Star Wars - Truce at Bakura

by Kathy Tyers

  Mothma--the woman who'd founded and who now led the Rebel Alliance - - stood

  with General Crix Madine. Mon Mothma's presence gleamed visibly in her long

  white robes and invisibly through the Force, and the bearded Madine's

  confidence had grown since the Battle of Endor.

  They both looked in Luke's direction and frowned. Luke smiled

  halfheartedly and gripped the handrests of the repulsor chair he'd

  commandeered out of the medical suite, steering it down over the steps toward

  them.

  "You'll never learn, will you?" General Madine's frown got flatter. "You

  belong in sick bay. This time we'll have Too-Onebee knock you out."

  Luke's cheek twitched. "What about that message? Some Imperial commander

  burned a quarter million credits on that antique drone."

  Mon Mothma nodded, reprimanding Luke with her placid stare. A side

  console lit, this one a smaller light projection table. Above it appeared a

  miniature hologram of Admiral Ackbar, with huge eyes bulging at the sides of

  his high-domed, ruddy head. Although the Calamarian had commanded the Battle

  of Endor from a chair under the broad starry viewport on Luke's left, Ackbar

  felt more comfortable on his own cruiser. Life support there was fine-tuned to

  Calamarian standards. "Commander Skywalker," he wheezed. Whiskery tendrils

  wobbled under his jaw. "You need to consider the risks you take... more

  carefully."

  "I will, Admiral. When I can." Luke reclined the floating repulsor chair

  and steadied it against the main light table's steel gray rim. An electronic

  whistle rang out from the hatchway behind him. Artoo-Detoo wasn't letting him

  out of photoreceptor range for thirty seconds. The blue-domed droid had to

  take the long way around. Eclipsing tiny blinking instrument lights, he rolled

  along the upper computer bank to a drop platform. There he downloaded himself,

  then rolled close to Luke's float chair before delivering a string of rebukes

  - - probably from Too-Onebee. General Madine smirked behind his beard.

  Luke hadn't understood a single whistle, but he could guess at this

  translation too. "All right, Artoo. Pull in your wheels. I'm sitting down.

  This should be interesting."

  Young Lieutenant Matthews straightened up over the side console and

  turned his head. "Here it comes," he announced.

  Madine and Mothma leaned toward the screen. Luke craned his neck for a

  better view.

  Imperial governor Wilek Nereus of the Bakura system, to his most

  excellent Imperial Master Palpatine Greetings in haste.

  They hadn't heard. Months, maybe years, would pass before much of the

  galaxy realized that the Emperor's reign had ended. Luke himself was having a

  hard time believing it.

  BAKURA IS UNDER ATTACK BY AN ALIEN INVASION FORCE FROM OUTSIDE YOUR

  DOMAIN. ESTIMATE FIVE CRUISERS, SEVERAL DOZEN SUPPORT SHIPS, OVER 1000 SMALL

  FIGHTERS. UNKNOWN TECHNOLOGY. WE HAVE LOST HALF OUR DEFENSE FORCE AND ALL

  OUTERSYSTEM OUTPOSTS. HOLONET TRANSMISSIONS TO IMPERIAL CENTER AND DEATH STAR

  TWO HAVE GONE UNANSWERED. URGENT, REPEAT URGENT, SEND STORMTROOPERS.

  Madine reached past Lieutenant Matthews and poked a touch panel. "More

  data," he exclaimed. "We need more of this."

  The voice of an intelligence droid filtered through the comlink. "There

  are corroborative visuals if you would care to see them, sir, as well as

  embedded data files coded for Imperial access."

  "That's more like it." Madine touched the lieutenant's shoulder. "Give me

  the visuals."

  Over the central light table, a projection unit whirred upright. A scene

  appeared that brought up a fresh rush of pain-deadening adrenaline. Yoda would

  rap my knuckles, Luke observed soberly. Excitement... adventure... a Jedi

  craves not these things. He stretched toward Jedi calm. A terrified world

  needed help.

  At the center of the tableau hovered the image of an Imperial system-

  patrol craft of a sort Luke had studied but never fought, projected as a

  three-dimensional network of lines that gleamed reddish orange. He leaned

  closer to examine its laser emplacements, but before he could get a good look,

  it silently spewed out an explosion of yellow escape pods. A larger orange

  image swung ominously into the viewfield, dominating the scene by its bulk

  far larger than the patrol craft, stubbier than the Rebels' sleek Mon Cal

  cruisers--roughly ovoid, but covered with blisterlike projections.

  "Run a check on that ship's design," ordered Madine.

  After approximately three seconds, the intelligence droid's monotone

  answered, "This design is used neither by the Alliance nor the Empire."

  Luke held his breath. The huge attack craft loomed larger over the table.

  Now he could make out half a hundred gun emplacements... or were they beam

  antennae? It held fire until six crimson TIE fighters vectored close, then the

  fighters lurched simultaneously and slowed. Fighters and escape pods began to

  accelerate steadily toward the alien ship, evidently caught in a tractor beam.

  The scene shrank. Whoever recorded those visuals had left in a hurry.

  "Taking prisoners," Madine murmured, clearly concerned.

  Mon Mothma turned to a shoulder-high droid that had stood silently

  nearby. "Access the embedded data files. Apply our most current Imperial

  codes. Locate this world, Bakura." Luke felt relieved that even the Alliance's

  knowledgeable leader had to ask for the system's location.

  The droid rotated toward the light table and reconnected its socket arm.

  The battle scene faded. Star sparks appeared in a conformation Luke recognized

  as this end of the Rim region. "Here, Madam," the droid announced. One speck

  turned red. "According to this file, its economy is based on the export of

  repulsorlift components and an exotic fruit candy and liqueur. Settled by a

  speculative mining corporation during the final years of the Clone Wars, and

  taken over by the Empire approximately three years ago, to absorb and control

  its repulsorlift production capacity."

  "Subjugated recently enough to remember independence well." Mon Mothma

  rested her slender hand on the edge of the light table. "Now show Endor.

  Relative position."

  Another speck gleamed blue. Forgotten at Luke's shoulder, Artoo whistled

  softly. If Endor was a good bit out from the Core worlds, Bakura was still

  farther. "That's virtually the edge of the Rim worlds," Luke observed. "Even

  traveling in hyperspace, it would take days to get there. The Empire can't

  help them." It was strange to think of anyone turning to the Empire for help.

  Evidently the Rebels' decisive victory at Endor doomed the Bakurans to an

  unknown fate, because the nearest Imperial battle group couldn't help.

  Alliance forces had scattered it.

  From a speaker at his left, Leia's voice projected clearly. "How large is

  the Imperial force at the system?"

  Leia was down on Endor's surface, in the Ewok village. Luke hadn't known

  she was listening in, but he should've assumed it. He reached out through the

  Force and brushed his sister's warm presence, sensing justifiable tension.

  Leia was allegedly resting with Han Solo, recovering from that blaster burn on
r />   her shoulder, and helping the furry little Ewoks bury their dead--not watching

  for new trouble. Luke pursed his lips. He'd loved Leia all along, wishing...

  Well, that was behind him. The intelligence droid answered her over a

  subspace radio comlink relay, "Bakura is defended by an Imperial garrison. The

  sender of this message has added subtext reminding Emperor Palpatine that what

  forces they have are antiquated, due to the system's remoteness."

  "Evidently the Empire didn't anticipate any competition for Bakura."

  Leia's voice sounded disdainful. "But now there's no Imperial Fleet to help

  there. It will take the Imperials weeks to reassemble, and by then this Bakura

  could fall to the invasion force--or it could be part of the Alliance," she

  added in a brighter tone. "If the Imperials can't help the Bakurans, we must."

  Admiral Ackbar's image planted finny hands in the vicinity of its lower

  torso. "What do you mean, Your Highness?"

  Leia leaned against the wattle-and-daub wall of an Ewok tree house and

  rolled her eyes toward the dome of its high, thatched roof. Han sprawled

  casually beside her seat, leaning on an elbow and twirling a twig between his

  fingers.

  She raised a handheld comlink. "If we sent aid to Bakura," she answered

  Admiral Ackbar, "it's possible that Bakura would leave the Empire out of

  gratitude. We could help free its people."

  "And get that repulsorlift technology," Han mumbled to the twig.

  Leia had only paused. "That chance is worth investing a small task force.

  And you'll need a high-ranking negotiator."

  Han lay back, crossed his arms behind his head, and murmured, "You step

  off onto an Imperial world, and you're an entry in somebody's credit register.

  You've got a price on your head."

  She frowned.

  "Can we afford to send troops, given the shape we're in?" Ackbar's voice

  wheezed out of the comlink. "We've lost twenty percent of our forces, battling

  only part of the Emperor's fleet. Any Imperial battle group could do a better

  job at Bakura."

  "But then the Empire would remain in control there. We need Bakura just

  like we need Endor. Every world we can draw into the Alliance."

  Surprising her, Han closed his hand on the comlink and pulled it toward

  him. "Admiral," he said, "I doubt we can afford not to go. An in-vasion force

  that big is trouble for this whole end of the galaxy. And she's right--it's us

  that ought to go. You'd just better send a ship that can make a fast getaway,

  in case the Imperials get ideas."

  "What about the price on your head, laser brains?" Leia whispered.

  Han covered the squelch. "You're not going without me, Highness-ness."

  Luke studied Mon Mothma's expression and her sense in the Force. "It

  would have to be a small group," she said quietly, "but one ship is not

  enough. Admiral Ackbar, you may select a few fighters to support General Solo

  and Princess Leia."

  Luke spread a hand. "What are the aliens doing? Why are they taking so

  many prisoners?"

  "The message doesn't say," Madine pointed out.

  "Then you'd better send someone who can find out. It could be important."

  "Not you, Commander, and it doesn't look like we can wait until you've

  recovered." Madine rapped a white handrail. "This team should leave within a

  standard day."

  Luke didn't want to be left behind... even though he had all faith that

  Han and Leia could take care of each other.

  On the other hand, before he could pitch in, he must heal himself, and

  General Madine had suddenly become twins. His optic nerves were telling him to

  get horizontal soon, or risk a doubly humiliating faint in the war room. He

  eyed the handrail over the double row of white benches, wondering if the

  repulsor chair would lift over it. He ached to push the thing's envelope.

  Artoo chattered, sounding motherly.

  Luke fingered the float chair's controls and said, "I'll head back to my

  cabin. Keep me posted."

  General Madine crossed his arms over the front of his khaki uniform.

  "I doubt we'll be sending you to Bakura." Mon Mothma's robes rustled as

  she squared her shoulders. "Consider your importance to the Alliance."

  "She's right, Commander," wheezed the small ruddy image of Admiral

  Ackbar.

  "I'm not helping anyone if I'm just lying down." But he had to shake his

  reckless reputation, if he wanted the respect of the Rebel Fleet. Yoda had

  commissioned him to pass on what he had learned. To Luke's mind, that meant

  rebuilding the Jedi Order... as soon as he got the chance. Anyone else could

  pilot a fightership. No one else could recruit and train new Jedi.

  Frowning, he steered to the lift platform, rotated his chair, and

  answered Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar as he rose. "I can at least help you

  put together the strike force."

  CHAPTER 2

  The higher-ups continued to confer as Luke floated toward a hatchway. The

  gray-furred guard, a Gotal, flinched as he saluted. Luke remembered that Gotal

  felt the Force as a vague buzzing in their cone-shaped perceptor horns, and he

  accelerated to keep from giving the loyal Gotal a headache.

  Artoo shrieked behind him. Out in the corridor, Luke decelerated his

  float chair and let the little droid catch him. Artoo grappled the chair's

  left stabilizer bar and towed it along, spouting electronic st atic.

  "Yes, Artoo." Luke leaned one hand on Artoo's blue dome. Gratefully he

  let himself be herded back to the medical suite. He pictured a thousand alien

  ships converging on... on a world he still couldn't imagine. He wanted to see

  it in his mind's eye.

  And to know why the aliens took prisoners.

  Once inside the ship's clinic, he pulled off his boots and sank back down

  on the flotation bed. Its "give" underneath him felt inexpressibly good. After

  a glance at Wedge's bacta tank, he shut his eyes and imagined he could hear

  all the way to the war room.

  Let them worry. He was finished, for a while. Literally.

  Artoo beeped something interrogative. "Say again?" asked Luke.

  Artoo wheeled over to the open hatch and reached out a manipulator arm.

  The door slid closed.

  "Oh. Thanks." Evidently Artoo thought he'd like to undress in privacy.

  Evidently Artoo didn't know he was too tired to undress. He pulled his

  legs up onto the bed. "Artoo," he said, "get a portable data screen from Too-

  Onebee. Access those embedded data files from that message drone. I'll take a

  look while I rest."

  Artoo's reply dropped disapprovingly in pitch as he wheeled away, but

  less than a minute later he rolled back, trailing a wheeled cart. He steered

  it to Luke's bedside and extended a connector into its input port.

  "Bakura," Luke said. "Data files."

  As the computer analyzed his voiceprint to confirm his security

  clearance, Luke stretched out and blinked. He'd never so appreciated normal,

  single vision.

  A cloud-frosted blue world appeared on the screen. "Bakura," said a

  bland, mature female voice. "Imperial Study Survey six-oh-seven-seven-four."

  Cloud cover swirled closer. Luke's vision dropped through it to hover over a

  vast ran
ge of green mountains. Through a deep valley, two broad parallel

  rivers cut the mountains and wound down to a verdant delta. Luke imagined

  rich, damp smells, like on Endor. "Salis D'aar, capital city, is the seat of

  Imperial governorship. Bakuran contributions to Imperial security include a

  modest flow of strategic metals...."

  So green. So wet. Luke shut his eyes. His head sank.

  ... He sprawled on the deck of a strange spaceship. A huge reptilian

  alien, brown-scaled with a blunt, oversize head, tromped toward him waving a

  weapon. Luke ignited his lightsaber. Heavy with the Emperor's fingerprints, it

  slid through his grip. Then he recognized the big lizard's "weapon" a

  restraining-bolt Owner, used to control droids. Laughing, he leaped into

  fighting stance. The lizard's Owner whirred. Luke froze in place.

  "What?" Disbelieving, he looked down. He had a droid's stiff-jointed

  body. Again the alien raised its Owner device....

  Luke fought back to consciousness. He felt a powerful presence in the

  Force and sat up too quickly. Invisible hammers bashed both sides of his head.

  The screen stood dark. On the foot of his flotation bed sat Ben Kenobi,

  robed as usual in unbleached homespun, shimmering under the cabin's faint

  night glims. "Obi-wan?" Luke murmured. "What's happening at Bakura?"

  Ionized air danced around the figure. "You are going to Bakura," it

  answered.

  "Is it that bad?" Luke asked bluntly, not really expecting an answer. Ben

  rarely gave them. He seemed to come mostly to reprimand Luke, like a teacher

  who could not give up hounding his student after graduation (not that Ben had

  stayed around to finish his training).

  Obi-wan shifted on the bed, but the bed didn't shift with him. The

  manifestation wasn't literally physical. "Emperor Palpatine achieved first

  contact with the aliens attacking Bakura," said the apparition, "during one of

  his Force meditations. He offered them a deal, one that can no longer be

  honored."

  "What kind of deal?" Luke asked quietly. "What danger are the Bakurans

  in?"

  "You must go." Ben still didn't hear Luke's questions. "If you do not

  attend to the matter--personally, Luke--Bakura--and all worlds, both Allied

  and Imperial--w know a far greater disaster than you can imagine."

  Then it was as serious as they feared. Luke shook his head. "I need to