by Timothy Zahn
Chewbacca growled an affirmative, then a question. "I really don't know," she had to admit. "It sounds a little like something Lake went through on-during his Jedi training," she amended, remembering just in time that Luke still wanted Dagobah's significance to be kept a secret. "But he saw a vision. All I felt was ... I don't know. It was anger and bitterness; but at the same time, there was something almost sad about it. No-sad isn't the right word." She shook her head, sudden tears welling inexplicably up in her eyes. "I don't know. Look, I'm all right. You two can go on back to what you were doing." Chewbacca rumbled under his breath again, clearly not convinced. But he said nothing else as he closed the medpack and pushed past Threepio. The cockpit door slid open for him; with the proverbial Wookiee disdain for subtlety, he locked it in that position before disappearing down the tunnel into the main body of the ship.
Leia focused on Threepio. "You, too," she told him. "Go on-you still have work to do back there. I'm all right. Really."
"Well...very well, Your Highness," the droid said, clearly no happier than Chewbacca was. "If you're certain."
"I am. Go on, scat."
Threepio dithered another moment, then obediently shuffled out of the cockpit.
And the silence resumed. A silence that was thicker, somehow, than it had been before. And much darker.
Leia set her teeth firmly together. "I will not be intimidated," she said aloud to the silence. "Not here; not anywhere." The silence didn't reply. After a minute Leia reached over to the board and keyed in a course alteration that would keep them from again passing through the spot where the Emperor had died. Refusing to be intimidated, after all, didn't mean deliberately asking for trouble.
And after that, there was nothing left to do but wait. And wonder if Khabarakh would indeed come.
The topmost bit of the walled city Ilic poked through the clutching trees of the jungle pressing tightly around it, looking to Han for all the world like some sort of domed topped, silver-skinned droid drowning in a sea of green quicksand. "Any idea how we land on that thing?" he asked.
"Probably through those vents near the top," Lando said, pointing at the Lady Luck's main display. "They read large enough for anything up to about W-class space barge to get into."
Han nodded, fingers plucking restlessly at the soft armrest of his copilot seat. There weren't a lot of things in the galaxy that could make him nervous, but having to sit there while someone else made a tricky landing was one of them. "This is even a crazier place to live than that Nomad City thing of yours," he growled.
"No argument from me," Lando agreed, adjusting their altitude a bit. Several seconds later than Han would have done it. "At least on Nkllon we don't have to worry about getting eaten by some exotic plant. But that's economics for you. At last count there were eight cities in this part of New Cov, and two more being built."
Han grimaced. And all because of those same exotic plants. Or to be specific, the exotic biomolecules that could be harvested from them. The Covies seemed to think the profit was worth having to live in armored cities all the time. No one knew what the plants thought about it. "They're still crazy," he said. "Watch out, they may have magnetic airlocks on those entrance ducts.
Lando gave him a patient look. "Will you relax? I have flown ships before, you know."
"Yeah," Han muttered. Setting his teeth together, he settled in to suffer through the landing.
It wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Lando got his clearance from Control and guided the Lady Luck with reasonable skill into the flaring maw of one of the entrance ducts, following the curved pipe down and inward to a brightly lit landing area just beneath the transparisteel dome that topped the city walls. Inbound customs were a mere formality, though given the planet's dependence on exports, the outbound scrutiny would probably be a lot tighter. They were officially welcomed to Ilic by a professional greeter with a professional smile, given a data card with maps of the city and surrounding territory, and then turned loose.
"That wasn't so hard," Lando commented as they rode a sliding spiral ramp down through the spacious open center. At each level walkways led outward from the ramp to the market, administrative, and living areas of the city.
"Where are we supposed to be meeting Luke?"
"Three more levels down, in one of the entertainment districts," Han told him. "The Imperial library didn't have much detail on this place, but it did mention a little tap cafe called the Mishra attached to some half-size version they've got of the old Grandis Mon theater on Coruscant. I got the impression it was kind of a watering hole for local big shots."
"Sounds like a good place, to meet," Lando agreed. He threw Han a sideways look. "So. You ready to show me the hook yet?" Han frowned. "Hook?"
"Come on, you old pirate," Lando snorted. "You pick me up at Sluis Van, ask for a lift out to New Cov, send Luke on ahead for this cloak-and-blade rendezvous-and you expect me to believe you're just going to wave goodbye now and let me go back to Nkllon?"
Han gave his friend his best wounded look. "Come on, Lando-"
"The hook, Han. Let me see the hook."
Han sighed theatrically. "There isn't any hook, Lando," he said. "You can leave for Nkllon any time you want to. `Course," he added casually, "if you hung around a little and gave us a hand, you might be able to work a deal here to unload any spare metals you had lying around. Like, oh, a' stockpile of hfredium or something."
Carefully keeping his eyes forward, he could still feel the heat of Lando's glare. "Luke told you about that, didn't he?" Lando demanded. Han shrugged. "He might have mentioned it," he conceded. Lando hissed between clenched teeth. "I'm going to strangle him," he announced. "Jedi or not, I'm going to strangle him."
"Oh, come on, Lando," Han soothed. "You hang around a couple days you listen to people's jabberings, you maybe dig us out a lead or two about what Fey'lya's got going here, and that's it. You go home and back to your mining operation, and we never bother you again."
"I've heard that before," Lando countered. But Han could hear the resignation in his voice, "What makes you think Fey'lya's got contacts on New Cov?"
"Because during the war, this was the only place his Bothans ever seined to care about defending-"
He broke off, grabbing Lando's arm and turning both of them hard to the right toward the central column of the spiral walkway. "What&mdahs;" Lando managed.
"Quiet!" Han hissed, trying to simultaneously hide his face and still watch the figure he'd spotted leaving the ramp one level down. "That Bothan down there to the left-see him?"
Lando turned slightly, peering in the indicated direction out of the corner of his eye. "What about him?"
"It's Tav Breil'lya. One of Fey'lya's top aides."
"You're kidding," Lando said, frowning down at the alien. "How can you tell?"
"That neck piece he wears-some kind of family crest or something. I've seen it dozens of times at Council meetings." Han chewed at his lip, trying to think. If that really was Breil'lya over there, finding out what he was up to could save them a lot of time. But Luke was probably sitting in the tapcafe downstairs right now waiting for them ... "I'm going to follow him," he told Lando, shoving his data pad and the city map into the other's hands.
"You head down to the Mishra, grab Luke, and catch up with me."
"But-"
"If you're not with me in an hour I'll try calling on the comlink," Han cut him off stepping toward the outside of the ramp. They were nearly to the Bothan's level now. "Don't call me-I might be someplace I wouldn't want a call beep going off." He stepped off the ramp onto the walkway.
"Good luck," Lando called softly after him. There was a good scattering of aliens among the humans wandering around Ilic, but Breil'lya's cream-colored fur stood out of the crowd enough to make him easy to follow. Which was just as well. If Han could recognize the Bothan, the Bothan could probably recognize him right back, and it would be risky to have to get too close.
Luckily, the alien didn't seem to even consi
der the possibility that anyone might be following him. He kept up a steady pace, never turning around, as he headed past cross streets and shops and atria toward the outer city wall. Han stayed with him, wishing he hadn't been so quick to give the city map to Lando. It might have been nice to have some idea where he was going. They passed through one final atrium and reached a section of warehouse-type structures abutting a vast mural that seemed to have been painted directly on the inner city wall. Breil'lya went straight to one of the buildings near the mural and disappeared through the front door. Han ducked into a convenient doorway about thirty meters down the street from the warehouse. The door Breil'lya had gone through, he could see, carried the faded sign Amethyst Shipping and Storage above it. "I just hope it's on the map," he muttered under his breath, pulling his comlink from his belt.
"It is," a woman's voice came softly from behind him. Han froze. "Hello?" he asked tentatively.
"Hello," she said back. "Turn around, please. Slowly, of course." Han did as ordered, the comlink still in hand. "If this is a robbery-"
"Don't be silly." The woman was short and slender, perhaps ten years older than him, with closecut graying hair and a thin face which under other circumstances would look friendly enough. The blaster pointed his direction was some unfamiliar knockoff of a BlasTech DL-18-not nearly as powerful as his own DL-44, but under the circumstances the difference didn't matter a whole lot. "Put the comlink on the ground," she continued. "Your blaster, too, as long as you're down there."
Silently, Han crouched down, drawing his weapon out with exaggerated caution. Under cover of the motion, with most of her attention hopefully on the blaster, he flicked on the comlink. Laying both on the ground, he straightened and took a step back, just to prove that he knew the proper procedure for prisoners. "Now what?"
"You seem interested in the little get-together yonder," she said, stooping to retrieve the blaster and comlink. "Perhaps you'd like a guided tour."
"That would be great," Han told her, raising his hands and hoping that she wouldn't think to look at the comlink before putting it away in one of the pockets in her jumpsuit.
She didn't look at it. She did, however, shut it off. "I think I'm insulted," she said mildly. "That has to be the oldest trick on the list." Han shrugged, determined to maintain at least a little dignity here.
"I didn't have time to come up with any new ones.
"Apology accepted. Come on, let's go. And lower ycur hands-we don't want any passersby wondering, now, do we?"
"Of course not," Han said, dropping his hands to his sides. They were halfway to the Amethyst when, off in the distance, a siren began wailing.
It was, Luke thought as he looked around the Mishra, almost like an inverted replaying of his first visit to the Mos Eisley cantina on Tatooine all those years ago.
True, the Mishra. was light-years more sophisticated than that dilapidated place had been, with a correspondingly more upscale clientele. But the bar and tables were crowded with the same wide assortment of humans and aliens, the smells and sounds were equally variegated, and the band off in the corner was playing similar music-a style, obviously, that had been carefully tailored to appeal to a multitude of different races.
There was one other difference, too. Crowded though the place might be, the patrons were leaving Luke a respectful amount of room at the bar. He took a sip of his drink-a local variant of the hot chocolate Lando had introduced him to, this one with a touch of mint-and glanced over at the entrance. Han and Lando should have been only a couple of hours behind him, which meant they could be walking in at any minute. He hoped so, anyway. He'd understood Han's reasons for wanting the two ships to come into Ilic separately, but with all the threats that seemed to be hanging over the New Republic, they couldn't really afford to waste time. He took another sip And from behind him came an inhuman bellow. He spun around, hand automatically yanking his lightsaber from his belt, as the sound of a chair crashing over backwards added an exclamation point to the bellow. Five meters away from him, in the middle of a circle of frozen patrons, a Barabel and a Radian stood facing each other over a table, both with blasters drawn.
"No blasters! No blasters!" an SE4 servant droid called, waving his arms for emphasis as he scuttled toward the confrontation. In the flick of an eye, the Barabel shifted aim and blew the droid apart, bringing his blaster back to bear on the Radian before the other could react.
"Hey!" the bartender said indignantly. "That's going to cost you-"
"Shut up," the Barabel cut him off with a snarl. "Radian will pay you. After he pay me.
The Radian drew himself up to his full height which still left him a good half meter shorter than his opponent-and spat something in a language Luke didn't understand. "You lie," the Barabel spat back. "You cheat. I know." The Radian said something else. "You no like?" the Barabel countered, his voice haughty. "You do anyway. I call on Jedi for judgment." Every eye in the tapcafe had been riveted to the confrontation. Now, in almost perfect unison, the gazes turned to Luke. "What?" he asked cautiously.
"He wants you to settle the dispute," the bartender said, relief evident in his voice.
A relief that Luke himself was far from feeling. "Me?" The bartender gave him a strange look. "You're the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, aren't you?" he asked, gesturing at the lightsaber in Luke's hand.
"Yes," Luke admitted.
"Well, then," the bartender concluded, waving a hand toward the disputants.
Except that, Jedi or no Jedi, Luke didn't have a drop of legal authority here. He opened his mouth to tell the bartender that And then took another look into the other's eyes. Slowly, he turned back around, the excuses sticking unsaid in his throat. It wasn't just the bartender, he saw. Everyone in the tapcafe, it seemed, was looking at him with pretty much the same expression. An expression of expectation and trust.
Trust in the judgment of a Jedi.
Taking a quiet breath, sternly ordering his pounding heart to calm down, he started through the crowd toward the confrontation. Ben Kenobi had introduced him to the Force; Yoda had taught him how to use the Force for self control and self-defense. Neither had ever taught him anything about mediating arguments.
"All right," he said as he reached the table. "The first thing you're going to do-both of you-is put away your weapons.
"Who first?" the Barabel demanded. "Radians collect bounty-he shoot if I disarm."
This was certainly getting off to a great start. Suppressing a sigh, Luke ignited his lightsaber, holding it out so that the brilliant green blade was directly between the opposing blasters. "No one is going to shoot anyone," he said flatly. "Put them away.
Silently, the Barabel complied. The Radian hesitated a second longer, then followed suit. "Now tell me the problem," Luke said, shutting down the lightsaber but keeping it ready in his hand.
"He hire me for tracking job," the Barabel said, jabbing a keratin-plated finger at the Radian. "I do what he say. But he no pay me." The Radian said something indignant sounding. "Just a minute I'll get to you," Luke told him, wondering how he was going to handle that'part of the cross-examination. "What sort of job was it?"
"He ask me hunt animal nest for him," the Barabel said. "Animals bothering little ships-eating at sides. I do what he say. He burn animal nest, get money. But then he pay me in no-good money." He gestured down at a now scattered pile of gold-colored metal chips.
Luke picked one up. It was small and triangular, with an intricate pattern of lines in the center, and inscribed with a small "100" in each corner. "Anyone ever see this currency before?" he called, holding it up.
"It's new Imperial scrip," someone dressed in an expensive business coat said with thinly veiled contempt. "You can only spend it on Imperial-held worlds and stations."
Luke grimaced. Another reminder, if he'd needed one, that the war for control of the galaxy was far from over. "Did you tell him beforehand that you'd be paying in this?" he asked the Radian.
The other said something in his
own language. Luke glanced around the circle, wondering if asking for a translator would diminish his perceived status here. "He says that that was how he was paid," a familiar voice said; and Luke turned to see Lando ease his way to the front of the crowd. "Says he argued about it, but that he didn't have any choice in the matter."
"That is how the Empire's been doing business lately," someone in the crowd offered. "At least around here."
The Barabel spun toward the other. "I no want your judgment," he snarled. "Only Jedi give judgment."
"All right, calm down," Luke told him, fingering the chit and wondering what he was going to do. If this really was the way the Radian had been paid..."Is there any way to convert these into something else?" he asked the Radian.
The other answered. "He says no," Lando translated. "You can use them for goods and services on Imperial worlds, but since no one in the New Republic will take them, there's no official rate of exchange."
"Right," Luke said dryly. He might not have Lando's experience in under-the-plate operations, but he hadn't been born yesterday, either. "So what's the unofficial exchange rate?"
"No idea, actually," Lando said, looking around the crowd. "Must be someone here who works both sides of the street, though." He raised his voice.
"Anyone here do business with the Empire?"
If they did, they were keeping quiet about it. "Shy, aren't they?" Luke murmured.
"About admitting Imperial dealings to a Jedi?" Lando countered. "I'd be shy, too."
Luke nodded, feeling a sinking sense in the pit of his stomach as he studied the Radian's tapirlike snout and passive, multifaceted eyes. He'd hoped that he could simply smooth out the problem and thereby avoid the need to pass any kind of real judgment. Now, he had no choice but to rule on whether the Radian was in fact deliberately trying to cheat his partner. Closing his eyes down to slits, he composed his mind and stretched out his senses. It was a long shot, he knew; but most species showed subtle physiological changes when under stress. If the Radian was lying about the payment-and if he thought that Luke's Jedi skills could catch him at it-he might react enough to incriminate himself.
