Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [32]
“I’m aware,” Luke answered quietly. This was nothing new, either. They were all on the most-wanted docket.
“And I see two droids,” said the governor. “They’ll have to be equipped with restraining bolts for the duration of their stay on Bakura.”
Fitting droids with those bolts was standard procedure on most planets, compulsory on Imperial worlds and battle stations. “We’ll see to it,” Leia agreed. Now certain she had commanded Nereus’s respect, she stepped out of her own protection. “Governor, Alliance forces intercepted your call for assistance. The Imperial Fleet is no longer a presence in this part of the galaxy. We are here to assist you in repelling the invaders. Once that is accomplished, we will leave you. Bakura must choose its own destiny. We will not attempt to impose ours upon your … on the Bakuran people,” she corrected herself.
Governor Nereus showed her a chilling half-smile. The left side of his face contracted, pulling up that side of his mouth. The right side could’ve been cast in iron.
Luke stayed at attention. Just as Nereus’s face wore two expressions, he was of palpably different minds. It would be difficult for such a man to accept Rebels as allies.
The gloved governor’s savor in the Force licked and pushed at him. Nereus had an uncontrollable compulsion to dominate people, and that kept his delegation at attention. Luke knew the type: his ways were the only sensible ways. Anyone who countered him would capture his attention only long enough to be squashed: the quintessential Imperial governor.
Luke kept himself open to perceive intent all around. So many nervous flickers tremored through the Force that simply looking calm strained his control. He didn’t intend to get fried by a trigger-happy trooper before Leia talked out a treaty.
As Leia and Governor Nereus continued a guarded conversation, he stretched deeper and opened himself toward them again. Leia: calm and poised, not intimidated by Nereus. The governor: a facade of trained manners, the compulsion to dominate, and—underlying both—a gut-wrenching sense of terror. Surely not of us. Again Luke thought of the despondent, not-quite-human presences on that Ssi-ruuvi fightership. Had he contacted captive Bakurans?
Obviously the governor meant to leap in any direction that offered protection. As hostile as he acted in front of his troopers, he could easily jump into the Alliance camp.
Temporarily.
In a civilian shuttlecraft offered for their ride to the city, Luke relayed that impression to Han.
“Yeah,” Han muttered quietly. “He could jump into our camp, all right. Or he could torpedo it. Want to place bets?”
Luke’s formal trousers clung to his legs, clammy with the pervasive Bakuran dampness. Leia sat in front of him, lovely in her hooded white senatorial gown. She stared out the window of the plushly upholstered shuttlecraft. Sure enough, the Bakuran senate had requested that they attend an immediate emergency session.
Abruptly Leia straightened. “Threepio, what do I need to know about protocol?”
“I’m afraid that is not in my program.” Threepio already wore his magneto-fixed restraining bolt, and his tone sounded whinier than ever. Artoo interrupted with an electronic whistle. “What? Master Luke downloaded the data files from that probe into your memory banks? Why didn’t you say so, you overstuffed recycle cylinder?”
Artoo chattered back at length. Then Threepio answered Leia, “All I am able to ascertain is that Bakura was once governed by a prime minister and senate, but all real authority now rests in the Imperial governorship.”
“Tell us something new,” Han remarked aside.
A Bakuran pilot/guide brought them in low over a huge wedge-shaped building punctured by two wide greenwell arcs. “This is