Specter of the Past

by Timothy Zahn

  She smiled to herself. Of course: they’d come from the roof, following her route down the safety line and in through the bedroom window.

  And they’d done so with a speed and efficiency that rivaled the best the Mistryl could have offered. Perhaps the Noghri weren’t as overrated as she’d thought.

  A minute later the probing hands were gone, taking her hip pack and climbing harness with them. “Sit down,” the Noghri standing next to Organa Solo ordered, gesturing toward one of the chairs in the conversation circle. “Keep your hands where they can be seen.”

  “Don’t you trust your searchers?” Shada asked, sitting down in the indicated chair. “Or your mistress, for that matter? Councilor Organa Solo already told you I wasn’t here to hurt anyone.”

  The Noghri’s eyes seemed to blaze—“Why are you here?” Organa Solo asked calmly before the alien could speak.

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Shada told her, settling her forearms along the chair’s armrests. “This was the only way I could do it.”

  She’d expected an outraged denial, or at the very least a snort of derision. But the other woman merely lifted her eyebrows slightly.

  Solo was less of a disappointment. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded. His blaster, Shada noted, was in his lap, no longer pointed directly at her. But he still had a grip on it.

  “It means that unless you’re someone with power or money, the corridors of the high and mighty are closed to you,” Shada told him, not particularly caring whether she sounded bitter or not. “I’ve been trying to call for the past three days, and no one would put me through. So much for the great and wonderful New Republic, friend of all the common people.”

  “So what, you never heard of leaving a message?” Solo growled.

  “A message that said what?” Shada countered. “That a nobody with no credentials or status wanted to talk to a great and glorious High Councilor? It would have been tossed out with the next clearing wipe.”

  “You’re talking with me now,” Organa Solo said mildly. “What is it you want to say?”

  Shada focused on her, the carefully rehearsed words seeming to stick in her throat. Words that would slice through her last ties to the Mistryl, and her people, and her life. “I want to join you,” she said, her voice sounding hollow and distant in her ears. “I want to join the New Republic.”

  For a painfully long moment the only sound in the room was the thudding of her own heart in her throat. It was, predictably, Solo who broke the silence. “You what?” he asked.

  “I want to join the New Republic,” Shada repeated. The second time wasn’t any easier than the first. “I have a number of abilities you’ll find useful: combat and surveillance, escort and security—”

  “Why are you asking us about this?” Solo interrupted, sounding bewildered. “The New Republic has recruitment centers all over Coruscant.”

  “I don’t think you fully appreciate the situation here, Solo,” Karrde spoke up before Shada could reply. “Shada hasn’t just walked in off the street—or rather, dangled in off the roof. She’s chief bodyguard for our smuggler friend Mazzic.”

  A ripple of surprise ran across the others’ faces. “Former bodyguard,” Shada corrected. “I resigned three weeks ago.”

  Karrde cocked an eyebrow. “Your idea?”

  Shada felt her throat tighten. “Not entirely.”

  “I don’t see what difference it makes where she came from,” Solo persisted. “We’re still none of us in the business of hiring.”

  “Han’s right, Shada,” Organa Solo said, her eyes studying Shada’s face with an uncomfortable intensity. Had those Jedi techniques pulled the secret Mistryl connection from her mind? “There’s really nothing we can do for you.”

  “I’m not asking for charity,” Shada bit out. “Frankly, you need me more than I need you. Especially with Thrawn on the loose again—”

  “What do you know about Thrawn?” Solo asked sharply.

  “I was in the back room just now,” Shada said. She glanced over at Karrde, caught the sudden tightening of his expression. “Calrissian implied he was back.”

  She looked back at Organa Solo. “I also know about the Caamas Document,” she told the other woman. “And I know that the only way you’re going to get out of the mess you’re in is to get hold of an intact copy of it.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Calrissian throw a significant look at Karrde, a look the smuggler chief carefully ignored. “It would certainly help,” Organa Solo acknowledged. “What does this have to do with you?”

  “You’re going to need help,” Shada told her. “I can supply it.”

  “All by yourself?” Karrde murmured.

  “Yes, all by myself,” Shada bit out. “You’ve seen me in action. You know what I can do.”

  She looked back at Solo. “So do your people, though you might not know it,” she said. “Nineteen years ago on Tatooine I helped get you the technical readout for a prototype component of the second Death Star’s superlaser.”

  Another ripple of surprise ran through the room. A ripple that, to Shada’s own mild surprise, didn’t seem to touch Solo himself. “Really,” he said. “Tell us how.”

  “A friend and I stole the component from an Imperial research base,” she said, trying to read his face. Suddenly the one who’d been pushing her the most seemed almost to be on her side. “It was code-named the Hammertong. We flew the ship it was mounted aboard to Tatooine—”

  “What kind of ship?” Solo interrupted.

  “Loronar Strike Cruiser,” Shada said. “Heavily modified—the interior had been gutted so the thing would fit inside. We half buried the ship in a dune and went to the Mos Eisley cantina to find a freighter pilot with a ship who could transport a segment of it for us.”

  She gestured to Solo. “My partner and I saw you gun down Greedo in there,” she said. “We were going to try to hire you, but were picked up by the Imperials before we could get over to you.”

  “Why?” Solo asked. “I mean, why did they grab you?”

  “Karoly and I had disguised ourselves as Brea and Senni Tonnika. Our cam—we’d heard we looked a lot like them,” she corrected as smoothly as she could. Now was not the time to mention the Mistryl camouflage prematch files. “We didn’t know some Moff had put a detain order on them. Anyway, a Rebel sympathizer sprung us from our police cell and got us a freighter. We flew out a segment of the superlaser component and gave him a droid with the technical readout loaded in.”

  “What was this sympathizer’s name?” Solo asked.

  Shada had to search her memory. “Winward,” she said. “Riij Winward.”

  Solo nodded slowly. “So that was you, huh?”

  Organa Solo blinked at him. “You knew about this?”

  “I read Winward’s report,” Solo told her. “It was in the briefing textdoc Madine gave us before we headed out for Endor.”

  His wife shook her head. “I must have missed it.”

  “Well, there were a couple of small differences,” Solo said dryly. “According to Winward, they’d promised him his own segment of the superlaser in return for springing them.”

  “There was a sandstorm coming,” Shada protested. “There was no time to cut another segment and get it loaded.”

  “And they didn’t exactly give him the technical readout,” Solo added. “He had to sort of borrow their droid to get it.”

  Shada felt her face warm. “Yes, you’re right,” she admitted. “I’d forgotten that.”

  “Charming,” Calrissian murmured under his breath.

  Shada threw him a glare. “For whatever it’s worth, my partners thought we should have killed him rather than let anyone know what we’d done,” she bit out. “I stopped them from doing that.”

  There was another silence. A hard, tense, discomfiting silence. Shada kept her eyes on Organa Solo, trying to read her face. As the ranking political power of the group, it would be up to her to make the final decision …<
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  “I’ve got an idea,” Calrissian spoke up. “She said Karrde knows what she can do. So why don’t we send her with him?”

  Shada looked at Karrde, her impulsive refusal freezing in her throat. She’d just wasted twelve years with one smuggling group, and she hadn’t come to Coruscant just to hook up with another one.

  But there was something in Karrde’s expression …

  “And just where is it Karrde’s going?” Solo asked, cocking his head toward the smuggler chief.

  “A special mission,” Karrde said. His eyes were still on Shada, that expression still on his face. “Something Calrissian asked me to do.”

  “Do we get a hint?” Organa Solo asked, a small smile playing around her lips.

  Karrde didn’t smile back. “It’s possible there’s a copy of the complete Caamas Document out there that’s not in Imperial hands,” he told her. “I’m going to see if I can get hold of it.”

  Solo and Organa Solo exchanged startled glances. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Organa Solo demanded, the patient amusement gone from her face.

  “Because up till now none of this has been any of my business,” Karrde said coolly. “Political arguments have nothing to do with me, except insofar as planetary snits and sulkings tend to benefit information dealers.”

  He looked at Calrissian. “But now a new factor has been stirred into the mix. One which I’ve been persuaded can no longer be ignored.”

  Organa Solo hunched her shoulders as if a sudden cold draft had blown across her back. “Thrawn.”

  Karrde nodded soberly. “Thrawn.” He looked at Shada. “And yes, I would be greatly pleased to have Shada’s assistance. If she’s willing, of course.”

  Shada grimaced, the irony a bitter taste in her mouth. Nineteen years late, she’d finally made the wrenching decision to shift her allegiance from her own people to the New Republic … only to find that the New Republic didn’t want her. And the only one who did was as much an outcast from their great and wonderful new society as she was. “Sure,” she told Karrde. “Why not?”

  “Trust me, Shada, Karrde gets all his best people this way,” Calrissian said dryly. “When you get aboard the Wild Karrde, ask Mara Jade how she got hired.”

  Something flickered across Karrde’s face. “Mara won’t be with us,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you tonight, Leia. Mara’s come to some kind of … accident.”

  Calrissian’s sly smile vanished, and the others sat up straighter. “What kind of accident?” Organa Solo asked.

  “A confusing one,” Karrde said with a grimace. “She and the Starry Ice tracked one of the unidentified ships your brother saw in the Kauron system—”

  “Wait a minute,” Solo interrupted. “What’s this about unidentified ships?”

  “He and Mara saw it skulking around the Cavrilhu Pirates’ base,” Karrde said. “Didn’t he send you a report?”

  “Yes, but only a very sketchy one,” Organa Solo said. “He just said he hadn’t learned anything from the pirates and that he would give us all the details when he got back to Coruscant. There was nothing about any unidentified ship.”

  “He must not have wanted to say anything on an open channel,” Karrde said. “I’ve got a copy of his and Mara’s records of that sighting, plus the data we took when another of the ships buzzed the Errant Venture. I’ll get copies to you before I leave.”

  “Forget the ships a minute,” Calrissian put in impatiently. “What happened to Mara?”

  “The Starry Ice tracked it to a small world in Gradilis sector,” Karrde said. “Mara went in for a closer look and spotted a fortress, entered a cave for a one-sided conversation with unknown beings, mentioned Skywalker’s name in response to something they said or did, and then abruptly went silent.”

  Calrissian’s face had gone rigid. “You mean she was—?”

  “No, she wasn’t killed,” Karrde hastened to assure him. “At least not then—you can hear her breathing on the recording that was pulse-transmitted back to the Starry Ice.”

  “And these beings knew Luke?” Organa Solo asked, her forehead furrowed. With thought or dread, Shada couldn’t tell which.

  “Knew him, or knew of him,” Karrde told her. “There wasn’t enough context for us to tell which.”

  “We need to get hold of him right away,” Solo said to his wife. “See if he can tell us anything.”

  Karrde cleared his throat self-consciously. “Actually, I’ve already spoken to him. He couldn’t shed any light on it, either.”

  Organa Solo regarded him suspiciously. “And?” she prompted.

  “That was the other thing I wanted to tell you,” Karrde said, his urbane air cracking just a bit. “He’s gone off to find her.”

  Organa Solo’s expression didn’t change, but suddenly the temperature in that part of the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “He’s what?” she asked, her tone ominous.

  “She’s in danger, Leia,” Karrde said. “Luke was the only one who could get there fast enough to make a difference. The only one who had a reasonable chance of dealing with whatever the creatures were Mara ran into. And whoever or whatever is up in that fortress. This doesn’t just concern Mara; it concerns the entire New Republic.”

  “And what, you think this Bothan mess doesn’t?” Solo growled. He was on his feet now, glaring across the conversation circle at Karrde. “We’ve got a hundred little wars simmering out there, half of them using Caamas as an excuse to go in and settle old grudges. We’ve already emptied the New Republic diplomatic corps and Jedi academy trying to find enough mediators to go around, and we still don’t have enough. We need Luke here.”

  “I didn’t force him to go after her,” Karrde countered, not quite glaring back. “He weighed all the factors and made his own decision.”

  “Except that he didn’t know Thrawn was back,” Solo countered. “Did he?”

  “Let it go, Han,” Organa Solo said quietly, reaching up to touch her husband’s arm. “What’s done is done. Karrde’s right: it was Luke’s decision to make. He’s made it, and we’ll just have to manage without him until he returns.”

  “If it helps, you can consider my service to be in exchange for his,” Karrde said, his mouth still tight. “I’m sorry to have brought such bad news. I really thought you’d be more understanding.”

  Solo took a deep breath, exhaled it raggedly. “Yeah,” he said. “Well … when are you heading out?”

  “Immediately,” Karrde said, crossing to Shada and offering her a hand. “Assuming my new assistant has no errands she has to attend to first.”

  “I’m ready whenever you are,” Shada told him, ignoring the proffered hand and getting to her feet without assistance. “Assuming Councilor Organa Solo’s bodyguards are finished sifting through my pack and climbing gear.”

  “They are waiting for you by the door,” the Noghri beside Organa Solo said gravely.

  “Fine,” Karrde said, nodding to Organa Solo as he moved toward the entrance. “Thank you for your hospitality, Leia. I’ll contact you if and when I find anything.”

  “Two other things, Karrde, before you go,” Organa Solo said. “Three, actually. First: will you need a translator droid for your trip?”

  “That’s a good point,” Karrde conceded. “The organization has several, of course, but none are aboard the Wild Karrde at the moment. It won’t be too hard to pick one up along the way, though.”

  “That’ll take extra time,” Organa Solo said. “If you’d prefer, we could lend you Threepio.”

  Solo made a noise in the back of his throat. “Over his stripped gears, of course.”

  “That’s a very generous offer.” Karrde cocked an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the thought that you might be able to get an unbiased report of the trip out of him when we get back, would it?”

  “Of course not,” Organa Solo said, arching her own eyebrows slightly. “I’m hurt you’d even suggest such a thing.”

>   “Forgive me,” Karrde said. “In that case, I accept, with thanks.”

  “As Han suggests, we’ll want a few minutes to talk with him first,” Organa Solo said. “We can bring him over to the spaceport when we pick up those spaceship records from you. Second: I wasn’t able to tell you this before, but under the circumstances it’s something you may need to know. One of the other datacards that Devaronian found at Mount Tantiss was labeled ‘The Hand of Thrawn.’ ”

  Karrde nodded. “Yes, I’d heard.”

  Organa Solo’s eyebrows lifted. “How did you—? Never mind; I don’t want to know.”

  “My source and I thank you for your discretion,” Karrde said. “There’s something else you need to know, though. Before Mara went chasing after that unknown ship, we picked up a transmission from it, clearly directed at the Errant Venture. We haven’t yet been able to decipher the message, but it definitely contained Thrawn’s name. His full name, not just the core name Thrawn.’ ”

  Solo frowned. “I didn’t even know he had more name.”

  “Most people don’t,” Karrde agreed. “But Mara did. So did whoever was aboard that ship.”

  “What do you think it means?” Organa Solo asked.

  “I don’t know,” Karrde said. “Maybe we’ll have some answers when Skywalker and Mara get back. At any rate, I’ll add a copy of that recording in with the others. You said there were three things?”

  Organa Solo smiled. A smile that was shaded with tension, but a smile nonetheless. “May the Force be with you,” she said quietly.

  Almost involuntarily, Shada thought, Karrde smiled back. “And with you,” he said. His eyes flicked to Solo and Calrissian. “With all of you,” he added. “Good-bye.”

  “Nice speech you made back there,” Shada commented as Karrde lifted the airspeeder off the Orowood Tower’s pad and turned its nose toward the West Championne field where the Wild Karrde was waiting. “A little over-rehearsed, maybe, but not bad for all that.”

  “You’re too kind,” Karrde said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring straight ahead at the nighttime Coruscant landscape, her face faintly illuminated by the glow from the instrument board. With better light, he decided, her expression would probably still have been impossible to read. “May I ask which part of the discourse sounded like a speech to you?”