Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [27]
Busy defending the advance force, Admiral Ivpikkis had ordered the empowerment of additional battle droids instead of refilling the Shriwirr’s normal complement of internal droid servants—except the security droids who guarded the bridge itself—so Dev filled a servant role different from his usual post. The Shriwirr’s captain held back out of battle, protecting Ssi-ruuvi lives and holding open communication lines that stretched along a string of subspace beacons all the way back to the main fleet.
Whenever human prisoners were brought on board, Dev took secret comfort in their company … for a little while. They were always enteched so soon, their Force presences focused inside battle droids. He wouldn’t deny them that joy for the sake of his own psychological comfort, but secretly—selfishly—it saddened him. Unbeknownst to his masters, he sometimes reached out through the Force during battles and fondled whole human presences. Feeling guilty but compelled, he stretched out now …
And touched power. Gripping the steering surfaces of his repulsor cart, he stood motionless. Someone—somewhere off the Shriwirr—had the deep, placid strength he’d always associated with his mother. His eyes flooded. Surely she hadn’t come back for him? Could that be? He’d heard of visitations, but—
No. If this were the sense of a human—and the human was clearly not on Bakura, from its proximity—then this was the sense of an enemy. It was far stronger than his mother, too. He’d heard the admiral mention an incoming group in passing, almost as if it were beneath his notice, but this enemy made him think of … of home. The Outsider was concentrating on the combatants, too, but not with the same shade of passion Dev felt. Dev reached deeper. Their likeness beckoned and seduced him. The Outsider seemed not to notice his probe.
Dev gave the repulsor cart a push. He shouldn’t think about it. He hoped the feeling wouldn’t come back.
He paced onward. He had almost reached the bridge when a warbling whistle sounded over the general alarm system. Emergency: Harness for reorient.
Startled, Dev released his cart. He plunged through the nearest open hatchway and spotted several ceiling-to-deck emergency hammocks. Large russet Ssi-ruuk and small brown P’w’ecks struggled into the nearest harnesses. Dev spied one that hung limp. He dashed over, seized the red cord at its edge and held it against his breastbone, then twirled to surround himself. Now more than ever, he wished for a massive Ssi-ruuvi body. Slender and tailless, he had to twirl half a dozen times before the webbing enclosed him securely.
Then he had several seconds to think above the alarm trill. To try to remember if he’d netted the nest pillows this morning. He’d also left a laden cart in the corridor.
Worse, the invincible Shriwirr was accelerating unexpectedly for hyperspace. Surely this wasn’t retreat. They’d been so close to victory. They’d—
The near bulkhead became deck, then ceiling. Dev’s stomach protested violently. Acceleration smashed his face into six layers of netting. Unable to brace against the deck, he dug his fingers through the webbing and spun out of control. He clenched his eyes shut and begged it to end.
When gravity came from the deck again, the alarm whistle cut off. Dizzily, Dev struggled to unwind.
“What’s going on?” one of his neighbors asked. “I don’t remember an emergency reorient since Cattamascar.”
The answer came in a disturbingly familiar voice. “We lost a cruiser. Nearly all the new drone fighters are gone. We’re having to waste humans to protect our remaining ships. We must analyze the newcomers’ tactics before going in again. This group is different. Different ship types, different command style.”
Command style? Did the new group have a Force-strong commander? Perhaps a … a genuine Jedi, who’d finished the training his mother had only begun?
But the Empire had purged Jedi. Hunted them down.
Yes, and the Emperor was dead. A true Jedi might dare to show himself.
That was all supposition. Finally