Star Wars - Black Fleet Crisis 1 - Before the Storm

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “I'm afraid there are no—”

  “I'm prepared to pay the reasonable and customary fees, of course.”

  “How long do you think you'll be on Lucazec?”

  “I couldn't say,” Luke said. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, no. I believe some space recently became available in Hangar Kaa, our newest and most secure. I'll have your ship towed in. A Verpine Adventurer, isn't it? I hear that's a fine vessel. I don't think we've ever had one of those in here before—”

  “Thank you,” Luke said. His gaze settled on the censor.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “I must see your identity cards, of course,” the censor said, puffing up his chest.

  “We've already shown them to you,” Luke said, intensifying his focus on the man.

  “Of course,” said the censor, his eyes suddenly blank. “Your destination was—”

  “Jisasu,” said Akanah.

  “Yes, of course. You'll want to hire a cart. Go by the East District Trail—the bridge at Crown Pass Road has been out since the last rain, and the river can't be forded on account of the debris.”

  Luke nodded. “Very kind of you,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “I'll be sure to mention your helpfulness in my report.” He hoisted both their bags and slung them over one shoulder. “Come, Lady Anna. I'd like to see if we can't get there before dark.”

  “Lady Anna!” Akanah said when they enjoyed the privacy of the road, jolting along in one of the big-wheeled, two-seated utility vehicles common on' Lucazec. “I like that. And what shall I call you? The Duke of Skye?”

  “I'd prefer not to give any name at all,” said Luke. “I'd rather anyone we meet not quite be able to recall my face, or remember my name, as though they were too distracted by you to pay attention.”

  “I'd like that, too,” she said with a smile.

  There had been a few structures near the airfield that might have been houses, but East District Trail had quickly turned into a road through a brown and hilly nowhere. “Is anything familiar yet? Do you know this part of the district?”

  “It's all familiar, after a fashion. I knew Crown Pass Road better—that was the short way to Jisasu and Big Hill. But I hardly recognized the airfield, it's so built up now.”

  Luke shot her a surprised look. “Built up?”

  “Oh, yes. When I left here, the airfield was nothing more than a flat spot everyone had agreed not to farm or fence, and a few marks on the ground to guide the pilots in. There weren't any hangars, because there weren't any flyers kept there.”

  “Or perhaps the other way around,” said Luke. “I'm glad we didn't need a docking bay on this stop—we would've had to put down five hundred kilometers from here.”

  “Yes, at The Towers. It's a long trip. But then, I remember this being a long trip—and look, there's the river ahead, you can mark it by the trees. See beyond, where it gets more hilly? That's Hastings Watershed. The haze is from cookfires—there are villages all through the Hastings, anywhere there's a permanent supply of water.”

  “Any impressions of our welcoming committee?”

  “Cold,” said Akanah. “No one ever carried or asked for an identity card back then. People didn't automatically look at you with suspicion.”

  “They were bureaucrats,” Luke reminded her.

  “There weren't any officials in charge of suspicion back then.”

  “Well—this was occupied territory. Strike even a friendly animal often enough— Whoops, hang on.”

  The cart pitched sharply down and jerked to a stop as the front wheel dropped into a deep rut. Both Luke and Akanah were thrown forward, nearly catapulted from their seats. Akanah grabbed for the side board and seat back, while Luke clutched the steering arm in one hand and braced himself with a foot against the splashboards.

  For a long moment the constant-speed motors driving the rear wheels whined in complaint, until the front wheel popped free of the rut and the cart lurched forward.

  “Oh, something else,” said Akanah. “The roads are a lot smoother now.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “No. We used to have to hang on with both hands the whole way to Jisasu.” She smiled to herself at the memory. “The kids made a game of it, standing up in the cargo box, holding on to the back of the seats—or not—trying to keep from falling down or falling out. I did both.” Just then a rock under the left wheel sent a hard jolt up both Luke's and Akanah's spines. “But that was a long time ago. I suppose a little levitation is out of the question—”

  “Are you asking, or offering?”

  “Either. Both.”

  Another cart appeared over the rise ahead of them, coming toward them.

  “I think we'd better keep the wheels on the ground,” Luke said. “It's a little late to start disguising us as a whirldust.”

  Akanah nodded, raising her cupped hands in greeting to the wiry old farmer and clean-faced young woman in the approaching cart.

  “And I still think concealing ourselves would be a mistake,” she said. “We may still have to talk to the neighbors to find out what we need to.” She paused as the other cart passed by at close range, neither occupant answering her greeting or offering more than a quick stony-eyed sidewise glance. “If anyone will talk to us, that is.”

  They missed the turnoff for Ialtra, because it no longer existed. That section of Crown Pass Road and Ialtra Trail was gone, its location marked only by the stump of its centerpost.

  And there was no longer a road to the village of the Fallanassi, not even by the modest standards of Lucazec—which, Luke had decided, required only a three-rut path from which the largest rocks had been removed. The old ruts could still be seen, but it seemed as though the trail had been deliberately strewn with large rocks, especially where it had once joined the main road.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?”

  “Yes,” Akanah said. “Completely sure.”

  “I've got a bad feeling about this,” Luke said, shaking his head.

  “So do I, Luke,” she said timorously, reaching for his hand. “So do I.”

  In its heyday Ialtra had had more than thirty buildings, and all but a few had transcended the simple, pragmatic architecture of the region. The circle house had stood three stories high, with a great open archway that divided the lower floors in half, and tiled facings in complex abstract designs. Its rooftop gardens, fed by pipe and solar pump, offered not only lush grass and flowers in profusion, but a view over the surrounding hills. Medicinals and food crops once grew under three translucent domes nested between pairs of small workhouses. Ring dwellings had been scattered everywhere, each with half a dozen wedge-roofed sleeping cottages surrounding the common rooms.

  Ialtra had enjoyed two wells and a walled pond, and a long wandering meditation trail with more than a dozen hillside shelters. One slope facing north had been carved away into an open-air amphitheater large enough to seat the entire community, with a focus that could accommodate either a performing stage or a ceremonial fire.

  None of it remained untouched, and it was clear to both Luke and Akanah that weather and time alone had not done the damage.

  The circle house had been collapsed into rubble, its supporting walls knocked out from under it. The growing domes had been exploded from within—fragments of the clear crystalline material littered the ground everywhere, crunching underfoot as the visitors walked slowly among the ruins. The amphitheater was buried under a landslide.

  The walled pond had been breached and now was bone dry. The large well had been filled and heaped over with masonry from a wrecked ring dwelling. The small well appeared to have been poisoned with whatever solvents and reagents could be found—a small mound of empty, dust-covered containers of assorted shapes and sizes standing nearby gave testimony to that.

  A few of the ring dwellings stood nearly intact, but even those had been defaced. Their tiled facings had been smashed, and a symbol—two lines slashed across a circle—had
been crudely burned onto the walls with blaster fire. Akanah stood by one of these, biting her lower lip, saying nothing. Anguish and sadness radiated from her with such intensity that Luke found it necessary to shield himself from most of it.

  “This was our home,” Akanah said at last. “Isela and I lived here—Toma and Ji and Norika next to us on this side. Nori was my best friend.” Closing her eyes, she bowed her head for a moment, as though steeling herself. Then she ducked through an entry arch, walking across the door that had once sealed it.

  The door had had no lock, but its hinges were blaster-scorched and melted all the same.

  Luke waited outside, granting Akanah privacy in the ruins of her memories. She rejoined him a few minutes later, standing taller and seeming stronger.

  “They weren't here when this happened,” she said. “Whether they were taken or escaped, none of them died here.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because of the way it feels here,” Akanah said. “I don't know quite how to describe it, except that I'm sure that I'd be able to feel it if even one of us had been killed here. This was—an empty gesture. It didn't touch the Current.”

  “It feels that way to me, too,” Luke said. “And I'd vote for 'escaped.’ I've been thinking as I look around that this was all done out of frustration. They desecrated your home because that was all they could do. Something else—they didn't use anything bigger than a personal blaster for this. Nothing military grade. This isn't the Empire's work.”

  “Our friends in Big Hill and Jisasu,” Akanah said stiffly.

  “They were lied to,” said Luke. “None of us are immune to fear.”

  “Please—don't try to stop me from being angry at them,” Akanah said. “We do not pretend to emotional purity. This was my home. I have the right.”

  “Of course,” Luke said. “Akanah—which was my mother's house?”

  Akanah closed her eyes in thought for a moment.

  “There,” she said, opening her eyes and pointing across the compound. “Number Four.” She smiled faintly. “I understand. Go on—I'm all right.”

  Nodding his appreciation, Luke turned and started across the open ground toward the ruined ring dwelling at the foot of the highest of the enclosing hills. But he was not even halfway there when a scream froze him. He whirled, his cape sweeping outward, and a blaster bolt burned past him so close that he could smell the heat.

  He rolled away from the heat, came out of the roll with a forward flip that carried him five meters away from where he had stood, and ended the flip searching for his attacker, his lightsaber in his right hand.

  There were two men near Akanah, who was huddled on her knees with an arm raised as though she had just fended off a blow.

  “Akanah!” he cried, and charged toward them.

  The next blaster bolt was dead on target, but Luke deflected it neatly skyward with his lightsaber. In the next moment he drew deeply on the Force and reached out to crush the blaster with a thought as powerful as a vise. His next thought yanked the disabled weapon from the man's hand and hurled it far out of reach.

  Akanah had raised her head when he called her name. “No, Luke, don't—” she cried.

  But Luke's focus was the second man, who was now showing a weapon, too—pointed at Akanah.

  “Keep your distance!” the man shouted at Luke. He did not sound afraid.

  Luke's answer was a thought-blow that tore the blaster from the man's hand and smashed it against the wall of the dwelling behind him. It exploded into a shower of sparks and shattered into a dozen fragments.

  Then he was on them, the lightsaber held for attack, not defense. The first man he had disarmed projected a personal shield, which blunted Luke's initial stroke. But the blow took the man to his knees all the same. The next stroke, with the power of the lightsaber married to the will of a Jedi Master, sliced through the shield and deep into the assailant's chest. He gasped once as blood erupted, then crumpled backward onto the hard ground.

  Turning quickly, Luke found the second man closing on Akanah again, reaching for her, as though meaning to use her as his shield.

  Instantly Luke threw his lightsaber, spinning the weapon end over end with a sharp snap of his wrist. It scythed through the air, severing the attacker's left arm above the elbow. The man screamed and collapsed as Luke brought the lightsaber back to his hand.

  “Who are you?” Luke demanded, standing over the fallen attacker.

  The stump of his arm scarcely bled. “Commander Paffen reporting—Skywalker,” the man said. Then he closed his eyes, and his entire body shuddered. A mo ment later his eyes flew open again.

  “Skywalker is here.”

  With a flick of the tip of his lightsaber, Luke disabled the comlink on the man's equipment belt. “Who are you?” he demanded again. “Why are you here?”

  “Not fair—waited so long,” the man said, and moaned. “We only expected the witch.”

  “Why were you waiting? What did you want?”

  The man grimaced. “They said the poison wouldn't hurt,” the man whispered, and died, still staring at the sky.

  Wearing a mask of worry, Luke crouched beside Akanah, who was still huddled on the ground, shaking from head to toe and sobbing.

  “Akanah—are you hurt?” he asked, touching her arm.

  Recoiling violently from his touch, she turned away from him.

  “I'm sorry—I must have been distracted,” he said, shifting to where he could see her face. “I should have known they were here. But it's over. They can't hurt you now.”

  Still trembling, Akanah turned away from him again. “They never could have hurt me.”

  “What are you talking about? You screamed—you were on the ground—”

  “I wasn't hurt. I wasn't in danger. There was no reason for what you did—”

  “What I did—”

  With a will, she gathered her feet under her and staggered away from him, hugging herself fiercely. He followed, dimly beginning to grasp that the depth of her distress came from the second assault, not the first—his acts, not the acts of the dead men.

  “I thought you were in trouble,” he said.

  “Couldn't you have protected us without harming them?” she demanded, whirling to face him. “They startled me—nothing more.”

  Luke extended his awareness, searching the ruins, the hills. “We'll have to talk about this later,” he said. “These were Imperial agents. There's no telling how close or how far away their friends are. We have to leave. We have to get back to the ship, now.”

  “No—-no, not yet—”

  “Akanah, no matter what you think, we can be harmed—”

  “Is the river harmed by the rock a child throws?”

  “We don't have time to debate this now,” Luke said impatiently. “The Mud Sloth may not be much, but I don't want to lose her. This planet isn't what I had in mind for my retirement, and I'd rather not have to play hide-and-seek with an Imperial gunship to get out of here.”

  “Where do you suggest we go?” Akanah asked.

  “It doesn't matter. Away from Lucazec, as fast as we can. We're not going to find the Fallanassi here—the only explanation for all this that makes s ense is that your people escaped both the Empire and the mob. The Empire doesn't know where they are, and we don't want to be the ones who show them. It's time to go.”

  Akanah shook her head slowly. “There's something I have to show you first,” she said. “Come.”

  Backing away, she led him through the arch into what had once been her home. Light streamed in through the windows and broken roof of the common room, but the sleeping cottages were cool and dim beyond the light trap.

  “This was my mother's space,” Akanah said. “There—can you see it?” Her sweeping gesture took in the full width of the back wall.

  “See what?”

  “Listen for the sound,” she said. “Like water slipping through sand. Drop all your shields.”

  Luke tried to concent
rate on the wall, but confusion was the enemy of concentration. “What is it—is there something written there? Am I supposed to see it, or hear it?”

  “Yes,” she said, her one answer covering all his questions.

  “You're a lot of help,” he said, squinting.

  “Let go of the Force,” she said. “It can't help you in this. You've trained yourself to see the shadows. Let yourself see the light.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Luke tried to focus on the wall—to open his awareness to every aspect of its existence as a material object traveling through time, every immanent quality perceivable on any plane. Color and texture, mass and temperature, the feeble tug of gravity, the faint glow of radiation, its solidity deflecting the currents of air, its opacity blocking the light, its contribution to the scent and flavor of the air, and a hundred more subtle measures that defined its reality.

  “Let me help,” she said, taking his hand. “Do you perceive the wall?”

  “Yes—”

  “Take it away. Stop perceiving the substance. Make it disappear from your thoughts, and look inside it. Stay open—-let me guide your eyes.”

  Then he saw it—not written on the wall, but written within it, the pale white shapes of symbols drawn not with matter, but with some elemental essence swirling within it.

  “Is that it?” he asked, as though she could not only guide his eyes but see through them.

  She smiled and tightened her grip on his hand.

  “The way home is always marked. That is the promise made to us.”

  “Can you read it? What does it say?”

  “I know where we have to go,” Akanah said, and released his hand. “Can you still see it now, without my help?”

  The symbols had been brightening, but they vanished abruptly when the contact was broken. “No—it's completely gone. I can remember the shapes, but I can't see them now.”

  Nodding, she said, “It doesn't matter. If you can see Current scribing with guidance, I can teach you to see it on your own. It's how children learn.”

  “Is there more—in the other cottages, or outside, on the other buildings?”