Vision of the future swhot-2

by Timothy Zahn

  "Oh, it's great fun," she told him. "Nothing I like better than doing tight maneuvers with a cold crew."

  The Togorian's fur expanded, just a little. But she didn't comment, and she kept her eyes on her displays. "New experiences are what give zest to life," Karrde said mildly.

  "In my line of work, new experiences usually mean trouble," Shada countered. "I hope you weren't planning on sneaking in, by the way. The way your people are lighting up the field, all of Pembric 2 knows we're coming by now."

  As if to underline her words, the asteroids outside flickered with a multiple sputter of turbolaser fire. "Actually, according to Mara, most ships have to do some blasting on the way in," Karrde said. His fingers, Shada noted, were tapping gently but restlessly on his armrest. "Even the locals who supposedly know the routes in and out."

  [We have cleared the asteroid field, Chieftain Karrde,] the Togorian mewled. Shada looked back at the viewport. There were still some asteroids floating past, but for the most part the sky was indeed clear.

  [The planetary landing beacons are in sight,] H'sishi added, turning her head and fixing her yellow eyes on Shada. [Your junior crew drone may now cease her nervousness.]

  Shada held that gaze for another two heartbeats. Then, deliberately, she turned away. Most of the Wild Karrde's crew had been verbally poking at her, in one way or another, ever since their departure from Coruscant. Mazzic's people had done the same back when she first joined his smuggling group—the usual reaction, she had long ago realized, of a tight-knit crew who have just had a stranger thrust into their midst.

  One of Mazzic's techs had unwisely crossed the line from verbal to physical jabs, and as a result had spent a month in a neural reconstruction facility. Out here, at the edge of civilization, she hoped the Wild Karrde's crew wouldn't have to learn the lesson the same way. The pilot half turned around. "What now, Chief?"

  "Take us into orbit," Karrde told him. "There's only one place on the planet that can handle a ship this size, the Erwithat Spaceport. They should be calling with landing instructions anytime now." Right on cue, the comm crackled. "Bss'dum'shun," a sharp voice snapped. "Sg'hur hur Erwithat roz'bd bun's'unk. Rs'zud huc'dms'hus u burfu."

  Shada frowned. "I thought you said they spoke Basic here," she said.

  "They do," Karrde said. "They must be trying to throw us." He cocked an eyebrow at the droid beside Shada. "Threepio? Do you recognize it?"

  "Oh, yes, Captain Karrde," the droid said with the first sign of enthusiasm Shada had seen in him since the trip started. "I am fluent in over six million forms of communication. This is the dominant Jarellian dialect, a language whose antecedents date back to—"

  "What did he say?" Shada interrupted gently. Protocol droids, in her limited experience, would go running on side trails all day if you let them, and Karrde didn't look like he was in the mood for a linguistics lesson.

  Threepio turned around to face her. "He has identified himself as Erwithat Space Control, Mistress Shada, and asks our identity and cargo."

  "Tell him we're the freighter Hab Camber," Karrde said. "We're here to buy some supplies and power."

  Threepio turned back to him, his posture indicating uncertainty. "But, sir, this ship is named the Wild Karrde," he objected. "Its engine transponder code—"

  "Has been carefully altered," the pilot interrupted sharply. "Come on, they're waiting."

  "Patience, Dankin," Karrde said. "We're in no particular hurry, and I doubt Erwithat Control has anything better to do right now. Just deliver the message as stated, Threepio. No, wait," he interrupted himself, a sly smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "You said this was the dominant Jarellian dialect. Are there any others?"

  "Several, sir," Threepio said. "Unfortunately, I am versed in only two."

  "Good enough," Karrde said. "Deliver our answer in one of them." He settled himself back in his chair. "Let's see how far they're prepared to go with this game." Threepio delivered the message, and for a long moment the comm was silent. "Attention, unidentified freighter," a voice growled reluctantly in Basic. "This is Erwithat Space Control. State your identity and cargo."

  Karrde smiled. "Apparently, not very far," he commented, keying his transmit key. "Erwithat Control, this is the freighter Hab Camber," he said. "No cargo; we're just passing through and hoped we could buy some supplies and power."

  "Yeah?" the controller said. "What sort of supplies?"

  "Do you handle merchandising duties as well as space control?" Karrde countered.

  "No, I just do the traffic," the other growled, sounding more annoyed than ever. "Let's hear your bid for landing rights."

  Shada blinked. "Landing rights?" she muttered.

  The controller had sharp ears. "Yes, landing rights," he snapped. "And that little crack is going to cost you an extra three hundred."

  Shada felt her mouth drop open. Crack? What crack? She filled her lungs for a nasty retort of her own—

  "We'll bid a thousand," Karrde said, warning her with a glance. The controller snorted audibly. "For a freighter that size? You're either joking or a fool." H'sishi hissed something under her breath. "Or perhaps merely a poor independent trader," Karrde suggested. "What if I make it eleven hundred?"

  "What if you make it fifteen?" the controller countered. "That's New Republic currency, too."

  "Of course," Karrde said. "Fifteen hundred; agreed."

  "Landing Pad 28," the controller said, his grudging annoyance replaced now by open gloating. Briefly, Shada wondered how much of that fifteen hundred would be going directly into his pocket.

  "Beacon'll guide you in. The money's due on arrival."

  "Thank you," Karrde said. "Hab Camber out." He keyed off the comm. "Chin?"

  "Beacon come on, Cap't," the older man at the comm station reported, squinting at his displays.

  "They guiding us in."

  "Key the vector over to the helm," Karrde instructed. "Dankin, take us in. Watch out for fighters—Mara said they sometimes send escorts for unfamiliar ships."

  "Right," the pilot acknowledged.

  Karrde looked at Shada. "You game for a little walk around once we're down?" Shada shrugged. "We junior crew drones are only here to serve. Where are we going?"

  "A tapcafe called the ThrusterBurn," Karrde told her. "Assuming my map is correct, it's only a couple of blocks from the landing pad we've been assigned. The man I'm hoping to meet should be there."

  "I didn't think we needed any supplies this soon," Shada said. "Who are we meeting, and why?"

  "A vicious yet cultured Corellian crime lord named Crev Bombaasa," Karrde said. "He runs most of the illegal operations in this part of Kathol sector."

  "And we need his help?"

  "Not particularly," Karrde said. "But getting his permission to travel through the area would make things easier."

  "Ah," Shada said, frowning at his profile. This didn't sound like the casually fearless Talon Karrde she'd heard so many stories about from Mazzic and other smugglers. "We're worried about things being easy, are we?"

  He smiled. "Always," he said. His tone was light, but Shada could hear an odd hollowness behind it.

  "Ah—Captain Karrde?" Threepio spoke up hesitantly. "Will you be needing my services on this visit?"

  Karrde smiled. "No, Threepio, thank you," he assured the droid. "As I said, Basic is the official language down there. You can stay on the ship with the others."

  The droid seemed to wilt with relief. "Thank you, sir."

  Karrde shifted his attention back to Shada. "We'll go lightly armed—sidearm blasters only."

  "Understood," Shada said. "But I'll let you carry the blaster."

  "Worried about things getting violent?" Dankin put in.

  "Not at all," Shada said coolly, getting up from her seat and heading for the bridge door. "I just prefer that my opponents not know what direction the violence is going to come from. I'll be in my cabin, Karrde—let me know when you're ready."

  * * *

 
Twenty minutes later, they were down. Fifteen minutes after that, upon payment of their landing fee and a brief negotiation regarding additional "protection" costs with a trio of white-uniformed Pembric Security Legionnaires, Karrde and Shada were walking down the streets of the Erwithat Spaceport.

  It was not, to Karrde's mind, what one would exactly call an inspiring place. Even at midday a haze seemed to shroud the whole city, diffusing the sunlight and adding a dankness to the occasional breezes that stirred the hot air without any perceptible cooling effect. The ground was composed of wet sand, molecular-compressed where walkways were needed, a far cry from the permacrete that was the modern construction standard. The buildings lining the walkways were made from some kind of plain but solid-looking white stone, its onetime cleanliness now marred by the brown and green mottlings of dirt and mold. A sprinkling of pedestrians roamed the streets, most showing the same general deterioration as the spaceport itself, and here and there a hurrying swoop or landspeeder could be glimpsed between the buildings.

  It was, in short, very much the way Mara's report from seven years ago had painted it. Except probably a little shabbier.

  "Terrific place," Shada commented from beside him. "I get the feeling I'm a little overdressed." Karrde smiled. Dressed in a form-fitting dress glittering with subdued blue lights, she did indeed stand out dramatically against the general drabness. "Don't worry about it," he assured her. "As I said earlier, Bombaasa is a cultured sort of crimelord. You can never be too overdressed for that type." He glanced at her. "Though personally, I have to say I prefer the silver and dark red outfit you wore when we first met at the Whistler's Whirlpool on Trogan."

  "I remember that outfit," she said, her voice oddly distant. "It was the first one Mazzic bought me after I became his bodyguard."

  "Mazzic always did have good taste," Karrde agreed. "You know, you still haven't told me why you left his service so suddenly."

  "You haven't told me anything about this Jorj Car'das character we're looking for," Shada countered.

  "Keep your voice down," Karrde said sharply, glancing around them. There didn't seem to be anyone within earshot, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. "That's not a name you want to casually toss around here."

  Even staring straight ahead, he could feel Shada's eyes on him. "He's really got you spooked, hasn't he?" she said quietly. "You weren't exactly thrilled about all this when Calrissian talked you into hunting him down; but he's really got you spooked."

  "You'll understand someday," Karrde told her. "After I'm able to tell you the whole story." She shrugged, her shoulder brushing briefly up against his arm with the motion. "Let's compromise," she suggested. "Once we're off Pembric, you can tell me half the story."

  "Interesting proposal," Karrde said. "Agreed; but only if you in turn tell me half the reason why you left Mazzic."

  "Well..." She hesitated. "Sure."

  They turned a corner, and Karrde felt his mouth twitch. A long block away, fronting onto an open square, was the entrance to the ThrusterBurn tapcafe. Parked in front of it were perhaps twenty stripped-down speeder bikes. "On the other hand," he said quietly, "getting off Pembric may not be quite as easy as we hoped."

  "Looks like a swoop gang's having a meeting in there," Shada commented. "There are the sentries—to the left, under the overhang."

  "I see them," Karrde said. There were four of them: large, tough-looking young men in reddish-brown jackets sitting astride their swoops. They were pretending to talk together, but it was clear that their full attention was aimed in the newcomers' direction.

  "It's not too late to scrub this," Shada murmured. "We can go back to the ship, get out of here, and take our chances with whatever Bombaasa decides to throw at us." Karrde shook his head minutely. "We've been objects of official curiosity ever since we landed. If we try to leave now, Bombaasa's people will intercept us."

  "In that case, our best bet is to walk right up to the place like we own it," Shada said briskly.

  "Keep your hand near your blaster—that'll keep their attention on you. Not close enough that they try to draw first, though. If it comes to a fight, let me throw the first punch; and if it looks like I'm losing badly and you get an opening, make a run for it."

  "Understood," Karrde said, finding himself amused despite the seriousness of the situation. Shada had mostly kept to herself aboard the Wild Karrde, not joining into the normal shipboard camaraderie or showing any real interest in getting to know the crew. But yet here she was, slipping back into the role of bodyguard, preparing to defend Karrde's life even at the cost of her own. What struck him the most was the sense that, down deep, she genuinely meant it. The four sentries let them get to within a few meters of the rows of parked swoops before saying anything. "Tapcafe's closed," one of them called.

  "That's all right," Karrde said, not breaking stride as he glanced incuriously over at them. "We're not thirsty."

  The swoopers had looked like they were lounging casually on their vehicles. They weren't. Before Karrde and Shada had taken two more steps they'd zoomed across the square and skidded to a halt between the newcomers and the parked swoops. "I said the place is closed," the one who'd spoken repeated darkly, the long maneuvering vanes of his swoop pointed with unsubtle threat directly at Karrde's chest. "Go away."

  Karrde shook his head. "Sorry. We have business with Crev Bombaasa that can't wait." One of the others snorted. "Listen to him," he said derisively. "He thinks he can just walk in on Bombaasa anytime he wants. Pretty funny, huh, Langre?"

  "Hilarious," the spokesman agreed, his face not showing any evidence of humor. "Last chance, murk. Leave in one piece or in a bunch of 'em."

  "Lord Bombaasa is going to be very displeased if you don't let us in," Karrde warned.

  "Yeah?" Langre sneered, nudging his swoop forward. "Like I'm really scared."

  "You should be," Karrde said, taking a step backward as the maneuvering vanes poked perilously close to his chest. Shada, he noted peripherally, hadn't moved backward with him but was still standing where he'd left her, shrinking wide-eyed back from the swoop snorting and vibrating its way alongside her as if terrified by its presence. "Lord Bombaasa doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  "Then I guess we ought to hurry up and put you in a box for him," Langre said, sneering a little harder. He nudged the swoop forward another meter, forcing Karrde to take another rapid step backward. Not quite rapid enough; the tips of the maneuvering vanes jabbed sharply against his chest before he could get out of the way.

  One of the other swoopers chortled. Grinning maliciously, Langre gave the swoop another burst of the throttle, clearly intent on knocking Karrde down this time. The movement brought him directly alongside Shada—

  And in that instant, she struck.

  It was doubtful Langre even saw it coming. One moment Shada was standing there, transfixed like a frightened animal in a hunter's sights; the next moment she had swung her left leg back, rotated her upper body toward the swoop, and slammed her right fist into the side of his neck. There may have been a distinctive "pop" accompanying the flat crack of the blow; Karrde wasn't sure. What he was sure of, as Langre did a sideways cartwheel off his swoop onto the ground, was that this one was definitely out of the fight.

  The other three had excellent reflexes. Before Langre even hit the sand they had twisted their handlebars around and roared off in different directions across the square, forestalling any attempt Shada might have made to similarly take them down. Cutting close to the surrounding buildings, they curved around and stopped short, turning their swoops around to point toward Shada.

  "Get out of the way!" Shada snapped to Karrde, moving to the center of the square and dropping into a low combat stance. Turning her head back and forth, she looked at each of the swoopers in turn as if daring them to take her on.

  For a few seconds they seemed to ignore her challenge as they discussed the situation in a hand-signal code Karrde didn't recognize. Taking advantage of the lull, he backed u
p until he reached the edge of the square. So far the swoopers hadn't shown any inclination to draw the weapons they were undoubtedly carrying, but that could change at any time. Watching them closely, he dropped his hand to his blaster—

  "I don't think so," a gruff voice said in his ear.

  Carefully, Karrde turned his head, the caution dictated by the hard muzzle suddenly pressed against the small of his back. Three hard-faced men in Security Legion uniforms were standing there, the last of them in the process of closing the concealed doorway that had opened up in the building behind him. "You're just in time, Legionnaire," Karrde said to the leader. This was probably futile, but he had to try. "My friend's in danger out there."

  "Yeah?" the other said, pulling Karrde's blaster from its holster. "Looked to me like she was the one who started it. Anyway, trying to bluster your way in to see Bombaasa is a crime all by itself around here."

  "Even if Bombaasa decides he's glad we dropped in to visit?" Karrde countered. "You'd be in serious trouble."

  "Nah," the Legionnaire said, sticking the appropriated blaster into his belt and coming around to Karrde's side. "That's why we got these," he added, hefting his weapon as he stepped a prudent meter away from his prisoner. It was, Karrde saw now, not a blaster but an old Merr-Sonn tangle gun. "If Bombaasa decides he wants to see you, hey, we just cut you loose. If he doesn't"—he grinned evilly—"then you're already wrapped for burial. Real convenient." He gestured with the tangle gun. "Now shut up. I want to watch this." Throat tight with frustration, Karrde turned back to the square. The Wild Karrde's crew wouldn't be able to get here fast enough to help, even if he could get to his comlink to alert them. He could only hope that Shada was as good as she claimed.

  And at that moment, their private consultation finished, the swoopers attacked. They didn't all charge at once, as Karrde had rather expected them to. Suspecting perhaps that Shada would try to maneuver them into head-on collisions if they did that, two of them instead began tracing out a loose encircling ring around her while the third drove hard and straight directly in. Shada stood her ground, but just before the maneuvering vanes reached her chest she dropped back flat onto her back. The thug whooped with glee as his swoop shot past over her, a triumphal shout that turned into a squawk of surprise as Shada tucked her legs to her chest and kicked hard straight up, catching the swoop just forward of the directional thrust nozzles and bucking the swooper right out of the saddle.