“Yes I do. The only native Corellian onboard the Millennium Falcon was a Drall. He’d direct the ship to the place he knew best, where he could keep the children safest.”
“And I say that’s pointless,” Mara said. “We don’t know anything about what’s happening on the other planets, but we have to assume things are pretty bad. If Ebrihim does have your children there, he has them in hiding, for their own safety as well as his own. And we’d have to go into hiding as well—not easy when there are only a few hundred humans on the planet. How are we supposed to stay hidden, find another group who is hidden, and meet up with them?”
“Through the Force,” Leia said. “Get me anywhere near that planet, and I’d be able to sense their location. I know it.”
“Which would do us a lot of good if they are under lock and key. Even if we do manage to find them, what do you do then? Pat your children on the head and hide with them? Would a human ship coming in make them safer or put them in more danger? I’d guess danger, if things are as unsettled there as on Corellia. And what do I do? Drall is a sleepy backwater. For that matter, what would you do there? We’re not going to be able to accomplish anything on Drall.”
Leia said nothing at first. Mara’s arguments made a little too much sense. Finding her children would make her feel better, but it would not improve the situation. She could only truly make them safe by putting an end to this crisis. “I can’t abandon my children,” she said to Mara.
“No one’s asking you to. Look, think it through. If they are alive and well and on Drall, they have Chewbacca and the Millennium Falcon and their Drallish tutor and all of his contacts. All that’s working to protect them. Would getting to them make them safer—or just make you feel better?”
Leia frowned. “All right,” she admitted. “Maybe I shouldn’t go to them—yet. But I am not going to stay away from them one minute longer than I have to.” She paused for a moment. “It’s obvious,” she said, “that we have reached a stalemate. It seems to me that we could come up with good arguments against every single possible course of action.”
“And how can one of us persuade the other when neither trusts the other’s arguments?” Mara asked. “I could be trying to talk you into a trap, or vice versa.” Mara was silent for a moment. Then her eyes seemed to light up, and she turned toward Leia. “I just thought of something,” she said. “Are you familiar with the concept of a Yggyn compromise? It’s broken the logjam in more than one trade negotiation.”
Leia smiled. “I know it well. If neither party can accept the other’s proposal, both agree to a third alternative. I want Drall. You want Corellia. Under Yggyn rules, we’d head to Selonia.”
Mara shrugged. “I was thinking of Talus and Tralus, but Selonia will do. We need someplace to go, and at least on Selonia there’s some chance of a friendly reception. Anything beats sitting here arguing until we crash into the sun.”
“Very well, then,” Leia said, taking a deep breath and looking out into the starry darkness. “Very well. We go to Selonia.”
“I still wish we had brought the Millennium Falcon,” Q9 said. “This hovercar cannot defend itself.”
“And it’s awfully crowded in here,” Anakin complained from the rear seat. “When are we going to get there?”
“Uh-oh,” said Jaina, sitting in the front. “Jacen, get his mind on something else quick, or you’re going to hear that question about a zillion more times.”
The Duchess Marcha was sitting in the hovercar’s front seat, wedged in between Jaina and Chewbacca, who was doing the flying. She had never been quite so close to a Wookiee before, and she was not finding it to be the most relaxing of experiences. But she couldn’t understand why Jaina was so agitated by her little brother’s question. “Can’t you just tell him the answer and then ask him to be quiet?” she asked Jaina in a low voice. She was quite baffled by the skills required to manage a small human child. Besides which, she wouldn’t mind knowing how long it would be herself. It was not easy getting information out of Chewbacca.
“Doesn’t work that way,” Jaina whispered back. “Answering would just get him focused on the question, and he’d ask, ‘When are we going to get there now?’ two minutes from now. And two minutes after that, and after that.”
“I see,” said Aunt Marcha, though that was a bald-faced lie. Such strange creatures, these humans, the children far more so than the adults. How they had ever risen to a position of prominence in Galactic affairs was quite beyond her.
But at least the older ones knew how to manage the younger one. “Anakin!” Jacen said, having found a suitable distraction. “Look down there! See? That’s the Boiling Sea.”
Anakin, sitting in the seat behind Jacen, next to Q9, looked down at the dark water below. “I don’t see it boiling,” he objected.
“It doesn’t always boil,” Jacen said. “Only sometimes. In the summer. But Q9 will tell you all about it.”
“I will?” the droid asked.
“Yes, Q9,” Ebrihim said, from his seat next to Jacen. “You will. Quietly. That is an order.”
“Very well,” Q9 said, clearly unenthusiastic. The droid started telling Anakin all about how, in the summer months, the temperatures below could become high enough for part of the small, landlocked sea to boil, and how the winter snows and rains cooled and replenished it. For a wonder, Anakin listened, even when Q9 got to the part about the sea being a temporary feature that would no doubt vanish in a few thousand years due to upstream erosion.
Marcha shook her head once again. Why in the stars that sort of thing should be of interest to a small boy child she had no idea, but she was grateful just the same. The trip was getting a little long, but that was to be expected, flying an evasive route at night over land and sea at something close to treetop and wave-top level. Say what one might about his social skills, she was glad they had a pilot of Chewbacca’s skill on the job.
Then, at long last, Chewbacca let out a low hoot and slowed the car to a halt, bringing it to a full stationary hover about ten meters off the ground. Marcha switched on the infrared view system and peered at the screen. She zoomed in on a low hill about three kilometers away. There, glowing a ghostly green in the infrared view, was a low, boxy-looking building, sitting near the top of the hill. “That’s it,” she said. “Has to be. Move in, very slowly. Circle around the base of the hill until you are due south of the building. Bring us in as close to three and two tenths kilometers due south of the building as you can, but be sure you land out of sight. And I trust your running lights are off.”
Chewbacca glared at her, but made no other reply.
Marcha paid no mind. She had other problems. Finding the archaeological dig had not proven to be much of a problem. Getting into it—and back out—was going to be the tricky bit. If her theories were correct, Anakin would be able to help …
If they could now get his mind off the Boiling Sea. Q9 was running out of information on the subject.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Underground
Activity
For whatever reason, the passages and tunnels were getting larger as they went along. At least Han thought they were. Perhaps they had simply bypassed the larger tunnels in the previous sector, or they had been shut down by the refugee flow. Or maybe Selonians in this part of the world preferred walking erect. The tunnels here were cool, dry, and slightly musty like all the others, lit with the same dark, lurid red. The tunnel floors and walls were as squared off and smoothed out as the ones they had left behind—but these tunnels were bigger, and much less crowded.
Whatever the reasons for the change, Han was grateful for it. A few minutes of walking fully upright did wonders for him, stretching out the worst of the knots in his back and his legs. It also had the added benefit that they could make better time. Han’s slow progress through the crawlway tunnels had driven Dracmus to the edge of distraction. The mere fact that he now was able, more or less, to keep up with her seemed to set her much more at ease.
/> It did not, however, make her any more forthcoming, so Han decided to try another tack, ask different questions. “Honored Dracmus, I know you cannot tell me where we are going or why, but can you at least tell me something—anything—about the source of your orders?”
Dracmus did not answer, did not even say she could not answer. Han took that as a sort of tacit admission he was on the right track. “Is this strictly inside your sept?” he asked, pressing the point just a trifle. “Or is it something bigger? An alliance, a group of some kind?”
“Honored Solo—please! I have the—the strongest of orders from the highest of places. You have the right to know more, to know all, but you must not, you cannot, learn it from me.”
That was more than he had gotten so far, even if it wasn’t much. Han thought about it as they walked along. Even if he didn’t have any solid information, maybe he had enough to do some guessing. All right, he told himself. They don’t trust you, but they haven’t killed you or left you behind. What does that say? The answer was obvious, if hopelessly vague. The same old story. They wanted him for something. There was something he could do, something he could say, that they needed. It could be anything. Technical help, political connections, military expertise, access to some bit of knowledge he possessed without being aware of its importance. His recipe for double-strength Mutant Zombie coolers. It could be anything.
Except that couldn’t be exactly right. If they needed him, they wouldn’t be stringing him along in this information-free limbo. More likely they knew they might need him. They might want him. Until such time as they were sure it was worth the risk of trusting him, they would keep him on ice. That had to be it, Han told himself. They wanted him for something, but they were not sure they could trust him. Or perhaps they were not sure he would cooperate.
For that matter, Han was not sure himself. He had no idea what side they were on, or what the sides were in this fight. He wasn’t even strictly certain which fight this was. Even before he was captured by the Human League, the situation in the Corellian system could have been described as the fight of each against all. There was no way of knowing how the situation had evolved—or degenerated—since then. By this time of day, Dracmus’s den could be for or against practically anybody.
Han had reached that happy conclusion when it suddenly dawned on him that he could hear something off in the distance. A series of low, methodical, mechanical sounds, clicks and whirs and hums. And they were moving closer to the sounds. He started to hear voices, Selonian voices, calling to each other, and there was something in the rhythm and tone of the shouts and calls that sounded irresistibly like a construction gang at work.
Dracmus heard the sounds as well, and her step grew more lively, more eager.
Suddenly Han realized they were very near the end of their journey, or at least this part of it. He hurried along behind Dracmus, down a long ramp. Yellow-white light shone up from the lower level, and Han was astonished at how cheered he was by the mere sight of something besides the bloodred illumination of the Selonian tunnels. He stumbled eagerly toward the light and the sound.
The ramp opened out on a chamber, not of bare stone, but of metal and gleaming plastic, echoing with hurry and rush and bustle. It was a transportation hub, that much was obvious. A pocket-sized landing field stood at its center, with three small spacecraft sitting on it, maintenance crews working on them. Han looked up and saw that the ceiling of the place was a retractable dome. On the far side of the dome’s base a bullet train sat on its track, waiting to depart, ready to hurtle down the rail tunnel that came through one wall of the chamber and back out another. Runcarts zipped in and out of the tunnel mouths on this errand or that. “Quite a place,” was all he could think to say.
“There are many like it,” Dracmus said. “It is like all the others.”
That surprised Han. “But I thought that you just walked in the tunnels,” he said.
“Why think that? Do you not think Selonians can build their own machines and vehicles, should we choose so to do? We are just ignorant primitives who live underground without help from our fine human friends?”
“All right, all right,” Han said. “I wasn’t thinking. My apologies.” He looked about, and realized just how deep in he was. This place was secret, known only to the Selonians. He had no proof of that, but even so, he knew. Drall and humans did not come here, were not told of it. “Who knows about this place?” he asked. “Besides the Selonians?”
“You do,” said Dracmus. “No one else.”
“Exactly the answer I was hoping not to get,” Han said. That would be the one question Dracmus would be willing to answer clearly and unequivocally. Han did not like learning secrets involuntarily. What if they decided, later on, that it was not such a good idea that he knew it? There really was only one way to make a person unlearn something.…
“Come now,” said Dracmus. We must move on.” She led him down a path from the tunnel mouth down toward the center of the transportation complex.
Han had half-expected to be put aboard one of the runcarts and brought to some local official’s office in a nearby tunnel. Failing that, they were most likely putting him on the train to some place or another.
Instead, Dracmus led Han straight to the closest and largest of the three waiting spacecraft. A spacecraft? Where the devil could they be taking him? Someplace else on Corellia, presumably, someplace far enough away that it would take too long to get to by tunnel. But where? And why?
Han took a closer look at the vehicle. He knew at a glance that it had not come out of any of the human-operated Corellian shipyards. It had to be that the Selonians had built it themselves. It was a small short-haul craft, definitely not capable of interstellar flight. It was a flattened cone shape about twenty meters high and twenty across. It was unusual in being a forward-flight-vertical craft. Most modern spacecraft were built like the Millennium Falcon, with the direction of forward flight horizontal to the landing jacks, with the pilot looking out the side of craft at liftoff. This bird had her forward viewports in the apex of the cone, so the pilot would be looking straight up during launch. The design was crude in many ways, but simple and effective. For one thing, the structural loading design was a lot simpler when thrust only came from one direction. The Falcon had to handle thrust-loads not only through the aft propulsion system, but through the landing-pad repulsors. That put a lot of stress on a vehicle—and the Falcon had not always been up to that stress. In any event, it was clear that the Selonians built more than their own runcarts and bullet trains.
While Han was looking over the ship, a hatch popped open about a meter and a half off the base, and a boarding ladder unfolded itself from inside the hatch and extended itself down to the ground. A peppery, energetic-looking Selonian climbed down the ladder and came over to Dracmus and Han. She grinned at Han, and gave a hissing laugh. “So this is the baldskin I’ve heard about,” she said in Selonian that was almost too fast for Han to follow. “Not much to look at, is she?”
“A he,” Dracmus said mildly. “This one is a male, young Salculd. And he has been through many a privation, many injuries, and much difficulty. That he is here to look at all says much about him.”
Han was more than a little surprised to hear Dracmus offer any praise of him. “Is most kind of you to saying so, honored Dracmus,” he said, in his somewhat labored Selonian.
Salculd looked at Han with her jaw half-opened, the Selonian equivalent of raised eyebrows. “She—he—can speak Home Talk! Or near enough, anyway. Very well, honored Dracmus. I will remember there is more here than is seen.” She turned toward Han. “Come along, you.”
Han looked toward Dracmus. “Salculd takes me?” he asked in Selonian. “You come not?”
“I must consult with—certain others—before I board the craft and we all depart. I shall join you soon. Pilot Salculd will—watch over you—while I am away.” Dracmus hesitated a moment, then spoke in rapid Basic, clearly intending that Han would understand an
d Salculd would not. “Our pilot is of an odd sept, and Selonian pilots are often strange,” she said. “She might act odd from time to time. Pay no attention, and don’t be alarmed.”
“Why don’t I find that comforting?” Han said.
“I really do not know, honored Solo. I shall rejoin you on the ship soon.” Dracmus gave a shallow bow to Han, and a deeper one to Salculd, then went on her way.
“What was that about?” Salculd asked in Selonian.
For some reason Han had already formed the impression that this Salculd was someone he could talk to. “She warned that you are little strange,” Han replied in the same language.
“Oh, that,” Salculd said. “They all think that. They like being underground, or where they can get inside if they need to. They don’t like the idea of space, that’s all. Come on aboard, ah—what did she call you?”
“She call me Solo. Han Solo. Friend call me Han.”
Salculd smiled and took the hint. “Then I’ll call you Han, and you can decide how odd I am. Come on aboard.”
Han followed Salculd up the boarding ladder and into the ship, looking at everything very closely. Even from the outside, there had been something home-built in the looks of the conical spacecraft, something rough-and-ready. The sight of the interior fittings only strengthened that impression. “Good ship,” Han said in Selonian and stretching the truth for the sake of diplomacy. He pointed to himself. “Am pilot, have own ship. Can you show me yours?”
Salculd cocked her head to one side and looked at Han quizzically. “You’re a pilot, huh? They never told me that. Sure, I’ll show you around.”
It was plain that Salculd didn’t quite believe Han’s claim to be a pilot. She wanted to test him, see if he knew what he was talking about. Han was more than glad to take up the challenge. He was willing to do anything that might give him more information. It only took a few minutes of asking the right questions, recognizing pieces of equipment, and making sympathetic noises concerning the problems of pilots everywhere—unreasonable passengers, bulky cargo, clumsy ground crew, and the like—for Han to convince Salculd of his bona fides. Once that point was established, there was no slowing Salculd down. She wanted to show Han everything, and Han did his best to be an appreciative audience.
Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia Page 21
