Tempest: Star Wars (Legacy of the Force) (Star Wars: Legacy of the Force)

by Troy Denning

  “Then help get these gates open!”

  Jaina started to protest, then realized she would just be wasting time. Whatever else he was, Zekk was as kind and courageous as Jedi came, and nothing was going to change that—not even her.

  “Zekk, sometimes you’re a real pain in the neck.” She used the Force to pull a pair of murgs out of his way, and he finally reached the gate controls. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m kind of starting to like it.”

  “Now you tell me.” Zekk pulled the lock slicer out of his equipment belt and started to work on the gate controls. “Let me know when we’re out of time.”

  “Why?” Jaina turned toward the approaching Miy’tils. “Would it make any difference?”

  “Not really,” Zekk said. The lock slicer surprised Jaina by beeping a success signal after only a couple of seconds. The gates hissed open, and the murgs shot out toward the bog. “But it’s good to know you waited.”

  chapter fourteen

  With dim blue lighting and the sweet taint of rekka smoke in the air, Telkur Station Cantina was the kind of place where smart customers kept their backs to as many walls as possible. Its only ceiling was a disorganized web of ventilation ducts suspended in the murk above, and there was a half-concealed entrance somewhere along every one of its eight walls. The patrons were clustered in groups of three and four, sitting around corroded steel tables and openly studying Han and his companions.

  “What are we waiting for?” Nashtah demanded from behind Han. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Just being sure,” Han said. The cantina’s clients were exclusively human and near-human, with no droids, and roughly balanced between handsome men with scroungy three-day beards and beautiful Hapan women dressed to look tough but available. C-3PO and the Noghri were back in the Falcon, so Han thought he and his two female companions would fit right in—unless someone recognized him or Leia from an old HoloNews broadcast. “I can’t believe Hapan Security wouldn’t cover this place.”

  “They will—but there won’t be many.” Nashtah pushed past Han and started toward the bar. “If they cause us any trouble, we’ll kill them.”

  “Yeah, that’s a great plan,” Han retorted. “We wouldn’t want to cause a scene or anything.”

  But Nashtah was already halfway to the bar, no doubt far more aware of the gazes furtively following her progress than she let on. Having rebuffed Leia’s suggestion that they all wear disguises—claiming her contact would not show up unless both she and the Solos were easily recognizable—she now seemed determined to draw the entire station’s attention.

  “I don’t like it,” Han said to Leia. “She’s testing us.”

  “Clearly,” Leia said. “But she’s our only lead. What are we going to do?”

  “How about not going along?” Han took Leia’s arm and turned toward the grimy access corridor. “We’ll head back to the Falcon and let her come to us.”

  Leia pulled him back into the cantina entrance. “And take the chance that she’d just disappear?” She freed herself from his grasp. “We can’t. Too much depends on her.”

  Leia started after their companion. Han cursed under his breath, then reluctantly followed the pair toward the bar. The cantina was almost certainly being watched by Hapan Security, and Nashtah was deliberately exposing the Solos to see what happened. If someone tried to kill or capture them, she would probably accept their story and let them fly her the rest of the way to her employers. On the other hand, if nothing happened—or if the capture efforts appeared insincere—she would either slip away quietly or try to kill them herself. Han was betting on kill.

  At the bar, an aproned bartender with a cleft chin and dark eyes came over to take their orders. Han was immediately suspicious of the fellow’s athletic build and clean-shaven face, but if he was a Hapan agent, he was a well-prepared one. He fixed Leia’s Fogblaster and even Nashtah’s Red Cloud without having to consult the datapad behind the bar for a drink recipe.

  He placed the two drinks on the counter, along with a Gizer ale for Han, then said, “Thirty credits.”

  “Thirty credits?” Han objected. “I see why they call this a pirate station.”

  The bartender merely pointed at Nashtah’s Red Cloud. “Blood ain’t cheap.”

  “Blood?” Han made a sour face, but removed a pair of credit chips from his pocket and laid them on the counter. “At that price, I hope it’s yours.”

  They took a seat in the nearest corner, at a rust-stained table that looked as if it hadn’t been wiped down in a month. Leia refused to set her glass down, and even Han refrained from resting his elbows on the surface. If Nashtah noticed the filth, she didn’t show it, simply dropping onto the bench opposite the Solos with her back against the wall, then resting one arm along the table.

  Han took a sip of Gizer and frowned at how flat it was. “I hope we don’t have to wait long.” He glanced around the cantina casually, trying to decide whether Nashtah’s contact was the guy in the new utilities or that classy-looking brunette in the syntex vest. “I can’t bring myself to drink two of these. It was brewed back when Ta’a Chume was Queen Mother.”

  Nashtah shrugged. “It may take awhile—you are unexpected companions, so my contact will be careful.” She took a long sip of her Red Cloud, then raised it toward Han. “But you can always try one of these. They’re fresh.”

  Han made a sour face. “No, thanks. I’d rather drink water.”

  “From here?” Leia glanced at the filthy table. “Don’t you dare.”

  They sat for a time, waiting for a contact that probably did not exist to approach. Han and Leia only sipped at their drinks—Han because his Gizer barely tasted like ale, and Leia because she hated Fogblasters and only ordered them when she wanted to nurse a drink without having to think about it. But Nashtah drank more steadily, draining half her glass within the first quarter hour.

  After another couple of minutes, she leaned across the table to Leia. “Someone is watching you.”

  “Yes, I have that feeling, too,” Leia said.

  “Probably a Hapan surveillance team,” Han said wryly. “Maybe we should get out of here before the backup arrives.”

  Nashtah shook her head. “He doesn’t look Hapan. And you may know him. He’s trying very hard to keep out of your sight line.”

  Han turned toward Leia, straddling the bench as though he were going to face her … and sneaking a glance toward the corner where Nashtah was looking. He glimpsed a square-shouldered man with a thick beard and a mop of dark hair hanging in his eyes. The fellow quickly turned toward the wall to hide his face, but failed to change his upright posture … or the military precision of his movements.

  “You know, something does look kind of familiar about him,” Han said. “He’s trying to hide it, but that guy is a soldier—and I have this crazy feeling we do know him.”

  “We should,” Leia said. She was still looking across the table toward Nashtah, but Han could tell by her unfocused gaze that her concentration was on the Force. “I think he almost married our daughter.”

  “What?” Han spoke loudly enough that, despite the raucous buzz of scrak music, he drew glances from several nearby tables. He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Leia. “Come on. You can’t be telling me that’s who I think you mean.”

  “I don’t understand, either,” Leia said. “But his presence feels very familiar.”

  “You know him?” Nashtah asked. “Then we must go say hello.”

  Before Han could stop her, Nashtah rose and started across the cantina, weaving just enough to suggest it was not an act.

  “Uh-oh,” Leia said. “This looks like trouble.”

  The Solos rose and started after her. Han was surprised at Nashtah’s condition. Whatever else she was, she was clearly a top-notch assassin, and top-knotch assassins did not let themselves get intoxicated on a job—and probably not many other times, either.

  They arrived at the bearded man’s table just as Nashtah sat on th
e bench opposite him. “… me why you are following my friends,” she was saying, “and your death will be a painless one.”

  “You’ll have to forgive our friend,” Leia said, sliding onto the bench on the bearded man’s side of the table. “I’m afraid she doesn’t hold her spirits very well.”

  “Yeah, she’ll probably miss.” Han slid onto the bench next to Nashtah, positioning himself close enough that she would have to push him out of the way before she could reach the blaster in her thigh holster. “At least the first time.”

  “Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” The bearded man reluctantly looked away from the wall. Though the hair hanging over his brow concealed the crooked scar running up his forehead, there was no mistaking the steely green eyes. “Because I never miss the first time.”

  Nashtah tensed, but Han slapped a hand on her thigh—blocking access to her holster—and smiled across the table.

  “Jagged Fel!” He was genuinely pleased. “Glad to see we didn’t kill you after all.”

  Leia frowned. “What Han means to say is we’re happy to see you well. We inquired about you many times, but Aristocra Formbi kept claiming your status was a military secret.”

  “Because I had yet to be recovered.” Fel’s voice was polite, but reserved. “After you shot me down, I was marooned for two years.”

  “Two years?” Leia touched his forearm, drawing a flinch visible even across the table. She quickly withdrew her hand. “Jagged, I am sorry. Before we departed Tenupe, Aristocra Formbi led us to believe your recovery was imminent.”

  “Tenupe can be a very dangerous planet, as you know,” he said. “The recovery team vanished, and the decision was made to risk no more lives on behalf of one pilot.”

  “Sorry, kid—that was a tough break,” Han said. “So how did you get out of the jungle?”

  “My family hired a private rescue company, and one of their search parties met a—” Fel stopped, picking his words carefully. “They met an unfortunate end. I repaired one of their commsets, and when the next party arrived looking for them, I was able to make contact.”

  “Telkur Station is a long way from the Unknown Regions,” Nashtah said suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for the Solos, of course,” Fel said.

  Han raised his brow. “Kid, if this is about Jaina—”

  “It isn’t,” Fel said, a little too forcefully. “Jaina has caused the Fel family enough problems for one lifetime.”

  “All right,” Han said, wincing inside at the sharpness of Fel’s voice. He had always kind of liked Fel, and there had been a time when he would have gladly welcomed him as a son-in-law—except for the part about dragging Jaina off to live in the Chiss Ascendancy. “I was just saying that if—”

  “I’m here because of Alema Rar,” Fel said, cutting him off.

  “Alema?” Leia furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand. She’s dead.”

  “No more than I am,” Fel said.

  Han looked over at Leia. “You said some kind of spidersloth ate her!”

  “I said I was fairly sure,” Leia corrected. She looked back to Fel. “It had half her body in its mouth. I can’t imagine she escaped—much less survived.”

  “I assure you, she did both,” Fel said. “The creature …” He let his sentence trail off when the bartender suddenly appeared carrying the drinks Han, Leia, and Nashtah had left on their first table.

  “One table at a time,” the bartender said. He banged the drinks down and turned to Fel. “You drinking or leaving?”

  Fel’s eyes went to the mug of ale sitting in front of Han. “I’ll have one of those.”

  The bartender grunted an acknowledgment and departed.

  Han eyed the glasses. His drink and Leia’s were still about three-quarters full, but Nashtah had emptied almost all of hers. “That bartender seems pretty determined to see us finish our drinks.”

  “I wouldn’t indulge him, if I were you,” Fel said.

  Nashtah narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

  “Because drinking can be bad for your health,” Han said, resisting the urge to look around. He was pretty sure now that the bartender was part of a Hapan Security team, and he wanted to hear the rest of Fel’s story before the fighting started. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

  Nashtah turned to glare at the bartender, but said nothing.

  Fel pretended not to notice and shifted his gaze back to Leia. “I was preparing to tell you about Alema,” he said. “She killed the creature before it had a chance to eat her.”

  “You found its carcass?” Leia asked.

  Fel shook his head. “Bodies decompose too fast in the jungle.”

  He reached inside his jacket, causing Nashtah to reach for her thigh holster again.

  “Whoa, there!” Han said, managing to clasp the assassin’s arm before she could draw the blaster.

  Nashtah squinted at him in disbelief. “How’d you do that?”

  “Old smuggling trick,” Han said casually. Something was definitely wrong with their drinks. He had seen how fast Nashtah was, and he should never have been able to stop her—not on his best day thirty years earlier. “Jag isn’t going to hurt anyone here. He just wants to show us something.”

  Nashtah squinted across the table, but she pulled her hand away from her holster. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me, I assure you,” Fel said. Once it was clear she would not be trying to blast him, he pulled a coil of braided hide strips from inside his jacket. He held it in front of Leia. “You know what this is, I assume?”

  Leia nodded. “A Twi’lek memory cord—a long one.”

  “Correct. I found it on Tenupe, shortly after I discovered the bodies of the commercial search party I mentioned.” He laid it on the table. “But their vessel was missing, and I followed the tracks of a lame female back to a cave where she had been living.”

  “And that’s where you found this?” Leia asked.

  Fel nodded. “My family had it researched. The first part seems to recount how she saved herself by cutting the spidersloth’s throat from the inside. It bit down just as you described, but the creature was already dying and didn’t do as much damage as you led Aristocra Formbi to believe.”

  “Her lightsaber was activated when the creature took her,” Leia said. “I just didn’t think she’d kill the thing quickly enough to survive.”

  “She nearly didn’t,” Fel said. He pointed to the next set of knots. “These describe her wounds and recovery. Her arm and six ribs were fractured, and she had several deep wounds in her abdomen and back. Fortunately for her—and unfortunately for us—when the Killiks evacuated after the battle, they left thousands of stragglers behind. She was able to summon a small group to care for her.”

  “Wait a minute,” Han said. He was doing his best to keep an unobtrusive eye on the rest of the cantina, and so far the Hapan Security team seemed willing to wait for them to finish their drinks and pass out. “Are you saying the Killiks are still there?”

  “I doubt it,” Fel said. “They were castaways, just as I was. I had regular, um, encounters with them during the first year. But they were always from different nests, and by the second year they were beginning to disappear. I think they lived out their lives and died.”

  “That makes sense—Killiks have short life spans,” Leia said. “But a year would have been enough to nurse Alema back to health.”

  “Indeed. She records each of their deaths in detail.” Fel paused, then indicated a set of knots that seemed to repeat themselves every four or five centimeters. “But these knots are the reason I’m here. They appear to be a recurring list of injuries received at your hands, and the knots between appear to be lists of possible retaliations.”

  “What are you getting at?” Han demanded. “Are you saying that crazy trollop is coming after Leia?”

  “I’m telling you what I found in her cave,” Fel replied evenly. “What you make of i
t is your business.”

  Leia’s eyes flashed a warning at Han, then she turned back to Fel. “Thank you for telling me, Jagged. After what happened on Tenupe, I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

  “Easy doesn’t matter.” Fel’s gaze grew distant and perhaps a little hard. “You warned me to eject, and I had a debt to repay. Now I have.”

  “I see.” Leia’s expression turned sad. “So now you’ll be heading back to the Ascendency?”

  Fel shook his head. “No, I’ll be watching you.”

  Han would have asked why, except that was when the bartender returned. He set Fel’s ale on the table, then frowned at Nashtah, who was slumped in the corner with the same unfocused gaze that Leia often assumed when she entered a Force trance.

  “Is Baldy all right?” he asked. “I don’t want nobody dying in here.”

  “She’sh fine.” Han slurred his words deliberately, but he truly was feeling a little warm and drowsy. “Jush forgets to closh her eyes.”

  The bartender scowled in suspicion. Han thought he might have overdone it, but Fel made a point of lifting his own mug to his lips and taking a small sip.

  “Excellent.” He smacked his lips with exaggerated pleasure, then set his mug on the table and wiped the froth away with his sleeve. “Very thirst quenching.”

  Han frowned. “Really? You don’t think ish a little flat?”

  “Not at all.” Fel’s eyes flicked away nervously. “But when it comes to ale, my tastes aren’t very refined.”

  “That mush be it.” Han raised his own mug to his lips and took another small sip, then nodded. “Yeah, the more you drink, the better it tashes.”

  The bartender grunted and returned to his bar.

  Once he was gone, Han turned back to Fel. “So why are you watching us?”

  “Because we’re bait,” Leia surmised. Her face was a bit flushed, but she seemed alert enough to finish the conversation and run. She turned to Fel. “Your assignment is to hunt down Alema and make sure she can’t restart the Dark Nest, isn’t it?”

  “That’s my intention, yes,” Fel said. “But not my assignment. I’m no longer with the Ascendancy military.”