Star Wars: The Truce at Bakura

by Kathy Tyers

“Luke …” Gaeriel clasped his arm just above the elbow. Warmth and determination flowed through that touch. “Come back when it’s over. Talk to me. There’s no time now, but we’ve got to—”

  Luke tugged free. A vague sense of aggression arose in the kitchens. Almost instantly, it resolved into three distinctly alien presences and one that mystified him—human, but alien-scented. He covered his lightsaber with his right hand. What was that about not endangering other people?

  And hadn’t he wished Gaeriel needed rescuing? He drew his blaster left-handed and flipped the grip toward her. “Can you shoot?” he murmured. “There are Ssi-ruuk in the building. I’m sorry I can’t help your uncle now. Take it,” he urged. She closed her hand around it uncertainly. “Have Artoo get word to the Flurry, up in orbit, and tell them what’s happening. Then find your uncle. Get out of here. Now.”

  Fear throbbed out of her. “I’m not hiding behind Jedi abilities. I want to help the Rebellion.”

  Exasperated, he stretched out a hand and steadied himself to use the Force on her. “No one else has any trouble letting me—”

  The front and side doors blew open simultaneously. The muzzle of a heavy blaster rifle appeared through each one. Then a white-armored stormtrooper.

  This time, Luke guessed they weren’t on his side. He seized Gaeriel’s shoulders and swept her behind him. The handful of Bakuran customers dove under tables.

  Three Ssi-ruuk pushed through the kitchen door, large smooth-scaled creatures with long, muscular tails to balance massive upper bodies. Two of different sizes were glossy brown, one intense blue. The heads looked birdlike, with huge toothy beaks and all-black eyes. Each wore a shoulder bag slung across its body under one forelimb. They towered over the frightened service staff. Artoo froze in position beside the corner table.

  Luke had to narrow his perception to keep Gaeriel’s revulsion from pulling him under. Cautiously, he stretched toward the aliens. Their feelings leaked into the Force, strengthening the dark side. He’d felt less hostility in Jabba the Hutt’s ravenous Rancor.

  He held his lightsaber down at his side. “What do you want?” he asked, sweeping the Force against that hostility, probing for weaknesses.

  A human in striped robes stepped around the counter after the aliens. “Fortunate one!” he hailed Luke, squinting. “You are the Jedi, Skywalker. I will translate for you.”

  Luke recognized Dev Sibwarra from the hologram recording. He focused deep into the Force, drawing on all Yoda had taught him. He was at peace. He was peace. “I am Skywalker,” he said. “How did you get down here?”

  “Quietly. Subtly.” The young man whistled to the aliens, then flattened long brown hands in front of his chest. The left hand moved stiffly. “Governor Nereus dispatched a shuttle to us, then ordered the orbital net to allow it through on official business … which is to receive you. You are to be the guest of Admiral Ivpikkis, as you begin a new kind of life you have only dreamed of before. Give my companions your weapon, and come gladly with me.”

  In person Dev Sibwarra looked younger, perhaps fifteen. Luke reached out with the Force—

  And recognized him a second time. This boy had also sent the dream warning. Luke felt his strength in the Force, twisted and bent backward. He’d been brainwashed or hypnotized, altered so deeply that his thoughts were no longer his own. Luke couldn’t hate him. He must try not to kill him in self-defense, either, because the boy was young enough to apprentice—if Luke could win him and heal him.

  “Thank you for your invitation,” Luke said quietly. “I would rather stay here. Ask your masters to sit down. We will talk.”

  “They do not sit, my friend. We would be honored to accept your companion too, as our guest. But you must hurry.” Gaeri’s cheeks whitened as the blue Ssi-ruu stomped forward, but she stood her ground. It reached a clawed forelimb toward her shoulder. Something black slithered out of its nostrils. She gasped and brought up Luke’s blaster.

  “Back,” Luke ordered. The alien’s head turned. A deep black eye focused in his direction, and the nose-tongues flicked toward him. He channeled Force energy into his words. “Get away from her.” The eye seemed to swirl like a dark storm, beckoning for attention, sucking at his will. Unquestionably this one, or another like him, kept Dev Sibwarra leashed.

  Dev whistled at the blue alien, sounding surprisingly like Artoo. The big blue Ssi-ruu’s forelimb dropped from Gaeri’s shoulder. He clicked and whistled in a deeper, more flutelike voice than Dev’s, with greater range and a more resonant tone. “He says that a female’s companionship will doubtless bring you comfort,” Dev translated, “and I sense that your feelings are strong for her. Please ask her to cooperate. We must hurry.”

  Artoo rocked back and forth, chirping electronic fury. Luke wondered what he was telling the Ssi-ruuk. Two stormtroopers eased forward, blocking Artoo’s path to the door.

  Luke called to the troopers, “You have no business with this woman. It’s me they want. Let her leave.”

  “The Fluties want her,” answered a trooper’s filtered voice. “This time, the Fluties get what they want.”

  Luke ignited his lightsaber and got a solid, two-handed fighting grip. “Not necessarily.”

  Dev backed away. “Stun them!” he cried to the stormtroopers.

  Four blast rifles leveled at him, black holes framed by white helmets. Luke crouched and turned his body sideways, presenting a smaller target. “Get down!” Gaeri dropped prone. She hadn’t used his blaster. Just as well: From all signs, she’d lose a firefight. Apparently she knew it, too. This wasn’t her element.

  Standing ninety degrees apart, the troopers opened fire. Luke stretched deeper into the Force, willingly dependent on the energy that surrounded him. He felt his body whirl and his saber leap, and vaguely sensed energy bolts splashing on gritty cantina walls. He eased closer, dodging tables, toward a point between his attackers. Suddenly the blasts stopped coming, as the Imperials realized they were sighting past Luke at each other.

  He stretched out with the Force, touched two hostile minds, and leaped.

  Blue-white stun bolts crackled through the air beneath him. Troopers dropped on both sides. Luke spun back toward the aliens. He felt slow, still slightly sluggish from the Emperor’s attack. He coughed, then caught his breath. “Artoo,” he shouted, “get her out of here. Get help.”

  Artoo rolled toward Gaeriel. She lurched up to her hands and knees and then edged toward the front door.

  Dev Sibwarra spread his hands. “Friend Skywalker, you rob her of incomparable joy.”

  “She prefers her freedom.”

  “Freedom?” Dev arched his eyebrows. “We offer you freedom from hunger.” He waved a hand over a stack of abandoned plates, raising a cloud of flying insects. “From disease, from—” Luke felt a whiskery swirl of the Force brush his body. “Ah,” Dev exclaimed, and his voice sounded genuinely friendly. “Is it true that your entechment has already begun?”

  Luke stepped backward. “What?”

  “Your hand. The right one.”

  Luke glanced down. Repaired back at Endor, the prosthetic hand looked entirely lifelike again. “This was not my choice.”

  “Is it not better than the biological hand? Stronger, less apt to pain? See how you hope to rob so many humans of real life. Real happiness.” Dev sidled toward the wall. The Ssi-ruuk had pulled off their shoulder bags. Each held a paddlelike object that had hung outside. What had appeared to be handles projected forward, while the aliens grasped rim-guarded grips.

  Luke stepped sideways. “Dev, warn them I can’t stun them with a lightsaber. I’ll have to kill them if they come at me.”

  “You mustn’t!” Dev cried. “If they die here, away from a consecrated world, it is eternal tragedy. They certainly will not kill you if they defeat you. Swear that you won’t kill them.”

  “No,” Luke insisted. “Warn them.”

  Dev whistled frantically.

  The aliens sighted on him. Gaeri had crawled closer to th
e door, but not close enough. They’d get her unless he attacked first.

  Then it was time to use the Force for defense. Hers.

  CHAPTER

  16

  One alien raised a paddle. A thin silver beam shot out of its narrow point. Confidently Luke stepped toward the beam and swung his saber into it. It didn’t deflect. It only bent slightly. Before he could react, the beam swept through him. It left his midsection tingling. Relieved that it didn’t do worse, he adjusted his grip on the lightsaber. The second alien moved out from behind the first and added his beam, aiming low, shooting for his legs. The first shot hadn’t injured him noticeably, but a second might. He pivoted aside, setting one brown Ssi-ruu in front of the other. One beam snapped off. The other tracked him, closing.

  Big Blue stepped to one side and projected a beam down the room’s central aisle, halving Luke’s space.

  “No!” Gaeri raised up onto her elbows and shot at the blue alien. Her blaster bolt missed. The alien trained its beamer at her. Silver light illumined the hollow of her throat. She gave a little cry, crumpled, and lay still.

  Luke charged the small, V-crested brown and swung his saber at its mysterious weapon. The Ssi-ruu lost a foreclaw with his paddle-beamer. Fluting wildly, he spun away from Luke.

  “Don’t!” Dev wrung his hands. “Don’t harm them!”

  “What has he done to Gaeriel?”

  “She’s not harmed. She’ll recover.”

  But she wasn’t moving. Unless Luke killed or disarmed them all, they’d abduct her. The larger brown stomped toward him, muscular legs pumping like pistons. Even if he destroyed its weapon, it could physically crush him or Gaeri. Luke flung the saber in a long spinning arc. The big brown Ssi-ruu fell headless as the saber spun back into Luke’s hand. “Stop!” Weeping, Dev dashed toward the fallen alien.

  Big Blue projected his beam through Luke again … or, rather, where Luke had been. Luke somersaulted over the beam, thrust out a hand, and tried to wrest the weapon away.

  That pulled the Ssi-ruu’s forelimb toward him. The beam focused at the top of Luke’s right leg.

  It collapsed, nerveless. Staggering, Luke tried to jump backward. He struggled to balance, to regain full control of the Force. The weapon scrambled nerve centers, then. Gaeriel was probably conscious. “Artoo, drag her out of here!” he cried.

  As the little droid rolled toward her, both aliens pressed their advantage. They swept forward, backing him between beams against an upturned table. He caught a whiff of their weird acrid odor.

  He leaped left-legged almost into one alien’s arms and swept up the saber. As he did, he relaxed deep into the Force and spun without thought. The hum of his saber didn’t change pitch as it sliced through the blue giant’s weapon. Big Blue dropped both halves and backed away, whistling energetically.

  One more weapon down. Artoo reached Gaeri, seized her by the leather waistband of her belt, and dragged her toward the front door. Luke hopped crookedly onto the nearest orange tabletop. His numb right leg twisted as his full weight landed on it. That’ll probably hurt, later. He had to use the Force to stay upright.

  Artoo’s shrill whistle spun Luke around. Dev aimed an Imperial blaster upward at his body, a classic stun shot.

  Luke loosened one hand from his saber and Force-yanked the blaster from Dev’s hand. It sailed to him with slow grace. Easily he spun and sliced. Two halves of the weapon clattered onto the table. Now, urged his inner sense. He reached deep into the Force and felt for the hypnotic control that twisted Dev Sibwarra to the aliens’ will. The shadow of something enormous darkened most of Dev’s memories.

  The boy had tremendous strength in the Force, though. Luke wrapped his will around the dark, roiling blockage and blasted it with Light.

  Dev tottered backward against another table. In an instant, his mind had flooded with horrific recollections. His anger coalesced, small and stunted but as fierce as a P’w’eck invasion army. Disoriented, he blinked. The monstrous Skywalker had suddenly become fellow human. He didn’t feel depressed, just furious. He couldn’t need renewal … unless …

  He stared up at Skywalker, who still stood on the tabletop, and caught a glint of keen eyes and the grim set of his chin.

  Dev stroked his throbbing, clumsy left hand, remembering how he’d injured it. Firwirrung! His master had bound him with tender loyalty over years of abusive manipulation. Dev opened his eyes wide to the world, forsaking his squint. He’d never felt such agony or regret, yet so glad to be human. Despite everything they had done … had done … he was battered but whole.

  “Are you all right?” whistled Bluescale.

  A shiver shook him. He remembered everything now, including the speech habits he’d picked up during his imprisonment. “I’m all right. Are you, Elder?”

  “Tell the Jedi to hurry along with us. Promise anything.”

  Realization flashed through him: The Ssi-ruuk meant to reduce humankind to breeding animals and energy sources. They would lie, kill, torture, and maim to achieve domination. They deserved nothing but hatred.

  Luke Skywalker called down from the tabletop, “Hate is the dark side. Don’t give in to it.”

  Had the Jedi plunged him through depression into total release?

  “What?” asked Master Firwirrung. “What is he saying to you?”

  Confused, Dev answered automatically. “He apologized for killing one of our kind, Master.”

  “Tell him to precede us outside. He must hurry.”

  Dev looked back up. In human speech, he said, “They want you to—”

  A piercing siren echoed through the cantina. Abruptly Dev remembered the most terrible moment of his childhood, a civil defense scramble alarm. Invasion under way.

  He snapped back to the present and stared at his masters, stricken. Had Admiral Ivpikkis attacked the orbiting ships after all? He’d promised that the Ssi-ruuk would withdraw if Skywalker came with them. One more link in their twisted chain of lies!

  • • •

  Luke glanced out the far window, thoughts roiling. The Ssi-ruuk had probably hit that big saucer-shaped orbital station. That would’ve been his first strike, if he were invading. Beyond the fence surrounding Pad 12, the gantries hadn’t rolled away, so he still couldn’t see the Millennium Falcon. Chewie probably waited on board. Han would be trying to spring Leia from custody (or by now, Leia might be trying to free Han).

  Artoo rolled back in without Gaeriel. He hoped Artoo had left her somewhere safe. And how badly had he wrenched his numbed leg?

  Dev’s confusion also worried him. This young potential apprentice carried deep scars on his psyche. Yet he’d proved his strength. His sufferings under the darkness might make him more loyal to the light. Luke glanced down at Dev again.

  Abruptly the room tilted. He flailed and fell.

  Caught up in his own thoughts, Dev almost missed the swift sweep of Bluescale’s tail. Struck on the head, the Jedi collapsed. His lightsaber flew loose, sliced through the table, and into black flooring. There it hung diagonally for an instant. Then the pommel dropped. The green blade sliced back up and lay hiss-humming.

  He stood motionless, maintaining the masquerade of obedience, but his mind shrieked, Skywalker! Can you hear me?

  Bluescale stalked forward, pointing his beamer at Skywalker’s upper spinal cord. Dev forced himself to hurry close and simper, “Well done, Masters. What can I do? Is he stunned?”

  “Mild concussion, I think,” whistled Bluescale. “The human skull is surprisingly fragile. You may carry him. He seems subdued.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Dev guessed at the right amount of enthusiasm to pump into his voice. He knelt and pulled Skywalker’s arms over his shoulder. Skywalker, he projected again, are you all right?

  The Jedi did not answer. The buzz of his thoughts had shut off. He must be truly unconscious, then. The aliens had won … for the moment. Dev struggled to his feet. His anger boiled every time he remembered another abuse. They popped to the surface of his memo
ry like foul bubbles. He couldn’t let the Ssi-ruuk win—and not just for the sake of the galaxy. They owed him a life. A personality. A soul.

  “Good,” said Bluescale. “Now help Firwirrung.”

  Staggering already, Dev let the smaller alien lean on his shoulder. Firwirrung wobbled forward, covering his wounded forelimb with the intact foreclaw. The double weight sent new spasms down Dev’s weakened back. He bit his tongue. He was supposed to be brainwashed. The Ssi-ruuk saw humankind, like P’w’ecks, as livestock … experimental animals … soulless.

  Bluescale bent and seized the lightsaber. What about the female? Dev guessed Bluescale wouldn’t want to carry her. Skywalker’s resistance had saved her, at least. With only Dev able to carry, the Ssi-ruuk wouldn’t go looking for her. They must even leave their beheaded comrade behind.

  Bluescale led toward the kitchen doors, letting them swing back and bump Dev. He lost his balance and almost dropped his burden against a hot cooking surface. The ends of Skywalker’s hair shriveled over its intense heat. By the time Dev had recovered his balance, the hissing green blade had vanished. Bluescale dropped the silent saber handgrip into his shoulder pouch, clipped the pouch around his body again, and proceeded between kitchen machines with his beamer drawn. Firwirrung stumbled against Dev. Dev racked his memory for an appropriate reaction. “Are you in pain, Master?” he asked softly.

  The alien grunted.

  Bluescale held the rear door for Firwirrung. Outside under a pall of spaceport dust stood the Imperial shuttle. Those now-stunned stormtroopers had flown it to the Shriwirr, then ferried the party planetoide. The sirens had taken effect; Pad 12 and the others clustered around this cantina looked almost deserted. Two P’w’eck guards still stood beside the shuttle, hidden from observers by its drooping wings.

  “Help Dev secure the prisoner,” Bluescale whistled. Dev limped up the ramp. The Jedi’s cylindrical droid attempted to roll up after him, railing at them in Ssi-ruuvi. Two P’w’ecks shoved it over the ramp’s edge. It landed with a crash and a final impotent threat. Dev pulled Skywalker into a rear seat, insisting to himself that he had not given up hope. The P’w’ecks snapped wristbinders onto the Jedi and then drew a flight harness around him. Unwatched for the moment, Dev checked again through the Force for life presence. Even unconscious, Skywalker’s mind seemed warmer, brighter, louder than other humans’.