Tigris recognized most of the people who waited for Lord Hethrir. Lady Ucce sat in the place of honor reserved for the most generous donor to the Empire Reborn. Lord Qaqquqqu sat among Lord Hethrir's lesser supporters. Many of the guests had visited the worldcraft, either as members of the trade or as supplicants for Hethrir's favor. Others had been promoted from Proctor to Empire Youth and sent out to work in secret on behalf of the Empire Reborn. Their reunion was unique in Tigris's experience. The Youths set themselves off with their pale uniforms, their medals, their elegant long coats.
Every free person at the meeting was devoted to the memory of the Empire, and to Lord Hethrir's plan for the Empire Reborn.
They had never before gathered like this. Something new and strange was happening. Tigris was proud to be involved, no matter how small his part.
A child of a nonhuman species accompanied each guest. All the guests, of course, were human. It was the place of humans to restore the Empire and to regain their power.
Tigris saw the centaur child who had joined Anakin's sister in defying the rules of Lord Hethrir's school. In fact, many of the slave children in the room were from the group that Lord Hethrir had just culled and sold. It seemed odd to Tigris that the guests would want to be attended by slaves so young and untrained that they had to be leashed. Some still cried for their mothers. But it was not Tigris's place to criticize Lord Hethrir's guests.
Keeping his silence, holding Anakin's hand, Tigris looked for a place to sit. The meeting room was very full.
The Proctors gathered just outside.
"Rise!" Tigris hurried into the last pew, pulling Anakin with him. All around, the guests rose and bowed their heads. Tigris stared at the floor, waiting for Hethrir's permission to look up again.
Lord Hethrir's retinue of young Proctors marched through the doorway and up the aisle and fanned out on either side of the podium.
Lord Hethrir swept in.
"Were you planning to keep my lightsaber?" Tigris straightened up, startled by Hethrir's low and dangerous voice. The Lord frowned down at him.
Tigris paled. The pommel of the lightsaber lay heavy in the pocket of his ragged robe. He fumbled for the saber and gave it to his lord. He should have followed Hethrir to his room and returned the saber immediately. Instead he had calmed Anakin.
He should have left Anakin to cry himself to silence.
The child must, after all, learn to control himself.
Hethrir strode down the central aisle and took his place on the podium.
"You may be seated," Hethrir said.
But one of the guests remained standing.
Tigris recognized him. His name was Brashaa. He was an undistinguished member of Lord Hethrir's following. How dare he defy Hethrir's command?
Hethrir looked down at Brashaa, with every evidence of welcome. Tigris thought he detected a hint of amusement in Lord Hethrir's expression. Amusement, and contempt. Brashaa was a notorious miser. He was not even attended by a slave. Instead, he dragged Anakin's pet after him on a heavy chain. Lord Hethrir had given Lady Ucce the ugly black six-legged creature for free. It panted and whined. Slaver dripped from its heavy, pitted fangs. Lady Ucce must have made a great profit by selling it to Brashaa.
"What is it, Brashaa?" Lord Hethrir said.
"My lord. For many years now you have promised action. We grow weary of concealing ourselves from usurpers of the New Republic." Anakin saw the fanged creature. He jumped off the pew and would have run toward the monster if Tigris had not held him back.
"Sit still, little one," Tigris whispered.
"Anakin want woof!" Anakin said.
"Shh." Lord Hethrir said nothing in response to Brashaa. He waited, silent and dangerous, until Brashaa gathered the courage to continue.
"My lord, we tire--desperately--of treating nonhumans as equal beings. We must act soon, before our children are too much affected by egalitarian propaganda, before our generation is too old to act--fffight!" "I think you do not trust me, Brashaa," Hethrir said.
"I trust you with my life andwith my wealth, my lord. I only mean--" "I suspect you doubt me, Brashaa." "Not at all, my lord. Not for a moment." "I wonder if you are a traitor, Brashaa." "My lord!" Brashaa protested. He grew pale with dread and regret. Tigris felt sorry for him, and horrified that the man had questioned Lord Hethrir.
"Leave us, Brashaa. You have no part in this meeting. I cannot trust you to hear my plan." Brashaa stared at him, speechless even to defend himself. He hesitated, as if he hoped Lord Hethrir would repeal the sentence he had pronounced.
Lord Hethrir stared at him. Brashaa's face reddened. He gasped for breath. All around him, people withdrew, afraid that to stand too close would mean contamination.
A trickle of blood leaked from Brashaa's nostril.
Anakin clambered up on the seat of the pew and stared, wide-eyed and silent. Brashaa dropped the chain of the fanged creature, who watched its owner as intently as Anakin.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord!" Lord Hethrir simply gazed at him.
The traitor staggered toward the center aisle.
Lord Hethrir's followers made way for him.
No one reached out a hand to help him.
"Your forgiveness, my lord!" Lord Hethrir would never let him live, after such a challenge. Tigris looked away, ashamed of his own weakness but unwilling to watch another man die.
And yet Brashaa did not fall. His footsteps sounded toward the back of the meeting hall.
"Your forgiveness, my lord!" Tigris turned just in time to see Brashaa flee out the doorway.
The fanged creature looked around. Its ears perked up. Its chain rattled. No one moved to restrain it.
Tigris turned toward Lord Hethrir. He was shocked by his lord's strained face.
Hethrir's complexion was even paler than usual, gray in contrast to the brilliant white of his robes and the soft white velvet.
He did mean Brashaa to die! Tigris thought. But something--something went wrong. The way Lord Hethrir's lightsaber went wrong.
Anakin plopped himself down on the seat beside Tigris.
"Bad mans, Tigris," he said solemnly.
"Shh, little one." Tigris hoped Lord Hethrir did not hear. Anakin clutched Tigris's hand in his grubby little fist. Tigris did not draw away. Confused and unhappy, trying to put aside his disloyal ideas, he thought: Lord Hethrir erred.
The fanged creature skulked down the aisle.
Everyone ignored it. Instead of running away, or following its master from the hall, it settled itself at Anakin's feet.
"Shoo!" Tigris whispered.
"Hello, woof," Anakin said. The monster leaned its ugly head against Anakin's knee.
Anakin scratched the black fur behind the creature's ears.
Hethrir's guests had returned their fascinated attention to their lord. Hethrir recovered himself. He smiled benevolently, as if he had let Brashaa live on purpose.
"Does any one of you have a question," he asked kindly, "before I tell you of my plan?" No one spoke.
At Anakin's feet, the wolf-creature whined.
Hot and sweaty in the oppressive heat, Han trudged toward Waru's calligraphed building. He was so tired that the calligraphy leaped and spun and rewrote itself in his vision. He was traveling against the traffic; Waru's supplicants danced along the path.
The service must be over, Han thought. Fine.
Maybe I'll meet Luke and Threepio coming out. Maybe they'll meet me halfway.
Maybe Xaverri is around here somewhere, too, and we can clear everything up all at once.
The idea of entering Waru's presence again gave him the creeps. If he never had to see the damned thing again, he would be perfectly happy.
One of the supplicants stopped Han. "Waru has dismissed us, seeker," the scaled and feathered being said to him. The feathers ruffled; the scales turned tan, then pure bright yellow. "You will have to come to a later service." "It's okay," Han said. "I'm meeting someone." The feathered being patted his shoulder in a friendly man
ner and continued down the walkway.
Han passed the end of the line of departing supplicants. Luke and Threepio were nowhere in sight.
Han crossed the silent courtyard, whistling defiantly, and entered Waru's building. His shadows disappeared. He paused in the cool foyer and listened. A single voice spoke, the ^ws and timbre jumbled by complicated acoustics. After a silence, a second voice replied. Han recognized the second voice: Waru.
He stepped into the theater.
At the foot of the stage, Luke stood with his shoulders slumped, facing Waru.
"I am tired, Luke Skywalker," Waru said.
Oh, fine, Han thought. He's told that guy who he is!
"You think of me as a tireless benefactor, a limitless healer. But I am a living being, and I tire like all other living beings. My other followers have acquiesced to my request that they depart. Can you not show me the same courtesy?" "I'm afraid if you don't help me, I'll die." What the--? Han thought.
Waru gave the impression of a deep sigh.
"Very well. I will help you." Luke stepped up on the altar.
"Luke!" Han yelled. As Luke stretched his arms to Waru, placing his palms on the limpid gold scales, Han sprinted toward him, his boots pounding the floor. He reached the altar and leaped up beside Luke. He grabbed him and pulled him away. Luke struggled, blindly reaching for his lightsaber. Han wrestled with him and pulled Luke's arms behind his back. Once Luke got his hands on the lightsaber, Han knew he could not win.
"Stop it!" he said. "You're not going to use the lightsaber on me and you know it!" Then he got a look at Luke's face, pale and drawn and intense with pain, his eyes staring, and he was not so sure.
"Leave him," Waru said. "He has asked my aid, and I have offered it." "No, it's too much to ask," Han said.
"We'll come back when you're rested." Wait a minute! Han thought. I'm trying to be diplomatic--while I'm dragging Luke out of here?
"He has the right to determine his own fate," Waru said. The low voice flowed like silk.
"To choose to try to save his life." "There's nothing wrong with him, dammit!" Han jumped off the edge of the altar, pulling Luke with him, barely managing to keep his balance. Luke stumbled against him, going limp.
Han expected a trick. He expected Luke to w the lightsaber into his hand. Instead, he found himself half dragging and half carrying Luke away from Waru's altar.
"He is very ill, very weak," Waru said.
"Bring him back to me. If he can be healed, I will heal him." Without replying, Han pulled Luke to his feet.
"Give me some help here, brother," he muttered.
Beside him, Luke staggered upright.
"Please, Han," he whispered. "Help me..." "Bring him to me!" Waru's ^ws shook the chamber.
Han slung Luke's arm over his shoulder and kept going toward the exit.
"No," Luke whispered. "No... please..." Han went cold. Luke was begging not for escape, but to return to Waru. Han refused to let him go.
"I've saved your life before, kid," Han muttered. "You owe it to me at least once." He dragged Luke out of the theater and through the silent entryway and into the open field. The disintegrating stars dazzled him. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. The black hole blazed and the crystal star pulsated, high in the sky. Their brightness increased, battering the strained radiation shields. Han shivered.
But Han had a lot more things to be uneasy about right now than the stars in his sky.
He wrestled Luke around and headed toward Xaverri's secret path.
Tigris listened, rapt, to Lord Hethrir's speech. He had been speaking for hours. Like the others, Tigris was fascinated, hypnotized, by the Lord's voice and his powerful message.
Only Anakin was immune to the power of Lord Hethrir's voice. The little boy had clambered to the floor and curled up with the six-legged fanged creature. They slept soundly on Tigris's feet.
"Today, I will consolidate my power," Lord Hethrir said.
"Today, I will be refined like precious metal from the rough ore of earthly existence.
"Today, I will be reborn--like the Empire, whose reincarnation I have conceived and incubated.
"Today I will bring forth--the Empire Reborn." His followers gazed at him, stunned by his audacity. Then, all together, they leaped to their feet and cheered.
Tigris, too, started to rise. But if Tigris got up, he would wake Anakin.
Anakin might begin to cry, and disturb the Lord's triumph.
Besides, Tigris's feet had gone to sleep.
Some of the slave children were whimpering and crying. But their behavior was not Tigris's responsibility. Anakin's was.
Tigris stayed where he was, hoping he was far enough in the back, far enough in shadows, so his failure to stand up and acclaim the plan would never be noticed. A whole roomful of people was standing, shouting, waving, applauding, between Tigris and Hethrir. Perhaps, for once, the Lord would not know everything Tigris did.
Anakin looks so peaceful, Tigris thought.
I wonder how he can sleep, in all this noise?
He smiled fondly at the little boy, curled up on the floor among the fanged creature's six legs.
I wish he was always so peaceful! Tigris thought. I wonder what it would be like to have a little brother like Anakin? I wonder what it would be like to have a brother or a sister or a family at all? Why was my mother a traitor? Who was my father, and why did he abandon me?
Anakin opened his eyes. He blinked, sleepily, saw Tigris smiling at him, and took his thumb out of his mouth to smile back. He clambered up on the seat beside Tigris. He reached into his pocket with his sticky hand and pulled out a sweetmeat with one bite taken out of it. He offered it to Tigris.
Tigris laughed softly. "Thanks," he said. He broke off the least battered end and ate it. It tasted as good as the slice of fruit Anakin had offered him, back on the starship.
"Where did you get this?" he asked. It looked like one of the sweetmeats the vendor had offered them in the welcome dome, which they could not buy because they had no money. Anakin just grinned and ate the rest of the sweet.
Tigris wiggled his toes so his feet would wake up. His skin prickled. The fanged creature snorted, woke, and stretched.
The meeting hall suddenly fell silent. The people sat down. The slave children huddled at their feet. Hethrir stood above them, his arms extended. The wide sleeves of his white robe spread like wings, the edges shining with silver light.
Tigris hurriedly swallowed the last crumbs of Anakin's gift and wiped his mouth on his sleeve and urged Anakin to sit up straight.
Instead, Anakin burrowed against his side.
"Anakin, go to sleep," he said.
"Come with me," Lord Hethrir said. He descended from the podium and strode down the aisle, looking neither right nor left, paying no attention whatever to whether anyone was following him.
For, of course, they did follow him. Two of his Proctors ran before him to open the door, while his guests spilled into the aisle behind him and followed him out of the lodge and trooped down the path. They pulled the sleepy slave children along with them.
"Don't sleep yet, little brother," Tigris whispered. "Come on, we have to go." He gathered the child into his arms and stood up. Now that the excitement of Lord Hethrir's speech was fading, Tigris felt as tired as Anakin.
"Hey, nursemaid!" One of the Proctors pointed at Tigris, jeering. "You'll get left behind!" The Proctors followed the crowd, laughing, letting the door slam shut behind them. Tigris had to balance Anakin on his hip and wrestle the door open wide enough to slip through. The wolf-creature trotted after him, dragging its chain.
Clenching his teeth, Tigris held his head high.
Leia, Rillao, Chewbacca, Jaina, Jacen, and Artoo-Detoo rode Crseih's landing field tractor to the station.
What a raiding party we make! Leia thought.
A raiding party disguised as a family outing.
She looked for the Millennium Falcon, but could not see it beneath the mult
itude of irregularly shaped radiation shields.
I could ask after it, she thought, but I don't want to give myself away.
"Does the landing field have a registry of ships?" she asked the driver.
"Such a list will be stored." "How can I look at it?" "You will not." "Why not?" "The company will protect its information." Jaina snuggled against Leia, clutching her multitool in one hand and a smart camping blanket from Alderaan in the other. She said the camping blanket was for Anakin when they rescued him. But Anakin did not have the habit of sleeping with a camping blanket or carrying one around.
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