One hand curled into a fist as he spoke. Slowly, he unclenched it and returned it to the controls.
Daala understood, and sympathized. No one, it appeared, was untouched by Darth Caedus’s treachery. Toward the end of the Second Galactic Civil War, the Moffs had created an airborne nanovirus that could be specifically tailored to a certain genetic code. It was first used in the Battle of Roche, where it targeted and killed only the Verpine soldier caste. Later, it was used to attack the Hapan royal house, causing the death of the young Chume’da, Allana, and ensuring Tenel Ka’s enduring hatred for the Moffs.
Another family would share that sentiment. Caedus had obtained a sample of the blood of Fett’s granddaughter, Mirta Gev. From that, the Moffs had attacked their next target—the Fett line. Fortunately for grandfather and granddaughter, neither had been on Mandalore at the time of the nanovirus’s release, but because of the nature and lengthy life of the concoction, Boba Fett would never be able to return to his homeworld.
Unless a cure was found.
Home, thought Daala. We all want it, and so few of us really seem to find it, be it a physical place, or with someone we love.
“I understand,” she said, and she did. “You want to go home. I’m sure you know, however, that finding a cure for this nanovirus cannot be a top priority, at least not right away. I’ve got to claim all this power and make sure my position is, as you put it, safe and solid, before I’ll have the funds and talent pool to turn toward that.”
“I know. Not right away,” he agreed, “but soon. Very soon.” The helmeted head turned toward her. “I trust we understand each other.”
She nodded. As favors went, this one wasn’t unappealing. She might have even done it had he simply asked, without his having to have gone to the effort of rescuing her.
But she was glad he had.
“And it’s more than a wish to go home,” Fett continued. “It’s about revenge. I imagine you’ve got an inkling of how I must feel.”
She smiled, a smile as frosty as his voice had been. “I do indeed, Fett. I do indeed.”
“Good. On occasion it’s nice to mix business with pleasure.”
“Yes, it is,” Daala mused. “I need your comm again, I’m afraid. There’s an old enemy-turned-friend who would appreciate an update on this situation as much as I do.”
WATERFRONT DISTRICT, VARLO, ROONADAN
If she allowed herself, Leia could almost believe that they were indeed just a family on vacation.
The day was sunny, the sky a lovely blue. The artificial river that wound its way through this part of the capital city of Varlo was clean and made pleasant burbling sounds. Trees in sturdy duracrete pots provided just enough shade at the small café table where she, Han, and Allana sat perusing the menu.
They’d already ordered drinks. Allana was happily sipping a creamy concoction made from frozen blue milk. Han had ordered a Corellian ale, and Leia was drinking iced tea. The breeze was cooling and so were the beverages.
Several tables away sat Zekk and Taryn Zel. Zekk wore protective sun visors that, very conveniently, covered much of his face. Taryn, her distinctive red hair dyed a subtler auburn, wore one of the large floppy hats considered fashionable outerwear by the females on this world. Both seemingly had their noses buried in their own menus, but Leia knew that their eyes were on the Solo family. They were here, close but unobtrusive, to guard Allana should anything go wrong. The Solos had wanted to give their granddaughter as much of a normal life as possible, but in the end this button-nosed little girl would become ruler of her world, and perhaps much more. So they had struck a compromise that pleased all involved. Well, except Allana, but as she knew nothing of the arrangement, she couldn’t protest it. Zekk, a Jedi Knight, and Taryn Zel, cousin to Tenel Ka, were the best possible bodyguards Leia could imagine for a Chume’da thought dead.
The waitdroid hummed over and hovered. Many droids designed to serve in such a capacity were humanoid. This squat droid more resembled R2-D2 than C-3PO. Barely a meter tall and rather narrow, with a head that opened to extend a serving tray, it was clearly designed for the sole task of waiting tables, and Leia doubted it was terribly expensive.
“May I take your orders?” it inquired in a pleasant, if droning, voice.
“We’re still looking.” Leia offered a smile, more for the benefit of any onlookers than for the droid itself. “A few more minutes.”
“Of course, ma’am.” It buzzed off and repeated the inquiry at another table.
“I think we should order something,” Han said. “I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” Allana said. She took another gulp of her blue milk shake and her straw made a loud sucking sound. She looked embarrassed. “Excuse me.”
“You just drank that whole thing?” Leia shook her head. “That concoction has enough calories to feed a Hutt for two days. We should drop you somewhere and you should live off it for a while.”
Allana giggled. Leia turned back to Han. “I don’t want to order anything and then just leave when they comm us,” she said.
“Which they were supposed to do half an hour ago, once we arrived. If that droid was a living being he’d be getting suspicious. Or at the very least worried about his tip.”
“Well, fortunately for us, he’s not,” Leia said. She, too, was hungry, and they hadn’t had time to stock the Millennium Falcon with anything other than the standard rations. Both Han and Allana turned their noses up at said rations unless they were hungry enough to eat parts of the Falcon itself. Which, Han had mused, might just be tastier.
There were times when Leia felt that she had two grandchildren.
Still … imported Roba steak with Xixor salad and a dessert of Vagnerian canapés was sounding very tempting. “Let’s order a basket of hubba chips,” Leia suggested as a compromise.
“I like hubba chips,” came a high-pitched voice.
“Me, too,” came another.
“Gamorrean snack crackers are my favorite, but you’ll need an Anoat malted to dunk them in,” chirped a third.
Three small, blue, rodent-like heads with large ears and bright eyes peered over the edge of the table.
The Squibs had arrived.
A SECOND LATER THE THREE SQUIBS WERE DRAGGING SPARE CHAIRS from other tables and scrambling atop them. Han stared at them.
“You were supposed to comm us,” he said.
One of them, a female slightly smaller and more delicately built than the other two, waved a hand airily. “But that’s so impersonal. Nothing’s nicer than sharing a meal with one’s partners while the deal is discussed.”
“Who’s the fuzzling?” another one said.
Leia sighed. “Amelia,” she said, “these beings are Grees, Sligh, and Emala. Amelia is our adopted daughter.”
“Amelia sounds too much like Emala,” Sligh said at once. “That’s going to make for some confusion, since we’ll be traveling together awhile. She’ll need another name. Hey!” He waved over a serving droid. “Some hubba chips, Gamorrean crackers, and an Anoat malted.”
“Wait, what?” said Han, nearly choking on his ale. Allana was watching all this with bright, interested eyes, but saying nothing. “Who said anything about traveling together?”
“Sligh just did,” said Grees. “Something wrong with your ears?”
“I think something may be wrong with yours,” Han shot back. “They’re enormous. Bigger than I remember them.”
“We’re not traveling with you,” Leia said, trying to get the conversation back on something vaguely reminiscent of a topic. Although now that Han had said something, the Squibs’ ears—always long and tufted—did seem a bit larger in proportion to their small bodies. “You said you had information for us. We’re willing to pay for it. That was the deal.”
The waitdroid arrived. Its tray accessory was extended, and perched atop the square sheet of metal were their appetizers. Allana’s eyes were fastened on the Squibs and, contrary to her earlier statement, she didn’t seem at all
interested in the snacks. Sligh picked up a Gamorrean cracker and dunked it in the malted as he spoke.
“I don’t believe we negotiated the finer points at all, actually,” he said, crunching the cracker with sharp white teeth.
“Sitting here with three Squibs is hardly inconspicuous,” Leia said, glancing at Allana quickly and then around at the neighboring tables. A few heads were turned their way.
“Hey, you’re the one who brought a fuzzling into this,” said Grees. “She’s your problem.”
“Amelia is not a problem,” Han said through gritted teeth.
“Whatever,” Grees said, shrugging his narrow shoulders. He reached for a hubba chip and rubbed it on his cheek, the Squib equivalent of taking a good long whiff. Leia realized for the first time that they had more clothing on than usual. Squibs wore clothing more for decoration and storage purposes than to protect themselves from the elements, covered as they were with fur. Too, their fur was used as an olfactory organ, and so most Squibs went uncovered. Yet both the males were wearing tunics, pants, and boots, and Emala had a long-sleeved, floor-length dress. They must have been stifling; Leia, in a light dress and sandals, was warm. “Still changes the deal, though.”
“What?” Han was turning red, and it wasn’t from the weather. “That’s it. We’re done. No information is worth this.”
“Han,” Leia said, gently but firmly. “The information is about the Chief.”
Han looked unhappy, but he sat down. Emala reached for a hubba chip and, annoyed, Han snatched the basket away, plopping it down in front of Allana.
“Hey!” Emala protested.
“Food wasn’t part of the deal, either,” Han growled.
Allana picked up a chip and ate it, still observing silently. She had the same rapt expression she wore when watching a favorite holoshow.
Leia sighed inwardly. “Let’s finish our chips and crackers and drinks, then take a walk along the river. We can talk then.”
Sligh’s ears—they were definitely larger than Leia remembered them—drooped slightly. “But we’ve come in a hurry, and we’re awfully hungry.”
“A hurry?” Han leaned forward. “Why? What’s timely about the information you have? And what kind of payment do you want?”
The Squibs had been deliberately vague about payment, among other things. Which was not out of the ordinary. All Han and Leia knew was they claimed to know where Daala was, they wanted to meet at the Riverview Café in Varlo, and they were confident that Han and Leia could meet their price.
“Well, lunch is a start,” Emala said. She beamed at Allana. “You’re a pretty little fuzzling, for a human. We can’t call you Amelia, so what would you like us to call you?”
“It’s her name,” Han said, exasperated.
Grees had a look of long-suffering patience. “We told you, it’s too close to Emala. And Emala’s had her name longer.”
Something clicked in Leia’s head about the statement, but she pushed it aside, anxious to get to the heart of the matter. “It won’t be a problem.”
“I’d like a Squib name,” Allana said unexpectedly.
The Squibs beamed and exchanged self-satisfied looks. “See? The fuzzling sees the potential for disaster,” said Emala. “How about Pika?”
“I’m partial to Veeshu,” said Grees.
“Nah, she’s more of a Muatisi,” put in Sligh, reaching for another cracker and dunking it vigorously. “Definitely a Muatisi.”
“Her name,” said Han, his voice unsettlingly calm, “is Amelia. You have information about the Chief. We want that information. We will pay and even buy you lunch if that’s what it takes to shake you vermin off.”
“Vermin!” gasped Sligh, his hand to his small chest, his eyes wide with hurt that might have been real but probably wasn’t. “How rude!”
Leia buried her face in her hands. She had, mercifully, forgotten just how irritating the Squibs could be. They seemed to have even more enthusiasm and energy than they had the last time she and Han had encountered them, although they were elderly for their species. In fact, they looked even better than she recalled. Some species had all the luck, it seemed.
“Let’s order lunch,” she said. “Perhaps this will go more smoothly when we’ve all had something to eat.”
Grees was glaring at Han, and Sligh’s whiskers were quivering while Emala patted him on the back gently. They all perked up when food was mentioned. The waitdroid returned and they placed their orders, along with a request for a second basket of hubba chips.
“You shouldn’t have called them vermin,” Allana said to her grandfather. “That wasn’t polite.”
“No,” Han said, taking an overly long pull at his ale. “It wasn’t.” Leia knew the apology was sincere, but Han’s voice was still gruff with annoyance.
“We knew you didn’t mean it,” Emala said kindly. “Partners sometimes get a little testy with one another.”
“I’m sure all your partners do,” Han said. Leia put a hand on his arm and squeezed.
“So,” she said. “Tell us about the Chief.”
“Oh, you’ll like this,” enthused Emala.
“But first, our terms,” said Grees. “We want you to take us back to Coruscant with you. Second, we’ll want enough credits to buy a ship and be comfortably supplied. Third, you let Jagged Fel know who helped him out, ’cause friends of good partners often make good partners themselves. And finally—lunch and all other meals are on you.”
It was not an inexpensive deal, and Leia fancied that they’d end up getting the worst of it. She wasn’t sure that what she and Han thought was important about Daala and what the Squibs thought was important were one and the same. Still … she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t have come if she didn’t think they knew something worth hearing. And any lead was a good lead at this point.
“And in exchange,” Han said, “we get this information, which you have indicated is very important.”
“Oh yes,” Sligh said. “Very important.”
Han and Leia exchanged glances. Leia gently touched the Force, to ascertain if the Squibs themselves were comfortable with their end of the bargain. If they were bluffing, she’d sense smug satisfaction; Squibs always wanted to come out the winner in haggling. If Han and Leia were getting the better part of the deal, they’d be feeling resigned.
What she sensed surprised her.
“You’re … afraid,” she said softly, stunned.
“Afraid? Us?” scoffed Grees. “You know, you keep doing that Force thing, we might just walk with our information. I’m sure others would find it just as valuable as you would.”
But they wouldn’t. Leia knew it, and she was suddenly very worried. Squibs usually erred on the side of overconfidence, particularly this family unit. She’d seen them cheerfully backtalk armed beings and launch themselves at Imperial stormtroopers without a second thought.
She caught and held Sligh’s gaze. He blinked at her with large, soft brown eyes, then his gaze slid away.
“Sligh,” she said, keeping her voice calm, “what have you gotten yourselves involved—”
Blasterfire interrupted her.
Han turned the table over, sweeping Allana into his arms and racing for one of the large duracrete pots that held the shade trees. Leia and the Squibs were right behind them, all four drawing and firing their own weapons as they ran. Two blasts later, the table and chairs where they had been sitting were nothing but twisted piles of metal. Other diners dived for cover, and the patio of the Riverview Café, so peaceful just an instant before, was now filled with the sounds of blasters and screaming.
Leia and the Squibs dropped down beside Han and Allana. The duracrete pot was holding up better than the table and chairs, but that wasn’t saying a lot. Leia met Han’s eyes and nodded. At a signal from Han, they poked their heads around the container, each on one side, and fired. The quick glace didn’t tell them much, only that their attackers wore vaguely Imperial-styled armor, they had blasters, and the blast
ers were firing at them.
“This pot isn’t going to hold for much longer,” Han muttered. He caught Leia’s eye. Decades spent fighting beside this man had given Leia an insight into how he thought that few others possessed. She knew what he wanted to do and, worse, realized with a sinking feeling that he was right. The pot wouldn’t hold, and then—
It was the safest of two very unsafe options. Leia gave Han the briefest of nods.
“Amelia,” Han said, “you’re going to have to make a run for it. Head back toward the Falcon. We’ll cover you and meet you there as soon as possible. It’s not far and you know where to go. Can you do that, sweetheart?”
Eyes wide, breathing accelerated, Allana nodded. With a brief pang, Leia realized that her granddaughter was getting used to having pleasant moments interrupted by blasterfire. Allana was heir to a throne. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that the girl’s life would be disrupted by danger.
Leia firmly set aside her worries and returned her attention to distracting their attackers long enough so they wouldn’t notice one little girl fleeing to safety.
Allana was thinking furiously. She glanced around, trying to figure out the best way back to the spaceport. Dive into the river? Run behind other tables? She looked over at the restaurant—and there was her escape route. She braced herself to race for safety, then turned her head to regard the Squibs. They were jumping up and down, firing around the pot and shouting insults, but she could sense the fear rolling off them.
Allana made her decision. She grabbed Emala by the arm and pointed. Emala’s eyes widened in understanding and she alerted her mates.
“One, two, three!” cried Allana, and bolted for the meter-high, narrow door that admitted the waitdroids into the kitchen. The Squibs were hard on her heels.
“Amelia!” It was Han’s voice, full of fear and anger. Allana’s heart lurched but she ignored him, running full speed. Sligh squeaked once as blasterfire burned the duracrete a few centimeters from his feet. Allana didn’t slow to see if she had miscalculated the height and width of the entrance, merely kept running until she was halfway inside the tiny corridor, then stopped, catching her breath. One of the Squibs charged into her, nearly knocking her down.
Star Wars: Fate of the Jedi: Ascension Page 16
