Star Wars: The Truce at Bakura

by Kathy Tyers

  “No,” he said mildly. “Remember, three eggs in each pod. He definitely carries two. I had wondered about the third egg. Be proud of your friend, Gaeriel. Through him, the Ssi-ruuvi fleet may become infested. I can almost guarantee that no natural predators of Olabrian Trichoids travel with the Ssi-ruuk. If we can hold them off for one day, we have won.”

  The door slid open. Her medic hurried through, carrying a breath mask, a pony bottle, and a specimen jar. “This will only take a minute, Gaeriel.” Nereus folded his hands on his desktop. “Cooperate with the medic.”

  She eyed the bottle, wondering what it held besides oxygen. “Only if you breathe it first.”

  Nereus shrugged. “I’ll take some of that, if you don’t mind,” he told the medic. After he’d drawn two deep breaths, he smiled toothily. “Your turn, Gaeriel.”

  She waited until the medic sterilized the mask before she let him press it to her face. The gas had no odor. She inhaled again, then stared up at the medic’s eyes. “Keep it up,” he said, “until you—”

  Abruptly she gagged. The medic held the mask down firmly. She choked, shut her eyes, and spit out something awful. Then she staggered backward to her seat as the medic dumped something out of the mask into the jar. She felt queasy. Luke, she moaned silently. Just as she’d feared, he might die before the Ssi-ruuk could use him. Perhaps Nereus had saved humankind, after all—but at what cost? Now that he was doomed, she regretted every harsh word.

  “Bravely done.” Nereus clapped his fingertips. “Naturally, it is inconvenient that you know what happened to Madam Belden.”

  Gaeriel concentrated on swallowing. “Perhaps not, Governor. Some kinds of knowledge need to be disseminated, if you mean to frighten people with them.”

  “Well played, indeed! I like you better and better. Once we defeat the Rebels, I may pardon you. I may go so far as to make room for you on my personal staff. But you’ve known that I’d like that all along. Haven’t you?” He rested his chin on one hand.

  Repulsed, she gripped her knees. “May I have a drink of water?”

  He called for one. Once she’d sipped it, and the medic had left carrying his specimen jar, she said, “I understand there’s going to be a battle. May I observe from your war room?”

  “No need to go anywhere.” He fiddled with his desk console. A small but detailed hologram of near space appeared over his desk. He bent down, reached into a desk compartment, and raised a sealed bottle of namana nectar. “To celebrate the Imperial victory,” he said with a flourish.

  Celebrate, she echoed bitterly, vowing not to taste it. Her throat burned already.

  Dev’s heart rate accelerated as they approached the orbiting Imperial defense web. This time, no Imperial troopers on board would guide them through it. Peering out the shuttle’s main viewport, Dev could see slower shuttles docking with orbiting ships. Humans were scrambling for battle. Directly in front of him, Bluescale, Firwirrung, and the others warbled among themselves. They sat on the shuttle’s deck, curled around the front seats.

  If human fighterships blasted this shuttle, that would settle the matter of Skywalker. Still, he doubted it would happen below the defense web. All the defenders would be looking outward, trying to keep Ssi-ruuvi gunships from breaking through to the planet’s surface. Besides, this craft looked like any other Imperial ship, shuttling its crew to an orbiting cruiser.

  Something flashed in front of them. An instant later, pieces of one human fighter blasted out of the flash zone. It must’ve been maneuvering to attack them. Through the new gap in the defense web poured squadron after squadron of battle droids, opening an alley to the Shriwirr. Human fighters swooped in and started picking them off, but the battle droids kept coming. Dev guessed that Admiral Ivpikkis would have launched simultaneous strikes at several points, to direct the defenders’ attention away from this shuttle.

  Once Skywalker lay helpless and Firwirrung pulled the main switch, they could entech humans from nearby ships, and even planetside, and energize all the battle droids they could need to complete the invasion. Through his inner vision stabbed the agonizing memory of lying on that table himself. He glanced at the motionless Jedi.

  “Dev?” Firwirrung’s huge black eye appeared over the back of his seat. “Are you all right? You don’t look happy.”

  “Oh,” Dev exclaimed hastily, wishing Ssi-ruuvi faces showed readable expressions. “I’m concerned for your wound, Master. He had no right to do that to you.”

  Firwirrung blinked triple eyelids. “It is a wound of honor. But our prisoner does not seem to please you.”

  Dev’s fingers twitched. If he betrayed his state of mind, they’d renew him instantly. Worse, they’d separate him from Skywalker. The perfect answer sprang late into his mind. “He hurt you, Master.”

  Firwirrung slowly nodded. “I see.” He turned and whistled something too softly to understand.

  The Jedi gave every impression of unconsciousness, slumped with his mouth hanging open. Dev ran a hand over his head. From warmth in the Force he found where Bluescale had struck him. It was healing already. Again doubt clamored at him.

  Skywalker? Dev thought tentatively. Are you aware? Can I help you? What can I do? His only answer was the pulse of the galaxy.

  Dev bit off a fingernail. A flight of battle droids flashed upward past the shuttle. Defending it, he realized. He could almost picture Admiral Ivpikkis stroking one thumbclaw with the other.

  Entechment circuitry worked only on conscious individuals. There would be a few seconds, at least. You’ll have to move quickly, he thought hard at the helpless Jedi. They’re not going to create any openings.

  Entechment. He shuddered. He’d longed to escape his own will. He’d cooperated with his own enslavement. He’d hoped to share it with all humankind. He glared at the back of Bluescale’s head.

  The Shriwirr’s underside swept across the viewport. The idea of licking Ssi-ruuvi footclaws again, for any length of time, made him bristle—but it wouldn’t last long. Soon he’d be free or dead, or both.

  Metal blast doors closed behind them. Seconds later, the shuttle landed roughly on the deck of a docking bay. Skywalker did not flinch.

  Dev stayed in his seat while medics helped Firwirrung out the nose ramp. He caught himself drumming his fingers, and pressed his palms flat to make himself stop it. A brainwashed slave showed no anxiety.

  The medic’s scaly head peered back up the ramp. “Unconscious?” he whistled.

  “Minor head injury,” answered Dev. “It has kept him immobile.”

  The medic made a disgusted clacking noise. “Our knowledge of human anatomy is limited. We’ll need you to stay with him.”

  Chilled, Dev realized they might cut him apart to see how Skywalker was built. “Here, Master,” he said. “Let me carry him.”

  “Good,” grunted the Ssi-ruu. “We only brought one stretcher.”

  Dev unharnessed himself, then Skywalker, then cautiously ran a hand over the injured spot. At least, he thought it was the spot. All evidence had faded. It took him several minutes of fumbling in a crouched position, battling fettered arms and dangling legs and the weight of the Jedi’s compact, muscular body, before he reached the open hatch.

  Clustered around the shuttle in an immense landing bay, a dozen Ssi-ruuk stood waiting. Dev forced a grin, expecting a cheer. Silent instead, they watched him struggle. His deck shoes clicked down the ramp. They probably enjoyed the spectacle of one human slave, bearing the fate of humankind on his shoulders.

  Staggering under his load, Dev followed the medic across the landing bay, then between the bulkheads of a cargo airlock, and then up a long, bright corridor. He heard a clack-clack behind him and wondered how many followed. Things looked more and more hopeless. He almost wished he had strangled the Jedi while he had the opportunity.

  No, he didn’t. Not while there was one chance of saving him. He’d found a friend, after all these years living with enemies. For reawakening his humanity, he owed the Jedi a chan
ce to fight.

  Up a lift, around several corners, toward the entechment lab. It ought to be nightshift-dim by now, but the yellow overhead light tubes burned at full brilliance. Dev stumbled and almost dropped his burden. “Carefully!” snapped a voice behind him.

  “Yes, Master.” It wasn’t difficult to sound exhausted and repentant. “I didn’t mean to. He’s all right.” Dev’s back might not be, though. He took penitential satisfaction in that pain.

  He followed the medic inside the spacious lab. The new entechment platform bed stood against a bulkhead near the old, standard chair. Now he dared to turn around. Two others followed in. The rest would stand guard.

  Firwirrung already waited beside the control panel, assisted by another medic and by two P’w’ecks. That made five Ssi-ruuk and two servants against Dev and one unconscious Jedi. “Ah. Dev,” whistled Firwirrung. “You are strong. Well done.”

  Manipulative praise: Now he recognized it. Clinging to the hope Skywalker was conscious, Dev let him slide to the ground. “No,” exclaimed Firwirrung. “The new apparatus will hold him upright. Here, I shall help you.”

  Dev crouched and raised Skywalker over his shoulder again. Now’s the time! he exclaimed. They’ll have you trapped, if you don’t move now! Skywalker did not respond. Sorrowing, Dev steadied the Jedi. A medic released his wristbinders and Firwirrung pressed him against the table. Restraints snapped around his ankles and waist, but his arms dangled away from the trip panels. Firwirrung pushed them into place. The bed tipped backward with its captive.

  The hatch slid open. Dev turned, then froze in place. Bluescale swept in, shut the hatchway behind him, and then marched to Dev’s side. “The Jedi human will be unconscious for some time, you guess?”

  Dev spread his hands. Ssi-ruuk used the empty-claw gesture for confusion, too. “It will be difficult to wait, Elder.”

  Bluescale turned his massive head to fix Dev with one hypnotic black eye, then whistled what Dev had dreaded to hear. “You are in desperate need.” Two other aliens slithered toward him, beamers drawn.

  “Wait,” exclaimed Firwirrung. “Dev has served us well. Let us reward him.” He stroked the old entechment chair. “Sit down, Dev. There is time. I will place the IVs and lower the catchment arc myself, exactly as I promised.”

  Dev’s tongue swelled like pillow stuffing. His fawning hadn’t convinced any of them. How hideously had he acted all these years?

  “Don’t you smell yourself?” Bluescale sang softly.

  So that was how they’d caught him. Seizing his last free moment, he jumped for Skywalker. His good hand and his aching one closed on the helpless Jedi’s throat. “I need nothing,” he cried. “You’ll never—”

  Lights went out in the chamber. Words died on his tongue.

  CHAPTER

  18

  The weak-minded little P’w’eck Luke had been controlling honked confusion with the rest of them, not realizing its tail had crushed the control board and extinguished cabin lights. Luke only hoped that he’d also disabled the abominable alien machines. He could tell the aliens from Dev by their presences, even in the dark. One potent individual tramped toward a power-locked hatchway.

  Luke had already unlatched his bonds with the Force. Easily throwing off Dev, he leaped down. His head no longer hurt, but his right leg had no feeling. He leaned left. “Dev,” he cried, “get under something. They’ll trample you.”

  “Right!” Dev’s voice sounded giddy with elation.

  Feeling Dev shift between determination and fear had been the hardest part of staying still for the last several minutes. He wished he hadn’t given up his blaster—or else that he had another, to arm Dev.

  From a safe spot near the bulkhead, Luke stretched out his right hand and visualized his lightsaber. It had to be close. Less than a second later, its satisfying weight arrived. “Are you down, Dev?” he cried over the cacophony of deep Ssi-ruuvi whistles.

  Muffled answer: “Yes.”

  “Good.” Luke extended the saber’s blade. The chamber lit eerie green, and the aliens’ alarmed whistles rose to shrieks. Two black eyes reflected the saber a moment before it sliced below them. Another alien bellowed. Luke spun and decapitated it.

  Big Blue—it was him, at the hatch—finally kicked it in and escaped. Another followed him into the bright corridor.

  “Now what?” Dev shouted.

  “Stay low!” Three mechanical shapes that resembled Artoo appeared in the hatchway. The first droid rushed him. He sliced it diagonally with the saber and reached for the others with the Force. They weren’t true droids, but marginally alive. One fired a pair of stun bolts at him. He deflected one bolt back toward his attacker and the other at its partner. Both overloaded and switched off—but the weird stench in the Force, like the presence of a soul half decayed, only faded slightly. He’d caught the same stench from the battle droids, and the ship itself. The cruiser reeked in his senses, permeated with stolen human energies. It might burn heavy fusionables for ordnance and thrust, but its control systems had to be powered in the hideous Ssi-ruuvi way.

  Dev crept out from behind the grim chair. Glimmers of dark side energy lingered around it from thousands of victims’ terrorized agony. “You all right?” Luke asked.

  Dev’s pale brown skin looked olive green by the saber’s light, and he gripped a paddle beamer with both hands. “That was wonderful.”

  It wasn’t too soon to launch Dev’s apprenticeship. “Two of your Ssi-ruuk died.”

  “I know,” he groaned, “but how else—”

  “Exactly. You have to fight, but you mustn’t like it.” He hoped Yoda didn’t laugh aloud, hearing him say that.

  Dev chewed his upper lip. “Now what?”

  “Stand back.” Luke spun on his strong leg and sliced once, twice, three times through the chair and its dangling machinery, then again through the upright table. Pieces crashed to the deck, denting its tiles. He returned the saber to rest salute position. “Are there more labs like this?”

  He felt Dev wilt, eyes haunted and wide. “They’ve nearly completed another thirty.”

  Thirty! “It’d take us too long to ruin that many. No more operational?”

  “Not that I know of. And I assisted with …”

  “We’ll assume this is the only one, then.” Perspiration ran down Luke’s face, even with his mind relaxed into the Force. “Are onboard control systems powered by human energies too?”

  Dev’s frown deepened. “I don’t know. I’d never thought about it. It’s possible.”

  “I can feel it. Can you take me to the engineering sector?”

  “Yes.”

  Holding the saber low, Luke sidestepped toward the outer bulkhead. He slid along it and peered into the corridor. “There are six more droids active out there, but no Ssi-ruuk.”

  “They’re scared to death of you.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t want to die off one of their home worlds. That’s why they force slaves and P’w’ecks to do all their fighting.” Dev edged up behind him and whispered, “Be careful.”

  “Just stay behind me.” About to relax into full control, Luke realized he was already there. He stepped into the hatchway, holding his saber ready. An energy bolt sizzled toward him. Dev cried out and jumped back. Luke’s saber swept up and returned the energy. The droid sputtered dead.

  One down. The other five were undoubtedly programmed to fire … simultaneously! came the blasts. Luke’s saber whirled. The droids dropped, smoking and throwing sparks.

  Dev whistled soft admiration.

  “I’ll teach you to do that.” Luke’s right leg tingled and ached. He must’ve wrenched it worse than he thought when he jumped onto that table.

  “Do it soon,” Dev said earnestly. “I want what you have.”

  “Engineering deck first,” Luke murmured, satisfied. Dev’s apprenticeship looked official. “Stay close behind me.”

  They crept up a bright corridor. “Left,” Dev whispered. Luke wh
irled across the passage to draw the fire of anyone guarding it. Unchallenged, he pressed on, calmly listening in front and behind, using the Force to refresh tiring muscles and take the bite off increasing pain in his right leg.

  “Now right,” Dev whispered. “Drop shaft.”

  Luke shook his head. “We’d be helpless inside. That big blue one’s probably still on board. Are the decks connected by stairs?”

  “Ssi-ruuk can’t use stairs,” Dev murmured. “Neither can P’w’ecks, the smaller ones.”

  “More slaves?” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat.

  “Yes.”

  The Ssi-ruuk would probably never accept other races as equals. “Any other links between decks?”

  “I don’t know,” Dev admitted. “I’ve only used power lifts.”

  Luke stretched out into the invisible world again. A web of weak living energy surrounded them, punctuated here and there by the brighter Force-gleams of sentient beings. He found a vertically sizeable empty area ahead. “Come on,” he murmured. Unable to find a hatchway, he cut a way in through the bulkhead. A spiral ramp, cramped for humans—obviously designed for P’w’eck or droid use—led up and down. It sounded and felt empty.

  “Go ahead,” Luke whispered. Dev pushed one leg through, then his head, then he vanished into the rampway. Luke followed. Dev pointed downward, so Luke led down into the spiral ramp. His right leg didn’t bend easily. The muscles tightened and stayed tight. Behind him, Dev’s pain sense echoed: He’d injured his back and left hand.

  Dozens, maybe hundreds, of souls must be slaved to the Shriwirr’s circuitry. He couldn’t bring even one back to life … but perhaps he could release a few of them to rest peacefully.

  After a long hunched walk, Luke asked through gritted teeth, “How far down is Engineering?”

  “Eighteenth deck.” Dev indicated a symbol on the bulkhead beside a narrow hatchway. “We’re at the seventeenth, now.”

  Luke led around several more turns of the shaft, then paused at a hatchway. “Here?”

  “This is it.”

  Luke felt inside the circuits on the other side of the hatch. Again he found a center of life energy set to power nonliving circuitry. He sent a pulse of excitement into shreds of human will.