Star Wars: The Truce at Bakura

by Kathy Tyers

  Only Senator Gaeriel Captison was available for conversation. Luke took a deep breath—nothing risked, nothing gained: “You have some very strong preconceptions about Jedi,” he said.

  Her mysterious eyes blinked. Shallow creases furrowed her forehead.

  “You see,” he went on quickly, “this morning in the senate chamber, I was doing all I could to see who might be willing to work with the Alliance. I won’t deny it.”

  “I am a trained Imperial diplomat, Commander.” She touched a cloth napkin to her mouth and glanced up the table toward Belden. “It’s possible some of the others are Rebellion sympathizers. And misled.”

  He definitely needed to talk with Senator Belden. “We want to help protect you from the Ssi-ruuk,” he said softly. “I spent two hours at the garrison this morning, talking strategy with Commander Thanas. He has accepted our presence, temporarily. Can’t you? For your people’s sake?”

  “We are grateful to the Alliance for help.”

  Deciding to stick with the direct approach, he laid down his spoon. “Perhaps you think I can read your mind, Senator Captison. I can only sense your emotions, and only when I’m trying to. Most of the time, I live pretty much the way you do.”

  “It’s not that,” she admitted, but he felt something inside her relax. She fingered an enameled pendant that hung over her breastbone on a short gold chain. “I have … religious difficulties with your kind.”

  That caught him like a kick to the stomach. Ben and Yoda had taught him that the Force embraced all religions. “And the Alliance?” he asked.

  “You’re right. At the moment, we need every bit of help we can get.” She clenched a small hand on the tabletop. “Forgive me if I’ve seemed ungrateful. The Ssi-ruuk have us terrified, but in the long run, accepting your help could lead to unpleasant repercussions.”

  “Like what happened to Alderaan,” he said softly. “I understand. The Empire rules by your fears.”

  She stared down at her soup dish. Stretching out, he felt a turmoil that had to be her struggle for a response.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You have to excuse my manners. I wasn’t brought up to diplomacy.”

  “How refreshing.” She flashed a subtle, enchanting smile. He flung self-control to the unseen winds of the Force and reached down deep to fully sense her presence. Layers and layers: the living depth of Endor’s teeming forest, the all-enveloping warmth of a night on sandy Tatooine, and the hypnotic glitter of deep space came to mind.…

  Small talk! he reminded himself. Servants brought in a main course of tiny green shellfish and buttery, unfamiliar vegetables, served with bowls full of pale blue-brown grain. Luke remarked on the greenery, the twin rivers, and the fishes underfoot, and tried complimenting her outfit. She remained polite but distant until he asked, as servants removed plates and bowls, “I like Senator Belden. Is he a friend of your family?”

  “Yes. For years, despite his oddities.” Evidently a very close friend. Abruptly, her stiff-upper-lip guard melted away. She grasped a carafe that stood beside the centerpiece and poured a few pale orange drops into the tiny goblet in front of him. “Try that.”

  Finally—a response. Curious, he swirled the goblet. The liquid clung to the glass like syrup.

  “Go ahead.” She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not toxic. Our finest local product. You’re insulting Bakura if you refuse.” She poured herself an equal portion and drank it down.

  He sipped. Liquid turned to fire and burned his mouth and throat. Then he caught its flavor, like intoxicating jungle flowers mingled with the sweetest fruit he’d ever tasted.

  Her eyes sparkled. Obviously, she hadn’t missed a nuance of his reaction. “What is it?” he whispered. He cooled his mouth with a sip of water.

  “Namana nectar. One of our chief exports.”

  “I can understand why.”

  “More?” She reached for the carafe again.

  “Thanks.” He grinned. “But no. That’s a little strong for my taste.”

  Gaeriel laughed and filled his goblet anyway. “There’s likely to be a toast soon.”

  If Governor Nereus didn’t pick a fight. “I hope so.”

  She passed him a transparent dish of yellow-orange candies. “Maybe you’d prefer tasting namana fruit this way.”

  He dropped one onto his tongue. Without the nectar’s fire, its exotic flavor flowed smoothly down his throat. Tropical flowers … a hint of spice … he shut his eyes and studied the sensations it caused—

  His eyes flew open.

  “That was quick,” she said, smiling. “Namana fruit, once processed, induces a faint sense of pleasure. Most people don’t notice immediately. They just feel good without knowing why.”

  “Habit forming?”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All the best sweets in the galaxy are habit forming. Be careful.”

  He decided to leave the candies alone—and he hoped his cheeks didn’t look as warm as they suddenly felt. Still, Gaeriel seemed to have opened up. “I’m not … supposed to ask you about rumors,” she said softly, bending her head closer, “but we’ve had no response from His Imperial Highness since we sent to him for aid, and what you said this morning went out over the media. Are you certain he is dead?”

  Abrupt hostility grated at Luke from Gaeriel’s right. Luke peered beyond her and saw Governor Nereus staring at him. Jealous? he wondered. Could Nereus have designs on Gaeriel?

  He spoke quietly. “The Emperor was strong in the Force. For one thing, I felt his death.” That was true, so far as it went.

  To his surprise, she blanched deeply. “I hadn’t … known that about His Majesty.”

  Governor Nereus turned aside toward Chewbacca. Luke relaxed his guard. “It’s not just Jedi?” he murmured to Gaeriel. “Your religion condemns anyone with a strong Force ability?” What would she say if she knew how the Emperor had nearly killed him? Later, he told himself firmly. Alone. He imagined himself vindicating the Jedi and pointing the accusing finger squarely at her honored Emperor.

  “Now, just a minute.” Han’s voice rose above the polite hum of dinner conversation.

  Governor Nereus pressed his forearms to the table and said, “I am not accustomed to dining with aliens, General. Your Highness—Senator Organa—I question your good taste, bringing a Wookiee to table tonight when Bakura is fighting for its very existence against aliens.”

  Luke tensed.

  Leia flushed. “If you—” she started.

  “Do you think only humans—” Han began, but Chewie’s interrupting series of bellows and howls stilled both of them. Luke relaxed, seeing Chewie’s temper under control. The Wookiee could’ve upended the laden table, just to warm up. “Excuse me,” Han said in a decidedly unrepentant voice. “My copilot doesn’t want me to argue for his sake. But he said something you should all hear. It’s humans your Ssi-ruuk are after, you know. So even if they invade, Chewie is at less risk than the rest of us.” Han stirred the air with his spoon to take in the gathering. Chewie barked while Han paused, and Han grinned. “Yeah. The worst they could do to him is kill him, since they don’t want Wookiees for their droid batteries.”

  Chewie growl-barked one more time. “He says,” translated Han, “that if you needed somebody to carry messages out to their ships, he’d volunteer.”

  “Oh, yes.” Nereus’s tone scoffed. “What an excellent idea, General Solo. But Ssi-ruuvi speech has never been translated, and the Empire does not deal with … aliens.”

  Except as slaves, Luke added to himself.

  “Never translated?” Han leaned over his scattered silverware. “Never’s a big word, Governor.”

  Gaeriel spoke up from Luke’s right. “Not that we know of,” she explained, “but if it’s been translated elsewhere, that will do us little good here.”

  “And I doubt that the Wookiee could duplicate it,” Nereus announced triumphantly, “since Wookiees have never even mastered human speech. Whistles, tweets—like a flock of birds.
That’s why we call them Fluties.”

  “Governor,” Leia called from her end of the table. “Perhaps I might offer the service of my protocol droid, See-Threepio. He knows over six million languages.”

  Nereus laughed shortly. It sounded almost like a snarl. “Send a droid and an alien to represent an Imperial world? I think not.”

  Leia didn’t answer. Chewie crossed his long arms and leaned back, the body language plainly conveying, “I’m not going anywhere.” Han smiled at the centerpiece.

  “One more thing,” said Nereus. “Anyone who tries to talk Bakurans into sedition—publicly or privately—will be arrested and expelled. Must I make myself clearer?”

  “No, Governor,” Leia said in an icy tone, “but I have a question for you. According to the recording you showed us in front of the senate, the Ssi-ruuk are here because your late Emperor invited them. How do you explain that?”

  Nereus raised his head. “I do not presume to second-guess the Emperor, Your Highness.”

  “Maybe he thought he could conquer them,” Belden suggested loudly.

  Han rocked his ornate chair. “Maybe he had surplus prisoners to sell them.”

  Luke caught a flash of insight. “That’s part of it,” he guessed aloud. Faces turned toward him, some curious, some accusing. “What does any moisture farmer do with his produce?”

  Gaeriel shrugged.

  “He delivers it to a processor in return for a share of the processed goods.” Thanks, Uncle Owen. “Palpatine wanted battle droids of his own. They’re more maneuverable than your TIE fighters—and far better shielded for their size.”

  “True,” Nereus admitted, “from what I hear.”

  “Well, we’ve seen them.” Leia tilted her chin. “At close range.”

  No one spoke for several seconds. Gradually, separate conversations began to buzz again. Han leaned close to Leia. Luke barely caught, “… but this isn’t getting us anywhere, Your Worship. Let’s go back and get some sleep.”

  He only heard a few hissing words of her answer. “I must spend … Minister Captison.”

  A soft breath against his right ear startled him. “Is that man the princess’s consort?” Gaeriel whispered.

  They certainly fight like it. “I think so.” Luke eyed Han. “He’s a little rough at the edges, but he’s the truest friend anyone could have. Didn’t you ever know someone like that?”

  “Well.” She adjusted her sparkling shawl, which had slipped off one white shoulder. “Yes.”

  They were halfway into dessert, something cold in a bowl with six nut-flavored layers, when an Imperial trooper strode in. The soldier touched Governor Nereus’s shoulder and led him out a vine-covered arch. “What do you think that’s about?” Luke murmured to Gaeriel.

  Her glance followed them. “We’ll soon see.”

  The governor returned five minutes later, fairly blasting agitation and fear. Surely even Gaeriel saw it.

  “Something’s very wrong, Your Excellency.” Luke spoke in a voice that carried throughout the dining room. All other conversation stilled.

  Nereus drew a deep breath. Then he speared Luke with an angry expression. “That was a personal communiqué from Admiral Prittick of the Fleet. You all might as well hear it.” His strident voice took on a knife edge. “His message confirms these Rebels’ claims. The second Death Star has been destroyed, and Emperor Palpatine is presumed dead … as is Lord Vader. The Fleet is regrouping near Annaj.”

  Leia nodded. “Now do you believe us?” she asked. “Commander Skywalker saw him die.”

  Gaeriel recoiled. “I didn’t kill him,” Luke explained hastily, laying both palms on the table. “Lord Vader killed him—and died because of it. I was there as a prisoner.”

  “How’d you escape?” Grinning like an old war-horse eager to swap stories, Senator Belden leaned closer.

  “It was chaos on the Death Star after Palpatine’s death. It was under attack. I got to a shuttle bay.” He glanced aside at Gaeriel. She buzzed with revulsion and awe and the effort to resolve them.

  Prime Minister Captison tipped his chair over as he sprang up. “Then there will be no help from the Empire?”

  Governor Nereus stared over the table at Luke. For once, Luke sensed no deceit. Despite his external composure, the man was frightened half to death.

  “I think,” said Luke, “that the Imperial Fleet is too busy patching ships back together to send troops out to Rim worlds.”

  “Which is one reason we came in the first place,” said Leia.

  “We tromped ’em,” Han crowed. Hostility seethed up and down the table. Even Leia glared. A servant righted Cap-tison’s chair, and he sat back down.

  But Governor Nereus shook his head. “Princess Leia,” he said, standing up at his place, “if your troops are willing to cooperate with mine, under truce, we need your help.”

  Leia’s shoulders straightened. “An official truce, Your Excellency?”

  “As official as I can make it.”

  That sounded evasive to Luke, but evidently it satisfied Leia. She stood and extended her hand. The massive bracelet shimmered on her wrist; it seemed to add the weight of many star systems to her handclasp. This was a long stretch for both sides, literally and figuratively. For the first time—ever—Rebels and Imperials would fight a common enemy together.

  Nereus engulfed her small hand in his gloved, meaty one. Then he lifted his goblet. “To strange alliances.”

  Leia raised her glass. Belden and Captison followed her. Luke braced himself and got a firm grip on his goblet. “Driving off the Ssi-ruuk won’t be easy,” he said. Neither would sipping that stuff again. “It will take all our forces in total cooperation.”

  “Right,” Han rejoined. “Otherwise, we’ll all end up motivating Ssi-ruuvi droids. Together.”

  Gaeriel shuddered and touched her glass to Luke’s. The milliliter he tasted burned all the way down.

  Around the table, people started farewell exchanges with their dinner partners. Reluctant to leave, Luke took a deep breath of Gaeriel’s presence. Worried? “What’s wrong?” he asked. Surely she didn’t wish he could stay longer. That was too much to hope.

  Staring at the centerpiece, she whispered, “If Governor Nereus can’t count on a Death Star any more, he’ll have to rely on threats closer to home.”

  A more realistic menace. Luke rubbed his chin. “If it weren’t for the Ssi-ruuk, you’d be in for purges?”

  Gaeriel’s cheeks faded. “How do you know …” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  She didn’t have to. “Standard Imperial procedure. We’ve seen it on several worlds.”

  Gaeriel seemed to withdraw momentarily. Across the table, Han and Leia sprang up and walked in opposite directions. Neither looked happy.

  Just another tiff. “Are you sure you believe in the Empire?” Luke murmured.

  She frowned. She blinked her mismatched eyes. She swallowed a last sip of namana nectar, and then stood up with him. “It’s a balance. All things contain darkness and light. Even Jedi, I suppose.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. If only the evening could last for a week. Ask to see her again!—Was the suggestion Ben’s, or just his own impulsiveness? “Could we finish this conversation tomorrow?”

  “I doubt there’ll be time.” Looking gracious but relieved, she offered her hand.

  Hadn’t he seen that Imperial officer kiss Leia’s hand? Was that the proper gesture here?

  Gambling, he raised it toward his face. She didn’t snatch it away. It smelled like namana candy. Hurrying before his nerve failed him, he mashed her knuckles with his lips. He felt like a clod, but he didn’t dare try it again.

  She tightened her fingers on his hand, then pulled loose and walked toward Senior Senator Belden. Luke stood still, rubbing his hand and trying to visualize Gaeri as a part of his future.

  By the Force, he’d make time to finish that conversation tomorrow.

  CHAPTER

  10

  Dev tottered to
his feet. He’d awakened on the deck of a round, uncomfortably warm cabin full of lights and mechanical sounds. Above instrument panels, bulkheads curved inward to join the ceiling.

  This had to be the bridge. He was rarely allowed up here. Bridge security was supreme priority. But the Shriwirr’s captain and Admiral Ivpikkis hunched beside Bluescale. All three slowly blinked at him.

  Apparently the presence of another Force user mattered a great deal.

  He’d known that and forgotten it. What games were they playing with his mind? Was he in his right mind now, or deluded by manipulation? Had his contact with the stranger, brief as it was, unsettled his mental patterns completely?

  “Tell them what you told Elder Sh’tk’ith,” Master Firwirrung urged from Dev’s left side. “It felt like your mother’s presence, but male?”

  Barely able to recall the feathery touch of his mother, Dev studied metal deck tiles. He hadn’t felt homesick like this since finding Firwirrung. He had thought they were home. “Like,” he said softly, “but different.”

  “How?” asked Firwirrung.

  “This one has the … the shape, the sense of training that Mother had, but Mother … was not so strong.”

  Admiral Ivpikkis’s left eye swiveled from Dev to the captain. The captain clicked his foreclaws and repeated, “Strong.”

  “Look at me.” Bluescale thrust his head forward. The beautiful eye seemed to swirl. Up from a corner of Dev’s mind bubbled a spring of excitement. This was his right mind. He loved them. “Why, if this one’s trained,” Dev exclaimed, “he could contact other humans. Even from a distance!”

  Firwirrung’s massive V-marked head turned toward him. “That is an interesting idea. How far, do you think?”

  Dev felt freshly energized. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but we were many light-years away when I felt the emperor’s death for you.”

  “True,” whistled Bluescale. He touched Firwirrung’s shoulder scales. “With a strong enough direct contact, could you not conduct entechment from a distance?”