by Kathy Tyers
“Sit down.” Thanas waved at a repulsor chair. Leaving Artoo shut down, Luke took the seat. Thanas gestured toward a servo unit. “Something to drink? The local liqueur is astonishingly good.”
Luke hesitated. Even if it weren’t drugged, it might be strong enough to muddy his head. Anyway, it just didn’t sound good. “Thank you, no.”
Thanas sat without pouring for himself. He folded his hands over bent elbows. “I will confess, Skywalker, I didn’t expect you to come. I expected you to ask to meet me somewhere else.”
Luke shrugged. “This seemed practical.” He reached out for Thanas’s sense. Watchful with a twinge of admiration, suspicious but free of deception: trustworthy for now, with tangible goodness underlying.
“True.” Thanas touched a panel on his desk. Retracted projection antennae glided up through the desktop. Above them appeared a large blue-green globe. “Shall we observe the battle you so boldly interrupted?”
“That would be excellent. May I?” Luke gestured toward Artoo with the restraining-bolt Owner.
“By all means.”
Luke switched the little droid back on. Artoo’s dome spun once, then came to rest with the blue photoreceptor facing Thanas’s hologram.
The battle had begun with a sweeping attack launched by the entire Ssi-ruuvi line. It was, as Luke had guessed, a final push against weakened adversaries toward planetary invasion. His forces had arrived barely in time.
“May I see that again?” Luke asked as blue Imperial pips regrouped for a counterattack.
Thanas shrugged and reran a few seconds of holo.
“Is that a standard maneuver?” Luke asked.
Thanas tapped fingers together. “Forgive me if I decline to answer.”
Luke nodded and mentally filed the maneuver under Top Security.
“Tell me,” Thanas said, “are my forces’ scanners in error, or did one of your pilots bring a space freighter into the battle?”
Luke barely smiled. What Thanas didn’t know about the Falcon, Luke wasn’t telling. “You must remember that much of the Alliance’s support is from the edge of legality.”
“Smugglers?”
Luke shrugged.
“Probably modified beyond all legal standards.”
“Stolen Imperial equipment is at a premium.”
“Only after I asked did I realize the implications of your flagship having holonet capability.”
Enough on that subject. “Are you aware of what’s at stake here?” Luke told him most of what he’d concluded about the Ssi-ruuk’s intentions. “Why did the Emperor contact them?”
Thanas scratched his neck, trying to look casual, but the stress lines around his eyes darkened. “If I knew, I would not be at liberty to tell you.”
“But you don’t know.”
Thanas only stared back. This would be a touchy truce, if it held.
“We do need to discuss the current tactical situation,” Luke suggested. “According to my data, between us we’ve got two cruisers, seven midsized gunships, and about forty one-man fighters, two thirds currently deployed in the defensive web, one third down for repairs. Do your figures line up?”
Thanas favored Luke with an amused curl of his lips. “Good data. You also have a rather irregular freighter.”
“That, too.” Luke shifted on the repulsor chair. “Have you been able to get any count on the Ssi-ruuk?”
Thanas nodded curtly. “Here insystem, three cruisers. Two midsize ships that’ve hung back, so far, near the orbit of Planet Four—our best guess is planetary assault ships. About fifteen large fighters or small picket ships, just outside the defense net. And no one knows how many of those little fighters—or which cruiser carries them. Maybe they all do.”
Simply put, the situation looked bad. “Where do you get your information?” Luke asked, wondering what Thanas might tell him about in-system intelligence.
Thanas raised one eyebrow. “Standard sources,” he said. “Where do you get yours?”
“Open eyes.”
The exchange was punctuated by more frustrating dead ends, but when Luke stood up two hours later, he had a better grasp of the tactical situation, precise data on orbital defense-net vectors, and a few miscellaneous tidbits stored in his mind and Artoo’s memory banks.
“Commander Skywalker,” Thanas said softly, “I wonder if you wouldn’t favor me with a demonstration of that lightsaber. I’ve heard about them.”
“I think not.” Luke kept his tone polite. “I don’t want to alarm your troopers.”
“They won’t be alarmed.” Thanas touched another key on his desk. The door slid open. Two white-armored stormtroopers stepped inside. “I’d like to keep your astromech droid here. You two: Take custody.”
“I’d prefer to keep Artoo with me.” Luke didn’t think Thanas meant the threat seriously, but he unhooked, swept up, and activated the saber with a single motion. For all his willingness to talk, Thanas thought like an Imperial. He wanted a demonstration. He’d get it.
The troopers fired milliseconds apart. Luke pivoted into the blasts and deflected them. Tiny flames extinguished in Thanas’s gray paneling.
“Hold your fire.” Thanas lifted a hand. “Dismissed.”
The troopers marched out.
“I don’t understand.” Luke stood at ready attention and kept the saber ignited. “You could have lost two of your men.”
Thanas stared at the humming green blade. “I didn’t think you would kill them. I’d have had to take you prisoner, if you did. I wonder if you’d care to fight your way out through the whole garrison.”
Luke reached for his focus of control. “If I had to, I would.” He sensed a trace of amusement in the older man. Perhaps Thanas was hostile more out of professional habit than out of real belief in the Empire, but Luke didn’t trust him yet. He closed down the saber. “I need to check on my forces’ ship damages, Commander.”
Thanas nodded. “You may go. Take your droid with you.”
Luke tucked his thumbs into his utility belt. “My shuttle went back to the Bakur complex. I’d appreciate a lift over to Pad Twelve at the spaceport.”
Thanas hesitated for a slow beat, then smiled back. “All right.”
If Thanas meant to stop Luke and his party from leaving Bakura, he’d get plenty of chances.
A noncom drove Luke off in a repulsor craft. All the dull aches had come back. It was indeed turning out to be a very long day. He made a mental task list: check in with Leia and let her know he’d left the garrison safely, double-check that the Falcon was undisturbed, make sure the fighters were being serviced and the pilots were getting their rest …
Abruptly Luke realized he hadn’t thought about that striking Bakuran senator for over an hour. He tried to dismiss her image again, and his memory of the way her Force aura had energized his own. Forgetting wasn’t as easy without Imperials surrounding him. This wasn’t the time or place to let personal urges distract him.
Yet the first Death Star hadn’t been the time or place for romance either, and his desperate love for Leia had set so much in motion. If only Gaeriel Captison needed to be rescued.…
Shortly after Skywalker’s shuttle left the garrison, Pter Thanas stopped tapping an Alzoc-pearl pocketknife against his desktop. He’d tracked the illegal freighter to Pad 12 at the civilian spaceport. Relevant information, but not yet vital.
He unfolded one knife blade and balanced it over his index finger. He never could have admitted to young Skywalker how long he’d wished to see a lightsaber in action. When Vader and the Emperor had wiped out the Jedi, he’d given up hope. Fascinating, the way it’d deflected laser fire. Its combat uses would be limited, but its very appearance was compelling.
As was the young man who carried it. Now he understood why the reward for his capture was so high.
Thanas imagined what he could do with so many credits. He’d been transferred to this dead-end position after refusing to wipe out a village of recalcitrant Talz slave miners back on
Alzoc III.
He hadn’t been trying to play hero.… He’d simply increased his miners’ food allotment. Most sentients worked harder if better fed, and the storehouses had been full. Unbeknownst to him, the furry four-eyed Talz identified their benefactor. One day in the mines, he’d taken a step too close to the lip of an open shaft. Three Talz dove to save him. He owed them his life.
Six standard months later, a colonel with more greed than common sense reduced the food ration again. The Talz headman delivered a cautiously worded protest. The colonel ordered their village wiped out as an example. Thanas ignored the order. The colonel sent in stormtroopers himself, then ordered Thanas on board his own ship, “pending reassignment.”
Thanas smiled bitterly. He’d been told to consider himself lucky—if he’d pulled that stunt in Lord Vader’s presence, he’d have been dead of asphyxiation. Instead, here he sat on Bakura, an isolated, low-paying job with little hope for rotation out to the Core worlds.
Again he thought about that reward—and early retirement. He caressed the iridescent pearl handle. He could marry again and live quietly on some nonaligned world. The reward for Skywalker tempted him, but if anyone on Bakura claimed those credits, it would be Governor Wilek Nereus.
Thanas frowned, refolded the knife, and dropped it into his pocket. No early retirement for him. He hadn’t even been able to repel alien invaders without reinforcements … from the Rebel Alliance. He’d never leave Bakura now.
Leia cleared Luke’s message from her screen and keyed over to her next data file. A photographic memory would’ve been useful. This much raw data would take weeks to internalize. From Artoo, she’d already learned that Bakura had information-level technology, repulsor coil manufacturing and export (due to plentiful mineral deposits in the mountains north of Salis D’aar), and namana trees, a tropical cash crop that showed astonishing profit margins. New information was that descendants of the original Bakur Corporation ship’s captain had always served as titular heads of government. Also new: the senate, not the smallish populace, elected senators to replace those who died or resigned.
Now, she reflected, it was an approval organ for Imperial Governor Wilek Nereus. She’d like quietly to interview a few private citizens and find out how much anti-Imperial sentiment the Rebels could hope to tap.
She yawned mightily, then stretched her arms and tipped her repulsor chair. Han’s feet showed through the doorway of his bedroom—the suite had four private rooms, two with windows and two with real-time murals. If Han had fallen asleep on the floor, trying to study Artoo’s data, she didn’t care.
Looking at that much of him raised her blood pressure. The nerve of him, implying she wanted to dally with an ex-Alderaanian Imperial. A renegade, a quisling.
She didn’t hear any sign of Chewbacca. Threepio probably stood where she’d left him, plugged into the main comm center near the doorway, and Luke—
Once Luke had left, she’d calmed down a bit. She shouldn’t let the knowledge that Vader was their father infuriate her so. Even Han hadn’t tossed a single snide comment when she’d swallowed her humiliation back on Endor and told him about Vader. He hadn’t said anything, only held her. With all Darth Vader had done to him—sending the galaxy’s lowest scum to chase him down, then using him as an experimental animal to test a carbon freeze unit, scorching and creasing his precious ship with TIE-fighter laser cannon—evidently Han wasn’t going to hold any of it against Leia or Luke. So long as she avoided anything and anybody that reminded her of Vader or the Force, she’d be all right.
Fat chance, on this trip. Get hold of yourself, she ordered.
“Mistress Leia?” called Threepio’s voice.
She walked to her bedroom door. “What is it?”
“A message for you. Prime Minister Captison.”
“Put it on my bedroom terminal.” She hurried back to the tri-D station. Her door slid shut on a frictionless channel. She’d never seen so many small-scale repulsors.
Leia sat down. She would have recognized the image even without Threepio’s announcement. Collecting her composure, she greeted him respectfully. “I hope your senate decided in our favor, Prime Minister.”
He smiled with the sad, authoritative dignity she remembered from Bail Organa. “Nothing was finalized,” he said. “I hope you and your party are comfortable?”
“I’m delighted to be speaking at such length with your people, but we expect a little trouble convincing the Imperiai military that we’re here to do a job and then go home.”
“Your Highness.” The prime minister’s tone reproached her gently. “That’s not why you’re here, is it?” Captison raised a hand. “That’s all right. Our people need a distraction. They’ve had nothing but Ssi-ruuk on their minds for over a week.”
“I understand,” Leia murmured. “What can I do for you, Prime Minister?”
“You—and your party—could join me at my home this evening. Dinner will be at nineteen hundred.”
She longed to put down her head and sleep, but … “That would be delightful,” she said. It could be a wonderful distraction, a real breakthrough. “On behalf of General Solo and Commander Skywalker, I accept.” What about Chewie? she thought suddenly. He wouldn’t fit, not the way these people felt about aliens. Well, she hoped she could make him understand. He could get some sleep. “Thank you very much.”
“I will send an escort for you shortly after eighteen thirty. Oh,” he added, “I have invited Governor Nereus as well. A chance to open communication off the official records.”
That would keep her awake. Guaranteed. “How thoughtful of you, Prime Minister. Thank you.” Leia switched off. It was the perfect opportunity. High time to ask the Imperials what they thought about Emperor Palpatine’s intentions, inviting the Ssi-ruuk in this direction.
She hoped Luke got back from the spaceport in time to clean up.
She hoped Luke got back, period.
CHAPTER
9
By the time Dev had scraped nauseating blobs of mixed food out of the galleyvac unit, an hour had passed. He must report to Elder Sh’tk’ith—Bluescale—before his midcycle bath. Not that he wanted renewal, but if Bluescale thought Dev had avoided him, he’d pry deeper. Bluescale was incredibly sensitive to changes in Dev’s scent. Besides, the elder had a talent for hypnotic control, even though he was as Force blind as the rest of them. Dev ought to be able to resist him, for simple hypnosis was nothing next to the power of the Force.
But he couldn’t control it well enough, and he had no one to teach him.
Dev had felt the presence of one of his own kind. What if it were a real Jedi out there? The Ssi-ruuk would be vitally interested, but Dev didn’t want Bluescale to know yet.
On the other hand, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. They would seek out the other, and Dev would have a human friend—
No, the Outsider was stronger in the Force—a concept his mother had taught him long before that fateful invasion day. Dev would fall from his masters’ attention. Still, they’d entech him at last. Walking lightly, he headed up the broad corridor. Ssi-ruuk passed him going both directions, stepping quickly with their massive heads bobbing. A few wore paddle beamers, for occasional P’w’ecks turned on their masters under the stress of battle.
On the other hand—he slowed again—they might try to entech the Outsider. Humans screamed on the entechment chair. Someone that strong in the Force might kill Dev with his agony.
No, no. Only the body felt pain.
Yet what if this were a fully trained Jedi?
Dev dove into a turbolift and hurried to Bluescale’s work station on the battle-droid deck. He wasn’t there. Several small, brown P’w’eck workers bent over antenna-cornered pyramids recovered by tractor beam. This crew was made up of youngsters, short-tailed with jerky movements. As soon as they finished repairing these droids, the droids would stand ready for the next group of prisoners to be enteched.
Dev watched for a minute. Each P’w’eck did its
own job without any sign of satisfaction. This dull-witted servant race only superficially resembled the glossy, muscular masters. Heavy eyes and sagging skin showed that even the young P’w’ecks didn’t bother to eat well. Battle droids shone by comparison.
He hiked up to the bridge and sent one of the cylindrical ultimate security droids looking for Bluescale. He waited outside. A conductive net surrounded the bridge, strong enough to stabilize gravities and repel energy surges during battle. Like a reactor, it could be overloaded, and a direct hit from a large enough ship would overcharge the net and make the bridge a deathtrap. Admiral Ivpikkis made certain no large hostile ship got the Shriwirr in firing range.
The droid couldn’t find Bluescale either. Feeling increasingly urgent, Dev tried Master Firwirrung’s entechment hall.
Bluescale stood in the corridor, giving orders to a group of P’w’ecks. Dev stood back a respectful distance. Once the P’w’ecks scurried away, he stepped close. “You wished me to report, Elder.”
Bluescale opened a hatchway. “Come in.”
Once inside, Dev looked around cautiously. This wasn’t one of Bluescale’s usual work stations. In one corner, waist- and knee-high railings surrounded a meter-square sunken area. A gate hung open. Once Bluescale raised it, it would complete an enclosure. It almost looked like a cage built to hold a P’w’eck. They were led away for discipline sometimes. He’d never seen it done. He started to panic. “There?”
“Yes.” Bluescale slid aside to a small table. Unable to do anything else, Dev stepped down into the enclosure.
Bluescale pressed something hard against his shoulder. “Lean on the railings, if you’d like.”
Normally, Bluescale began renewals by having him lie down comfortably on the deck. At least, this didn’t feel like discipline … so far. “What is it you wish?” Dev whistled uneasily. “What may I do to please you?”
