Star Wars - Tinian on Trial Read online

  Tinian I’att, the granddaughter and heiress of I’att Armament’s founders, wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe too deeply. The factory complex’s demonstration room smelled like scorched meat and chemicals. She could identify five… no, seven formulas by their odors, a potentially catastrophic witch’s brew. Occasionally, the demonstration explosives detonated harder, faster, or earlier than anyone anticipated, and even quadruple transparisteel didn’t provide full protection.

  Standing beside Grandfather Strephan, Daye Azur-Jamin rested his hand on a waist-high blast barricade. Daye’s I’att Armament gray tunic accentuated his air of authority. So did the management comlink he wore on his belt. A prematurely gray streak marked the center of Daye’s left eyebrow. “There’s nothing patently wrong with stormtrooper armor, your excellency,” he said, and Tinian admired his self-control. She knew how Daye felt about Grandfather’s Imperial connections. “But a good marksman — or an idiot with a highpowered blaster — can pick out weak spots. Our field makes it invulnerable.”

  Imperial Moff Eisen Kerioth slapped a polished ebony swagger stick into one palm. Tall and lean, Moff Kerioth held his head thrust forward over an astonishing array of red and blue rank squares. Tinian, Daye, and her grandparents had expected tech advisors for this demonstration, and maybe a few army troopers, but never a Sector Moff with stormtrooper escort. Kerioth limped, favoring a stiff left leg and occasionally leaning on the swagger stick. “Sounds wonderful, boy. So why did your demonstration employee turn coward?”

  Grandfather Strephan’s old black Imperial service uniform set off his thick white hair. Grandmother Augusta fiddled with a side hem of her long green robe. She’d recently developed a rare degenerative syndrome, and Druckenwell’s top bioimmunal specialist gave her only months to live unless she sought treatment. It wasn’t available here in Il Avali, or at any other city on Druckenwell … and it was expensive. Behind Grandmother Augusta, the I’att family’s Wookiee bodyguard Wrrlevgebev lounged against a pebbly gray duracrete wall. Wrrl rumbled a quick comment under his breath that only Tinian — who’d studied his language — could translate.

  She didn’t, but she shared Wrrl’s disdain for cowardly employees. She fiddled with a collection of paraphernalia in her jumpsuit pocket: neka nut shells, droid adjustment tools, and her secret good-luck piece.

  She would need all her good luck today. If I’att Armament sold its new armor-protective field, then her grandparents could retire, and she and Daye would take over the factory.

  Kerioth straightened his shoulders and neck, then poked Grandfather with his swagger stick. “Well, I’att? Who’s going to get into that armor? We came a long way to see this.” Evidently Grandfather had known the Moff years ago. Each man had chosen his own way to serve the New Order: Grandfather by protecting Imperial might. Kerioth by wielding it. Kerioth crooked a finger at Wrrl. “You. Wookiee. Come down here.”

  Wrrl curled back his lips from huge teeth and let out a punctuated howl. Kerioth had demanded that the I’atts disarm their Wookiee during his visitation, and Wrrl was already irritated. A red-blond stripe crossed Wrrl’s face, fur almost the same shade as Tinian’s shoulder-length hair. It was odd coloration for a Wookiee.

  “What did he say. Tinian?” Grandfather’s business acumen showed in the way he measured and accommodated the Moff. By comparison. Kerioth seemed …

  Tinian tried to emulate her observant grandfather. Kerioth seemed blunt. And condescending.

  She glanced at the shell pieces on the arming table. Eighteen white units lay beside the limp halves of a two-piece black body glove. Wrrl wouldn’t fit inside the body glove, let alone the field. “Your excellency, he’s too big,” she translated. “The field nodes maximize at one point eight six meters of height and one meter of width.”

  Moff Kerioth lifted a narrow black eyebrow. I’att, tell me again why your grandchild attends classified demonstrations.”

  Tinian bristled. She might be small and thin, but she was no child. Hadn’t Kerioth noticed her company jumpsuit?

  Grandfather laid a warm hand on her arm. “Your excellency, Tinian is an invaluable team member. She has amazing instincts for explosives.”

  One stormtrooper stood at the center of the second seating row up. “Sir,” he said through his helmet filter, “if the Wookiee’s too tall, what about her?”

  Tinian blanched. Her… demonstrate? Stand in the wave trap and get shot at?

  “From one extreme to the other,” quipped Kerioth. “Invaluable team member, is she?”

  Grandfather backed toward a code panel. From this wall, he could lower two quadruple-transparisteel blast walls between the wave trap and the four broad rows of retractable shielded seating. “Ah … yes, but Tinian is not our demonstration volunteer.”

  Kerioth shifted his weight. “She would fit. Are you totally confident that your armor is impervious to blaster fire?”

  “Totally,” murmured Grandfather.

  “Then prove it.”

  “But… no. I shall call for a line droid.”

  “I perceive a certain lack of confidence.” Moff Kerioth directed the taunt at his stormtroopers, but Tinian took it in the gut. Grandfather and Grandmother must reach that offworld healthcare facility. Love focused Tinian’s courage, and so did her hopes. The field worked. She’d seen it tested.

  “Grandfather?” She raised a hand. “I’ll volunteer.”

  Grandfather, Grandmother, and Daye stepped forward, speaking simultaneously: “Wait — ” “Tinian — ” “No — ”

  Wrrl blinked huge blue eyes and suggested under his breath that Daye was built more like a stormtrooper than she was.

  Tinian fixed Moff Kerioth with her stare. She was betting he’d act like a BlasTech Company bureaucrat she’d once met at a party — once he’d suggested something, no other idea would suit him.

  Kerioth’s smile spread slowly from his thin lips to cold, dark eyes. “Very good, ah, Tinian. A true trial of I’att Armament’s excellence.”

  Before Tinian could change her mind, she dragged Wrrl to the arming table. “Help me,” she ordered him.

  Her jumpsuit would easily fit inside the black body glove. She also selected the upper-body corselet, the carapace and the breastplate, which armorers dubbed the Body Bucket when worn together. She shoved them at Wrrl. Rear-mounted on the carapace, in place of the usual instrument pack, I’att Armament droids had installed a heat dissipator and the field transmitter. A single new control stood out on the breastplate.

  She slipped off her shoes and slid one leg into the body glove. She’d never heard so much silence. “Grandfather,” she suggested, “explain how the body glove enhances the field.”

  “Tinian,” Grandfather pleaded.

  The glove’s leggings sagged on her with wrinkles all down their length. She yanked her narrow jumpsuit belt out of its loops and secured the heavy black fabric. “I’ve memorized the speech,” she insisted. “Should I deliver it?”

  Moff Kerioth rested his swagger stick on one shoulder. “Please do,” he purred.

  Suddenly she disliked him. Daye had always insisted that he’d rather die in a noble cause than earn his living from an ignoble one, and she hoped this was only her nerves, whining out from the spot where she was stuffing them (to keep Daye from trying to stop her), that made Kerioth look suddenly sinister.

  Daye was sensitive to an energy field he called the Force. He claimed that Force-sensitive was not a healthy way to be in Emperor Palpatine’s New Order, and he’d cautioned Tinian and her grandparents that the Empire had stooped to violent repression in other parts of the galaxy… but Tinian didn’t believe it. I’att Armament had supplied the New Order for years, profiting handsomely.

&n
bsp; She shrugged into the body glove’s top. As she smoothed loose black fabric over the floppy mess at her waist, she drew a deep breath. “The protective field produces anti-energy bursts just out of phase with blaster fire,” she began. “Zersium flecks that we’ve bonded into the advanced body glove — ” Tinian pushed up one slack sleeve and ran the back of her hand over the other forearm “—amplify the field. We see that as a key element of this new system — ”

  “The entire system has too often proved vulnerable.” Kerioth’s voice rose. “Eight years ago, I had a stormtrooper escort shot to pieces around me. I’ve dragged this ever since.” He whacked his left leg with the swagger stick. “Are you comfortable in there, child?”

  I’m not a child. “I’m fine.” She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry about your leg. May I finish?”

  He swung the swagger stick. “By all means.”

  “We have thus eliminated weak spots,” she said, “long known to insurrectionist elements. I’m ready, Wrrl.”

  Her Wookiee lifted the breastplate and carapace. Grandmother Augusta folded trembling hands in front of her long green robe. Daye took up a position behind Tinian. If she hesitated or even flinched, she guessed he’d demand to wear the armor.

  She hefted the carapace. “There is insulation and a heat dissipator built into this piece,” she explained, raising the back protector so Moff Kerioth and his escorts could see inside it. A black sleeve flopped down to cover her other palm. She pushed it up, bunching fabric back toward her elbow. “For the microsecond it takes for the field to reach full efficiency, the armor itself handles heat absorption. Insulation, plus this dissipator, almost eliminate thermal discomfort.”

  “Allegedly.” Kerioth sounded sarcastic.

  Tinian decided that she’d never please him except by demonstrating the product. Then he’d be impressed. Then he’d grant I’att Armament the most lucrative contract it’d ever earned. Thousands of stormtroopers would need this coverage. “Help me, Wrrl.”

  Wrrl fitted the corselet to Tinian’s back and front, clamping it together at her shoulders. Tinian trusted Wrrl completely. Five years ago, she’d spotted him being beaten by a slave dealer. Bloody bunches of fur had littered the ground around the huge alien. Tinian — barely twelve — had dashed forward, disregarding Grandmother Augusta’s protests (she could always move faster than either grandparent). She’d saved the creature’s life. Little had she known that in rescuing Wrrl, she’d bought loyalty-to-the-death.

  The shell pieces hung out over her shoulders. Tinian wriggled until they balanced.

  Daye picked up the shoulder pauldrons, clasping them between long, sensitive hands. “Put these on, too,” he murmured. The gray streak arched higher than the rest of either of his eyebrows. According to Druckenwell’s strict population laws, she and Daye were too young to marry until they proved financial independence. Slender and bookish-looking with lively brown eyes. Daye had come to Il

  Avali to make a life for himself.

  He was now officially Tinian’s Second Undersupervisor and the very center of her life. She let him attach the pauldrons over her shoulders. They dangled to cover her elbows, enclosing her upper body with a loose, ill-fitting box. Field conduits clacked against each other when she turned toward Daye. If only she could reassure him —

  “I know why you’re doing this.” He leaned close and stared down at her. “I don’t like it, but I understand. No one ever calls you a coward and gets away with it.” He squeezed her forearm. “Force be with you, love.”

  As he backed away, Tinian rotated a control on the breastplate. The first time she’d seen this field demonstrated, she’d worried at this point. The field didn’t hum, buzz, sparkle, or even glimmer.

  “Grandfather?”

  As if awakening from the dead, he raised a small luma. Tinian held out her arm to one side. He switched on the luma. No bright spot appeared on her sleeve.

  “As energy encounters the anti-energy field,” Grandfather said, regaining his voice, “the field responds and cancels it. We’re now certain the field is operating.”

  “Ready, Tinian?” the Moff asked. His voice was as bland as if he were inviting her to sit down for lunch instead of ordering her out in front of a firing squad.

  Tinian stalked to the wave trap, feeling ridiculous inside the enormous bucket, pauldrons, and body glove. Built like a pocket at one end of the spacious demonstration room, the wave trap’s baffled duracrete walls and floor angled together to absorb unthinkable bursts of energy. Tiny shadowed pits in its walls gave evidence of past demonstrations.

  At least she couldn’t smell the room anymore. Even without a helmet, the odor had stopped registering several minutes ago.

  Daye stood close to the barricade, frowning. She drew up tall — for her height — and barely smiled across at him. Wrrl edged toward the code panel.

  Kerioth swept his swagger stick toward three stormtroopers. “You three. Rifles,” he snapped. They marched forward. Daye held both hands down at his sides. Usually, he kept one or both casually tucked in a pocket.

  Tinian stared at the blast rifles. Those weren’t the shiny new factory items she generally dealt with.

  Daye glared at the nearest stormtrooper.

  “Ready,” snapped the Moff. Three rifles lifted. “Aim for weak spots.”

  Kerioth turned to eye Tinian. His lip curled. Evidently he enjoyed watching the I’att contingent sweat.

  She knew that the armor worked. But staring down three rifle shafts, she momentarily lost control of her panic.

  Instantly, Daye’s face reflected her fear. He spun toward the trooper and tentatively reached for his rifle.

  “Now,” Kerioth ordered.

  Three vermilion energy beams whizzed at Tinian’s chest. She flinched, but she couldn’t dodge quickly enough. Heat flashed over her back and shoulders despite the bucket’s extra insulation. Daye froze and stared, stricken.

  “Cease fire.” Kerioth twirled his swagger stick.

  Tinian straightened back up, let out her breath, then smiled weakly at Daye. The sale was as good as made. She’d done it, though she wished she hadn’t tried to duck.

  Daye thrust a hand into his pocket and frowned. Her momentary panic had probably jabbed him deeper than it’d frightened her.

  Kerioth slipped a comlink out of his belt sheath. “Squads three. four, and five: seal entrances. No traffic or communication off grounds.”

  “Excuse me?” Grandfather stepped forward, obviously as confused as Tinian abruptly felt. “Sir, what is the meaning of this?”

  Moff Kerioth tapped Grandfather’s shoulder with his swagger stick. “Congratulations, I’att. I am buying your product.”

  “You sealed our entrances.”

  Kerioth clasped his hands at the small of his back. “It would be unfortunate if insurrectionist elements learned that we’d found a way to make stormtrooper armor invincible, would it not?”

  We found a way? Tinian silently protested.

  Grandmother Augusta glided forward, rustling her robes. “Our security has always been unparalleled, Moff Kerioth. You need have no fear concerning our — ”

  “Naturally, then,” continued Moff Kerioth, “you understand that everyone who has worked above certain levels on this project must return with me to the Doldur system. This item must be manufactured under strictly regulated conditions. The New Order controls Doldur right down to food prices. It is the safest world for advanced military manufacturing.”

  It’s your turf, Tinian realized. You want this manufactured where you can watch.

  Grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “I am sorry, but this family cannot travel. Augusta needs medical care.”

  Tinian fingered the black body glove’s sleeve selvage. “After all these years of hard work, they deserve peaceful retirement,” she protested. “Daye and I are prepared to run the plant. We’ll… ” She hesitated, then plunged on. It was the only way. “We’ll go to Doldur with you. But Grandfather and Grandmother are reti
ring to Geridard.”

  “No,” said Kerioth. “You will return to Doldur with me. All of you.”

  “Sir,” Augusta spoke up, “I apologize for making things difficult, but our application for the Geridard Convalescent Center has already been processed. We’ve advanced them 90,000 credits for life care.”

  Kerioth turned away. He tilted his chin as if rereading the I’atts’ requests off the ceiling. When he pivoted back around, his condescending smile had returned. “You will not travel to Doldur? I cannot convince you?”

  “Unfortunately, sir, it’s impossible.” Strephan folded his arms over his black uniform’s decorated breast.

  “Perhaps not so unfortunate. That enables me to dispose of your retirement and health worries simultaneously.” Kerioth swung his swagger stick at the nearest stormtrooper. “Take them both.”

  Before Tinian understood, the stormtrooper whipped up his blast rifle and fired twice. Grandfather Strephan tumbled to the duracrete. Augusta gasped before she collapsed over Strephan.

  They didn’t move again. Too shocked to protest, Tinian covered her mouth with both hands. Daye bent his knees, ready to lunge. “Why did you do that?” he whispered.

  Kerioth angled his swagger stick like a weapon at Daye’s chest. “I’ll let you youngsters in on a secret,” he announced. “I have been sponsoring research into this type of anti-blaster energy field on Doldur. Emperor Palpatine will be most grateful when I present this invention as my own … with all the uncooperatives out of the way.

  “You do wish to cooperate?” he asked blandly.

  Grandfather! Grandmother! Stunned by her grief and horror, Tinian had to survive… to avenge them. She nodded. Say yes! she mentally begged Daye.

  He straightened slowly, but he didn’t speak.

  Kerioth shrugged. “Binders for the boy,” he ordered another trooper. “How long and how comfortably you live, boy, will depend on how well you cooperate.” He stressed the word again.

  Daye adjusted his stance, turning both feet out slightly. One trooper reached into a utility-belt compartment. Tinian glanced from the trooper to Daye. Daye eyed the trooper. Daye had learned some self-defense from Wrrl. He could move faster than anyone expected.