The Crystal Star (36 page)

to be involved, no matter how small his part.

A child of a nonhuman species accompanied each guest. All the guests, of course, were human. It was

the place of humans to restore the Empire and to regain their power.

Tigris saw the centaur child who had joined Anakin's sister in defying the rules of Lord Hethrir's school.

In fact, many of the slave children in the room were from the group that Lord Hethrir had just culled and

sold. It seemed odd to Tigris that the guests would want to be attended by slaves so young and untrained

that they had to be leashed. Some still cried for their mothers. But it was not Tigris's place to criticize

Lord Hethrir's guests.

Keeping his silence, holding Anakin's hand, Tigris looked for a place to sit. The meeting room was very

full.

The Proctors gathered just outside.

"Rise!" Tigris hurried into the last pew, pulling Anakin with him. All around, the guests rose and bowed

their heads. Tigris stared at the floor, waiting for Hethrir's permission to look up again.

Lord Hethrir's retinue of young Proctors marched through the doorway and up the aisle and fanned out

on either side of the podium.

Lord Hethrir swept in.

"Were you planning to keep my lightsaber?" Tigris straightened up, startled by Hethrir's low and

dangerous voice. The Lord frowned down at him.

Tigris paled. The pommel of the lightsaber lay heavy in the pocket of his ragged robe. He fumbled for the

saber and gave it to his lord. He should have followed Hethrir to his room and returned the saber

immediately. Instead he had calmed Anakin.

He should have left Anakin to cry himself to silence.

The child must, after all, learn to control himself.

Hethrir strode down the central aisle and took his place on the podium.

"You may be seated," Hethrir said.

But one of the guests remained standing.

Tigris recognized him. His name was Brashaa. He was an undistinguished member of Lord Hethrir's

following. How dare he defy Hethrir's command?

Hethrir looked down at Brashaa, with every evidence of welcome. Tigris thought he detected a hint of

amusement in Lord Hethrir's expression. Amusement, and contempt. Brashaa was a notorious miser. He

was not even attended by a slave. Instead, he dragged Anakin's pet after him on a heavy chain. Lord

Hethrir had given Lady Ucce the ugly black six-legged creature for free. It panted and whined. Slaver

dripped from its heavy, pitted fangs. Lady Ucce must have made a great profit by selling it to Brashaa.

"What is it, Brashaa?" Lord Hethrir said.

"My lord. For many years now you have promised action. We grow weary of concealing ourselves from

usurpers of the New Republic." Anakin saw the fanged creature. He jumped off the pew and would have

run toward the monster if Tigris had not held him back.

"Sit still, little one," Tigris whispered.

"Anakin want woof!" Anakin said.

"Shh." Lord Hethrir said nothing in response to Brashaa. He waited, silent and dangerous, until Brashaa

gathered the courage to continue.

"My lord, we tire--desperately--of treating nonhumans as equal beings. We must act soon, before our

children are too much affected by egalitarian propaganda, before our generation is too old to act--fffight!"

"I think you do not trust me, Brashaa," Hethrir said.

"I trust you with my life andwith my wealth, my lord. I only mean--" "I suspect you doubt me, Brashaa."

"Not at all, my lord. Not for a moment." "I wonder if you are a traitor, Brashaa." "My lord!" Brashaa

protested. He grew pale with dread and regret. Tigris felt sorry for him, and horrified that the man had

questioned Lord Hethrir.

"Leave us, Brashaa. You have no part in this meeting. I cannot trust you to hear my plan." Brashaa stared

at him, speechless even to defend himself. He hesitated, as if he hoped Lord Hethrir would repeal the

sentence he had pronounced.

Lord Hethrir stared at him. Brashaa's face reddened. He gasped for breath. All around him, people

withdrew, afraid that to stand too close would mean contamination.

A trickle of blood leaked from Brashaa's nostril.

Anakin clambered up on the seat of the pew and stared, wide-eyed and silent. Brashaa dropped the

chain of the fanged creature, who watched its owner as intently as Anakin.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord!" Lord Hethrir simply gazed at him.

The traitor staggered toward the center aisle.

Lord Hethrir's followers made way for him.

No one reached out a hand to help him.

"Your forgiveness, my lord!" Lord Hethrir would never let him live, after such a challenge. Tigris looked

away, ashamed of his own weakness but unwilling to watch another man die.

And yet Brashaa did not fall. His footsteps sounded toward the back of the meeting hall.

"Your forgiveness, my lord!" Tigris turned just in time to see Brashaa flee out the doorway.

The fanged creature looked around. Its ears perked up. Its chain rattled. No one moved to restrain it.

Tigris turned toward Lord Hethrir. He was shocked by his lord's strained face.

Hethrir's complexion was even paler than usual, gray in contrast to the brilliant white of his robes and the

soft white velvet.

He did mean Brashaa to die! Tigris thought. But something--something went wrong. The way Lord

Hethrir's lightsaber went wrong.

Anakin plopped himself down on the seat beside Tigris.

"Bad mans, Tigris," he said solemnly.

"Shh, little one." Tigris hoped Lord Hethrir did not hear. Anakin clutched Tigris's hand in his grubby little

fist. Tigris did not draw away. Confused and unhappy, trying to put aside his disloyal ideas, he thought:

Lord Hethrir erred.

The fanged creature skulked down the aisle.

Everyone ignored it. Instead of running away, or following its master from the hall, it settled itself at

Anakin's feet.

"Shoo!" Tigris whispered.

"Hello, woof," Anakin said. The monster leaned its ugly head against Anakin's knee.

Anakin scratched the black fur behind the creature's ears.

Hethrir's guests had returned their fascinated attention to their lord. Hethrir recovered himself. He smiled

benevolently, as if he had let Brashaa live on purpose.

"Does any one of you have a question," he asked kindly, "before I tell you of my plan?" No one spoke.

At Anakin's feet, the wolf-creature whined.

Hot and sweaty in the oppressive heat, Han trudged toward Waru's calligraphed building. He was so

tired that the calligraphy leaped and spun and rewrote itself in his vision. He was traveling against the

traffic; Waru's supplicants danced along the path.

The service must be over, Han thought. Fine.

Maybe I'll meet Luke and Threepio coming out. Maybe they'll meet me halfway.

Maybe Xaverri is around here somewhere, too, and we can clear everything up all at once.

The idea of entering Waru's presence again gave him the creeps. If he never had to see the damned thing

again, he would be perfectly happy.

One of the supplicants stopped Han. "Waru has dismissed us, seeker," the scaled and feathered being

said to him. The feathers ruffled; the scales turned tan, then pure bright yellow. "You will have to come to

a later service." "It's okay," Han said. "I'm meeting someone." The feathered being patted his shoulder in

a friendly manner and continued down the walkway.

Han passed the end of the line of departing supplicants. Luke and Threepio were nowhere in sight.

Han crossed the silent courtyard, whistling defiantly, and entered Waru's building. His shadows

disappeared. He paused in the cool foyer and listened. A single voice spoke, the ^ws and timbre jumbled

by complicated acoustics. After a silence, a second voice replied. Han recognized the second voice:

Waru.

He stepped into the theater.

At the foot of the stage, Luke stood with his shoulders slumped, facing Waru.

"I am tired, Luke Skywalker," Waru said.

Oh, fine, Han thought. He's told that guy who he is!

"You think of me as a tireless benefactor, a limitless healer. But I am a living being, and I tire like all other

living beings. My other followers have acquiesced to my request that they depart. Can you not show me

the same courtesy?" "I'm afraid if you don't help me, I'll die." What the--? Han thought.

Waru gave the impression of a deep sigh.

"Very well. I will help you." Luke stepped up on the altar.

"Luke!" Han yelled. As Luke stretched his arms to Waru, placing his palms on the limpid gold scales,

Han sprinted toward him, his boots pounding the floor. He reached the altar and leaped up beside Luke.

He grabbed him and pulled him away. Luke struggled, blindly reaching for his lightsaber. Han wrestled

with him and pulled Luke's arms behind his back. Once Luke got his hands on the lightsaber, Han knew

he could not win.

"Stop it!" he said. "You're not going to use the lightsaber on me and you know it!" Then he got a look at

Luke's face, pale and drawn and intense with pain, his eyes staring, and he was not so sure.

"Leave him," Waru said. "He has asked my aid, and I have offered it." "No, it's too much to ask," Han

said.

"We'll come back when you're rested." Wait a minute! Han thought. I'm trying to be diplomatic--while

I'm dragging Luke out of here?

"He has the right to determine his own fate," Waru said. The low voice flowed like silk.

"To choose to try to save his life." "There's nothing wrong with him, dammit!" Han jumped off the edge of

the altar, pulling Luke with him, barely managing to keep his balance. Luke stumbled against him, going

limp.

Han expected a trick. He expected Luke to w the lightsaber into his hand. Instead, he found himself half

dragging and half carrying Luke away from Waru's altar.

"He is very ill, very weak," Waru said.

"Bring him back to me. If he can be healed, I will heal him." Without replying, Han pulled Luke to his

feet.

"Give me some help here, brother," he muttered.

Beside him, Luke staggered upright.

"Please, Han," he whispered. "Help me..." "Bring him to me!" Waru's ^ws shook the chamber.

Han slung Luke's arm over his shoulder and kept going toward the exit.

"No," Luke whispered. "No... please..." Han went cold. Luke was begging not for escape, but to return

to Waru. Han refused to let him go.

"I've saved your life before, kid," Han muttered. "You owe it to me at least once." He dragged Luke out

of the theater and through the silent entryway and into the open field. The disintegrating stars dazzled him.

His eyes watered and his vision blurred. The black hole blazed and the crystal star pulsated, high in the

sky. Their brightness increased, battering the strained radiation shields. Han shivered.

But Han had a lot more things to be uneasy about right now than the stars in his sky.

He wrestled Luke around and headed toward Xaverri's secret path.

Tigris listened, rapt, to Lord Hethrir's speech. He had been speaking for hours. Like the others, Tigris

was fascinated, hypnotized, by the Lord's voice and his powerful message.

Only Anakin was immune to the power of Lord Hethrir's voice. The little boy had clambered to the floor

and curled up with the six-legged fanged creature. They slept soundly on Tigris's feet.

"Today, I will consolidate my power," Lord Hethrir said.

"Today, I will be refined like precious metal from the rough ore of earthly existence.

"Today, I will be reborn--like the Empire, whose reincarnation I have conceived and incubated.

"Today I will bring forth--the Empire Reborn." His followers gazed at him, stunned by his audacity. Then,

all together, they leaped to their feet and cheered.

Tigris, too, started to rise. But if Tigris got up, he would wake Anakin.

Anakin might begin to cry, and disturb the Lord's triumph.

Besides, Tigris's feet had gone to sleep.

Some of the slave children were whimpering and crying. But their behavior was not Tigris's responsibility.

Anakin's was.

Tigris stayed where he was, hoping he was far enough in the back, far enough in shadows, so his failure

to stand up and acclaim the plan would never be noticed. A whole roomful of people was standing,

shouting, waving, applauding, between Tigris and Hethrir. Perhaps, for once, the Lord would not know

everything Tigris did.

Anakin looks so peaceful, Tigris thought.

I wonder how he can sleep, in all this noise?

He smiled fondly at the little boy, curled up on the floor among the fanged creature's six legs.

I wish he was always so peaceful! Tigris thought. I wonder what it would be like to have a little brother

like Anakin? I wonder what it would be like to have a brother or a sister or a family at all? Why was my

mother a traitor? Who was my father, and why did he abandon me?

Anakin opened his eyes. He blinked, sleepily, saw Tigris smiling at him, and took his thumb out of his

mouth to smile back. He clambered up on the seat beside Tigris. He reached into his pocket with his

sticky hand and pulled out a sweetmeat with one bite taken out of it. He offered it to Tigris.

Tigris laughed softly. "Thanks," he said. He broke off the least battered end and ate it. It tasted as good

as the slice of fruit Anakin had offered him, back on the starship.

"Where did you get this?" he asked. It looked like one of the sweetmeats the vendor had offered them in

the welcome dome, which they could not buy because they had no money. Anakin just grinned and ate