Star Wars - Truce at Bakura Read online

  effective damage later. "I hope you can add a set of Ssi-ruu teeth soon." She

  tried to sound cool.

  "Yes, interesting that they have beaks with teeth." He cleared his

  throat. "I prefer taking specimens from individuals I have hunted down myself,

  of course. The Rebel princess seems to have left my hospitality for the

  moment. She must be punished for defying orders. My dental specialist is not

  gentle."

  Fiend, she thought at him. She'd play along, and she'd be the snake in

  his picnic basket for now, but Wilek Nereus would pay for his crimes. She

  swallowed hard to choke down a cough. This was the wrong time to catch a

  virus. He opened his hand, and she tossed back the crystal.

  "Admirable diplomacy, Senator. Outstanding reserve under pressure. Did

  you get a good look at the weapon they shot you with?"

  Gaeriel described it while Nereus passed the crystal from hand to hand.

  As she finished, she thought of Eppie Belden again. If this Ssi-ruuk attack

  failed, Eppie would need another opportunity. "Governor, please reconsider

  allowing a public funeral for Senator Belden. Bakura needs--"

  "It does not need any more public gatherings. No. The curfew stands." He

  stared, abruptly giving her the impression he was waiting for something.

  "What did the Empire do to Madam Belden?" she asked, to distract him.

  He arched a thick eyebrow. "Did the Empire do something to her? Let me

  check my records." His fingers skated over an inset desktop panel. Gaeri

  leaned forward. "What do you think of my desk?" he asked. "A single slab of

  tooth ivory."

  That was a tooth? A meter and a half in diameter, it implied a monstrous

  mouth. "Sea-going creature?" she asked at a guess. The urge to cough was

  getting stronger.

  Nereus nodded. "Now extinct. Here we are. Ah." He smiled slowly. "Madam

  Belden was scheduled for termination. Her husband agreed to permanent

  incapacitation as the price of keeping her companionship."

  Gaeriel clenched her hands. Orn Belden had... agreed... to let the

  Empire...? She didn't want to believe it. She was suddenly thankful Orn Belden

  had died, so she couldn't ask him if it were true.

  "And evidently she submitted to protect him. Oh, yes," he added, studying

  his screen. "I had forgotten specifics. We used a tiny creature native to the

  Jospro sector, which parasitizes the neocortex of the brain. It scars the

  region, suppressing long-term memory to a comfortably moderate extent. Easy

  and painless to introduce, and she and her husband could go on keeping

  company. Quite the loving couple, for their age. Go ahead and cough, my dear.

  Your forehead is turning pink."

  "I don't need to." She gulped.

  He folded his hands on the ivory desktop. "How much of that meal did you

  share with Commander Skywalker?"

  The pit of her stomach turned to lead. That meal... "What do you mean?"

  she asked.

  He flipped one hand. The gesture looked careless and calculating, but his

  fingers quivered. "When Skywalker's apartment guards reported that you'd gone

  inside, I naturally began tracing signals attributed to your ID number. I

  intercepted your request for a meal, sent to your quarters... good try, my

  dear, but you failed. I had the main dish inoculated at the kitchens. Your

  actions, like your questions, mark you as a Rebel collaborator."

  What had Nereus done? Was she going to die? Was Luke? Surely he wouldn't

  have told her what he'd done, if he simply meant to kill her. Once she'd

  steadied herself, she asked numbly, "What is it? Another parasite?"

  He smiled slowly. "The Olabrian Trichoid lays pods of three eggs in

  ripening fruit. Larvae hatch in a host's stomach, then migrate to the lungs

  while the host sleeps. They remain there for a day or two, while they grow and

  the mouthparts develop. Then they start nibbling toward the heart. That takes

  a varying length of time, depending on the host's size and physical condition.

  They pupate in a nice, large pool of slowly clotting blood--ally're pale, my

  dear. Would you like to put your head down?"

  She seemed to feel something growing inside her.

  "Don't worry. The larva is extremely susceptible to pure oxygen. You're

  almost instantly curable--for about the next hour." He touched a key on his

  desktop. "Medic. Bring kit cee-dee twelve."

  "So I got it instead of Skywalker?" At least Luke stood a chance, up

  there.

  "No," he said mildly. "Remember, three eggs in each pod. He definitely

  carries two. I had wondered about the third egg. Be proud of your friend,

  Gaeriel. Through him, the Ssi-ruuk fleet may become infested. I can almost

  guarantee that no natural predators of Olabrian Trichoids travel with the Ssi-

  ruuvi. If we can hold them off for one day, we have won."

  The door slid open. Her medic hurried through, carrying a breath mask, a

  pony bottle, and a specimen jar. "This will only take a minute, Gaeriel."

  Nereus folded his hands on his desktop. "Cooperate with the medic."

  She eyed the bottle, wondering what it held besides oxygen. "Only if you

  breathe it first."

  Nereus shrugged. "I'll take some of that, if you don't mind," he told the

  medic. After he'd drawn two deep breaths, he smiled toothily. "Your turn,

  Gaeriel."

  She waited until the medic sterilized the mask before she let him press

  it to her face. The gas had no odor. She inhaled again, then stared up at the

  medic's eyes. "Keep it up," he said, "until you--"

  Abruptly she gagged. The medic held the mask down firmly. She choked,

  shut her eyes, and spit out something awful. Then she staggered backward to

  her seat as the medic dumped something out of the mask into the jar. She felt

  queasy. Luke, she moaned silently. Just as she'd feared, he might die before

  the Ssi-ruuk could use him. Perhaps Nereus had saved humankind, after all--but

  at what cost? Now that he was doomed, she regretted every harsh ^w.

  "Bravely done." Nereus clapped his fingertips. "Naturally, it is

  inconvenient that you know what happened to Madam Belden."

  Gaeriel concentrated on swallowing. "Perhaps not, Governor. Some kinds of

  knowledge need to be disseminated, if you mean to frighten people with them."

  "Well played, indeed! I like you better and better. Once we defeat the

  Rebels, I may pardon you. I may go so far as to make room for you on my

  personal staff. But you've known that I'd like that all along. Haven't you?"

  He rested his chin on one hand.

  Repulsed, she gripped her knees. "May I have a drink of water?"

  He called for one. Once she'd sipped it, and the medic had left carrying

  his specimen jar, she said, "I understand there's going to be a battle. May I

  observe from your war room?"

  "No need to go anywhere." He fiddled with his desk console. A small but

  detailed hologram of near space appeared over his desk. He bent down, reached

  into a desk compartment, and raised a sealed bottle of namana nectar. "To

  celebrate the Imperial victory," he said with a flourish.

  Celebrate, she echoed bitterly, vowing not to taste it. Her throat burned

  already.

  Dev's heart rate accelerated as they approached the orbiti
ng Imperial

  defense web. This time, no Imperial troopers on board would guide them through

  it. Peering out the shuttle's main viewport, Dev could see slower shuttles

  docking with orbiting ships. Humans were scrambling for battle. Directly in

  front of him, Bluescale, Firwirrung, and the others warbled among themselves.

  They sat on the shuttle's deck, curled around the front seats.

  If human fighterships blasted this shuttle, that would settle the matter

  of Skywalker. Still, he doubted it would happen below the defense web. All the

  defenders would be looking outward, trying to keep Ssi-ruuvi gunships from

  breaking through to the planet's surface. Besides, this craft looked like any

  other Imperial ship, shuttling its crew to an orbiting cruiser.

  Something flashed in front of them. An instant later, pieces of one human

  fighter blasted out of the flash zone. It must've been maneuvering to attack

  them. Through the new gap in the defense web poured squadron after squadron of

  battle droids, opening an alley to the Shriwirr. Human fighters swooped in and

  started picking them off, but the battle droids kept coming. Dev guessed that

  Admiral Ivpikkis would have launched simultaneous strikes at several points,

  to direct the defenders' attention away from this shuttle.

  Once Skywalker lay helpless and Firwirrung pulled the mainswitch, they

  could entech humans from nearby ships, and even planetside, and energize all

  the battle droids they could need to complete the invasion. Through his inner

  vision stabbed the agonizing memory of lying on that table himself. He glanced

  at the motionless Jedi.

  "Dev?" Firwirrung's huge black eye appeared over the back of his seat.

  "Are you all right? You don't look happy."

  "Oh," Dev exclaimed hastily, wishing Ssi-ruuvi faces showed readable

  expressions. "I'm concerned for your wound, Master. He had no right to do that

  to you."

  Firwirrung blinked triple eyelids. "It is a wound of honor. But our

  prisoner does not seem to please you."

  Dev's fingers twitched. If he betrayed his state of mind, they'd renew

  him instantly. Worse, they'd separate him from Skywalker. The perfect answer

  sprang late into his mind. "He hurt you, Master."

  Firwirrung slowly nodded. "I see." He turned and whistled something too

  softly to understand.

  The Jedi gave every impression of unconsciousness, slumped with his mouth

  hanging open. Dev ran a hand over his head. From warmth in the Force he found

  where Bluescale had struck him. It was healing already. Again doubt clamored

  at him.

  Skywalker? Dev thought tentatively. Are you aware? Can I help you? What

  can I do? His only answer was the pulse of the galaxy.

  Dev bit off a fingernail. A flight of battle droids flashed upward past

  the shuttle. Defending it, he realized. He could almost picture Admiral

  Ivpikkis stroking one thumbclaw with the other.

  Entechment circuitry worked only on conscious individuals. There would be

  a few seconds, at least. You'll have to move quickly, he thought hard at the

  helpless Jedi. They're not going to create any openings.

  Entechment. He shuddered. He'd longed to escape his own will. He'd

  cooperated with his own enslavement. He'd hoped to share it with all

  humankind. He glared at the back of Bluescale's head.

  The Shriwirr's undersi de swept across the viewport. The idea of licking

  Ssi-ruuvi footclaws again, for any length of time, made him bristle--but it

  wouldn't last long. Soon he'd be free or dead, or both.

  Metal blast doors closed behind them. Seconds later, the shuttle landed

  roughly on the deck of a docking bay. Skywalker did not flinch.

  Dev stayed in his seat while medics helped Firwirrung out the nose ramp.

  He caught himself drumming his fingers, and pressed his palms flat to make

  himself stop it. A brainwashed slave showed no anxiety.

  The medic's scaly head peered back up the ramp. "Unconscious?" he

  whistled.

  "Minor head injury," answered Dev. "It has kept him immobile."

  The medic made a disgusted clacking noise. "Our knowledge of human

  anatomy is limited. We'll need you to stay with him."

  Chilled, Dev realized they might cut him apart to see how Skywalker was

  built. "Here, Master," he said. "Let me carry him."

  "Good," grunted the Ssi-ruu. "We only brought one stretcher."

  Dev unharnessed himself, then Skywalker, then cautiously ran a hand over

  the injured spot. At least, he thought it was the spot. All evidence had

  faded. It took him several minutes of fumbling in a crouched position,

  battling fettered arms and dangling legs and the weight of the Jedi's compact,

  muscular body, before he reached the open hatch.

  Clustered around the shuttle in an immense landing bay, a dozen Ssi-ruuk

  stood waiting. Dev forced a grin, expecting a cheer. Silent instead, they

  watched him struggle. His deck shoes clicked down the ramp. They probably

  enjoyed the spectacle of one human slave, bearing the fate of humankind on his

  shoulders.

  Staggering under his load, Dev followed the medic across the landing bay,

  then between the bulkheads of a cargo airlock, and then up a long, bright

  corridor. He heard a clack-clack behind him and wondered how many followed.

  Things looked more and more hopeless. He almost wished he had strangled the

  Jedi while he had the opportunity.

  No, he didn't. Not while there was one chance of saving him. He'd found a

  friend, after all these years living with enemies. For reawakening his

  humanity, he owed the Jedi a chance to fight.

  Up a lift, around several corners, toward the entechment lab. It ought to

  be nightshift-dim by now, but the yellow overhead light tubes burned at full

  brilliance. Dev stumbled and almost dropped his burden. "Carefully!" snapped a

  voice behind him.

  "Yes, Master." It wasn't difficult to sound exhausted and repentant. "I

  didn't mean to. He's all right." Dev's back might not be, though. He took

  penitential satisfaction in that pain.

  He followed the medic inside the spacious lab. The new entechment

  platform bed stood against a bulkhead near the old, standard chair. Now he

  dared to turn around. Two others followed in. The rest would stand guard.

  Firwirrung already waited beside the control panel, assisted by another

  medic and by two P'w'ecks. That made five Ssi-ruuk and two servants against

  Dev and one unconscious Jedi. "Ah. Dev," whistled Firwirrung. "You are strong.

  Well done."

  Manipulative praise Now he recognized it. Clinging to the hope Skywalker

  was conscious, Dev let him slide to the ground. "No," exclaimed Firwirrung.

  "The new apparatus will hold him upright. Here, I shall help you."

  Dev crouched and raised Skywalker over his shoulder again. Now's the

  time! he exclaimed. They'll have you trapped, if you don't move now! Skywalker

  did not respond. Sorrowing, Dev steadied the Jedi. A medic released his

  wristbinders and Firwirrung pressed him against the table. Restraints snapped

  around his ankles and waist, but his arms dangled away from the trip panels.

  Firwirrung pushed them into place. The bed tipped backward with its captive.

  The hatch s
lid open. Dev turned, then froze in place. Bluescale swept in,

  shut the hatchway behind him, and then marched to Dev's side. "The Jedi human

  will be unconscious for some time, you guess?"

  Dev spread his hands. Ssi-ruuk used the empty-claw gesture for confusion,

  too. "It will be difficult to wait, Elder."

  Bluescale turned his massive head to fix Dev with one hypnotic black eye,

  then whistled what Dev had dreaded to hear. "You are in desperate need." Two

  other aliens slithered toward him, beamers drawn.

  "Wait," exclaimed Firwirrung. "Dev has served us well. Let us reward him.

  " He stroked the old entechment chair. "Sit down, Dev. There is time. I will

  place the IV'S and lower the catchment arc myself, exactly as I promised."

  Dev's tongue swelled like pillow stuff+. His fawning hadn't convinced any

  of them. How hideously had he acted all these years?

  "Don't you smell yourself?" Bluescale sang softly.

  So that was how they'd caught him. Seizing his last free moment, he

  jumped for Skywalker. His good hand and his aching one closed on the helpless

  Jedi's throat. "I need nothing," he cried. "You'll never--"

  Lights went out in the chamber. ^ws died on his tongue.

  CHAPTER 18

  The weak-minded little P'w'eck Luke had been controlling honked confusion

  with the rest of them, not realizing its tail had crushed the control board

  and extinguished cabin lights. Luke only hoped that he'd also disabled the

  abominable alien machines. He could tell the aliens from Dev by their

  presences, even in the dark. One potent individual tramped toward a power-

  locked hatchway.

  Luke had already unlatched his bonds with the Force. Easily throwing off

  Dev, he leaped down. His head no longer hurt, but his right leg had no

  feeling. He leaned left. "Dev," he cried, "get under something. They'll

  trample you."

  "Right!" Dev's voice sounded giddy with elation.

  Feeling Dev shift between determination and fear had been the hardest

  part of staying still for the last several minutes. He wished he hadn't given

  up his blaster--or else that he had another, to arm Dev.

  From a safe spot near the bulkhead, Luke stretched out his right hand and

  visualized his lightsaber. It had to be close. Less than a second later, its

  satisfying weight arrived. "Are you down, Dev?" he cried over the cacophony of