Star Wars the Truce at Bakura - Kathy Tyers [96]
“Quietly. Subtly.” The young man whistled to the aliens, then flattened long brown hands in front of his chest. The left hand moved stiffly. “Governor Nereus dispatched a shuttle to us, then ordered the orbital net to allow it through on official business … which is to receive you. You are to be the guest of Admiral Ivpikkis, as you begin a new kind of life you have only dreamed of before. Give my companions your weapon, and come gladly with me.”
In person Dev Sibwarra looked younger, perhaps fifteen. Luke reached out with the Force—
And recognized him a second time. This boy had also sent the dream warning. Luke felt his strength in the Force, twisted and bent backward. He’d been brainwashed or hypnotized, altered so deeply that his thoughts were no longer his own. Luke couldn’t hate him. He must try not to kill him in self-defense, either, because the boy was young enough to apprentice—if Luke could win him and heal him.
“Thank you for your invitation,” Luke said quietly. “I would rather stay here. Ask your masters to sit down. We will talk.”
“They do not sit, my friend. We would be honored to accept your companion too, as our guest. But you must hurry.” Gaeri’s cheeks whitened as the blue Ssi-ruu stomped forward, but she stood her ground. It reached a clawed forelimb toward her shoulder. Something black slithered out of its nostrils. She gasped and brought up Luke’s blaster.
“Back,” Luke ordered. The alien’s head turned. A deep black eye focused in his direction, and the nose-tongues flicked toward him. He channeled Force energy into his words. “Get away from her.” The eye seemed to swirl like a dark storm, beckoning for attention, sucking at his will. Unquestionably this one, or another like him, kept Dev Sibwarra leashed.
Dev whistled at the blue alien, sounding surprisingly like Artoo. The big blue Ssi-ruu’s forelimb dropped from Gaeri’s shoulder. He clicked and whistled in a deeper, more flutelike voice than Dev’s, with greater range and a more resonant tone. “He says that a female’s companionship will doubtless bring you comfort,” Dev translated, “and I sense that your feelings are strong for her. Please ask her to cooperate. We must hurry.”
Artoo rocked back and forth, chirping electronic fury. Luke wondered what he was telling the Ssi-ruuk. Two stormtroopers eased forward, blocking Artoo’s path to the door.
Luke called to the troopers, “You have no business with this woman. It’s me they want. Let her leave.”
“The Fluties want her,” answered a trooper’s filtered voice. “This time, the Fluties get what they want.”
Luke ignited his lightsaber and got a solid, two-handed fighting grip. “Not necessarily.”
Dev backed away. “Stun them!” he cried to the stormtroopers.
Four blast rifles leveled at him, black holes framed by white helmets. Luke crouched and turned his body sideways, presenting a smaller target. “Get down!” Gaeri dropped prone. She hadn’t used his blaster. Just as well: From all signs, she’d lose a firefight. Apparently she knew it, too. This wasn’t her element.
Standing ninety degrees apart, the troopers opened fire. Luke stretched deeper into the Force, willingly dependent on the energy that surrounded him. He felt his body whirl and his saber leap, and vaguely sensed energy bolts splashing on gritty cantina walls. He eased closer, dodging tables, toward a point between his attackers. Suddenly the blasts stopped coming, as the Imperials realized they were sighting past Luke at each other.
He stretched out with the Force, touched two hostile minds, and leaped.
Blue-white stun bolts crackled through the air beneath him. Troopers dropped on both sides. Luke spun back toward the aliens. He felt slow, still slightly sluggish from the Emperor’s attack. He coughed, then caught his breath. “Artoo,” he shouted, “get her out of here. Get help.”
Artoo rolled toward Gaeriel. She lurched up to her hands and knees and then edged toward the front door.
Dev Sibwarra spread his hands. “Friend Skywalker, you rob her of incomparable joy.