Mothma--the woman who'd founded and who now led the Rebel Alliance - - stood
with General Crix Madine. Mon Mothma's presence gleamed visibly in her long
white robes and invisibly through the Force, and the bearded Madine's
confidence had grown since the Battle of Endor.
They both looked in Luke's direction and frowned. Luke smiled
halfheartedly and gripped the handrests of the repulsor chair he'd
commandeered out of the medical suite, steering it down over the steps toward
them.
"You'll never learn, will you?" General Madine's frown got flatter. "You
belong in sick bay. This time we'll have Too-Onebee knock you out."
Luke's cheek twitched. "What about that message? Some Imperial commander
burned a quarter million credits on that antique drone."
Mon Mothma nodded, reprimanding Luke with her placid stare. A side
console lit, this one a smaller light projection table. Above it appeared a
miniature hologram of Admiral Ackbar, with huge eyes bulging at the sides of
his high-domed, ruddy head. Although the Calamarian had commanded the Battle
of Endor from a chair under the broad starry viewport on Luke's left, Ackbar
felt more comfortable on his own cruiser. Life support there was fine-tuned to
Calamarian standards. "Commander Skywalker," he wheezed. Whiskery tendrils
wobbled under his jaw. "You need to consider the risks you take... more
carefully."
"I will, Admiral. When I can." Luke reclined the floating repulsor chair
and steadied it against the main light table's steel gray rim. An electronic
whistle rang out from the hatchway behind him. Artoo-Detoo wasn't letting him
out of photoreceptor range for thirty seconds. The blue-domed droid had to
take the long way around. Eclipsing tiny blinking instrument lights, he rolled
along the upper computer bank to a drop platform. There he downloaded himself,
then rolled close to Luke's float chair before delivering a string of rebukes
- - probably from Too-Onebee. General Madine smirked behind his beard.
Luke hadn't understood a single whistle, but he could guess at this
translation too. "All right, Artoo. Pull in your wheels. I'm sitting down.
This should be interesting."
Young Lieutenant Matthews straightened up over the side console and
turned his head. "Here it comes," he announced.
Madine and Mothma leaned toward the screen. Luke craned his neck for a
better view.
Imperial governor Wilek Nereus of the Bakura system, to his most
excellent Imperial Master Palpatine Greetings in haste.
They hadn't heard. Months, maybe years, would pass before much of the
galaxy realized that the Emperor's reign had ended. Luke himself was having a
hard time believing it.
BAKURA IS UNDER ATTACK BY AN ALIEN INVASION FORCE FROM OUTSIDE YOUR
DOMAIN. ESTIMATE FIVE CRUISERS, SEVERAL DOZEN SUPPORT SHIPS, OVER 1000 SMALL
FIGHTERS. UNKNOWN TECHNOLOGY. WE HAVE LOST HALF OUR DEFENSE FORCE AND ALL
OUTERSYSTEM OUTPOSTS. HOLONET TRANSMISSIONS TO IMPERIAL CENTER AND DEATH STAR
TWO HAVE GONE UNANSWERED. URGENT, REPEAT URGENT, SEND STORMTROOPERS.
Madine reached past Lieutenant Matthews and poked a touch panel. "More
data," he exclaimed. "We need more of this."
The voice of an intelligence droid filtered through the comlink. "There
are corroborative visuals if you would care to see them, sir, as well as
embedded data files coded for Imperial access."
"That's more like it." Madine touched the lieutenant's shoulder. "Give me
the visuals."
Over the central light table, a projection unit whirred upright. A scene
appeared that brought up a fresh rush of pain-deadening adrenaline. Yoda would
rap my knuckles, Luke observed soberly. Excitement... adventure... a Jedi
craves not these things. He stretched toward Jedi calm. A terrified world
needed help.
At the center of the tableau hovered the image of an Imperial system-
patrol craft of a sort Luke had studied but never fought, projected as a
three-dimensional network of lines that gleamed reddish orange. He leaned
closer to examine its laser emplacements, but before he could get a good look,
it silently spewed out an explosion of yellow escape pods. A larger orange
image swung ominously into the viewfield, dominating the scene by its bulk
far larger than the patrol craft, stubbier than the Rebels' sleek Mon Cal
cruisers--roughly ovoid, but covered with blisterlike projections.
"Run a check on that ship's design," ordered Madine.
After approximately three seconds, the intelligence droid's monotone
answered, "This design is used neither by the Alliance nor the Empire."
Luke held his breath. The huge attack craft loomed larger over the table.
Now he could make out half a hundred gun emplacements... or were they beam
antennae? It held fire until six crimson TIE fighters vectored close, then the
fighters lurched simultaneously and slowed. Fighters and escape pods began to
accelerate steadily toward the alien ship, evidently caught in a tractor beam.
The scene shrank. Whoever recorded those visuals had left in a hurry.
"Taking prisoners," Madine murmured, clearly concerned.
Mon Mothma turned to a shoulder-high droid that had stood silently
nearby. "Access the embedded data files. Apply our most current Imperial
codes. Locate this world, Bakura." Luke felt relieved that even the Alliance's
knowledgeable leader had to ask for the system's location.
The droid rotated toward the light table and reconnected its socket arm.
The battle scene faded. Star sparks appeared in a conformation Luke recognized
as this end of the Rim region. "Here, Madam," the droid announced. One speck
turned red. "According to this file, its economy is based on the export of
repulsorlift components and an exotic fruit candy and liqueur. Settled by a
speculative mining corporation during the final years of the Clone Wars, and
taken over by the Empire approximately three years ago, to absorb and control
its repulsorlift production capacity."
"Subjugated recently enough to remember independence well." Mon Mothma
rested her slender hand on the edge of the light table. "Now show Endor.
Relative position."
Another speck gleamed blue. Forgotten at Luke's shoulder, Artoo whistled
softly. If Endor was a good bit out from the Core worlds, Bakura was still
farther. "That's virtually the edge of the Rim worlds," Luke observed. "Even
traveling in hyperspace, it would take days to get there. The Empire can't
help them." It was strange to think of anyone turning to the Empire for help.
Evidently the Rebels' decisive victory at Endor doomed the Bakurans to an
unknown fate, because the nearest Imperial battle group couldn't help.
Alliance forces had scattered it.
From a speaker at his left, Leia's voice projected clearly. "How large is
the Imperial force at the system?"
Leia was down on Endor's surface, in the Ewok village. Luke hadn't known
she was listening in, but he should've assumed it. He reached out through the
Force and brushed his sister's warm presence, sensing justifiable tension.
Leia was allegedly resting with Han Solo, recovering from that blaster burn on
her shoulder, and helping the furry little Ewoks bury their dead--not watching
for new trouble. Luke pursed his lips. He'd loved Leia all along, wishing...
Well, that was behind him. The intelligence droid answered her over a
subspace radio comlink relay, "Bakura is defended by an Imperial garrison. The
sender of this message has added subtext reminding Emperor Palpatine that what
forces they have are antiquated, due to the system's remoteness."
"Evidently the Empire didn't anticipate any competition for Bakura."
Leia's voice sounded disdainful. "But now there's no Imperial Fleet to help
there. It will take the Imperials weeks to reassemble, and by then this Bakura
could fall to the invasion force--or it could be part of the Alliance," she
added in a brighter tone. "If the Imperials can't help the Bakurans, we must."
Admiral Ackbar's image planted finny hands in the vicinity of its lower
torso. "What do you mean, Your Highness?"
Leia leaned against the wattle-and-daub wall of an Ewok tree house and
rolled her eyes toward the dome of its high, thatched roof. Han sprawled
casually beside her seat, leaning on an elbow and twirling a twig between his
fingers.
She raised a handheld comlink. "If we sent aid to Bakura," she answered
Admiral Ackbar, "it's possible that Bakura would leave the Empire out of
gratitude. We could help free its people."
"And get that repulsorlift technology," Han mumbled to the twig.
Leia had only paused. "That chance is worth investing a small task force.
And you'll need a high-ranking negotiator."
Han lay back, crossed his arms behind his head, and murmured, "You step
off onto an Imperial world, and you're an entry in somebody's credit register.
You've got a price on your head."
She frowned.
"Can we afford to send troops, given the shape we're in?" Ackbar's voice
wheezed out of the comlink. "We've lost twenty percent of our forces, battling
only part of the Emperor's fleet. Any Imperial battle group could do a better
job at Bakura."
"But then the Empire would remain in control there. We need Bakura just
like we need Endor. Every world we can draw into the Alliance."
Surprising her, Han closed his hand on the comlink and pulled it toward
him. "Admiral," he said, "I doubt we can afford not to go. An in-vasion force
that big is trouble for this whole end of the galaxy. And she's right--it's us
that ought to go. You'd just better send a ship that can make a fast getaway,
in case the Imperials get ideas."
"What about the price on your head, laser brains?" Leia whispered.
Han covered the squelch. "You're not going without me, Highness-ness."
Luke studied Mon Mothma's expression and her sense in the Force. "It
would have to be a small group," she said quietly, "but one ship is not
enough. Admiral Ackbar, you may select a few fighters to support General Solo
and Princess Leia."
Luke spread a hand. "What are the aliens doing? Why are they taking so
many prisoners?"
"The message doesn't say," Madine pointed out.
"Then you'd better send someone who can find out. It could be important."
"Not you, Commander, and it doesn't look like we can wait until you've
recovered." Madine rapped a white handrail. "This team should leave within a
standard day."
Luke didn't want to be left behind... even though he had all faith that
Han and Leia could take care of each other.
On the other hand, before he could pitch in, he must heal himself, and
General Madine had suddenly become twins. His optic nerves were telling him to
get horizontal soon, or risk a doubly humiliating faint in the war room. He
eyed the handrail over the double row of white benches, wondering if the
repulsor chair would lift over it. He ached to push the thing's envelope.
Artoo chattered, sounding motherly.
Luke fingered the float chair's controls and said, "I'll head back to my
cabin. Keep me posted."
General Madine crossed his arms over the front of his khaki uniform.
"I doubt we'll be sending you to Bakura." Mon Mothma's robes rustled as
she squared her shoulders. "Consider your importance to the Alliance."
"She's right, Commander," wheezed the small ruddy image of Admiral
Ackbar.
"I'm not helping anyone if I'm just lying down." But he had to shake his
reckless reputation, if he wanted the respect of the Rebel Fleet. Yoda had
commissioned him to pass on what he had learned. To Luke's mind, that meant
rebuilding the Jedi Order... as soon as he got the chance. Anyone else could
pilot a fightership. No one else could recruit and train new Jedi.
Frowning, he steered to the lift platform, rotated his chair, and
answered Mon Mothma and Admiral Ackbar as he rose. "I can at least help you
put together the strike force."
CHAPTER 2
The higher-ups continued to confer as Luke floated toward a hatchway. The
gray-furred guard, a Gotal, flinched as he saluted. Luke remembered that Gotal
felt the Force as a vague buzzing in their cone-shaped perceptor horns, and he
accelerated to keep from giving the loyal Gotal a headache.
Artoo shrieked behind him. Out in the corridor, Luke decelerated his
float chair and let the little droid catch him. Artoo grappled the chair's
left stabilizer bar and towed it along, spouting electronic st atic.
"Yes, Artoo." Luke leaned one hand on Artoo's blue dome. Gratefully he
let himself be herded back to the medical suite. He pictured a thousand alien
ships converging on... on a world he still couldn't imagine. He wanted to see
And to know why the aliens took prisoners.
Once inside the ship's clinic, he pulled off his boots and sank back down
on the flotation bed. Its "give" underneath him felt inexpressibly good. After
a glance at Wedge's bacta tank, he shut his eyes and imagined he could hear
all the way to the war room.
Let them worry. He was finished, for a while. Literally.
Artoo beeped something interrogative. "Say again?" asked Luke.
Artoo wheeled over to the open hatch and reached out a manipulator arm.
The door slid closed.
"Oh. Thanks." Evidently Artoo thought he'd like to undress in privacy.
Evidently Artoo didn't know he was too tired to undress. He pulled his
legs up onto the bed. "Artoo," he said, "get a portable data screen from Too-
Onebee. Access those embedded data files from that message drone. I'll take a
look while I rest."
Artoo's reply dropped disapprovingly in pitch as he wheeled away, but
less than a minute later he rolled back, trailing a wheeled cart. He steered
it to Luke's bedside and extended a connector into its input port.
"Bakura," Luke said. "Data files."
As the computer analyzed his voiceprint to confirm his security
clearance, Luke stretched out and blinked. He'd never so appreciated normal,
single vision.
A cloud-frosted blue world appeared on the screen. "Bakura," said a
bland, mature female voice. "Imperial Study Survey six-oh-seven-seven-four."
Cloud cover swirled closer. Luke's vision dropped through it to hover over a
vast ran
ge of green mountains. Through a deep valley, two broad parallel
rivers cut the mountains and wound down to a verdant delta. Luke imagined
rich, damp smells, like on Endor. "Salis D'aar, capital city, is the seat of
Imperial governorship. Bakuran contributions to Imperial security include a
modest flow of strategic metals...."
So green. So wet. Luke shut his eyes. His head sank.
... He sprawled on the deck of a strange spaceship. A huge reptilian
alien, brown-scaled with a blunt, oversize head, tromped toward him waving a
weapon. Luke ignited his lightsaber. Heavy with the Emperor's fingerprints, it
slid through his grip. Then he recognized the big lizard's "weapon" a
restraining-bolt Owner, used to control droids. Laughing, he leaped into
fighting stance. The lizard's Owner whirred. Luke froze in place.
"What?" Disbelieving, he looked down. He had a droid's stiff-jointed
body. Again the alien raised its Owner device....
Luke fought back to consciousness. He felt a powerful presence in the
Force and sat up too quickly. Invisible hammers bashed both sides of his head.
The screen stood dark. On the foot of his flotation bed sat Ben Kenobi,
robed as usual in unbleached homespun, shimmering under the cabin's faint
night glims. "Obi-wan?" Luke murmured. "What's happening at Bakura?"
Ionized air danced around the figure. "You are going to Bakura," it
answered.
"Is it that bad?" Luke asked bluntly, not really expecting an answer. Ben
rarely gave them. He seemed to come mostly to reprimand Luke, like a teacher
who could not give up hounding his student after graduation (not that Ben had
stayed around to finish his training).
Obi-wan shifted on the bed, but the bed didn't shift with him. The
manifestation wasn't literally physical. "Emperor Palpatine achieved first
contact with the aliens attacking Bakura," said the apparition, "during one of
his Force meditations. He offered them a deal, one that can no longer be
honored."
"What kind of deal?" Luke asked quietly. "What danger are the Bakurans
in?"
"You must go." Ben still didn't hear Luke's questions. "If you do not
attend to the matter--personally, Luke--Bakura--and all worlds, both Allied
and Imperial--w know a far greater disaster than you can imagine."
Then it was as serious as they feared. Luke shook his head. "I need to