Star Wars: Millennium Falcon Page 15

  “And few have the longevity you've purchased. What does it matter how you look?”

  He glanced at her reflection in the mirrpanel. “I'm not a Hutt. I've a public face to uphold. I can't be expected to win cases against young lawyers if I look like a crippled old human.”

  She handed him the drink glass, and he carried it to the couch.

  “Sompa is a fool. I shouldn't have agreed to his plan. If he had told Jadak the truth about the accident or forced Jadak's memories to surface, we could have simply taken him into custody at Aurora. Instead we've given him a mystery to unravel, another mission to execute.” He looked at Quire. “Is he still on Nar Shaddaa?”

  “We don't know.”

  Oxic swung to her. “Don't tell me we've lost him.”

  She motioned in a calming way. “Nar Shaddaa isn't what it used to be. He won't be able to get offworld without our knowing it.”

  Oxic stood up and paced away from the couch. “Do we know anything at all?”

  “Spaceport security cams captured images of the airspeeder in which he escaped, along with images of the speeder's owner. The vehicle's virttags are forged, but we were able to match the owner's face. His name is Flitcher Poste, a canyon orphan. He has a record of committing minor offenses and has spent time in various detention centers on Nar Shaddaa.” Quire dug a data device from her purse. “Want to see him?”

  “Why would I?”

  “Because I have a suspicion that Poste and Jadak are now partners.”

  Oxic took a moment to respond. “Is there some prior connection?”

  “Nothing has emerged. But I thought there might be, so I ordered Cynner to find Poste on the off chance he could lead us to Jadak. Poste wasn't hard to find or to follow—for a time, at any rate.”

  “You lost him, too?”

  “Poste spent a day or so visiting different starship garages, asking questions about mechanics who would have been in business sixty years ago.”

  Oxic absorbed it. “When Jadak had his accident.”

  “I think he's looking for his old ship—the Stellar Envoy.” Quire waited for Oxic to sit down. “We were unsuccessful at eavesdropping on Poste's comms, but we picked up enough to know that a meeting took place in a tapcaf in the Corellian Sector.”

  “With Jadak?”

  Quire nodded. “But we only learned that after the fact, by visiting cantinas and showing their images around. Jadak and Poste met with an old human someone identified as a mechanic who works for Black Sun.”

  Oxic stared at her. “Black Sun?”

  “I don't think there's a connection. This is all about finding the Envoy.” She held his nervous gaze. “Did Senator Des'sein say anything that led you to believe the ship would play a pivotal role in this?”

  Oxic thought back to the deathbed exchange he had had with his old friend and client. One of the more vocal of the two thousand Senators who had banded together to oppose the strong measures Palpatine had taken before and during the Clone Wars, Des'sein was also a member of a clandestine organization that called itself the Republic Group. The group had unmasked traitors in the Senate by following the credits that flowed from Coruscant to weapons manufacturers and starship-building companies throughout the galaxy. Following Palpatine's proclamation of his Empire, many members of the Republic Group had disappeared or been killed. Des'sein had survived, though not as a politician but a business consultant, during which time his friendship with Oxic had flourished. Privy to all his dealings, Oxic had drawn up Des'sein's will and had been present at the marriage of Des'sein's daughter. When the ravages of a congenital disease had finally caught up with his old friend, Oxic had journeyed to Coruscant from Epica to be at his bedside.

  That was when Des'sein had whispered the secret.

  Fearing that Palpatine would one day proclaim himself Emperor, the Republic Group had hidden a treasure on a remote world—a treasure they hoped would be sufficient to restore the Republic. And the key to locating that treasure was a former pilot for the Republic Group named Tobb Jadak, who had disappeared just days before the end of the war in a '25 YT-1300 freighter called the Stellar Envoy.

  Others knew of the hidden treasure and had been actively seeking it, but only Oxic had Jadak's name. Even so, the name hadn't amounted to much of a lead until shortly after the Battle of Endor, when documents belonging to onetime Imperial Intelligence Director Armand Isard had come into Oxic's possession. Kept from Isard's daughter, who wound up being Armand's successor and executioner, the documents contained a brief mention of the Stellar Envoy, which had been pursued from Coruscant by clone pilots following the battle there. The clones had been unable to keep up with the Envoy, but had logged the coordinates of the freighter's jump to hyperspace. After a year of investigating possible destinations, Oxic had discovered not only that the Stellar Envoy had jumped to Nar Shaddaa, but also that Tobb Jadak had survived a collision there—though in a coma that had already endured for more than twenty years.

  At great personal expense, Oxic had had Jadak moved to the Aurora Medical Facility and had installed a young neurosurgeon named Sompa to oversee his care and possible recovery, which had required another forty years.

  “Des'sein told me that Jadak was the key,” Oxic said finally.

  “Could he have hidden something aboard the Envoy?” Quire said. “Or could the ship actually know something about the location of the treasure that Jadak doesn't know?”

  Oxic shot to his feet once more. “We should have put a locator on him.”

  “Sompa wouldn't hear of it.”

  “Sompa, Sompa,” Oxic said, whirling. “I'm sick of hearing that name.”

  She smiled tolerantly. “Only until your next visit to Aurora for treatments.”

  He sighed. “Perhaps you know me better than I know myself.”

  “Sometimes it takes two imperfect beings to make one perfect one.”

  As if unaware he was still holding the star map crystal's small remote, Oxic began to thumb the activating button on and off, on and off, on and off.

  AS HAD BECOME A HABIT DURING MOMENTS OF TEDIUM OR PREOCCUPATION, Han, wearing a fake beard and wig, reached absently into his pant pocket for the archaic transponder and began to turn it about in his hand, sliding his thumb along the T-shaped device's seamless surface, hefting it as though in an attempt to ascertain its weight in lieu of being able to divine its enigmatic purpose.

  If they had bothered to time their arrival on Taris, they would have been able to meet with Vistal Purn the previous day. But now the onetime owner of the Millennium Falcon and former manager of the Molpol Circus was engaged in overseeing the judging of creatures vying for titles in Sok Brok's Fiftieth Annual Pet Show.

  Any meeting with Purn would have to wait until after the prizes had been handed out.

  A dozen rows forward of where he sat with Leia, Allana, and C-3PO, hundreds of pets accompanied by their owners or handlers were parading around the arena floor, strutting their stuff for groups of judges in the hope of being crowned most ferocious in species or ugliest in show. As far as Han could determine, the contests had little to do with talent or skill, other than whatever ability it took to prance with poise, grovel with grace, or stalk with style. In a galaxy where so many species had evolved to sentience, the very notion of keeping a pet struck Han as absurd, and yet in even the most far-flung star systems you'd find beings who doted on their miniature nagaths and toy moings more than they did their own offspring. Sometimes it was merely pathetic, and often it was downright comical. Especially at Sok Brok's, where it wasn't unusual to encounter an arachnoid Critokian walking a leashed bipedal ornuk, or a sanus feline leashed to a canine-faced Dug half its size. Sometimes the owner was more exotic looking than his or her pet; and sometimes the pets made the owners look as if they had yet to reach an evolutionary stage where sentience was a guarantee.

  In one of the arena's many competition areas stood a Shistavanen who looked far more ferocious than the fanged-and-clawed anooba he was showing
. Closer still was a Sauvax who would have looked better as the main course on a waterworld than the bred-for-food beast with whom she was partnered. The bushy-maned Calibop behind the Sauvax looked better suited for flight than the scantily feathered reptavian perched on his shoulder.

  Han had sat patiently through the awards for ugliest in rodent, marsupial, and reptilian, but he knew he had reached his limit the moment Gands and other insectoid owners began appearing on the arena floor with their bandara beetles and scorplans. The sheer repulsiveness of the pets they walked raised every hair on the back of his neck.

  Allana, on the other hand, was mostly fascinated. From the start she had evinced a great empathy for animals and other creatures, even the ones Han considered repulsive. She had that in common with her father.

  C-3PO used to entertain you with tales from The Little Lost Bantha Cub. He took you and Jaina on outings to zoos and game habitats. You escaped him once, ventured deep into one of Coruscant's murkiest and most dangerous canyons—

  Han tried to derail his train of thought, but failed.

  You were kidnapped by Hethrir. You rescued your mother from captivity by Warmaster Tsavong Lah. You watched your brother die, and were tortured by Vergere. You killed Onimi. You spent five years learning from Force-users throughout the galaxy and returned a changed person.

  How could you have grown into what you became? Once my dear son, later so unrecognizable it hurt to admit that I'd fathered you, let alone raised you. How did I allow you to grow away from me, so far out of reach, so distant, so bound up in your own beliefs of what constituted right and wrong you drove even the Jedi against you? Did your ambition pass to your daughter? Did she inherit your susceptibility along with your curiosity, your weaknesses along with your strengths? Will she, too, be lured by false promises and unattainable goals? How closely do we need to watch her, Jacen? Or is she a benign alternative to the future you once represented?

  Han clenched his hands and inhaled a stuttering breath.

  I want to be able to forgive you …

  Han felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to Allana. “What's up, Short Cake?”

  “Can we get a treat?”

  Han smiled. “I thought you'd never ask.”

  “Captain Solo,” C-3PO said, “I would be only too happy to escort—”

  “Uh-uh. You stay here and keep Leia company.” Han gestured broadly to the arena floor. “Pick out the breed you like and I'll think about buying one for you.” He looked past C-3PO to Leia, whose eyes were hidden behind tinted glasses and whose long hair was concealed under a short-haired wig. “We're going to the concession stand.”

  “Bring me a Bama Bar.”

  “Will do.” Han took Allana by the hand and led her to the aisle. “Shoulder ride?”

  “Yes!”

  He threw her gently up onto his shoulders, her legs dangling around his neck. She had extraordinary balance. He liked that she was a real kid. He and Leia had promised each other that their next kid wouldn't be a Jedi, and Han had been thrilled to learn that Allana would not be attending the Jedi academy.

  The lobby swarmed with customers. He set her down on the tiled floor.

  “What do you want?”

  “Whipped treat.”

  “Single or double?”

  “Double?” she said shyly.

  Han grinned. “Does Leia want a regular Bama Bar or one with blumfruit?”

  Allana closed her eyes. “Um … with blumfruit.”

  “Coming right up.”

  In line ahead of Han were two interesting-looking beings. A Yinchorri and a … Tintinna, Allana decided, proud of herself.

  As Han was ordering at the counter, Allana caught sight of an even more peculiar creature all the way on the other side of the lobby. Just about her height, the animal had long, floppy ears and two big feet and was wearing a vest like Han sometimes wore and carrying a small cane like Uncle Lando used to carry. The curious thing was that the creature seemed to be staring at her, like it wanted her to follow it. When it started to launch itself from the lobby on those two big feet, Allana couldn't help herself: she had to see where it was going, or at least get a closer look at it.

  It could almost have been a character on Castle Creep.

  Without so much as a backward glance she hurried off in pursuit of the creature, trailing it into a large room filled with suspended ceiling lights and long tables covered with chairs that had been turned upside down. The creature bounded to the far side of the room and disappeared into what Allana first thought was some kind of hole in the wall, but it wasn't. It was a small turbolift like the ones in the palace on Hapes that were used to move plates and food between the royal dining room and the lower-level kitchens. She wondered for a moment if the turbolift was big enough for her to fit into.

  It was.

  So down she went.

  Han's mounting confusion reverberated like a scream in Leia's mind.

  Mentally scanning for Allana, she dashed for the lobby, C-3PO hurrying behind her.

  “I turned around and she was gone,” Han said, eyes darting about. Melted whipped treat was running down his left hand.

  Leia looked inward. “I don't sense her in any danger …”

  “Good, but where is she?”

  Leia turned to the broad, curving staircase that led to the arena's upper tiers, then looked across the lobby toward the entrance doors. “She wouldn't have gone outdoors.”

  “I'll take the stairs,” Han said, already in motion. “We meet back here in five.”

  Leia nodded.

  C-3PO came to a halt in front of her. “What should I do, Princess Leia?”

  “Alert security, Threepio. Tell them that our child has gone missing.”

  “Yes, mistress, I will.”

  Leia put her emotions on hold and calmed herself. Reaching out, she began to feel a lingering trace of Allana. She walked across the lobby and stood still, her gaze fixed on the wide doorway to an adjacent room—a conference room, by the look of it. Removing the tinted glasses, she continued to move, allowing the Force to guide her. Again she stopped and stood still, waiting for her eyes to alight. She hurried forward and dropped down on one knee in front of a service turbolift.

  It would be a tight fit, but, yes, it would accommodate a small, seven-year-old girl.

  Without bothering to puzzle out why Allana would have squeezed into it, what she might have been chasing, or what might have been chasing her, Leia rushed to the turbolifts she had noticed in the lobby. In her mind, she called to the child, but received no response.

  Was she hurt? No.

  Preoccupied. Fascinated. Intrigued … Playing.

  Exiting the turbolift, she followed the same path she had taken on the floor above, this time through a maze of corridors into a kitchen filled with appliances and floor-to-ceiling shelf units stocked with pots and pans and a vast assortment of serving trays and bowls. Her path led her into another corridor—closing on Allana, she was certain—and into a huge underground space housing hundreds of pets in cages. But not just ordinary pets, Leia realized. What the pet show industry referred to as novelties—bioengineered creatures of all description. And Allana was somewhere among them.

  Leia gave voice to sudden and overwhelming concern.

  “All— Amelia!”

  Han had just arrived at the top of the sweeping staircase when he realized he was on the right track. The revelation came in the form of an alumabronze ashtray stand that swung down seemingly out of nowhere, narrowly missing his head but striking the floor with such force that it loosed a thick cloud of gray ash that caused him to sneeze, dislodging the wig that was part of his disguise. Head flung forward from the force of the sneeze, he inadvertently dodged the first pass of a nonhumanoid foot that whizzed over the top of his doubled-over torso. As he straightened, the foot caught him as it was coming full circle, but the spindly being the booted foot was attached to had been thrown off-balance, so that when Han's hands absorbed the force of the blow—s
aving his nose at the same time—assailant and victim both tumbled to the floor.

  False beard and mustache askew, Han rolled out from under another attempt by the Rodian wielder of the ashtray stand and tried to scramble to his feet, only to be tripped by the second assailant—a Duros wearing the uniform of a security guard. Landing on his back, Han began to slide down the steep ramp that led to the balcony seats and private viewing platforms, his head thumping the floor as it passed over the ramp's widely spaced shallow steps and the wig sliding down over his eyes. On both sides of the ramp, spectators were rising from their seats, shouting, screaming, and clutching their children to them. Han had enough sense to know that he was sliding headfirst for the low retaining wall at the foot of the ramp. Forcing his feet from the floor, he managed to complete a backward somersault and come to his feet just short of the wall, but with his arms extended straight out to the sides and flailing desperately in an effort to keep him from plunging over the wall to the arena floor. At the same time, the Duros and the Rodian were hurrying down the ramp straight for him.

  Han waited until they were two meters away and ready to lunge; then he let himself roll backward over the wall, hands poised to fasten themselves to the top as the rest of his body fell and the wig slipped off. The Duros went sailing out into space over his head and a few heartbeats later slammed down onto the arena floor, prompting a stampede among the pets and handlers amid whom he had landed. Though the Rodian came to a skidding stop, momentum carried him face-first over the wall. At the last instant the green biped secured a grip on the wall and wound up hanging alongside Han, but gazing out over the arena floor where Han's face was pressed to the wall.

  Han felt the Rodian's fist slam into the back of his head and responded by slamming his right hand into the Rodian's snout. Above them, spectators angered by the turmoil the brawl had caused were making for the retaining wall with clear intent. Before a blow could land on his white-knuckled fingers, Han seized hold of the Rodian and began to work his way down to the Rodian's skinny legs, which began to swing side-to-side. At the height of one of the swings, Han threw himself into the nearest of the private booths, even as the Rodian was plummeting feetfirst to the arena floor.