by Kathy Tyers
"They haven't gone far."
"I see that. We'll be on watch. You, ah, might want to move out of the
battle zone. Those alien ships leave very hot debris."
"Hot?" Luke eyed a hull temp readout.
"Ssi-ruuvi drones burn heavy fusionables."
New term Ssi-ruuvi. More important, if the aliens meant to invade
Bakura, why scatter the system with radioactive cinders?
And why did Thanas go to all the trouble of using holonet for this minor
exchange? Luke wondered as Thanas's image faded. Either Commander Thanas
wanted to see his counterpart or--knowing the Rebels had holonet--Thanas might
suspect they'd stolen other Imperial equipment.
Luke stared at the yellow-gold "allies" dots. "Analyze that," he directed
the BAC. The reading came up quickly, and he moved his drink bulb to see it
all. The Imperial cruiser drifted, manifestly crippled. Thanas's remaining
forces had withdrawn from battle and established a defense web around that
ship... and Bakura.
He guessed he wouldn't trust Imperials who claimed to want to help him,
either. Making people trust each other would be Leia's job.
"Thanks again, Falcon," he said on their private channel. "Didn't things
work out, at the sixth planet?"
"We'll tell you about it sometime," Leia's voice answered out of the
speaker at his elbow.
CHAPTER 5
Imperial Bakuran Senator Gaeriel Captison sat wiggling her toes and
making patterns out of keys on her inset touchboard. Under a tiled ceiling
that rose to a point above its center, the chamber of the Imperial Bakuran
Senate lay silent--except for a soft trickle from four two-story, translucent
rain pillars at its corners. Roof gutters channeled rain water into the
pillars. Lit from below, they shimmered with the liquid pulse of Bakura's
biosphere.
Gaeriel had stood in the rain this morning to watch it drum on dancing
pokkta leaves, letting it soak her skin, hair, and clothing. She took a deep
breath of damp, soothing Bakuran air and folded her hands on the table.
Imperial Center was now the only world where a student could do postgraduate
work in government--one of the Emperor's ways of ensuring that his philosophy
trickled down to subject worlds. After a required year of indoctrination on
Center, she'd returned last month. Confirmed now to the senatorial post she'd
won as a youngster, she was here for her first emergency evening call.
Atop the stairs to Gaeriel's left, Governor Nereus's massive, purple-
cushioned repulsor chair sat empty. The Senate, declining in power every year,
awaited Nereus's convenience.
Down the steps from Governor Nereus's chair, a pair of tables lay on
Gaeriel's long middle level; on a third, lowest level, two inner tables framed
an open space. Orn Belden, senior senator, shook his finger across the low
central table. "Don't you see?" Belden creaked at Senator Govia. "Compared to
systems the Emperor truly wants to control, our ships and facilities are...
well, the ships are older than I am, and the facilities are undermanned. As
for staff, we're a dumping ground--"
"All rise," barked a voice near the chamber's door. A warden in ancient-
style violet doublet and hose thumped a spear's butt on carpeted flooring.
Gaeri slipped her shoes back on and stood with thirty-nine other senators.
Only the Imperial Guards saluted. She hoped this session didn't mean more
taxes. Not now, with the Ssi-ruuk threatening.
Imperial Governor Wilek Nereus strode in, flanked by four black-helmeted
naval troopers. They reminded her of leggy beetles. Governor Nereus wore a
specially designed uniform, heavy on braid and gold piping, its short coat cut
to create an illusion of taper from his shoulders to his waist--and skintight
black gloves that had given him a reputation for being fastidious. His
features were heavy except for prissy lips, and he had the Imperial swagger
down to a science. "Sit," he said.
Gaeri smoothed her long blue skirt and sat down. Governor Nereus remained
standing near the entry. Taller than any of them, he used his height to
intimidate. She'd always disliked him, but her year on Imperial Center had
made him slightly more tolerable--"comparison.
"I won't keep you," he said, looking down his long nose. "I realize you
are busy keeping your sectors pacified. Some of you are doing well. Some
aren't."
Gaeri frowned. Her district's residents were abandoning their jobs to dig
shelters, but at least bunker-blasting was productive. She glanced at her
uncle, Prime Minister Yeorg Captison. Here in Salis D'aar, Captison had been
quelling riots, using Bakuran police to keep Nereus from sending out
stormtroopers from the garrison.
Nereus raised a gloved hand to silence murmurers. Once he had their
attention, he slowly turned his head and cleared his throat. "Rebel Alliance
ships have arrived in the Bakura system."
That gave her a rain-cold shock. Rebels? The Empire allowed no dissent.
After Bakura entered the Empire three years ago, two minor rebellions had been
efficiently quashed. Gaeri remembered too much of that period. Both of her
parents had died, caught in the wrong place during a running battle between
insurgents and Imperial troops. That was when she'd gone to live with her
uncle and aunt. She didn't hope to live to see another uprising, or any more
of the bloody purges that followed.
Perhaps these troublemakers wanted the repulsorlift component factory in
Belden's district. Could Nereus's forces protect Bakura from Rebel raiders and
the Ssi-ruuk?
Nereus cleared his throat. "The Dominant, our only remaining cruiser,
sustained heavy damages. On the advice of my staff, I have ordered our forces
to withdraw from the main battle and protect Bakura itself. I request your
confirmation of that order."
Belden straightened his back and fiddled with a voice amplifier on his
chest. "Covering your tracks, Governor? So if anything else goes wrong, you
can finger us? Who's keeping the Ssi-ruuk off, I wonder?"
It wasn't wise to attract an Imperial Governor's attention, but Belden
seemed fearless. Maybe if Gaeri were 164, with a sec ond prosthetic heart and
one foot in the grave, she'd learn his kind of courage.
Abruptly distracted, she checked the time. She had promised Senator
Belden that she'd visit his elderly wife this evening. Madam Belden's
caregiver Clis left for the night at 2030, and Gaeri had offered to sit with
her until Senator Belden finished a committee meeting. Fiery little Eppie's
mind was eroding, at only 132. (eroding? It had washed out to sea three years
ago.) Orn Belden's devotion, and the genuine affection of a few lifelong
family friends such as Gaeriel, sustained her. Eppie had been Gaeriel's first
real "grown-up" friend.
Governor Nereus ran a hand over his dark hair. He tried to mimic a
classic Old Republican politician, using minimum threat of force to keep the
population in line. Consequently, he'd built a new order suzerainty far from
Imperial Core shipping lanes, with minimal open violence... after those bloody
purges, thr
ee years back.
Nereus smiled blandly. "The action I have ordered merely ensures that
Rebels will not strike at Bakura."
"Did Rebels disable the Dominant, or did the Ssi-ruuk?"
"I do not yet have full reports, Senator Belden. It appears that--for
now--yr factory is safe. I shall send over three defense squads from the
garrison."
Belden wouldn't like that. Prime Minister Captison stood again. The deep
green shoulders of his tunic seemed to float at the top of his perfectly
straight back. Gaeriel had been stunned to find his hair white when she came
back from the university. Captison's dignity shamed Nereus's posturing. He
flicked two fingers against his trouser seam placate. Apparently Belden saw
it too. He sat down slowly, deferring to the P.M.
"Thank you, Senator Belden," said Prime Minister Captison. "Evidently,
for the moment the Rebels are between us and the Ssi-ruuk. Perhaps that's the
best place for them." He looked around the table. Forty senators, human except
for two pale Kurtzen from the Kishh district, stared back. Like the senate,
Prime Minister Captison had lost authority every time he crossed Imperial
wishes. "Let us support Governor Nereus," he said without enthusiasm, "and
confirm his withdrawal order."
He called the vote. Gaeri extended an open palm with the majority. Only
Belden and two others closed their fists.
Gaeriel sighed to herself. Belden wasn't a follower of the Cosmic
Balance. He could not bring himself to believe that when he graciously allowed
fate to diminish him, others were exalted. The wheel always turned, too, and
those who humbled themselves for the present would one day reap rich rewards.
"Thank you for your support," purred Nereus. His beetlely escorts
followed him out.
Gaeriel stared after him. Before the Empire arrived, Bakura had been
governed by a prime minister and a senate--and no set of three individuals in
the government could ever agree on a program. Schools had run half-year when
Gaeri started attending, then shifted to "tumble month" schedule, two on and
one off; then someone scrapped the entire curriculum. If the government
couldn't agree on a school calendar, even a child knew it wouldn't agree on
anything else. As a senator's daughter and the prime minister's niece, she'd
overheard unending machinations and bickering about other subjects--social
justice, repulsorlift exports, and taxation.
Most important, no two senators had ever agreed on a defensive strategy.
Consequently Bakura fell quickly to the Empire.
She straightened her shoulders. Perhaps that easy conquest explained why
Governor Nereus had left so much of the original government in place. Her
experience on Imperial Center had taught her to keep her mouth shut about
Bakura's senate. Other systems' residents reacted indignantly to its
existence.
Imperial peace compensated Bakura for the autonomy it had lost, or so
Gaeri's admittedly limited experience told her. It had ended the chaos and
civil infighting, and brought Bakuran trade goods out onto stellar lanes.
Yet many older senators disagreed, and when they spoke quietly, Gaeri
listened.
Speaking of dissidents, she'd better head for the Beldens' apartment. She
slipped her shoes back on--ag--and headed for the roof port.
Dev generally spent battle time in his master Firwirrung's quarters,
working feverishly on his translation project to keep from feeling enemy
fighters' fear when tractor beams caught them. Today, though, Master
Firwirrung had asked him to carry food trays and a packet of drink bulbs from
the galley up a brightly lit corridor to the command deck.
Busy defending the advance force, Admiral Ivpikkis had ordered the
empowerment of additional battle droids instead of refilling the Shriwirr's
normal complement of internal droid servants--except the security droids who
guarded the bridge itself--s Dev filled a servant role different from his
usual post. The Shriwirr's captain held back out of battle, protecting Ssi-
ruuvi lives and holding open communication lines that stretched along a string
of subspace beacons all the way back to the main fleet.
Whenever human prisoners were brought on board, Dev took secret comfort
in their company... for a little while. They were always enteched so soon,
their Force presences focused inside battle droids. He wouldn't deny them that
joy for the sake of his own psychological comfort, but secretly--selfishly--it
saddened him. Unbeknownst to his masters, he sometimes reached out through the
Force during battles and fondled whole human presences. Feeling guilty but
compelled, he stretched out now...
And touched power. Gripping the steering surfaces of his repulsor cart,
he stood motionless. Someone--somewhere off the Shriwirr--had the deep, placid
strength he'd always associated with his mother. His eyes flooded. Surely she
hadn't come back for him? Could that be? He'd heard of visitations, but--
No. If this were the sense of a human--andthe human was clearly not on
Bakura, from its proximity--then this was the sense of an enemy. It was far
stronger than his mother, too. He'd heard the admiral mention an incoming
group in passing, almost as if it were beneath his notice, but this enemy made
him think of... of home. The Outsider was concentrating on the combatants,
too, but not with the same shade of passion Dev felt. Dev reached deeper.
Their likeness beckoned and seduced him. The Outsider seemed not to notice his
probe.
Dev gave the repulsor cart a push. He shouldn't think about it. He hoped
the feeling wouldn't come back.
He paced onward. He had almost reached the bridge when a warbling whistle
sounded over the general alarm system. Emergency Harness for reorient.
Startled, Dev released his cart. He plunged through the nearest open
hatchway and spotted several ceiling-to-deck emergency hammocks. Large russet
Ssi-ruuk and small brown P'w'ecks struggled into the nearest harnesses. Dev
spied one that hung limp. He dashed over, seized the red cord at its edge and
held it against his breastbone, then twirled to surround himself. Now more
than ever, he wished for a massive Ssi-ruuvi body. Slender and tailless, he
had to twirl half a dozen times before the webbing enclosed him securely.
Then he had several seconds to think above the alarm trill. To try to
remember if he'd netted the nest pillows this morning. He'd also left a laden
cart in the corridor.
Worse, the invincible Shriwirr was accelerating unexpectedly for
hyperspace. Surely this wasn't retreat. They'd been so close to victory.
They'd--
The near bulkhead became deck, then ceiling. Dev's stomach protested
violently. Acceleration smashed his face into six layers of netting. Unable to
brace against the deck, he dug his fingers through the webbing and spun out of
control. He clenched his eyes shut and begged it to end.
When gravity came from the deck again, the alarm whistle cut off.
Dizzily, Dev struggled to unwind.
"What's going on?" one of his neighbors asked. "I don't remember an
emergency reorient
since Cattamascar."
The answer came in a disturbingly familiar voice. "We lost a cruiser.
Nearly all the new drone fighters are gone. We're having to waste humans to
protect our remaining ships. We must analyze the newcomers' tactics before
going in again. This group is different. Different ship types, different
command style."
Command style? Did the new group have a Force-strong commander? Perhaps
a... a genuine Jedi, who'd finished the training his mother had only begun?
But the Empire had purged Jedi. Hunted them down.
Yes, and the Emperor was dead. A true Jedi might dare to show himself.
That was all supposition. Finally unwound, Dev stepped out of his
hammock. Standing in front of him, staring down with liquid black eyes, stood
the massive Ssi-ruu who performed his comforting "renewals" Sh'tk'ith, the
elder they respectfully nicknamed Bluescale. Bluescale had sprung from a
different Ssi-ruuvi race from Firwirrung's brilliant tiny blue scales,
narrower face, longer tail. Bluescale's race dominated on the home world as
Firwirrung's dominated the military.
He should tell Bluescale what he'd sensed... but that would mean
confessing his guilty secret habit. Dev blinked down at the deck. "I greet
you, Elder--"
"What is amiss?" Bluescale demanded. His black scent tongues flickered,
tasting the air. Of all Ssi-ruuk, he seemed most sensitive to subtle changes
in human scent due to stress.
"Such... tragedy," Dev said cautiously, "that many battle droids lost.
Those poor humans--theirthe new lives, their new happiness, was cut so short.
Let me mourn for my... for other humans, Elder. How sad for them. How sad."
The boldness of his lie staggered him.
Triple eyelids blinked. Bluescale let out a guttural honk, the Ssi-ruuvi
equivalent of a thoughtful "hmm." Tapping his foreclaws, Bluescale answered,
"Later, then. After you have contemplated their deaths, return to me. I will
renew you for happier service."
"Thank you, Elder." Dev's voice cracked as he backed away. "I must clean
the corridor. Labor will give me time for thinking."
Bluescale waved a foreclaw and dismissed him.
Dev fled back out through the hatchway, feeling guiltier than ever. Had
he endangered the advance force? Surely not. Admiral Ivpikkis would succeed.