Star Wars: Millennium Falcon Read online

  The medical center was on Nar Shaddaa.

  The images that ignited in his mind drove him back into Sompa's ample chair.

  He and Reeze had jumped the Stellar Envoy to Nar Shaddaa! The YT had sustained damage. All systems were down. The ship was streaking into the planet's envelope on a collision course with a bulk freighter. They had hurried aft into the escape pod. The YT had suddenly powered up and veered. But too late: they had jettisoned the pod—almost directly into the mammoth ship's V-shaped hull—

  Fresh as yesterday, the images assaulted his mind and body, accelerating the beat of his heart and drenching him in sweat. When he finally could, he began to pick the images apart.

  They had jumped into hyperspace at Coruscant, on the heels of the battle in which Palpatine had been held hostage. But preceding a chase to the stars and a hasty jump to hyperspace, they had been a downside … at the Senate Annex.

  Meeting with members of the Republic Group.

  Senators Des'sein, Largetto, and Fang Zar.

  Jadak pivoted to Sompa's computer. State-of-the-art, it would have outwitted Jadak's best attempts to slice into the files it contained, but he knew enough to gain access to the HoloNet. Conjuring an image of the white-bearded Senator from Sern Prime, he used it as one would a meditation aid, to prompt recollection.

  A Jedi was present at the meeting.

  A Kadas'sa'Nikto Jedi who had installed something in the Envoy …

  “Right!” Jadak said aloud.

  The Senators had wanted him to deliver the Envoy to one of their allies on Toprawa!

  Jadak recalled his disappointment. After all his years of service, he had been asked to surrender the ship he loved to a stranger. But there had been something of great importance at stake … something that had to do with restoring the Republic.

  No.

  With restoring Republic honor …

  He had asked the Senators about the phrase. And they had provided an answer.

  Jadak stared at the 3-D image of Fang Zar.

  And slowly the Senators' words bubbled to the surface:

  Think of the ship as a key—the key to a treasure. A treasure sufficient to restore Republic honor to the galaxy.

  He pulled the computer toward him, practically into his lap.

  A search on the name Stellar Envoy returned hundreds of hits, but none of the entries coincided with a YT-1300 freighter. Navigating his way into Nar Shaddaa's subnet, he requested data on air and space collisions that had occurred in the year of his accident.

  Suddenly there it was, staring him in the face in green holotext: a brief report of a collision between two Corellian ships—one, a bulk freighter named the Jendirian Valley III; the other, a ‘25 YT-1300 freighter. Both pilots were presumed to have died in the crash, but the ship had survived and been claimed by salvagers.

  The ship that was now a key to the puzzle his life had become had survived.

  There was no telling for how long, but Jadak had a starting point—and pursuing the ship was worth whatever risks he would be forced to take.

  “ONE HUNDRED AND TEN THOUSAND.”

  “Lord Oxic bid'sa hundred ten thoussand. Do'sa we hear ten-five?”

  “One hundred ten thousand five hundred,” someone in the back of the room said.

  Lestra Oxic turned in his seat and looked over his shoulder. The rival bidder was a Bith sporting a stylishly embroidered headcloth, his handheld identity screen displaying nothing more than a number.

  “Eleven thousand,” Oxic said, displaying his screen while he swung to face the auctioneer's podium.

  “We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred eleven thoussand. Do'sa we hear twelve?”

  The guest auctioneer was a Gungan clothed in a long embroidered robe and celebrated for his rapid-fire delivery; the item up for bid, a small statue that had once graced the northwest atrium of Coruscant's Galactic Courts of Justice. A rare and valuable piece, as all examples of Republicana had become since the Yuuzhan Vong had devastated half the galaxy almost twenty years earlier.

  “One hundred and twelve,” the same Bith said, drawing excited inhales from the mixed-species audience of one hundred or so bidders.

  Oxic immediately raised his screen above his head. “One hundred twelve-five.”

  Hydians, as the auction house was known, was itself a prime example of Republicana, studded with elegant columns and floored in the finest polished stone. Originally it had sat at the center of Sah'ot on Chandrila, but two years into the Yuuzhan Vong invasion a team of architects and construction engineers supervising an army of flesh-and-blood and droid laborers had worked feverishly to disassemble the building piece by piece and ship it to Epica, which, as hoped by those who had funded the undertaking and despite its natural beauty, had proved too remote and insignificant to attract the attention of the invaders. Many of the beings responsible for the building's relocation and tedious reassembly had remained onworld after the conclusion of the war, and had since raised opulent palaces and mansions in the forested hills that embraced the spaceport, in the process transforming Epica's once nondescript principal city into a place of privilege and sophistication. Transformed, too, was the native population of humans, Bothans, Duros, and Bimms, who now served to satisfy the increasing needs of the wealthy who had co-opted their planet.

  “We'sa stil'la waitin' for a bid'o one hundred thirteen thoussand,” the auctioneer was saying.

  Oxic pivoted in his chair to regard the Bith, this time through a pair of compact alumabronze macrobinoculars. In his free hand, the being from the Clak'dor system was holding an expensive comlink.

  “One hundred thirteen thousand,” the Bith said.

  “One hundred fourteen,” a woman seated a few rows in front of the Bith countered. Oxic recognized her from past auctions as an employee of the Trouvee family, which owned a gambling complex on Oseon VII.

  “One fourteen-five,” the Bith responded.

  Oxic squirmed in his seat. Unusually tall for a human, he had a flawless, clean-shaven face that belied his advanced age. His narrow frame bordered on the skeletal and his hands and feet were unnaturally long, yet his custom wardrobe was cut in a way that emphasized his delicate thinness and contributed to an overall impression of his being larger than life. A force of nature.

  He knew just the spot for the small figurine: atop the fluted pedestal from 500 Republica that stood alongside his office desk. But he hadn't planned on paying more than 114,000 for it—the piece was somewhat overvalued even at 113,000—and certainly not when other items on the block would suffice. Still, the statue was hard to resist.

  “One hundred and fifteen thousand,” he said, taking himself by surprise.

  When he turned, he saw the Bith whispering into his comlink, then listening to whoever was at the other end of the link.

  “One hundred and seventeen.”

  The crowd gasped and Oxic's shoulders sagged. He resisted an urge to look at the Bith.

  “We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred seventeen thoussand,” the Gungan said in excitement. “Will'sa any'say eighteen? How'sa 'bout seventeen-five?” He waited a moment. “One hundred seventeen'sa goin' once … 'sa goin' twice …” His mallet struck the podium with a resounding thock! “Sold to bidder six-three-seven!”

  Nearly everyone applauded.

  A Falleen stepped to the podium. “The next item up for auction is number seventy-one-dash-zero-zero in the catalog—a chandelier from the principal dining room of Ralltiir's Darpa Hotel. Made of electrum, the piece has undergone substantial restoration but is fully provenanced. The piece has a suggested opening bid of …”

  Oxic stopped listening and turned his attention to the exquisitely designed holocatalog. Items from Ralltiir were of no interest to him, Republicana or no. Some beings were fascinated by items from Alderaan or Naboo; others with Hutt artifacts. But Coruscant was and would remain the focus of his collection, and his obsession. He was advancing through the catalog when Koi Quire slid effortlessly into the adjacent seat he had hel
d for her.

  “How was the trip?” he asked.

  “Uneventful. A pity you lost the statue.”

  Oxic cut his eyes to the Bith. “I'd like to know who he's representing.”

  “We can find out.”

  “Yes, by all means, let's do that.”

  With Firrerreos on the brink of extinction, Koi Quire was herself a collectible, rare as any of the pieces up for auction. She had come to Oxic's law firm fifteen years earlier, following the Yuuzhan Vong's success in turning Belderone's native population against the displaced Firrerreos it had once welcomed, and had instantly become an invaluable asset. Her innate powers of intuition were unmatched, and often her mere presence in a courtroom was enough to sway a jury. Aware of the peculiarities of Firrerreon culture, Oxic had never asked to know her real name and Koi had never volunteered it, though he believed she trusted he would never have made use of the knowledge to secure her allegiance.

  “Standing room only,” she said, taking in the room.

  “More and more with every auction.” Oxic sighed. “We have Chief of State Daala to thank for it. Her leadership of the GA has resulted in a resurgence of interest in late Republicana and early Imperial artifacts. As a speculator, one can't go wrong. But the serious collector suffers for it.”

  “Then I have news that may cheer you up,” she said softly. “Your investment is on the move.”

  Oxic tensed in excitement but managed to keep his voice conspiratorial. “Where is he?”

  “Headed to Nar Shaddaa—on the new legs you paid for, and using Core Life's indemnity payment.”

  “His memory has returned?”

  “Presumably, since he didn't bother to check out of Aurora or wait for an official discharge. Sompa followed instructions and allowed him to pay a midnight visit to his office. He managed to deactivate surveillance using a code we think he picked up from Ril Bezant.”

  “The psychotherapist?”

  “During a session in her office, she briefly turned off the cams, either in the interest of earning Jadak's trust or to provide him with the code in the belief he would take matters into his own hands. He has a way, in any case.”

  Oxic inclined his head in interest. “Don't tell me—”

  “He wanted to show me around Aurora.”

  “Why did you decline?”

  “He was already suspicious about the insurance policy. I decided there might be some benefit to keeping him agitated. By the time I left he was ready to bite my head off.”

  “Your insight appears to have served us well.”

  “He didn't bother checking Sompa's office for redundant cams. Or maybe at that point he didn't care about being watched. He used Sompa's computer to execute a number of searches and requests, and discovered a Nar Shaddaa Holonet reference to the collision.”

  “Clever. But why would he opt to go to Nar Shaddaa? Surely Palpatine's opponents wouldn't have cached the treasure there.”

  Quire shrugged. “It could be that he's looking for additional information regarding the death of his copilot, Reeze.”

  Oxic shook his head. “Jadak wouldn't need to go all the way to Nar Shaddaa for that.”

  “Then perhaps he's hoping to pick up his life where it left off.”

  Oxic considered it. “I suggest we collect him.”

  “So soon?”

  “I don't want to risk involving others in this matter.”

  “There's always a chance of that.”

  “Direct Cynner to attend to it.”

  Quire frowned. “Are you certain he's the one for this? My inclination would be to use someone more judicious. Gomman, perhaps.”

  “He is safeguarding our star witness for the trade case.”

  “The Colicoid? What did Gomman do to warrant that assignment?”

  “It's simply a matter of his having a high tolerance for bugs.”

  Quire nodded. “I'll let Cynner know.”

  Oxic reclined in his seat. The next round of bidding was about to begin.

  It was soon after he and Chewbacca returned from the Corporate Sector and began running spice for Jabba the Hutt that the Millennium Falcon started behaving erratically. One moment the ship would outperform herself and complete the Kessel Run in record time; the next, she would develop glitches in the worst possible situations, almost as if she were intent on drawing Imperial attention or involving him and Chewie in the Rebellion. He wondered if the Falcon's unpredictability owed to the fact that—part by necessity, part by design—he had transformed the onetime freighter into a well-armed warship.

  The lost barrels of glitterstim spice that had earned them the enmity of Jabba wasn't the first cargo they had been forced to jettison in those days leading to the trip to Tatooine. For a time it appeared that Imperial tariff vessels were lurking on the dark side of every planet they passed or approached. It got so they had had to affix trackers to the loads before a run, just to ensure being able to recover them after dumping them and submitting to a search. But he always thought the Falcon had seemed peeved at having to partake in those missions.

  Even the return to the Death Star after leaving Yavin 4 had seemed as much the Falcon's idea as Chewbacca's. Of course, it was sheer lunacy to think that a ship could think for herself or know right from wrong—even one equipped with a trio of droid brains that rarely agreed on anything. But the Falcon could be willful in that way, stubborn about going where he pointed her. And look what the about-face had led to. Aside from saving Luke's hide and thus being indirectly responsible for the destruction of the Emperor's superweapon, the Falcon had effectively enrolled him and Chewie in the Rebel Alliance.

  But the Falcon had saved her finest act for later in the game, breaking down shortly before the forced evacuation of Hoth and seeing to it that he and Leia were thrown together for the slow trip to Bespin. True, he had been falling in love with Leia since their first encounter in a Death Star cell block, but their private time in sublight cinched it for him.

  His own high opinion of himself wouldn't let him credit the Falcon for actually bringing them together, or for playing any real role in their courtship and eventual marriage. But he always thought that the ship deserved the equivalent of a Corellian Bloodstripe, not only for her actions during the Rebellion, but for helping to steer him into Leia's life and heart.

  HAN, LEIA, ALLANA, AND C-3PO GAPED AT THE CROWD OF BEINGS and droids assembled near the foot of the Falcon's boarding ramp.

  “Lando,” Han said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Leia nodded. “He must have commed ahead.”

  “So much for trying to blend in.”

  “It never would have worked anyway.” She sighed. “I just wish I had dressed more appropriately.”

  “You look great.”

  She smiled at him. “Then I wish you'd worn something more appropriate.”

  A male Lutrillian dressed like a Republic-era opera extra separated himself from the welcome committee. “Oseon Seven extends a heartfelt welcome to the esteemed Solo family,” he announced with a courtly bow.

  “Thank you,” Leia said, speaking for everyone. “This is completely unexpected.”

  “And unnecessary,” Han muttered.

  “I am See-Threepio,” the droid said, descending the Falcon's ramp.

  The Lutrillian inclined his large head. “Welcome, See-Threepio.” He turned to Han. “Is this your first visit, sir?”

  “First time.”

  “Then we hope Oseon Seven will live up to its reputation.”

  Han laughed shortly. “It already has.”

  The planet's sprawling and frenetic spaceport swarmed with ships of all sizes and descriptions, from the most expensive yachts to shuttles crammed with tourists from worlds along the Perlemian Trade Route, ferried downside from the cruise ships in synchronous orbits. But spaceport control had directed the Falcon to put down in a spotless and spacious docking bay far from the principal terminals and customs areas. Inbound, Han had noted that a skyhook was under construc
tion.

  “Is there luggage, Captain Solo?” the Lutrillian said.

  Han indicated the Falcon with a nod of his head. “In the ship.”

  “May I instruct our droids to fetch your bags?”

  “Uh, our droid will do it.” Han glanced at C-3PO, who turned and climbed the ramp without comment.

  An absurdly long repulsor limo floated into the docking bay.

  “Is that for us?” Allana asked Leia.

  “I'm afraid so, sweetie.”

  She whispered: “That's even bigger than my mom's!”

  “We have already had you cleared through immigration and customs,” the Lutrillian said. “The pilot will convey you directly to the resort by way of tunnels reserved for our special guests. Is there any service you wish done to your ship while you're onworld—washing, refueling, or routine maintenance?”

  “No,” Han said firmly. “The ship is off-limits.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  The rear doors of the limo began to elevate. When C-3PO emerged from the ship toting three small bags, Han raised the ramp and enabled the Falcon's security system.

  “There is space in the cargo compartment for your droid, as well,” the Lutrillian said.

  “In the cargo compartment?” C-3PO said in distress.

  Han grinned. “That's all right, he can ride with us.”

  “Thank you, Captain Solo.”

  Han shoved C-3PO gently into the rear of the limo. “Don't say I never do anything for you.”

  Smoothly and quietly, the repulsor limo exited the docking bay and disappeared into a broad tunnel.

  Allana slumped in the seat, disappointed. “I wanted to see the Ribbon.”

  “We will,” Leia said, patting her on the knee. “After we check into our room.”

  Han decided he was fine with going straight to the hotel. Normally he and Leia traveled incognito, but what sense did it make to pretend to be someone else when they'd come to Oseon VII to peel back a layer of the Falcon's history? What's more, it would only be a matter of time before tourists on the Ribbon recognized them. Although on Oseon VII they could probably claim to be celebrity impersonators and get away with it.