by Troy Denning
Leia raised her brow—and felt the scales of her artificial Falleen face ripple in response. “And since they didn’t admit it right away—”
“It’ll look really bad if we tell the Killiks now,” Han finished.
“That’s what I like about you.”
“Handsome as well as rich?” Han asked.
Leia shook her head. “Resourceful…and just a little bent.”
She gave him a coy smile—then felt a small vibration between her shoulder blades as her disguise reacted to her expression and dispensed a shot of attraction pheromones. A sparkle of lust immediately came to Han’s eyes, and he cast a longing glance back toward the Swiff.
“Easy, boy!” Leia hissed. “Later.”
“Okay.” Even in his Arkanian disguise, Han looked crestfallen. “Will you wear the costume?”
Leia had to resist the temptation to hit him, for they had reached the hangar “floor” and were in full view of dozens of bustling Lizil. They circled around an old Gallofree light transport, then pushed through the small crowd of insects waiting outside the Sailfish.
Leia followed Han to the foot of the boarding ramp, where they stopped in front of two huge Flakax guards. Standing a little taller than a Wookiee, with sharp beak-like proboscises, black chitinous shells, and long ovoid abdomens hanging beneath their thoraxes, the pair made truly intimidating sentries—especially since Flakax who left their homeworlds tended to become psychopaths.
“We’re here to see the Squibs,” Han said, hiding the fear that Leia could sense behind the bluster of an Arkanian technolord. “Tell them they still owe us for Pavo Prime.”
The sentries’ huge, compound eyes studied Leia and Han indifferently.
“It wouldn’t be wise to keep us waiting,” Leia pressed. “We happen to be old friends.”
This drew a chorus of amused clacks and hisses from the insect crews waiting outside the Sailfish, and one of the Flakax held out a three-pincered hand.
“Appointment vouchers cost fifty credits each.”
“Appointment vouchers?” Han repeated.
“You expect us to stand here for nothing?” the second Flakax demanded.
Leia stepped forward, craning her neck back to stare up at the Flakax’s wedge-shaped head. “We don’t need an appointment voucher,” she said, using the Force to influence the insect’s mind. “We’re expected.”
“They don’t need a voucher,” the first Flakax said. He stepped aside and motioned the Solos aboard. “The Directors are expecting them.”
The second remained where he was, gnashing his mandibles and blocking the base of the ramp. “They are? Now?”
“Yeah.” Han pulled a credit chit from his pocket. “What’s the going price for being expected? Ten?”
The Flakax flattened his antennae. “Twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five!” Han objected. “That’s—”
“A paltry amount, not worth the effort to negotiate,” Leia interrupted. “Why don’t we just add it to the Directors’ account, Lord Rysto? That way everyone will be happy.”
“Very well.” Han continued to glare at the Flakax, but passed the credits over and slipped back into the character of a haughty Arkanian. “If the Squibs object, I’ll instruct them to bring the matter up with you.”
The Flakax gave a little abdomen shudder, but stepped aside and waved Leia and Han through the Sailfish’s air lock. The air aboard the vessel was stale and musky, and the broad oval corridors typical of Mon Calamari designs were so packed with weapons, power packs, and armor that it was only possible to walk single file. Leia followed Han into the forward salon, where a pair of Verpine pilots stood facing the interior of a large, curved table piled high with trinkets and gadgets. On the other side of the table, a single Lizil Killik stood behind three seated Squibs.
“…grateful for the cargo,” one of the Verpine was saying. “But we need more delivery time. If anything goes wrong, we won’t make the date.”
“What could go wrong?” the Squib on the left asked. With graying fur, a wrinkled snout, and red bags under his big brown eyes, Grees looked as though he had aged sixty years in the thirty that had passed since Leia had first met him. “Just follow the route we give you. Everything will be fine.”
“It’s the Chiss that concern us, Director,” the second Verpine explained. “Tenupe is on the front lines, you know.”
“That’s why we saved this run for you,” the Squib on the right said. One of his ears no longer stood up straight, instead lying at an angle like a broken antenna. And his voice was so harsh and raspy that Han barely recognized it as Sligh’s. “We wouldn’t trust just anyone with this, you know. We have placed our complete faith in you. Consider it a gift.”
The two Verpine glanced at each other nervously; then the first said, “We’ve heard the Chiss are moving fast. What happens if they overrun the base before we deliver? There’s no one else out there who would want your TibannaX—especially not so much.”
Han’s heart began to pound in excitement. As far as he knew, there was only one use for TibannaX: it was fuel for Jedi StealthXs.
“Ark’ik, you came to us begging for a cargo, but all you have done since we granted it to you is ask What if this? What if that?” Emala said. Seated between Grees and Sligh, her eyes were covered in a milky film, and the tip of her nose was cracked and bleeding. She shook her head sadly and looked away from the two Verpine. “Honestly, we are beginning to think you aren’t grateful.”
The antennae of both Verpine went flat against their heads. “No, we’re very grateful, Director,” Ark’ik said. “We just don’t want to fail you.”
“And we don’t want that either,” Sligh said. “We thought you two were ready to be major players in the war business. But if you’re not interested…”
“We’ll take the cargo,” Han said, stepping into the cabin.
The first Verpine—Ark’ik—turned with fury in his dark eyes, but his anger swiftly changed to confusion as Leia slinked toward him in her Falleen costume.
“I hope you don’t mind.” She touched him through the Force, implanting the suggestion that she was only repeating what he already believed. “But you don’t need this run. Too many things can go wrong.”
“Mind? Why should we mind?” Ark’ik asked. “Too many things can go wrong—”
“Ark’ik!” The second Verpine slapped the first in the back of the head. “Fool! She’s using her pheromones on you.”
Leia did not bother to correct him. One of the reasons she had chosen a Falleen costume was that it would camouflage many of her Force manipulations as the result of pheromones.
“So?” Ark’ik asked his companion. “This run doesn’t have anything to do with our fight anyway.”
“So be quiet!” The second Verpine turned to the Squibs. “We’ll take the run, Director—but we may need another wax. It’s a long trip.”
“Another wax?” Grees was immediately up and standing in his chair. “Who do you think you are? You’ll take the three waxes we’re giving you and be grateful.”
“There’s a war on!” Sligh added. “We’re lucky we can get any black ’brosia out of the Utegetu.”
The second Verpine let out a long throat rasp, then dropped his gaze. “Forgive us, Director. I didn’t mean to be greedy.”
Emala shook her head sadly. “You disappoint us, Ra’tre. We give you a chance to be a part of history, and you try to take advantage.” She motioned toward a corridor, and a much younger Squib with red-brown fur and black ear tufts entered the salon. “Krafte will tend to the details. Be sure to tip generously. It makes his charts more accurate.”
“Of course.” Ra’tre bowed nervously. “Thank you!”
He took Ark’ik’s arm and dragged him after the young Squib.
Once they were gone, Han joined Leia in front of the table. “Quite an operation you have here,” he said. “Brokering war cargo and pushing black membrosia? The Hutts could learn a few things from you.”
Emala sat up with pride. “You’re not the first to say so.”
“Not that it’s any business of yours,” Grees said. He leaned forward, his nose twitching and his eyes narrow. “Do we know you?”
Before Han could launch into his indignant act, the Killik standing behind the Squibs began to rumble its thorax—no doubt explaining that Lizil had already “transacted” with them.
Leia stepped closer to the Squibs’ table. “Actually, you might remember us from Pavo Prime,” she said. “And before that, we worked together on Tatooine.”
“Tatooine?” Sligh reached across the table, then took Leia’s hand and rubbed it across his cheek. His ears went flat against his head. “You!”
“Brub?” Lizil demanded.
“We’re old friends.” Leia kept her gaze fixed on the Squibs, who were all trying to slowly lower their hands out of sight below the table—no doubt reaching for their hold-out blasters. Though the possibility had not occurred to her before, the trio would have good reason to assume that she and Han had come to retaliate for the part the Squibs had played in the capture of the Admiral Ackbar. “There’s nothing to be upset about—isn’t that right, Sligh?”
“We’ll s-s-see,” Sligh stammered.
“Just don’t try anything,” Grees warned. “You’re not as quick as you used to be.”
Lizil cocked its head and stared at Leia out of one bulbous green eye. “Uuu rru buur?”
“Sligh is nervous because we haven’t seen each other in a long time,” Leia said, taking a guess at what the insect had asked.
“And Sylune and I looked a lot different back then,” Han added.
“I’m sure our appearance must be shocking,” Leia said to the Squibs. “But there’s no need to be alarmed. We’re not here to start trouble—as long as no one else starts it, either.”
She cast a meaningful glare at the Squibs’ hands, and all three returned their palms to the edge of the table.
“Then why are you here?” Grees demanded. “Lizil already told you the Colony doesn’t need a magcannon.”
“Can’t an old friend pay a social call?” Han smiled and fixed Grees with a threatening glare. “I just wanted to tell you that I ran into a couple of your contract employees not so long ago. They were a great help to me and a good friend of mine.” He glanced at the Killik behind them. “I thought maybe I should tell you about it.”
“No!” all three Squibs said together.
“We mean there’s no need,” Sligh added quickly. “We already know everything.”
“You’re sure?” Leia asked. “Even about how they—”
“We heard!” Grees said. He turned toward the same corridor from which Emala’s son Krafte had emerged. On cue, a small female with silky black fur appeared. “Now we really are very busy. Seneki will see you out.”
“That’s all the time you have for your friends?” Han turned toward the black female and shooed her back toward the corridor. “I’m hurt!”
Seneki froze halfway into the salon and looked to Emala for instruction.
“Time is money,” Emala said, waving Seneki forward. “You understand.”
“Not really,” Leia said. She held her hand out to Seneki—presumably Emala’s daughter—and used the Force to hold her back, drawing a gasp of surprise from the young Squib. “But I’m beginning to think we really should talk about your employees. You could take a lesson from them in politeness.”
The three Squibs sighed and looked at each other, then Emala shook her head and said, “You know how valuable our time is, and our schedule is very tight today. You’ll just have to buy another—”
“Maybe we can make it worth your while,” Leia interrupted.
“I doubt that,” Sligh said. “If you’ll just leave—”
“We’re not leaving,” Han growled. He turned back to Leia. “You were saying, Syrule?”
Leia smiled and propped her hand on her hip. “Well, I’m sure the Colony wouldn’t want our magcannon to end up in the hands of the Chiss or the Galactic Alliance.”
Lizil clacked its mandibles in a very definite “No!”
“Then maybe we should sell it to our old friends,” Leia said. “I’m sure they could find a safe buyer for it—and that way, we would be free to run a load of cargo to Tenupe.”
“Tenupe is in a war zone,” Sligh said. “The Colony only allows insect crews to run supplies into war zones.”
“So talk to them for us,” Han said. “It looks like you’ve got plenty of pull around here.”
“Ruruuruur bub?” the Killik asked.
“Lizil wants to know why you’re so interested in Tenupe,” Emala translated.
“We’re not,” Han answered. “It’s the StealthXs we want to see.”
The Squibs, who had almost certainly figured out that Han and Leia wanted to see Jaina and Zekk, rolled their eyes.
But Lizil asked, “Bub?”
“We have a client who could benefit from the technology,” Leia answered. She smiled conspiratorially. “And I’m sure it would only help the Colony’s war effort if the Galactic Alliance suddenly had to divert even more resources to chasing pirates in stealth ships.”
Lizil’s antennae tipped forward in interest; then the insect turned to Grees. “Uubbuu ruub buur?”
Grees sighed, then said, “Sure, we’ll vouch for ’em.” His sagging red eyes glared blaster bolts at Leia. “And if they disappoint you, we’ll make sure they take their secrets to the grave with them.”
SEVEN
Luke usually sensed when the outer door to his office suite in the Jedi Temple was about to open. Today, however, he was so engrossed in Ghent’s work that he did not realize he had a visitor until someone stopped at the entrance to the inner office and politely cleared his throat. The micrograbber in Ghent’s hand jerked ever so slightly, and a tiny tick sounded somewhere deep inside R2-D2’s casing. The slicer uttered a colorful smuggler’s oath—something about Twi’lek Hutt-slime wrestlers, which he had no doubt learned during his stint in Talon Karrde’s smuggling syndicate. Then he slowly, steadily backed the micrograbber out of R2-D2’s deep-reserve data compartment.
“That didn’t sound good,” Luke said. Without turning around, he motioned whoever was at the door to wait there. “How bad is it?”
Ghent turned his tattooed face toward Luke, his pale eyes appearing huge and bug-like through his magnispecs. With his unkempt blue hair and tattered jumpsuit, the scrawny man looked more like a jolt-head from the underbelly of Talos City than the Alliance’s best slicer.
“How bad is what?”
“Whatever it is you’re swearing about,” Mara said. She was kneeling beside Ghent, holding a handful of ancient circuits they had taken from the R2 prototype Aryn Thul had given them. “It sounded like you dropped the omnigate.”
“I heard it hit inside Artoo,” Luke said helpfully.
Ghent nodded. “Me, too,” he said, as though it were an everyday occurrence.
He retrieved a penglow from his tool kit and shined it down into R2-D2’s casing, slowly playing the beam over the internal circuitry without answering the original question. Luke accepted the neglect as the price of genius and reluctantly turned toward the entrance to his office, where his nephew Jacen was waiting in his customary garb of boots, jumpsuit, and sleeveless cloak. Now that he had shaved off the beard he had grown during his five-year absence, he looked more than ever like his parents, with Leia’s big brown eyes and Han’s lopsided smirk.
“Twool said you wanted to see me.” Jacen glanced toward Ghent and Mara. “But if I’ve come at a bad time—”
“No, we need to talk.” Luke motioned him toward the outer office. “Let’s go out here. I don’t want to disturb Ghent.”
“That’s okay,” Ghent said, surprising Luke by reacting to a remark that wasn’t directed at him. “You’re not disturbing me.”
“I think Luke needs to talk with Jacen privately,” Mara explained.
“Oh.” Ghent continued to
work, peering through his magnispecs into R2-D2’s data compartment. “Doesn’t he want to see if the omnigate works?”
“Of course,” Luke said. The omnigate was a sliver of circuitry Ghent had found inside the prototype droid. Supposedly, it was a sort of hardware passkey that would unlock all of R2-D2’s sequestered files. “You mean you’re ready?”
“Almost,” Ghent said. “And you’d better not leave. The omnigate is pretty deteriorated—it might not last long.”
“You’ve figured out a way to unlock Artoo?” Jacen started across the room without seeking permission from Luke. “You can bring up a holo of my grandmother?”
“Sure.” Ghent pulled his micrograbbers out of R2-D2’s data compartment, then flipped up his magnispecs. “Either that or lose Artoo’s entire memory to a security wipe.”
“At least the risks are clear,” Luke said, following Jacen back over to the slicer’s side. This was hardly the reason he had sent for his nephew, but Jacen had almost as much right to see the lost holos as Luke himself. “Which is more likely?”
Ghent shrugged. “Depends on how much you trust the Thul woman. Her story makes sense.”
Luke waited while Ghent’s gaze grew increasingly distant…as it often did when the slicer actually had to discuss something.
After a moment, Luke prompted, “But?”
Ghent’s eyes snapped back into focus, and he restarted the conversation where he had left off. “But if that isn’t the real Intellex Four prototype in there, the omnigate will trigger every security system your droid has. We’ll be lucky if our memories aren’t erased, overwritten, and reformatted.”
“So it depends entirely on whether Aryn Thul is being honest with us?” Mara asked.
“And on whoever sold her the prototype,” Ghent said. “Droid antiquers are always getting crisped by counterfeit prototypes.”
“That’s one thing we don’t have to worry about,” Mara said. “Nobody is going to swindle Aryn Thul. That woman is a business rancor.”
Luke turned to Jacen. “What do you think?”
