Allegiance

by Timothy Zahn

  “Burglars,” Chivkyrie muttered, his voice edged with contempt.

  “You suppose anyone’s home?” Leia asked.

  “Unlikely,” Chivkyrie said. “Those will be the homes of the playhouse employees on the next street over, and it does not close for another hour. Typical of coward—”

  “Wait,” Leia said, straining her eyes. The window two down from the one the burglar had entered—had the curtains there just twitched?

  They twitched again; and then, to Leia’s horror, they parted and a small Adarian face peered anxiously out into the night.

  Stuffing her blaster back into her pocket, Leia pulled the window the rest of the way open. “What are you doing?” Chivkyrie demanded in a startled voice.

  “There’s a child in there,” Leia told him, leaning out the window. Just below her was a narrow decorative ledge extending about twenty centimeters outward from the stone facing that ran the length of the building. Below that was a sheer drop to a ledge beneath the third-floor windows, another to the second-floor ledge, and another finally to the alley below. Above her, similar ledges marked the way up to the tenth-floor windows. The building’s stone facing itself was old and crumbling, with plenty of gaps and grooves that an experienced climber with the right tools could probably make good use of.

  But Leia wasn’t experienced, she had no climbing gear at all, and even if she had, that route wouldn’t get her across the twenty-meter gap to where she needed to be.

  “You must not interfere,” Chivkyrie said urgently, plucking at her sleeve. “If patrollers come—”

  “I’m not abandoning that child,” Leia cut him off. “I’ve seen what burglars can do when they run into someone.” A meter to the left of her window a thick plastic drainpipe ran from the roof-edge rain catcher to the alley, fastened to the wall at every other floor by a flimsy-looking bracket. Leaning out onto the windowsill, she braced herself on the ledge and gave the pipe a shake. It jiggled in her grip, the brackets not quite flimsy enough for her to simply tear the pipe free by hand. The pipe itself, on the other hand, seemed quite sturdy, more than thick enough to support her weight. Shifting around onto her side, she drew her blaster again and lined it up with the topmost bracket.

  “Princess, I implore you,” Chivkyrie said, all but begging now. “If the patrollers come, we will be lost. And the intruders, too, may hear.”

  “I doubt anyone even notices blaster shots in this neighborhood,” Leia said tartly. “Or cares.” Holding her breath, sighting carefully along the barrel, she squeezed the trigger.

  The blaster bolt sounded twice as loud as usual in the relative stillness of the night, its echo from the surrounding buildings almost covering up the soft clatter as the pieces of the shattered bracket skittered across the window ledge. She shifted aim and shot off the next bracket, working her way down to the one on her own fourth-floor level.

  She might not be a very good tapcafe server, she thought with a touch of dark satisfaction, but she could play sharpshooter games with the best of them.

  Chivkyrie, she’d noticed out of the corner of her eye, had winced at each shot. “Now what?” he demanded as silence again descended on the neighborhood.

  Leia frowned. That was, she realized suddenly, a very good question. Her plan had been to shoot off the brackets, push the pipe over from the connection joint just above the fourth-floor ledge to land the end on the other rooftop, and then slide down it to where she could confront the burglars. But now it belatedly occurred to her that as she slid down the pipe she would be presenting herself a perfect target to the two accomplices waiting on the other roof.

  And even if they didn’t shoot her, then what? If she managed to rescue the child and chase them all away, how would she get back to her room again? Walk her way up the pipe like a darediv stage performer?

  In her fatigue she hadn’t thought it through. Unfortunately there was no time to think it through any further now. The child was still in danger, and getting over to the other building was still the only way to help. Leaning out the window again, she got a grip on the pipe—

  “Wait,” Chivkyrie said, grabbing her leg. “Look—they’re leaving.”

  Sure enough, the burglar Leia had seen going into the window had now reappeared, climbing back up his ropes at breakneck speed. Above him, one of his two accomplices was helping to haul him up, while the other was frantically stuffing their gear into a dark shoulder sack. “I guess they do notice shots here,” Leia commented.

  “Your shots will have alerted the entire neighborhood,” Chivkyrie said, sounding as if he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or worried. “The intruders have been frightened away.”

  Leia looked back at the curtained window. Surely the burglar hadn’t had time to hurt the youngster.

  And then the curtains parted, and the child’s face once again peered nervously out.

  Leia exhaled in a relieved huff and sent the child an encouraging smile, though she doubted the other would be able to read her expression in the dark. Looking back at the roof, she saw the trio of burglars jump the low parapet to the next building and race out of sight farther down the block.

  “Please?” Chivkyrie said, tugging on her leg again. “Before someone else sees you?”

  A moment later Leia was back inside the room. “It was a brave and honorable thing you did,” he said as he closed the window behind her. “We must hope it will not in turn bring destruction upon us.”

  “It might,” Leia conceded, crossing the room and switching on the lights again. “But it was something I had to do. The reason the Rebel Alliance exists is to free the galaxy from tyranny. The fear of the violent and the lawless is no less a tyranny than the edicts that come from the Emperor’s throne.”

  Returning the blaster to her pocket, she turned back to the cooking corner. “And meanwhile,” she added, “even the guardians of freedom have to eat.”

  Rather to Leia’s surprise, the patrollers didn’t come that night. They didn’t show up in the morning, either, nor were they waiting for her when she reported to the tapcafe just before midday for her shift.

  For the first couple of hours she found her heart jumping every time the door opened, followed by an equally quick flash of relief when it turned out to be only another customer. It wasn’t until the afternoon lull began to ramp up again toward the pre-dinner hour that she noticed the subtle change in the customers’ attitude toward her.

  At first she thought they’d simply given up on her; that they’d decided there was no point in expecting her to get the nuances of their culture right and thus no point in berating her, even politely, when she messed up. But while that might explain the regulars’ new courtesy, it didn’t explain those who hadn’t seen her in fumbling action the previous day.

  They were midway through the dinner rush when a large but quiet Adarian family arrived … a family that included the child whose face she’d seen across from her window the previous night.

  And then, finally, she understood. Chivkyrie had been right—her blasterfire had indeed woken up the entire neighborhood. But instead of reporting her to the patrollers, they’d realized it had been an attempt to help, and a successful one at that.

  Apparently, their new tolerance for her failings was their way of thanking her.

  Leia returned to the apartment later as weary in body as she’d been the night before. But this time, there was no despair to drag her still further down. Perhaps the people of Makrin City weren’t yet ready to take a stand against Imperial Center’s tyranny. But they were getting closer.

  Whether this new determination and respect would survive when Imperial troops were marching through the streets, of course, was another question.

  One way or another, Leia would find out soon enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “COMING UP ON SHELKONWA,” QUILLER announced. “Are our guests ready to take their leave of us?”

  “As far as I know,” LaRone said, gazing across the cockpit at Marcross’s pr
ofile. Even in the flickering hyperspace glow, the tension lines in the other’s cheeks and neck were clearly visible. “Grave and Brightwater are keeping an eye on them. Marcross?”

  The lines shifted subtly, as if Marcross was coming back from some dark and distant place. “What?” he asked, half turning to face the other.

  “Just making sure you’re all right,” LaRone said. “You’ve been a little odd ever since Gepparin.”

  “I’m fine,” Marcross said, turning back to face the canopy. “I just want this over with.”

  “Assuming we can find the BloodScars’ contact,” Quiller commented. “I know you think you got enough from that HoloNet log—”

  “I got enough,” Marcross cut him off.

  “Fine,” Quiller said. “I just meant that Shelkonwa’s a big planet—”

  “I said I got enough.”

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you shared that information with the rest of us?” LaRone suggested. “At least give us the contact number that was on the setup log in case something happens to you and we have to find a way to backtrack it.”

  The tension lines shifted again. “You won’t need to backtrack it,” Marcross said. “The traitor’s at the palace.”

  LaRone stared. “The governor’s palace?”

  “That’s the only palace down there.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But what?” Marcross snapped. “You don’t think traitors come in all sizes and shapes and ranks? Just look at the three we have in the back of our own ship.”

  “Here we go,” Quiller said, and pulled the hyperdrive levers. The stars reappeared—

  Quiller stiffened in his seat. “Oh, no,” he murmured. “No, no, no.”

  “Steady,” LaRone soothed, his own chest feeling a little tight as he gazed out at the huge command ship floating in high orbit over the planet. “We’ve got our ID in place. We’re all right.”

  The comm pinged. “Executor to incoming Suwantek freighter,” a crisp voice said. “We’re reading a military ID on you. Please confirm via clearance code.”

  “Quiller?” LaRone prompted.

  There was no response. Quiller was still staring at the huge ship as if he were seeing a ghost. “I’ve got it,” Marcross said, swiveling around and punching the code panel.

  For a moment there was silence. “Code confirmed,” the voice said. “Destination?”

  “Makrin City,” Quiller said. “Governor’s palace.”

  “The palace landing area’s been temporarily closed down,” the voice said. “I can clear you to either Makrin Main or Greencliff Regional. State your preference.”

  “Why is the palace field closed?” LaRone asked, pulling up a map of the region. Makrin Main was in the heart of the city’s northwest quadrant, only a few kilometres from the governor’s palace, while Greencliff Regional was a much smaller port tucked between the northeast part of the city and a line of cliffs running down the entire eastern edge.

  “There’s a military search operation under way in the city,” the voice replied. “The palace field’s been shut down for security reasons.”

  “What are they searching for?”

  “Classified,” the other said, starting to sound annoyed. “State your landing preference.”

  Marcross looked back at LaRone, raising his eyebrows questioningly. “Makrin Main’s closer,” he murmured.

  “But Greencliff will be less crowded,” LaRone murmured back.

  Marcross considered, then nodded. “We’ll take Greencliff,” he said aloud.

  “Acknowledged. You’re cleared for Greencliff Regional.”

  “Thank you.” Marcross shut down the comm. “Quiller? You all right?”

  “Oh, sure, I’m fine,” Quiller said, his voice suddenly carrying a graveyard tone. “I don’t suppose either of you happened to notice the name of that ship?”

  Marcross glanced a frown back at LaRone. “The Executor,” Marcross said. “Why?”

  “I guess you ground-thumpers don’t need to keep up with Fleet news.” Quiller took a careful breath. “The Executor just happens to be the brand-new flagship of the Lord Darth Vader.”

  LaRone stared out at the ship, his stomach tightening. Vader? “What in the worlds is he doing here?”

  “At a guess, he’s after either our traitor or Solo’s Rebel friend,” Quiller said tartly. “I guess she must be a little more important than we thought.”

  “Though he did say they’d probably locked down the planet over her,” LaRone reminded him.

  “I thought he was exaggerating,” Quiller bit out. “I don’t know about you two, but I don’t want to be in the same city as Darth Vader. I don’t want to even be in the same star system.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Marcross said, his voice sounding tight but determined. “If you want, you can just drop me at the spaceport.”

  “What are you talking about?” LaRone asked, frowning.

  “I’m going after the traitor,” Marcross said. “The rest of you don’t have to stay. In fact, Quiller’s right—with Vader here, it’ll be a lot safer for everyone if you don’t.”

  “Forget it,” LaRone said. “We’re in this together.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” Marcross insisted.

  “We owe the people of Shelsha sector,” LaRone countered. “Just because one BloodScar base is gone doesn’t mean the conspiracy is over. We need to pull this thing out by the root.”

  “If Vader catches you, you’ll wish ISB had found you first,” Marcross warned. “Just drop me and go.”

  “Oh, thanks,” Quiller growled. “That makes me feel so much better.”

  “Actually, Vader being here may work out to our advantage,” LaRone pointed out. “He’ll almost certainly have his private stormtrooper legion on the ground conducting his search. We can just blend into the crowd.”

  Quiller turned a look of disbelief on him. “You’re joking, right? LaRone, this isn’t just some random stormtrooper unit you’re talking about infiltrating. This is the Five-oh-first.”

  “So?” LaRone countered, trying to suppress his own private misgivings. “The Five-oh-first puts their armor on one piece at a time just like we do.”

  Quiller hissed between his teeth. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”

  “There’ve been rumors,” LaRone conceded.

  “As long as we’re all agreed,” Quiller said with a sigh. “Fine. If you and Marcross are going to be crazy, we might as well all be crazy together. Next point: what do we do about Solo and Luke and the Wookiee?”

  “Good question,” Marcross agreed. “If Vader’s looking for their friend, we really don’t want them running around loose out there. Especially not with what they know about us.”

  “And it’s for fussting sure they’re not going to blend in with the Five-oh-first,” Quiller added. “On the downside hand, I don’t see an awful lot of other options. I doubt we’re going to be able to keep them aboard. At least not without shooting them, which carries its own set of problems.”

  “Chief of which would be where exactly you shoot a Wookiee to be sure of bringing him down,” LaRone said, an odd thought suddenly striking him. “All right, try this. What if, instead of letting them run free, we give them an escort?”

  The suggestion brought the exact reaction LaRone had suspected it would: both Quiller’s and Marcross’s mouths dropped open. Marcross found his voice first. “Quiller was right,” he said. “You are crazy.”

  “Very likely,” LaRone said. “But questions of mental health aside, why not? They’d be in the company of legitimate stormtroopers, thereby putting them above suspicion or interrogation by any of the local patrollers. And if we run into flak from Vader’s troops, we claim they’re our informants.”

  “Or prisoners we’re taking to interrogation?” Quiller suggested.

  “That works, too.” LaRone hesitated. “And if worse comes to worst and we get caught in a gun battle … well, I doubt there’d be anything left for V
ader to interrogate.”

  “Are you saying we’d shoot them?” Marcross asked flatly.

  The ghosts of Teardrop flickered in front of LaRone’s eyes. “Not us,” he said firmly. “Against the Five-oh-first, I doubt we’d have to.”

  Quiller shook his head. “They’ll never go for it, you know.”

  “Who won’t go for it?” LaRone asked. “Solo and Luke, or Grave and Brightwater?”

  “None of them will.”

  LaRone shrugged. “Well, we have until we land before we have to make any decisions,” he said. “Maybe we’ll come up with something better.”

  The chiming of the ship’s proximity alarm, as Mara had prearranged, brought her out of the dreamless sleep of her Force healing trance.

  She had arrived at Shelkonwa.

  For a moment she lay quietly on the ship’s fold-down cot, taking quick inventory. She was hungry and thirsty, a typical side effect of healing trances, but the burns and scrapes she’d received at the BloodScars’ base were completely gone.

  She headed to the cockpit, snaring a couple of ration bars and a water bottle from the galley locker on the way. She had finished the first bar when the computer prompt pinged, and as she pulled the hyperdrive levers the hazy disk of Shelsha sector’s capital world appeared in front of her against the starry blackness.

  And floating in space between her and the planet was possibly the last thing in the universe she’d expected to see.

  Her comm crackled. “Incoming Z-10 Seeker, this is the Imperial Command Ship Executor,” a crisp voice said. “State your ID number and your business on Shelkonwa.”

  Mara felt her teeth grinding together as she keyed for transmission. What in the stinking fumes of Imperial Center garbage was Vader doing here? “Executor, this is Z-10 Seeker, ID number unknown,” she bit out. “Is Lord Vader aboard?”

  There was a moment of silence as the comm operator tried to reset his brain to deal with this thoroughly nonstandard reply. “Uh—”

  “Is he there, or isn’t he?” Mara demanded.