left hyperspace—”

  Sensor Master Nillik rose from his station before Gegak reached it, and retreated before him with hands raised. “I have not betrayed you, Captain. The instruments have betrayed me—”

  With a snarl, Gegak lunged forward and closed the gap between them to little more than an arm’s length. “And who is responsible for the maintenance of your instruments?”

  “I am, Lord Captain—but, I beg you, hear me—”

  “I hear only the whining of a traitor.”

  “This ship is old, twice the age of Gorath, and we have had neither the prize money nor the blessings of Foga Brill with which to maintain it. You cannot expect—”

  Gegak produced a neural whip from inside a fold of his bright tunic and brandished it in front of him. “I can expect that my officers will not repay the favor I do them with excuses.”

  “Captain—please!” Nillik now found himself backed against a bulkhead. “To track a ship through hyperspace is difficult even with the most sensitive installations. I was given no time to cool and retune the soliton antenna—I could not hear the target at all. I was barely able to hear Gorath above our own compression wave.”

  “You are only making excuses for your inattentiveness.”

  “No, Captain—it was not my attentiveness that wavered. The signature was so faint that I lost and reacquired it half a dozen times before the final loss of signal. That was the only reason for my delay. I do not know for certain if those ships left hyperspace behind us or continue on somewhere ahead of us.”

  Gegak growled and stabbed the neural whip into Nillik’s abdomen. The sensor master screamed and collapsed writhing to the floor.

  “I should have been informed of your difficulties,” the captain said, returning the whip to its pocket. His voice was suddenly tranquil. “You have forgotten the first rule of survival in an autocracy—speak truth to power. I hope the pain will help you learn from your mistake.”

  Then the captain turned his back on the gasping sensor master. “Point the bow toward Prakith. Make flank speed. Call the second master to the sensing station. We will search back to the point where Gorath disappeared from our instruments. And I will hear no more excuses for failure. I have expended all my tolerance on Nillik.”

  Chapter Five

  Luke found it difficult not to step off the slidewalk to pursue Akanah and prolong the argument. The thinly veiled threat she had offered as her parting words, suggesting that she might continue on to j’t’p’tan without him, might withdraw her promise to lead him to his mother’s people, was not without power.

  But that threat was also nakedly manipulative, and his reflexive resentment allowed him both to see the emotional blackmail and to resist it.

  It was not that he gave no credence to the threat. Akanah’s conduct on Atzerri had made clear that she was perfectly capable of striking out on her own when her interests so dictated. But he had no compromise or concession to offer her. The old, familiar demon of Duty had reentered his consciousness during the conversation with the shipwright, and he could do nothing else until he either answered to his conscience or silenced it.

  There was no point in seeking a rapprochement with Akanah until Luke knew his own mind—until he knew if he could allow himself to continue the journey.

  And for that, he needed information.

  After stopping at the port office to authorize Starway Services to move Mud Sloth to their work bay, Luke returned to the skiff. Locking the entry not only against strangers but against Akanah as well, he settled at the flight console and began making queries.

  A connection to Utharis GridLink gave him access—at a refreshingly reasonable price—to both New Republic Prime and Coruscant Global archives, as well as to the back numbers of several smaller newsgrids. But the most complete information Luke found came from two local services, Eye-On-U and Taldaak Today! The Coruscant-based grids were obsessed with Imperial City politics and offered only a cursory—and frequently misleading—overview of the military aspects of the crisis.

  “Access Fleet Watch,” Luke said. The newspacket of the Alliance Veterans Victory Association, Fleet Watch was usually current enough and comprehensive enough that many senior staff members at Fleet HQ kept it on their browse lists as a supplement to official sources.

  “Requested source is temporarily unavailable,” the comm pad reported.

  “Why?”

  “Access has been voluntarily suspended by the provider. Message available.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  The recording contained a familiar face and voice—that of Brigadier Bren Derlin, NRDF, Ret. Derlin and Luke had been thrown together on Hoth, where Derlin had been one of the field commanders at the Rebels’ base. Derlin was more of a steadying influence than a leader, but he was a good soldier and a quiet but likable man. Luke had not seen him again until war’s end, and since then only once, at the ceremonies when more than a hundred Hoth survivors gathered to dedicate a memorial to the many more who had fallen there.

  Now Derlin was commander of the AVVA, an organization with the status of a retirees’ club but the ambition to be something more akin to a militia or the Fleet’s ready reserve. The recording began with a spiral of unit insignias surrounding the AVVA logo, and a smart salute from a uniformed Derlin.

  “Thank you for your inquiry. Due to the current military situation, the AVVA board of governors has placed the membership on a status two alert. For security reasons, access to past and current volumes of Fleet Watch has been restricted to members only. Please join us in supporting the soldiers and pilots who are even now risking their lives to guard our freedom.”

  “How long has that lockout been in effect?” Luke asked the comm pad.

  “Nine days.”

  “I wonder what happened to bring that on,” Luke said, scratching his head. “What else do you have? Show me a list.”

  After another half hour, Luke had satisfied himself that he had all the information he was likely to garner from public news sources. Unfortunately, it was not enough to settle his mind.

  He was more reluctant to contact Coruscant directly than he had been the last time he needed information. If a contact watch had been set up for his authorization codes, even querying the impersonal, automated sources might throw him into the middle of a conversation he didn’t want to have—with Ackbar, or Behn-Kihl-Nahm, or Han,
or possibly even Leia herself.

  For the question gnawing at Luke was not whether Leia wanted his help, but whether she needed it. If his presence might mean the difference between triumph and defeat, then he would go to her—as she had come to him in his darkest moment, aboard the clone Emperor’s flagship.

  Leia had pulled him back from the precipice of the dark power, and joined her power to his to defeat Palpatine. If she had not been willing to sacrifice herself and the child inside her in confronting the reborn Emperor, Luke would never have broken the grip of the dark side—and the history of the intervening years would have been written with the pen of tyranny. He could not have done it alone.

  But having seen not only the great strength in her heart but also the Jedi power she could summon, Luke was all the more loath to volunteer himself as a rescuer. He knew that Leia had within her extraordinary resources of will and power—resources she had of late become reluctant to draw upon. Luke thought that he was much of the reason, with both his example and his presence creating disincentives. It was important that she find that strength again.

  It seemed to Luke that Leia had neglected, even abandoned, her own training, and that her training of the children had become unbalanced, with the disciplines of warrior and weapon excised as if they were dispensable. Luke had not spoken of it with her, but from what he had seen, it was almost as though Leia hoped to delay, training the children as Jedi clerics rather than as Jedi Knights—as if the path before her, the path he had followed, promised to take her somewhere she did not want to go.

  It was her choice to make. Her destiny was no more clear to him than it was to her. But whatever that destiny was, it seemed that she was fighting it rather than following it.

  And it was certain she would learn nothing from an errant Knight’s well-intentioned but unnecessary rescue—if she would even allow it to happen. Knowing her streak of aristocratic, self-reliant pride, Luke was not at all confident he could count on her to ask for help, even if she needed it—not after the fight they had had the night he left Coruscant.

  No, those around her, the others who loved her, would urge Luke to return to her side, no matter what the circumstances. And Leia herself would insist that he stay away, no matter what the circumstances. It was essential that Luke make his own assessment of the situation, that the decision be his alone. And it was better that Luke stay out of sight and out of reach until the decision was made.

  Ackbar, especially, would never understand, Luke thought in passing. He’s as devoted to her as a good father to a beloved child—I wonder how clearly she sees it.

  Still, he needed more information—information that could only come from Coruscant. He began by retrieving his registered hypercomm messages from the master archive maintained by the Communications Office.

  As a hedge against the vagaries of hyperspace transmission, the archive kept a copy of every registered-recipient message sent out over the New Republic system. Undeliverable messages were held until their intended recipients requested an update—something most people did routinely every time they emerged from hyperspace. But save for those few hours while outbound from Teyr, Luke had been off the system since leaving Yavin 4.

  The update took nearly twenty minutes to spill into Mud Sloth’s comm bank. As always, there were hundreds of blind messages—love letters and propositions, requests for personal favors, questions from amateur and would-be Jedi, the occasional diatribe from an Imperialist stubbornly resisting the idea that his world had changed.

  Luke almost never looked at any of it. The novelty value of blatant proposals had long ago faded, and the one-two punch of praise and begging had worn thin even faster—it was as uncomfortable as being surrounded by a crowd in which everyone wanted to touch him.

  The priority queue contained a copy of the message from Streen, which Luke realized he had never viewed and released, and a second message from him time-stamped a day later. But there were no other messages from the twenty or so senders on his priority list—and that was something of a surprise. By and large, he had not announced his hermitage to his friends, so he could only suppose that the word had spread from the few who did know of his self-imposed isolation.

  “Show me number one,” said Luke.

  Streen’s face appeared. “Master Luke,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I received your latest instructions for Artoo and Threepio. But I regret to say that so far, I’ve been unable to deliver them. Perhaps it slipped your mind that the droids are now with Lando Calrissian? I’ll try to locate them and forward your message to them.”

  “Lando,” Luke said, shaking his head in surprise. “What would the droids be doing with him? Show me number two.”

  Streen’s face shifted to the right, and his caftan changed from goldenrod to rust. “Master Luke,” he said, bowing his head once more. “I’ve tried to contact Lando Calrissian by every means available to me, without any success. I not only can’t get a message through, I can’t find anyone who’ll admit to knowing where he or the droids are. It’s possible that they’re simply in hyperspace somewhere, but I’m guessing that there’s more to this, and you probably know more about it than I do. I’m afraid you’d better see to this on your own.”

  The combination of the two messages left Luke mystified, but he did not devote much time or energy to penetrating the mystery. Apparently Lando had absconded with the two droids, probably in furtherance of some scheme—any deeper understanding would have to wait. The droids’ errand had become moot, in any case. If Luke went on with Akanah, he would have all the answers he needed in just a few days.

  Luke considered the long list of sources he had tapped the last time, but none seemed promising enough to justify the time and trouble. What he really wanted most was something he had tried for before and been denied—the Fleet Office’s daily tactical briefing memorandum. But to get one, he would have to find a military-grade secure-link hypercomm. Or—

  “Access Fleet Almanac,” he said.

  “Ready.”

  “Reference current location.”

  “Referencing Taldaak Station, Utharis.”

  “Identify the nearest Fleet asset in this sector—training center, repair yard, supply base, whatever.”

  “This access requires a current level blue authorization code.”

  Luke rattled off his code. “Now give me some good news.”

  The only New Republic Defense Fleet installation on Utharis was a tiny listening post. The listening post consisted of a three-man office in Taldaak, a four-man maintenance crew flying a work skipboat based at the planet’s main geosynchronous station, and a pair of complex antenna arrays located in hundred-year solar-polar orbits.

  The highest-ranking officer on orbit was a senior specialist—dirtside, it was a green lieutenant in the first month of a yearlong rotation. The operational continuity of the post came largely from the three civilian employees, all Utharis natives.

  It was one of those civilians who Luke encountered first when he entered the security foyer of the listening post’s small silo-dome, located adjacent to an abandoned Imperial fighter base, now home only to wild jack-a-dale and black-winged touret. Luke had dressed to the Jedi stereotype, black cape and dangling lightsaber, and allowed the Li Stonn disguise to dissolve as he passed through the concussion hatch.

  “I am here to see the post commander,” Luke said, resting his palm on the scanner.

  The young woman looked up at him with eyes widened by surprise. Her tattooed forehead and cheeks marked her as a follower of the Duality, a popular and benign Tarrack cult founded on the twin principles of joy and service. She looked down at the scanner when it beeped at her, then back up to Luke’s face wearing a look of awe on her own.

  “You are him,” she said.

  Luke flashed a small smile as he lifted his hand from the scanner. “But I am not here,” he said.

  “I understand.”

  “Who is the duty officer?”

  “Tomathy—Senior Sp
ecialist Manes. Lieutenant Ekand comes on in two hours. But I can call him in early—”

  “There’s no need,” said Luke. “I will speak with Manes. Clear me through, please.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  The secure room of the installation accounted for the rest of the volume of the silo—a floor full of instrument stations, a domed ceiling fifteen meters overhead, and two rings of catwalks spaced between to give access to the transceiver arrays.

  “I’ll be right down,” called a voice from above. That was followed by the brisk clatter of shoes descending metal-mesh stairs.

  While waiting, Luke sized up the installation. The first thing that struck his eye was that the data system used three black-bodied memory droids for storage. That meant that everything of value, staff and secure data, could be removed from the post in a matter of minutes in a six-place speeder or orbital jumper.

  “My goodness,” Manes said, his steps slowing as he reached the main level and saw Luke clearly. “My goodness. This is an honor.” As an afterthought, he gathered himself for a salute. “Forgive me, sir—I don’t know your proper rank—”

  “I no longer hold one,” said Luke, leaning over one of the data stations.

  “Oh—I see. Then I’ll confess that I’ve never met a Jedi. Nothing unusual there, I guess—I don’t know anyone who has. Is there a proper form of address—”

  “You can call me Luke.”

  “Of course. Thank you.” Manes shook his head. “Forgive me for staring. I’m on my second tour here, and in all that time you’re only the second person to come through that door who didn’t work here. And to have it be you—” As though suddenly aware of his flustered babbling, Manes cut himself off. “How can I help you, Luke?”

  “I need a copy of the current tactical briefing memorandum.”

  “Of course. You can use the comm pad at my station—right over here—”