Star Wars - Truce at Bakura Page 24

  "I haven't tried." Leia's voice defied the intruder.

  "Right. Stand aside." He heard slow steps - - two pair--and imagined a

  scanner team checking for life-forms. He wondered if stone blocked their

  equipment. He couldn't reach his blaster. At any second, they'd notice that

  droid....

  "All right, you've run your check. Now get out of here," Leia said. As if

  in tribute to the icy menace in her voice, the troopers' bootsteps beat a

  hasty retreat. After a few seconds, she called from beneath him, "They're

  gone."

  "Stand back," he said. Cautiously he got a grip on both walls, then he

  straightened his legs and dropped. For an instant, he saw her standing with a

  horrified expression. Then carbon dumped like a downpour, obscuring his

  vision.

  "Some rescue," her voice observed.

  "Suppose they'll be back?" he asked, stepping sideways on the stone

  platform around the fireplace. Once the soot settled, he could see again. What

  a mess. The guard droid stood in a corner beside the door, artfully draped

  with articles of clothing to look like furniture. Leia'd moved fast, too.

  "Yes," she answered. "I think lying low is out of the question." She

  ducked through a small door and reemerged carrying a large white towel. "Stand

  still. I'll do what I can."

  One minute later, she dropped a black towel onto the floor. "You're clean

  enough for now."

  Han had been staring at her repulsor chair. "Hey," he said, "I've got an

  idea."

  CHAPTER 15

  Gaeriel stood outside Eppie Belden's door and straightened her freshly

  pruned bundle of cloudberry spikes. Each fragrant blossom could have produced

  a succulent fruit, but too many spikes on a vine made the fruit tiny and sour.

  The symbolism--some blossoms, some lives cut off to allow a few to grow

  stronger - - gave her small comfort. Would Eppie understand that her husband

  for over a century had died in Governor Nereus's custody? Or would he return

  again and again in her perception, like Roviden?

  Eppie's caregiver opened the door. "Good morning, Clis."

  "Hello, Gaeriel." Clis stepped aside with a queer expression on her round

  face. "Come in. Quickly."

  "Something wrong?" Gaeriel walked past Clis toward Eppie's favorite wing

  chair. No one sat in it. "Where is she?" Gaeriel asked, alarmed.

  "In the study."

  "The study?"

  "See for yourself."

  Gaeriel strode through the dining area to Orn Belden's office. A work

  screen silhouetted a small, hunched figure. "Eppie?" Gaeri cried.

  The figure turned ar ound. Eppie Belden's wrinkled face glowed with the

  intensity of a small bird's. "You know anyone else who's likely to be here?"

  "She's been like that all morning," murmured Clis. "Go on in. She's been

  asking for you."

  "Andfor that young man." Eppie paddled her repulsor chair away from the

  work screen. "Who was he? Where did he come from?"

  Stunned almost beyond the ability to articulate, Gaeri sat down on top of

  a packing crate. There weren't any other chairs in the office. "He's a...

  Rebel, but a... dangerous one. A Jedi. One of them."

  "Oh, ho." Eppie's feet swung under her chair. "Our teachers have taught

  us a lot of wisdom down the years, but also a load of guff." She pointed a

  bony finger. "You should judge that Jedi by what he does, not by rumors or

  morality tales. Tell him to come back and see me again, in any case." Her head

  turned. "Go make a nice arrangement out of Gaeri's flowers, Clis."

  The portly caregiver left the door. Eppie slapped a control that shut it.

  "Eppie, you're... you're well!"

  "You're here to tell me about Orn, aren't you?" The wall of her

  preoccupation thinned, and Gaeri glimpsed her fresh grief. Full realization

  hadn't set in. Eppie was working while she could, the better to grieve later.

  "Thank you anyway, love. I heard. No one else thought to notify me, but I've

  been plugged in all morning."

  "But--"

  "I haven't watched the news for years, so you assumed I hadn't heard? Be

  careful of your assumptions, Gaeriel."

  "But he... Orn..."

  Eppie's shoulders slumped, transforming her into a wizened old woman.

  "I'll miss him, Gaeri. Bakura will miss him. Let the Imperials call it a

  cerebral hemorrhage, but I know he died for Bakura, as I should've."

  "Should've?"

  "Confession is good for the soul, child. But I'm not ready to tell you

  everything. Some of it's not for young Imperial ears." She spun her repulsor

  chair and touched a work station control. A screen full of symbols translated

  itself into a news media picture. "Fires, and strikes, and running street

  battles in Salis D'aar. I wish I were eighty again."

  "Eppie, what did you do?"

  "Only what that young man--excuse me, that terribly dangerous young Jedi-

  -showed me to do. You're a lot of good things, Gaeri, but reconsider your

  intolerance."

  Gaeriel gaped. "Then something.was done to you?"

  "I won't burden you with my past. Let's get on with the future."

  "Your past may be my future."

  Eppie's keen blue eyes blinked at her. "I hope so. And I hope not."

  Gaeri reached out a hand. "You're going to wear yourself out. Shouldn't

  you lie down for a bit?"

  Eppie shook her head. "I've missed years. Can't waste minutes now.

  Bakura's rising. I want to be in on it."

  Gaeriel steadied her hands against a tremor. "Rising?"

  "Against Nereus, of course."

  "But we need Governor Nereus and his forces. We're going to be invaded

  any minute. The Alliance talks about freedom, but Bakura was... was crippled

  by chaos. The Empire saved us from tragedy."

  "We will never be free from tragedy, Gaeriel. Each of us must be free to

  pursue her own tragedy."

  Gaeri crossed her ankles and stared. How could this lucid philosopher be

  the mind-sick woman she'd helped nurse since before she went off to Center?

  "Even after a defeat," Eppie murmured, "it's possible to have a full and

  happy life. I wish Orn and I had realized...

  "Anyway," she exclaimed, drawing herself up, "there's work to be done.

  Are you for me or against me?"

  "What--what are you doing at that work station, Eppie?"

  "Are you going to turn me in? Look at this!" She swiveled back around and

  tapped controls beneath the screen. One key brought up an image of flames

  rising near the Bakur complex. Another showed stormtroopers chasing down armed

  civilians. Automation, claimed another screen, had gone haywire at the

  repulsorlift coil production plant. "Salis D'aar is furious. Orn's dead, your

  uncle arrested, the Rebel princess in custody. What are you going to do about

  it?"

  "If we fight each other now, the Ssi-ruuk will have us piecemeal!"

  "That's why it can't be done wrong. Those people on the streets are only

  the distraction. You and I, and a few others on the inside, will run the real

  rebellion. We could accomplish plenty before the aliens actually attacked."

  "They're attacking in less than an hour. I've warned Governor Nereus.

  There's no time."

  "No one ever told you that I used to b
e a circuitry guerrilla, did they?"

  Gaeri gaped at the thought. How could she even consider collaborating

  with Eppie and the Rebels? The Alliance was impractical. Naively idealistic.

  Her own tragedy. If fate guaranteed her life an ending, what tragedy did

  she choose?

  A triumphant one. Gingerly she handled the fragile new thought. She

  couldn't deliver Eppie Belden to Wilek Nereus. And there's your answer, she

  told herself. There wasn't a single Imperial officer, bureaucrat, or professor

  that she'd ever admired the way she loved Eppie.

  Then this was her decision. She loved Bakura, not the Empire. "I'm with

  you," she said softly.

  Eppie seized her hand and squeezed it. "I knew you had more sense than

  you were letting on. It's a hard decision, girl, and it'll cost you... but

  congratulations. Now let's see what else we can do at that repulsorlift coil

  plant."

  "ally sent the automation haywire?"

  Eppie's smile smoothed half of her wrinkles and deepened the rest of

  them. "That plant's worth all the rest of Bakura to the Imperials. If

  production shuts down, even during wartime, they'll send every trooper left in

  Salis D'aar to restore order. That leaves the Bakur complex for me--anda few

  friends."

  Gaeri's blood tingled. "I can help you better from my office. I've got

  one of the Rebels' droids stashed away there."

  "Wait." Eppie rummaged in a drawer and drew out a tiny bit of metal and

  plastic. "You know about that allegedly secure stormtrooper channel?"

  Gaeri nodded.

  "Orn wanted you to have this a long time ago, but he couldn't trust you.

  Use it now. It'll let you give the stormtroopers a few commands before they

  come for you."

  Gaeri closed her hand around it.

  "Well, go! Runffwas Eppie slapped her shoulder.

  Gaeri flew her aircar back to the complex, dodging security patrols and

  steering between trouble spots and firefighting crews. The Rebels' droid,

  Artoo Detoo, stood right where she'd left it, beside her desk, spinning its

  dome and beeping unintelligibly. Gaeri groaned. "You must be trying to tell me

  something. But I can't understand any of that. Aari?"

  "Here," exclaimed her aide.

  "Dump all the information you can get from Nereus's office net, even if

  it means compromising our security. Everything's about to break apart."

  "Will do." To Gaeri's amusement, the droid rolled to a terminal and

  plugged in, too. Evidently it had a good deal of perception and volition

  programmed into it.

  "Here, Senator." Aari had delivered a screenful. Nereus had ordered

  stormtroopers across the city to quell three demonstrations, and sent his top

  intelligence man to the coil production plant in Belden's district. Intell

  officers shot first and interrogated survivors.

  Gaeri clenched a fist. She must try to free Uncle Yeorg, and that Rebel

  princess as well. But first, no Captison had ever dallied when turmoil

  wrenched Bakura. She handed Aari the chip. "Install that. It'll give us the

  stormtrooper frequency."

  Aari raised one black eyebrow. Artoo Detoo beeped and trilled. Even to

  Gaeri, it sounded excited.

  Her own hands shook. They'd catch any unauthorized user online and change

  all security codes within minutes, but this would be her memorial to a brave

  old man.

  "You've got it," Aari announced a moment later from her adjoining desk.

  Working her main bank, Gaeriel accessed factory data for the namana juice

  extraction plant fifteen kilometers down the seacoast--a safely irrelevant,

  nonmilitary distraction--and then she dumped it onto the troopers' information

  banks, replacing their data for repulsorlift coil production. When they tried

  to move in on Belden's factory, they would possess all the wrong information.

  They'd be totally lost, and that might give Belden's people enough time to...

  well, she wasn't sure what Eppie was up to, and she didn't want to know.

  But she did call the repulsorlift plant supervisor on a conventional

  frequency. She warned him he had troopers on the way--and that Bakura's

  resistance had begun. It might not be wildly revolutionary action, but it

  would confuse the Empire for a few minutes longer.

  "All right, Aari. Pull the chip."

  Aari dove for her tool kit and removed the illicit Imperial chip. "I'd

  better melt this."

  "Right." Now that she could think of trying to free Uncle Yeorg, she

  realized that she knew only one person who could possibly help. She cleared

  her terminal, then bent close to the droid. She felt ludicrous talking to it.

  "Artoo Detoo, can you help me locate Commander Skywalker?"

  Chewbacca stalked slowly around the Falcon, on watch. She was ready to

  take off, all systems operational--forthe moment--and looking good from the

  outside, which was to say that she hunkered close to the rough-glass white

  surface, so battered and streaked that a casual observer would doubt that

  she'd ever lift again. He eyed each ship and gantry, every parked landspeeder

  and building he could see. There was no sign of Luke.

  Finally the whine of an open-top speeder approached. Chewie slipped

  around the hull and took up a position from which he could fire without being

  seen. Seconds later, the speeder landed within range. A stormtrooper climbed

  out clumsily.

  That looked like trouble. The trooper didn't challenge him, but shuffled

  forward with his arms hanging oddly. Either he couldn't call out, or he chose

  not to.

  Chewie had just gotten the Falcon lift ready. He wasn't taking chances on

  some high-handed Imperial slapping a lock on her hatch. He pulled his blaster,

  set it for "stun," and fired off a shot.

  The stormtrooper came on, tottering. Chewie fired again. This time, the

  trooper fell. Tempted to let the intruder lie, he decided the armor might be

  useful. He dragged the surprisingly heavy body up the Falcon's ramp. The main

  hatch slid down into position with a hiss. Crouching, he gripped one side of

  the white helmet with each massive paw and lifted it off.

  A golden head gleamed inside, repeating in a tinny, high-speed voice,

  "uke! Master... uke! Master..."

  Threepio!

  Now he'd have to run all those diagnostics again. Disgusted, Chewie kept

  peeling off armor.

  Luke glanced one last time at the cantina's cracked chrono. In five

  minutes, if his shuttle hadn't arrived, he'd join Chewie on the Falcon.

  He eyed a slab of unevenly cooked, greasy, mysterious meat. "I guess I'll

  have one of those, with whatever you can put on it," he said. "To go." He

  would eat with Chewie.... "Oh. You'd better make it three." The sooty orange

  countertop--unoccupied--suggested Pad 12's nearest cantina was often empty

  this close to noon. Isolated clusters of Bakurans sat at scattered tables,

  murmuring and glancing around. "Arrest," he'd heard from one, and "dead" from

  another. "Belden" and "Captison" buzzed from table to table. He'd also heard

  "Jedi."

  The sooner he left, the better.

  Quick footsteps approached along the wall outside. Alarmed, he reached

  out through the Force, so he felt Gaeriel
before the main door swung open. His

  senses came alive, focusing tightly on her presence. She hurried through,

  followed by an Artoo unit... his, he realized, remembering Threepio's message.

  Artoo beeped and whistled incoherently, and Gaeriel's sense buzzed with

  shocked excitement. She hurried over, skirt whisking the dirty floor. Luke

  pushed away from the orange countertop. "What's going on? How did you find me?

  "

  "Your droid brought me to the commnet terminal you'd used most recently.

  Haven't you heard? They're about to attack. Uncle Yeorg's been arrested." Her

  eyes stayed wide. "Your princess, too."

  "Yes, I've heard. I'm trying to get to my carrier--"

  Artoo's insistent warbles rocked the little droid from side to side.

  "Artoo, wait. I'm not getting any of that." Closing out Gaeriel for the

  moment, he reached into the distance for his sister's feelings. Farther,

  farther...

  "There's a curfew in effect," insisted Gaeriel, "and--" A server strolled

  past, obviously listening. She continued more softly, "Orn Belden keeled over

  when they tried to lock him up, and died half an hour later. The city's in

  turmoil."

  "Poor old Belden," he murmured. In that instant, he found Leia. Very

  busy, very excited. Han had obviously found her.

  Artoo pushed closer to him, extended a probe... and shocked his left

  calf, still beeping. "Artoo!" he exclaimed.

  Gaeri looked both ways and whispered, "This is your moment, Luke.

  Bakura's with you."

  He glanced up at her, a new hope striking wildfire in his imagination.

  "Why were they arrested?"

  "Governor Nereus found a DB projector," said Gaeriel. "Sedition carries

  the death penalty, Luke. The city's going crazy. You've got to get Princess

  Leia and Uncle Yeorg free." She glanced around as if finally noticing her

  surroundings. "But what are you doing here alone? Didn't I warn you?"

  "Yes. I didn't want to endanger anybody. I can protect myself, but you'd

  better not stay more than a few minutes." He glanced around, half-expecting

  stormtrooper helmets at the windows. "Let's have Artoo try to find your uncle.

  Can you interface the governmental mainframe from a public commnet?"

  "I should be able to."

  Luke grabbed a bread knife off the nearest table. After two seconds of

  prying, Artoo's restraining bolt popped free.