by Kathy Tyers
“You took off his restraining bolt?” Nereus’s hands twitched at his sides.
“You ought to lock him up,” Gaeri whispered. “He’s losing his grip.”
Eppie flicked her blaster’s safety on and off. “I almost wish he’d try something.”
Curled up in the darkness, Luke could think of only one thing to try. He breathed slowly and focused his attention on the pinpoints of living instinct inside his chest. He touched one. Neurologically primitive, its only response was to flinch and go on eating. They were obviously parasites. He sensed their ravenous hunger.
As panic threatened to immobilize him, he thought of the smell of fresh blood: sweet, warm, faintly metallic. He extended the thinnest thread of a probe toward one creature.
Recognition: Some minuscule awareness understood. He imagined mouthparts pulling free and a head turning toward him. It was desperately hard to project the smell while judging its effect on a primitive, alien awareness. He brushed the second creature with the scent.
All around his point of consciousness, his own heart thudded. He swirled the scent-illusion away from them a few millimeters, tempting them to follow. One awareness dimmed out and forgot the scent. He brushed it again with the tempting odor of life. It hummed recognition. It drew closer.
He couldn’t concentrate on both individuals. His body wanted to cough, and within seconds, something was definitely in the way.
He inhaled cautiously and then exploded, hacking. Something spewed out of his mouth.
One wasn’t enough. Virtually exhausted, he crafted the scent-illusion again and stroked the remaining creature. Its attention flickered for an instant, then faded. He thrust again into its perception.
This time, he snagged it. Slowly, slowly, he led it along a dark bronchial tunnel. It radiated fierce hunger. He tried not to gag or choke—or swallow. Slowly he sipped a deep breath around the creature, inhaling until his aching lungs strained.
Then he let go, retching and coughing. This creature caught on his teeth. It squirmed, making a gruesome mouthful. He spit it out and then flailed blindly for it in the dark cabin. Something squashed. He couldn’t find the other creature.
He lay limp on the deck tiles, too tired to feel triumphant, and shut out the external world to perform a focusing exercise. Slowly his despair lifted, then he remembered Dev. They had to find a way off the Shriwirr. Without power, and possibly still under attack, it could break up around them.
He couldn’t. Sleep beckoned, and so did the Jedi healing trance. His eyes ached. He could shut them for a few moments.…
A glimmer on one bulkhead caught his eye. Was he hallucinating lights in the corridor?
“Luke?” called Leia’s voice. “Luke!”
Disbelieving, he pushed up off the deck. “Here!” His throat burned. He must’ve scratched it bloody.
A pocket luma swept into the Shriwirr’s bridge, followed by a slim arm. The rest of Leia wore a breath mask, shipsuit, and magnetic boots. Han and Chewie followed. Her luma shone like life itself. “How did you get on board?” Luke asked her.
Leia hurried closer. “They left the landing bays open. They’re gone. The ship’s dead, except for you.”
“Where’s—” Luke began. Then he spotted Dev.
The boy lay stretched out beside him, tangled in his long robes. His chest rose and fell slowly. Massive red energy burns traversed his exposed arms and face. His eyelids covered sunken gaps.
Beside him on the deck tiles wriggled a creature as long and thick as a finger. Short legs waved wildly at the light. Its fat, striped wet body tapered in green and black stripes toward a pointed end. Audibly disgusted, Leia squashed it flat.
“Thanks,” Luke whispered.
“Relax, kid.” Han knelt and raised him over one shoulder.
Luke swallowed. “Bring Dev.”
“You’ve got to be kidding … Leia!” She was already trying to hoist the unconscious youth. Chewie pushed in and cradled Dev like a doll. “Let’s move,” ordered Han.
Safely on board the Falcon, Leia knelt beside Luke’s bunk and rested her head on his shoulder. Delicately he accepted the link to her strength. He bathed himself in healing energy that felt clean, warm, and familiar. When he swallowed, his throat no longer burned. Soon, he could breathe without wanting to cough.
Where had he picked up those nauseating parasites?
He sat up. “I’ll rest later,” he insisted, “really rest.”
“You’d better,” Leia murmured, “but we haven’t got time now. We’ve still got the Dominant to deal with. Its repair crews have probably been busy.”
“What happened to it?” Luke gulped at the thought of Pter Thanas. Had he doomed the Imperial commander to slavery?
“It blew out its lateral thrusters again, so it can’t steer. And signals coming off Bakura are crazy. There’s a revolution going on.”
Luke slid to his feet. The right leg still ached, but not as badly. “I’m ready,” he said, but he let Leia support him. They shuffled to the cockpit together. Leia helped him fall into a seat.
“Hey, youngster,” Han greeted him. “You look pretty good for a dead man.” Chewbacca whuffled agreement.
Luke cleared his throat experimentally. “Thanks.” He pointed at the subspace radio. “Anything on there about Gaeriel Captison?”
“Maybe,” said Han. “Some groundside group claims it’s got Wilek Nereus in custody. They’re barricading themselves inside the Imperial offices sector of the Bakur complex.” The Dominant appeared to sweep underneath the Falcon’s hull; an illusion, of course—the Falcon, not the Dominant, was maneuvering. “Threepio worked on maximizing energy bank recharge while we were on the Flutie ship. I think we can deal with Thanas the way he deserves. Then we’ll worry about Nereus.”
“Easy—” Leia interjected.
“Wait,” Luke said a little louder. In Commander Thanas’s place, he’d order the huge, valuable cruiser destroyed, rather than let it fall into Alliance hands. He couldn’t spot a single TIE fighter. They’d probably scattered, afraid to be caught in the shock waves of a Carrack-class cruiser’s final explosion. Confirming Luke’s guess, a babble of Rebel voices announced that the Dominant had lost shield generators. Not lost. He shut them down, Luke guessed.
“Here goes!” Han swung the Falcon around to deliver a death blow.
“Wait!” Luke repeated. “We want that ship. Even damaged, it’d be a lucky catch.” Luke leaned toward the pickup. “All forces,” he ordered, “this is Commander Skywalker. Cease fire immediately. Alliance forces, confirm on this channel.”
“What?” asked Han. Three younger pilots also protested.
Luke repeated his order, then he tried to thrust the Force across the distance to touch Commander Thanas once more. He couldn’t. Even though he’d cast out the parasites before they chewed into his heart, he was too weary from using the Force. If Thanas elected to destroy the Dominant, Luke could do nothing.
Except …
Out into the Force he projected calm. Peace. Peace was possible.…
And this was Thanas’s last chance.
Pter Thanas flinched as Skywalker’s order went out over the subspace radio. During this battle something had reawakened in him, something that cared. Something he’d buried years ago, at Alzoc III.
Nereus wouldn’t hesitate to send him back there, too. He glanced at a red-barred compartment. It hid a lever labeled “self-destruct.” Another compartment, halfway across the bridge, held its mate. Pulled simultaneously, they would blow the Dominant’s main generator. The blast would incinerate everything around it.
His career was over.
He turned to his aide, a stiff-backed five-year man. “Abandon ship,” he ordered, “all hands.” Crew members might get far enough away to escape destruction. Bridge crew, however, must remain. Such was standard Imperial discipline. Those levers had no time delay.
The young aide shifted from one foot to the other, awaiting his next order.
Tha
nas stared at his black boots, spotlessly polished on a polished deck. At Bakura, as at Alzoc III, he’d received unethical orders from a superior officer he did not respect. These could be his final moments, sacrificed to an uncaring Empire … the legacy of a dead emperor.
Or he could recant and admit that he’d misspent his entire life.
Then again, he remembered Governor Nereus’s parting orders. Coolly he straightened and looked around the bridge. His crew was visibly bracing for a last act of heroism.
“Communications,” he barked, “give me a channel to Skywalker. Wherever he is.”
“Done, sir.”
Pter Thanas faced the communications station and laid a hand on his blaster. Someone on this bridge would be watching him. “Commander Skywalker,” he called, sliding off the safety. “I must warn you of something. Any contact you have with humans endangers their lives. Nereus ordered me specifically to ensure that you did not return to Bakura. He says you now carry some kind of infestation or plague.”
“I’ve taken care of that,” Skywalker’s voice answered, “before it could spread. Remember, I am a Jedi.”
He should have expected that. Still, Skywalker’s voice sounded weak. “Truly? Or is that just for show?”
“I’m on board the Falcon with my closest friends. I wouldn’t be here if I had any doubt.”
Thanas glanced around the bridge. “Very well. If I surrendered the Dominant to you—”
Motion caught his peripheral vision. A crewman sprang to his feet, lunging for his belt. Thanas spun and stunned him: the Imperial Security plant, here to make certain the warship didn’t fall into enemy hands.
“Commander Thanas?” asked Skywalker’s voice. “Are you there?”
“Slight distraction. If I surrendered the Dominant, would you guarantee that you will release my crew members, who conducted this battle under my orders?”
“Yes,” Skywalker said hoarsely. “We’ll send all Imperial personnel to a neutral pickup point, and let them return to their homes—unless any want to defect. You must give each one that choice.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I’ll arrange it.”
Thanas gripped a railing. What kind of traitor handed over Imperial property and gave Imperial personnel the chance to jump ship?
The kind of traitor who still owed Talz slave miners a debt he could never repay. Perhaps the Alliance would be more lenient than that colonel had been back at Alzoc III. “Done,” said Thanas. “Take me to the Alliance and deal with me as you will.”
Skywalker exhaled heavily. “I accept your ship. And, temporarily, your person. Shuttle over to my …”—he seemed to hesitate—“my flagship. Please bring a medical corpsman. I’ll see that he’s released as well.”
“Are you ill?”
“I said I’ve taken care of that. I have another human on board who was badly burned. I think he could make it, if he got help quickly.”
“Oh.” Thanas narrowed his eyes and made a guess. “Sibwarra?”
Skywalker hesitated. “Yes.”
“You’re asking too much.” What irrational, supernatural agency had raised up Luke Skywalker to judge his scruples? He paced along the bridge pit past humming banks of instruments. “But I would like to see Sibwarra brought to justice. Empire or Alliance, it doesn’t matter—so long as it’s a human jury. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’ll shuttle over a skeleton crew for the Dominant,” said Skywalker.
Solo’s voice interjected over Skywalker’s, “But you’d better come over unarmed, in a survival pod. I’m making a big concession, letting you on board at all.”
“Understood … General.”
The speaker fell silent.
Thanas drew a deep breath. He had no idea what to expect next, but he wasn’t taking his crew into it. He’d face the Alliance’s wrath, plague risk and all, on his own. Almost. “Bridge crew, board lifeboats. Reserve a single two-man evacuation pod.”
“Sir.” One pivoted and loped off the deck.
“Carry him, someone.” Thanas nodded at the Security man lying stunned on the deck. “Take him with you. Captain Jamer, you’re in command.”
“Sir.” A beetle-bodied little man stalked out at rear guard. Pter Thanas rubbed his chin, then opened a line to his medical staff. Perhaps Skywalker had neutralized one threat of contagion, but Thanas wouldn’t feel safe in the Jedi’s presence until his own staff checked him over.
Luke glanced at Han, who maneuvered the Falcon toward a tiny round object. Sensors confirmed two life-forms. “You’re sure you want to take him on board?” Han fidgeted.
Luke sighed, weary with arguing. “Yes. Next question?”
“Why?” Han snapped.
“We’re all a little edgy,” Leia said, “but this is the only place to put him. We’ve got to check on the rumors from Salis D’aar immediately.”
“Well, even unarmed, he’s not staying loose on my ship. Handcuff him to Chewie—no, to Threepio—and lock them in a cargo hold. Threepio can entertain him.”
Luke smiled. “That sounds like punishment enough for anyone.”
“Poor Thanas,” agreed Leia.
Chewbacca delicately stroked airlock controls, keying the vacuum seal for manual release, and then Luke, Han, and Leia walked to the airlock and waited. Several minutes later, Commander Thanas stepped through with both hands raised. The posture tugged his khaki tunic askew. “I’m unarmed,” he insisted. “Check me.”
Leia ran a weapons scanner over him. “Looks clean,” she announced. Meanwhile, Commander Thanas’s small, slight companion trained a medical sensor up and down Luke’s body. Luke held still, guessing Thanas had chosen the medic for his wide-eyed, soft-chinned, harmless appearance. “What’s in that pack?” Leia asked sharply.
“Medical equipment. Burn treatment. Commander Skywalker asked for—”
“This way.” Luke turned away from the top airlock.
The corpsman dropped his medisensor into a pocket. “Skywalker’s clean, too, Commander. A preliminary scan shows severe mechanical bronchitis, but no infestation.” He shrugged at Thanas.
Luke hadn’t doubted, but the medic’s diagnosis reassured him. He led deeper into the ship.
Threepio sat at the hologram board. Behind him, on a single bunk, Dev lay still. Threepio stood. “Greetings,” he began cheerily. “I am—”
“Quiet,” Leia murmured. “Take this pair of binders and attach yourself to Commander Thanas. Escort him to the aft cargo bay. You’re designated security until further notice.”
One binder snicked shut around Thanas’s wrist, and the other clinked against Threepio’s. “Very well, Your Highness. Come with me, sir. I am See-Threepio, protocol droid …”
Luke led the mousy little medic to Dev and gently drew a sheet off the youth’s scarred, folded arms. “He’s in a Jedi healing trance,” Luke said, “and he’s in no pain—for now. See what you can do for him.”
“I’ll try,” said the medic, “but frankly, I’ve encountered energy-blast trauma before.” He ran the pocket medisensor over Dev’s stomach and chest, then shook his head. “There’s little I can do. He might live a day, if he’s … I won’t say lucky. If he regains consciousness, he’ll suffer. Internal damage is … well, there’s nothing to keep him alive.”
“Please try. He changed his mind about the Ssi-ruuk.” And Dev had so much Force potential. He had to survive.
“Huh,” the medic answered without enthusiasm. He reached deeper into his equipment pack.
Luke could barely keep his own body moving. Half stumbling, he rejoined Han in the cockpit. “We’ve got an invitation,” Han announced, “from a lady named Eppie Belden. She claims to know you. She’s with your friend Gaeriel at the Bakur complex. I guess there’s a nasty prisoner they want the Alliance to deal with.”
“Governor Nereus?” asked Leia.
“Looks that way.”
He’d last seen Gaeri being dragged by Artoo from the cantina. Abruptly he remembered
that meal they’d shared. This news suggested that Gaeri was safe, though. And had Eppie healed herself? Had they captured Governor Nereus? “Can you land the Falcon on a roof port?”
Leia laughed behind him. “Han can land the Falcon on an ice cube if he wants to.”
Luke glanced around the cockpit, counting heads. “I assume you’re calling in reinforcements?” he asked Han.
“I, uh, just ordered your new Dominant crew into position to fire on the Imperial garrison at Salis D’aar. It’ll take a while. Our B-wing squadron’s tugboating it into place. And we’ve got two X-wing pilots coming in to fly cover, just in case.”
“Good work, Han.” And Luke had his reputation as a Jedi. So long as he didn’t stumble in plain sight, the Imperials would consider him a threat. He pictured Governor Nereus’s face when he walked off the Falcon alive.
“Your Bakuran lady friends promised to meet us at the roof port. We’ll see if they manage it.”
“I’m going to lie down.” Luke gave one last cough. “Get me up when you’re about to land.”
The Millennium Falcon swooped through a textured blanket of clouds toward Salis D’aar. Over the city and west across one river, smoke drifted. Han brought up a remote sensor as they decelerated. Peering between Han’s head and Chewie’s, Luke spotted a knot of people behind a blast barricade at the complex roof port. A familiar shape waited with them. “Artoo!” he exclaimed. A swirl of long blue-green skirts, backing away from the blocked-off landing zone, was obviously Gaeriel. The Falcon dropped steadily on its repulsore. Gaeriel’s uncle the prime minister stood near an unbound, defiant Wilek Nereus, who still wore Imperial drab with red and blue rank buttons.
“He doesn’t look like a prisoner to me,” Leia muttered, pointing through the viewport. “I’ll make you a bet Governor Nereus doesn’t intend to surrender the Salis D’aar garrison. He could hold that against all of us for a long time.”
Han reached for belly gun controls.
“Don’t you dare.” Leia shook her head. “We’re back to diplomacy.”
