by Troy Denning
Han frowned. “If you’re not on assignment, what are you doing here?”
“I have nothing to hide.” Fel pretended to take another long drink from his mug. “I’m in exile.”
“Exile?” Leia asked. “Why?”
“As you know, I guaranteed Lowbacca’s parole at Qoribu. When he participated in the attack on Supply Depot Thrago, my family became liable for the damage he inflicted on the Ascendancy from that point on.”
A look of sorrow suddenly came over Leia’s face, and Han’s stomach began to feel a bit hollow. It hadn’t been him who tricked Lowbacca and the others into attacking Supply Depot Thrago—but it had been his son, Jacen.
“As I’m sure you know, Wookiees can do a lot of damage,” Fel continued. “Especially Jedi Wookiees. When my family couldn’t cover the expenses, I was forced to leave the Ascendancy.”
Leia’s chin dropped. “Jagged, I’m sorry. If there’s anything we can do—”
“There isn’t,” Fel said, a little sharply. “There’s nothing any Jedi—or Solo—can do that would change the decree of the ruling families.”
“I know things look bad now, but give it some time,” Leia said. “After you find Alema, I’m sure the Ascendancy will reconsider—”
“Then you don’t know the Ascendancy,” Fel snapped. “Finding Alema will redeem my family’s honor and give it the means to rebuild its fortune. But my situation will remain the same; if ever I return to the Ascendancy, my entire family will be dishonored.”
“Well, whatever we can do.” Han didn’t like the tone Fel was taking with Leia, but the kid did have a pretty good reason to be angry. “Use us as bait all you want—everyone else does.”
He cast a meaningful glance over at Nashtah, who was still slumped against the wall, staring off into space.
“I am using you as bait.” Fel pushed his mug to the table center and started to rise. “And now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Not so fast.” Han took a quick glance around and was dismayed to notice half a dozen pairs of eyes turned in their direction. “There’s one thing about your story that bothers me.”
Jag did not return to his seat. “That’s really not my problem, Captain Solo.”
“For old times’ sake,” Leia said. She grabbed Fel behind the elbow and, using the Force, pulled him down onto the bench. “I think Han is saying that your account doesn’t add up.”
“Yeah,” Han said. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. There’s no way you found us on your own.”
“Actually, it wasn’t difficult at all,” Fel said. “The HoloNews is filled with stories about your defection to Corellia.”
“This isn’t Corellia,” Han said.
“True, but I happened to see a communiqué from Admiral Bwua’tu.” Fel glanced nervously around the cantina, then continued, “He was convinced that Corellia’s next move would be an attempt to persuade Hapes to enter the war on her side.”
“You’re lying,” Han said, with more hope than conviction. Despite his fury over Gejjen using them to set up the assassination attempt on Tenel Ka, his heart remained with Corellia—and it alarmed him to think that the Galactic Alliance was good enough to predict Gejjen’s desperate ploy. “Nobody sees that kind of communiqué.”
“There are plenty of officers in the Galactic Alliance who value honor as highly as the Chiss,” Fel said. “Is it too much to believe that one of them would assist me with the hunt for Alema Rar? Especially since it was the Alliance who asserted that she was dead?”
“He’s got a point,” Leia said to Han. “And I don’t feel like he’s lying.”
Han understood what she was saying—that she could sense through the Force that Fel was telling the truth. But he remained suspicious. “It’s still a long way from that message to Telkur Station.”
“Not as long as you think, Captain Solo,” Fel said. “You two have known the Queen Mother since she was a child. Who else was Corellia going to send?”
“Which gets you halfway here,” Leia pointed out. “But nothing you’ve said explains how you went from Hapes to Telkur Station.”
“That was the simplest part of all.” Fel glanced across the cantina. “I followed him.”
Han followed Fel’s gaze to the bartender, who was pretending to wipe down the counter—but watching them.
“Of course,” Leia said quietly. “Hapan Security.”
Fel nodded. “His team departed the Fountain Palace a few hours after your attack on the Queen Mother.”
“That right?” It irked Han to let Fel believe he and Leia had actually tried to kill Tenel Ka—clearly, the kid had already come to the conclusion that none of the Solos had any honor—but Han could hardly set the record straight with Nashtah sitting beside him. “And you just happened to slap your homing beacon on their ship?”
“Not really.” Fel rose to his feet again. “I picked his team because I heard a hangar tech say it was going to the vilest den of corruption and degeneracy in Consortium space. Naturally, I knew you would show up sooner or later.”
“You might want to be careful how you put that next time.” Han was getting tired of Fel’s bitter-exile act, but he had to admit the kid’s logic was pretty good. Telkur Station was exactly the kind of place where an outlaw ship hanging around this part of the Consortium would eventually put in for supplies. “But thanks for warning us about the drinks.”
“You’re welcome—though I suspect you were expecting trouble.” Fel’s gaze slid over to Nashtah, who was now sitting up and blinking. “Now, you’ll have to excuse me. This fight really won’t be any of my concern.”
Fel started toward the exit, leaving Han and his companions to locate the security team. It was hardly difficult. They were the ones trying too hard to mind their own business, appearing more interested in their drinks or conversation than in what was happening around them. Han quickly counted a standard surveillance team of six agents, including the bartender. They were scattered around the cantina near the exits, with a clear line of sight to the Solos, and well positioned to cut off any escape attempt.
It took longer to locate the team leader. Han was expecting a woman to be in charge and initially paid no attention to the scrawny fellow seated alone at the end of the bar. But the second time he looked, the man was studying their half-filled glasses and muttering into his drink.
“We just ran out of time.” As Han spoke, he was swinging his legs out from beneath the table and dropping his hand toward his blaster holster. If he wanted to convince Nashtah that he and Leia were for real without a lot of bloodshed, he had to act now. “I think they’re mad because we don’t like the drinks.”
The leader looked away and muttered into his drink more urgently. Han flipped the power setting on his blaster to stun, then drew and fired twice without standing.
The first bolt only grazed the leader’s abdomen, melting a dark line across the front of his tunic and causing him to hunch over in pain. The second caught him full in the flank, knocking him to the floor in a convulsing mass.
In the instant of stunned silence that followed, Han thought his plan might succeed, that he and Leia and Nashtah might actually disappear into the station’s tangled corridors before the surveillance team recovered from its shock.
Then he stood. His knees went weak and his head began to spin, and he had to brace himself on the table.
“Han?” Pulling her lightsaber from beneath her robe as she moved, Leia rose and started to reach for him—then had to put a hand down to catch herself. “Whoa. Strong stuff.”
“Yeah,” Han said. The security team was already recovering from its shock and drawing weapons. “Really hits you.”
“Renatyl—a bounty hunter favorite,” explained Nashtah. Suddenly she seemed alert and ready to fight—clearly a result of the Force trance she had entered. “You don’t notice it until you try to stand—then you fall flat on your face.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Han griped, starting to feel even more queasy and
dizzy.
Half the security team—two tall burly men and a stony-eyed woman with high cheeks and thin brows—were already bringing blaster pistols to bear and shouting orders to surrender. Leia’s lightsaber came to life with a sharp snap-hiss, but Nashtah showed no sign of rising to go with the Solos.
Han frowned at her. “You coming?”
“Not yet.” She drew a long-barreled blaster from her thigh holster. “I hate being drugged.”
“Then you’d better come with us now,” Han said. He stepped in front of her, extending a hand as though to help, but actually trying to block her line of fire. “If you think this is bad, wait until the Hapan interrogators—”
Nashtah raised her blaster and squeezed the trigger, sending a bolt of blue heat screaling past Han’s ear. He cried out in astonishment, then turned and saw the bartender tumbling away behind the bar—a T-21 repeating blaster flying from his hands and a wisp of smoke rising between his eyes.
Han dropped his head. “I really wish you hadn’t done that. Now things are going to get—”
Before he could finish, the cantina broke into an uproar of shouting voices and screaming weapons. Leia’s light-saber growled as she brought her blade around to defend.
“Han!” she yelled. “A little help?”
Han whirled around to find Leia frantically batting aside full-power blaster bolts, doing her best to avoid hurting anyone by directing the attacks up into the web of ducts that served as the cantina ceiling. But the Renatyl was having its effect on her, slowing her reflexes enough that some bolts ricocheted off a wall or the floor instead, and a couple even slipped through and went screaming past Han’s head.
Keeping his own blaster set to stun, Han began to return fire, concentrating on a trio of agents between them and the exit. He dropped one, and Leia started toward the exit, staggering and weaving.
Blaster bolts began to pour in from behind. Han spun around to lay covering fire, but the cantina slipped into a Renatyl-laced spin, and he could see nothing but whirling blurs of color. He pointed his blaster into the stream of blue bolts and held the trigger down—then cried out in shock as something hot slammed into his shoulder.
Han was on the floor before he knew he was falling, his nostrils burning with the smell of scorched flesh, one side of his body throbbing in searing pain. To his surprise, he was still holding his blaster pistol, pouring fire toward a pair of amorphous forms that were fast taking the shape of charging security agents.
“Han?” Leia cried. “Are you—”
“He’ll be fine!” Nashtah called. Finally deciding to help out, she slipped off the bench and knelt at Han’s side. She fired twice, and both agents went down with scorch holes in their faces. “Perhaps I believe your story after all.”
“Too … late,” Han groaned. “If we get out of here, you’re on your own.”
“Oh—you’re angry?” Nashtah patted him on the cheek, then turned to face Leia’s direction. “How cute.”
She fired a dozen times, and suddenly the only sound in the cantina was the drone of Leia’s lightsaber. Han rolled to his knees, nearly passing out from the pain and the Renatyl, and spun around. Leia was standing two meters ahead, holding her lightsaber at her side and staring at the motionless bodies of several Hapan Security agents.
When it grew obvious they were all dead, Leia deactivated her lightsaber and knelt beside Han. “How bad—”
“I’ll live. We’ve got other things to worry about.” Han shifted his eyes toward Nashtah, who was still kneeling on the floor beside him. “That was just a surveillance team, but—”
Han winced in pain as Leia pulled him to his feet.
“—they had to have called for backup the minute they identified us,” she said, finishing his sentence. “You’re right—we have to get out of here.”
“Before we meet my contact?” Nashtah asked.
“What contact?” Han demanded. “You were just testing us.”
But Nashtah was already staggering toward the back of the cantina, clearly feeling the effects of the Renatyl even more than the Solos. Though most of the bystanders were evacuating as quickly as possible, a classy-looking brunette in a red syntex vest was standing just inside the rear exit, her eyes darting around nervously as Nashtah approached.
Han’s shoulder was killing him, but he was beginning to think this might have been more than a test after all.
“What do you think?” he asked Leia.
“I think we passed,” Leia said. “Are you up to this?”
“For Tenel Ka, I’m up to anything.”
Han led the way after Nashtah, grimacing inside as he and Leia stepped around wounded bystanders and motionless security agents. He was sickened by the thought of so many people getting killed just because Nashtah was too lazy to adjust the power setting on her blaster, but the stakes were too high to let his feelings show. The lives of Tenel Ka and her daughter depended on finding out who was behind the coup—and so did the stability of the Hapes Consortium.
By the time Han and Leia arrived, Nashtah was already talking to the woman.
“… come alone?” she was asking.
“That was the agreement.” The woman eyed the Solos and frowned. “For both of us.”
“Those agents just proved that the Solos are on your side,” Nashtah said, waving a hand at the dead Hapans. “And I needed a ride. Your assassination plan was a setup.”
“That’s impossible,” the woman retorted. “If you think the council is going to accept the blame for your failure—”
Nashtah placed a hand over the woman’s mouth, then slammed her against a durasteel wall and leaned in close.
“It is not a matter of what the council will accept, Lady Morwan.” Nashtah’s voice was cold and menacing. “It is a matter of what I am going to do.”
The woman’s eyes slid toward Leia as though seeking help.
“She’s right, Lady Morwan,” Leia said. “They were waiting for us. Someone on your council is a spy.”
Morwan’s eyes widened in alarm, and Han had to force himself not to smile. They had learned a lot about the coup already, but Leia had done something even more important—she had started to sow suspicion and discord within the organization itself.
After a moment, Morwan nodded, and Nashtah removed her hand.
“What are you going to do?” Morwan asked. “Spy or no spy, the council has paid you a Hutt’s treasure. They expect you to earn your fee.”
“I will—my way.”
Morwan considered this for a moment, then said, “Very well—but the Council wants you to attend to the Chume’da first.”
“The child?” Nashtah frowned. “What about the Queen Mother?”
“After,” Morwan said. “We will always be able to find the Queen Mother. But now that we have made our intentions clear, the Chume’da will be sent into hiding.”
Nashtah did not even hesitate. “I’ll require another fee.”
“Of course—once you have eliminated the Chume’da,” Morwan said. “Your first fee will be payment for that.”
Nashtah considered this, then nodded. “Agreed.” She stepped back and smoothed Morwan’s vest. “What kind of vessel did you come in?”
“A Batag Skiff.” Morwan lowered her brow, clearly confused. “Your instructions said to come in something small and anonymous.”
“And you did well,” Nashtah said. “Give me the security code.”
Morwan frowned. “The security code?”
“I need transport.” Nashtah glanced at Han. “The Falcon is not very anonymous, even with the false transponder codes.”
“But how will I—”
“You are not my problem.” Nashtah jabbed her thumb into Morwan’s larynx. “The code!”
“Alophon!” Morwan gasped. “That’s the hatch code.”
Nashtah eased the pressure on Morwan’s throat. “And the pilot’s code?”
“Remela.”
Nashtah smiled. “Was that so hard?” She lowe
red her hand and turned to Han and Leia. “I trust we won’t meet again … I suspect it would be more pleasant for me than you.”
“That’s it?” Han asked. “You’re just going?”
Nashtah thought for a moment, then raised her brow as though remembering something. “Ah—the problem with your son.” She pulled a datachip from her utility belt and passed it to Han. “Contact instructions. Leave a message when you’re ready.”
She started through the exit, then stopped and looked back, smiling. “I hope you will contact me. I’m looking forward to working with you on that.”
“Not going to happen,” Leia said, snatching the chip from Han. “Jacen is our son.”
“And Tenel Ka was your friend,” Nashtah countered. “Yet here you are.”
She disappeared out the exit, leaving Han and Leia to stand there fuming. Han caught Leia’s eye, then glanced after Nashtah, silently asking if they should try to take the assassin out now. Leia gave a quick shake of her head. With him already injured, Han knew, their odds were poor. Besides, there was a good chance that Tenel Ka and her security team—not to mention the Star Destroyer’s—would stop Nashtah on their own. What they would not be able to do, however, was find out who was on Morwan’s mysterious “council.”
Leia slipped a hand under Han’s arm. “Come on, flyboy—we’d better get you back to the Falcon and take a look at that blaster burn.”
She turned him toward the opposite side of the cantina and started away, then suddenly stopped and looked back over her shoulder as though she had just remembered something.
“Forgive my rudeness, Lady Morwan. Can we give you a lift somewhere?”
“Please.” Morwan started after them, not even attempting to hide her relief. “I was afraid you’d never ask.”
chapter fifteen
After a hasty departure from Telkur Station, the Falcon emerged from her first hyperspace jump in a pocket of realspace listed on the charts as “Knot Holes.” As far as Leia could tell, the name was a reference to the dozens of narrow hyperspace lanes that punched through the black depths of Transitory Mists, creating a torn-curtain tableau of jagged, star-filled shapes. Han, who was seated in the copilot’s seat while Leia did the flying, pointed toward a crescent of stars hanging on the starboard side of the viewport.
