Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [28]
He should tell Bluescale what he’d sensed … but that would mean confessing his guilty secret habit. Dev blinked down at the deck. “I greet you, Elder—”
“What is amiss?” Bluescale demanded. His black scent tongues flickered, tasting the air. Of all Ssi-ruuk, he seemed most sensitive to subtle changes in human scent due to stress.
“Such … tragedy,” Dev said cautiously, “that many battle droids lost. Those poor humans—their new lives, their new happiness, was cut so short. Let me mourn for my … for other humans, Elder. How sad for them. How sad.” The boldness of his lie staggered him.
Triple eyelids blinked. Bluescale let out a guttural honk, the Ssi-ruuvi equivalent of a thoughtful “hmm.” Tapping his foreclaws, Bluescale answered, “Later, then. After you have contemplated their deaths, return to me. I will renew you for happier service.”
“Thank you, Elder.” Dev’s voice cracked as he backed away. “I must clean the corridor. Labor will give me time for thinking.”
Bluescale waved a foreclaw and dismissed him.
Dev fled back out through the hatchway, feeling guiltier than ever. Had he endangered the advance force? Surely not. Admiral Ivpikkis would succeed. Dev’s immediate problem was to hide that moment’s touch in his memory, before Bluescale called him in and convinced him to confess.
Cold food splattered the bulkheads, and drink bulbs littered the gray-tiled deck. Dev hurried downship to a supply locker. Cleanup was P’w’eck work, but he felt responsible.
He had never been able to fool Bluescale. Wasn’t hiding thoughts treasonous? His masters had saved him from starvation and death. He owed them so much.
Yet he’d never had so strong a reason before. His mind had touched a kindred soul. He couldn’t betray it yet.
He flung open the supply locker, seized up a galleyvac and hurried upship toward the nearest dribbling glob.
CHAPTER
6
Safe conduct to Salis D’aar, the capital city. Controllers will talk you down,” finished a spaceport flunky’s voice on the Falcon’s transceiver.
“Thank you.” Han cut the connection and leaned back.
Leia exhaled. “So. We can get to work.”
Han arched an eyebrow. It seemed to him they’d been working already.
Leia didn’t notice. “We have to decide what to do next.” She smoothed one of the braids that circled her head.
“Right,” he answered, glad to see her thinking sensibly. “Do we use this safe conduct and land on Bakura, or not? They’re in better shape now. This might be a good time to take our troops and get out.”
Leia stared at the Falcon’s deck. “That wasn’t what I meant, but you’re right. I can’t help wondering if we’ll be able to deal with Imperials directly.”
On link from over at the Flurry, Luke spoke up. “Leia, aren’t you feeling well?”
She cleared her throat and leaned toward the control board. “I’m uneasy, Luke. Maybe I’m starting to think like Han. I don’t feel quite right about this situation. I’m more nervous than usual.”
Han eyed Chewie, who whuffled softly. Yeah, maybe she was picking up a sense of self-preservation. Skywalkers seemed to be born without it.
“We’re all nervous,” answered Luke’s voice. “Something’s going on here besides what shows on the surface. I have to figure it out.”
Han peered through the Falcon’s port at the Flurry. It hovered, looking lumpy and awkward, near the Falcon in a parking orbit outside the Imperial defense web. “You sure, kid?” he asked. “It’d be a good time to head home.”
“I’m sure. Leia, you’re in charge of negotiations. Do you want to shuttle over and make a dignified landing in the Flurry’s transport?”
“Wait a minute.” Han straightened his back. “I’m not landing anything but the Falcon.