Star Wars - Truce at Bakura Page 31

  second. Sheets of energy swept the bridge deck. Commander Thanas must have

  struck. Luke curled up and let himself fall. Bulkheads, decks, and instruments

  sparkled before they went dim. Then all lights failed, even status screens. He

  hit the deck and bounced gently upward again.

  Gravitics blown too?

  He sensed Dev's presence, but not the alien's. Cautiously, coughing in

  darkness that only the viewport illuminated, he settled back onto deck tiles.

  The Shriwirr's forward momentum gave it some natural, directional pull. "Dev?"

  "Here," croaked the boy, from the direction where artificial gravity had

  been.

  Luke felt himself slide toward one bulkhead. He grasped something huge,

  hot, and scaly that reeked as if steaming. "Where?" he asked. "Dev?"

  "Here. My deck shoes and clothes... insulated me a little."

  Luke groped along the alien body and found a human form lying close by.

  Painfully hot, it slid toward the bulkhead with him. "My eyes," moaned Dev.

  "My head's hot. It's burning."

  "Are you in any other pain?" Luke asked urgently.

  "I can't... feel anything below my shoulders, where he... clipped me."

  "There's almost no light in here," Luke said, "I don't think you're

  blinded."

  "Bridge... probably hit. Shield overload."

  Luke's shoulder struck a bulkhead that stopped his slide. He and Dev

  lodged in the corner. He reached up and found the underside of a console. At

  least they'd stay here for a while.

  Had the Force betrayed him?

  He gulped and coughed. He'd resisted the dark side. Darkness favored

  death. Commander Thanas's blast had killed the V-crested Ssi-ruu, but at what

  cost to Dev?

  I'm tired, Yoda. I don't have time for philosophy. Let me rest. He

  hunched forward, coughing uncontrollably.

  "Are you all right?" Dev asked.

  Residual heat from the deck and bulkhead stifled him. Leia, he called.

  Leia? Too weak to make contact, he projected his slight, returning strength

  into the youngster. At first, he could only tweak Dev's pain perception. Dev

  sighed, relaxing tangibly.

  As Luke lent power to Dev, he felt his focus strengthen. "Dev," he urged.

  "Open your mind to me." As he'd shown Eppie Belden how she might heal herself,

  he gave Dev that knowledge. "Draw on your strength," Luke insisted. "You can

  do it. I've got to get us off this ship--"

  A horrendous cough interrupted him. Automatically, he turned the healing

  focus onto his chest.

  Two greedy pinpoints of life gleamed with primitive instincts Eat.

  Cling. Reproduce. Survive.

  A blast of understanding underscored his panic. He tried to touch minds

  with one of the pinpoints, but it had no mind. It ate its way instinctively

  toward blood. It was chewing through a bronchial tube toward his heart.

  Reduced to a single instinct, himself--survive! - - he curled toward the

  bulkhead.

  Leia clenched the armrests of her cockpit chair, frightened nearly numb.

  The star field dipped and swirled in the viewport. She stared at the Ssi-ruuvi

  cruiser, which drifted directionless like a huge blistered egg.

  "The kid bought us breathing room," Han muttered. "I've almost got

  everybody out of the globe. Is he okay?"

  "No! We've got to help him!"

  Han's head turned sharply. "He's not dead, is he?"

  "I can't feel him any more." She let him hear her desperation.

  Han glanced at the sensor boards and examined the alien cruiser. "Thanas

  scored an awfully good hit. All power's gone. Hull's breached. She's leaking

  air."

  "But it's Luke. He could be shielded by some kind of energy field or

  obstruction." She couldn't relinquish hope. "Can we get in close? Sneak on

  board?"

  "Maybe." Han worked controls, stirring the stars. "I'll try to get

  closer. Maybe a docking bay--" He swooped at an edge of the Imperial

  formation. From the dorsal quad gun, Chewie scored a lucky hit on a patrol

  craft's energy banks. Waves of debris followed the Falcon away. So did the

  rest of the Rebel forces. "There!" he exclaimed. "Now let's get behind that

  cruiser, where the Dominant can't fire on us."

  "Rogue Leader to Falcon," announced Wedge's voice over the intersquad

  link, "we're clear to run at the Dominant."

  "Wait!" Leia exclaimed. "Bully Commander Thanas into changing course so

  he can't hit the Ssi-ruuvi ship again, but don't destroy him. The Rebellion

  could use an Imperial cruiser."

  "Spoils of battle, Your Highness?" Wedge chuckled. "Will do. If possible.

  Somehow I doubt the Empire will let us have her."

  "Yeah," muttered Han. "Nice thought, but he's certainly got a self-

  destruct."

  "Wedge, just give Commander Thanas a clear message," Leia insisted.

  "We're not stooping to his tactics."

  The egg-shaped cruiser loomed closer. Han steered low along its surface,

  looking for a place to dock the Falcon. We're coming, Luke, Leia thought. A

  terrifying stillness hung where his presence had been.

  CHAPTER 20

  Gloom settled over Gaeriel like a sticky gray rain cloud when Commander

  Thanas's Dominant blasted the alien cruiser. Governor Nereus laid a heavy hand

  on her shoulder. "Come, Gaeriel, you knew that he could not survive. If he

  returned to Bakura, the plague that followed would make destruction by the

  Death Star look like a quick, pleasant end to civilization."

  She slipped out from under his hand.

  Still gloating, he sat down at his ivory desk and summoned a quartet of

  stormtrooper guards. "Soon, Imperial peace will reign on Bakura. A single

  pivotal troublemaker remains to be dealt with."

  She braced herself to leap before the stormtroopers could fire, but he

  raised a hand. "You overestimate your importance." He touched his console and

  ordered, "Bring up the prime minister."

  Uncle Yeorg? "No!" Gaeriel exclaimed. "He's a good man. Bakura needs him.

  You can't--"

  "He has become a symbol. I have tried to be lenient with Bakura, and it

  betrays my good intentions. I give up. I must operate like any other Imperial

  governor, branding the terror of the Empire on Bakuran hearts. Unless--" He

  stroked his chin. "Unless he, or another representative of the Captison

  family, would publicly ask Bakura to accept me as his successor. You could

  save your uncle's life, Gaeriel. Tell me you'll do so, within three minutes,

  and he'll survive."

  Conscience jabbed her from both sides. She couldn't allow Governor Nereus

  to execute Uncle Yeorg, but neither could she ask Bakura to lie down for Wilek

  Nereus. Again she braced herself to jump him. Two troopers raised blast

  rifles.

  "Bodyguard training." Governor Nereus smiled. "They're watching you."

  Gaeri stared around Governor Nereus's office, taking in plaques, tri-D's,

  and crystals. Teeth, parasites, what other loathsome interests did he keep

  hidden? "You say you'd let him live. But would you? Or would you infect him

  with some parasite, like Eppie Belden? That's not alive."

  "Orn Belden thought so."

  Another trooper entered, pushing her manacled uncle with the business end

  of a blast rif
le. Yeorg stood straight-shouldered, looking taller in her eyes

  than Nereus could, for all the governor's bulk.

  "One offer, Captison, one minute to accept," Nereus announced. "Get on

  the tri-D. Tell your people to lay down their weapons and submit to Imperial

  rule. To me, as your designated successor. Or die here with your niece

  watching."

  Yeorg Captison didn't hesitate. He pulled his shoulders back, creating

  dignity out of an old, torn Bakuran uniform tunic. "I'm sorry, Gaeri. Don't

  watch. Remember me bravely."

  "Gaeriel?" Governor Nereus licked his upper lip. "Will you make the

  broadcast? Perhaps I could sweeten the pot--"

  At that instant, the trooper beyond Uncle Yeorg buckled and fell. A

  piercing electronic whine rose from all five troopers' helmets. Gaeri leaped

  for the nearest incapacitated trooper, seized his rifle, and waved it in

  Governor Nereus's general direction. Evidently he'd hesitated. His ornamental

  blaster remained in his crossdraw holster.

  All five stormtroopers writhed. Even from a distance, the whine hurt her

  ears. What was going on? "Take off your blaster, Nereus," she said shakily.

  Whatever this was, it looked like her chance.

  "You don't even know how to find the safety," he answered, but he kept

  both hands on the ivory desktop. Clumsily, Uncle Yeorg seized another helpless

  trooper's blast rifle with his fingertips. His wrist-bound grip looked

  ineffectual, but at least the trooper didn't have the rifle any more.

  Governor Nereus's command console flashed and went black. The door slid

  open. Eppie Belden marched in with a spring in her step surprising for a woman

  of 132. Her round-faced caregiver, Clis, slunk behind. Eppie brandished a

  blaster with competent ease. "Hah," she exclaimed. "Got 'em all." She strode

  straight to Governor Nereus and lifted the blaster from his holster, then

  disarmed the other stormtroopers. "Clis," she ordered, "get a vibroknife and

  cut Yeorg out of those binders." Clis hustled out, pale and obviously ill at

  ease in a confrontation. Gaeri sympathized with Clis. It was Eppie's bravura

  that startled her.

  "You," Eppie snarled at Governor Nereus. "If those hands move, you're

  dead. Do you understand?"

  "Who are you, old woman?"

  Eppie laughed. "Start guessing, youngster. I'm Orn Belden's revenge."

  Belden Nereus's lips formed the ^w. "You can't be here," he cried.

  "Scarring of the neocortex is permanent."

  "Tell that to Commander Skywalker."

  Governor Nereus's cheek twitched. "Skywalker is dead, by now! They'll eat

  him alive. Inside out--"

  Eppie seemed to shrink. "Coward." She leveled her blaster at his chest,

  silencing him. He pulled a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  The tableau held for several breaths, then Eppie lowered the blaster slightly.

  "I'm giving you to the Rebels," she growled. "I'd had it in mind to let Bakura

  set up a revolutionary tribunal, but if you've killed the Rebels' Jedi, I have

  a guess they'll take a stiffer revenge out of your lousy hide than Bakura

  would."

  Gaeri wished Eppie'd just kill him now--obviously she had the guts to do

  it--but evidently Eppie had other ideas. Gaeri glanced out the office window.

  Another stormtrooper lay writhing on the greenway path. Still another wrenched

  off his lumpish white helmet and flung it aside, then knelt, covering his ears

  with his hands and shaking his head.

  "Where were you, Eppie?" Gaeri asked.

  "Close by, in the complex," she muttered. "Is it true, what he said about

  Skywalker?"

  "We don't have any confirmation that he's dead, but Governor Nereus...

  infected him. How did you do this?" She waved a hand, taking in Nereus's

  command center and the limp stormtroopers.

  Eppie stared at Nereus. "A couple of dozen old friends who are still in

  high places, with good access codes," she said. "An alien invasion force that

  kept most of.his troopers too busy to watch their backs. And one new ally."

  She called back over her shoulder, "Come on in."

  Through the doorway rolled Luke's droid, Artoo-Detoo. "When the emergency

  patrol took you away," said Eppie, "he got to a master terminal and called me

  in. I sent out a friend to fetch him. This little guy's worth his weight in

  reactor fuel on the master circuits."

  "You took off his restrainin g bolt?" Nereus's hands twitched at his

  sides.

  "You ought to lock him up," Gaeri whispered. "He's losing his grip."

  Eppie flicked her blaster's safety on and off. "I almost wish he'd try

  something."

  Curled up in the darkness, Luke could think of only one thing to try. He

  breathed slowly and focused his attention on the pinpoints of living instinct

  inside his chest. He touched one. Neurologically primitive, its only response

  was to flinch and go on eating. They were obviously parasites. He sensed their

  ravenous hunger.

  As panic threatened to immobilize him, he thought of the smell of fresh

  blood sweet, warm, faintly metallic. He extended the thinnest thread of a

  probe toward one creature.

  Recognition Some minuscule awareness understood. He imagined mouthparts

  pulling free and a head turning toward him. It was desperately hard to project

  the smell while judging its effect on a primitive, alien awareness. He brushed

  the second creature with the scent.

  All around his point of consciousness, his own heart thudded. He swirled

  the scent-illusion away from them a few millimeters, tempting them to follow.

  One awareness dimmed out and forgot the scent. He brushed it again with the

  tempting odor of life. It hummed recognition. It drew closer.

  He couldn't concentrate on both individuals. His body wanted to cough,

  and within seconds, something was definitely in the way.

  He inhaled cautiously and then exploded, hacking. Something spewed out of

  his mouth.

  One wasn't enough. Virtually exhausted, he crafted the scent-illusion

  again and stroked the remaining creature. Its attention flickered for an

  instant, then faded. He thrust again into its perception.

  This time, he snagged it. Slowly, slowly, he led it along a dark

  bronchial tunnel. It radiated fierce hunger. He tried not to gag or choke--or

  swallow. Slowly he sipped a deep breath around the creature, inhaling until

  his aching lungs strained.

  Then he let go, retching and coughing. This creature caught on his teeth.

  It squirmed, making a gruesome mouthful. He spit it out and then flailed

  blindly for it in the dark cabin. Something squashed. He couldn't find the

  other creature.

  He lay limp on the deck tiles, too tired to feel triumphant, and shut out

  the external world to perform a focusing exercise. Slowly his despair lifted,

  then he remembered Dev. They had to find a way off the Shriwirr. Without

  power, and possibly still under attack, it could break up around them.

  He couldn't. Sleep beckoned, and so did the Jedi healing trance. His eyes

  ached. He could shut them for a few moments....

  A glimmer on one bulkhead caught his eye. Was he hallucinating lights in

  the corridor?

  "Luke?" called Leia's
voice. "Luke!"

  Disbelieving, he pushed up off the deck. "Here!" His throat burned. He

  must've scratched it bloody.

  A pocket luma swept into the Shriwirr's bridge, followed by a slim arm.

  The rest of Leia wore a breath mask, shipsuit, and magnetic boots. Han and

  Chewie followed. Her luma shone like life itself. "How did you get on board?"

  Luke asked her.

  Leia hurried closer. "They left the landing bays open. They're gone. The

  ship's dead, except for you."

  "Where's--" Luke began. Then he spotted Dev.

  The boy lay stretched out beside him, tangled in his long robes. His

  chest rose and fell slowly. Massive red energy burns traversed his exposed

  arms and face. His eyelids covered sunken gaps.

  Beside him on the deck tiles wriggled a creature as long and thick as a

  finger. Short legs waved wildly at the light. Its fat, striped wet body

  tapered in green and black stripes toward a pointed end. Audibly disgusted,

  Leia squashed it flat.

  "Thanks," Luke whispered.

  "Relax, kid." Han knelt and raised him over one shoulder.

  Luke swallowed. "Bring Dev."

  "You've got to be kidding... Leia!" She was already trying to hoist the

  unconscious youth. Chewie pushed in and cradled Dev like a doll. "Let's move,"

  ordered Han.

  Safely on board the Falcon, Leia knelt beside Luke's bunk and rested her

  head on his shoulder. Delicately he accepted the link to her strength. He

  bathed himself in healing energy that felt clean, warm, and familiar. When he

  swallowed, his throat no longer burned. Soon, he could breathe without wanting

  to cough.

  Where had he picked up those nauseating parasites?

  He sat up. "I'll rest later," he insisted, "really rest."

  "You'd better," Leia murmured, "but we haven't got time now. We've still

  got the Dominant to deal with. Its repair crews have probably been busy."

  "What happened to it?" Luke gulped at the thought of Pter Thanas. Had he

  doomed the Imperial commander to slavery?

  "It blew out its lateral thrusters again, so it can't steer. And signals

  coming off Bakura are crazy. There's a revolution going on."

  Luke slid to his feet. The right leg still ached, but not as badly. "I'm

  ready," he said, but he let Leia support him. They shuffled to the cockpit

  together. Leia helped him fall into a seat.