Planet of Twilight

by Barbara Hambley

  light lay across the white tiled floor with a strange radiance that was

  somehow comforting. Leia called up the main files, ran a scan-and-print on

  everything concerning the Death Seed. It was fifty or sixty sheets, double

  sided, closely spaced, and she shoved those into her bedroll with the rest

  of the printouts she'd gotten earlier.

  Then she paged through the directories until she found what she needed maps

  of the area, elevations, travel guides. There was a village twenty

  kilometers away, on the other side of the mountain spur on which the

  fortress stood. Ashgad would look there, she thought. Odds were good they

  wouldn't have equipment strong enough to send a signal offplanet, anyway.

  Sixteen kilometers in the other direction was one of the gun stations, on a

  shoulder of the mountains called Bleak Point.

  She thought she could reach it, keeping to the hem of the foothills for

  cover. Deserted it might be, its automatic systems guarding this world as

  they had guarded it for nearly a thousand years, but there would be

  equipment of some kind there that she might be able to use.

  She checked the household plan again. Through that door, right up the hall

  where she had turned left before; a flight of stairs and a locked door whose

  combination, according to the computer, was 339-05't-001-6.

  The antigrav tanks were stored behind the second door. The light in the

  sunset sky was dimming, and she felt an obscure pang of fear.

  Though she knew Dzym was active in daylight as well as at night, by day she

  felt safer from him. Whoever and whatever he was, she wanted to be out of

  the house before full dark.

  A thought crossed her mind. Turning back, she opened the slatted doors into

  the small chamber where the CCIR Central Control [Init stood, amber power

  lights glowing like eyes in the dark.

  This would have to be fast, she thought. Liegeus would be working

  with the synthdroids in the docking compound. Beldorion would certainly have

  one or two about his quarters and maybe one in the kitchen with his grubby

  little Kubaz cook. The synthdroids' wholesale collapse would get them on her

  trail, but the only ones on her trail would be Liegeus and Dzym, not

  twenty-something centrally controlled and extremely mobile synthetic humans.

  Her hand was on the toggle of her lightsaber when the swish of the outer

  doors froze her where she stood. The next second voices sounded in the room,

  and she barely had time to pull shut the slatted doors that concealed the

  Control [Init in its vestibule.

  Three days! she wanted to scream. He said he'd be gone three days!

  The voice was the voice of Seti Ashgad.

  "I told you not to go near her!" he was saying, and Leia was shocked to hear

  how broken and shrill was his voice. An old man's voice.

  "Skywalker's her brother, and a Jedi Knight. He'll know if she dies, and

  it's to() soon to have them know they can choose a successor!

  Our whole plan will come adrift if . . ."

  "You've told me that before." Dzym's voice hissed in the twilight.

  "Don't treat me like an imbecile, Ashgad. Are you telling me that you

  believe this puling little wreck over me? Are you?"

  Leia turned one of the slats of the door, put her eye to it. No light had

  come up in the long study, and the fading daylight outside did not reach to

  its inner wall. She could make out faces, and the sharp white V of Ashgad's

  shirtfront . . . she thought he was wearing a gray or white cap of some

  sort, blurring into the blur of his face. Of Dzym she could distinguish

  almost nothing, save a slumped dark suggestion of evil, a gleam of eyes that

  reminded her unpleasantly of something else.

  Other eyes, recently seen . . .

  Liegeus stammered when he spoke. "I merely said--I thought when I found her

  yesterday afternoon . . . she hasn't wakened, my lord.

  She's lying up there cold and barely breathing. I've checked on her all

  through today . . ."

  "And you thought," whispered Dzym, and the shadow of him shifted with the

  slow ophidian turning of his head, "you jumped to the conclusion that I had

  disobeyed my lord's request--that I would only wait until his back was

  turned . . ."

  Leia thought he reached out one hand toward Liegeus's face.

  Though it was difficult to make out what was happening she thought the halo

  faker fell back a pace, his back to the wall. Thought she heard him whisper,

  "Please . . ." with utter terror in his voice.

  "Did you check the room?" asked Ashgad, rather quickly. "Could it have

  happened another way? Could another . . . ?"

  "Of course not!" Dzym swung around on him, Liegeus stepping quickly out of

  his reach. "What other besides me has the strength? What other besides me is

  old enough, developed enough. I have told you.

  Told you that and not to treat me as if I haven't a brain! Let us go to her

  and see if this whiner is even telling the truth."

  Liegeus turned hastily, and Leia heard the swoosh of the door in the

  darkness; Ashgad said hoarsely, "Wait."

  It was hard to see, and the murmuring voices were barely audible, but Leia

  thought Liegeus had gone ahead, leaving Ashgad and Dzym alone in the

  darkening room. Ashgad spoke almost too low to hear, but she thought he

  said, "It was a long journey. I should have taken you."

  Dzym made no reply, or if he did speak, it was too low to hear.

  "I'd have taken care of that woman in Hweg Shul somehow. Kept her from you.

  Kept her from talking. Next time . . ."

  "There is no necessity," whispered Dzym, "for 'next time."

  "When Larm's troops land I'll have her taken care of. I promise. You won't

  need to worry about her betraying you. No one believes her anyway. But I . .

  . look at me." The shrill, old-man voice cracked, and Leia, without quite

  knowing how, realized that he wasn't wearing a cap, as she had thought. His

  black hair had grayed almost to whiteness. "I had to get out of there late

  last night, after the meeting. I had to . . .

  to come back."

  "To come back," whispered Dzym mockingly. "To someone you don't trust.

  To someone you think will disobey . . ."

  "I never thought you disobeyed."

  "You believed the whiner."

  "II didn't. I was just--taken off-guard. We need him, Dzym, until this is

  over. He was the best we could get, one of the best halo fakers in the

  business. After Larm's troops land, after the Reliant's launch tracks are

  in, you can do with him what you will. But please.

  Please don't be

  angry. Please . . ." She didn't hear clearly what he said; she thought it

  was "help me" or maybe "give me."

  Dzym stepped sideways a little. Leia saw the sleek black topknot silhouetted

  against the glint of the computer's power lights, and the spidery motion of

  his gloved hands as he unfastened the breast of his robe. In the reflected

  gleam of the lights in which he now stood, she saw clearly that below his

  neck his skin changed. It was hard, chitinous, catching green and amber

  glints--broken and blotched, too, all over Dzym's bare chest and shoulders,

  with tubes and orifices and groping little mouthed nodules th
at had no

  business on any human form.

  All those little mouths and openings gaped and stretched, dark matter

  running down, glistening. Dzym's human mouth opened as well, the long tongue

  groping like a serpent.

  With a noise that was not quite a whimper, not quite a sob, Ashgad bent his

  head down. He pressed his mouth to the dark, chitinous chest, and with a

  horrible movement impossible for a human neck, Dzym moved his head around,

  tongue probing at Ashgad's nape. The thready radiance sheened on a trickle

  of blood. Ashgad made noises for a while--thin ones, small and

  desperate--then was silent. The silence lasted nearly a minute, though it

  seemed to Leia, trapped in the dark of the shuttered vestibule, to go on

  longer than that.

  At last, barely audible, Ashgad whispered, "Thank you." The crackle of age

  was gone from his voice. The room was fully dark now, and only the faintest

  stain of orange remained in the sky outside, but Leia thought his hair had

  darkened perceptibly, and when the two left the room, Ashgad moved like a

  young man. Leia thought, but couldn't be sure, that he wiped something from

  his mouth and chin.

  She timed their footfalls ascending the stair, knowing she had only minutes

  now. The sky-colored blade of the lightsaber flashed to life in her hand,

  and she drove it deep into the center of the control unit in a vicious hiss

  of sparks and smoke. Then she caught up bedroll and pitcher and fled across

  the tiled floor, stabbing the combination of the locked door that led to the

  rest of the house, right down the hall, up the steps. Another combination,

  another door--a synthdroid standing in the laboratory beyond, blue eyes

  glazed and staring, androgynous mouth open as it staggered, numbly, from

  wall to wall. Leia brushed past it and it fell. Guilt touched her as she

  stepped past the body.

  In driving her lightsaber into the Central Controller, she had

  mass-deactivated them, destroyed them . . .

  They're not living, she told herself. No more living than a droid that might

  have been deactivated or its memory flushed. But the guilt remained, as if

  she'd wiped Artoo's programming or Threepio's.

  They'll search, she thought. Ashgad and Dzym and Liegeus. They'll get

  Beldorion to use his Jedi perceptions, to touch the Force. To feel for the

  vibrations of her mind, if the sluglike mass of indolence still had the

  capability of doing so--if the weird, overwhelming vibration of the Force

  that filled this world would permit it.

  The storeroom containing the antigrav units was exactly where the schematic

  said it was.

  But only one unit was active. The rest--nearly a dozen--lay in boxes of

  styrene and goatgrass along the wall, dead, useless as so many rocks would

  have been.

  Leia felt as if she'd had a bucket of cold water hurled in her face.

  Her hands shook uncontrollably as she pulled the single unit whose lights

  were green from its shelf. It was a 100-GU unit--a speeder usually took

  four--and about half charged. She clicked it to neutral buoyancy and pulled

  it after her like a balloon on a string to the lab outside, where a

  synthdroid lay on the floor, eyes staring, near the half-assembled parts of

  a new buoyancy charger. The old one, on a table nearby, was an outmoded

  model held together by Y-bands and silver space tape. A scattering of

  antiquated, blown-out, and depleted tanks lay around it.

  Next time they vote to have trade come in, I'm all for it, thought Leia

  grimly, as she dug through drawers. There was a belt reel of cable and a

  hook there, standard in mountainous terrain; also a small glowrod, and two

  rolls of silver space tape, which she threaded onto the makeshift bedroll

  strap. This business of never having the right equipment is ridiculous! She

  pocketed a couple of emergency mini-heaters, crossed the room at a run to

  the big double doors that the schematic had told her would lead to the

  docking bay.

  As the schematic promised, the great permacrete pad that formed the

  southeastern quarter of Ashgad's compound overlooked open space

  on two sides. The Reliant sat on five short legs close by the workroom door

  through which she emerged. In smaller hangars to the side she made out the

  needlelike nosecone of an elderly Headhunter, and the blunt silhouette of a

  gutted Skipray Blastboat.

  Synthdroids, fallen with equipment or tanks of Puffo-Shield in hand, lay

  about the Reliant in starlight like wet black heaps of laundry.

  There was no light, for the Central Control [Init knew where every step and

  cable and piece of machinery lay, no matter which droid set it down, but it

  seemed to Leia that the great gulfs of air beyond the permacrete apron were

  filled with the softest echo of brightness, the glow of the merciless stars

  amplified by the wasteland of faceted ridge and scree.

  Leia looked down from the edge of the apron and her heart froze. I can't.

  It was easily three hundred meters to the base of that first, sheer drop.

  From there the slope tapered steeply, a shamble of diamonds, bled of color

  in the etiolated light. An antigrav unit's lifting capability was directly

  proportional to the distance from the surface of the ground.

  The first drop might be so fast that when the lift finally kicked in, it

  might not do so soon enough or hard enough.

  The cable wasn't even a quarter long enough, and with no way of detaching

  the hook, she might as well set off flares to announce in which direction

  she'd gone.

  Behind her, in the dark bulk of the house, she saw a light go up, then

  another.

  The image returned to her mind, of Ashgad bending his head down to the

  mouths and tentacles and groping, wormy nodules of Dzym's chitinous chest;

  of Dzym's ungloved, unseen hands on her face, her wrists. Of the cold

  sickness that pulled her down toward death.

  Here in this high place, unshielded by any walls, she had the curious

  sensation of the Force being all around her, as if she stood not on a boat

  in the sea, but on the living ocean bed itself. Strong, strange, it called

  to her, she thought. Spoke in words she could not understand.

  She checked the antigrav unit in her hands.

  It wasn't enough. it is. The thought was warm wind breathing in her mind. It

  is.

  You've got to be kidding!

  Leia looked over the edge again. Darkness and starlight and scintil-lant

  wastes dropped away like a vast subconscious thought. She knew that the

  slight difference in weight wasn't going to have any effect on the immutable

  law of twenty-six point six meters per second per second, but nevertheless

  she dropped her bedroll first. The sealed pitcher would shatter and couldn't

  be risked.

  What am I thinking about? she reflected cynically, as she ripped a double

  strip of space tape and fashioned a makeshift handle. I'm the one who's goin

  to smash to a million pieces.

  The night around her, the subtly flashing darkness, whispered, You won't.

  We're here. Trust.

  More lights sprang up like startled glowbugs on a summer evening, and she

  heard Ashgad's
oratorial baritone call, "Liegeus! Here, at once!"

  They'd found the synthdroids.

  Leia slipped her arm through the handle, clicked over the antigrav unit to

  its highest output, and stepped off the edge of the platform.

  Leia was calling him.

  Luke jolted out of sleep, shocked breathless in the chilly dawn.

  Encircled by the towering crystal shapes of mountains like molten glass, the

  image of her was etched on his mind, alone in a world of glass and sky. She

  was on a stone terrace, wrapped in a white blanket, cinnamon hair lying in a

  long disheveled braid down her shoulder.

  There was something about the image that told him that this had happened

  some time ago, that it had been caught up in the distortions of the Force,

  but he knew it was real. She looked thin and fragile and badly scared.

  Ashgad.

  He hadn't just destroyed her ship, looted it for its weapons. He'd taken her

  off. Ransom? Negotiation?

  An illusion, the result of last night's discovery on the smuggler drop?

  No. As surely as he knew the bones of his body, he knew she was there or had

  been there. Alive.

  The foot of the Mountains of Lightning, Taselda had said. Arvid or

  Aunt Gin would know the spot. For a moment he considered taking Taselda,

  only to reject the thought in the next heartbeat.

  He rose from his bed, walked to the rear transparisteel, looked down on the

  peacefully prosaic yard of dust and belcrabbian, water pumps and broken

  speeder parts, the dark-leaved antigrav balls beyond the walls floating

  still as cutouts in the clear, early light. It was difficult to remember

  that this was all manufactured, laboriously carved from a world that

  admitted no life.

  From here, the great, lawless presence of the Force could only be felt a

  little, dim and far away.

  Luke reached out with his mind. Leia. Don't despair. i'm on my way.

  He didn't know if his thought even reached her, tangled in the distorting

  effects of the Force on this world. Didn't know if she could hear, even when

  it did.

  But Callista had told him once that hope, too, can sometimes affect the

  Force.

  "What's that?

  Muffled in the folds of the black hooded robe and cumbersome breath mask and

  wig, See-Threepio considered Captain Ugmush's question to be purely

  rhetorical. Even one unused to the noises of war, riot, and rebellion should