by Kathy Tyers
Chewbacca howled something. “Luke must be expecting a smooth touchdown,” Han translated. “Don’t know why not,” he added.
Leia elected to stay in her seat and brush a wrinkle out of her white skirt. She’d ordered a copy sewn from her threadbare white senatorial gown. She still hoped to dispel the Rebels’ ragtag reputation, if that was possible after landing in the Falcon.
Han flew the ship around the perimeter of Salis D’aar twice, swooping out over the river on each side of the stunning white outcrop that kept them from flowing together. “They’re not firing on us,” he said. “Guess we might as well go through with it.”
Controllers directed Han toward a vacant multiship crater at the western end of the spaceport. The early morning shadows of several moveable repair gantries stretched out long on the rough white ground. “What’s that surface?” Leia murmured as Han made his final descent.
Han glanced at a scanner. “Says here the outcrop’s almost pure quartz. The crater looks like rock glass, but somebody roughed it up.”
The Falcon touched down softly.
“There. See?” Han asked. “Nothing to worry about.”
Chewie barked. Leia turned to look where he was pointing one hairy hand. About twenty people clustered around a long repulsor shuttle, near a gantry at the edge of their landing crater. “Hurry it up, Luke,” Han shouted.
“Right.” Luke’s breathless voice echoed out in the corridor. Leia sprang off her seat and joined him.
Threepio stood nodding approval of Luke’s white shipsuit without rank insignia. As Leia looked him up and down, he hooked on a silvery utility belt from which dangled a blaster, three trifle pouches, and his lightsaber. “Good enough?” He fixed his eyes on Leia. They looked so blue and innocent.
“I guess that’s how a Jedi ought to dress,” she said dubiously. I wish you looked older.
Luke glanced anxiously at Han. Han shrugged. Leia laughed. “What does it matter what he thinks?” she asked Luke.
“You look splendid, Master Luke,” put in Threepio. “General Solo, you’re rather untidy. Don’t you think it would minimize our danger if—”
“Chewie,” said Han. “You want to stay on board?”
It was a valid question. Chewbacca would represent the Alliance well if he came along. Imperials despised aliens on principle, but humans and Imperial-repressed aliens had founded the Alliance together.
Chewie roared. “Okay,” Han said. “Guess we can use one more pair of eyes. Everybody look sharp.”
Leia thought Threepio snickered, if such a thing were possible. Artoo chirped aloud.
“All right,” Luke cut in. “Here we go.”
Leia positioned herself in the center of the group with Luke on her right, Han on her left, and Chewie behind with Threepio and Artoo. Chewie dropped the entry ramp. She walked down slowly, sniffing cool wet air that seemed heavy with exotic plant odors. Her first breath on a new planet was always a treat.
As she stepped onto the pale spaceport surface, it crunched. She glanced back. The Falcon sat on a satiny bed of white rock and gray spaceport dust.
Enough exploring. Get to work. She strode to meet the Imperial group beside its shuttle.
“Ooh,” Han said sarcastically. “All the pretty white armor.”
“Cut it out,” Leia muttered. “I’m wearing white too.” She thought back to her days as an Imperial senator, the double game she’d played between the Emperor’s coterie and the infant Alliance her father had died for.
Her real father, Bail Organa, who had raised and trained her and nurtured her sense of self-worth and self-sacrifice. Regardless of biology, she would never own another man by that title. Period. Enter data. End program.
The man at the center of the group had to be Imperial Governor Wilek Nereus. Tall and dark-haired with heavy features, he wore a khaki uniform that he might have borrowed from Grand Moff Tarkin, with the addition of a pair of thin black gloves. The other individuals in his group kept shifting positions to watch him. He was absolutely In Charge.
Relax, she told herself. Flow with it. My strengths lie here, along a different path from Luke’s.
Governor Nereus’s delegation made a semicircle around him. “Princess Leia of Alderaan.” He sketched a half-bow. “It is an honor to receive you.”
“Governor Nereus.” She returned his bow, making sure hers dipped not a millimeter deeper. “It is our honor to be here.”
“In the name of the emperor, welcome to Bakura.”
She couldn’t have hoped for a better opening than that protocol greeting. “Thank you for your welcome,” she answered placidly. “You may think me terribly rude to correct your kind words, but it’s no longer valid to welcome us in Emperor Palpatine’s name. Emperor Palpatine died several days ago.”
Nereus cocked a dark, heavy eyebrow and clasped his large hands behind him. “My dear Princess.” He swaggered forward another step. “Have you come to Bakura spreading rumors and lies?”
“It gets better, Your Excellency. He was killed by his apprentice, Darth Vader.”
“Vader.” Nereus straightened several millimeters to loom over her. Distaste dripped through his pronunciation, a sentiment she understood perfectly. “Vader,” he repeated. “His Imperial Majesty should never have trusted a Sith lord. I was prepared to disbelieve you, Your Highness. But Vader as an assassin, I believe.”
“Lord Vader is dead as well, Your Excellency.”
Luke’s chin rose at the edge of her vision. She knew what he wanted her to add. Maybe Vader had died heroically, but ten minutes’ contrition did not make up for years of atrocities.
The governor’s people turned aside in pairs to whisper. Leia seized the initiative again. “Governor, may I present my escorts—first, General Solo.” Han was supposed to bow, or at least shake hands. Instead, he stood aside with a flat disapproving expression. At this rate, he would never make a diplomat.
“His copilot, Chewbacca of Kashyyyk.” Chewie grumbled as he bowed. Wookiees had been deeply betrayed by the Empire. She hoped Chewie didn’t forget himself and start tearing arms off Imperials. The chilly morning breeze ruffled his fur.
She laid out her trump card with flair. “And Commander Skywalker of Tatooine, Jedi Knight.”
Luke bowed beautifully—she’d coached him. Nereus squared his shoulders. After a moment, he returned the bow. “Jedi.” His large nose twitched. “We’ll have to watch ourselves.”
Luke clasped his hands in front of him. Good! Leia praised him silently. He was letting her answer, just as she’d begged. Now she felt repaid for letting him take charge in battle. Maybe there was a future in this division of labor, so long as it didn’t go too far. “Yes, Excellency,” she said. Governor Nereus turned his head toward her again. “We mean to reestablish the Old Republic, including the Order of Jedi Knights. Commander Skywalker is head of the order.” Again she guessed what he wanted her to add: also the only member. Don’t look sheepish, Luke!
“Commander Skywalker,” Nereus repeated, and his tone became as oily as droid lubricant. “Ah. Now I recognize your name, Commander. Fortunately for you, Bakura has a good trade balance. You might know that for some years there has been a … an astronomical reward offered for your capture. Alive, only. That must be something of a distinction among Rebel forces.”
“I’m aware,” Luke answered quietly. This was nothing new, either. They were all on the most-wanted docket.
“And I see two droids,” said the governor. “They’ll have to be equipped with restraining bolts for the duration of their stay on Bakura.”
Fitting droids with those bolts was standard procedure on most planets, compulsory on Imperial worlds and battle stations. “We’ll see to it,” Leia agreed. Now certain she had commanded Nereus’s respect, she stepped out of her own protection. “Governor, Alliance forces intercepted your call for assistance. The Imperial Fleet is no longer a presence in this part of the galaxy. We are here to assist you in repelling the invaders. Once that is a
ccomplished, we will leave you. Bakura must choose its own destiny. We will not attempt to impose ours upon your … on the Bakuran people,” she corrected herself.
Governor Nereus showed her a chilling half-smile. The left side of his face contracted, pulling up that side of his mouth. The right side could’ve been cast in iron.
Luke stayed at attention. Just as Nereus’s face wore two expressions, he was of palpably different minds. It would be difficult for such a man to accept Rebels as allies.
The gloved governor’s savor in the Force licked and pushed at him. Nereus had an uncontrollable compulsion to dominate people, and that kept his delegation at attention. Luke knew the type: his ways were the only sensible ways. Anyone who countered him would capture his attention only long enough to be squashed: the quintessential Imperial governor.
Luke kept himself open to perceive intent all around. So many nervous flickers tremored through the Force that simply looking calm strained his control. He didn’t intend to get fried by a trigger-happy trooper before Leia talked out a treaty.
As Leia and Governor Nereus continued a guarded conversation, he stretched deeper and opened himself toward them again. Leia: calm and poised, not intimidated by Nereus. The governor: a facade of trained manners, the compulsion to dominate, and—underlying both—a gut-wrenching sense of terror. Surely not of us. Again Luke thought of the despondent, not-quite-human presences on that Ssi-ruuvi fightership. Had he contacted captive Bakurans?
Obviously the governor meant to leap in any direction that offered protection. As hostile as he acted in front of his troopers, he could easily jump into the Alliance camp.
Temporarily.
In a civilian shuttlecraft offered for their ride to the city, Luke relayed that impression to Han.
“Yeah,” Han muttered quietly. “He could jump into our camp, all right. Or he could torpedo it. Want to place bets?”
Luke’s formal trousers clung to his legs, clammy with the pervasive Bakuran dampness. Leia sat in front of him, lovely in her hooded white senatorial gown. She stared out the window of the plushly upholstered shuttlecraft. Sure enough, the Bakuran senate had requested that they attend an immediate emergency session.
Abruptly Leia straightened. “Threepio, what do I need to know about protocol?”
“I’m afraid that is not in my program.” Threepio already wore his magneto-fixed restraining bolt, and his tone sounded whinier than ever. Artoo interrupted with an electronic whistle. “What? Master Luke downloaded the data files from that probe into your memory banks? Why didn’t you say so, you overstuffed recycle cylinder?”
Artoo chattered back at length. Then Threepio answered Leia, “All I am able to ascertain is that Bakura was once governed by a prime minister and senate, but all real authority now rests in the Imperial governorship.”
“Tell us something new,” Han remarked aside.
A Bakuran pilot/guide brought them in low over a huge wedge-shaped building punctured by two wide greenwell arcs. “This is the Bakur complex,” announced the pilot’s assistant, linking one arm around a silver stabilizer bar. She stared at Chewbacca. Luke guessed she’d never seen a Wookiee.
The complex appeared to fill several hectares between two radial highways, and bordered the round city-center park along its southwestern arc. “The complex includes guest and resident housing, Imperial offices, a major medical center, and the grand old parkside building that was our seat of government under the Bakur Corporation.”
Leia looked down, as if she were watching huge, vine-covered trees flit across the complex’s rooftop. Actually, Luke guessed, she was mentally reviewing Imperial protocol. Bakura’s freedom rested on her ability to negotiate this truce. Han, beside her in the shuttle’s front seat, fiddled with his blaster.
At a rooftop landing pad, they transferred to a repulsor tram for a rapid ride across the large complex. Their guide kept up the tour, concluding, “The corporation wing of the Bakur Memorial Building was built over a hundred years ago, overlooking Statuary Park at city center. Please remain seated until the car comes to a complete stop.” The tram slid under a vine-draped arch and decelerated.
“Wait, Leia.” Han sprang up.
Luke slipped out his own side of the tram. Leia kept her seat for a few seconds. “I believe this archway is suitably secure,” Threepio’s observation drifted through an open hatch. “Still, we must be certain of safety.”
Leia poked her head out Luke’s side. “Listen,” she said, “if they mean to hurt us, the entire mission has already failed.”
Han glanced over the tram. “Right. Okay on this side, Luke.”
Luke swung around to the rear of the car and uncarted Artoo. The droid whistled jauntily and extended his tricycle wheels. Han and Chewie stepped out ahead of Leia and Threepio. Luke followed, trailed by Artoo. Door wardens in gold-trimmed violet doublets and hose admitted them to a spacious hallway carpeted in black. Gold traceries ran like veins of precious metal up a row of columns built in double-wedge style, then crisscrossed overhead on a vaulted ceiling. “Red marble,” Leia murmured.
“Worth a fortune, if you could smuggle it out,” Han answered over his shoulder. He followed one door warden. After a few mincing steps in imitation, he shifted back into his watchful stride with glances to left and right, behind every pillar, and toward each open door. Luke listened intently through the Force for flickers of aggression. He sensed nothing. Leia walked serenely ahead of him, at the center of the group beside her protocol droid.
The violet-legged warden stopped at an arch carved of glistening white stone. A rough wooden wall blocked most of it, with scanners hovering on silent repulsorhfts over each side and four Imperial stormtroopers standing guard. The sight of them gave Luke a fight-or-flight surge of adrenaline. “They’re here illegally,” Leia murmured. “We are the galaxy’s rightful envoy to Bakura.”
“Tell that to them.” Han glowered at the stormtroopers. Luke stared up into one sensor’s glossy round eye. Artoo’s dome swiveled around and around as his own sensors scanned the hallway.
“Weapons check.” A trooper bent over Leia and spoke in a metallic voice. “Leave all ordnance in a security locker.” He gestured toward a bank of palm-keyed receptacles across the archway.
Leia spread her empty hands and then folded them mock-submissively. Luke crossed the arch, selected a cubicle, and then palmed its lock while pressing a button to key the locker to his hand print. He drew his blaster from its belt holster and laid it inside. “Come on, Han,” he said softly.
Han had followed him, tailed slowly by Chewie and Leia. Han didn’t seem happy about it, but he keyed a cubicle of his own and set his blaster inside.
Leia cleared her throat.
Han shot her a look that might’ve fried lead, then pulled out his boot knife, the pocket blaster from his wrist sheath, and his favorite vibroknife. Chewbacca was easing off the bandolier for his bowcaster when Luke’s subconscious tossed up a suggestion. “Chewie,” he said softly, “stay with the locker. Artoo, you too.”
Chewie’s lips drew back in pleasure, and he wrinkled his black nose. The big Wookiee had little use for politics and no trust for Imperials. He would love to stand guard.
Leia led the group back toward the arch.
“Stop right there,” said the stormtrooper who’d spoken before. He pointed at Luke’s lightsaber. “That’s a weapon, too.”
Luke extended a tendril of Force energy and answered soberly, “This is a symbol of honor. Not an offensive weapon. Let it pass.”
“Let it pass,” echoed the stormtrooper in the same sober tone. Recovering, he added, “I’d leave the droid at the door. Droid malfunctions nearly killed the first crew of Bakuran colonists.”
“Sir,” protested Threepio, “my function is—”
“Thank you,” Leia said firmly. None of them were forgetting that restraining bolt. “Threepio will wait just inside.”
A door warden announced, “Senator Princess Leia Organa, of Alderaan. And
”—he waved a hand vaguely—“and escorts.”
CHAPTER
7
Leia led them through the arch and mounted four broad steps into a vast square chamber. Luke followed, matching Han step for step, hoping he’d done the right thing by keeping his lightsaber. He didn’t want to offend the entire Bakuran senate by carrying in a weapon, but they might not recognize it as dangerous. He also hoped Leia would’ve challenged him if she’d thought it important.
The chamber was square under a tiled ceiling, and in each corner stood a tall, glassy pillar. Most of the senators were human, with only two exceptions: tall, white-skinned individuals with corrugated scalp instead of hair. Luke opened himself to listen through the Force. A babble surrounded him, the textures of forty or fifty nervous minds. Narrowing his focus, he reached straight across the chamber toward a massive repulsor chair, all gold and purple except for two banks of controls on the armrests. Wilek Nereus must have caught a faster shuttle. He sat there already, with his double-mindedness coming through as strongly as ever.
Luke let his attention drift leftward, observing the senators’ reactions to Leia. He sensed curiosity tinged with hostility, but a dark undercurrent of fear also pervaded the chamber. This world was under attack.
“Stay here, Threepio.” Leia halted atop the stairs and faced Governor Nereus. “Good morning again, Governor.”
His heavy eyebrows lowered. “Come in,” he said. “Come down.”
They stepped forward and down to the central rectangle. Floor seams showed where it could be slid aside. Luke had a disconcerting flash of memory that included a trapdoor and a huge, slavering Rancor that’d almost devoured him. Thrusting the image aside, he glanced around the chamber. The Bakuran senators displayed all common shades of human skin, a subtle blending of blood lines.
One trim, athletic-looking man with thick white hair, who sat below Governor Nereus at an inner table, extended a hand. “Welcome to Bakura,” he said. “I am Prime Minister Yeorg Captison. Under normal circumstances, you would have had a protocol briefing, and I apologize for the haste with which this meeting was convened, but certainly you understand.”
