Tales From The Empire

Home > Other > Tales From The Empire > Page 10
Tales From The Empire Page 10

by Peter Schweighofer


  "Whatever you say, boss."

  "And while I have your attention, run a code check on a 10-96."

  "That's easy. It's listed by Imperial enforcement protocol as a

  mentally imbalanced person."

  "No, there's got to be something more to it," he contemplated.

  "There must be something else. Research the dead files on all 10-codes

  with that designation."

  "That could take some time."

  "Good!" he snapped. "I want every description for a 10-96, everything

  from Imperial databases to Old Republic records."

  Resistantly, Kierra replied, "Affirmative, boss."

  Accompanied by a low hum, the hyperdrive cue flashed intermittently,

  recalculating the jump to hyperspace.

  Checking the onboard systems, Ross observed hyperactiv-ity in the

  library programs, where Kierra was researching the peculiar 10-code.

  "Stand by, hyperdrive engaging," he announced, piping into the

  ship-wide intercom. Bracing himself against the acceleration chair,

  Ross activated the motivator, propelling himself, his passenger, and

  his ship into the multicolored explosion of hyperspace.

  In the lower cradle of the ship, Ross sat in the swivel gunner's chair,

  swinging side to side, absently strumming his fingers against the

  turret firing controls. He closed his eyes and massaged a muscle spasm

  in his shoulder, wincing as the clenched tendon tightened then

  released.

  Oblivious to the spectacular display of light and color beyond the

  narrow viewscreen, he relaxed against the cool leather brace, drifting

  into the serenity of sleep.

  "You know," Kierra whispered, "you make the cutest faces when you're

  asleep."

  "I wasn't asleep," he lied, suppressing a yawn.

  "Well heads up, flyboy! I have some intriguing data for yOU."

  Ross sat up, rubbing the circulation back into his ears.

  "Let's hear it."

  "Well, it seems that your mysterious 10-96 dates back long before the

  10-code setup even existed. Now, according to the description, and I

  must admit I'm perplexed, the 10-96 came from an Old Corellian word,

  ke'dem."

  Staring into the hyperspace vortex, Ross mentally mouthed the word.

  "Go on."

  "Go on?" Kierra snorted. "That's it! Since before the Empire, a

  10-96 has had two definitions, an imbalanced person and a ke'dem."

  Hesitant, she whispered, "Now without over-inflating your ego . . .

  what's a ke'dem?"

  "It's a variation of Old Corellian that means condemned or fallen."

  "Well that would explain the modern terminology."

  "Yeah," he whispered, "it would also explain what happened down there

  on the planet." The smuggler cupped his hands together, supporting his

  head and neck.

  "Kierra, darling, Adalric Brandl is a Jedi Knight."

  "A Jedi? That would explain a lot of things." Momentarily, her optic

  sensor dimmed. "Stand by. Hyperdrive about to disengage. Three .

  .

  .

  two . . . one."

  Leaning against the gunner's panic bar, Ross felt the vibration of the

  ion drives, set to ignite once the transition was complete. "Easy on

  the drive coils, Kierra."

  "Aren't you coming to the bridge?" she asked.

  "On my way," he replied, "but first I have to collect our unusual

  guest."

  Blanketed by a protective cloud layer, the planet Trulalis was richly

  embellished with a spectacular landscape of verdant green. A mosaic of

  rolling grasslands, sprawling forests, and spacious oceans stood as an

  invitation to paradise for the space-weary traveler.

  Crisscrossed and separated at irregular intervals by feral wilderness,

  Trulalis offered innumerable flat fields for small transports to

  dock.

  Ross made a mental note to mark this planet as a potential checkpoint

  on his smuggling runs. A brief sensor scan pinpointed the closest

  suitable landing field.

  Compensating for the subtle shifts on the ground surface, he set down

  near a small hamlet.

  On the surface, Ross shouldered his travel tote and secured an extra

  power pack to his holster. From the top of the ramp, he hesitated in

  the corridor, glimpsing Brandl from the corner of his eye.

  The eccentric Jedi was waiting for him outside on the trail, shadowed

  by the towering visage of the black trees. A seemingly invincible

  statue, the strange man stood with solemn conviction, staring into the

  hazy silhouette of the late afternoon sun.

  "Kierra, I'm still not sure what Brandl's up to. Keep your eyes

  open."

  "Keep your comlink open," she replied. "You know how I worry."

  "That's my girl," the Corellian chuckled.

  Testing the soft earth beneath his boots, Ross strolled up to the

  familiar silhouette of his passenger. For the first time since leaving

  Najiba, he noted that both of Brandl's hands were visible, one of them

  swathed haphazardly in a black bandage. Through gaps in the makeshift

  dressing, he saw the tender pink of raw flesh and yellow seepage

  draining into the thick fabric.

  Before Ross could question him, Brandl turned and started along the

  trail. "What did the Najib tell you about me?"

  "He said you killed a Twi'lek girl," Ross blurted. After a moment he

  pressed, "Did you?"

  The Jedi's reply was abrupt and forthright. "Yes." Brandl hesitated

  as the Corellian snorted reprovingly.

  "Please Captain, your contempt is small reward for a repentant

  pilgrim."

  "You call murder a penance?" Ross spat.

  "When it has become the least of one's crimes," the Jedi paused

  dramatically, "yes."

  Brandl's apathy toward the woman's death was chilling, sending shudders

  throughout the Corellian's body.

  "How? You never touched her." Ross grasped Brandl's sleeve and

  pulled. "How did you do it!".

  "I asphyxiated her."

  "She suffocated? In an open room?"

  "A sophisticated talent," Brandl sneered, "not meant for the faint of

  heart."

  "You sound proud of yourself, Jedi!" Ross spat with contempt.

  "Makes you feel good to kill an innocent woman?"

  "Evil springs from weakness and weakness from ambition; by this grand

  order every ambitious man is undone!"

  Deliberately, the Jedi challenged, "Tell me, Captain, you too are an

  ambitious man. Which of us is truly innocent?"

  "Should I applaud now? Ross taunted.

  "If you wish!"

  "Well before I hand over your accolades, tell me something.

  Was that a real line or just something you made up to ease your

  conscience?"

  Petulant with the smuggler's indignation, Brandl turned on him.

  "If it's retribution you wish for me, Captain Ross, then I suggest you

  stay close at hand." Scowling furiously, he stared down his long

  nose.

  "You may yet have your satisfaction."

  Provoked by the sinister edge in Brandl's voice, Ross drew his

  blaster.

  The Jedi apparently heard him, and spun around to face the blaster.

  Ross fired a three-round burst at the Jedi. Honed by several seasons

  as a bounty hunter, he centered the bolts to explo
de in the square of

  Brandl's broad shoulders. Before the deadly energy could land its

  mark, Brandl deftly snatched a cylindrical object from his belt.

  Momentarily, a narrow shaft of white brilliance ignited from the base,

  feinting and parrying with the precise motions of the Jedi's wrists.

  Deflected by the lightsaber, the blaster bolts were harmlessly shot off

  into the field.

  Aghast, Ross could only watch as the destructive rounds dissipated into

  oblivion. Abruptly, he felt the crushing pinch of invisible fingers

  clenched against his throat, constricting his airway and lungs.

  Choking, the smuggler dropped to his knees as the serene landscape of

  Trulalis blurred before him. Gradually, the sensation faded, leaving

  the Corellian gasping to catch his breath.

  "There is one rule of theater that applies to real life, Captain Ross,"

  Brandl declared. "Only heroes die. Villains and cowards are left to

  suffer." Turning his back on the panting pilot, he snarled, "Now come

  along."

  Ross shook the haze from his vision. "Is that another line?" he

  slurred lethargically.

  Brandl trembled, visibly drained as he disengaged the lightsaber with

  required effort. "Not just a line, Captain, but an astute warning to

  the less-than-humble pilgrim."

  Securing the lightsaber to his belt, the Jedi momentarily scanned the

  pale skies. "The settlement is less than a kilometer away. We had

  best move along. It will be dark soon."

  Swearing off bruises, Ross bitterly wedged his pack against his

  shoulder and jammed his blaster into the holster.

  Quickly brushing past Brandl, he hissed, "Can't imagine why you'd be

  afraid of the dark."

  Nestled within the dominant embrace of a mountain range, Kovit was

  well-protected from the harsh weather conditions of the northern

  highlands and the windswept plains of the coastal region. Staring down

  the mound into the modest farming community, Ross could vaguely discern

  movement in the dusty streets. Drawn by diminutive banthas, wagons

  creaked through the wide avenues. Dozens of people walked the streets,

  pausing to chat with a neighbor or to haggle over the local street

  merchant's wares. From a side alley, three boys grunted and sweated

  behind a battered landspeeder, coaxing the vehicle's engines to briefly

  ignite. Nearby, above the sporadic choke of the repulsorcraft,

  laughter betrayed a trio of children playing with an obsolete astromech

  droid.

  Brandl hesitated at the crest of the mound, staring down into the

  settlement, as if reconsidering his options.

  Wilted, the Jedi's shoulders exposed a reluctance to continue.

  "Where are you from, Captain Ross?"

  Startled by the abrupt question, Ross stammered, "CoreIlia

  originally."

  "Do you find returning there difficult?"

  "Homecomings are always hard." The Corellian shrugged, pursing his

  lips doubtfully. "At least for some of US."

  Without further reply, Brandl continued down the trail, deliberately

  slowing his stride. Vacillating, he stepped through the settlement

  gates, as if expecting some invisible force field to bar his path.

  Nostalgically passing through the prudent rows of farm cottages, the

  Jedi admired the mastery of native architecture, as sculpted from

  the indigenous lumber. Herb gardens and prized flower beds adorned the

  private lawns, each tenderly manicured and maintained with fastidious

  care. As they approached the dry, dusty oval of the settlement common,

  Brandl covered his eyes, protecting them from the fading sun, as he

  stared into the rich, agricultural outback of the settlement, which

  extended far beyond the limits of the community to the base of the

  mountains themselves.

  From the near center of Kovit, a macabre specter of architecture loomed

  above the rustic rooftops. Flyaway buttresses supported the main

  construction of the theater, unfurling like stony wings from the

  base.

  Packed with chalk-white limestone, the obelisk was unequivocally

  straight, seeming to elongate into the obscuring skies. Established

  intentionally in the heart of the settlement, the theater captured the

  waning rays of the sun, momentarily stealing the glory from the

  picturesque village. There was a somber sense of belonging that drew

  Brandl toward the structure, ignoring the startled glares of the

  settlement denizens.

  As they passed through the outskirts of the community, Ross nervously

  observed a makeshift hangar and the crude snout of a Z-95 jutting from

  the narrow bay doors.

  The starfighter appeared operational, though crowded by its diminutive

  shelter, and eager for a skirmish. Distracted by the presence of

  strangers, several men gathered just beyond the shadows of the small

  livery, watching intently.

  Thumbing the restraint from his blaster, Ross cautiously whispered,

  "Your adoring fans?"

  "Neighbors, patrons, old friends." Brandl abruptly paused in the

  street, as if awakening from an illusion.

  "But that was another lifetime."

  "Where do they stand in this lifetime?" the smuggler growled.

  "Strangers."

  Weaving through the haze of the fragrant gardens surrounding the

  theater courtyard, a woman and a young boy moved along the grainy,

  stone paths. The echo of

  their voices Chimed with laughter as a private joke was shared between them. Brandl watched intently as they

  walked through the haze and into the dusty streets.

  Fiery, auburn spirals cascaded from the woman's head, crowning her oval

  face. Unusually pale skin flushed in the faded brilliance, betraying

  an 'aversion to excessive sunlight.

  Tall but gangly, the boy was no older than 11 or 12 years. Broad

  shoulders framed his upper torso, seemingly too heavy for his slender

  form. Coordinated and rhythmic, his long legs showed nothing less than

  the promise of sharp, steady growth.

  Startled by the dark apparition of Brandl, the woman hesitated and

  stood motionless in the street, meeting the Jedi's friendless eyes.

  The smile parting her full lips was quickly forgotten. Puzzled by her

  peculiar behavior, the child swept his gaze from her stony face to

  Brandl. Registering nothing more than a stranger, the boy leaned over

  his mother's arm and whispered something in her ear.

  Obviously distraught, she pulled the child snugly against her and

  hurriedly continued their trek across the common. Brandl sighed

  remorsefully, then without explanation, resumed his walk toward the old

  theater. Beyond the archaic gate a decade or more of wild flowers had

  claimed the inner recesses of the theater yard, staggering the once

  straight path to the massive bulkhead doors. Residing over the

  darkened antechamber, bronze statues and sculpted metalwork lined the

  interior corridor.

  Adalric Brandl moved gracefully into these familiar shadows,

  intuitively stalking the darkened corridors and spacious hallways

  beyond. The hollow shell of his memories traced the outlines and

  silhouettes of each molded tapestry, a display case of tar
nished prop

  swords and shields, and finally the grand hall, where past audiences

  had come to experience the stage productions.

  Ignoring the Corellian behind him, Brandl quickened his steps, moving

  into the immense auditorium. Deafening, the familiar resonating of

  applause and encouragement thundered and echoed inside his ears; but

  this

  illusion was short-lived. There was no audience to applaud, no actors to bow, no stage settings, nor props as he remembered them. The

  yawning mouth of the stage was disgracefully bare.

  "Who is there?" a voice whispered from the darkness. Brandl faltered,

  supporting himself in the elaborately carved doorway.

  A thin, frail figure emerged from the darkness of the inner aisle.

  "Come closer," he gently commanded.

  From the shadows along the back wall, Ross scanned the theater for

  other signs of movement. Thumbing the restraint from his blaster, he

 

‹ Prev