Star Wars: The New Rebellion

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  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 rule 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 holstered 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. Bômlas, the bartender, believed the customers needed to see his vast store of liquor from all over the galaxy. Bômlas 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 holder?”

  “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.

  Han had had won-wons. They tasted like granite slugs, only slimier. At least won-wons smelled appetizing. He sat next to Chewie—

  —then leaped to his feet exclaiming in pain. His wound hurt even worse when he put weight on it.

  Blue laughed. She was carrying a plate of Exodeenian pasta. “Told you to put salve on that, Solo.”

  “Funny, Blue.”

  “There’s an emergency med station over there.” She nodded toward the left with her head. “You might want to buy some salve there.”

  “I’m going to put it on myself,” Han said.

  She smiled prettily. “I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.”

  Kid came over, carrying a cup of steaming Vayerbok. “What, no longer heart smuggling, Blue?”

  She shook her head. “No sport in it. Experience hasn’t changed the man. He’s still too good-hearted for me.”

  “I would think a good heart is a valuable heart, Blue,” Kid said.

  “Probably,” Blue said. “But it’s also the kind that gets all mushy and romantic. Still treat your wife to candlelight dinners, Solo?”

  “Of course,” Han said. “The rewards are worth it.” He winked, then sauntered to the med station.

  A battered medical droid worked the side. It perfunctorily examined Han’s wound and said to the burly man behind the counter, “Blaster scorch.”

  “I could have told him that,” Han said.

  “No, you couldn’t,” the droid said. “You’re a smuggler. It takes specialized knowledge to have a medical opinion.”

  “I’m sure it does,” Han said. “You weren’t a protocol droid in a previous life, were you?”

  “Absolutely not,” the droid said. “I’m an FX droid. I have never been nor do I want to be a protocol droid. It goes against my programming.”

  “Obviously,” Han said. He moved away from the medical droid and leaned against the counter.

  The burly man slapped a jar of salve on it. “Fifty credits.”

  Han grinned. “You have to have a high demand for blaster salve here. I’ll give you five credits.”

  From under the counter, the burly man pulled out a blaster and aimed at Han’s chest. “You want me to make the salve really necessary?”

  Han took a startled step backward. “I’ll just pay you, how’s that?”

  “Fifty credits for the prescription,” the burly man said.

  “And fifty more for the diagnosis,” the droid said.

  “Nope, no way,” Han said. “I remember the blaster shot. I didn’t need your expert opinion.”

  The droid turned its silvery face toward the burly man. “It never works,” the droid said, sotto voce.

  “Timing’s off,” the burly man said.

  Han frowned and yanked his salve off the counter. Then he ducked into the small booth beside the counter and applied the salve, nearly groaning with relief as the jelly relieved the burning.

  He came back out, half expecting the burly man to charge him for the use of the booth. But the man didn’t.

  Han returned to his chair. Chewie was done with his won-wons, and the other smugglers had returned. Someone had picked at Han’s mounder potato rice. He didn’t care. He’d always hated the stuff.

  He sat—gingerly—and ate. The f
ood was delicious, better than anything he’d had in a long time.

  Or maybe it was just the atmosphere, the humid cavern, the voices swearing at each other in a hundred different languages.

  “You said you were here on Jarril’s invite,” Kid said.

  Han shrugged. “He said there’s money to be made.”

  “The husband of a princess doesn’t need money,” Blue said.

  “He does if her kingdom was blown up.”

  “That was seventeen years ago, Solo,” Zeen said.

  “Was it?” Han said. “You apparently don’t get news here.”

  Wynni rumbled.

  “All right,” Han said. “So you’ve heard about the bombing on Coruscant.”

  “The Senate Hall isn’t an entire kingdom,” Kid said.

  “You gonna buy her a new one?” Zeen asked.

  “Lake you bought Dathomir?” Blue said. She was grinning.

  “It worked, Blue.”

  “Yeah, I heard how well it worked, Solo,” she said.

  He shoved his plate aside. The meal had been good, but he was full.

  “So why are you here, Solo?” Zeen asked.

  Han glanced at Chewie. Chewie was sucking the remains of the won-won off one claw as if the conversation didn’t concern him at all.

  “Jarril disappeared right after the bombing. In fact, he got out of Coruscant’s shield at the last moment. That, and the things he said to me about easy money here, made me wonder if he knew more about the attack than he was saying.”

  Seluss stood on a chair at the far end of the table and chittered angrily at Han. The Sullustan was shaking his blaster emphatically.

  Han put his hand on his own blaster. “I told you to take that weapon away from him,” he said to Blue.

  “He knows better—”

  “Take it.”

  “Han, he’s got a point—”

  “Take it.”

  Seluss chittered louder. With his free paw, Chewbacca slapped the blaster out of Seluss’s hand. The blaster skidded across the floor and slammed into the medical droid. It screamed.