Star Wars - Truce at Bakura Read online

  Star Wars

  The Truce at Bakura

  by Kathy Tyers

  CHAPTER 1

  Above a dead world, one habitable moon hung suspended like a cloud-veiled

  turquoise. The eternal hand that held the chain of its orbit had dusted its

  velvet backdrop with brilliant stars, and cosmic energies danced on the

  wrinkles of space-time, singing their timeless music, neither noticing nor

  caring for the Empire, the Rebel Alliance, or their brief, petty wars.

  But on that petty human scale of perspective, a fleet of starships

  orbited the moon's primary. Carbon streaks scored the sides of several ships.

  Droids swarmed around some, performing repairs. Metal shards that had been

  critical spaceship components, and human and alien bodies, orbited with the

  ships. The battle to destroy Emperor Palpatine's second Death Star had cost

  the Rebel Alliance heavily.

  Luke Skywalker hustled across one cruiser's landing bay, red-eyed but

  still suffused with victory after the Ewoks' celebration. Passing a huddle of

  droids, he caught a whiff of coolants and lubricants. He ached, a dull gnawing

  in all his bones from the longest day of his life. Td--no, it was yesterday--

  he had met the Emperor. Yesterday, he had almost paid with his life for his

  faith in his father. Yet a passenger sharing his shuttle up to the cruiser

  from the Ewok village had already asked if Luke really killed the Emperor--and

  Darth Vader--single-handed.

  Luke wasn't ready to announce the fact that "Darth Vader" had been Anakin

  Skywalker, his father. Still, he'd answered firmly Vader killed Emperor

  Palpatine. Vader had flung him into the second Death Star's core. Luke would

  be explaining that for weeks, he guessed. For now, he merely wanted to check

  on his X-wing fighter.

  To his surprise, it was overrun by service crew. Behind and above it, a

  magnacrane lowered Artoo-Detoo into the cylindrical droid socket behind his

  cockpit. "What's up?" Luke asked, standing to catch his breath.

  "Oh. Sir," answered a khaki-suited crewman, disengaging a collapsible

  fuel hose, "your relief pilot's going out. Captain Antilles came back on the

  first shuttle and went on patrol immediately. He intercepted an Imperial drone

  ship--one of those antiques they used for carrying messages back before the

  Clone Wars. Incoming from deep space."

  Incoming. Someone had sent a message to the Emperor. Luke smiled. "Guess

  they haven't heard yet. Wedge wants company? I'm not that tired. I could go."

  The crewman didn't smile back. "Unfortunately, Captain Antilles touched

  off a self-destruct cycle while trying to release its message codes. He is

  manually blocking a critical gap--"

  "Cancel the relief pilot," Luke exclaimed. Wedge Antilles had been his

  friend since the days of the first Death Star, where they'd flown in the final

  attack together. Without waiting to hear more, Luke spun toward the ready-

  room. A minute later, he was hopping back and pulling up one leg of an orange

  pressure suit.

  Crewers scattered. He sprang up the ladder and into his inclined, padded

  seat, yanked on his helmet, then touched on the ship's fusion generator. A

  familiar high-energy whine built around him.

  The man who'd spoken climbed up behind him. "But, sir, I think Admiral

  Ackbar wanted to debrief you."

  "I'll be right back." Luke closed his cockpit canopy and ran an Alliance-

  record speed check of his systems and instruments. Nothing flagged his

  attention.

  He switched on his comlink. "Rogue Leader, ready for takeoff."

  "Opening hatch, sir."

  He punched in the drive. An instant later, the dull ache in his body

  turned to ferocious pain. All the stars in his field of vision split into

  binaries and spun around each other. Crewers' voices babbled in his ears.

  Dizzily, he reached down inside himself for the quiet center Master Yoda had

  taught him to touch...

  To touch...

  There.

  Exhaling one trembling breath, he measured his mastery of the pain. Stars

  shrank into singular gleams again. Whatever had caused that, he'd deal with it

  later. Through the Force, he quested outward and found Wedge's presence. His

  hands moved on the X-wing's controls almost effortlessly as he steered toward

  that end of the Fleet.

  On his way, he got his first good look at the battle damage, the swarming

  repair droids and tow vessels. Mon Calamari Star Cruisers were plated and

  shielded to withstand multiple direct hits, but he thought he remembered

  several more of the huge, lumpy crafts. Fighting for his life, his father, and

  his integrity in the Emperor's throne room, he hadn't even felt the gut-

  wrenching Force disturbances from all those deaths. He hoped he wasn't getting

  used to them.

  "Wedge, do you copy?" Luke asked over the subspace radio. He vectored out

  among the big ships of the Fleet. Scanners indicated that the nearest heavy

  transport was cautiously moving away from something much smaller. Four A-wings

  swooped along behind Luke. "Wedge, are you out there?"

  "Sorry," he heard faintly. "Almost out of range of my ship's pickup. You

  see, I've got to..." Wedge trailed off, grunting. "I've got to keep these two

  crystals apart. It's a self-destruct of some sort."

  "Crystals?" Luke asked, to keep Wedge talking. There was pain under that

  voice.

  "Electrite crystal leads. Leftovers from the old "elegance"' days. The

  mechanism's trying to push them together. Let 'em touch... poof. The whole

  fusion engine."

  Tumbling slowly above the blue glimmer of Endor, Luke spotted Wedge's X-

  wing. Alongside it drifted a nine-meter-long cylinder bearing Imperial

  markings, fully as long as the X-wing and almost all engine, a type of drone

  ship the Alliance still couldn't afford. For some reason, the drone gave him

  an eerie foreboding. The Empire never used such antiques any more. Why hadn't

  the sender been able to use standard Imperial channels?

  Luke whistled. "No, we don't want to blow that big of an engine." No

  wonder the transport was moving away.

  "Right." Wedge clung to one end of the cylinder, wearing a pressure suit

  and connected to the X-wing by a life-support tether. He must have blown his

  cockpit air and dove for the cylinder's master control the moment he realized

  he'd accidentally armed it to detonate. In a space pilot's lightweight

  pressure suit and closed-face emergency helmet, he could survive vacuum for

  several minutes.

  "How long've you been out here, Wedge?"

  "I don't know. Doesn't matter. The view's terrific."

  Closing in, Luke reversed engines with care. Wedge held one hand inside a

  hinged panel. His head swiveled to follow Luke's X-wing as Luke used short,

  delicate engine bursts to match his momentum with the cylinder.

  "Sure could use another hand." Wedge's ^ws sounded cocky but the tone

  betrayed his strain
. That hand must be half crushed. "What are you doing out

  here?"

  "Enjoying the view." Luke considered his options. The A-wing pilots

  decelerated and hung back, probably assuming Luke knew what he was doing.

  "Artoo," he called, "what's the reach on your manipulator arm? If I got in

  close enough, could you help him?"

  No--2.76 meters short at optimum angle, appeared on his head-up display.

  Luke frowned. Sweat trickled on his forehead. Anything small, solid, and

  disposable would help. If he didn't hurry, his friend was dead. Already

  Wedge's sense in the Force wobbled dizzily.

  Luke glanced at his lightsaber. He wasn't about to dispose of that.

  Not even to save Wedge's life? Besides, he'd be able to get it back.

  Cautiously he slipped the saber into the flare ejection port's feed tube. He

  launched it out, then extended a hand toward it across ten meters of vacuum.

  He sent it gliding toward Wedge. Once near the target, he twisted his wrist.

  The green-white blade appeared, silent in the vacuum of space. Wedge's

  wide brown eyes blinked behind his faceplate.

  "On my signal," Luke said, "jump free."

  "Luke, I'll lose fingers."

  "Way free," Luke repeated. "You'll lose more than fingers if you stay

  there."

  "What's the chance you could Jedi me a little nerve blockage? This hurts

  like crazy." Wedge's voice sounded weaker. He pulled in his knees and braced

  to push off.

  At moments like these, moisture farming for Uncle Owen back on Tatooine

  didn't sound too bad. "I'll try," said Luke. "Show me the crystals. Look at

  them closely."

  "Ho-kay." Wedge pulled around to stare into the hatchway. Letting the

  lightsaber drift, Luke felt for Wedge's friendly presence. He trusted Wedge

  not to resist this, to let him...

  Through Wedge's eyes, and fighting the excruciating pain in Wedge's hand,

  Luke glimpsed a pair of round, multifaceted jewels--one inside his palm, the

  other crushing inward at the end of a spring mechanism from the back of his

  hand. Fist-sized, they reflected pale golden sparks of saber light out the

  hatch onto Wedge's orange suit. Luke didn't think the flight glove alone would

  keep them apart, or he'd've simply told Wedge to slip out of it. Brief

  depressurization didn't damage extremities much.

  If Wedge jumped, Luke would have a second at most to slice one crystal

  free, and only a little longer before Wedge fainted. Wedge was tethered and

  he'd be able to keep breathing, but he could lose a lot of blood. The glimpse

  blurred at the edges.

  Luke tweaked Wedge's pain perception.

  Too much to juggle. Luke's own aches began to ooze up from under control.

  "Got it," he grunted.

  "Got what?" Wedge asked dreamily.

  "The view," Luke said. "Jump on the count of three. Jump hard. One."

  Wedge didn't object. Clenching his teeth, Luke eased into a closer accord with

  the saber. So long as he focused on the saber, he could maintain control.

  "Two." Keeping up a steady count, he felt the saber, the crystals, and the

  critical gap, all as parts of the universe's wholeness.

  "Three." Nothing happened. "Jump, Wedgeffwas Luke cried.

  Weakly, Wedge launched himself. Luke swept in. One crystal soared free,

  reflecting a whirling green kaleidoscope onto the X-wing's upper S-foil.

  "Ooh," crooned Wedge's voice in his ear. "Pretty." He spun, clutching his

  right hand.

  "Wedge, reel in!"

  No response. Luke bit his lip. He stabilized the tumbling saber and

  deactivated its blade. Wedge's tether stretched taut, high above the other X-

  wing. His limbs wobbled randomly.

  Luke slapped his distress beacon, "Rogue Leader to Home One. Explosives

  disarmed. Request medical pickup. Nowffwas

  From behind the A-wings, hanging back out of the danger zone, a med

  runner swooped into sight.

  Wedge's body rose and sank with each breath as he floated upright in the

  Fleet's clear tank of healing bacta fluid. Much to Luke's relief, they'd saved

  all his fingers. Surgical droid Too-Onebee set the control board and then

  swiveled to face Luke. Slender, jointed limbs waved in front of his gleaming

  midsection. "Now you, sir. Please step behind the scanner."

  "I'm all right." Luke leaned his stool against the bulkhead. "Just tired.

  " Artoo-Detoo bleeped softly beside him, sounding concerned.

  "Please, sir. This will only take a moment."

  Luke sighed and shuffled around a man-high rectangular panel. "Okay?" he

  called out through it. "May I go now?"

  "One moment more," came the mechanical voice, then clicking sounds. "One

  moment," the droid repeated. "Have you experienced double vision recently?"

  "Well..." Luke scratched his head. "Yes. But just for a minute." Surely

  that little spell wasn't significant.

  As the diagnostic panel retracted into the bulkhead, a medical flotation

  bed extended itself from the wall beside Too-Onebee. Luke backstepped. "What's

  that for?"

  "You're not well, sir."

  "I'm just tired."

  "Sir, my diagnosis is sudden and massive calcification of your skeletal

  structure, of the rare type brought on by severely conductive exposure to

  electrical and other energy fields."

  Energy fields. Yesterday. Emperor Palpatine, leering as blue-white sparks

  leaped off his fingertips while Luke writhed on the deck. Luke broke a sweat,

  the memory was so fresh. He'd thought he was dying. He.was dying.

  "The abrupt drop in blood minerals is causing muscular microseizures all

  over your body, sir."

  So that was why he ached. Until an hour ago, he hadn't had a chance to

  sit still and notice. Deflated, he stared up at Too-Onebee. "But it's not

  permanent damage, is it? You don't have to replace bones?" He shuddered at the

  thought.

  "The condition will become chronic unless you rest and allow me to treat

  you," answered the mechanical voice. "The alternative is bacta immersion."

  Luke glanced at the tank. Not that, again. He'd tasted bacta on his

  breath for a week afterward. Reluctantly he pulled off his boots and stretched

  out on the flotation bed.

  He awakened, squirming, some time later.

  Too-Onebee's metal-grate face appeared at his bedside. "Painkiller, sir?"

  Luke had always read that humans had three bones in each ear. Now he

  believed it. He could count them. "I feel worse, not better," he complained.

  "Didn't you do anything?"

  "Treatment is complete, sir. Now you must rest. May I offer you a

  painkiller?" he repeated patiently.

  "No thanks," Luke grunted. As a Jedi Knight, he must learn to control

  sensations, and better sooner than later. Pain was an occupational hazard.

  Artoo beeped a query.

  Guessing at a translation, Luke said, "All right, Artoo. You stand watch.

  I'll take another nap." He rolled over. Slowly, his weight pushed a new furrow

  into the bed's flexible contour. This was the down side of being called a

  hero. X'd been worse when he lost his right hand.

  Come to think of it, the bionic hand didn't ache.

  One bright spot.

  It was time to re-create the ancient Jedi art of self-healing. Yod
a's

  sketchy lessons left much to be imagined.

  "I'll leave you, sir." Too-Onebee swiveled away. "Please attempt to

  sleep. Call if you require assistance."

  One last question brought Luke's head up. "How's Wedge?"

  "Healing well, sir. He should be ready for release within a day."

  Luke shut his eyes and tried to remember Yoda's lessons. Booted feet

  pounded rapidly past the open hatchway. Already focused deep into the Force,

  he felt an alarmed presence hurry up the hall. As carefully as he listened, he

  couldn't recognize the individual. Yoda had said fine discernment--even of

  strangers - - wd come in time, as he learned the deep silence of self that let

  a Jedi distinguish others' ripples in the Force.

  Luke rolled over, wanting to sleep. He was ordered to sleep.

  And he was still Luke Skywalker, and he had to know what had alarmed that

  trooper. Cautiously he sat up and gingerly slipped down onto his feet. With

  the ache localized at one end of his body, he could diminish it by willing his

  feet not to exist... or something like that. The Force wasn't something you

  explained. It was something you used... when it let you. Not even Yoda had

  seen everything.

  Artoo whistled an alarm. Too-Onebee rolled toward him, limbpipes

  flailing. "Sir, lie back down, please."

  "In a minute." He poked his head out into the long corridor and shouted,

  "Stop!"

  The Rebel trooper spun to a halt.

  "Did they decode that drone ship's message yet?"

  "Still working on it, sir."

  Then the war room was the place to be. Luke backed into Artoo and

  steadied himself with a hand on the little droid's blue dome. "Sir," insisted

  the medical droid, "please lie down. The condition will rapidly become chronic

  unless you rest."

  Imagining himself pain-racked for the rest of his life, and the

  alternative--another spell in the sticky tank--Luke sat down on the squishy

  edge of the flotation bed and fidgeted.

  Then a thought struck him. "Too-Onebee, I bet you've got--"

  Large enough to hold a hundred, the flagship's war room was almost empty.

  A service droid slid along the curve of an inner bench, passing between a

  light tube and glimmering white bulkheads. Down near the circular projection

  table that dominated the war room's center, near a single tech on duty, Mon