| abstract
| - Bevel Lemelisk, scientist and inventor, sat quietly in his cell with an aura of calm wholly unsuited for a man condemned to summary execution. Occasionally he would begin humming a few notes of old tunes solely to break the monotony of absolute silence. When this began to bore him he would turn to prolonged examination of his fingernails until this, too, lost its allure. For a man charged with enabling some of the Galactic Empire’s worst atrocities he did not look the part. White-haired and rather corpulent, wearing a wrinkled prison uniform, his large beak-like nose and bushy eyebrows suggesting some kind of mutant bipedal avian endowed with tenure at some prestigious university, he did not look the slightest bit threatening. However, this was a conclusion unshared by the New Republic. The inventor of the Death Stars and World Devastators was not long for life. The sound of tramping feet on the metal floor of the cellblock corridor aroused mild curiosity in the old man. More visitors perhaps? Since his capture after the farcical end to the Hutt Durga Besadii Tai’s already farcical Darksaber project, there had been no end to the ill-wishers. Politicians, soldiers, and of course Alderaanians and Mon Calamari who took great delight in seeing the architect of their misfortunes imprisoned, just could not seem to let him alone. Oh, well, they were the victors after all. Thus, when the feet stopped outside his cell he was not surprised. He fixed a slight smile to his face and waited. Sure enough, the door to his cell slid open with the normal pneumatic hiss. This time it was a slightly built ebon-skinned Human man who, judging by his face, was plainly born after the Clone Wars and therefore could not be expected to understand anything about the New Order. Nor, more importantly, could he be expected to understand anything about his work. No one did anymore. The man exchanged a few words about the length of his visit with the Rodian guard escorting him. Then he followed the guard into Lemelisk’s cell. His insignia and a plasto identification card hanging around his neck proclaimed him to be a New Republic Intelligence officer. So, thought Lemelisk, the New Republic had decided for another moralizing sermon to their precious prisoner. Well, this could prove entertaining. “Good morning, or afternoon, or evening, or whatever it is,” said the old man with the dry humor of the damned that he had adopted upon incarceration. “As you can tell, I’m not in a position to be aware.” The man folded his arms and raised one eyebrow with curiosity. “So, you’re Bevel Lemelisk, Man of Evil. I must say, you don’t look like much.” Lemelisk chuckled and rubbed his stubbly chin. “And I must say you’re not much of a pithy greeter if that greeting is the best you have. Now, you know my name, and since I’m not long for this world, maybe you’d be nice to an old man and tell me yours.” The man held up his identification card. “Major Jalundi Bantoori. New Republic Intelligence. You know, you were hard to catch up with. First you vanish after Endor and only now the New Republic plays with the Hutts could we nab you.” “Quite so,” said Lemelisk. “So what is it this time? I’ve heard quite enough sermons about Alderaan, thank you very much. Or are you still wanting to know if there are anymore super weapons floating around out there? I’ve already told your colleagues to my knowledge there aren’t. However, if you’re here for a civil chat, I’m willing to oblige. Is there anything not about whether I’m sad billions of people died that you would like to know?” The major was taken aback by his forthrightness. “You’re rather frank,” he said. “They warned me about this. Don’t fret yourself, though. I’m just hear to ask a few final questions before your execution.” “As plainly you’re aware, I’m going to be executed tomorrow. Time is a luxury I don’t have so let’s do this.” The scientist gestured to the bed on which he sat. “Would you care to join me? I’ve never been very good at hospitality, but I do remember a few things about it.” Bantoori glanced at the guard, who nodded curtly and warningly placed a green hand on his sidearm for Lemelisk’s benefit. Thus secure the Intelligence officer sat down fiddling with a holorecorder. Finally, he spoke. “Bevel Lemelisk, you’re charged with the design, aid, and construction of the Death Stars, the Suncrusher, the World Devastators, and the Darksaber project. Are you responsible?” Lemelisk shrugged dismissively. “My prosecution seems to have decided so already.” Bantoori tipped his head to one side. “So you were never expecting an unbiased trial?” Another shrug. “What trial? I was put before a military tribunal of a government I don’t recognize and solemnly informed I was guilty and will be put to death.” “Are you guilty?” This seemed an important issue for the officer despite it making no difference whatsoever. “By whose standards? Oh, never mind. Alright, I confess. I was involved in all those projects. Although it’s not much of a confession because I’ve always admitted it. Those were masterpieces of engineering! A true joy on which to work!” “So you admit being their creator.” “Ah, now there’s the thing. It’s good of you people to finally get around to that if only after my tribunal. The answer is about, oh, one-half.” “Your meaning being?” Bevel Lemelisk sighed. “Yes, I helped create the World Devastators. Yes, I headed the Darksaber project. But, no, I did not invent the Death Stars.” Bantoori’s eyes narrowed sharply and he glanced momentarily at the Rodian guard. “That’s a bold claim to make,” he said, “in light of known events. Why haven’t you said anything about this before?” A glimmer of annoyance flared in the Imperial scientist’s own eyes. “Because no one ever asked,” he replied shortly. “Besides, it’s not like it would have changed anything. Everyone is out for my blood. I’ve always known that.” “So you’re acknowledging your role in the destruction of Alderaan?” A short laugh. “Oh, yes, of course it always comes back to that. I’m a scientist. An engineer. I make the toys for others to play with. If someone dies, that’s irrelevant to me.” “What are you saying then?” demanded the NRI major with some frustration. “Calm down, Major. Yes, I helped build the Death Stars, but all I did was lead the project of figuring out its workings and updating some systems. And while we’re on the issue of responsibility, why isn’t Qwi Xux sharing this cell with me? Her aid was irreplaceable!” “Qwi Xux is another case entirely. Not only has she fully repented of her work, but she also denies having knowledge of the Death Star’s purpose. Several prominent New Republic citizens have vouched for her, including Jedi Luke Skywalker, General Han Solo, and General Wedge Antilles.” Lemelisk laughed again. “And you’re willing to believe she’s that stupid? Why, if that’s all it takes, then I’m very, very sorry and I promise I won’t ever do it again. May I go now?” The major began looking somewhat uncomfortable. He did not speak for a few moments. Maybe, thought Lemelisk amusedly, he was actually contemplating the paradox. Eventually, however, he spoke again. “Although you deny creating the Death Stars, you are recognized as such by both the New Republic and the Empire. All available data including many confidential Imperial files indicate you are the mastermind behind them. What have you to say to that?” “Tell me,” said Lemelisk, “when did anything the Empire said become so readily accepted by truth-seekers? No, don’t answer that. Your brain might explode. No, I did not create the Death Star. The Death Star was the brainchild of a another species, the Geonosians. Maybe you’ve heard of them? Clone Wars? Producers of the Separatist droid armies? You have read your history, haven’t you? As any school text could tell you, they were famous for their military designs. The grandfather, as it were, of the Death Star was in fact Raith Sienar, who successfully sold his idea to Emperor Palpatine during the Clone Wars. The Emperor then passed it on to Count Dooku, who passed it into the insect claws of the Geonosians, who did what they did best and made it what we know. My job was playing with the superlaser. “After the institution of the Empire, we all sat down and kept tinkering with the thing. Tol Sivron, Qwi Xux, myself and the others, we all did our part. And an exciting time it was, too! Of course, the Empire being what it is, and the Emperor not being very forthcoming about his nefarious dealings, no one wanted to admit non-Humans were the driving force behind its conception, much less termites like Geonosians. So, as misfortune would have it, I became the poster boy of the whole project. By the time we were done, everyone assumed I was the sole inventor.” Bantoori looked uneasy at this revelation, but also plainly unwilling to accept such a notion as the evil scientist responsible for so much being not quite as guilty as the Galaxy believed. Nevertheless, he forged on doggedly. “As fascinating as all that is, if it’s true, it doesn’t excuse or expiate you. What about the Suncrusher?” “What about it? I didn’t make it. It was designed at the Maw Installation.” “The Maw Installation, where you worked for a time.” “So did Qwi Xux. Go ask her. I had nothing to do with it. Any reports to the contrary, I flatly deny. Qwi Xux directed that project yet is now a free member of the New Republic, while I sit here for the Death Star.” Bantoori shifted to a more comfortable position. “You return again to Qwi Xux’ case. Our intelligence reports that as well as denying knowledge of the Death Stars’ purpose, her memories have been thoroughly erased. It is the opinion of the New Republic that she cannot be held responsible for her participation.” “Intelligence,” added Lemelisk tartly, “provided by General Antilles and Jedi Luke Skywalker. Both of whom have proven to be... sympathetic to her case.” “Frankly,” replied the New Republic officer, “it’s your word against theirs, and theirs has greater weight.” “I see. My word is unreliable because of my association with the deaths of millions while theirs is perfectly reliable due to reputations gained killing millions. My, yes, the New Republic is truly justified in calling itself noble.” “The deaths to which you refer were of enemy soldiers, a legitimate action during war.” “Indeed? I wonder if their families see it that way. Anyway, despite her convenient amnesia, Xux clearly remembered enough of her past to identify me. “Now, since we’re on the subject, I have some questions of my own regarding one Kyp Durron. After slaughtering the population of Carida and destroying the planet he privately repents of his wickedness and is accepted warmly back by Luke Skywalker’s Jedi. I’m held accountable for Alderaan, so why isn’t he held accountable for Carida? Or does forgiveness by self-appointed judges representing no segment of the Galactic populace supersede the war crimes trial usually allotted? To my mind, by blatantly ignoring such things as culpability for all save its enemies, the New Republic has perpetrated an act distinctly similar to those of the late Emperor Palpatine. Repentant or not, Kyp Durron and Qwi Xux should both be tried for whatever crimes they may have committed.” “Irrelevant. What is at issue here is your own culpability. Did you not know for what Palpatine intended the Death Stars?” “Yes, of course.” Bantoori’s eyes flashed angrily. “Then why did you agree to undertake the task?” Bevel Lemelisk sobered and was quiet for a long moment. “I had no choice,” he said at last. The NRI major’s face wrinkled with disgust. “You could have refused.” Bevel Lemelisk studied the young man almost pityingly. So ignorant, so naive. Was this the best the New Republic had to offer for intelligence? If so, then its incredible victory over the Empire would pale only next to the incredibly short duration of its existence. Lemelisk was no political scientist, but it seemed the New Republic was, in its own way, as blind as was the Empire. “Did you ever chance to meet the Emperor?” “Thankfully not,” was the answer. “Then,” said the scientist, “you are in no position to say what I could or should have done. I was subject to excruciating torture after the slightest mishap. Failure brought worse. Until you have undergone similar circumstances I suggest you refrain from judging those who have.” “The worst that could have happened was that you would have died.” A ridiculing guffaw. “Not with him. There was no death with him. Again you judge me without having shared my experiences. Do you have what it takes to be a martyr? You won’t know unless you try. I won’t even attempt describing all I went through. You wouldn’t believe it anyway.” There was an awkward silence in which the major sat running his tongue over his teeth, evidently taken aback by the vehemence with which the old man had responded. “You can’t deny your responsibility for the Darksaber project,” he finally said. Lemelisk snorted derisively. “Oh, can’t I? You know the Hutts. You have a battalion of their hired thugs track you down and see what you do. I’ll ask again. Do you have what it takes to be a martyr?” Hesitation. “I... don’t know.” Bevel Lemelisk, scientist and engineer, Man of Evil, stood up and bowed sarcastically to his guest and gestured to his cell’s door. “In that case, I would kindly appreciate it if you left and allowed me to return to my ever so busy schedule. I have an execution to catch tomorrow.”
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