Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [121]
“Who are you, old woman?”
Eppie laughed. “Start guessing, youngster. I’m Orn Belden’s revenge.”
Belden: Nereus’s lips formed the word. “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 restraining 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