by Greg Keyes
thing. But if we keep more than operating expenses, we really are pirates."
"Right, sure, but just a little off the top wouldn't make much of a
difference, would it? In the long run?"
Jacen stared, horrified at his father's sincere gaze-until the elder
Solo winked, and he got it.
"You were having me on."
"Just checking, kid. Making sure you really were still my son Jacen."
"I am that-whoever he is, that's me."
Han looked down at the table. "Yeah. And . . . uh, whoever he is, I'm,
uh, very proud of him."
"Thanks, Dad," Jacen said. He wanted, suddenly, to give his father a
hug, but the newest cantina at Mos Eisley spaceport probably wasn't the best
place to do that.
"Anyway," Han said. His gaze shifted about uncomfortably, then needled
out someplace past Jacen, "There we go," he said. "The rest of our dinner
party."
Jacen didn't turn. One thing he'd learned around his father-if there
were only two of you in a place like this, it was best if you weren't both
looking in the same direction.
"Well, well," a profound bass boomed behind them. "Han Solo. And if I
make my guess, one of his spawn."
"Hello, Shalo. How are things?"
"I don't believe it. The great Han Solo actually knows my name. I told
you I was sending Terya."
"I have a good memory," Han replied. "And Terya is a Rodian." He
glanced around the cantina. "Looking good. How's business?"
Shalo finally moved into Jacen's field of vision. He was
human and surprisingly small to have such a deep voice. Bald,
craggy-nosed, about his dad's age.
"Not bad," Shalo said. "The Yuuzhan Vong snubbed their flat noses at
Tatooine, so we're the center of commerce out here on the Rim, these days."
"Uh-huh. That's pretty convenient for you, I guess. I hear you're
giving even Chalmun's some competition."
"Yeah, well, times change. Business changes. My drinks are cheaper."
Han jerked a thumb toward the man. "Last time I saw Shalo here he was a
petty thug at the bottom of Durga the Hurt's food chain."
"That was a long time ago."
"Sure. And after that you worked for Hirth, out of Abregado-rae, That
went sour, too, didn't it? Then you got involved with the Hutts again, and
they sent you here to manage one of their operations. Come to think of it, I
guess the occupation of Nal Hutta is the best thing that ever happened to
you, huh, Shalo? Now the operation's all yours."
"It ain't been bad. Solo, you got a point? I'm a busy man, I've heard
you're back in business, so to speak. You have something you want moved?"
"Not exactly, Shalo. I need a little information."
"So Jong as you're willing to pay for it."
"Sure," Han said. "Like you said, I'm back in business now." He passed
a hundred credits across the table toward Shalo. "Gesture of good faith," he
said.
"Okay. What do you want to know?"
"There's a certain shipping concern. I think you know the one I
mean-has certain occupational interests?"
"I can't say I know what you're talking about. There are lots of
shipping firms."
Han leaned forward a little. "But this one-ah, c'mon, Shalo. Who do you
sell all your slaves to?"
"Slaves? I'm not in that business, Solo."
"You disappoint me, Shalo."
Shalo smiled and shook his head. "No, you disappoint me, Solo. I guess
everyone gets old. Now your son pays the price."
Han looked at Jacen in mock surprise. "You're picking up the tab, son?"
"My boss doesn't pay me that well," Jacen replied.
Han looked at Shalo. "I guess now we don't know what you mean, Shalo."
"I mean there's no bounty in the galaxy higher than the one on your
boy, here, and I'm collecting it." He raised his hand and dropped it.
Nothing happened. Puzzled, he repeated the signal frantically.
A bright green shaft of light suddenly appeared, jutting out of the
tabletop. It terminated a centimeter from Shalo's throat.
"Urk," Shalo said.
"Please don't move," Jacen requested sincerely.
"You get 'em all, Karrde?" Han called into the silence that now ruled
the cantina. He kept his eyes focused on Shalo.
"Shada has it under control," a cultured voice came back. "We'll be
right there. I'd like to make sure all of my people are in position."
Jacen couldn't glance around, but he felt a number of newcomers enter
the cantina.
"Take your time," Han called back. "I was just having a chat with my
old buddy Shalo."
"You're crazy, Solo," Shalo said.
"Now, is that polite? Listen, Shalo. I can wipe out you and your whole
petty operation if I want-or you can cooperate. I..." Han smiled and shook a
finger. "You know-I did know about your employees with the blaster rifles.
So did my colleagues. One of them-do you know Shada D'ukal? She can be very
disarming."
"D'ukal is here?"
"I love the way you say my name," a woman's voice said from just behind
Jacen. She stepped into view.
Shada D'ukal was a strikingly handsome woman in perhaps her late
forties with long black hair streaked liberally with pure white. The man
next to her was a good match to her with his silver-streaked hair and
impeccable goatee.
"Captain Karrde," Han said, standing. "I'm so glad you could make it.
Shada, good to see you again. You've both met my son Jacen."
Karrde stroked his goatee and studied the offered seat with mock
suspicion. "Oh, well," he said at last. "If I can't trust a scoundrel and a
pirate, who can I trust?"
"Hey, I trusted you."
"A good thing, too," Shada said. "Two of the sharpers were assassin
droids."
"Shalo, I'm impressed."
The two newcomers sat down. "Hello, Jacen," Shada said. "I'm a little
surprised to see you here."
"You're not the only one," Jacen replied.
"It's the Solo blood," Han opined. "It comes with the looks. So how's
things with you two?"
"Things are going well enough on our end," Karrde said. "I think I can,
meet whatever needs you have. But first, I have a little present for you."
"Hey?" Shalo said. "Could you please have your Jedi get that thing away
from my throat?"
Han raised both brows skyward, "Oh, you mean this Jedi? My eldest son?
The one you were going to turn in for the biggest bounty in the galaxy?"
"I wouldn't have actually done it," Shalo explained. "I was going to
try to extort protection from you, that's all."
"Yeah, right. You're slime, Shalo. You give the Hutts a good name. And
now you're going to give me something."
"Wh-what?"
"What I asked for, you vac-head."
"Oh. The shipping company."
Han nodded. "That's right, the shipping company."
"Berths fifteen through eighteen. It's all I can tell you."
Han leveled a finger. "Shalo . . ."
"Hey, it's not like they have a name and a logo. They just come and
pick 'em up."
"The slaves?" Jacen asked. "What do you suppose happens to them?"
"I don't know. I don't ask questions."
"You know where they go," Jacen accused.
"I deny that."
Jacen caught something then, in the Force.
"Hey, Dad?"
"In a minute, son." Han jerked his chin toward Shaio. "Let him deny
it," he said. "It doesn't matter. We'll check out your story, Shaio, and if
it turns out you're lying to us-"
"Yeah, yeah, you'll be back, I know."
"No. Oh, no. You're going with us. But for right now, I'm going to turn
you over to this nice lady here, okay? I need to talk to my other friends."
Shaio turned to see the "nice" lady and blanched when his eyes fell on
a towering, white-furred, heavily fanged hu-manoid. The beast hissed and
spat something that might have been a language.
"No, H'sishi," Karrde said gently, apparently answering. "You can't eat
him. Yet."
Shalo's face was nearly as white as the Togorian's fur as she led him
off.
"Now," Han said, "what's my surprise?"
Karrde smiled. "I had my slicer look into those ships you've been
hitting, the ones coming out of Kuat. It took some doing, even for him. The
funds for the ships were washed so many times they ought to be random
molecules by now. But in the end, it looks like the allocation can be traced
back to the office of Kuat Photonics."
"Kuat Photonics?" Jacen asked.
"A privately held corporation." Karrde handed Han a data card. "A list
of the owners."
"Would Viqi Shesh be on that list?" Jacen asked.
Karrde studied him. "You expect her to be?"
"We had some trouble with her at Duro," Jacen said. "It was just a
feeling."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Karrde said. "Not under that name."
"Maybe you could check the names?" Jacen asked. "See if they're
legitimate?"
Karrde laughed sardonically and looked at Han. "Is that the Solo sense
of humor, or is he serious?"
"I take that to mean no," Jacen said dryly.
"What he means is," Han explained, "it would take a long time-a very
long time-and probably get us nowhere. Meanwhile, we'd be there instead of
here, where we can actually stop the ships. If Shesh is behind this, we'll
hurt her more out here than on Coruscant."
"The old man has it right," Karrde said. "The tracks my slicer found
are faint to begin with. They could be easily erased."
"But we might find proof," Jacen argued. "Real proof."
"Maybe," Han said. "Maybe at berths fifteen through eighteen."
"Are we going to hit them?" Shada asked.
"Hit them? No. They'll be easier pickings in space."
"Shouldn't we at least check them out?" Jacen said.
Shada nodded, "I'll have look."
Jacen straightened. "Mind if I tag along? "
"I do," Han s^id. "Or didn't you get that part about the bounty on your
head?"
"Jealous, Solo?" Karrde asked Han.
"How's that?"
"Well, your son is pulling down easily three times what you were ever
worth."
"Inflation. In Imperial credits it works out about the same. And don't
distract me-Jacen goes back to the Falcon."
"Oh, no. You aren't my captain on the ground, Dad."
"Where did you pick up that nonsense?" Han growled.
"You wanted me to help with this business-I'm helping. If Shada will
have me, I'm going with her."
"A lady never minds the escort of a handsome gentleman. Especially one
with Jedi powers."
Han threw up his hands. "Fine. I give up. But you can make that two
handsome escorts, because I'm not letting my son out of my sight. I know
this slagheap too well."
Karrde's eyes narrowed, suddenly, and he drew his Waster. "This is, for
the moment, an academic conversation, my friends."
"Why? "Jacen asked.
His answer came as blasterfire.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Nom Anor, alone in his sleeping chamber, prodded the gablith masquer
that gave him the appearance of a Givin, and it peeled off. A little more
reluctantly, he coaxed the communication gnullith-villip hybrid from his
throat. The sleeping quarters were always pressurized, no matter what, so he
ought to be safe. Even Givin could not stand exposure to hard vacuum
indefinitely.
Posing as a Givin had more unique challenges than any role he had
assumed before, their language not the least. When speaking to one another,
they expressed themselves in phrases that more resembled calculus than
grammar, though of course the two had much in common. Even with the tizowyrm
to translate for him, Nom Anor still often tripped on the language. For that
reason alone, many of the Givin knew who and what he really was-it was only
with the help of his local agents that he managed to remain disguised to the
rest.
This he disliked. Long experience had taught him that Nom Anor could
count only on Nom Anor. And if he were discovered by the wrong people . . .
He put the gnullith-villip back on. Why take chances?
Noting the time on the ridiculously complex Givin chronometer, he
withdrew the box that housed his villip and prepared to stroke it to life.
He found it already pulsing for attention, and in a few moments he regarded
a facsimile of Commander Qurang Lah's face.
"The Stalking Moon is in this system?" Nom Anor asked the warrior.
Qurang Lah's features twisted into a glare.
"Your perfect plan develops clots of blood," he growled.
"You mean the Rodian Jedi?" Nom Anor asked. "Our agents on Eriadu have
dealt with him."
"Yes? And the infidel ship that jumped into the midst of my fleet?"
Nom Anor didn't blink. He couldn't. It had rapidly become clear,
working with Qurang Lah, that the warrior harbored a deep resentment toward
him. This was not unexpected, but it was not trivial, either. Nom Anor had
no warriors loyal to him; he had to rely on Qurang Lah to place his fleet
and troops when the time came. There would come a moment when Nom Anor was
truly vulnerable, and at that moment, Qurang Lah might hold the key to his
survival.
That, to Nom Anor's mind, was the only flaw in his plan, whatever
trouble Qurang Lah thought he foresaw.
"Your fleet is on a major shipping route," the executor said. "The
possibility of a chance meeting with an infidel ship was known to us. I'm
certain you destroyed it."
"Almost instantly. But now we have lost contact with the Stalking
Moon."
That was an unpleasant surprise. "Perhaps they've merely experienced
disorientation after leaving hyperspace. The cloaking shadow it wears is
prone to complications."
"And perhaps your 'allies' were waiting for her and destroyed her as
she reverted."
"That's not possible," Nom Anor said. Or was it? The Givin were
stranger even than the humans, much harder to read. Had he miscalculated so
badly?
No. This was a minor setback, nothing more. The plan was good.
"We have some hours, yet," Nom Anor assured the war-leader. "I shall
discover what troubles, if any, the Stalking Moon is having and report
promptly back to you."
"See you do," Qurang Lah snapped.
Non Anor's expressio
n soured as the villip calmed. If something had
happened to the advance ship, could he still convince his Givin allies to
perform their act of sabotage?
Of course he could.
But he smelled Jedi in this somewhere, beyond the lone Rodian who had
identified Nom Anor as Yuuzhan Vong when visiting Yag'Dhul Station. It had
heen easy enough to have him tracked and murdered, and his Peace Brigade
contacts on Eriadu assured him that the Rodian had never had a chance to
communicate to anyone else.
But then the Peace Brigade had been known to lie before, when they
thought it made for better groveling, and the Jedi had the power to send
thought without words.
Nom Anor sat and composed his ideas carefully. If there were Jedi here,
what would they do?
He had to be ready for them when they came. He would be. And perhaps,
added to the conquest of Yag'Dhul, Givin slaves, and the threat to the
source of bacta in the nearby Thyferra system, he would have another jewel
or two to hand Tsavong Lah.
TWENTY NINE
Luke gripped Mara's hand and tried to keep his tears at bay, tried to
make his mind still, free of pain, fear, and grief.
"Cut it out, Luke," Mara said. "You're giving me the creeps." Her voice
was a dry croak, barely louder than the stridulations of larval tlikist.
Luke took a shuddering breath and tried to smile. "Sorry," he said.
"Not one of my better days."
"It's got to be better than mine," Mara said.
Her hand in his felt papery and hot. He gripped it harder, feeling the
disease beneath. It was in furious motion, mutating at rates that medical
science had once considered impossible. The only still point in her body was
that place where their child floated. Somehow, even now, when her skin had
gone blotchy and her hair was falling out, when the chain reaction that was
fast approaching meltdown raged in her flesh, she still kept their child
safe.
"Maybe-maybe it's time to let Cilghal induce labor," he said.
"No." Mara's voice cracked on the word, but it was the loudest noise
she had made in days. Her eyelids dropped over her pale orbs. "I told you,"
she whispered. "I can feel it's wrong. If I do that, we'll both die."
"How can you know that?"
"How can you ask? I know. The Force."
"But this is killing you, Mara," he said. The words sounded as if
someone else were saying them, like an unknown language.
