Tales From The Empire

by Peter Schweighofer

  He never made it. Even as Karrde reflexively ducked to the side, the

  Krish's tunic erupted in a brief burst of flame as a quiet blaster shot

  caught him neatly in the center of his torso. He fell backward to the

  ground and lay 'still.

  Karrde turned; but it was not one of his fellow hunters whom he saw

  emerging from the cover of the tree they'd just passed. "Don't just

  stand there," Celina Marniss growled, lowering the tiny blaster in her

  hand as she passed him and headed toward the airspeeder. "My

  air-speeder's too far away--we'll take theirs. Unless you want to be

  here when those other Krish catch up."

  "Nicely done," Karrde commented as the Uwana Buyer cut through

  Varonat's upper atmosphere toward deep space. "Nicely done indeed.

  Though I must confess a certain disappointment that it wasn't actually

  the Morodins finally taking their vengeance."

  Beside him, Celina snorted under her breath. "Considering that they

  probably can't tell a Human from a Krish, let alone one Human from

  another, you should count yourself lucky it wasn't them. They'd have

  ground you into the dirt along with Gamgalon and his crew."

  "Most likely," Karrde conceded. "Where did you get the recordings of

  Morodin growls?"

  "Gamgalon took me along on one of his safaris once,"

  Celina said.

  "Back when he still thought he might have a chance of recruiting me

  into his organization."

  "So you weren't working for' him. We'd wondered about that."

  "I don't like Krish," she said flatly. "Even honest ones can't be

  trusted very far, and Gamgalon hardly qualifies as honest. Besides,

  all he wanted me to do was play space-port spy for him. Not much

  future in that."

  "Not anymore," Karrde agreed. "So as long as you were out in the

  jungle anyway, you went ahead and recorded some Morodin growls?"

  She shrugged. "I thought it might be handy to have something like that

  on file. Turns out I was right." She threw him a look. "You owe me

  for those three recorders, by the way. Those things don't come

  cheap."

  "I owe you for considerably more than that," Karrde reminded her

  soberly. "Why did you follow us out there, anyway?"

  "Oh, come now," she scoffed. "Hart and Seoul? Not to mention a ship

  called the Uwana Buyer?. It was all just a little too cute; and I

  remembered hearing about a smuggler chief who had a fondness for cute

  wordplay. So I took a chance."

  "And it paid off," Karrde said. "You've earned a considerable

  reward.

  Just name it."

  She turned to look at him with those green eyes of hers.

  "I want a job," she said.

  Karrde frowned. It hadn't been the response he'd expected.

  "What kind of job?"

  "Any kind," she said. "I can pilot, fight, play come-up flector--"

  "Hyperdrive mechanic?"

  "That, too," Celina said. "Anything you've got, I can learn it."

  She took a deep breath, let it out. "I just want to get back into

  mainstream society again."

  Karrde cocked an eyebrow. "You have a strange view of smuggling if you

  consider it mainstream society."

  "Trust me," she said grimly. "Compared with some of what I've done,

  it is."

  "I don't doubt it," Karrde said, studying her face. A very striking

  face, with a striking body to go with it. Decorative and competent

  both; his favorite combination. "All right," he said.

  "You've got yourself a deal. Welcome aboard."

  "Thank you," she said. "You won't regret hiring me."

  "I'm sure i won't." He smiled slightly. "And since we're now

  officially working together--" he held out his hand. "You can call me

  Talon Karrde."

  She smiled tightly as she took his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Talon

  Karrde," she said. "You can call me Mara Jade."

  Tinian on Trial

  by Kathy Tyers Tinian I'att, the granddaughter and heiress of I'att

  Armament's founders, wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe too

  deeply. The factory complex's demonstration room smelled like scorched

  meat and chemicals. She could identify five... no, seven formulas by

  their odors, a potentially catastrophic witch's brew.

  Occasionally, the demonstration explosives detonated harder, faster, or

  earlier than anyone anticipated, and even quadruple transparisteel

  didn't provide full protection.

  Standing beside Grandfather Strephan, Daye Azur-Jamin rested his hand

  on a waist-high blast barricade.

  Daye's I'att's Armament gray tunic accentuated his air of authority.

  So did the management comlink he wore on his belt. A prematurely gray

  streak marked the center of Daye's left eyebrow.

  "There's nothing patently wrong with stormtrooper armor, your

  excellency," he said, and Tinian admired his self-control. She knew

  how Daye felt about Grandfather's Imperial connections. "But a good

  marksman--or an idiot with a high-powered blaster--can pick out weak

  spots. Our field makes it invulnerable."

  Imperial Moff Eisen Kerioth slapped a polished ebony swagger stick into

  one palm. Tall and lean, Moff Kerioth held his head thrust forward

  over an astonishing array of red and blue rank squares.

  Tinian, Daye, and her grandparents had expected tech advisors for this

  demonstration, and maybe a few army troopers, but never a Sector

  Moffwith stormtrooper escort. Kerioth limped, favoring a stiff left

  leg and occasionally leaning on the swagger stick.

  "Sounds wonderful, boy. So why did your demonstration employee turn

  coward?"

  Grandfather Strephan's old black Imperial service uniform set off his

  thick white hair. Grandmother Augusta fiddled with a side hem of her

  long green robe. She'd recently developed a rare degenerative

  syndrome, and Druckenwell's top bioimmunal specialist gave her only

  months to live unless she sought treatment. It wasn't available here

  in Il Avali, or at any other city on Drucken-well . . . and it was

  expensive. Behind Grandmother Augusta, the I'att family's Wookiee

  bodyguard Wrrlevge-bev lounged against a pebbly gray duracrete wall.

  Wrrl rumbled a quick comment under his breath that only Tinian--who'd

  studied his language--could translate.

  She didn't, but she shared Wrrl's disdain for cowardly employees.

  She fiddled with a collection of paraphernalia in herjumpsuit pocket:

  neka nut shells, droid adjustment tools, and her secret good-luck

  piece.

  She would need all her good luck today. If I'att Arma

  ment sold its

  new armor-protective field, then her grandparents could retire, and she

  and Daye would take over the factory.

  Kerioth straightened his shoulders and neck, then poked Grandfather

  with his swagger stick. "Well, I'att?

  Who's going to get into that armor? We came a long way to see this."

  Evidently Grandfather had known the Moff years ago. Each man had

  chosen his own way to serve the New Order: Grandfather by protecting

  Imperial might, Kerioth by wielding it. Kerioth crooked a finger at

  Wrrl.

  "You. Wookiee. Come down here."

  Wrrl curled back his lips fr
om huge teeth and let out a punctuated

  howl. Kerioth had demanded that the I'atts disarm their Wookiee during

  his visitation, and Wrrl was already irritated. A red-blond stripe

  crossed Wrrl's face, fur almost the same shade as Tinian's

  shoulder-length hair. It was odd coloration for a Wookiee.

  "What did he say, Tinian?" Grandfather's business acumen showed in the

  way he measured and accommodated the Moff. By comparison, Kerioth

  seemed . . .

  Tinian tried to emulate her observant grandfather. Ker-ioth seemed

  blunt. And condescending.

  She glanced at the shell pieces on the arming table.

  Eighteen white units lay beside the limp halves of a two-piece black

  body glove. Wrrl wouldn't fit inside the body glove, let alone the

  field. "Your excellency, he's too big," she translated. "The field

  nodes maximize at one point eight six meters of height and one meter of

  width."

  Moff Kerioth lifted a narrow black eyebrow. "I'att, tell me again why

  your grandchild attends classified demonstrations."

  Tinian bristled. She might be small and thin, but she was no child.

  Hadn't Kerioth noticed her company jump-suit?

  Grandfather laid a warm hand on her arm. "Your excellency, Tinian is

  an invaluable team member. She has amazing instincts for

  explosives."

  One stormtrooper stood at the center of the second

  seating row up.

  "Sir," he said through his helmet filter, "if the Wookiee's too tall,

  what about her?"

  Tinian blanched. Her . . . demonstrate? Stand in the wave trap and

  get shot at?

  "From one extreme to the other," quipped Kerioth.

  "Invaluable team member, is she?"

  Grandfather backed toward a code panel. From this wall, he could lower

  two quadruple-transparisteel blast walls between the wave trap and the

  four broad rows of retractable shielded seating. "Ah . . .

  yes, but Tinian is not our demonstration volunteer."

  Kerioth shifted his weight. "She would fit. Are you totally confident

  that your armor is impervious to blaster fire?"

  "Totally," murmured Grandfather.

  "Then prove it."

  "But . . . no. I shall call for a line droid."

  "I perceive a certain lack of confidence." Moff Kerioth directed the

  taunt at his stormtroopers, but Tinian took it in the gut.

  Grandfather and Grandmother must reach that offworld health care

  facility. Love focused Tinian's courage, and so did her hopes. The

  field worked. She'd seen it tested.

  "Grandfather?" She raised a hand. "I'll volunteer."

  Grandfather, Grandmother, and Daye stepped forward, speaking

  simultaneously: "Wait--" "Tinian--" "No--" Wrrl blinked huge blue eyes

  and suggested under his breath that Daye was built more like a

  stormtrooper than she was.

  Tinian fixed Moff Kerioth with her stare. She was betting he'd act

  like a BlasTech Company bureaucrat she'd once met at a party--once he'd

  suggested something, no other idea would suit him.

  Kerioth's smile spread slowly from his thin lips to cold, dark eyes.

  "Very good, ah, Tinian. A true trial of I'att Armament's

  excellence."

  Before Tinian could change her mind, she dragged Wrrl to the arming

  table. "Help me," she ordered him.

  Her jumpsuit would easily fit inside the black body glove. She also

  selected the upper-body corselet, the carapace and the breastplate,

  which armorers dubbed the Body Bucket when worn together.

  She shoved them at Wrrl. Rear-mounted on the carapace, in place of the

  usual instrument pack, I'att Armament droids had installed a heat

  dissipator and the field transmitter. A single new control stood out

  on the breastplate.

  She slipped off her shoes and slid one leg into the body glove.

  She'd never heard so much silence. "Grandfather," she suggested,

  "explain how the body glove enhances the field."

  "Tinian," Grandfather pleaded.

  The glove's leggings sagged on her with wrinkles all down their

  length.

  She yanked her narrow jumpsuit belt out of its loops and secured the

  heavy black fabric. "I've memorized the speech," she insisted.

  "Should I deliver it?"

  Moff Kerioth rested his swagger stick on one shoulder.

  "Please do," he purred.

  Suddenly she disliked him. Daye had always insisted that he'd rather

  die in a noble cause than earn his living from an ignoble one, and she

  hoped this was only her nerves, whining out from the spot where she was

  stuffing them (to keep Daye from trying to stop her), that made Kerioth

  look suddenly sinister.

  Daye was sensitive to an energy field he called the Force. He claimed

  that Force-sensitive was not a healthy way to be in Emperor Palpatine's

  New Order, and he'd cautioned Tinian and her grandparents that the

  Empire had stooped to violent repression in other parts of the galaxy

  .

  . . but Tinian didn't believe it. I'att Armament had supplied the New

  Order for years, profiting handsomely.

  She shrugged into the body glove's top. As she smoothed loose black

  fabric over the floppy mess at her waist, she drew a deep breath.

  "The protective field produces anti-energy bursts just out of phase

  with blaster

  fire," she began. "Zersium flecks that we've bonded into the advanced body glove--" Tinian pushed up one slack sleeve and ran

  the back of her hand over the other forearm "mamplify the field. We

  see that as a key element of this new system--" "The entire system has

  too often proved vulnerable."

  Kerioth's voice rose. "Eight years ago, I had a storm-trooper escort

  shot to pieces around me. I've dragged this ever since." He whacked

  his left leg with the swagger stick. "Are you comfortable in there,

  child?"

  I'm not a child. "I'm fine." She squared her shoulders.

  "I'm sorry about your leg. May I finish?"

  He swung the swagger stick. "By all means."

  "We have thus eliminated weak spots," she said, "long known to

  insurrectionist elements. I'm ready, Wrrl."

  Her Wookiee lifted the breastplate and carapace.

  Grandmother Augusta folded trembling hands in front of her long green

  robe. Daye took up a position behind Tinian. If she hesitated or even

  flinched, she guessed he'd demand to wear the armor.

  She hefted the carapace. "There is insulation and a heat dissipator

  built into this piece," she explained, raising the back protector so

  Moff Kerioth and his escorts could see inside it. A black sleeve

  flopped down to cover her other palm. She pushed it up, bunching

  fabric back toward her elbow. "For the microsecond it takes for the

  field to reach full efficiency, the armor itself handles heat

  absorption. Insulation, plus this dissipator, almost eliminate thermal

  discomfort."

  "Allegedly." Kerioth sounded sarcastic.

  Tinian decided that she'd never please him except by demonstrating the

  product. Then he'd be impressed.

  Then he'd grant I'att Armament the most lucrative contract it'd ever

  earned. Thousands of stormtroopers would need this coverage.

  "Help me, Wrrl."

  Wrrl f
itted the corselet to Tinian's back and front, clamping it

  together at her shoulders. Tinian trusted Wrrl completely. Five years

  ago, she'd spotted him being

  beaten by a slave dealer. Bloody bunches of fur had littered the ground around the huge alien. Tinian--barely

  twelve--had dashed forward, disregarding Grandmother Augusta's protests

  (she could always move faster than either grandparent). She'd saved

  the creature's life. Little had she known that in rescuing Wrrl, she'd

  bought loyalty-to-the-death.

  The shell pieces hung out over her shoulders. Tinian wriggled until

  they balanced.

  Daye picked up the shoulder pauldrons, clasping them between long,

  sensitive hands. "Put these on, too," he murmured..The gray streak

  arched higher than the rest of either of his eyebrows. According to

  Druckenwell's strict population laws, she and Daye were too young to

  marry until they proved financial independence. Slender and

  bookish-looking with lively brown eyes, Daye had come to Il Avali to