“Wait,” the scratchy voice demanded. “What?”
Lando opened fire, clipping the TIE’s left wing and then blasting another shot directly into its cockpit. The ship exploded, sending debris scattering across the icy moon shards.
“Nice shooting,” L3 commented.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lando grunted. “Don’t try to butter me up now just ’cause I’m going along with this madcap mission that you still won’t explain to me.”
“That circular port on the chamber looks like we could dock on it.”
Lando maneuvered through the smoking remnants of the TIE and pulled up close to the chamber. “After this is over, if we survive, I’m taking a monthlong R and R at some luxury resort on Raysol Prime. And you’re not invited, Elthree.”
“Wow,” L3 droned. “Imagine how hurt I am.”
The air lock did indeed fit perfectly with the chamber’s portway. Lando stood, drew his blaster, and headed down the corridor, L3 zipping along behind him.
“And if we don’t survive,” he continued, “I will never forgive you.”
“Noted,” L3 said. “I’ll add it to the list, sir.”
In the main hold of the Falcon, Lando turned left into the sleeping quarters. “Be right there.”
“Wait!” L3 called. “This is no time for a nap! Where are you going?”
Lando had already slid open the door of his cape closet and whipped off the yellow-and-maroon one he’d been wearing, replacing it gently on the hanger. A kaleidoscope of colors and textures shone back at him—the most peaceful image he knew.
“Lando?”
The red one. That would perfectly contrast with his light-blue shirt. And its inner lining was a velvety mauve, which was subtle but still fierce.
“Lando! We don’t have time for—”
“I’m coming!” Lando slid the closet door shut and whirled around, the cape flying up and settling back against his body just right. He sighed with satisfaction. “All right, let’s move.”
“One day,” L3 muttered as they hurried back across the Falcon, “I swear…”
They stepped through the air lock into a dank, creaking room cluttered with inanimate, shadowy forms.
“Droids,” Lando said as L3 gasped. “Deactivated, from the look of it.”
“Not just deactivated.” L3 whirred past him, her eye-light turned up to cast a stark glare over the macabre scene. “Dismembered.”
Droid parts hung from the ceiling, dangled from the walls, lay scattered across the floor.
Lando crinkled his nose. “And not just droids from the smell of it.” The air was thick with a heavy musky scent combined with the tang of blood. “There.” Lando pointed to the center of the room, where something viscous dripped from what appeared to be an operating table, or maybe a torture device. He shuddered. “That’s fresh, from the look of it.”
“This is-is a massacre,” L3 stuttered, her illuminated gaze casting long, ghoulish shadows across the cluttered walls. “A slow-motion massacre.”
Lando wasn’t sure if L3 was capable of being traumatized, but if anything would do it, witnessing this horror show would be a top contender. He wasn’t ready to leave, though. Whatever maniac had done this…he wanted nothing to do with, for sure, but part of him also knew whoever they were, they had to be stopped.
“You okay?” Lando asked, looking over the bloodied table to where L3 stood staring at a crumbling pile of demolished astromechs.
L3 didn’t answer, just kept scanning the remains.
“Isn’t this one of those old Separatist battle droids?” Lando said, lifting up a rusty beaked head with its eyes torn out.
L3 paid him no mind, just kept looking.
“Are we looking for something?” Lando asked, but before L3 could answer—if she was even planning to, which seemed unlikely—he noticed a datapad on the wall between two blaster-burnt metal torsos. “Is that a door keypad?” Lando said out loud. He pushed the top button and sure enough, a clunky whir sounded and then a whole section of the wall slid to the side with a squeak. “Well, well—” Lando started, feeling pleased with himself, but then the wave of stench hit him. “We—haaaiighhh! What is that?”
It smelled like the armpits of a hundred dead banthas bathing in spoiled bantha milk. But worse. And opening that door had unleashed all of its wretchedness into the already musty chamber.
“I can’t—” Lando blinked, trying to see through his watering eyes. “Great stars! This is…El…”
“I have deactivated my olfactory sensors,” L3 advised him. “So, as you say, can’t relate.”
“How convenient for you. Meanwhile, I might not make it. But what’s it coming from?”
Lando covered his nose and peered into the dimly lit room beyond the door. About a dozen bodies lay in a pile in the center of the room. He couldn’t make out much, but they appeared to be a variety of species and, like the droids, they’d all had body parts hacked off.
“I’ve seen enough,” Lando announced, hitting the CLOSE button on the door panel. “And smelled more than enough. Can we get out of here?”
“Found him!” L3 yelled.
“Who him?” Lando whirled around to where L3 was standing over the pile of protocol droids.
“Deenine,” L3 said. She bent to a squat and reached in to toggle something on one of the dilapidated steel bodies. “Should be…right…here!”
Two orange mechanical eyes lit up and the droid burped nonsensical jarble, head spinning in a slow circle. “Murderrrrrr…” it droned in a shrill whisper.
“Deenine,” L3 said again. “Tell me what happened. I got your transmission. Where is he?”
“No, no, no! Stop! Anyone but them! No!” D9 sputtered. “There’s a…there’s another…”
“Another what?” Lando said. “Dee, another what?”
“Another spy in the chamber,” D9 gasped. “Ast…astromech…the silver one there. An Imperial plant. Also…also watching…”
Lando spun around and scanned the pile of astromechs. Most were so filthy and bloodstained it was impossible to tell what color they were, but a glint of silver flashed out at Lando from between two others. He cleared them out of the way and got a closer look. “This one, Deenine? This one’s been talking to the Empire?” A soft whir came from the droid when Lando put his hand on it. Then a tiny compartment opened with a sharp fizz. Lando jumped back and let off two shots; both smashed into the astromech, which let out a screaming bleep and then collapsed.
“Affirmative,” D9 said.
“What did you learn, Deenine?” L3 asked.
“Murderrrrrr,” the droid moaned again. “Massacrrrre.”
“We can see that much,” Lando said, trying to contain the frustration in his voice. L3 placed her metallic hand on his arm, something between shush and a calm down. It was easy to be calm in a rotting meat locker when you didn’t have a nose. Then again, it wasn’t Lando’s kin—or whatever droids considered one another—whose body parts were scattered all around them. And L3 took that droid solidarity stuff real serious. Probably, Lando should be the one placing the calming hand on her shoulder.
“Who was it, Deenine?” L3 said. “Who did this?”
“Not who…that…matters…what he’s building…”
“What’s he building?”
“The Phylanx…get the codes…Elthree…get the operating codes…he has the Phylanx with him.”
L3 nodded once as the droid’s voice sputtered into nonsensical beeps. Then she turned to Lando. “We have to catch up with whoever that was. Now.” She sped out of the room.
“Elthree!” Lando called, running after her. “What’s going on?”
LANDO LACED HIS FINGERS ON the pillows behind his head and tried to pretend he wasn’t in some dingy transport sleeping barracks. Because otherwise? This moment was perfection. Kaasha’
s cheek lay on his bare chest. Her mouth was open and she was snoring ever so slightly, and a bit of drool had slipped out, which normally might be icky but somehow seemed charming.
Because Kaasha.
Which meant trouble. That was a sure sign of trouble. And that particular kind of trouble was generally what would throw a shadow on a sweet moment like this. That was the kind of trouble that hinted at long drawn-out conversations or maybe sudden, unexplained disappearances followed by that roiling sense of What if… That was the kind of trouble that functioned in the future tense, and somehow ripped its way right through to the present tense to wreak havoc there, too.
But.
But right now, Lando knew only peace. Sure there were a million what-ifs, and sure any of them could rear its ugly head at any moment, come thumping through the door, an uninvited guest, and it could all go to hell in the blink of an eye. But Lando had lived through the war years, and he’d survived the never-ending mini wars of being a smuggler before that. And so had Kaasha for that matter. So maybe a little uncertainty, a little peace and quiet, wasn’t such a bad thing.
And anyway, they lay on a hard mattress in a dim grungy barracks, much as they had years ago when they’d first met, and no amount of overthinking could change that truth, so might as well enjoy what there was to be enjoyed, right?
And right now, Lando was particularly enjoying the way Kaasha’s light-blue back stretched and curved beneath her darker-blue lekku, the sweet song of her hips insinuated beneath the (brittle, ugly green) regulation sheets, the feeling of her weight against his torso.
It had terrified him, the first time this happened that night on Pasa Novo. That was the truth of it. He had felt that certainty, felt it in his gut, and it was worse than staring down a hundred blasters, worse than flying the Falcon directly into the heart of the Imperial war machine, worse than any high-stakes gamble he’d ever made. It was very simple: He wasn’t ready. Not for all that, all that thatness. Whatever it was defied language, and if Lando couldn’t explain it, couldn’t even name it, how was he supposed to manage it in any reasonable way? What kind of risk assessment could be done on a thing that exceeded even language? None, that’s what kind.
So when the sun had come up after that first night, Lando had made sure Kaasha had no delusions that this would be bigger than it was. He hadn’t said it outright, of course. That wasn’t his way, nor was it necessary. And he was never cold; he’d have sooner set himself on fire than show a hint of rudeness to Kaasha. But he kept that wall thrown up high, never opened up, never really let her in. And could he be mad that she took the hint? A million conversations seemed to have happened without a word exchanged, and here they were, confused, content, complicated.
Anyway, he hadn’t been ready then, but now…
He released one hand from behind his head and went to caress one of her lekku.
“You know…” Kaasha said.
Lando’s hand froze in the air above her.
“Men have lost hands for touching those without permission.”
Lando didn’t move. “Is that a fact?”
Kaasha still lay with her eyes closed; Lando felt her lips curl into a slight smile against his chest. “It is something approaching the sacred, really. A vital part of our identity.”
“Mmmm,” Lando hummed, enjoying the feeling of his voice vibrating against her cheek.
“For the Twi’leks, the caressing of the lekku is an act that is beyond mere sensuality.”
“Go on,” Lando said, hand still hanging in the air just above the two thick strands lying across Kaasha’s back.
“I have said what I needed to say.”
For a moment, they remained there, perfectly still except for the rise and fall of their breath.
Then, very slowly, Kaasha raised her head ever so slightly so her lekku brushed up against the skin of Lando’s hand, and craned her neck forward.
* * *
—
“Run!” Han yelled, letting loose with both blasters at the burly, purple-armored Sef Con troopers barreling down the corridor toward him. Chewie growled, let off two more explosive bursts from his bowcaster, and took off. Blasterfire screamed through the air, smacked charred, smoking craters in the walls around them.
Two troopers collapsed beneath Han and Chewie’s barrage of fire, and a third clutched his arm and howled. A whole other squad raced up behind them, though, and one of them had some kind of launcher mounted on his shoulder.
“Go! Go! Go!” Han yelled and sprinted around a corner just as a horrific shriek rang out and then an explosion tore through the wall where they’d just been standing. “Keep going!”
Up ahead, Peekpa was straddling Aro’s shoulders, punching away frantically at her datapad. Han had no idea what she could possibly be typing, but it didn’t really matter as long as she stayed out of the way. Aro looked up and down the corridor, eyes squinted, and then nodded to himself and yelled, “This way!”
“I hope—” Han had to pause to fire off a few shots as the troopers rounded the corner. “—he knows what he’s doing.”
Roawhh-rahhwrr, Chewie added.
“Yeah, and that he’s trustworthy,” Han agreed.
“If we keep going along this corridor,” Aro yelled back at them over the screech of blasterfire, “we should come out at a side entrance and then we can…uh-oh!”
Han was jogging backward, picking off troopers as they emerged from the smoky hallway. “Uh-oh?” He turned. “Oh boy.”
A second squad of Sef Con guards had bustled around the corner up ahead. These had some kind of snarling beasties on chains.
“It’s the Forosnag Attack Battalion,” Aro said, shaking his head. “It’s a wrap. Those things are…” He raised his hands in defeat. “Let’s just say they’re not here for the mental health benefits.”
The forosnags leaned forward, long muscular arms reaching down from spiky shoulders. Shorter, slithery-fingered midarms stuck out from their flabby torsos. Six rows of teeth lined their wide, slobbery mouths.
Han and Chewie opened fire, but the beasts didn’t even flinch. Instead, they leapt up toward the barrage of lasers screeching at them. And opened their huge mouths even wider.
“What the—” Han yelled as the blasterfire all vanished down their gullets.
Aro was still shaking his head. “Toldya it’s a wrap. They literally eat blasterfire. It’s like candy to them.”
“What kind of—” Han started to growl, but Chewie cut him off with a roar. The forosnag keepers had released their beasts, and all six were tearing down the corridor toward them in jolty hops.
“Go!” Han yelled. “Back the way we came!”
“But the—” Aro said, jogging past him as the snarls and bounding paw thumps got louder.
“At least we can blast ’em,” Han said, already letting loose some shots toward the approaching troopers. “Go!”
“Saka bo dagshi,” Peekpa yelled from Aro’s shoulders. She had been clacking away all this time, Han noticed, and now she hit a final key with a little squeal of triumph.
“This is a fine time to be gossiping with your Ewok buddies,” Han grumbled. But then a loud crunching sound erupted all around them as the walls shook. Everyone stopped shooting. Even the forosnags halted their hopping charge and glanced around uneasily.
Chewie moaned.
“Um…What did you—” Han started, and then troopers at either end of the hallway screamed a collective, desperate yelp and tumbled into darkness as the floor opened up beneath them and seemed to swallow them up.
The next panel on each side slid open.
“Peekpa, you did it!” Han yelled. “Wait, what did you do?”
Peekpa started to explain in a fast-paced Ewokese techspiel that was lost on everyone there.
The forosnags adjusted their positions to better see what w
as happening. Another floor panel opened on either side. Then another.
“She sliced into the building itself,” Aro said.
The forosnags panicked a moment too late, launching into the air just as the floor opened up beneath them and then howling as they realized there was nowhere to land. Each howl got quieter and quieter, ending in a juicy splat.
The next two floor panels slid open.
Han eyed the gaping openings wearily. There were only two left on either side of them. “Um, you can stop it, though, right, Peekpa?”
“Bri’tchata,” Peekpa sniffled, already typing away madly. Whatever bri’tchata meant, it sounded rude.
Two more panels vanished with a whoosh. Han could make out wiring and some kind of toxic-looking fuzzy material shoved into a series of welded pipes. And then just smoky darkness. “Anytime now, Peekpa!”
Chewie growled, pulling something out of his belt.
“Grab on?” Han said. “To what?”
Swarrrrgkk-rah, Chewie muttered as he screwed an attachment onto the tip of his bowcaster.
Han cocked his head at Chewie. “To you? What?”
The last two floor panels on either side of them swooshed out of existence, revealing more wiring, pipes, and a gaping void below.
“Faka bratiiin,” Peekpa cursed. “Bataka.”
Chewie shook his head and wrapped a long furry arm around Han and Aro, pulling them against his huge body. Peekpa wrapped herself in a tiny bear hug around Chewie’s head.
“Gah!” Han yelled.
Chewie pointed his bowcaster up and shot a suction spike directly into the ceiling just as the floor opened up beneath them.
“Aaaaah!” everyone yelled at once, barreling deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Then the rope attached to Chewie’s bowcaster pulled tight and jolted them to a halt.
“Well,” Han gulped. “That was quick thinking, Chewie.”
“And here we are,” Aro said.
Peekpa chirped what might’ve been an apology.
“Where exactly might that be?” Han asked as they spun a slow circle. Tiny lights flickered in the vast expanse of darkness around them. Random drips and clicks sounded here and there, and occasionally, the moans of the fallen troopers from below.
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