by Kathy Tyers
What to do? If the Ssi-ruuk worked their will on Skywalker, humankind was doomed.
Dev clenched his hands. That shot a paroxysm of pain up his left forearm. Was he strong enough to strangle the Jedi, while Firwirrung and Bluescale tried to fly the human shuttle?
Perhaps he could, but he recoiled. That would be a Ssi-ruuvi trick. Skywalker was all Dev might have wished to be, if his mother had survived to apprentice him to a master. He couldn’t kill Skywalker—except at the last moment, to keep the Ssi-ruuk from absorbing him.
If that happened, Dev wouldn’t have long to grieve for Skywalker. The Ssi-ruuk would kill him instantly.
Yet humankind would live free if he and Skywalker died. Agonizing, he buckled into his own seat.
“How’s it going up there?” Leia called softly.
“Almost through.” Han perched on her reprogrammed repulsor chair directly over the bed. Delicately holding his vibroknife in one hand, he cut a broad oval in the wooden ceiling panel. A pale stream of sweet-smelling sawdust fell glittering onto the white bedcover. “There!” he exclaimed. He struck the ellipse with the palms of both hands, and it popped upward, showering him with more dust.
“You’re sure you can fit?” she asked.
The chair rose. His head and shoulders vanished, then the rest of him. A moment later, his head and arms reappeared. “Looks good up here,” he said. “Stand back.” He touched the chair’s controls.
It crashed onto the bed. Leia gripped the blaster she’d stuck into her belt and waited for a guard to open the hall door, but none did. She climbed onto the bed, muscled the chair upright again, then switched it on. She rose in stately grace toward the hole Han had cut, then seized his arms and let him pull her through. They left the chair hovering.
A crawl space crossed the building from end to end, its low sloping roof tapering to both sides. Dim daylight cast hazy rays in a large dusty room at one end. “Vents at each side,” Han murmured. “Speeders are parked outside, around the corner to the right.” He pointed toward the light. “Walk softly. They’ll hear you.”
“No. Seriously?” she asked, loading her voice with sarcasm. She led forward on hands and knees, careful to set her weight silently on beams and joists. This attic felt more ancient than any human habitation she’d ever been in. She made the right turn around a thick wooden pillar, then crawled up to the vent. “Knife?” she whispered over her shoulder.
Han drew the vibroknife and sliced cautiously through the large vent’s snap bolts. “You take that end,” he directed. “Pull it toward you.”
She pried inward with her fingernails until it jutted out far enough to grip, then together they pulled it free and set it silently in the dust beside a desiccated pile of insectoid exoskeletons. Han crouched, peering out the new hole, almost invisible in his sooty camouflage. She crouched closer.
Several speeders sat halfway between the lodge and the outwall, with five troopers lounging around them. She eased sideways so she could see and point a blaster out the hole at the same time. He did the same. “Ready?” she asked.
“Now,” he whispered. She squeezed her trigger. Got one. Got two. Another fell. The fourth and fifth dove behind a grounded speeder.
“Here goes nothin’.” Han plunged through. Blaster bolts whined. Leia spotted the trooper shooting at Han and dropped him. The other kept his head down. Han jumped up and ran for the near speeder. A flash of light clipped his left foot.
She leaped, rolled to break her fall, and then sprang to one side. Another blaster bolt scorched the ground where she’d landed. She whirled around and shot back, but the trooper ducked.
The roar of a speeder caught her attention. She zigzagged toward it and scrambled on board, then grabbed an acceleration rail. Something stank like burnt boot leather. Instantly, Han wrenched the throttle and lifters. They soared over the compound’s walls.
“Did they get you?” she shouted over wind noise as moody green forest passed underneath. The view south stretched over foothills, city, and emerald plains toward a hint of blue ocean. Smoke rose from several sources mid-city.
“Don’t think it burned through the sole,” he answered tightly. She eyed his sooty, wind-whipped face and recognized pain.
She could do nothing till they reached the Falcon. He was obviously functioning. “Life with you’s never dull.” She stroked his scratchy chin.
He managed a smile. “Couldn’t have that,” he called. The wind blew his words back at the forest.
Leia glanced away. The speeder’s roar seemed to change pitch. No, it was another one. “Han—”
“We’ve got company,” Han interrupted. “Over there.”
“There’s one on my side, too—no, three of them!”
They were surrounded. “So it was a trap.” Han grimaced. “They can shoot us down and get rid of us for good.”
“Escaping arrest,” Leia agreed aloud.
“Hang on!” Han spun the speeder in a tight arc back up into the foothills. Two more Imperial craft appeared in front of them. Han pulled back on the altitude control, climbing and turning simultaneously. Leia twisted around in her seat and fired at one speeder. She felt like a trapped animal with the pack closing in, and nothing to fight with but her teeth and fingernails.
Her stomach swooped up through her midsection as Han flipped the speeder through the top of the arc. “No good,” he shouted. “They’ve got hot military models.” Something bright and noisy, a streak of laser-cannon energy, passed beside them on the starboard side.
Shedding altitude at a dizzying pace, Han steered for the treetops. “When I say jump, jump. Hide behind some rocks or—”
“Han!” she exclaimed. “Reinforcements!” A pair of tiny X-winged silhouettes dropped out of the cloudy blue sky. X-wing space fighters had twice the speed and firepower of those landbased speeders.…
Instantly Han pulled the speeder up again and pushed for altitude. “The minute they spot ’em—”
Sure enough, the Imperials scattered. “Wish we had a comlink,” Leia muttered. “They almost act like somebody sent them here. Maybe Luke?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Han muttered. He steered down the drainage toward the wide river. An X-wing swept into position at his three o’clock, and the other came in at nine o’clock high.
Leia waved. Inside the slanting cockpit, a slim black-gloved hand waved back.
Their escort looked incongruous this close to a green planetary surface. Leia recalled Yavin, and the hidden groundside Rebel base where she’d waited for the first Death Star to attack.
Where the river curved southeast, just north of Salis D’aar, both fighters soared again toward space. “They don’t want to be seen this close to the city,” Leia observed. “It’d alarm the Bakurans.”
“Glad somebody’s thinking,” answered Han.
Thanks, Luke. It was still just a guess, but Leia felt confident about it.
“Shortest route to the Falcon is right through downtown,” Han observed. “If the locals try to stop us for violating curfew, they’re going to have a rough time.”
Salis D’aar’s ground routes, including a high bridge connecting the white cliff with the western side of the broad river, teemed with slow vehicles—probably families moving their worldly goods north into the mountains, curfew or no curfew. Leia wished momentarily that they could stop by the complex. She hated leaving the Ewoks’ bracelet behind, but it wasn’t worth risking her life.
They met little air traffic. “Anybody who could fly out already did,” Han guessed.
“Where are the droids?”
“Artoo’s probably still in Captison’s office.” Then he explained what he’d done with Threepio.
She laughed, picturing his arrival at the Falcon. “I only hope Chewie didn’t blast him before he spoke up.”
“He’s got my comlink. I’m sure he took care of himself.”
Shreds of dusty smoke covered the spaceport from hundreds of blastoffs. Han steered down into the murk and
landed practically on top of the Falcon. It wasn’t guarded, except by one lone Wookiee. “Where’s Threepio?” Leia exclaimed.
Chewbacca snorted and snarled. “You what?” Han answered. “Chewie, we’ve got to dump his Flutie-talk program onto the Falcon’s computer!”
Chewbacca howled, sounding apologetic.
“Yeah, I should’ve. Well, fix him up.”
Chewie had blasted him. Too late for regrets. Leia dashed up the ramp behind Chewbacca. “I hope it’s fueled,” she exclaimed as she dropped into her high-backed seat.
Chewbacca bellowed. “Topped up and ready for a trip to the Core,” Han translated as he hobbled into the cockpit. “Do what you can for Threepio, Chewie. Leia, strap down.”
Leia’s seat began to vibrate. The engines’ roar mounted.
“Chewie, wait! Any new modifications?” Han shouted.
His partner woo-woofed from behind her.
“Oh.” Han sounded appreciative. “That should come in handy. Where did you patch it in?”
Chewie reappeared in the corridor, rolled his eyes at the overhead panels, then answered.
“You sliced out what?”
“Now what?” Leia asked.
“Ah, he got a Bakuran tech to give us more power to energy shields, but that increased the hyperdrive multiplier. As soon as we’re out of here,” he insisted, leveling a finger at Chewie, “that goes back to specs. My specs.”
All Leia wanted now was speed insystem. “Falcon’s coming up,” she snapped. “Let’s move it.”
CHAPTER
17
Now the left leg.”
Obediently Gaeriel wiggled her toes.
The Imperial medic frowned, pressed Gaeri’s head back with inexorable professional gentleness, and reexamined the faint burn across the hollow of her throat. “Some kind of nervous-system ionization, I suppose. That’s what I’ll put on the report.”
She coughed. “May I go now?”
“I’m sorry. We’ve been asked to keep you here a little longer, under observation.”
“What’s going on? I heard a siren.”
“They’ve struck at the orbital station.”
Then it had begun. She gazed around the bare room. Four white walls and a distant ceiling, no windows, one door. The emergency patrol had brought her back to the complex on a repulsor stretcher. Before that, her most vivid memory was of Luke advancing toward four armored stormtroopers. Then the civil defense alarm. Then the droid dragged her outdoors to safety, and she’d lain alone for a long, long time, until the emergency patrol reached the cantina. By then, Skywalker and the Ssi-ruuk had vanished in the Imperial shuttle … and she could almost move again.
But it was over, humankind doomed. They’d taken Luke. She couldn’t imagine even a Jedi with enough power to singlehandedly resist … whatever they hoped to do with him. Would they try to make him a superdroid? Maybe they would fail.
But even if they didn’t, she’d rather die here on Bakura than a Ssi-ruuvi prisoner. Her depression hardened to resolve. Nothing and no one could threaten her now.
The medic slipped out. Gaeri slid down from the bed and limped to the door. All her muscles seemed functional again, but her movements lagged behind her intentions. She touched the door’s sensor panel.
Locked.
They couldn’t mean to hold her here long. The room didn’t even have … Now that she’d thought about comfort facilities, she wished she hadn’t. She considered Eppie, running a revolt from a keyboard in a shabby apartment. Would she have time? The Bakur complex sprawled across the heart of Salis D’aar, with dozens of entrances: How did she mean to get control of it—or did she? She only needed control of Wilek Nereus. Commander Thanas and the space forces were already offplanet, defending Bakura—
Her thoughts spun to a dejected halt. There’d be no defense against the Ssi-ruuk now.
The door opened. Two naval troopers stepped through. “Come,” ordered one.
Gaeriel followed him past a medical station and up a hallway. Soon she realized where they were taking her, and she resisted the temptation to bolt. She’d always managed to avoid Governor Nereus’s private office. She’d heard disturbing rumors. And then there were Nereus’s subtle attentions.…
The lead trooper opened the governor’s door and motioned her inside. She walked in calmly. Better to die on Bakura, but die fighting.
Governor Nereus sat at a desk with a polished, off-white surface. Faint brownish veins on it made concentric circles, like tree rings, but it didn’t look like wood. He silently motioned her to a chair and watched the troopers leave.
A framed tri-D on the nearest wall caught her attention first: a huge, snarling carnivore. Its four long white fangs looked eerily substantial.
“The Ketrann,” said Nereus. “Of Alk’lellish III.”
“The teeth. Are they … real?”
“Yes. Look around you.”
Above and beyond the tri-D hung others like it, with here and there a simply arrayed full set of teeth. “This is your collection, then?”
“Predator species. I have seventeen worlds, including the Bakuran Cratsch.” He tapped a clear cube at one corner of his desk. “On that wall—” He pointed left at another set of tri-D images. “Intelligent aliens.” She thought of the Wookiee Chewbacca’s huge canines and frowned. “And the most dangerous predator.” He tossed her a multifaceted crystal. Inside gleamed two pair of human incisors.
She wanted to throw it at him, but resisted. She might cause more effective damage later. “I hope you can add a set of Ssi-ruu teeth soon.” She tried to sound cool.
“Yes, interesting that they have beaks with teeth.” He cleared his throat. “I prefer taking specimens from individuals I have hunted down myself, of course. The Rebel princess seems to have left my hospitality for the moment. She must be punished for defying orders. My dental specialist is not gentle.”
Fiend, she thought at him. She’d play along, and she’d be the snake in his picnic basket for now, but Wilek Nereus would pay for his crimes. She swallowed hard to choke down a cough. This was the wrong time to catch a virus. He opened his hand, and she tossed back the crystal.
“Admirable diplomacy, Senator. Outstanding reserve under pressure. Did you get a good look at the weapon they shot you with?”
Gaeriel described it while Nereus passed the crystal from hand to hand. As she finished, she thought of Eppie Belden again. If this Ssi-ruuk attack failed, Eppie would need another opportunity. “Governor, please reconsider allowing a public funeral for Senator Belden. Bakura needs—”
“It does not need any more public gatherings. No. The curfew stands.” He stared, abruptly giving her the impression he was waiting for something.
“What did the Empire do to Madam Belden?” she asked, to distract him.
He arched a thick eyebrow. “Did the Empire do something to her? Let me check my records.” His fingers skated over an inset desktop panel. Gaeri leaned forward. “What do you think of my desk?” he asked. “A single slab of tooth ivory.”
That was a tooth? A meter and a half in diameter, it implied a monstrous mouth. “Sea-going creature?” she asked at a guess. The urge to cough was getting stronger.
Nereus nodded. “Now extinct. Here we are. Ah.” He smiled slowly. “Madam Belden was scheduled for termination. Her husband agreed to permanent incapacitation as the price of keeping her companionship.”
Gaeriel clenched her hands. Orn Belden had … agreed … to let the Empire …? She didn’t want to believe it. She was suddenly thankful Orn Belden had died, so she couldn’t ask him if it were true.
“And evidently she submitted to protect him. Oh, yes,” he added, studying his screen. “I had forgotten specifics. We used a tiny creature native to the Jospro sector, which parasitizes the neocortex of the brain. It scars the region, suppressing long-term memory to a comfortably moderate extent. Easy and painless to introduce, and she and her husband could go on keeping company. Quite the loving couple, for their age
. Go ahead and cough, my dear. Your forehead is turning pink.”
“I don’t need to.” She gulped.
He folded his hands on the ivory desktop. “How much of that meal did you share with Commander Skywalker?”
The pit of her stomach turned to lead. That meal … “What do you mean?” she asked.
He flipped one hand. The gesture looked careless and calculating, but his fingers quivered. “When Skywalker’s apartment guards reported that you’d gone inside, I naturally began tracing signals attributed to your ID number. I intercepted your request for a meal, sent to your quarters … good try, my dear, but you failed. I had the main dish inoculated at the kitchens. Your actions, like your questions, mark you as a Rebel collaborator.”
What had Nereus done? Was she going to die? Was Luke? Surely he wouldn’t have told her what he’d done, if he simply meant to kill her. Once she’d steadied herself, she asked numbly, “What is it? Another parasite?”
He smiled slowly. “The Olabrian Trichoid lays pods of three eggs in ripening fruit. Larvae hatch in a host’s stomach, then migrate to the lungs while the host sleeps. They remain there for a day or two, while they grow and the mouthparts develop. Then they start nibbling toward the heart. That takes a varying length of time, depending on the host’s size and physical condition. They pupate in a nice, large pool of slowly clotting blood—You’re pale, my dear. Would you like to put your head down?”
She seemed to feel something growing inside her.
“Don’t worry. The larva is extremely susceptible to pure oxygen. You’re almost instantly curable—for about the next hour.” He touched a key on his desktop. “Medic. Bring kit cee-dee twelve.”
“So I got it instead of Skywalker?” At least Luke stood a chance, up there.
