The Unseen Queen (20 page)

Finally, the last of the children had fallen, and the clones stopped firing. The caped figure studied the room for a moment, then gave a barely perceptible nod and turned back toward the entrance. The face that stared into the cam was clouded with anger, the eyes sunken and dark, the mouth set in a grim slash, but there was no mistaking who it belonged to.

Anakin Skywalker.

“That’s enough, Artoo,” Luke said. His face remained a mask of composure, but he rose and turned toward his own quarters. “Thank you.”

R2-D2 deactivated his holoprojector, then emitted a long descending whistle and started to follow Luke through the door.

Han quickly rose and blocked the little droid’s path. “Better stay put for a while,” he said. “I’ll handle this.”

R2-D2 spun his photoreceptor toward C-3PO and trilled a long string of notes.

“I don’t know why you’re blaming
me
,” C-3PO said. “I was only following instructions.”

Han went to the doorway connecting his quarters to Luke’s and found Luke floating cross-legged in the air, the backs of his wrists resting on his knees.

Without opening his eyes, Luke said, “I just need to center myself, Han.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” As Han spoke, he saw that Luke wasn’t the only thing floating in the room. So were the stool, the bunk, and the X-wing replica Raynar had presented to him. The replica seemed to be trembling with excitement. “That was kind of rough in there, even on me.”

“I’ll be okay, Han,” Luke said. “I just need to center myself.”

“I’ll bet,” Han said. “What I don’t get is how Alema knew what that code sequence was going to access. Even if she’s telling the truth about that Daxar Ies character, she didn’t say anything about him working on Artoo. There’s no way he should have known what’s in that memory sector Artoo’s hiding.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain he didn’t,” C-3PO said from behind Han. “The code Alema gave me was undoubtedly a universal key. Most droid-brain designers bury them in the circuitry architecture, as a safeguard against data lockouts and irreversible shutdowns. They simply force a unit to convert its most secure file to an open access file. In Artoo’s case, that file was one incriminating him in the worst sort of data theft. No wonder he didn’t want to reveal it!”

“That’s great.” Luke’s eyes were still closed, but he was sitting on the floor now—as were the bunk, the stool, and the replica. “But I really need—”

“You said the code was a
universal
key?” Han said, turning around to face C-3PO. “You mean it could unlock all of Artoo’s files?”

Artoo issued a sharp tweet, but C-3PO ignored him. “If we knew the basis for the code progression, of course. But not even Artoo knows that. It has self-changing variables, so unless we know the original algorithm and variables—”

“Okay, I get it.” Han glanced back into the room, where Luke had given up trying to meditate and was simply sitting on the floor looking up at the doorway. “It’s probably just as well.”

A furrow came to Luke’s brow. “Han—”

“All right, already.” Han turned and shooed C-3PO away from the door. “Will you give the man some room? He needs to center himself.”

“Han—”

“I’m going already.”

“Han, that’s not it.” Luke closed his eyes. “I think it’s time to close your deal.”

“Already?” Han turned toward the door membrane. “I thought the Squibs would play it a little cooler than that.”

Luke frowned. “I don’t think it’s the Squibs … You go on.” He glanced down at the replica of his X-wing, then motioned Han out his door. “I need a minute to finish my meditations, but I’ll be there when you need me.”

Han turned toward the interior wall of his quarters, where a group of silhouettes was just growing visible through the translucent spinglass. Most of the figures were obviously Killiks, with shadows in their hands that suggested electrobolt assault rifles and Verpine shatter guns. But the two silhouettes in the center had only two arms each and carried no visible weapons. They were about Squib height, but a little too stocky and flat-faced.

A Saras guard pressed its thorax to the wall and boomed an order.

“She’s ordering us to step away from the door,” C-3PO said.

Han looked around and held his arms out to his side. “Where do you expect us to go? We’re already in the back of the room.”

The guard drummed an acknowledgment, then it and several other bugs used their mandibles to snip and rip the outer seal away from the doorway. A moment later, the two silhouettes they were escorting pushed through the membrane into Han’s quarters, bringing with them a sweet-smelling cloud of the bond-inducing pheromones that pervaded the jail.

The first figure was a jug-eared Sullustan in a tidy white flight suit resembling that worn by the captains of commercial
starliners. The second was a furry little Ewok with a white stripe running diagonally across a body that was otherwise as black as carbon.

“
Tarfang?
” Han gasped. He shifted his glance back to the Sullustan. “
Juun?
”

The Ewok chuttered something sharp at Han, while the Sullustan merely braced his hands on his hips and looked around the cell shaking his head.

“Tarfang suggests that since you’re an inmate and Captain Juun is the owner of a fine Damorian
Ronto
-class transport, you should address him as
Captain
Juun,” C-3PO reported.

“A
Ronto
?” Han did not bother to hide the disdain in his voice. Rontos were among the slowest, ugliest, and least efficient of the light transports crisscrossing the galaxy. He frowned at
Captain
Juun. “What happened to that Mon Cal Sailfish I set you up with?”

“She was too expensive,” Juun explained. “My weekly payments were customarily running a week and a half late.”

Han frowned. “But you were making them, right?”

“Yes,” Juun said. “With the appropriate interest, of course.”

“And Lando took her back for
that
?”

Tarfang jabbered an explanation.

“Captain Juun was too clever to give him the chance,” C-3PO translated. “He traded his equity for
DR-Nine-one-nine-a
—free and clear.”

“
Someone
got a real bargain.” Han did not bother to ask what the pair were doing on Woteba;
Ronto
-class transports were just too slow for the inventory-running contract he had talked Lando into giving Juun. “I don’t suppose the Second Mistake Squibs are the ones who gave you this steal?”

Juun looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“Because I sent for them and
you
showed up,” Han replied. “It doesn’t take a genius to know you’re in deep with them.”

Juun nodded proudly. “They gave us a ten-standard-year freighting contract.” In a softer voice, he added, “We’re exclusive.”

“No kidding,” Han said. “Let me guess, expenses included?”

Tarfang twitched his nose, then leaned toward Han and gibbered something suspicious.

“Tarfang requests—”

The Ewok whirled on C-3PO and barked a single word.

“—er, he
warns
you against discussing this with them,” the droid corrected. “It’s the Squibs’ own bad fortune if they agree to such a poor bargain.”

Han raised his palms to the Ewok. “Hey, that’s between you guys—and I don’t see why I should clue them in to
anything
, if they’re not interested in my deal.”

“Hold on!” Juun’s voice was alarmed. “What makes you think they’re not interested?”

Han made a show of looking around his quarters. “I don’t see them here.”

“Only because they are important business beings,” Juun explained, “and this is a detention center.”

Tarfang chittered an addendum.

“And they mustn’t let themselves be seen with a pair of … oh, my …” C-3PO paused, searching for a diplomatic interpretation, until the Ewok growled. “With a pair of
dustcrusts
like you and Master Skywalker.”

“That’s okay,” Han said. “I understand.”

“You do?” Juun’s cheek folds rose in relief. “In that case, they’ve authorized me to make you a very generous offer—they’ll pay you a millicredit for each replica you sign.”

“A whole millicredit?” Han repeated. “That much?”

Juun nodded eagerly. “That’s ten thousand credits in all,” he said. “And they’re even willing to pay a third in advance. Emala said to tell you they haven’t forgotten what you did for them on Pavo Prime.”

Han pretended to consider the offer. “I’m willing to talk about it—have a seat.” He motioned them to his bunk, then retrieved the
Falcon
replica and sat across from them on the stool. “But first, I want to make sure I’ve got this straight. You guys are running replicas like this one back into the Galactic Alliance?”

“We’ve already made our first run,” Juun said proudly, “a promotional delivery to the Fifth Fleet.”

“To the Fifth Fleet?” Han’s heart rose into his throat. What was the Dark Nest doing—going after the entire Galactic Alliance? “No kidding?”

Tarfang growled a few words.

“Tarfang warns you that their deal with Second Mistake is vac-sealed,” C-3PO translated. “He advises you that even thinking about moving in on them is a waste of time.”

Han turned to the Ewok. “Us moving in on you is the
one
thing you don’t have to worry about right now.”

Tarfang chortled a spiteful reply.

“That’s right!” C-3PO translated. “You’re stuck here in a rehab house getting—”

C-3PO broke off to shoot a question at Tarfang in Ewokese, then seemed to stiffen at the response.

“Oh, my—Tarfang says this is an acceleration facility! Saras brings criminals here to rehabilitate them quickly—by making them Joiners!”

The Ewok jumped up, standing on Han’s bed and chuckling so hard he had to hold his belly.

“Keep it up, fuzzball,” Han said. “This place is a
vacation moon compared to where the Defense Force is going to lock you two.”

Tarfang stopped laughing, and Juun asked, “Why would they lock us up?”

Before he answered, Han hesitated and started to glance back toward Luke’s quarters.

“Go ahead, Han,” Luke said from the door. “Show them.”

Without saying anything more, Han raised the replica of the
Falcon
over his head and hurled it to the floor. The spinglass did not shatter so much as explode into a droning cloud of blue-black bugs about the size of Han’s thumb.

Juun and Tarfang yelled in surprise and pressed themselves against the wall. Even Han cried out and tumbled off the stool backward as the swarm boiled into the air before him—he had been expecting to find a single hand-sized Killik inside the replica, not dozens of smaller ones.

The cloud began to arc toward Han, tiny droplets of venom glistening on the proboscises between their curved mandibles. He grabbed the stool and started to swing it up to bat them away—then felt Luke’s hand on his shoulder.

“Stay down.”

Luke stretched his arm out, and the swarm went tumbling across the room and splattered against the wall, leaving the ivory spinglass flecked with palm-sized stars of gore. The room fell abruptly silent, and the air immediately grew sickening with the smell of insect methane.

Luke pointed to Han’s bag, sitting under his bunk. “Get some undershirts and wipe the wall down. I can only hold the illusion for a few minutes.”

“Why
my
shirts?” Han demanded.

“Because mine are in the other room,” Luke said. “And the illusion is only in here.”

“Yeah—I’ll bet you planned it that way.” Han pulled the
bag out from under the bunk, then pulled out two undershirts—all he had—and passed them to Juun and Tarfang. “Get busy.”

Juun immediately went over to the wall, but Tarfang simply looked at the cloth and sneered.

Before the Ewok could ask the question that was almost certainly coming, Han pointed at him and said, “Because if you don’t, I’m not going to tell you two how to fix the mess you’ve made for yourselves.”

Tarfang chittered a long reply, which C-3PO translated as, “What mess?”

“Like the one we’re cleaning up here—only a whole lot worse.” Han pulled a spare tunic from his bag and went over to the wall. “I don’t think the Defense Force is going to be very happy with you two when they figure out you were the ones who delivered a whole Ronto-ful of Gorog assassin bugs to the Fifth Fleet.”

Juun’s eyes grew even larger. “Tarfang, get over here!” Once the Ewok had jumped off the bunk, he turned to Han. “You can tell us how to fix
that
?”

“Sure,” Han said. “Easiest thing in the galaxy—all you have to do is help us find the Dark Nest.”

Leia and Saba stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the top of the boarding ramp, listening to a muffled string of beeps and chirps as the boarding party’s slicer droid tried to outsmart the
Falcon
’s espionage-grade security system. The external monitors showed that the ship was surrounded by a full company of soldiers in full blast armor. Something did not feel quite right in the Force, as though the troops were nervous or hesitant about their orders, and Leia wondered if the commander could really believe that Jedi would attack Galactic Alliance troops.

“They feel frightened.” There was a note of disdain in Saba’s voice, for Barabels tended to regard fear as something felt only by quarry. “You are sure we should not draw our lightsaberz? Frightened prey is unpredictable.”

Leia shook her head. “You’re the Master, but I really think we need to defuse things. Somebody’s going to get hurt if we keep pushing.”

Saba glared down at Leia out of one eye. “We are not the onez pushing thingz, Jedi Solo.”

Finally, the slicer droid stopped beeping and chirping. The monitor showed him releasing his interface clips from the wires dangling from the
Falcon
’s exterior security pad; then he turned to an officer and gave a dejected whistle.

“What do you mean you can’t open it?” The security
system speaker made the officer’s voice sound a little tinny. “That’s what you were designed for—to open ship hatches.”

The droid beeped a short reply, which Leia knew would include an explanation of how the access code kept changing. The security system’s first line of defense was an automatic reset anytime two incorrect codes were entered into the keypad. Its second line of defense was to never grant access from the outside when the keypad cover was removed.