Star Wars - Tinian on Trial by Kathy Tyers

Author:Kathy Tyers [Tyers, Kathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 1994-11-27T06:25:55+00:00

“Why, hello, Princess Tinian.”

Momentarily terrified, Tinian flung herself upright. She breathed again when she saw two familiar people standing over her. Happy’s Landing’s current torch singer, Twilit Hearth, wore a scandalous, shimmering sapphire-blue gown. Twilit’s mate, Sprig Cheever, sported a short, neat goatee and nondescript clothing. He set a glass of Elba water in front of her.

Tinian dashed tears away from her eyes and guzzled it.

Twilit touched her shoulder. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I — ” Tinian gulped. She needed allies, and Daye — deft reader of strangers’ intentions — had liked these two. (Where was he?) “I’ve got to hide. I’m in big trouble.”

“Hey, it couldn’t be that ba — ”

“Stormtroopers. They’ve shut down the factory.”

“No,” whispered Twilit. “Where’s … you know, your prince?”

“I don’t know,” Tinian groaned.

Twilit seized Tinian’s elbow. “Come with me. There’s no time to lose.”

Twilit pulled her through a dark, cluttered hallway behind the kitchen, then up one flight of stairs to a cramped little dressing-sleeping room.

“Twilit, thanks,” Tinian objected, “but they’ll search up here.” She laid her valuables under an old boot rack, then startled. She’d sliced three c-boards off the control panel. Now she had only two.

“We’ll hide you in plain sight.” Twilit grabbed a shimmering red gown. “But we’ve got to move fast. Put this on.”

She’d dropped one c-board! Concentrate, Tinian. First you’ve got to survive. Tinian eyed Twilit’s curves, then glanced down her size-one jumpsuit. “Twilit, it won’t — ”

“You’ve only got minutes,” said the singer. “Are you going to walk into their gunsights wearing that uniform?”

Tinian skinned out of her jumpsuit and yanked up the extravagant gown. To her shock, padding slid into position over all the right places. The singer was no more voluptuous than Tinian, not in the flesh. She glanced into the room’s only mirror. Her face and someone else’s body looked out.

“Not bad,” said the singer, “but we can do better.” She spun a pair of shoes across the floor toward Tinian and rummaged in a tattered duffel. “I assume you can sing.”

“Not like you.” Tinian gratefully pulled on one shoe. Too big, but it would protect her throbbing foot.

“Most Imperials wouldn’t know a song sparrow from a cloud crupa. You know all my songs. I’ve watched your lips move.” Twilit opened a jar and smeared something onto Tinian’s face. Tinian submitted to several layers of paint and a rapid, hair-pulling fluff job before Twilit announced, “Break’s over. Princess. Get down there and show your stuff.”

Tinian eyed the mirror again. Only the stranger looked out at her now. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. The stranger’s lips moved when she spoke.

TwiIit’s face appeared beside the stranger’s. Fire blazed in Twilit’s blue eyes — the same shade as her own, Tinian realized. “The Empire and I had a disagreement four or five systems ago.” Twilit answered. “Now get down there.”

“But you — ”

“I’m deathly ill. Couldn’t sing another note for at least an hour. Go. Cheeve and Yccakic’ll help.”

Tinian tottered down the steps. Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could make out the ale house’s interior.

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