[Adventure Journal] - Combat Moon (John Whitman), Star Wars - Books And Short Stories
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Star WarsAdventure Journal9Combat Moonby John WhitmanThe hologram of the S'krrr warrior lunged at Mika with its bladelike forearms. Mika spun aside, jabbing his practice dagger into its abdomen."Penetration of lower thorax," Leda's voice came over the loudspeaker. "Result: severed nerve column."The holographic S'krrr shimmered and altered slightly. Now it was holding a two-meter staff with a blade at one end. An energy pike. Swinging the pike, the S'krrr attacked again. Mika ducked the sweeping blow and slipped around the insectoid-hologram as his dagger blade passed through the two small, diaphanous wings on its back.The hologram froze. Leda's voice again came over the loudspeaker, this time slightly bewildered. "Dismemberment of vestigial wings. The S'krrr don't even need those wings, Mika. No damage."Mika Streev wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his forehead. He could see Leda through the transparisteel window of the practice room's control booth."Psychological damage, Leda," he panted. "The S'krrr use those wings to speak their traditional language. Also, they're a hard target, and therefore an honorable one."The practice room door slid open with a sigh, and Leda Kyss stood framed in the portal. Like Mika, she wore the red bandoleer of a Rabaanite warrior, heavily stitched with merit-signs. Unlike Mika, her bandolier lacked the symbol of Rabaan's highest honor: the sunburst sigil of an artist who has created his masterpiece.Leda strode forward and pointed at the hologram of the S'krrr. Standing 1.7 meters tall, the gray insectoid looked like a series of sharp angles designed to intimidate. Its large black eyes gleamed coldly, set high on the S'krrr's triangular head. A hard-shelled exoskeleton covered even the face, making the mantis-like S'krrr's emotions inscrutable to all but the most attentive humans.Leda pointed at the formidable looking creature. "You're fighting a single combat that will decide the future of Rabaan. How can you bring up honor and artistry at a time like this?"Mika grinned. "What better time to bring it up? You think I'm going to let a little political debate about which species destroyed who's orbital platform get in my way? That's for bureaucrats to decide. Me, I hone my skills. That's the whole point of being a warrior, isn't it?"Leda's face grew suddenly distant. "Here, maybe. Not everywhere... " she muttered."Leda, are you okay? You've been in a daze for months. Maybe you picked up something on Circarpous IV. Don't know why you bothered to go off-planet in the first place.""To see what's out there, Mika. You may be the best artist-warrior on Rabaan, but there's more to life than combat rituals. It's a big galaxy out there, and trust me, there are places half a day's jump from Rabaan where they don't care how the battle is won. They'll wipe out a planet to get at one person."Mika sneered. "Barbarians! I'm surprised the Empire doesn't put a stop to that sort of brutishness."Leda frowned, but said nothing.* * *One hundred eighty-six million kilometers closer to the Ishanna system's yellow sun, the planet S'krrr made its way steadily through the vacuum of space. Forty kilometers of atmosphere shielded the living creatures of S'krrr from that vacuum. One half kilometer of forest canopy shaded the top soil of S'krrr from the system's hot sun. Two meters of duracrete lay between that top soil and the ceiling of the small subterranean chamber where Sh'shak of the S'krrr had chosen the mantra of distance for his meditation exercise.He, too, was preparing for battle. As a part of his mind continued the mantra of distance, Sh'shak considered the events that had led to this confrontation. One of the Rabaanites' orbital platforms had been destroyed in a shuttle accident (two meters from a human's head to his feet, head roughly 20 centimeters high...), an accident which the Rabaanites blamed on the S'krrr. The innocent S'krrr had defended themselves against the accusation, and tempers had risen until war seemed inevitable.Sh'shak ran one of his blade-like arms (one-half meter from blade-tip to elbow joint, one-half meter from elbow joint to abdominal link...) along the ridge of his forehead in a soothing motion. Fortunately, Rabaan and S'krrr had long ago learned to settle their disputes in a civilized fashion. When political solutions could not be found, each planet chose a champion. The two warriors met on neutral ground - - a small, barren planetoid called the Combat Moon. Only one warrior ever left those meetings, and his planet was declared the winner of the dispute.Sh'shak pressed a button on a nearby console and called up an anatomical display of human body structure. He was reviewing the variety of targets available to him. He did so calmly. He felt no malice toward humans in general, and certainly none for the Rabaanites, for whom he had high regard. But the Combat had been called for, and he, Sh'shak of the warrior caste, had been chosen. He would go to the Combat Moon and kill the Rabaanite he encountered there. And if, as Sh'shak expected, the human warrior proved worthy, Sh'shak would compose a short lyric for him in wing-song.At the mere thought of wing-song, Sh'shak's small vestigial wings fluttered, rubbing against one another in a gentle s'krrrrrrr that had become the species' name in Basic. Millennia of interplanetary activity had convinced the S'krrr to adopt Basic for most communications. But they still kept up their far more difficult - - and far more beautiful - - wing-song language for ceremonial and artistic purposes.Lost in the sound of wing-song, Sh'shak switched from the mantra of distance to the mantra of balance, as his wings continued to murmur.* * *The low murmur in the Star Destroyer Coercion's conference room hushed as Governor Klime entered the room. The Imperial officers seated around the table called him "governor" in deference to his new post as overlord of the Ishanna system and the surrounding systems, but in their minds he was still General Klime, the brutal tactician who had brought a dozen worlds to heel for the Empire.Slow-minded officers wondered why Klime had ever agreed to leave the military for a civilian post. The quick-minded knew, as Klime did, that in these days of the Rebellion, the military no longer offered enough flexibility for the truly ambitious. As a governor, Klime could still use the military to intimidate weak planets, and, in the case of strong planets like Rabaan and S'krrr, rely on subtler means to get what he wanted."Report."An aide snapped to attention. "Despite continued rumors, we have been unable to locate a Rebel base anywhere in the Ishanna system. Intelligence is skeptical of the reliability of the rumors. Our man on Rabaan tells us that the S'krrr and the Rabaanites have arranged for a ritual combat.""Is our man in place?""No, sir. He failed to position himself properly. He is awaiting your instructions.""Place and time of the Combat?""The single moon of Rabaan, known as Combat Moon. Coordinates- - ""If the moon is in Rabaanite orbit," Klime growled, "our ships may be detected.""N-no, sir," the aide stuttered. "Both the Rabaanites and the S'krrr are notoriously uninterested in space traffic and travel. Also, Combats traditionally take place at the moon's apogee, when it is too distant for either planet's sensors to make clear readings."Klime put his hands together, fingers forming a steeple. "Continue.""Yes, sir. The two combatants will be set down at random locations. Then they will... hunt each other. Time: 1800 hours, two local days from now."Klime smiled cruelly, and crushed the steeple of his hands into two tight fists. "Commander Glave.""Sir!" The Imperial commando leaped to his feet, his small eyes staring straight ahead out of pock-marks etched like valleys in his scarred face. Anyone else would have been called a bootlicker for zeal like his, but Glave inspired the kind of sheer terror that prevented such sneering. A veteran of 30 small - and large-scale engagements, Commander Glave had never lost a battle. In a firefight on Kestos Minor, Glave's helmet was shattered by a point-blank blaster shot, pushing fragments of dura-armor into his face. Ignoring the pain, Glave single-handedly held off a platoon of Rebels until armored AT-ATs had arrived.Governor Klime eyed this killing machine like a soldier admiring a newly- charged blaster. "Assemble your men, Commander. And call in our local informant as well. When those two locals arrive at this Combat Moon, I want your team ready and waiting."* * *"Mika, I'm waiting!" Leda pounded on the door. "Mika!" "Here." Leda whirled as the voice whispered in her ear. Instinctively she drew her dagger and slashed. Mika caught her wrist with casual ease and kissed her quickly on the lips. The young woman tugged her hand away and sheathed the blade."Don't ever do that!" Leda yelled. "I might have hurt you!"Mika shrugged. "Just wanted to see how your reflexes were. Pretty good. But you shouldn't let people sneak up on you like that."Leda grumbled and stalked toward the door. "Most people don't walk with their feet off the ground like you do, Mika. Come on. And don't kiss me in public!"Mika grinned at Leda' shyness. It was old-fashioned, that Rabaanite prohibition against public displays of emotion among the un-Promised. But since Mika had failed to offer her his Promise, he couldn't really complain about her prudishness. He suspected it was only her way of telling him he'd better a...
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