Star Wars - Tinian on Trial

by Kathy Tyers

  She must create a distraction.

  “Wrrl!” she cried. “Help!” She spun around and dashed for the door.

  Wrrl’s roar frightened even Tinian. He slammed the code panel with one gigantic paw. A transparisteel blast wall plunged out of the ceiling, trapping Kerioth and two stormtroopers on the inside.

  But four troopers remained. Wrrl rushed the pair blocking the exit, lifted each by a shoulder, and bashed their helmets together.

  Tinian sprang through.

  “Go left!” Daye shouted behind her. “Wrrl, stay with Tinian!”

  Tinian whirled left and tried to run. One of her loose leggings tripped her. Blaster fire whizzed over her head. Wrrl tried to scoop her up with long shaggy arms. Fur shriveled where he touched her.

  “Don’t!” she cried. The field unpredictably damaged living flesh that touched it. Tinian scrambled to her feet. Wrrl sprinted past a bewildered-looking service droid. She caught a whiff of burned fur. “Daye?” she cried. “Wrrl, where’s — ”

  Wrrl shrieked something about separating the stormtroopers.

  They reached the lift tube. Tinian jumped onto its floor grid. It didn’t activate to carry her upward. “They’ve shut it off!” she cried.

  Wrrl stepped in front of her, clearly inviting her to climb onto his back.

  There was no other way out of this bottleneck. Tinian switched off the armor field, vaulted up, and clenched her hands in front of Wrrl’s throat, hoping nobody shot at them. Singed, matted fur brushed her face. The stormtrooper-sized breastplate dug into her stomach.

  Wrrl leaped up the shaft wall, catching enormous claws — she hadn’t even known that he had claws! — in its duracrete sides. Powerful muscles rippled under Tinian’s hold. She clenched her knees around his sides, trying to keep her weight from choking him.

  He dragged his weight and hers up to the main floor. A security droid rolled toward them, four claw-mounted blasters and scanners installed atop a perfectly balanced sphere. It endlessly repeated. “Halt! Drop all weapons! Halt — ”

  Tinian gulped a deep breath. “Recognition,” she shouted over Wrrl’s shoulder. Her voice ought to shut it off…

  “Confirmed.” The droid spun in place. It retreated, still broadcasting.

  Daylight shone through the southeastern service door. Another pair of stormtroopers crouched beside it. obviously alerted over Kerioth’s comlink. “Freeze,” ordered one.

  Tinian slid off Wrrl’s back and slapped the field control back on. Then she dashed at them, too full of adrenaline to cower or even flinch this time.

  While the troopers fired at Tinian, Wrrl sped past her on long, shaggy limbs. He reached them before she did and bodily flung them aside.

  She’d never seen a Wookiee’s full strength before. He terrified her.

  Outside the service door, two energy-fenced conveyors connected the entry with I’att Armament’s main receiving area. Wrrl howled encouragement at her.

  Tinian leaped onto one conveyor and clashed toward the open spaces and freedom. Fabric flapped around her feet, dangling but giving her feet some protection. She grabbed a fistful of loose fabric above each knee and pulled up. That helped a little, but she couldn’t bend her elbows far enough to do any real good.

  She jumped off the conveyor onto gray duracrete. A three-meter wall surrounded the complex, surmounted by a catwalk with heavy gun emplacements. When Tinian glanced up, her heart sank. Five stormtroopers dashed along the top of the wall, three from the north and two from the west, converging on the corner ahead of her and Wrrl.

  Then she remembered her good-luck piece. “Wait!” she cried. She dug down through layers of clothing and extricated a small hunk of chepatite impact explosive. She’d picked it up the first day Grandfather (her mind spasmed in pure, illogical grief: Grandfather!) had let her work a full shift. A silly souvenir and dangerous, maybe, but she couldn’t fling it hard enough to set it off.

  Wrrl could. “Take this,” she exclaimed. “Throw it — there.” She pointed at the big corner gun. Two troopers aligned its sights on her and the Wookiee. “Then duck.”

  Wrrl bared his teeth, seized the explosive, and hurled it. Sweat trickled down Tinian’s chest. She was roasting —

  Dust, grit, and duracrete boulders blasted in all directions. A gap appeared beneath where the gun had been. Tinian sprinted toward it. Her shoulders and back flashed hot again. More troopers must have rushed in behind her.

  The rubble pile was almost two meters high. Wrrl urged her to hurry.

  Tinian yanked the bunched fabric and scrabbled upward. “How bad — are — you hurt?” she gasped.

  He growled defiance.

  “Wrrl — you need — a medic — ”

  He tossed his head and kept running.

  Tinian scrambled over the top. A laser blast whizzed off her right pauldron. That blast came from outside the wall! She flung herself backward into Wrrl’s arms.

  Wrrl yipped surprise. Had she singed him again?

  He shoved her aside, grabbed a duracrete boulder, and heaved it down at the outside trooper. Then he woofed gently at Tinian, urging her out.

  A blast from behind struck him. He howled.

  “Are you all right?” Tinian cried.

  He gurgled and pointed outside the wall.

  “Not without you!”

  Disregarding the armor field, he cuffed her with a huge paw Tinian jumped down the rubble pile, spun around, and glanced up.

  Wrrl stood framed by the gap. Another bolt caught him in his side. He screamed and turned full around, then lurched toward the stormtroopers inside the enormous guard wall.

  Grief-stricken and stumbling with every other step, Tinian dashed across a weedy field that surrounded I’att Armament. This was a secure area, maintained in case of internal disaster… and to enable guard wall staff to watch incoming traffic.

  Why weren’t they chasing her? Had Wrrl stopped all of them?

  Wearing heat dissipation armor, she’d shine like a beacon to IK sensors. It would be easy to tag her with heavy weaponry. Moff Kerioth was probably calling over to Il Avali Spaceport right now.

  How could she have been so wrong about the Empire? When had it changed?

  At the weed field’s edge, dilapidated duracrete buildings formed a toothy perimeter. Tinian slapped off the field projector and stumbled toward an abandoned warehouse. Its door hung askew. Two maybe-Human derelicts scrambled deeper into shadows inside.

  Tinian tried to imagine what they’d seen: the top half of an armless, unhelmeted stormtrooper? She pushed away from that warehouse and ran two more turns around bends in the alleys, but didn’t find any better cover.

  She shoved the flapping armor pieces up over her head, then shed the black glove like an old reptile skin. She was about to abandon it when a thought bigger than fear struck her: Moff Kerioth wanted this protection field badly enough to kill for it. She must use it to hurt Eisen Kerioth.

  She dug her utility vibroknife out of another jumpsuit pocket. Painstakingly she sliced vital components off the breastplate — three electronic c-boards, controls, conduits — then the carapace — insulation, plus the projector itself.

  Overhead movement snagged her peripheral vision. A silent repulsorcraft sped over the warehouse row.

  Tinian shrank into the nearest building’s shadow. She stuffed everything small into her pocket along with her vibroknife. Then she bundled the rest of the vital parts together. Dashing barefoot around the next corner, she stepped on something sharp and almost fell into a rubbish heap ready for droid pickup.

  That gave her another idea. Limping, she hurried back to the debris she’d left. She scooped shell fragments into the body glove and flung them behind the rubbish, safer from detection. Then she limped deeper into Il Avali’s bad quarter.

  Happy’s Landing must be nearby. She and Daye had visited the ale house several times, thinly disguised in working-class coveralls, looking for good music and flamingly spicy food. Luck and adrenaline got her th
ere after only one wrong turn. She paused in the doorway, then plunged into its dark interior without giving her eyes time to adjust. It sounded nearly vacant. Late afternoon had never been Happy’s busy hour.

  She tripped over a bench. Nobody protested, so it must be vacant. She sank down, exhausted and ashamed. She had to get off Druckenwell, the only world she’d ever known.

  But how? And … alone? Daye would meet her here, if he could.

  She swallowed on a parched throat. Mustn’t use her credit account. She dug into a third jumpsuit pocket and found a few credit tokens worth a cold glass of Elba water. She dropped them onto the table.

  Then she pillowed her sweaty forehead on her arms and tried to think. She couldn’t’ve gotten this far unless Kerioth had sent most of his troopers chasing Daye. Therefore, Daye must be a prisoner. (Her mind writhed again: Daye! Wrrl, oh, Wrrl!)

  On second thought, she’d worn the invaluable armor. They’d’ve all chased her.

  No, he’d codeveloped the anti-energy field. They needed Daye alive. Kerioth was undoubtedly tracking them both —

  Daye Azur-Jamin flattened on the floor of a narrow service tunnel, scarcely breathing. During his first moments of flight, he’d been clipped by blaster fire halfway down his left thigh. It’d stopped throbbing several minutes ago. Now it simply felt dead.

  Three pairs of white boots scurried past, outside the shaft’s access panel.

  They’d find him sooner or later.

  Daye dragged himself past the panel, deeper toward the center of I’att Armament.

  Using his tiny comlink, he’d monitored Eisen Kerioth’s command frequency. Poor Wrrl had paid off his life debt in full, and enabled Tinian to elude pursuit, but Kerioth — who’d escaped his transparisteel cage by talking a trooper through code permutations — had ordered repulsorcraft. They’d catch Tinian quickly unless he could divert them.

  Daye’s comlink also let him follow stormtrooper teams as they hunted him. Kerioth had ordered all personnel off factory grounds — he meant to use IR scanning, and fewer warm footprints inside the factory would help.

  It would be a race, then. I’att Armament’s power grid lay under a force shield, open to the sky: the plant was built around it like a vast open square. In half an hour, Daye could crawl to the main power station. In two minutes more, he could backfeed the force shield into the power grid. That would take out the whole factory. Daye had hesitated to endanger innocent bystanders, but Kerioth was clearing bystanders away.

  He probably wouldn’t escape. But at least Eisen Kerioth wouldn’t steal I’att Armament ’s anti-energy field — Daye and Strephan’s own brainchild — and get away with it.

  No one would ever know what Daye had done, either, except Tinian. She knew him too well.

  The thought made him smile. He craw led on.

  “Why, hello, Princess Tinian.”

  Momentarily terrified, Tinian flung herself upright. She breathed again when she saw two familiar people standing over her. Happy’s Landing’s current torch singer, Twilit Hearth, wore a scandalous, shimmering sapphire-blue gown. Twilit’s mate, Sprig Cheever, sported a short, neat goatee and nondescript clothing. He set a glass of Elba water in front of her.

  Tinian dashed tears away from her eyes and guzzled it.

  Twilit touched her shoulder. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “I — ” Tinian gulped. She needed allies, and Daye — deft reader of strangers’ intentions — had liked these two. (Where was he?) “I’ve got to hide. I’m in big trouble.”

  “Hey, it couldn’t be that ba — ”

  “Stormtroopers. They’ve shut down the factory.”

  “No,” whispered Twilit. “Where’s … you know, your prince?”

  “I don’t know,” Tinian groaned.

  Twilit seized Tinian’s elbow. “Come with me. There’s no time to lose.”

  Twilit pulled her through a dark, cluttered hallway behind the kitchen, then up one flight of stairs to a cramped little dressing-sleeping room.

  “Twilit, thanks,” Tinian objected, “but they’ll search up here.” She laid her valuables under an old boot rack, then startled. She’d sliced three c-boards off the control panel. Now she had only two.

  “We’ll hide you in plain sight.” Twilit grabbed a shimmering red gown. “But we’ve got to move fast. Put this on.”

  She’d dropped one c-board! Concentrate, Tinian. First you’ve got to survive. Tinian eyed Twilit’s curves, then glanced down her size-one jumpsuit. “Twilit, it won’t — ”

  “You’ve only got minutes,” said the singer. “Are you going to walk into their gunsights wearing that uniform?”

  Tinian skinned out of her jumpsuit and yanked up the extravagant gown. To her shock, padding slid into position over all the right places. The singer was no more voluptuous than Tinian, not in the flesh. She glanced into the room’s only mirror. Her face and someone else’s body looked out.

  “Not bad,” said the singer, “but we can do better.” She spun a pair of shoes across the floor toward Tinian and rummaged in a tattered duffel. “I assume you can sing.”

  “Not like you.” Tinian gratefully pulled on one shoe. Too big, but it would protect her throbbing foot.

  “Most Imperials wouldn’t know a song sparrow from a cloud crupa. You know all my songs. I’ve watched your lips move.” Twilit opened a jar and smeared something onto Tinian’s face. Tinian submitted to several layers of paint and a rapid, hair-pulling fluff job before Twilit announced, “Break’s over. Princess. Get down there and show your stuff.”

  Tinian eyed the mirror again. Only the stranger looked out at her now. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. The stranger’s lips moved when she spoke.

  TwiIit’s face appeared beside the stranger’s. Fire blazed in Twilit’s blue eyes — the same shade as her own, Tinian realized. “The Empire and I had a disagreement four or five systems ago.” Twilit answered. “Now get down there.”

  “But you — ”

  “I’m deathly ill. Couldn’t sing another note for at least an hour. Go. Cheeve and Yccakic’ll help.”

  Tinian tottered down the steps. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could make out the ale house’s interior. Two Human customers sat at one table, a lone Devaronian at the bar. On a clear, triangular stage raised above table level. Sprig Cheever crouched cracking his knuckles over the black, white, and green keys of a KeyBed that almost enclosed him. The other sentient band member, a Bith named Yccakic, plucked his Bottom Viols five strings as he adjusted buttons along its tall upright neck. Redd Metalflake, the group’s self-contained droid sound system, sat behind them audibly tweaking his circuitry.

  “I’m … singing?” Tinian croaked. “Twilit feels poorly.”

  Cheever grinned down through the stage at her. “That’ll work.”

  Tinian climbed up to stand beside him. He played two chords she recognized, and she launched into “All I Can Ever Do” with all the guts she could muster. Now that she’d slowed down, she could only think of Daye. How could she sing, with Daye in terrible danger … if he was alive?

  Without warning, two stormtroopers sprang through Happy’s front door. Tinian gulped. She covered the beat she’d missed by ad-libbing a lyric. One trooper glanced at her. Immediately he swiveled away. She felt relieved … and hurt, too. Was she that unattractive in real life?

  The troopers bustled from table to table. Just as they vanished into the kitchens, a seismic rumble rocked the ale house. Patrons slid under tables. Tinian flailed, trying to grab something, and connected with Yccakic’s arm. “Off the stage!” Cheever commanded. Yccakic laid down his Viol and towed her down clear, narrow stairs, then out into the dusk-darkening street.

  Three gargantuan fireballs lit the northern sky, rising under low clouds precisely where I’att Armament had stood.

  Both stormtroopers dashed out of Happy’s Landing. Passing without a backward glance, they sprinted up the street. A customer who’d followed Yccakic outdoors saluted the fir
eballs with a raised fist. “Down the rich!” he hooted. “Down the Empire! Up anarchy!”

  “Hey,” burbled Yccakic. “You okay, kid?”

  Tinian’s ears sang. Her vision blacked out from the edges inward.

  She collapsed in a heap.

  A beefy stranger stumbled into Happy’s Landing near dawn. Tinian, still masquerading as Twilit, drooped on a bench close to Cheever. The stranger demanded a TrooperBreath, downed the chartreuse glassful, then looked around for company. Spotting Tinian and Cheever, he wobbled over. “That oughta help. I’ve been hunting and lifting all night,” he declared.

  “What’s up?” Cheever set a hand casually on Tinian’s shoulder.

  “I just spent four hours slaving for the Empire. The head trooper rounded up all the muscle he could find out on the streets.”

  “What for?”

  “He had us searching I’att Armament… or the crater that usedta be I’att Armament … for survivors.”

  The ale house spun around Tinian.

  “Find any?” Cheever squeezed her shoulder.

  The bulky newcomer shook his head. “The Big Moff’s speeder was the smallest wreckage we could identify. Other than that, nothing. Totality. Looked like an inside job to me.” He burped, then grinned toothily. “Some brave, suicidal lunatic musta wanted to take it away from the Empire pret-ty badly.” He raised a glass in wordless tribute.

  Tinian stared. Daye, gone? All that promise … broken?

  Not only Daye, but Grandfather, Grandmother, and Wrrl.

  All her life.

  She lost track of time after that. Some hours later, the band held council upstairs over the kitchens. “Time to leave Druckenwell.” Cheever draped his long legs over a packing crate. “This place is too hot for me.”

  “Me, too,” put in Twilit.

  “We’ll never get away,” lamented a metallic monotone. Cheever had lugged Redd Metalflake upstairs and set the boxy sound droid on a stretch of floor. “Everyone picks on musicians.”