Star Wars - [Galaxies] - The Ruins of Dantooine (by Voronica Whitney-Robinson)

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THE RUINS OF DANTOOINE
VORONICA WHITNEY-ROBINSON
WITH HADEN BLACKMAN
PROLOGUE
A light rain misted the hillside. Other than that slight patter, the only sound disturbing the evening was
the sudden cry of the peko peko. The large, blue-skinned reptavian's pitiful squawk carried across the
still lake before stopping as suddenly as it had begun.
"The tusk-cats must be hunting," Inquisitor Loam Redge said quietly to himself, smiling at the idea of
the sleek, fawn-colored beasts circling the Retreat. Peko pekos weren't the only thing that the large
predators could kill; simply the opening course.
The cloaked human stood alone on the stone balcony overlooking the placid lake and the hills
beyond. For the last few moments, he had watched the final glow of the setting sun turn the world a brief,
shimmering pink. As soon as the molten ball had disappeared, though, the sky had turned several shades
of gray, from dirty white to steel. The colors layered themselves one on top of the other, so it was
impossible to discern where one began and another ended. And then the rains had come.
With a parting glance toward the twinkling lights of Moenia off to the east, the Inquisitor returned
inside, where he brushed at his cloaks furiously, as though their exposure to the abrupt shower had
somehow sullied them. He smoothed back his rich brown hair and stood with his spine at ramrod
attention.
No one knew how old the Inquisitor was, and Redge preferred it remain that way. There were
precious few secrets in the Empire, and he liked to keep as many as he could.
Inquisitor Loam Redge was one of those rare individuals who derived great pleasure from his work.
Finding those sensitive to the Force, torturing them, and destroying them were his topmost priorities, and
they also gave him the greatest joy. He was very good at his vocation, and he always looked as though
he was enjoying a private joke when he was at his busiest. This twisted happiness had, over time, etched
its mark on his face in the form of the faintest crinkles near the outer edges of his dirt-colored eyes. Other
than that, his face was mostly unlined. He might have been thirty, he might have been fifty.
When he was satisfied that he looked properly groomed, Inquisitor Redge moved out into the
hallway. He padded silently across the plush, gold-trimmed maroon carpeting that lined the walkway. It
was so thick, he barely heard the MSE-6 that almost scurried past his feet. The tiny, black, rectangular
droids littered the Emperor's Retreat, as they did so many of the Imperial starships and ground
installations throughout the galaxy. When the struggling company Rebaxan Columni had found itself facing
imminent bankruptcy, it had offered the Empire a cut-rate deal on millions of them. Because the navy was
extremely short on droids, it accepted. Now the Empire was crawling with the little automatons.
The small droid stopped a few feet beyond the Inquisitor and extended its heavy manipulator arm,
clutching a rag. It scrubbed feverishly at some unseen smudge on the tan marble wall. Redge studied the
droid for a moment as it buffed the already highly polished surface before slightly raising his cloaks up
and moving past it. He found that the mechanism reminded him vaguely of a type of small vermin, and it
disturbed him slightly.
There was no one else in the corridor, and he continued to revel in the quiet luxury of Emperor
Palpatine's Retreat on Naboo. The Emperor's homeworld was calmly green, with areas of dense swamps
broken up by rolling plains and verdant hills. Redge found the view soothing and knew that Emperor
Palpatine had chosen the location for just that effect, not because of any maudlin sense of homeworld
loyalty. While he had traveled to Theed, Moenia, Kaadara, Dee'ja Peak, and most of the smaller cities
on the relatively peaceful planet, Inquisitor Redge had not yet ventured into the streams and canals that
honeycombed the interior core of the planet. He had heard from a reliable source that it was possible for
one to travel throughout the whole of Naboo and never once stick a head above ground. At some point,
he would have to explore the passageways himself, or send a trusted associate in his place. There was no
way of knowing just what or who might be hiding down there. Naboo might be a haven not just for artists
and architects, but for other, less desirable sorts as well.
Since establishing the Retreat, the Emperor had had little trouble planetside and seen no sign of the
Rebellion, as far as Redge was aware. And Redge made it his business to know. Queen Kylantha had
pledged and proven her loyalty many times over to Palpatine. But it irked the Inquisitor that she had not
bothered to dissolve the Naboo Royal Advisory Council or to impose any real changes on the
democratic structure of the government. If she were truly that loyal, then why hadn't she made the simple
and overt gesture of disbanding the mock administration? Was it simply for her vanity, so that she could
retain her empty title, or was there more to it? These questions nagged at the Inquisitor during the darkest
hours of the night.
Rounding a corner, Redge arrived at the entrance of a cavernous, domed antechamber, large enough
to hold several garrisons comfortably. Like the hallway that led up to it, the chamber was composed
entirely of mottled pink-and-tan marble. Hanging along the walls and from the curved ceiling were
banners of maroon and gold, like the rugs that carpeted the myriad hallways in the Retreat. Cylindrical
gold lamps hung down, casting shining puddles of light on the polished floor. Along the far wall, two of
the Emperor's personal guards, draped entirely in crimson, stood as sentries by the door the Inquisitor
knew led to the Emperor's inner sanctum. Like avenging spirits, the guards remained steadfast in their
duty, not moving a muscle. However, the vast chamber was not entirely devoid of movement.
Along the curved wall, near a small computer terminal, two stormtroopers stood. Unlike Redge,
these troopers were relaxed in their stance. One leaned casually against the wall—no easy feat, given the
fact that he was clad from head to toe in sparkling white armor. His colleague held only a slightly more
militaristic pose. Neither man faced Redge, so both were unaware of his presence. Gliding over slightly,
the Inquisitor could just hear their clipped conversation.
"I tell you," the one against the wall squawked to the other, "if they haven't started building a new one
yet, they're not going to."
"It's only been about a year," the other replied with more static in his response, his transmitter clearly
in need of some attention. "Equipment that awesome takes time to repair."
"I'm telling you," the first argued, "that if they haven't repaired or replaced the Death Star by now,
they won't. And that should tell you something."
"What do you mean?" his comrade responded, and even Redge could hear the unease in the man's
mechanized voice.
The first stormtrooper shifted his stance slightly. "I've heard rumors that the Rebellion is growing,
becoming more powerful. If they could take out a weapon as great as the Death Star, there's no telling
just how strong they really are. I think the Emperor is hiding that from us." His voice had dropped
surprisingly low, considering he had to speak through a transmitter. "I think he's hiding many things."
"Talk like that will get you killed," his friend warned him.
"Or worse," Redge added in a gentle, melodic voice.
Both troopers turned suddenly, clearly caught off guard. That was the technique that Redge enjoyed
the most: knock an opponent off balance and strike while he was teetering.
"Sir, I-I didn't know you were here," the first stammered.
"Obviously," Redge replied easily, enjoying the man's apparent discomfort. He decided to let him
squirm a moment longer and so remained silent, forcing the trooper to try to dig his way out of his
shallow grave.
"I'm sorry, sir, I meant no disservice. I was just explaining my concerns to—"
"Don't bother trying to explain anything to me, soldier," Redge interrupted coldly. "I know exactly
what you were trying to explain to your 'friend' here." He nodded to the other man. "You feel our
Emperor is keeping things from you, keeping you in the dark, so to speak?"
"It's just that—"
"It's just nothing," Redge warned him darkly, his facade of pleasantness a memory. "You know all
that you need to know and nothing more or less, like the rest of us. To serve the Emperor is to trust in
him completely and question nothing."
The stormtroopers remained silent, and the Inquisitor knew they were both too frightened to speak.
That fear warmed his cold heart. The corners of his thin lips twitched in growing pleasure. He relaxed his
stance ever so slightly.
"But," he graciously allowed, "you do make a good point in your own simplistic fashion."
"Sir?" the second soldier asked, and Redge knew they were fishing for anything to redeem
themselves.
"The war is far from over," he admitted. "We do have the strength and the power to crush the
Rebels; that much is obvious. However, the Rebels are devious, and like fanned rawls they have hidden
themselves well and fashioned nests and lairs at the highest levels of power. Only when we drive them out
and exterminate those hidden in our midst will victory truly be ours," Redge explained, momentarily
caught up in his own fervor.
But before he could pursue the discussion further, he felt an almost imperceptible change in the air
pressure of the chamber. The wiry hairs on his arms rose, and Redge knew the Emperor's door had slid
open.
He turned his back on the two stormtroopers, their presence completely inconsequential now, and
watched as a black figure separated himself from the impenetrable shadows of the doorway. As the stark
figure moved forward, Redge felt his stomach turn and experienced a moment of vertigo. Sensitive as he
was to the Force, the Inquisitor was nearly overwhelmed by the power of the man moving toward him.
The giant figure was covered from head to toe in obsidian armor. On his chest plate, a series of
devices blinked blue and red, in time with his breathing and his heartbeat. His face was covered by a
grotesque, helmeted breath mask that resembled the skull of some dark god. He moved swiftly yet
deliberately toward the Inquisitor, his black cape billowing behind him. He looked like nothing so much
as a winged bird of prey.
Redge vaguely saw, from the corner of his eyes, that the troopers snapped even straighter at the
ominous presence than they had for him. He didn't notice much more as he sank gracefully to one knee in
a deep, obsequious bow.
"My Lord Vader," he whispered with just the right amount of reverence.
"Rise, Inquisitor," Lord Vader ordered in a deep, rich voice, his orders punctuated by his
unmistakable mechanized breathing. "Rise and walk with me."
Redge rose as gracefully as he had knelt and resisted the urge to shake out his cloaks yet again,
refusing to appear foppish before a Dark Lord of the Sith. He stretched his back even straighter, but still
had to look up at the Sith Lord who stood two meters tall. Before he moved with Vader, however, he
turned to face the two soldiers.
"Since you both have so much free time on your hands to reflect, I will see about relocating you to a
post that you will undoubtedly find more . . . challenging," he told them. "Perhaps something in the Hoth
system," he mused. "I don't believe we have sent many satellites out there yet. Report to your garrison
commander for new orders. Your tour of duty here is now over." With that, he turned and marched
alongside Lord Vader, briefly contemplating what hellish location they would eventually be dispatched to.
After a few moments of silence that were distinctly uncomfortable for Redge, he addressed the dark
shadow. "Yes, my lord?"
"The Emperor wishes to know how you are progressing," Lord Vader demanded.
Redge struggled to keep his equilibrium. The dark power of the Force rolled off Vader in crashing
waves.
"Inquisitor?" the distorted voice demanded, and Redge knew he would not ask the question a second
time.
"My lord," he began, "I understand the seriousness surrounding the nature of the mission."
"Do you? I am honored that you agree with me," Vader replied. Redge thought he could almost hear
the sarcasm in the Sith Lord's voice.
"I only meant, Lord Vader, that I fully comprehend my role in this."
"Do you, Inquisitor?" Vader asked him, stopping just before both men reached another hallway. Only
Vader's mechanized breathing could be heard echoing in the antechamber. Redge was momentarily at a
loss for how to proceed. Darth Vader was the only creature that ever inspired this effect in the Inquisitor.
"Do you truly know what it will mean," the Sith Lord eventually continued, "if the holocron should
return to the Rebels' hands?"
Redge swallowed hard. "Yes, my lord, I think I can appreciate what should happen. If the Rebels
manage to retrieve that device—with, among other things, its list of high-level Rebel sympathizers—and
activate those spies, the Empire could very well crumble from within."
Vader regarded him stonily before he raised a gauntleted finger to point accusingly at the Inquisitor.
"What are you doing about it?" he demanded.
"Lord Vader, I have my best operative on the trail of this item even as we speak. I have trained this
agent for many years, and I believe there is no one better suited for the mission. We will not fail," he
promised, barely hiding the quaver in his voice.
Vader stared a moment longer and then turned to walk down the hallway, his heavy footfalls muffled
by the thick pile of the carpets. The Inquisitor hastened his step to keep up.
"The Death Star incident will never occur again," Vader told Redge. The Inquisitor knew the Sith
Lord was not really sharing a confidence with him as much as he was simply thinking aloud. However, he
did nothing to interrupt Vader, awed as he was in the moment.
"The fact that those plans slipped through our fingers and reached the cursed Rebels . . ." Vader's
voice trailed away and he tightened the fingers of his left hand.
As he did so, Redge felt a pressure build up around his heart. His breathing grew more rapid, and
black spots began to dance around the corners of his vision. He slowed his pace and vaguely saw that
Vader was continuing on, unaware that he had lost his stricken companion. Redge placed a hand against
his chest. He felt as if a fambaa were settled atop it. His head swam. Then, as abruptly as the pressure
began, it disappeared. He rested one hand against the marble wall and tried to catch his breath before
trotting weakly after Vader, who had not paused in his march.
"Inquisitor?" Vader demanded.
"Y-yes, my lord?" Redge stammered, barely recovered from Vader's unconscious assault.
"Your best agent, you say?"
"Yes, Lord Vader," Redge said, his voice growing stronger with every passing moment. "This
agent-will not fail."
Darth Vader turned and stared at Redge once more. "Inquisitor, you should know full well that that
there is no such thing as failure within the Empire. I suggest you remember that." He raised a finger and
shook it once, ominously, toward the Inquisitor and then turned and left. The hiss of his automated
breathing faded as he marched down the length of the passageway. Only when Redge was no longer in
the presence of the Sith Lord did he realize that he had been holding his own breath. He let it out slowly.
Redge turned from the hallway and walked over to an alcove with a view of the Emperor's personal
shuttle, an AT-ST standing guard nearby. He leaned his head against the cool marble wall and sighed.
His thoughts drifted from the holocron to his operative and back to Vader's barely concealed death
threat. He understood only too well how much was riding on the success of this mission. Redge sighed
and continued to stare out into the night. The rain fell harder.
The young woman gazed out into the clear night sky. She sat on the forest floor with her arms
wrapped around her drawn-up knees, her hair hanging down in thick braids. There was nothing
extraordinary about her at first glance. In her loose shirt and trousers the dappled color of the forest, she
could have been nothing more than a young woman doing a little stargazing at the end of a long day. It
was only when her face came into view that anyone would have recognized the self-possessed manner in
which she held herself, even while sitting on the ground. And the ancient look in her eyes.
Senator of a now dissolved government and Princess of an obliterated world, Leia Organa had not
lost her faith or her purpose, though her titles carried no meaning. Her will was forged of the hardest
metal, and that will had so far carried her through the many dark times the Alliance had faced. Though
only in her twenties, she was wise beyond her years. She wore her mantle of responsibility with a strength
that defied reason. The many troops and commanders who followed her wondered at the woman who
never showed fear to anyone. And Leia maintained that confidence in front of everyone. She knew she
couldn't afford not to. Still, there were times, mostly in the dead of night, when she doubted and worried.
At those moments, if it was possible, she would sneak out from wherever she was and breathe in real air,
not the manufactured atmosphere of a hidden base or starship, touch the soil and look to the stars. That
simple act grounded her and always brought her peace. It reminded her that she was a part of a greater
whole and that there was an order to things that had to be followed. Knowing that she was a part of this
order renewed her and gave her the strength to carry on. She had always done this alone, since she was
a child. But this had changed recently.
Leia heard the faint rustle behind her but didn't reach for her pistol. She suddenly ducked her head,
closed her eyes, and smiled. She knew who it was.
The blond youth dropped down to squat next to her. He was dressed in much the same fashion as
she was. In the starlight, Leia could see he also wore an easy smile. But his blue eyes weren't quite as
innocent as they had been when she had first met him so many months ago. There was a touch of faded
sadness to them and something else, as well. Something that Leia could see was growing. She knew that
with each passing day, Luke Skywalker was learning more and more about the mystical ways of the Jedi.
And that path of knowledge was changing him.
"It's late," he told her, and she noticed he didn't bother to ask why she was outside the hidden Rebel
shelter. Over the last few months, Leia had discovered that he shared the same need that she did to feel
the worlds they were on, even for a little while. What had surprised Leia was that she didn't begrudge his
presence as an intrusion, but welcomed his company. They sometimes sat for hours in companionable
silence. The closeness she felt to him was something new for the Princess.
"I know," she whispered back in a husky voice.
"What's troubling you tonight, Leia?" he asked.
Leia sighed. She didn't resent his question. She had been more preoccupied of late. And there was
perhaps only one other person she might have shared her fears with, but he was on a mission far from
their temporary base on Corellia. And, when she was honest with herself, Leia had to admit sometimes
she was nervous around the smuggler-turned Rebel, as though there were an uncertain current that
passed between them. With Luke, she simply felt at home.
"We have so far to go," she eventually replied, trying to mask the weariness in her voice.
"But we've come so far," he told her gently. "The destruction of the Death Star alone was a huge
victory."
"I know," she agreed. "It was a momentous success and a great rallying point for the Alliance. It
crystallized the hopes of so many who were undecided or afraid. But it was only one victory, and it cost
us so many lives," she confessed tiredly.
"You're right on all counts," he agreed. "But the Empire will fail because they put their faith in
technology rather than people. They don't recognize that all the lives they're trying to crush actually make
a difference and will determine the outcome of this war."
Leia studied him more closely. For a moment, he had the same enthusiasm and naïveté as when they
had first met, when she knew he felt like he could conquer the Empire single-handedly. She smiled and
felt her mood begin to lighten.
"I know that, too, Luke," she said. "I think that's why this latest mission weighs on me so heavily."
"The holocron?" Luke asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes. The names stored there could turn the tide for us," Leia admitted. "As you said, our greatest
strength lies in those who work toward the same goal as us. If that list should fall into Imperial hands, not
only would it mean certain death for those sympathizers but it could spell the end for us, as well. Just as
we needed help from within the Empire to defeat the Death Star, we need these people and the glimpses
inside the Empire they can offer us now even more."
Luke moved closer to her. "You've sent one of your best agents to retrieve it, haven't you?"
"Yes," Leia replied and didn't bother to hide the weariness in her voice now. "Yes, I've sent another
one out into the void, perhaps to death again. One more . . ." She lowered her head on her knees and
squeezed her eyes shut. And not even Luke's comforting arm across her shoulders was able to ease the
burden the Princess of Alderaan had to bear alone.
ONE
"Where do I go?" Dusque Mistflier shouted to her colleague. She turned to look up at him, barely
able to hear herself over the noise of the crowd.
"I believe we have seats farther to the left," he replied.
Several members of the rowdy assembly turned at the sound of Tendau Nandon's unusual voice,
despite the raucous atmosphere. It was a rather difficult sound to make out, and it had taken Dusque
many months to understand the unusual harmonics of his speech.
Nandon was an Ithorian, a species some referred to as "Hammerheads." Standing nearly two meters
tall, he had a domed head that rested atop a long, curving neck. What lent his speech such a curious tone
was that along the top of his neck, he had not one, but two mouths. So whenever he spoke, there was an
unusual stereo effect; some found it disconcerting when he used Basic and impossible to understand
when he communicated in his native tongue.
Dusque nodded to him and turned to face the direction he had indicated. She brushed her nearly
waist-length, sandy-brown hair out of her eyes and cursed herself again for not tying it back away from
her face. But Dusque hated fussing with herself, considering it too feminine a trait. Being feminine, she
was learning, was not the most ideal situation within the Empire, so she made a concerted effort to
appear as unfeminine as possible. She even thought about cutting her hair short. In her heart, she was
certain her gender was why she was being held back and not utilized to the best of her abilities. Her
current assignment, she felt, was proof enough of that.
Of course, she told herself, I've only been assigned to the Imperial corps of bioengineers for a few
months now, but that still should afford me a measure of respect I have yet to see.
Instead, she found herself on the relatively peaceful and beautiful planet of Naboo at an animal
handler and trainer event, sponsored by a casino, of all things. Not exactly a dream assignment, and
Dusque suspected she had been given the task of collecting genetic tissue samples and recording trained
animal behavior simply because most of her other colleagues, who were senior to her, felt the assignment
beneath them. Granted, there was always something of value to learn from captive behaviors, and
Dusque would have been the first to argue that fact to anyone else, but she wondered for the umpteenth
time just what could be learned from this debacle.
The Aerie was a new casino that had opened very recently near the city of Moenia and was already
touting itself as one of the premier gambling facilities in the galaxy. And as Dusque surveyed the throng of
Bothans, Rodians, humans, Corellian animal traders, and others in attendance, she couldn't deny that it
had drawn a very large crowd, adding credence to its claims. A special arena with chairs had been set up
near the casino, and impromptu betting tables had been hastily erected for the event. Hundreds of people
had shown up. Dusque saw that nearly every seat was taken and that scores of other observers were
hanging around behind the official viewing area. As Imperial scientists, Dusque and the Ithorian had
ringside seating.
Dusque spotted two empty seats up front, and she picked her way over to them very carefully. She
knew that Nandon was not comfortable walking planetside, and she adjusted her stride accordingly
without drawing his attention to the fact. She didn't want him to think that she was patronizing him, but
she knew his struggles. Ithorians in general spent most of their time in floating cities above Ithor, never
setting foot on their beautiful homeworld, so most were comfortable only on ships or other artificial
constructs. Some of the more adventurous of the peaceful species had made their way into the stars,
though. Tendau Nandon was one of those pioneers. But that didn't change his discomfort.
Dusque was still learning about his species, but she understood how much they revered nature. In
fact, they worshiped the very nature of their planet and referred to it as Mother Jungle. Considering how
highly they regarded the natural ecology, it was no wonder that many of the Ithorians actually came to be
biologists and bioengineers, fascinated by all forms of life. And Nandon was one of the best biologists
Dusque had ever known. The only reason her current assignment was at all bearable was because he had
requested to go with her when no one else would.
Dusque was unaware what a sight they presented even in the eclectic gathering at the arena. Standing
a full human head shorter than Nandon, Dusque was a slim woman, but she expertly hid her wiry form
under loose trousers and an oversized top. Nandon had clicked in disapproval of her attire. Even he had
recognized the false importance of the evening and had dressed accordingly, donning a special wrap he
reserved for solemn occasions. He had urged her to wear something more formal, and Dusque had
chuckled at his surprise when she informed him that she didn't own any dresses.
"What would be the use?" she had asked him, her gray eyes twinkling. "You can't run or climb with
any amount of ease in the blasted things, so why have them?"
"That's not what they are meant for," he had countered.
"I don't see you wearing one, although that wrap does set off your silver skin very nicely," she said,
and they had both shared a laugh. Once again, she was glad she had an ally among her stoic colleagues.
Despite her growing friendship with the Ithorian, however, Dusque still felt like an outsider in the sterile
labs of her workplace.
"Here we are," she said and seated herself, trying not to sound too discouraged.
"It could be worse," Nandon told her in his lyrical voice.
"How so?" Dusque sighed.
"It could still be raining," he pointed out, and that brought a crooked smile to Dusque's face. She
sighed, realizing that he would always point out something on the positive side. And he was right. It had
rained heavily the previous night, and there was still a decidedly slurping sound as they had maneuvered
through the spectators, but their chairs didn't sink too far into the ground as they made themselves
comfortable for what was undoubtedly going to be a long night.
Tendau's right, she told herself. We're bioengineers and this is our job. Resigned to her assignment,
Dusque pulled out a datapad and a stylus, ready to make notes on her observations. But her heart wasn't
in it. Not for the first time, she wondered where the choices in her young life had taken her.
From a large family, Dusque had been the youngest. And she had been the only daughter her parents
conceived. Growing up on Talus, she had alternately been the baby and the pet, always under the
watchful eyes of her four brothers. She had followed them around on their childhood adventures,
eventually growing strong enough to keep up with their running and climbing and building makeshift
camps. Their tricks and pranks had made her tougher than most, because Dusque felt she had to take
their teasing with a stiff upper lip. There had been no such thing as tears when she was little. Her brothers
didn't cry, so she didn't, either.
Her father had toiled diligently for a small company manufacturing starship components. Not as
prestigious as those companies located above Corellia, but it had been good work. And he had been a
hard worker. Her mother kept the house and bandaged up the children when they had their cuts and
scrapes. It had been a simple but good life. Unfortunately, it didn't last.
Even though she had been little more than a child at the time, Dusque remembered when the
Imperials started to make their presence known to those who worked on Talus. And she recalled how
her father would come home at night, exhausted and worried, wondering just what the ships he helped
construct were being used for. Many times he and her mother had talked late into the night about it, and
Dusque remembered sneaking out of bed to listen in on them once in a while. There had always been
tears and accusations when they spoke on the matter. But most of all, there had been fear. Even she had
sensed that her parents were frightened. Tensions grew in their modest home. And then there was the
day her father didn't come home.
Her mother received word that he had collapsed in the manufacturing facility and that by the time his
coworkers had carried him to the medic, it had been too late. His heart had simply given out. Everything
changed for Dusque at that point. Without her father to hold the family together, it frayed at the edges
and eventually collapsed. Her mother never really recovered from the loss of her husband and became
more of a shadow than ever. She catered to her sons and moved about like a ghost, as though she had
lost her substance and ceased to exist. It was at this point that Dusque swore an oath: she would never
let herself become like that, no matter the cost. And she would never again care about anything as she
had for her family, because the price of loss was too steep.
Her two oldest brothers quit their studies and took up their father's crafting profession. Dusque saw
how it aged them prematurely, so she buried her nose deeper into her schoolwork, determined not to
take that path. And when her studies were done for the evening and her home too somber, she would
sneak out of their small compound and hide out in the forest where she and her brothers used to camp in
happier times. She became more withdrawn from people and spent hours and hours studying the
creatures native to her town. She began to prefer their company to that of other people, finding their cues
and habits easier to read than those of humans. Her youngest brother joined the ranks of the Imperial
forces, determined to become a pilot and soar through the stars, as resolute as Dusque was to leave their
small home behind. A few months after joining, he died in a training accident. And for the first time since
the death of her father, Dusque saw her mother display an anger and a fire she hadn't known the woman
possessed.
For one moment, her mother was like a raging animal, and Dusque glimpsed just how deep her
hatred for the Empire ran. She blamed them for her young son's death as well as that of her husband. But
her rage burned out quickly and once again she was only a shell of the woman she had formerly been.
That was the year Dusque graduated with high honors and chose to pursue a path of bioengineering. In
her eyes, this career combined her two greatest desires: it let her continue to study and track animals, and
it got her off her homeworld. But because it was a profession that answered to and was governed by the
Empire, Dusque was never really certain how much her decision might have broken what was left of her
mother's heart.
For the next few years, she completed the advanced studies required to proceed to bioengineering.
The only effort she needed to make during her course work was mastering a medic's knowledge of
organic chemistry. That turned out to be the one she had to struggle with, because it wasn't intuitive to
her. The scouting aspect of her career choice came as second nature. Survival skills, as well as trapping,
hunting, and exploration, were instinctive to her, and she excelled among her fellow students, finishing
second in her class. Her high ranking caught the attention of several prominent scientists of the Imperial
party, along with garnering a stellar recommendation from her trainer, and she was awarded a position as
a bioengineer.
Dusque, however, soon found it frustrating to distinguish herself from her male colleagues when she
was no longer competing for scores and marks on exams. She answered to an older supervisor named
Willel, who never seemed to trust her with any project of worth no matter what she did. Boring
assignment after boring assignment came in, each of which she dutifully completed. She even found ways
to make the assignments more exciting for herself, although her superiors never knew of her extra
excursions. Still, she continued to receive the most simplistic studies, and the only thing she could
conclude was that she was trapped in a male world. Most of the others she worked with had held their
positions for decades, and there appeared to be no room for advancement within the ranks. She had
traded what she felt was a dead-end life with her family for what looked like a dead-end career with the
Empire. And her current whereabouts just affirmed her certainty.
"I think it's going to begin," Tendau told her, interrupting her depressive reverie. Dusque returned to
the present and looked in the direction the Ithorian had indicated.
摘要：

THERUINSOFDANTOOINE VORONICAWHITNEY-ROBINSONWITHHADENBLACKMAN PROLOGUE     Alightrainmistedthehillside.Otherthanthatslightpatter,theonlysounddisturbingtheeveningwasthesuddencryofthepekopeko.Thelarge,blue-skinnedreptavian'spitifulsquawkcarriedacrossthestilllakebeforestoppingassuddenlyasithadbegun.   ...

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