Star Wars - The New Rebellion

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  "You said Han is all right?"

  She nodded.

  "Who did this?"

  "If they knew," Karrde said, "Coruscant wouldn't be in such an uproar."

  "Lando?" Mara asked.

  Lando frowned. "Talon, what's Jarril been up to these days?"

  Karrde leaned back in the chair. Then he glanced at Mara. She shrugged. "I haven't worked with Jarril in two years, maybe more."

  "You're not answering me," Lando said.

  "I think you should make a trip to the Run," Karrde said.

  "I can't go to the Run," Lando snapped. "I thought you knew that."

  "What's Jarril got to do with this?" Mara asked.

  "Ask your friend there," Lando said.

  "Talon?"

  "The Run's a different place these days," Karrde said. "Not a place I enjoy discussing, Calrissian."

  And not on an open line. Karrde's message was clear.

  FIREWORKS.

  Jarril had just been to Coruscant.

  SOLO KNOWS.

  And now Jarril was dead. "Thanks," Lando said. "I'll be in touch soon." He signed off before they could say anything else. His dreams had been right.

  He couldn't risk sending a message that wouldn't get through.

  He had to go to Coruscant.

  He had to warn Han, before it was too late.

  Kueller shoved open the door to Femon's office. His guards flanked him, but he waved them back. He wanted them to observe, not to act.

  Femon had taken her death masks off the wall. The room looked odd without them. But that wasn't the only change. She was different too. She had scrubbed her face clean. He had almost forgotten what she looked like without the makeup. The years showed. But she was still a striking woman, with her alabaster skin and dark blue eyes.

  She didn't seem surprised to see him.

  But the fifteen guards who had accompanied him seemed surprised to see her. Even with their faces hidden in their stormtrooper helmets, he could sense their shock at her appearance.

  "I didn't order anyone to stand ready," he said.

  She got out of her chair. "I did. You're too bent on revenge, Dolph."

  He started at the name, but he didn't allow it to show. His mask was working again, ever since he had returned to the artificial environment on Almania, and it gave him more control of his movements than a normal person had.

  "We aren't ready," he said. "To do this your way would invite disaster."

  "To do it yours loses our advantage." She was nearly as tall as he was. Her eyes sparkled with fury. He had never expected her to cross him, but he should have foreseen it. She was more passionate about the mission than about anything else in her life, even him. She needed this to succeed. She needed to control everything around her so that nothing bad would happen again.

  His understanding gave him no compassion, only a muted pity that her needs had driven her to oppose him.

  He turned to one of his guards. "Rescind the orders. Tell everyone to stand down."

  "I wouldn't do that," she said to the guard.

  The guard, to his credit, turned to Kueller, nodded, and said, "I shall do as you wish, milord."

  "No!" she shouted.

  "Thank you," Kueller said to the guard. Then he walked closer to Femon, his black cape swirling about him. Her body odor was sharp in the close room; she was nervous, no matter how she presented herself.

  He tilted his head and looked at her from the corners of his eyes. She lifted her chin, defiant to the last.

  "You think I'm bent on revenge," he said.

  "I know it." She kept her arms free, but he saw no weapon. She had to have something planned. A woman like her would leave nothing to chance. "You and Brakiss talked often about repaying Skywalker."

  "And I intend to."

  "Do it after we take over the Republic," she said. "We have everything in place now."

  "Not everything," he said.

  "Enough."

  He shook his head. "Impatience is the downfall of most megalomaniacs, Femon."

  "I am not a megalomaniac."

  He smiled. "Neither am I."

  The guards were watching, clearly unable to understand the conflict. They edged closer to him.

  "I have studied the history of this galaxy, Femon," Kueller said softly. "Have you?"

  "History is old, dusty, and unimportant," she said.

  "I'll take that as a no." His smile grew. He kept his voice low, infusing it with as much charm as he had. "History, Femon, provides lessons. Lessons in living, lessons in dying. Lessons in the way this galaxy works."

  "I know how it works," she said.

  "Do you?" He put a slight threat into his tone and she almost flinched.

  Almost.

  Then she nodded. "I do."

  He reached out and tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear. "Then you know," he said tenderly, "why I fight Skywalker."

  "Revenge," she said. "He did something to you and Brakiss long ago. I don't need history for that."

  "Ah, but you do." He let his hand drop. "I've had my revenge. Conquering Almania was my revenge. I know clean ways of killing, Femon. Why do you think I spent a week torturing the leaders of the Je'har?"

  "Information." Her voice was husky.

  He shook his head. "Revenge, sweet. My revenge for their slaughter of my family and the destruction of the place I loved. I thought the Je'har should have a small taste of the pain they caused. I think you should notice that I have not tortured anyone since."

  "You found better methods," she said.

  He tugged at his black gloves, looking at his hands. His powerful hands. "I knew better methods then. I simply did not believe the Je'har deserved them. I am a reasonable man, Femon. You should have remembered that."

  "You've been trying to be fair?" she asked. He suppressed a smile. At that moment, her certainty wavered. She had lost, and she hadn't even realized it. "You've been baiting Skywalker to give him a chance to defend himself?"

  "Skywalker needs no favors." He was speaking now not just for her, but for his guards. He had brought them as witnesses, so that tales of her treachery would be muted by tales of his response to it. "Skywalker is the most powerful man in the galaxy."

  Femon laughed. "I thought you were, Dolph."

  "I will be." His voice was still level. He felt remarkably calm, even though treachery usually sent him into a fury. His training had been good. He gave a mental nod to Master Skywalker. "When I defeat Skywalker."

  "So it is a power struggle."

  Kueller laughed. "You are so simplistic, Femon. You lack intellectual complexity because you have not studied." He glanced at the guards. They were watching intently. One of them had loosened his grip on his blaster. Kueller reached over, grabbed the guard's hand, and tightened his grip.

  Femon made her move then. She reached for the control panel. The fail-safe. The security he had installed. The one that slid the initiator down a passage while everyone else in the room suffocated.

  With a quick movement of his left hand, with a slight draw on all the Force within him, he stayed hers. Then he tightened his grip, holding her entire body in thrall to him. All except for her neck and head.

  "What you don't know," he said calmly, as if he were not controlling her at all, "is that the history of this galaxy is a history of the Force. The Old Republic was guarded by the Jedi Knights, who believed in decency and honor. But they became complacent and allowed Palpatine, who had found a dark power in the Force, to overtake them. He ruled as Emperor and, over time, forgot the lesson of his own life. So, when faced with the youthful power of Luke Skywalker, Palpatine believed he could defeat him. And Skywalker, who had unusual talent in the Force, killed the Emperor instead."

  "And you will kill Skywalker, to live up to some noble idea of history?" She spat out the words. He admired her spirit, however misguided.

  "I kill Skywalker, first, because it is my destiny," Kueller said. "And secondly because I cannot ru
le this galaxy as long as he is alive. That is the lesson of history. I must be the strength in the Force. I must be the sole king of the Force. To do that, I must defeat the Jedi. I must defeat Skywalker."

  "You are a fool, Kueller," she said.

  "No, I am a patient man." He smiled. "I also—"

  He reached out with his right hand, stopped neck-high, and clutched his fist—

  "—control—"

  She gagged, unable to get air, her eyes widening. She couldn't even claw at her throat. Her body shook as she struggled to break free of him.

  "—the Force—"

  He squeezed his right hand as tight as he could. The snap of her neck echoed in the closeness of the room. Then he let her go and she crumpled to the floor, a person no longer. Only flesh, bone, and memory.

  He stood over her. "I will rule this galaxy," he said. Then he looked up at all the stunned guards. "Best you remember that."

  FOURTEEN

  The shot ricocheted off the blaster-resistant walls. Han leaped out of the way, but not quickly enough. The shot nicked his buttock, then bounced off the wall in front of him. All the smugglers yelled, and everyone dived for cover. The red beam of dangerous light missed Chewie, brushed Wynni, and scraped Zeen, until it finally slammed into the ooze, where it died in an explosion of foul-smelling steam.

  Han's skin burned. His nose and eyes were running from the smell. He got up first, pulled Seluss upright, and shoved him into the scorched wall.

  "Where did you learn how to shoot?" Han snarled. "Didn't anyone tell you these walls were blaster-resistant? Haven't you learned yet that firing in an enclosed space is dangerous? You could have killed all of us."

  Seluss raised his tiny gloved hands, chittering piteously.

  "I don't care how worried you are about Jarril. You shot me," Han said.

  "Han—" Zeen said.

  "I don't like getting shot," Han said.

  "Han—" Blue said.

  "In fact, I hate getting shot," Han said.

  Seluss's chitters rose above the pain threshold again. He crouched and covered his round face with his arms.

  "You better hide," Han said, "because when I get done with you, you'll wish you never saw a blaster."

  "Han—" Kid DXo'ln said.

  "You'll wish you never knew what a blaster was," Han said.

  Chewie grabbed Han's arm and pulled him away from Seluss.

  Han shook him off. "Leave me alone. Can't you see I'm getting vengeance here?"

  Blue laughed. "Not very effectively," she said. "But you have convinced us you're the same old Han. Forgive us. So much has changed around here, we figured you had too."

  Han was stalking Seluss. He stopped when Blue's words penetrated. "He shot me," Han repeated.

  "And anyone else would have blasted him back, no questions asked." She grinned, revealing the blue crystal tooth that had given her part of her name. "But Han Solo never shoots his friends, no matter what they've done to him."

  She stuck a finger in the long slash the blast had left in his pants. "I must admit, though. This is a nice look for you."

  He pushed her hand away. "Leave it alone, Blue."

  "Oooh." Her grin got wider. "We are married though, aren't we? Some things have changed."

  "Just my taste," he snapped, his good humor completely gone.

  "From smugglers to princesses," Zeen said. "Can't argue with that."

  Blue drew herself to her full height, showing her slender, magnificent body to complete advantage. "Some of us don't need a pedigree to prove our worth," she said. "I've been quality from the beginning."

  "That you have, Blue," Kid DXo'ln said. Seluss moaned and slid down the wall, his head completely covered by his arms.

  "I think Seluss was caught up in the heat of the moment," Blue said, looking at him. "I don't think he meant to hurt you, Han."

  "I hope not," Han said, unwilling to give Seluss any comfort. Han's skin burned. He tried to twist around to see the damage.

  Chewie chuckled.

  "It's not funny, furball. It hurts."

  "Come on," Blue said. "I got some salve that'll work wonders."

  Zeen put his arm around Han's shoulders and propelled him forward. "Then we can sit down and chat." Seluss whistled softly.

  "You can come too," Kid DXo'ln said. "But you'd better keep your distance from Han."

  "And take his blaster away, would you?" Han said. "I'm not in a very charitable mood."

  He shoved his own blaster into the holster at his hip. It hurt to walk, to stretch the skin, but he would rather spend a cold day on Hoth than show anyone the pain he was in. Especially Chewie.

  They followed the ooze into the entry chamber on Skip 1. As Han entered, three dozen smugglers pointedly bolstered their own blasters. He resisted glancing at Chewie. Things had changed on the Run.

  Drastically.

  Usually personal fights remained personal. But they didn't seem to anymore.

  The entry chamber on Skip 1 was as far as some renegades got. Bones were stacked in a pile in one corner, most of them trophy bones. The bones all belonged to beasts and creatures, but a number of newcomers were told that this was what happened to anyone who let the secret entry to the Run slip.

  Beyond the bones were sabacc tables, half a dozen of them, staffed by talents like Blue, who rarely lost. They were designed to trick the newcomer as well—to clean him out and send him, unhappily, on his way, never to return. On the other side of the sabacc tables was a glass bar, built against the rock. Bomlas, the bartender, believed the customers needed to see his vast store of liquor from all over the galaxy. Bomlas was a three-armed Ychthytonian—he had bet and lost his fourth arm in a particularly savage sabacc game—yet he was the fastest bartender Han had ever seen.

  Closing off the cavern was the hokuum station for those smugglers whose tastes went to nonliquid stimulants. Han had seen his first spice users there, as well as his first glitterstim users. He hated the hokuum station, although the Run swore by it. Users on its stimulants often killed each other within three days.

  The food court stood in the center of the cavern, as far from the ooze as possible. When Han was first here, the chef was known galaxy-wide. She was killed in a hot-grease duel with another chef. Han's palate still missed her.

  "Who's cooking these days?" he asked.

  Blue wrinkled her nose. "The former cuisine artist at the Court of Hapes."

  "Ze foood, it must have a delicate flaavor, no?" Kid said.

  "They don't talk like that on Hapes," Han said.

  "He does," Zeen said. "He claims he was the favorite chef of the queen mother."

  Han grinned. "Did he have a recommendation from Isolder?"

  "What?"

  Han shook his head. His old rival for Leia's hand had proven yet again to be a man of action and good taste. He had gotten the best of the queen mother once more. "I hope people are checking the cuisine for poison."

  Blue shrugged. "He works with many poisons. We don't care. Only newcomers eat there, anyway."

  Chewie roared.

  Zeen laughed. "No, Chewbacca, we haven't got rid of the real food. It's two caverns back."

  Han glanced at his old friend. Chewie looked as if he were about to gnaw the furniture. "I think we'd better go there first."

  "I think we'd better tend to your wound first," Blue said with a suggestive leer.

  "Lay off, Blue," Han said.

  "Testy, testy." She moved ahead of them, leading the group into a thin passage that wound around Cavern 2 and led directly to Cavern 3. "You were a lot more fun when you were younger, Han."

  "You weren't interested when I was younger, Blue."

  "You were so naive, untested, good-hearted. I like a man with a bit more experience, Han."

  "And a wife," Zeen said.

  "That's not true," Blue said.

  "All right, then," Zeen said, "you prefer men who have other attachments."

  "She's a smuggler of the heart," Kid said.

>   "Cute, boys," she said as she ducked through the opening in Cavern 3. Han followed her. The cavern smelled of roasting meat, garlic, and onions overlaid with Wookiee warm won-wons and Sullustan stew. The cavern was humid. The walls were coated with liquid and an extra layer or two of blaster resistance.

  "I don't remember this place," he said.

  "It belonged to Boba Fett and five other bounty hunters. Most of Boba Fett's friends died six years ago, and we decided to make it into a gourmet area for those of us who frequent this place," the Kid said.

  Han shuddered at the mention of Boba Fett. That little bounty hunter had nearly cost Han his life. He was glad to hear that Fett's associates were dead.

  The cavern showed no signs of having once been a bounty-hunter den. Han counted eighteen cooking stations, with several more disappearing down the back. Each station was set up with a booth that suggested the home planet of the cuisine. The Wookiee station, right near the door, was nestled into a fake (at least he hoped it was fake) wroshyr tree. Chewie let out a delighted roar and hurried over to the Wookiee station. Han searched for—and found—the Correllian booth. It looked like something out of Treasure Ship Row, a bright red, green, and purple tent with an equally gaudy Correllian roasting meat on a spit outside. Han didn't recognize her, but she recognized Han. That wasn't a surprise. Most Correllians had heard of him, it seemed. And he didn't like it. He liked to know who he was talking to.

  "Slumming, Solo?" she asked as she carved him several slices of meat.

  "Dining," he said, holding out his hand for the plate. The food smelled wonderful. He hadn't had a Correllian meal in—well, since before the twins were born, at least.

  She added some Correllian greens mixed with charbote root, and a scoop of mounder potato rice.

  "Sixteen credits," she said.

  "Sixteen?!" He almost choked on his saliva. "This would cost half a credit on Correllia."

  She grinned. "Been a long time since you've been home, hasn't it, Solo?"

  He let the remark pass. "A half-credit," he said again.

  "Fifteen," she said.

  "Two," he said.

  "Ten," she said.

  "Five," he said.

  "Done."

  He paid her, repressing his grin. It had been a long time since he'd bargained for a meal. He took his plate to one of the center tables, where Chewie was already digging into a plate of won-wons. He had five round, greasy won-wons hooked to each claw, and was sliding them down his throat like a delicacy.