by Lou Anders
“That doesn’t make any—” he began to say, so I gave him a push, and he reluctantly squeezed his way under the huge shell on the back of the gastropod. He made many oomph and ooof noises, probably more than were necessary. And then his companion, the mighty Wookiee, followed. And let me tell you, getting a Wookiee to squeeze into a snail—not an easy thing! But finally it was done. Then I, Hondo, slipped under the shell.
It was cramped, yes, for the three of us but not impossibly so. And though there was a wet, mossy smell, it was not unduly unpleasant.
In fact, I was surprised to see it was quite bright. The shell was a very pretty, pearlescent pink on the inside, and the light from outside glowed through the permeable calcium carbonite of it.
We could feel the locomotion as the creature immediately began to move forward once I was out of its way.
“And on we go!” I said. We slid a few centimeters down the corridor.
“Riding to riches!” I added. A few more centimeters passed by in as many minutes.
“Though, of course,” I continued, “we are not riding very fast. We are in a snail, after all.”
Although the progress was excruciatingly slow, we did eventually return to the main thoroughfare. Through the thin walls of the shell, we could hear the buzz of so many conversations as people made their way into the Undervaults.
Then, rising above the babble of alien voices, I heard the squeal of children.
Suddenly, the gastropod rocked alarmingly. Shadows moved nearby, blocking our light. And the squealing laughter of the children was all around us.
Then we heard a drumming sound and saw the silhouettes of so many tiny hands slapping out discordant beats on the shell.
The Rodian children had returned. They were climbing all over our ride, laughing as they slid over the shell. And pounding, pounding, pounding. They were using us as a giant drum.
Boom-bubba-doom-bubba-doom-doom-doom-dum!
It was most undignified. And it echoed through the shell like we were in the horn of a giant instrument.
And the loud noise was driving the Wookiee crazy.
“EWUUUAUUUGHHHH,” he yelled.
The drumming paused for a minute at that. I heard the whisper of surprised children.
“Quiet, my friend,” I advised. “Remember, the snails do not make any noise that we have heard. Certainly they do not roar like Wookiees.”
“He’s right,” whispered Han. “Try to keep quiet there, buddy.”
But that was no good. The drumming started up again.
Thumpita-thumpita-thump! Boom-bubba-doom-bubba-doom-doom-doom-dum!
“EWUUUAUUUGHHHH,” Chewbacca roared again.
Again, the children fell quiet.
I looked at Solo.
“Snails do not shout,” I said.
He shrugged.
“Maybe this one does.”
Suddenly, a mouth pressed to the shell.
“Helloooo,” said a Rodian child, his voice reverberating terribly through our nautilus-shaped chamber. “Hellooooo, Mr. Snail. Anybody in there?”
Were we to be discovered so soon?
Solo gave me a disgusted look. Then he spoke close to the child.
“Yes,” he said.
We heard a sharp intake of breath. We heard some excited squeals and more laughter.
“It talks,” the child said in awe. “Hey, do you like kids, Mr. Snail?”
“I love them,” growled Solo. “I had three for breakfast.”
Well, the squealing took on a different tone then. But the drumming stopped. And then we heard cries of alarm and the sound of many little feet scurrying away.
“Well, my friend,” I said. “You certainly have a way with children. Perhaps it is a terrible way, but it is a way nonetheless.”
“Hey, they’re gone, aren’t they?” Solo replied.
“Rrrwwgg,” agreed Chewbacca, relieved that the drumming had stopped. He put a finger where I think his ear must have been and shook his head to chase away the headache.
Thankfully, the rest of our journey was uneventful. It took us a few more minutes, and then the snail passed through the barrier. We did not feel anything different, but the noise of conversation fell away instantly to be replaced with that hollow silence you always find in a bank or an abandoned starship or maybe a Jedi temple or a library. (Obviously, I have spent more time in the first two of these places than the other two, but I know what they are and I have an excellent imagination.)
“Let me stick a head out and see if it is safe to disembark,” I said. Then there was some awkward turnings around, with ungrateful cries of “Get your foot out of my face” and such, and then I was peeking out of the shell. The corridor we found ourselves occupying was thankfully empty, so we slipped out. And it was easier getting out than getting in, though we were left a little slimier for the effort. Solo made a face as he wiped his hand on his jacket. But Chewbacca looked very slick and glistening. Perhaps sub-subterranean gastropod gel agreed with Wookiee hair. I made a note to ask him later. There could be some small profit to be made one day from importing hair product to Kashyyyk.
But that was an undertaking for another time. We were in the famous Undervaults.
Ah, the Undervaults.
They were not like the rounded, ribbed tunnels of the spaceport. No, everything there had been made to appear big and imposing, with hard angles and straight lines, shining stone and gleaming metal. It was all meant to say, This is a very safe place. If you are even thinking the tiniest little bit about stealing anything from here, well, you had better be thinking of something else, let me tell you that. Because it’s not going to work, no. If that’s not exactly what the architect had in mind when they designed the place, well, it’s pretty close.
But of course, we were thinking of stealing something—Novian rubies—before it was stolen from us!
Unfortunately, in addition to being big and imposing, the Undervaults were also vast and sprawling. The tunnels went everywhere. They were a repository of gargantuan proportion. They could hide away a galaxy’s worth of treasures. And they did! Oh, how I itched to know what was stored in each and every single chamber we passed. Think of the riches! Think of the wonders! Yet all of them were tantalizingly out of reach. We had one goal, one chance at wealth. If we were lucky. If we were fast.
“We should split up and look for Mahjo separately,” I said. “We can cover more ground that way. Or should I say, cover more underground.”
Solo fixed me with a decidedly untrusting eye.
“You think I’m letting you out of my sight,” he said. “You’re just as much a double-crosser as Mahjo.”
I placed a palm to my heart.
“You wound me terribly, Han Solo,” I said.
“Are you going to deny it?”
“What? No. Oh, it is true all right. But in this you can trust me.” I looked Chewbacca in the eye. I owed the Wookiee, and he knew it. And I had my pirate’s honor.
“Your friend will tell you whether or not you can trust me,” I said to Solo. And then I turned and walked away.
When they did not follow, I knew that Chewbacca had vouched for me. So we split up to search for Mahjo.
I do not have the Force, but one does not live long in my profession unless one has a pirate’s luck. And that day it meant good fortune, because it was I who found Mahjo Reeloo first.
She was in conversation with a clerk, who was ushering her to a wing of the Undervaults where signs proclaimed that the smaller safety-deposit boxes were kept there.
I walked behind them, trying to look nonchalant and inconspicuous. Yes, I admit, I tend to walk with a bit of swagger, but Hondo can be sneaky-sneaky when it suits him. And right then it suited me.
The clerk led Mahjo to a large room where the floor was covered in circular pits.
Just at the entrance, there was a little table with a round blue tray offering jogan fruit tarts. Of course I helped myself to a few. And let me say that they were very tasty, in case
you were wondering.
Just then, a trio of Kyuzo walked past me. One of them turned and gave me a suspicious stare. I returned a wide and friendly smile. The Kyuzo narrowed his eyes. Did I look so shady? I do not know. But I do know from personal experience just how ferocious the Kyuzo can be, and I had no desire to provoke one.
“Jogan tart?” I said, waving a hand at the tray. “They are very fresh.”
Rudely, the Kyuzo turned away without even a reply. What has happened to common courtesy, I ask you? But no matter—I had much more important things to worry about just then than the sad decline of manners in the galaxy.
Because suddenly, Mahjo began to turn around. I could not let her see me! But in the open space of the large room, there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
Quickly, I snatched the tray from the table, heedlessly spilling jogan tarts across the floor. I swept the tray up over my head, ducking so my face was covered. Then I fell in line behind the Kyuzo, hoping that the upturned tray would look like the wide-brimmed war helmet these fierce warriors favor.
It must have worked, because Mahjo shrugged off whatever instinct had made her look around and continued with the clerk.
The last Kyuzo in the group noticed me.
“Are you sure you won’t have a jogan tart?” I asked him, offering the empty tray. “Oh, look, they are all gone now. Oh, well, it is your loss. You sleep, you weep, as they say.”
He grunted and rudely brushed me back. But I was not upset. My deception had worked.
And I saw that Mahjo had accompanied the clerk to a spot that was roughly in the middle of the room. As I followed, I passed the first of the circular pits. I glanced down. The walls of the pit were ringed entirely with black and shiny safety-deposit boxes. They went down as far as I could see, disappearing in the distance below. But there was a turbolift with a short guardrail hovering half a meter or so below the edge of the pit.
The next pit I passed was in use. Way, way, way below, I saw a little blue Narquois opening a box. As I watched, she looked up and glared at me, holding her hand over whatever personal treasure she was placing in there.
I waved to show her I intended no harm. She could keep her secrets; I had bigger burra fish to fry. Then I continued on my way.
The clerk was assisting Mahjo as she stepped alone onto the turbolift of the central pit. It lowered instantly, and I watched as her head dropped below ground level. Her duty done, the clerk immediately turned to walk away.
I needed to act fast.
I broke into a run.
Just then, I saw the long neck of a Kaminoan rise out of an adjacent pit. That caught my eye because you never heard much about the Kaminoans after the Clone Wars. I wondered what this one was up to, and if any of them still practiced their cloning profession.
But I had no time to inquire.
Reaching the edge of the pit and glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention, I leapt.
And I landed with a whump next to Mahjo.
I set the turbolift rocking. We both steadied ourselves on the guardrails.
“Hello,” I said. “I imagine you are surprised to see me.”
She nodded. And then she scowled.
And then she gave me a push.
I was shoved right off the turbolift.
I hung in the air for a moment, arms flailing.
And then I was falling.
This was it.
I was falling to my death.
Just as they say happens, my whole life flashed before my eyes.
And yes, I admit, it was very entertaining viewing. But having been through this a few times that day already, I was wondering if we could just skip to the good bits.
But nonetheless there we were, at the terminus of Hondo Ohnaka’s wonderful, exciting career as a dashing buccaneer of the spaceways. The end.
And then…
It wasn’t the end.
No, I was saved.
At the last possible instant, Mahjo Reeloo reached out and grabbed me. And she pulled me right back onto that turbolift.
I was relieved.
I was surprised.
But mostly I was relieved.
I clapped my hands to my chest.
“I am not dead!” I exclaimed. “This is the second or third time I have not died since I crash-landed on Gwongdeen. What a good day this is turning out to be!”
Mahjo looked at me, surprise on her face.
“You’re excited?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Why shouldn’t I be? I have been saved from certain death. That is something to be excited about indeed. And do not think I am not appreciative to you for catching me. Young woman, you have my sincere thanks.”
Well, at those words, the confusion on her face only deepened.
“But—but I was the one who shoved you,” she stammered. “It was my fault you were falling to begin with.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” I replied, waving away her concern. “You shoved me. You caught me. You see, it was the order in which you did it that made the difference. If you had caught me first and shoved me second, it would have been another story, and I would be more upset with you. Well, I would have been dead. But I would have been upset for a moment first. It’s these little details that matter most, you know. But you do bring up a good point. Tell me, Mahjo, why did you catch me? Although I am of course grateful, it does not seem to have been such a wise move on your part.”
She looked over the guardrail, down, down, down into the pit. Then she turned to me with pain in her eyes.
“I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I’m not…I’m not…”
“Not a killer, no. You have a heart, my friend, and it is not an evil one. You are not a murderer.”
“I tried to be.”
“Tried and could not do,” I said. “You are simply not the scoundrel you led us to believe you were. I did not think you were.”
“When did you know?”
“My dear,” I said, “it has been obvious to me that you are not very long in this outlaw life. I don’t know what reasons have compelled you to try this walk on the wild side, but I don’t think the life of a criminal suits you.” When she didn’t choose to explain, I continued. “It stung, you know.”
“I was only doing what I had to,” said Mahjo. “I promise you it wasn’t personal.”
“Personal?” I said. “Do you think that I am talking about my feelings? No. I mean the zappy-zappy thing stung. Have you ever been shocked? It hurts. Now I know why people scream so much when I do it to them. Perhaps I should dial it down in future.”
“I thought you were talking about—”
“The double cross? Of course not. My dear, I admire you for that. It was worthy of Hondo himself. But next time you double-cross me, please find another way and do it without the zappity-zap. And now I will be taking the key, if you please.”
Mahjo stiffened as I made a grab for the key, which was clutched in her hand. She moved it away from me as I pretended to snatch for it. And with her attention traveling elsewhere, it was easy to get what I was really after.
But then the turbolift stopped with the slightest of jolts.
Mahjo gave me an uncertain look.
“You still have the key,” I said. “And we are here together. So open the safety-deposit box that we have come so far to reach, and let us see these Novian rubies.”
She hesitated a moment more, then sighed.
“Very well,” she said.
I stood just beside Mahjo.
She selected the right box, inserted the key.
The shiny black drawer slid open.
I peered over the lip of the drawer, expecting a galaxy of riches.
Instead, I saw some old datacards. Some cheap jewelry. A small keepsake holo of a woman, probably someone once dear to Jayyar. Maybe his sweet mama.
But no Novian rubies whatsoever.
I was dumbfounded.
“Where are the jewels?” I said. “Where ar
e my red, red riches? I don’t understand. Why would you double-cross us for a box of useless junk? Where are the Novian rubies?”
“There aren’t any,” said Mahjo. And I recognized the utter lack of surprise in her voice. Then I knew that she never thought there were. She had lied about the contents of the box. There was never treasure there.
“No rubies,” I said bitterly. “This is a terrible disappointment. Ah, you should have let me fall instead of giving such unwelcome news. This is a bad, bad day for Hondo.”
Mahjo didn’t answer.
Instead I watched as she slipped something from her sleeve into the box.
I only got a quick glance, but the object was shaped like a little egg, only it was made of a sleek black material and had a blinking light on the side.
I wondered what it did and why she had put it there.
Before I could examine it further, she slid the box closed.
“We have to go now,” she said.
“I was promised Novian rubies,” I replied.
“And there aren’t any,” she said. “I know. You’re angry.”
“Let us say that my disappointment currently knows no bounds. Also, I require an explanation. A good one. Then we will see if I am also angry.”
“I understand,” said Mahjo sadly. “And whatever you do to me after this doesn’t matter. But we have to go now. Do you understand? First we go. Then I’ll accept whatever consequences you want.”
And she activated the turbolift so it began once again to ascend. And as we rose up, up, up, I thought she looked as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders. That was funny—not in a ha-ha way, but in a curious way—because I had caught her, and yet she seemed relieved. I wondered then what the real reason for the rush had been. The rush to get there, and now this rush to leave. Certainly it was not to steal datacards and cheap jewelry. Not for a hologram of someone’s mama. And we did not even steal those. There was something else at play, but I was too upset about not being insanely wealthy to work out exactly what.
“I must say, this does not sit well with me,” I said. “It is a great waste—sneaking our way into such a protected institution, and to leave with nothing to show for it. If word of this got out, how my reputation would suffer!”
