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Odds of Survival (Part 2)
Continued from Another Sky #6
With a prolonged sigh, Captain Hija handed the datapad back to his first officer and turned to resume his inspection. That alone should have been enough for the bridge crew’s gamma shift leader, but the wide-eyed lieutenant didn’t seem to notice his superior’s distant behavior.
" Orders, sir?", he asked crisply, waiting for further instructions. The captain raised one eyebrow and looked askance at him.
" Hold this position," he answered coolly after several moments.
" Maintain sensor and communication sweeps, passive mode only. Notify me when you find something, understood?" The lieutenant nodded quickly, saluted and returned to his duty station. Hija turned his gaze back to the star-filled void and focused on the bright yellow orb of Gombda’s primary.
The Imperial Star Destroyers Devastator and Maleficent had been waiting at the farthest edges of the system for three standard days now, monitoring traffic and comm channels for any word of the battle of Gombda proper.
Hija was reluctant to order his ships into the system, concerned that there might be a trap waiting. It didn’t matter whether the threat out there was from the self-proclaimed New Republic, heavily armed bands of lawless pirates and scavengers, or any of the military and political rivals from the splintering Empire. These were times of necessary frugality, and tactical caution was not unwarranted. So unlike the days when rebellion was a minor threat, and the Devastatorwas merely one mighty vessel in a great, omnipotent fleet; a force to be reckoned with.
Force, the very word produced a slight nervous shudder in him. He’d heard the rumors and whispered tales of those mystical warriors who had claimed to manipulate and sense some unseen power. A few of the superstitious dared say it was this Force which had held the Empire together, caused it to grow and firmly entrench itself over the years. Surely the man who had once ruled an entire galaxy couldn’t have been such a powerful sorcerer that whole sectors felt his tyrannical grip. An elected political leader or military commander, Hija could understand, but a magician ! He’d scoffed at the notion.
Until he met Darth Vader just prior to the subjugation of Ralltiir. The man,- if that’s what Vader truly was beneath that horrid black mask, armor and robes, - had inspired great fear and speculation among the common servants of the Empire, without benefit of rank or office. Dark Lord of the Sith - what kind of title was that? Essentially, Hija secretly believed, Vader had been nothing more than a useful freak with extraordinary powers beyond his comprehension, a puppet of the Emperor.
Now Vader and the Emperor were both dead, and the Empire as an entity was crumbling all around. Those two dark, malevolent beings may have had something there to give mere soldiers and bureaucrats pause for thought. Hija had to admit to himself, reluctantly, that whatever one chose to call that source of power and inspiration - sorcery, dark magic, the Force, whatever - it had served to keep things in order.
The Intelligence reports of a Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker by name, troubled him somewhat. Skywalker was only a pilot, rank of Commander, but it was rumored that he, too, possessed some of those same powers as had Vader and the Emperor. He wielded that outlawed, archaic weapon of the Jedi, the lightsaber, with an uncanny expertise. Were this Skywalker to have any ambitions of public office, then the New Republic’s stronghold over the galaxy was assured. Of course, those were only the reports, but the prospect both frightened and encouraged him.
The sound of approaching footfalls broke the reverie. Hija turned from the viewports as Lieutenant Camlin, the gamma shift duty officer, came to a halt before him.
"What is it?"
"Message from the Maleficent,sir," the duty officer replied quickly.
"They’ve intercepted a small number of escape craft. Trajectory analysis identified them as floaters from the wreckage over the fourth planet of the Gombda system."
"Wreckage?" Captain Hija’s pulse quickened at the news.
"The message didn’t elaborate, sir," Camlin gulped.
Hija weighed the possibilities. Evidently the battle of Gombda had been a messy one, but the escape vehicles could belong to just about anyone. Whoever occupied those craft would have a wealth of answers regarding events of the past week, but taking his Star Destroyer directly through the system wasn’t a risk he was willing to take. There might only be a shipwreck out there, but then again there could just as easily be an entire squadron of capital-class warships waiting to spring an ambush.
"We’ll rendezvous with the Maleficent," Hija announced at last, straightening the hem of his uniform jacket. "Have the navigators plot a course around the system to meet her."
Lieutenant Camlin logged the orders into his datapad.
"Shall we continue scanning?" This time, he recognized the sour expression on his superior officer’s face, and with a hurried salute, marched back down the command walkway. Captain Hija shook his head sadly. "Conscripts."
It took nearly a full day at the Star Destroyer’s top sublight cruising speed to circumnavigate Gombda and join the Maleficent on the other side of the system. Captain Hija could have instructed his crew to make a nanojump, but the calculations for an in-system jump were tricky, and he intended to play it safe for as long as possible.
Hija felt his anxiety mount as the Devastator assumed a defensive position, and he read the brief status reports from the last three shifts. He glanced out upon the great wedge of the Star Destroyer Maleficent as it slowly angled its unprotected belly toward Hija’s ship, and wondered again just who had been onboard those captured escape craft. Well, he would soon find out. He was puzzled somewhat that the Maleficent’s captain hadn’t bothered contacting him personally, choosing instead to send his reports through his executive officer. There were certain protocols to be followed between naval officers holding the same rank, especially since Hija was the theater commander of this mission. That was fine with him; Hija’s prerogative to conduct a surprise inspection of his ships was further justified.
A total of eleven escape pods had been recovered by the Maleficent’s tractor beams, and were sitting in the main docking bay like battered prize eggs when Captain Hija’s shuttle touched down. Technical crews and their droids had begun compiling sensor readings and damage assessments, but once the pods had been cracked open, medical teams were summoned to undertake the grisly task of removing the bodies of beings who had perished by asphyxiation, radiation exposure, or explosive decompression.
Captain Hija rubbed his chin distractedly as he stepped between broken escape pods, small groups of engineers and medics, droids and stasis cocoons for the dead. Behind him, the two armed guards he’d brought with him from the Devastator watched the activity around them with grim expressions. So far as he could tell, there were as yet no survivors, and his fervent hope of finding someone alive from the battle at Gombda was fading rapidly.
He was leaning over one of the lifepods to examine its dented, scorched hull more closely, when a large, heavy shadow fell across him. From the corner of his eye, he recognized the plump, ruddy-faced commander of the Maleficent, a gray-haired man nearly twice Hija’s age who should have been a Fleet Admiral by now. That struck him as being very unusual, but the man could’ve been demoted in rank. That or the Empire was truly desperate to replace those talented naval officers who had been lost at the Battle of Endor. In either case, Captain Giel remained tight-lipped and evasive in regards to his military career. Hija found the man difficult to work with, and couldn’t understand why such a bitter and callous officer had been chosen to work in tandem with younger, more daring men like himself, unless it was to provide him with the steadying influence of experience. True, working with Giel had made him more cautious, but Hija found himself more suspicious of the man as a result.
"Your communiqué mentioned a wreck," Hija said flatly, moving around the escape pod’s cylindrical hull. Captain Giel glared at him defiantly, knowing that his theater superior wouldn’t bother acknowledging the fact that the message had, in fact, been sent by proxy. But, Hija had shuttled over without explanation, and that bothered him.
"These pods were released from at least three different ships in the immediate vicinity of Gombda," he began. "Seven of them bear ID numbers placing them as part of the Star Destroyer Austere’s pod complement. The others appear to have come from independently operated vessels."
Hija nodded to himself. If memory served him correctly, the Austere was last assigned to the Kuat blockade.
"What’s the status of those ships?"
"They’re still orbiting Gombda," Giel told him. "Derelict."
Hija straightened up and looked at him. "Derelict?"
"Our scanning crews have detected magnetic signatures on the escape pods, and some of those pods were inoperable when we brought them onboard," Captain Giel went on. "It would appear that the Austere’s magnepulse ordnance has affected every ship around Gombda."
"Can we assume then, that part of the magnepulse cluster fell to the planet surface?" Hija thought it was a valid enough explanation for the lack of communications from Gombda. If an MP cluster struck a population center...
"Any recovery operation would be useless," Giel said pointedly. "In my opinion, this system should be written off as a loss." Captain Hija moved on to the next escape pod, where a medical team in protective skinthins was extracting the swollen, bruised and bloody corpses of what had once been an Imperial engineering crew. Grimacing in disgust, he studied the pod’s thruster package instead, and silently wondered if Giel had considered the possibility of reclaiming the Star Destroyer or sending a recon team to survey any possible damage on Gombda. His expression darkened when he began thinking about the report he would have to present to the governor, once Hija’s expeditionary mission returned.
"Captain! Captain!"
Hija and Giel both looked up to see one of the tech chiefs waving them over to the banged-up lifepod which even now was being lowered to the deck by one of the docking bay’s loading cranes. The two Imperial officers exchanged quizzical frowns, but once again Hija’s pulse quickened. Aside from the sooty-black carbon scoring covering one side of the hull, the pod appeared to be undamaged. Hija’s optimism was evident from the hopeful expression on his face. If Giel noticed, the bulky commander of the Maleficent chose to ignore it.
"What is it?" he grunted as they approached. "We’ve got a couple of live ones, sir," the crew chief gasped, fairly beaming with excitement. "The tractor beams just snagged this pod about five minutes ago."
"I need a medical team over here immediately," Captain Giel barked. His jaw hardened as a group of medics clad in white scampered toward the lifepod, lugging their diagnostic equipment and a pair of repulsorlift gurneys behind them. Giel started toward them, but Hija suddenly, almost frantically, grabbed his sleeve and stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
Captain Hija swallowed a hard lump in his throat and looked up into the oversized Giel’s cols, fiery eyes. He had to think fast.
I’ll handle this," he announced sharply. "Perhaps you should proceed with your investigation from an intelligence standpoint."
Giel’s thick gray eyebrows shot upward in surprise for a moment, then furrowed in anger and suspicion.
"Captain Hija," he began carefully. "I am capable of overseeing the recovery myself." His voice held just a hint of menace; he wanted the younger officer to think about what he was doing, he had to be very cautious though, he didn’t wish to overstep his bounds.
"As Theater Commander, I am exercising my right to supersede your authority in this matter," Hija said. He hoped that Giel would back down, and for a fleeting moment he thought Giel might pick him up and toss him halfway across the docking bay. Captain Giel managed to restrain himself… barely.
"I don’t particularly agree with your field command policies," he said, his gruff voice dangerously low. "In my opinion, your unorthodox manner could prove rather costly, in a combat situation." Hija smiled tightly, his cool eyes meeting the other’s steady gaze.
"You will follow my directives, regardless. Don’t force me to take further action which we’d both regret."
Giel’s eyes burned indignantly. Around the two Imperial commanders, recovery teams worked with practical efficiency, oblivious to the heated discussion between their superiors. "Yes, a field grade reprimand is a serious mark on a man’s record," he said curtly, taking a step back. "I’ll be on the bridge."
Captain Hija watched him as he slowly maneuvered past salvaged escape pods and small huddles of technical personnel and their equipment. He let out the breath he’d been holding and turned to his guards, who had surreptitiously been keeping an eye on the portly captain Giel. They nodded to each other in reassurance, but Hija was not comforted by Giel’s departure. Wordlessly, he put aside thoughts of anxiety and moved toward the recently captured lifepod, now surrounded by a half dozen techs and medics.
One passenger had already been extricated from the relatively intact escape craft, and an MD-5 unit from the Maleficent’s medical section was gingerly inspecting the limp form. Hija forced himself to remain calm.
"Survivors?" he ventured.
One of the medics nodded to him in disbelief.
"I don’t see how they’ve made it this long. Looks like this pod’s life support unit shorted out. Luckily, hull integrity’s intact." He sighed deeply, tiredly. "Barely, that is," he added.
Hija peered down at the comatose figure lying on one of the gurneys. It was a female, heavy-set and clad in a worksuit, her skin pale and flaccid. A breath mask had been pulled over her face, and the medical droid was administering a stimshot. Hija frowned slightly.
"There were two passengers, you said?"
The medic nodded as he took a series of readings from the diagnostic scanner in his hand. "This one here, and a young male. He’s still inside the pod." There was movement from inside the escape pod, and presently the medics were carefully pulling the limp, unconscious form through the pod’s hatch and onto the remaining gurney. Hija grinned smugly, scarcely believing his good fortune.
Captain Hija silently looked over the young man’s lean, battered body and tender, almost boyish features, the wrinkled and stained black tunic, the silvery, innocuous looking handgrip of a lightsaber hanging from a belt hook. No doubt about it, this was the Jedi Luke Skywalker. For the time being, he would present little problem, but Hija had no intention of holding Skywalker as a prisoner. He leaned close to the unconscious man’s face.
"Is he fit for travel?"
"He should be stable enough," the chief medic opined after a quick scan. "If he’s not jostled around too much."
"Good enough," Hija declared as he looked fixedly at each man in turn. "These two are coming with me, and not a word of this to your superiors, to your captain, to anyone, understood? Total secrecy must be maintained. Are we clear on that?"
The medics nodded vigorously as they readied the two unconscious bodies for transport. Hija reached for the Jedi’s lightsaber and stepped back to allow the medical and engineering teams room to work. The two naval troopers he’d brought along for protection suddenly became more attentive, their sharp eyes flitting everywhere at once as Captain Hija slipped the lightsaber handle into his olive drab uniform jacket, hoping no one had seen him and thought suspiciously of it. He sighed with profound satisfaction - and hoped that Captain Giel wouldn’t learn the identities of the two survivors from Gombda. Or, Hija amended, learn of the plot which depended on the Jedi’s cooperation.
Captain Mils Giel’s eyes narrowed as he peered down through the flight control office window, unseen and unnoticed by the work crews clambering among the recovered lifepods scattered on the landing deck below. Beyond the docking bay’s prep and staging area, Captain Hija’s shuttle looked like a shadowy bird as it fell away from the Maleficent, bearing the two mysterious occupants of the last pod retrieved from the outer limits of the Gombda system.
He knew there was something about Hija’s obsessive secrecy regarding this mission. His own copy of the mission outline had been rather sketchy, calling it a routine intelligence survey, but he’d correctly suspected that something just didn’t feel right about sitting dead in space for a standard week, gathering bits and pieces of stray subspace communications and floating debris for analysis. It hadn’t been the first time he’d been assigned such tedious pedestrian duties. Giel accepted them with a philosophical shrug; there was more to being a soldier than tasting the glory of success, more than teaching discipline by example.
But what was success, when a ragged group of insurgents had bloodied the Empire’s nose time and again, culminating in the destruction of a second Death Star and the apparent death of the Emperor? What was discipline, when a once unified galaxy continued chopping away at itself, subdividing like some mindless plasma worm?
Even after he’d been stripped of his rank and privileges, he felt he’d learned a valuable lesson, one that would remain with him throughout his career. Full responsibility meant accepting the consequences, even if they meant his own death. Apparently Darth Vader, the Emperor’s personal emissary, had recognized that when he’d demoted Giel from the rank of Admiral. Any other Imperial officer would have been executed without benefit of court-martial or personal entreaty. Several of Giel’s peers and colleagues, even personal acquaintances, had met their demise at the hands of Vader, and he was quietly relieved to hear that Vader had perished at the Battle of Endor.
Now, there was no discipline, no restraint, no conformity of purpose within the ranks of the Empire. One man’s confidante or ally became his executioner, or at the very least, a sworn enemy, seemingly overnight. This only served to anger Captain Giel, as he watched the Empire he’d been so proud to serve disintegrated around him. Captain Hija’s machinations only tempered Giel’s resolve to see the once invulnerable Empire return to claim its rightful control of the galaxy.
Giel nodded to himself, turning to retrieve the recording rod from its slot on the console. He now possessed a copy of the flight deck’s security holo log; with further enhancement and analysis, the visuals could very well implicate Hija in whatever plot he was attempting to pull off.
Giel had other intelligence resources at his command, as well. With increasing confidence, Giel and his two armed escorts left the flight control office. Entering the turbolift just outside, Giel keyed for the detention level and began humming tunelessly as the lift doors shut behind him.
Skywalker’s sleeping form reminded Hija of a young postgrad, fresh out of the Academy and resting off a three-day bender spent lumguzzling at some seedy local tavern. Except for a few minor injuries and severely depressed vital signs, he looked none the worse for wear considering he’d spent several days in the deteriorating atmosphere of an escape pod. Hija had to wonder about those renowned Jedi powers, and whether or not they were a factor in Skywalker’s convalescence.
The female, on the other hand, was in critical condition, though the medics had managed to stabilize her. By all rights she should have died; as it was, she had probably suffered a moderate amount of neural damage due to lack of oxygen. Captain Hija was concerned first and foremost with Skywalker’s recovery, but the woman could probably provide some useful information regarding the turn of events of Gombda. If she survived, that is.
Captain Hija stood waiting in the chief medic’s office, arms folded against his chest, and looked on with keen interest as the head physician lifted Skywalker’s right forearm from the elevated bed and held it up before him to closely examine it. After a few seconds, the medic signaled his droid assistant at the lifesigns monitor for a short conversation that Hija couldn’t hear, then stepped aside as the 2-1B surgical unit took Skywalker’s limp forearm, carefully grasping it between wrist and elbow. The droid inserted its other arm into a small foldcase the medic had taken from a nearby drawer. There was an audible click, and the droid removed the pistonlike arm and, with its new attachment, expertly made an incision in Skywalker’s wrist.
Hija gasped in amazement as the surgeon droid peeled the synthflesh away, revealing the delicate inner workings of a bionic hand. Skywalker continued sleeping; almost peacefully, Hija swore. So engrossed was he, watching the droid working on Skywalker’s cybernetic hand, that he didn’t realize the chief medic had come into the office until he’d spoken.
"Captain." Hija nodded to him. "How soon before you can wake him up?"
The chief medic frowned, his gaunt expression wrinkling as he slipped off his sterile skinthin gloves.
" A few hours, perhaps. He appears to have suffered no permanent physical trauma, but I’d still like to keep him here for observation." He glanced back at the unconscious young man and his droid attendant. "Incredible, really," he muttered shaking his hoary head.
"Incredible that he’s alive after his ordeal?" Hija asked rhetorically. "Yes, it is, Dr. Beorg. Indeed it is," he added emphatically. Dr. Beorg started to say something, thought better of it, and took off his long white smock. He draped it casually across the back of his chair and, pulling the chair out from behind his desk, sat down. "That prosthetic hand of his took some doing," he said conversationally.
Hija looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I think I can salvage the subprocessor nodes; they took some minor damage from some kind of magnetic burst. Otherwise, the linkages, moving parts, even the batteries look good." Dr. Beorg smiled to himself. "I’ve never seen cybernetic power systems constructed so efficiently."
Captain Hija nodded slowly. "What about the female?"
"Not good," the chief medical officer lamented. "She’ll be lucky to come out of her coma. I’ll order a resonance map of her nervous system for further analysis, but at this point…" He shook his head mournfully.
"Do you want to keep her alive," Hija asked him, "and hope she’ll eventually come around?"
"If she comes around," Dr. Beorg muttered. He shrugged with bony, narrow shoulders. "I’d hate to see her placed in a sanitarium, or outright disposed of."
"I understand, Dr. Beorg." He was looking in on Skywalker again, and suddenly he leaned forward. "I think he’s waking up now," he announced.
Dr. Beorg got up from his chair and peered through the observation window. Skywalker’s fingers curled reflexively again as the surgeon droid tested the bionic hand’s internal mechanism. "No," the medic assured his commander. "Onebee’s just checking - "
When Skywalker unexpectedly let out a yelp of pain, Hija and Dr. Beorg exchanged anxious looks. Then the doctor was shrugging into his smock as he hurried from the office. Captain Hija took a few deep breaths to calm down from his initial surprise, but he knew that the greater hurdles concerning Skywalker were yet to come. He patted the comfortable weight of the lightsaber still hidden beneath his uniform tunic and quietly followed Dr. Beorg into the examining room.
A second bolt of energy surged through the dark tunnel of the hibernation trance, blasting the shadows of sleep away like dust. The first burst had served to alert Luke’s subconsciousness to awaken from his self-induced coma, and in a few moments he’d have done well enough on his own, but the unexpected sudden shock carried with it new signals, waves of pain. He drew upon the Force to hasten his recovery. The clouds dissipated, and suddenly he was blinking at the harsh light.
Yet another jolt of current seared through his body, but it wasn’t as painful as the resulting headache that felt like it had sliced through the front of his skull. He cried out, and his voice sounded raw and husky in his own ears. His eyes were still very blurry, and the brilliant light didn’t help.
He was awake, but feeling more exhausted than refreshed. The Jedi healing trance which Yoda had taught him was more difficult to do than he’d realized; Luke had scarcely done it, even in meditation, a half dozen times. That, or he had really taken a pounding over the past week. A flash of memory came to him: he was in an escape pod, tumbling through space; a woman sitting across from him. He’d sensed anger, desperation. Was she alive?
He relaxed into the Force for a moment, tempted to fall asleep… No. Somehow, he was alive, he seemed to be in one piece, which implied that somehow, somebody had rescued him. His eyes snapped open, and he was alert. Luke didn’t sense any immediate danger, and from the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar, bluish-tinged metal figure holding his right arm and working on the artificial hand. He curled his fingers experimentally, and was relieved that they’d even move at all. "Too Onebee?" Luke’s voice was still a little groggy, but seeing the surgeon droid was a good sign and an incredible stroke of luck. He had to be onboard the Republic fleet’s medical frigate, and any moment now Leia or Han or Chewie or the droids would be there to greet him.
"That is my unit designation, sir," the surgeon droid told him in a cool, but polite, mechanical voice. "However, I find that I prefer to be called Onebee. Are you feeling well, sir?"
Luke nodded glumly. So much for luck.
He did, however, seem to be in a very clean and well-equipped medical facility, probably on a starship of some kind. That was a good sign, at least.
"You’re awake; that’s good." This voice was warmer, more lively than Onebee’s. A human voice. "No, don’t sit up sir, just relax. You’ve been through the mill lately."
"Where am I?" Luke croaked.
"Infirmary," the old man’s voice said noncommittally.
That didn’t tell Luke much; an infirmary could be anywhere. But Luke was fairly certain that he was on a ship. Another one belonging to the salvage teams who had raided the battlefields of Gombda? "I could use a drink of water," Luke said, trying to work his sore, unused vocal cords. In response, an unseen hand brought up a slightly curved metal tube and placed it in the corner of his mouth. The water was bland and cool, and Luke drank deeply until the tube was taken away. "Thank you," he muttered, feeling much better. "Can you tell me where I am?"
"Perhaps I’d best leave that to someone who can explain it for you," the disembodied voice said after a momentary pause. Luke had already ascertained that the infirmary was occupied by two other humans; the man who spoke to him was probably conferring silently with the as-yet unidentifiable other party. With renewed concern, Luke slowly sat up, paying no heed to the surgeon droid’s entreaties to lie back down.
Two men stood across the room from him, gazing at him expectantly. One he recognized as an Imperial medical officer, a kindly looking, gray-haired man of perhaps sixty standard years, clad in a white tunic and trousers and a long smock. He was wringing his hands together nervously, and his bright eyes twinkled, revealing a dozen conflicting thoughts. Luke decided he would try to talk to the old man at the first opportunity. Something about the doctor’s behavior… Luke couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet.
The other man bore the rank badge and insignia of a naval commander upon his drab but well-pressed uniform jacket. He was of medium build and height, with short brown hair and an aura of secrecy about him that was not too dissimilar from the old medical officer’s. He was certain that both Imperials already knew who he was. Luke then realized that his clothes had been removed, and had been replaced by a shapeless hospital gown. Modestly, he tugged at the bottom of his tunic, and managed to cover his thighs. If a female had been present, he’d have been a little embarrassed.
He glanced around the room, noting the diagnostic equipment, a couple of offices, partitions and a couple more beds. Off to one side was the entrance to a Bacta ward. He saw no sign of the woman who had escaped the derelict salvage freighter with him. Had she died, despite all the preparation Luke had imparted to her before slipping into the hibernation trance?
Taking a deep breath, Luke spoke. "There was a woman in the escape pod with me. Is she all right?"
The two Imperials exchanged glances, but it was the medical officer who replied sorrowfully, "She’s under intensive care right now, sir. She’s in dormo-shock, but nonetheless lucky to be alive." He smiled slightly, his eyes twinkling. "You’re both very lucky."
Luke digested this news somberly. Yes, they had been lucky to have been picked up, even if their benefactors were Imperials. He felt a pang of sorrow for the AT-AT commander he’d met on Gombda, who’d stowed away onto the salvage ship and rescued him from the makeshift prison the salvage team had put him in. Surely the reclamation outfit hadn’t intended to sell Luke to the Empire. If indeed they had even considered it, at least now the Empire didn’t have to pay the bounty.
Now the Imperial naval officer was eyeing him intently, as if gauging him for the possible threat he might pose. But Luke sensed no ill-will from the man, at least not in the presence of his medical officer. If anything, he seemed a little apprehensive. He appeared to be unarmed, and surprisingly, there were no guards, though there easily could be an entire squad of stormtroopers posted just outside.
"Sir, if you are satisfied with the repairs I have made, I will now seal your prosthetic hand." The surgeon droid angled its skull-shaped head and raised its attachment arm. Luke nodded, and Onebee closed up the access plates and applied a fresh patch of synthflesh to his wrist. Luke pulled his arm from Onebee’s gentle mechanical grip and flexed his fingers, nodding his approval to the droid.
The surgeon droid swiveled around to face the medical officer. "Dr. Beorg, if you no longer require my services here, I will continue making my rounds."
"That will be fine, Onebee." The droid backed away from Luke’s bed and trollied out of the observation suite.
Luke returned his attention to the Imperial commander, who chose that moment to dismiss his medical officer with a sharp nod. When he’d left the room, the commander took a couple of steps toward Luke and clasped his hands behind him.
"Commander Skywalker, how do you feel?"
Luke cleared his throat. "Not too bad, I guess, for a prisoner."
The Imperial chuckled. "No, I assure you, Skywalker, it is not my intention to hold you captive, nor to hand you over to a higher authority. A good thing, too, since the Inquisitorius seems to have disappeared altogether."
"But you’re not going to allow me to leave, either."
The Imperial commander pursed his lips, then let out a sigh. "Skywalker, you and I have a few things which we need to discuss."
"I’ll bet," Luke snorted.
"I assure you of my honorable intentions," the Imperial said ignoring Luke’s impassive stare. "Perhaps after you’ve had something to eat, you’ll be in a more receptive mood."
Luke frowned at him, but he was rather hungry. "Actually, I’m starving," he admitted, just as a loud gurgle erupted from his gut. Luke winced. "So long as you don’t plant any parasites in my dinner, that is."
"Nothing quite so devious." The Imperial frowned. "You don’t trust me, do you?"
"I have my reasons," Luke said ruefully.
"Of course. If you like, I’ll prepare it myself," Hija pressed.
"I’ll just have a ration pack," Luke said stubbornly.
The Imperial commander shrugged.
"If you insist." Stepping over to one of the supply cabinets, he searched through its compartments until he located what he was looking for: a case of emergency food stores, some in sealed packets, some in self-heating trays. He scanned their labels, reading them off to Luke. Nothing sounded very appetizing, though Luke did perk up a bit. If he was going to have to settle for processed food, he might as well have a variety to choose from. Luke finally decided on a tray of white rycrit slices in broth, whipped sugarbulb and glazed ootoowergs, and he devoured them with great relish.
"I don’t suppose I could have another," Luke said hopefully, scraping up the last of the sugarbulb with his fork. "It’s been a while since I’ve eaten."
Luke peeled away the tray’s wrapping, mindful of the steam billowing from the heated tray, and dipped his fork into the broth-smothered meat slices. For processed food, Luke had to admit to himself that the rycrit slices were pretty good. He brought the fork up to his mouth, and jerked as if he’d been shot.
Luke caught his breath as a nauseating wave swept over him, causing him to drop his fork. He closed his eyes and let the Force buffer him, shielding him from what felt like the screams of another being in great pain. Swallowing the acid taste in his throat, Luke tried to pinpoint the source of the terrifying disturbance in the Force. It wasn’t easy, mentally shifting through the hundreds of individual souls he was detecting, he relaxed his concentration just enough to extend his search outward, beyond the artificial boundaries which separated thousands of lives from the harsh vacuum of space, still following a single tremor… there, on another starship nearby…
"Skywalker?"
Luke’s eyes snapped open. "Yes?" he asked taking a breath.
The Imperial was studying him with a strange expression on his face that Luke couldn’t decipher. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."
"Indigestion," Luke lied, regaining his composure. "I think my stomach’s just getting used to the concept of food again."
"I can get a settler for you," the Imperial suggested.
"No, no, I’ll be fine." The Imperial straightened before him, still uncertain what to make of Luke’s behavior. For a moment, though, he made no other offer of assistance.
Luke looked down at the dinner tray he’d set before him, and it occurred to him that he’d suddenly lost his appetite. The distant echo of suffering continued to assail him from across space. Luke did what he could to shield himself from it, but at this point he didn’t dare mention anything to the Imperial commander. Not until he knew what was going on, and what role he was to play in whatever scheme the Empire had up its sleeve.
"I think I’m ready for that explanation now," Luke said after a moment to collect his thoughts. He wished he didn’t feel so helpless.
"And time is of the essence, I agree," the Imperial said. "Why don’t we discuss this somewhere more --"
"Private?" Luke interrupted. His muscles tensed; he was expecting a dozen armed guards to suddenly rush into the infirmary, and without his lightsaber he could do little to prevent them from escorting him to the detention level. The Imperial frowned at him.
"Private, yes. Secure… yes, for the duration." He hesitated. Luke returned the skeptical frown.
"Expecting trouble?"
"From you - no," the Imperial said, averting his eyes. Luke wasn’t sure what to think of that, though he believed the Imperial was wary of something or someone. In any case, Luke had awakened in a hospital bed, and not a prison cell. Apparently these Imperials weren’t overly concerned with keeping him confined, which suggested a level of trust he hadn’t expected from the Empire’s minions. Luke felt he could probably escape without too much trouble, but he was suddenly deeply curious about the mystery that seemed to surround his capture.
No, he amended, these Imperials had rescued him, for which he was undoubtedly grateful. That didn’t make him feel any better when four navy troopers, in flaring black helmets and uniforms, appeared through a doorway. They eyed him suspiciously, their hands resting on their holstered weapons. The Imperial commander’s face was unreadable.
"I don’t suppose I could have my clothes back before we go for a walk," Luke muttered. The interrogator droid unclamped its electroshock pincer from the prisoner’s temples and whirred back a few centimeters, hovering just in front of the humanoid’s agony-flushed face. The two stormtroopers holding him by the arms tightened their grip and hauled him upright as he sagged heavily onto the bunk.
Captain Giel wrinkled his bulbous nose at the lingering stench of ozone, sweat and burned flesh and regarded the haggard Devaronian silently, unruffled by the inhuman bawling and shrieking. They’d been at it for well over an hour, and had come no closer to breaking their prisoner than when they’d first begun the interrogation. Had it not been for the detention level warden’s protestations against administering truth serums intended for human physiologies, Giel might already have a full confession - and the impetus to implicate Captain Hija in his plot to subvert the preservation of the Empire. The IT series droid’s auxiliary equipment - including a heat emitter, sonic torture boom, and the electroshock assembly - had accomplished little more than to make the Devaronian more stubborn and irritable.
Giel checked his wrist chrono and let out a sigh of boredom, more for the prisoner’s benefit than his own.
"You know," he yawned, "This would all be much less unpleasant for us all if you would simply tell me what you know."
The Devaronian appeared to have recovered from the latest of the interrogator droid’s torture sessions. He peered around the glossy black, spherical droid and fixed the portly Imperial with a feral toothy grin.
"Didn’t I say I didn’t know nothin’?" he snorted defiantly, though the rough edge to his voice indicated that the interrogation was starting to take its toll. "It’s like I keep tellin’ ya, Cap’n. I’m just a free merchant."
"Yes," Giel stated. "A free merchant peddling in stolen Imperial property, corporate espionage, controlled substances --"
"That ‘stim was my personal supply," the demonic-looking alien sneered. "Somethin’ wrong with a little attitude adjustment?"
Giel dismissed the lie with a derisive snort; he was growing tired of this. It mattered little what had been confiscated from the Devaronian’s small freighter, which had been captured leaving Gombda and now sat in the Maleficent’s deep storage bay. He knew that the arrogant humanoid was withholding information.
He turned to the warden, who had opted to remain standing by the detention cell’s door. Throughout the interview he’d kept silent, only now and then checking the IT unit’s array of coercion devices, and once during the session he’d run a quick bioscan of the Devaronian. The warden was nursing a swollen cheek from the prisoner’s unexpected head butt.
"I trust you’re satisfied with our progress, Tan," Giel stated sarcastically.
The warden turned blue, chagrined.
"I wouldn’t have expected such resistance, Captain."
"I am done toying with him," Captain Giel informed the warden bluntly. "Prepare the interrogator’s injection arm."
"Sir, if we use our serums, we may kill him," Tan argued. "Wouldn’t you prefer to hold him for further questioning?"
Giel drew his great bulk up and glared at the warden, who found himself pressed up against the door. Giel wondered how such a spineless man could possibly have been appointed to supervise a Star Destroyer’s detention level. The Empire’s ranks were full of a generation of weaklings who were being drafted into the military, and it sickened him that most of these new recruits were unqualified for the positions they were having to fill.
"The prisoner isn’t answering my preliminary questions," he bellowed. "As an enemy of the Empire, he deserves no preferential treatment. Now do it!"
Reluctantly, the warden eased around Captain Giel and went over to the hovering droid. He could feel the hard stares of the captain and the two white-armored stormtroopers boring through him as he worked. The Devaronian looked on with casual interest. When the warden stepped away from the droid and nodded to Giel, the alien began chuckling to himself, and was instantly silenced by a brutal blow to the midsection.
The trooper who’d struck the prisoner with his blaster rifle moved to holster his weapon and resume his hold on the Devaronian, but at some unspoken signal from Giel he leveled his blaster at the warden and fired. With a sharp cry, the warden slumped lifelessly to the deck.
Captain Giel sighed, as he knelt down beside the warden’s body and removed the IT unit’s controller from his belt. He nudged a button on the handheld device, and the interrogator droid moved in on the weakened Devaronian before he could respond. Giel stood back and waited for the drug to take effect.
The horned alien gnashed his teeth and wheezed for breath, struggling forlornly in the troopers’ firm grasp, but after a few seconds his eyes fluttered and his body went limp. The troopers turned expressionless faceplates to their captain. "Wait a moment yet," Giel stated.
Suddenly the Devaronian’s head snapped upward, and something like a euphoric, almost maniacal laugh rang out in the dimly-lit confines of the cell. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, and drool ran freely down his chin. Drugged, beaten and exhausted, with one horn cleft in half, he looked like something out of a dark, ancient mythological tale. Giel folded his arms in front of his barrel-shaped chest and looked down at the pitiful Devaronian.
"Now," he declared, "you will answer my questions."
The Devaronian seemed to hear him, and he let out another horrifying cackle.
"Why, sure, Cap’n!" he grinned. "Whaddaya want to know?"
Captain Giel smiled tightly. "That’s more like it."
Luke sat back in stunned silence, his eyes drawn to the tactical diagram the tabletop holoprojector had sketched into the air above him. The Imperial commander, who’d identified himself as Captain Hija, studied his reaction as the images circled in the near-darkness of the briefing room, both of them sipping quietly at their hot tea as they watched, for the first time, a simulation of the battle at Gombda - as well as events which immediately followed the botched Imperial siege.
Luke, wearing a plain tech’s coveralls the captain had given him in lieu of his Jedi outfit, pointed to a pair of blue wedges winking at the edges of the display.
"I assume these are your Destroyers," he ventured. Captain Hija nodded.
"Very good, Skywalker. I take it you’ve had the opportunity to study our tactical holos before."
"On a few occasions," Luke acquiesced, noting that Hija was regarding him in a new light, almost as a confidante rather than the enemy. But he tried not to be lulled into a false sense of security. He’d paid the price often enough for such a move. He gestured at several nondescript dots scattered randomly throughout the display.
"And these are all the ships belonging to that salvage outfit," he stated confidently.
The captain winced - barely, but Luke had picked up on it.
"Er, yes," he answered, slightly taken aback. Luke looked hard at him.
"You knew they were out there."
"I knew they were out there," Captain Hija emphasized. "The Maleficent’s captain knows nothing."
Luke took in a breath. He could scarcely believe what was suddenly made clear. It also created a whole new batch of mysteries to solve.
"You knew about my mission to Gombda," he said softly. "And you contacted those salvagers to look for me while they picked through the wreckage."
Hija was slow to respond.
"My superiors have been keeping up with your activities for some time now," he finally admitted, obviously uncomfortable. "We waited until an opportunity, a rare opportunity, presented itself, courtesy of the late commander of the Austere." Hija pointed to the faint shape depicting the abandoned Star Destroyer that had deployed its magnepulse cluster on Gombda, and made Skywalker’s capture and delivery possible.
"So who really wants me?" Luke asked. "Because I get the impression you’re not going to deliver me to the nearest Imperial prison or capital just because I happen to be on the Empire’s Most Wanted List."
"Freeze simulation!" Hija barked, and the holographic display dimmed a little as the projector held the images static. He stared across the table at Skywalker, awed by the depth of the young man’s insight and perceptiveness. Skywalker wouldn’t easily be fooled by some shadowy, elusive explanation - and sooner or later, he would know everything, anyway. Hija swallowed the rest of his tea and set his cup on the table. He took a deep breath, and reached for the intercom.
"Bridge, this is the captain." He paused to glance over at Skywalker, who was suddenly sitting up, gripping the armrests of his chair.
"Lieutenant Camlin here, sir. Hija frowned. He’d forgotten that the Devastator was currently being run by the gamma shift crew - most of whom were draftees and conscripts. He swore to himself. "Inform Navigation to start calculations for the trip to Gyndine."
"Shall I have the coordinates transmitted to the Maleficent’s navicomputers?"
"That won’t be necessary," Captain Hija answered quickly. "You have your orders. Inform me the moment Navigation has a course." He snapped off the intercom and looked back at Skywalker, who was gazing intently at the tactical display. Hija leaned back in his chair and studied the expression on Skywalker’s face.
"Something’s piqued your curiosity, Skywalker," he said at last, absently patting the lightsaber still hidden beneath his jacket. That curious, thoughtful frown on Skywalker’s face deepened, and Hija grew concerned.
"This signal here." Luke pointed to a blip that had begun arcing over the planet when Hija ordered the holoprojection to pause. "It almost looks as if someone managed to get past the debris field and was headed outsystem.
Captain Hija leaned forward and made a minor adjustment to the projector’s settings; the sensor blip Skywalker had indicated grew bright green.
"Resume simulation," Hija ordered. The hologram started again, and, as predicted, the signal did indeed reach the outer edge of Gombda’s gravitational influence before suddenly bolting away toward deep space.
It headed straight for the position held by the Maleficent during its long-range reconnaissance of the battle. Hija sucked in a breath of surprise, and his eyes grew wide and glassy. He gulped visibly.
"Things just became a great deal more complicated, Skywalker," he mumbled, his voice a near whisper. He recovered his military bearing and toggled the intercom.
"Bridge, this is the captain."
"Yes, sir." Camlin responded immediately. "Navigation reports that the coordinates are set and locked in. Awaiting your orders."
"Take us out of the system," Hija said, with a hint of urgency in his voice. "Maintain communications silence. I’ll be on the bridge shortly." He shut off the intercom, sat back with a nervous sigh, and stared off into a shadowy corner.
Luke was sitting very still in his seat. He blinked as the holoprojector’s program came to an end and winkled out of existence, and the overhead lights blared down upon him. The Imperial commander watched him with hooded, wary eyes, but said nothing. The intercom chirped, and Captain Hija opened the channel.
"Yes?"
"Sir, incoming message from the Maleficent," Camlin reported. "Shall I advise Captain Giel of the situation?"
"Under no circumstances will you respond to any hails unless or until I authorize it, is that understood?"
"Implicitly, sir," the gamma shift officer stated, not quite comprehending his captain’s directives. "Transition in ten seconds."
Luke arched his eyebrows at Hija. The Imperial held up his hand, wordlessly telling him to wait. Together they silently counted down the seconds as the mighty Star Destroyer trembled imperceptibly, its powerful hyperdrive building up for the acceleration to lightspeed, and then Luke’s gut twisted inside out in that familiar sensation of being pulled apart as the Devastatorroared into hyperspace.
Captain Hija sighed heavily, but the tension refused to subside within him; the flinty hard grimace remained in place.
"Looks like whatever’s going on, your secrecy has been compromised." Luke commented. Hija scarcely glanced at him.
"So it would seem."
"So, now it’s a race."
The Imperial sighed again, unable to conceal his anxiety.
"Now it’s a race," Hija said, taking the lightsaber out of his jacket and passing the burnished silvery handgrip across the conference table to Luke.
To Be Continued
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