Tales from the New Republic (32 page)

Hanugar’s sail raft was heading toward the barge—along the deck of which all the Qwohogs stood. Our sail raft was ruined—there was a deep gash in its hull where the repulsorlift mechanism rested. The mechanism was a useless piece of history, shattered by being dashed against a sharp coral spike. The sail raft still floated—but like a primitive boat—on the water, not above it. And it was without any power.

A wave broke against my chest, threatening to push me under. The sea was rising even faster now, and within minutes I knew we’d be treading water—or drowning if we didn’t drop the gems.

“When the sea gets a little higher, I’ll bring the sail barge in!” K’zk hollered. He called something else, but his words were lost by the crash of a wave against the rocks around us.

The minutes seemed to crawl by as the sea rose up to our shoulders. We watched Hanugar tie his sail raft to the rail and climb onto the barge. Hanugar’s raft was pulled up.

The raft! Our raft! My eyes searched about and locked onto our damaged one. It was drifting away from us. It would do to keep us above the water.

“Hurry!” I yelled to Solum’ke, as I gestured toward the raft. I’d sighted a couple of melk heads in the distance—naturally heading in our direction—and I desperately wanted to be out of their element, fast. I felt the sting of the saltwater against my back where I’d cut it, and I knew my blood was seeping into the sea. It would lead the melk straight to us.

“Where’s Sevik?” Solum’ke shouted. She’d somehow managed to reach the raft and tossed her sack into its bottom. She hefted herself over the side and started using her arms as paddles to drag the crippled raft toward me.

The water was up to my chin now, and I had to point my head toward the lightening sky to keep my mouth above it. “There’s no sign of him!” I answered. “He might have drowned!”

Within a handful of heartbeats, she was tugging my sack and me into the raft. I glanced at the sail barge, at Hanugar who was standing at the railing. Then my mouth dropped open as I saw Sevik climbing up the side of the ship, his two sacks still over his shoulders. It would have been physically impossible for him to have swum so far with the weight of the crystals. Unless… I looked closer, spotted a repulsorlift belt around his waist. “Why you slimy excuse for a Nimbanese jowl-preener…”

The rest of my words were drowned out by a wave crashing against the side of our raft. I saw the sail barge hover higher and glide toward us.

“Throw us a line!” I yelled.

“The crystals first!” Sevik called back as he leaned over the side with a length of syntherope.

“No!” Solum’ke and I shouted practically in unison. We clutched our treasures.

K’zk was next to Sevik, peering over the side, a blaster rifle trained on Solum’ke’s beauteous face. His voice cracked through the vocalizer mask. “We’ll take all of the crystals—one way or another.”

Solum’ke made a move for her blaster.
What happened to fifty-fifty
? her pheromones asked.

“The saltwater,” I whispered to her.

I heard her groan. Our blasters would be useless, ruined by our dip in the sea. I draped my arm around her shoulders, and she slumped against me, as we gave in and watched our sacks of gems and crystals rise into the traitorous Qwohog’s sail barge.

“Just tell me,” I called up to K’zk, “Were the Corellians involved in all of this? From the first? You obviously know them.”

“Of course. Partners. Fifty-fifty,” the Qwohog replied as he eased the sail barge a few meters away from our crippled raft. “I’d received a message they were marooned, so we had to pick them up before looking for the chine.
We were all looking for Zelosian’s Chine
—they on the skimmer and me with the barge. Two ships would have a much better chance of finding it. They truly fell afoul of the ridge, lost some of our mates in the process. Our captain won’t be pleased.”

“But this should mollify him!” Sevik chuckled, as he held up a big crystal.

“So why’d you need us?” I sneered.

“Insurance in case they didn’t find the ridge,” came the Qwohog’s curt reply. “Or in case I couldn’t save any of my Corellian friends. Couldn’t deal with the saltwater myself, you know. Besides, you made fine extra pairs of hands. Sorry to leave you stranded—you were good sports about the whole thing—even paid to rent the sail barge. But we can’t have you turning us in to the authorities before we’ve had a chance to get offworld.”

“The corvette.”

The Qwohog nodded. “Our ship. And we’d best hurry. The captain’s waiting for us. Thanks for your help!”

As the moons faded and the sun came out, chasing away all signs of the eclipse, we watched the sail barge become a spot on the waves and then disappear. Our little sail raft bobbed near the reef, still afloat, protecting us from the melk.

“We’ll die out here,” Solum’ke said. I’d never heard her sound so sad.

“We’re not that far from the coast. Other barges will be out before the day is up—headed toward the spas on Bryndas Islands. Someone will rescue us.”

“We lost everything,” she continued to moan. “All that treasure. All those…” She dropped a hand to her neck, to the green crystal necklace I’d put there.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handful of sunblazes. “Every pocket is full,” I said. “More than enough to pay our rescuers and buy passage off this place—buy us a small freighter, a new one maybe.”

“And we still have our lives,” she said, brightening a little.

“Very long ones,” I added. She caught the gleam in my eye. “Maybe in another dozen or so decades we can come back here—during the next Day of the Sepulchral Night.”

“Get what we left behind in Zelosian’s Chine,” she finished.

I drew her close, buried my nose against her still-damp neck. She smelled of the sea and of summer, intoxicating.

Solum’ke returned my embrace. “What are you thinking about?” she whispered after several quiet moments.

“A Qwohog.”

“And two Corellians?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Not for the best bounty hunters in the sector,” she replied. “I think I hear another sail barge coming our way already.”

Twin tridents of lightning surged across the low-lying skies of Iscera. The congested atmosphere bled through in clotted tones of red and orange, as volatile gases reacted with the charged violence of the storm. Torrential gusts of wind and wet snow buffeted the hull of the
Prodigal
, layering the freighter with a secondary armor plate of thick ice. Bearing no exterior signature or running lights, the YT-1300 sat alone on an exposed pad, isolated from the main traffic of the Iscerian spaceport.

Lightning briefly illuminated the interior of the
Prodigal
’s bridge. Fable Astin sat tentatively, contemplating the storm. Exhausted and sickened, the young Jedi ran her fingers through the matted tangle of her hair, draping the unruly mane over her shoulders. The tapered cut of her flight jacket accentuated her slender waist and the lengthy lines of her legs and thighs. She winced irritably, shifting position to relieve the pinch of her gray pirate leggings, which had gathered in the backs of her knees. The slight motion rattled the heavy blaster at her hip and caused the lightsaber to fall into the cushion beside her.

Fable flipped the comm switch for the tenth time, waiting for the computer to bring up the stored message from the ship’s logs. The featureless image emerged from the miniholovid, realigning itself into the face and upper torso of a woman. Prematurely gray with the burden of command, auburn hair curled at the shoulders of her uniform, which bore the insignia of a Rebel Alliance officer. “Greetings Captain Astin and to your Harrier Infiltration team. This is Commander Beatonn of the Rebel frigate,
V’nnuk’rk.
” Beatonn paused briefly, interrupted by the distant blare of a proximity alarm. “Your objective is very clear, Captain. The Empire has begun construction of a communications bunker on Nysza III. Your orders are to destroy the bunker before it can be completed. Good luck, Captain, and may the Force be with you.” The holo-communication ended amid static discharge and interference.

Fable toggled the erasure switch, deleting the transmission. It was a duty long overdue. Nearly seventeen hours had passed since the completion of their objective, which had resulted in the untimely death of her technical officer, Arecelis Acosta. “Did you know that he was half human?”

“I’d heard rumors,” Deke Holman replied. The auxiliary control lights cast a surreal aura over his handsome but grim face and the shock of fiery, red hair crowning his cumbersome head. A Socorran, he was dark-skinned and rugged, wearing the traditional gold hoop in his left ear lobe. Still damp from their misadventure on Nysza III, he leaned forward and stared into the holographic etching secured on the viewscreen. He recognized his own stout figure, framed on each side by his companions. On the right, his captain and friend, Fable Astin, smiled as he tickled her neck. To the left, Arecelis Acosta was playfully feigning a punch.

The Coynite was nearly 2.2 meters tall, powerfully built at the chest and shoulders. His body was covered with a fine blanket of blue-black fur, which was intricately braided around his neck and ears. In the etching, his thick fingers grasped at Deke’s forearm, easily making the circumference of his flesh. Arecelis’s other hand was balled into a fist as the Coynite feigned an incoming punch.

Deke shook his head, thoughtfully pursing his thick lips. “I’m really going to miss him.” He sniffed disdainfully, slumping against the back of the acceleration chair. “No wonder there was no security in that bunker. Who would have thought a Jedi would be there?” Rubbing his forehead, he sighed, “At least you were with us.”

“Didn’t do Arecelis much good,” Fable scoffed. Her body was bruised from her momentary encounter with Vialco, a dark Jedi assigned to the garrison. One feint and one block was all he needed to launch her across the width of the construction corridor. Trembling with rage, all Fable could do was stare up at him, as his mocking laughter echoed through the empty ceiling tiles above the complex. Her limited skills were no challenge to him, and she had undermined herself by drawing her lightsaber in anger, opening herself to the dark side.

“Smells like a gundark crawled into the nav computer and died. It reeks in here!” The exacerbated Jedi threw her gloves onto the console, acutely aware of the stench permeating the bridge. During their escape from the bunker, they had been forced to dive into a construction tunnel full of stagnant water. The scent was prolific. “We need to get out of here. Is there a bar or something in town?”

“This is pretty much a dry world, Capt’n,” Deke replied. “But when I went to pick up those rations, I passed a little theater on the boulevard. Evidently, it’s the last show before the winter break and the owners are giving away tickets.”

“Did you get any?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. The kid nearly knocked me down trying to give the last two away.”

“What’s it called?”

Posing valiantly, Deke stood up and put his hand over his chest. In a deep voice, he declared, “‘For the Want of an Empire.’”

“Wonderful,” Fable grumbled, leading the way out of the flight cabin. “I can’t wait to see this.”

Against the elaborate backdrop of the stage, the clashing of swords echoed from the inner recesses of the set. The dual ended abruptly, with the edge of one prop sword slicing cleanly through the other, detonating the small charge inside to provide the dramatic effect of a lightsaber exploding through metal. Panting and fatigued, the actors separated, retreating to the far edges of the mock cave.

Fable focused on the mesmerizing movements of the lead actor. A subtle trick in the theater lighting enhanced the malevolence of his character, a tragic hero bent on destroying his one-time friend and companion. Captivated by the last moments of the scene, she sat on the edge of her seat, waiting for him to speak.

The audience gasped as the sword sliced the air only millimeters from one actor’s face, feigning the dreaded deathblow. As his rival died at his feet, the hero turned toward the audience. “Come, my good fellows,” he announced in a clear, resonating tone, “let us part this sad scene and, through our good company, make the journey shorter.” The curtain closed as the stage hands emerged to reset for the final act.

Fable sat back in her chair. “Did you see that?” She covered her mouth, laughing anxiously into her hand. “His technique is almost flawless.” Scanning the glossy holo-program, she whispered, “What’s his name?”

“Jaalib Brandl.”

“I want to meet him.” Turning on the wary Socorran, she squeezed his knees tightly. “You speak Iscerian, don’t you? Talk to the owner.”

Grumbling under his breath, Deke moved away from his seat and toward the aisle. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Through most of the final act, Fable sat with the actor’s image across her lap, comparing the picture with every minute expression of his youthful, almost adolescent face. The Force was with him and she felt it, moving through the audience with a tangible presence. She marveled at the dangerous parallel dimensions of reality and the play, where a young councilman began a slow rise into the inner circles of high government, only to discover corruption in every facet of its existence. In act two, he initiated a campaign to end the deterioration of the bureaucracy. But as his vision expanded in the third act, it became a ruthless autocracy, bent on exterminating its enemies and all who opposed it.

For the final scene, the hero stood alone in a splintered universe of his creation, devoid of hope, life, family, or friends. In a final affirmation, gazing out over the audience, he briefly met her eyes and held her captive. On his dying breath, he gasped, “For the want of an empire… all humanity was lost.”

Collapsing to the stage floor, the hero perished amid a thunderous echo of applause. Fable was one of the first to stand, eagerly applauding the performance, and joined the audience’s shouted accolades as the minor characters returned to the stage to take their bows. From the side wall, she spotted Deke waving for her to join him in the aisle.

“Come on,” Deke whispered, leading her out of a side door. “Most of the actors stay and hobnob with the audience, but a stage hand told me that Brandl’s already heading back to his quarters.”

“There he is!” Fable shouted, as the door slammed shut behind them. “That’s him!” she gushed, recognizing the actor’s costume robes. “Brandl!” she shouted, sliding down the icy stairwell. “Jaalib Brandl?”

The actor hesitated as the young woman scampered across the ice toward him. She was moving too rapidly for the footing, sliding precariously with every stride. Dropping his bag, Jaalib stepped forward as her legs slipped from beneath her, anchoring the young woman in his arms. “That was quite an entrance,” he teased.

“That was quite a performance!” Fable countered. Flushing crimson with embarrassment, she stepped away from him and laughed nervously, covering her reaction with a smile. “Where did you learn to use a sword like that?”

“An actor needs a variety of exotic skills,” Jaalib replied with a grin. “It’s the only way to insure longevity in this profession.” Retrieving his bag, he whispered, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a long flight ahead of me tomorrow. Good night, Miss… Miss…”

“Fable. Fable Astin.”

“Good night, Miss Astin.” His smile deepened. “Fable.”

“Good night,” Fable sighed, watching the outline of his robes vanish in the shadows of the theater courtyard. Teeth chattering, she stared into the darkness for a long moment.

“Come on, Fable!” Deke complained. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get back to the ship.”