Rebel Bass - Star Wars Gamer #6 Read online

  "Rebel Bass"

  Kathy Tyers

  Star Wars Gamer #6

  Standing at one end of a ten-vehicle speeder barn, Ryley Ancum folded both arms around the neck of his bass vye. He listened closely as a slow, dusk-tempo ballad replayed through Hannis D'lund's expertly tweaked touchboard. Ry, Hannis, and their friend Erik Lauderslag had formed the band, Far Cry, three seasons ago. They weren't just "good for two sixteen-year-olds and a seventeen." If Ry knew anything about dusk music - and this year he'd made dusk music his life - then they were good. Unqualified.

  Now if they could just get this offworld gig, without alerting any Imperials to Ry's contacts in the Alliance underground.

  Dark eyes, deeper than starlight

  Warm thoughts caress my soul...

  Ry squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the vye against his chest, and tracked the bass line he had just recorded - not only for its musicality, but for the first two notes of each measure.

  He no longer double-checked in terms of, How long is the first note? Does it move up or down in pitch, and how long is the second note by comparison? With practice, those thoughts had become second nature, like reading letters off a page. Now, when he closed out the music - which wasn't easy, because Erik had written a gettingly good song - he heard letters and breaks transmitted in bass code. His mind gradually formed words hidden in the playback of "Dark Eyes, Warm Thoughts"

  Ten kilotons [strategic metal] shipping Corellia next month. Rumor new warship project.

  Feeling as if he were emerging from a trance, Ry opened his eyes. His friend Hannis sat on a stool near the touch board...a misnomer, since it wasn't necessary to touch the instrument at all. Thick-set and muscular, with blond hair that dangled over his eyes, Hannis was the group's eldest member. "Good bass line," he said as the song ended. "Gettingly ragged."

  Ry shrugged. "Thanks," he said, but inwardly he was delighted. Hannis was an expert at all things electronic, but Ry hadn't told him or Erik about the intelligence he hoped to pass to a local cell of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. If Hannis and Erik thought ofthe bass line as musical - as gettingly ragged - then his camouflage was perfect.

  A gust of wind rattled the barn's main door. Ry flinched, then stroked the neck of his bass to cover it. He really didn't think there was any danger that Imperial enforcers would storm in and arrest them, not even if they sat and listened to a performance. His former bass teacher, Tet Tramys, had invented the bass code. It was only used in the Six Local Systems, and only by one small intelligence cell.

  That didn't keep him completely calm. He didn't mind a little adrenaline, but he did know that enemies of the Empire sometimes disappeared.

  Erik, Ry's tallest classmate, lounged on a small repulsor "throne" in the midst of his percs and crashers. He hadn't finished muscling out yet, but he could twirl a stick with the best of them, and every song he turned out got better than the one before. "Ragged," he agreed, echoing Hannis's praise. "And I like the synth, Hannis." Erik stretched out one long hand and slid a stick along the rim of a suspended crasher. The brass disk rang sweet and low. "Think Keth Beamis will buy it?" he asked.

  "Oh yeah." Ry unstrapped his vye and set it against one wall of the speeder barn. His guardian had ordered several aides to clear the barn so Far Cry could practice inside, but it still smelled like exhaust. This was the first time Ry had actually found anything important enough to relay through the scheduled Alliance scout. He was eager to prove his worth, both as snoop and as relay. Tet Tramys had recruited Ry shortly after last circuit's talent competition, and Ry felt that watching for "real" information was giving him a better education that he was picking up at tech-ed school.

  This also gave him a chance to swing back at the bureaucracy that had lured his parents offworld.

  "I'm actually amazed," said Hannis, switching the touchboard over into rest mode by waving his left hand. A force field sprang up over its surface, repelling dust motes that might damage its delicate circuitry. "We've hardly had two paying gigs all season. How did this Imperial talent scout hear about us?"

  Ry shrugged. "I applied." And he's had me on his scout list ever since he left Tuttin Iv. It's about time I found something to send! "They need acts for the SLS officers' club circuit," he added. The Six Local Systems had one Imperial Governor, who happened to be Ry's legal guardian. Ry's parents, low-ranking Imperial servants, had wanted him to finish tech-ed school here.

  That still jagged him.

  The Governor's wing of the Admin Center had all the amenities, including this speeder barn, but Ry still felt as if Tendis and Jioie Ancum had abandoned him. When career advancement called, they left Tuttin IV. His mother had told Ry he'd understand someday.

  But that line of thought only led into an asteroid belt of frustration and pain. He braked it. "From the top," he said. "We want this perfect."

  Hannis grinned, and in that moment - for the first time-Ry realized he could be putting his friends in danger without their knowledge. He needed to tell them about the messages they were secretly passing. They'd understand. They didn't like the Empire any more than he did.

  Not yet, he told himself. Maybe after the audition.

  ***

  Two days later, performing for real, Ry slid his hand down the bass's narrow neck, finishing the song with a deep slide. He held the bottom note long enough to punch it a few times with his right elbow, over the FX spot, then jerked his head. Erik, watching for that cue, slammed the tenor perc with a final riff. Hannis's hands froze in mid-dance over the touchboard. Tuttin Tech-Ed fed a large student body in the mess hall where Keth Beamis had decided to hold auditions. With its multicolored dining furniture pushed to one end, this hall mimicked the acoustics of a midsized auditorium.

  Keth Beamis laid his data pad on a table. "Good," he said. Beamis wore a drooping mustache and sported a blond ponytail, worn low at the nape of his neck. Ry didn't know much about him, beyond the fact that he gathered intelligence for the Rebel Alliance...and that he had a good ear for all styles of contemporary music: Core drive, minga, flaunt - and dusk, Far Cry's specialty. "How long you been playing together?"

  "Three seasons." Ry spoke up, awed to finally meet this man that Tet had mentioned with such respect. He added, "Tet Tramys help us put together our first cover arrangements." It couldn't hurt to remind Keth Beamis of their mutual contact.

  "Like your sound." Beamis's long nose and high forehead made him look like a Core World aristocrat. "Good balance, and surprisingly mature for your age. D'iund, I hope you stick around for a while after you graduate. Don't go off and leave these two. I think you might qualify to do some full-time performing in the very near future."

  Hannis bobbed his head, letting hair flop into his eyes. He cracked his knuckles over his touchboard, a gesture that meant he was thoroughly pleased.

  Erik clutched his perc sticks in one hand and held them against his pale green shirt. "Do we get the job, then?"

  Beamis smiled wryly. "It's too early to tell, since I've still got other systems to visit. But I think you've at least earned a final audition at the home base on Beltrix. That's assuming all your families will let you travel."

  "Yes!" Erik slammed a crasher. Hannis grinned. Beltrix wasn't far, but Erik had never been off Tuttin IV.

  "Best clear the, uh, stage." Beamis made a part-the-waters gesture with both hands, glancing at the tables and seats stacked along the near wall. Behind the piled furniture, Ry could see bits of the mural some previous class had painted, portraying Emperor Palpatine striding from planet to planet, approaching cratered gray planets and leaving a wake of beautifully developed, fertile, wealthy worlds as his New Order spread.

  Too bad things hadn't ac
tually turned out that way. "There's another band waiting to set up," Beamis added.

  "Whoa." Erik glanced at the wall chrono and grabbed the tenor perc array. "I'm late for smashball practice. Help me pack these up, guys."

  Ry dropped his bass in a soft case and started unclipping Erik's crashers. I'll tell them tomorrow, he decided.

  After they finished loading everything onto Hannis's landspeeder, Ry meandered back into the school mess room. Beamis still sat at his table near the embarrassing mural, fingering his mustache as an older band played. Ry got a closer look at the musicians and half-smiled. This was a b'ssa nuuvu group, with the traditional fizz, kloo, bandfill, and ommni instrumentation. The muscular kloo horn player rocked from side to side, swinging his horn in front of him. Ry wondered if b'ssa nuuvu players, too, slipped out of reality into a space-time state where only their music existed.

  And now Ry recognized him. Onjo Fegel had dined at Governor Shran Etison's table, which made sense, since Governor Etison was a b'ssa nuuvu fan. Etison seemed determined to give Rya proper social education... and maybe convert him to his own musical tastes.

  Life had been different before his parents left. He'd thought he got along well with them, better than nearly any of his friends and their elders.

  The chairs behind Beamis were vacant. Ry slid into one and slumped down, bracing both feet against the seat of another chair.

  After Beamis shooed Onjo's group offstage, two black-uniformed Tuttin System Security Force officers pushed into the mess room. "Keth Beamis?" called the leader.

  Ry slid back to sit straighter. What would TSSF want with a bunch of musicians? ...Unless they'd found out about Beamis's Alliance connections.

  Beamis stood up, stretched casually, and flexed his fingers, giving his head a toss that sent the ponytail over one shoulder.

  "Hello, officers. What can I help you with?"

  "You can come with us," answered the TSSF man who'd spoken. The black uniform made his skin look pasty-pale with a pink undertone. He beckoned again. "So can you, kid. We have some questions."

  Ry's heart started pounding a core-drive beat.

  Keth Beamis arched his eyebrows. "I'd be happy to talk with you here," he offered, his voice so calm that Ry suddenly doubted he was an Alliance spy at all.

  "Well, we'll see how far we get. "The pinky-pale TSSF officer rested one foot on a vacant turquoise chair while his backup stepped toward the hall's main double door. Ry wondered if they expected Beamis to bolt. Ry's pulse kept driving. He hoped he didn't do anything stupid, like taking a run for it himself. "You came to the Tuttin system from Thabit." Pinky eyed a datapad.

  "That's correct."

  "You made inquiries there about a woman named Maiferri Tag?"

  Again the eyebrows arched. "I wasn't able to find her," said Beamis. "She scheduled an audition several months in advance, but she didn't show. I hope nothing happened to her."

  The backup officer strolled closer, keeping one hand too casually near his blaster. "What happened," he said, "was that she got herself arrested on an espionage charge. Beamis, we'd better talk, and not here." His lip curled. "Privately."

  There'd been a time, pre-Empire, when Ry thought TSSF officers were tough, strong, and virtuous. Recently, the TSSF had attracted people who just wanted to bully other folks.

  Beamis smiled pleasantly. "One good thing about having nothing to hide is that you have nothing to fear. Go on home, Ry. I'll talk with these gentlemen."

  "The boy comes too," said Pinky.

  "Uh, sure." Ry shrugged, trying to mimic Beamis's appearance of utter unconcern. He dangled both hands at his sides as he followed the lead officer to a waiting patrol speeder, a recent blue-and-white model that seemed to have sprouted multiple cooling fins all over the engine compartment. Ry slid into a rear seat with Pinky on his right and Beamis sitting beyond him. If the TSSF really was worried, they would've put binders on him. Wouldn't they?

  Maybe not. Maybe they'd blast first and ask questions later.

  It was a short ride back to the white marble Admin Center. Nestled at the foot of gray cliffs that had attracted mining concerns in a previous century, the Center's west wing held Governor Etison's mansion. Pinky's backup steered them to the east wing and official offices, where they rode a lift down several levels. Ry marched obediently down a gray corridor that terminated in a broad waiting area. Along one wall was a line of energy-fenced detention cells. "Thabit Security won't get here for a couple more hours," said Pinky. "Meanwhile, we just don't want you taking unauthorized vacations." He gestured toward one detention cell.

  Beamis took a step forward. "Sir, you can't detain law-abiding citizens of the Empire without adequate cause. I'll give you a pledge of good conduct"

  "I think this time the cause is adequate. Inside, Beamis. You too, kid. Three cells down. For all I know, you're an accessory."

  "Accessory?" Ry echoed, panic finally getting him by the throat. "I'm... he's...listen, call Governor Etison. He'll vouch for us both. I was just auditioning for a performing job. He's a music scout -"

  "And I'm the Emperor's aged grandmother." Pinky's backup grasped Ry's shoulder and gave him a push. Ry stumbled into the nearest cell. He turned around quickly. By then, the energy barrier was buzzing and sparking. The officers led Beamis to a cell farther down the line. "There's been a mistake," Beamis insisted, stepping into the cell. "Ry, don't worry. We'll talk to the people from Thabit, and then you'll get home for a late dinner."

  An administrative aide, sitting at a data terminal several meters away, glanced up as the officers left, then turned back to his terminal.

  Ry blinked, too stunned to do much else. What had just happened, and why was Keth Beamis acting so cool about it? Ry looked back up the line of cells. Keth Beamis was sitting down, facing the opposite direction. It looked like a warning not to try to communicate. Ry faced the other direction and stared at the aide, who worked silently. The underground hush made Ry feel as if he were smothering under a heavy blanket, wearing earplugs and a blindfold. He hummed a few bars of "Dark Eyes, Warm Thoughts" and wondered where his parents were. Tendis Ancum's promotion had put him in charge of a factory. Ry's mother had always pitched in as an assistant, but she was also a classical musician, a sweet-voiced soprano who could move the stoniest audience to tears.

  Ry clenched a fist, determined not to cry now. He still couldn't believe his parents hadn't taken him with them. Their messages always included apologies for not corresponding often, but that was small comfort. Other than Hannis and Erik, he felt alone in his own city.

  He stopped humming. Dusk was the wrong kind of music when you were already smothering in your own hurt and fear.

  He hadn't sat long when the administrative aide stood up and strolled in his direction. The man punched a code sequence into the touch panel outside Ry's door, and abruptly the sparking and snapping stopped. "Etison says he'll vouch for you," he said. "Get home. You're wanted for dinner. Just don't leave town."

  "Not a problem." Ry gestured up the line of cells. "How about him?" he asked softly. His voice broke on the last word. "Can't he join me?"

  "No," said the aide.

  Ry clenched both hands to keep them from trembling. This was no adrenaline rush. This was fear for a friend, and he didn't like it.

  ***

  Ry's dinner sat like a rock at the pit of his stomach. He'd called Erik and Hannis as soon as he finished eating, and now they perched on his bed. After agonizing over how much to tell them, he decided to spill everything. His friends wouldn't tell on him, and they would be careful. "I could get a ferret into Governor Etison's database," he finished. "I'm sure I could get Beamis's cell unlocked long enough to get in and get him out."

  Erik's head was still shaking. Ever since Ry swore him to secrecy and explained the bass codes, he'd stared down at the bedcover. "I don't know," he said. "This sounds awfully dangerous. My folks could get canned from the school if I got in this kind of trouble. And what about Teki?" Erik's little
sister was only four local years old. "This is just too big, Ry."

  Hannis snorted. "Too big? For us? I think it's gettingly good." Hannis's grandparents had been Core World aristocrats under the Republic. His parents had fled to the Inner Rim as the Empire tightened its grip, and he'd always considered life something of a game. His expertise with electronics - especially music and communications - gave him plenty of toys.

  "No." Erik rarely talked about his past. Now his eyebrows arched as he pleaded, "Guys, you could get killed. Think what that would do to your parents."

  To his parents? Ry snorted. "My parents don't give a Ranat's whisker -"

  The comlink buzzed on his wall. "What?" he demanded.

  "Ryley." The voice belonged to Governor Etison's aide, Captain Hall. "You're wanted in Governor E's office."

  "I'll be right there, ma'am," he told the comlink. Then he lowered his voice. "You see? Something's mixing. Go on back home, and I'll do what I can. By myself"

  "Call me," Hannis insisted.

  "I'm there for you, too," Erik added. "But be careful."

  Three minutes later, Ry stood at his sponsor's desk. Shran Etison wore Imperial khaki with an uncomfortable air - no surprise, since he'd been born on a backwater mining world. He had a reputation as a competent administrator, and now and then Ry saw hints that Governor Etison had faint doubts about Emperor Palpatine and his New Order.

  No doubt or hesitation showed tonight. The Governor sat in front of his black-suited aide, resting both hands on his desktop. His broad shoulders, wide jaw, and faintly scarred temple hinted at his early career as a smashball hero. His fingers twitched rhythmically. "I hope the audition went well?"

  Ry sat down in his extra chair. He longed to ask what happened to Keth Beamis. "Pretty well. The talent scout thought we might have a chance at landing a real touring job."

  Governor Etison's hands stopped twitching. He glanced up at Captain Hall, a stout woman with gray braids wrapped around the back of her head. "Ry, I'm afraid Keth Beamis may have just complicated that possibility."