Hero's Trial: Agents of Chaos I (16 page)

“We fear our clanmates may move on from Rhinnal without being able to get word to us.”

Han folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that your family’s scattered, but it’s like I told you—”

“We can pay you well.”

“We won’t cause you any problems.”

“Hold it,” Han said loudly. “I said I’m sorry. But I’m out of the rescue business, you understand?”

The pair fell silent for a long moment. “We, too, are sorry to hear that,” the tall one remarked.

Han angrily drained his drink as the Ryn walked off. No sooner did he set the glass down than Roa returned.

“What did they want?”

“A ride to Rhinnal.”

Roa frowned and sat down. “As I said, everyone’s desperate.”

“D’you learn anything?”

Roa nodded his chin toward a rangy, red-haired spacer who was approaching from the bar with a drink in hand. “Roaky Laamu, meet Fasgo,” he said as the man took a chair and extended his hand to Han. “Just make sure to count your fingers when you’re done shaking.”

Fasgo grinned broadly, showing stained teeth, and took a long swallow from the ale Roa had obviously paid for.

“Fasgo was one of my best tax-and-tariff boys,” Roa
continued. “Just ask him and he’ll tell you. Since he left my employ, he’s had occasion to work with Reck Desh.”

Han watched Fasgo’s smile collapse.

“Any idea where Reck can be found?” Roa asked pleasantly.

Fasgo swallowed hard. “Look, Roa, I appreciate your buying me a drink, but—”

“Roaky and I know all about Reck’s new employers,” Roa cut him off, “so there’s no need to feed us a tale.”

Fasgo licked his lips and forced a short laugh. “You know Reck, Roa, he follows the credits.”

Han put his elbows on the table. “If the pay’s all that good, how come you’re not still with him?”

“Not my style,” Fasgo said, shaking his head. “I’m no traitor.”

Han and Roa glanced at each other. “So what about Reck?” Roa said.

Fasgo shook his head once more. “I don’t know where he is now.” Gauging the look in Han’s eyes, he added, “I’m being straight with you guys, I don’t know.” He glanced around and leaned forward conspiratorially. “There is someone on station who can probably tell you. He runs things around here—the underground things. They call him Boss B.”

“And just where do we find this Boss B?” Roa said.

Fasgo made his voice a whisper. “Ask around for him and he’ll find you.”

As the spacer was about to rise, Han laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Who’s running Reck’s enterprise? Who’s his control?”

The color drained from Fasgo’s face. “You don’t want
to meet them, Roaky. They’re nasty as they come, and then some.”

“Give me a name?”

“I never learned any names—honest.” Fasgo swallowed whatever else he was about to say and riveted his gaze on something over Han’s shoulder.

Han twisted around to see three Trandoshans moving toward the table, armed with Merr-Sonn and BlasTech blasters and wearing knee-length climate-control coveralls. While two came to a halt on either side of his chair, the largest of the saurian trio—older, by the look of his graying skin—circled the table twice, never taking his black-pupiled, red eyes from Han. Eventually, he took up a position directly across from him.

“Now, you look very familiar,” he rasped. His long tongue emerged from a lipless mouth and wriggled in the air for a moment. “And you taste even more familiar.”

Han forced himself to relax. While the Trandoshan had clearly recognized him, Han wasn’t sure if he and the alien had ever crossed paths. Native to a world in the same star system as Kashyyyk, the brackish-smelling Trandoshans had been instrumental in persuading the Empire to enslave the Wookiees and had often worked as slavers themselves.

“Last time I saw a tongue like that it was hanging in a meat market collecting stink-flies,” Han said.

The Trandoshan’s death trap of a mouth approximated a baleful smile, and he planted his triple-clawed hands on the table. “Now, the human you resemble has since become a very important person, but when I knew him he was just a second-rate smuggler, running spice for
Jabba the Hutt and anyone else witless enough to employ him.”

Bossk
? Han wondered. Could it possibly be … “Ah, you must have been the cutest little egg at the time,” he goaded.

Conversation at surrounding tables was quieting, as patrons tried to determine if they should stay seated for the rest of the show or seek cover as quickly as possible.

“Among other dishonorable acts, this piece of human filth once interfered with a legitimate slaver operation on Gandolo IV.”

Roa shifted in his seat and spoke up. “What’s past is past, big guy. Or is it that you’re so short on hunter’s points you’ve got to disturb a couple of old friends sharing drinks?”

The Trandoshan glowered at Roa, then Han. “I don’t know this fat one, but I do know you—Han Solo.”

“Solo?” Fasgo said in astonishment.

Han held the Trandoshan’s gaze. It had to be Bossk. He could only hope that the E-11A1 the alien wore on his hip had been drained at customs.

“Tell me, Solo, are you still sticking your twisted beak in the business of others?”

Han smiled lopsidedly. “Only when there’s the chance of wrecking someone’s starship and humilating her captain while I’m at it.”

The Trandoshan straightened to his full and considerable height. “I heard you lost the Wookiee, Solo. Rumor has it you let a moon come crashing down on him. Which is just what I’d do if I had a Wookiee following me around.”

Much to the alien’s delight, Han had nearly come out
of his seat when Roa threw an arm across his chest. “What’s the use, Han? They’ll only regenerate anything we break off them.”

The Trandoshan grinned malevolently. “But what’s one flea-bitten Wookiee or another,” he continued with elaborate casualness. “Why not just go out and get yourself another one?”

Han threw the punch that started it all.

“I spent time in a bacta tank during the jump to Coruscant,” Belindi Kalenda told the six members of the Security and Intelligence Council, by way of explaining why she looked better than she felt.

“Your efforts are beyond the call of duty, Colonel,” Diamalan Senator Porolo Miatamia said from the far end of the long wooden table, his leathery face radiating genuine concern. “You should have remained on Wayland. We could have arranged for a holoconference.”

Kalenda smiled faintly. “Wayland hardly has the technology for a holoconference, Senator.”

“Then let’s come to the point, shall we?” Senator Krall Praget said from the chair closest to Kalenda. Never one to mince words, Praget, representing Edatha, had sought to remove Leia Solo from office during the Yevethan crisis.

Between Praget and Miatamia sat senators Gron Marrab of Mon Calamari, Tolik Yar of Oolidi, Ab’el Bogen of Ralltiir, and Viqi Shesh of Kuat. Also present was Luke Skywalker, curiously silent and all but shrouded by his Jedi robe, and his saturnine teenage nephew, Anakin Solo.

Kalenda addressed them. “Thank you for coming, Master Skywalker and Jedi Solo.”

Skywalker offered a nod of acknowledgment and nothing more.

“To begin with,” Kalenda said, rising with obvious effort from her chair, “the enemy raid on Wayland justifies the precautions we took in moving the defectors there. The air strike inflicted significant damage to New Nystao, but fatalities were minimal—which wouldn’t have been the case had we relocated them to Bilbringi or some other more populous world.”

She took a pained breath. “One of the fatalities was Dr. Yintal of Fleet Intelligence, though he died as a result of injuries sustained in the direct attack on Elan—the Yuuzhan Vong priestess. Dr. Joi Eicroth of Alpha Blue also sustained injuries, but she is well on her way to a full recovery, as is Major Showolter, who suffered several broken ribs and a punctured lung. Our two Noghri agents were already back on their feet when I left Wayland.”

“Where are the defectors now?” Senator Shesh asked.

“They’ve been relocated to Myrkr for safekeeping until we decide just what to do with them.”

“Colonel,” Praget interjected, “it is my understanding that one of the defectors is not thought to be Yuuzhan Vong, that some question remains as to what she actually is.”

“That’s true. We have yet to determine if Vergere is of a species native to the Yuuzhan Vong home galaxy or if she’s a product of their genetic engineering.”

“Were you able to gain any further insight into what
compelled the enemy to invade the Outer Rim to begin with?” Miatamia asked.

Kalenda shook her head. “The assassin’s attack occurred shortly into the interview. Up to that point, Elan reiterated much of what we already know about the motives of the Yuuzhan Vong. At the behest of their gods, they are determined to cleanse our galaxy and/or convert us to their religion. Elan contends that they would much rather convert than exterminate us. Recordings of the debriefing—such as it was—are available for your review.”

She took a breath. “What I’ve come to tell you, however, is that, following the attack, Elan provided us with intelligence of a highly sensitive and potentially invaluable nature. Should it bear out, Director Scaur and I will be seeking authorization to relocate the defectors here, to Coruscant.”

Senator Shesh’s honeyed voice cut through the resultant murmur. “Is that wise, considering what happened on Wayland? As it is, New Nystao is demanding reparations.”

“In part, we chose Coruscant precisely because it is not easily targeted. I’ll be the first to admit that appropriate precautions weren’t exercised in moving the defectors from Nim Drovis to Wayland, but that won’t happen again. The plan we’ve worked out takes advantage of the current chaos in the Mid Rim, by effectively losing Elan and Vergere among the crowds of displaced peoples and jumping them to Coruscant via a circuitous route. At the same time, multiple decoy teams will be dispatched to confuse anyone with designs on sabotaging the operation.”

Kalenda stopped to pass out durasheet documents, color-coded for most-secret data. “The route will take Elan and Vergere through Bilbringi, Jagga-Two, and Chandrila—assuming, of course, that nothing untoward occurs—and precluding the advent of any intelligence suggesting that such a move poses a threat to New Republic security.”

“I fail to see the purpose of bringing them here,” Bogen said, shaking his head almost hard enough to muss his meticulously styled blond hair. “Your point that the Yuuzhan Vong attack attests to the status of the defectors is well taken. But that attack might have been a ploy aimed at nothing more than convincing us of Elan’s usefulness.”

With utmost care, Kalenda resumed her seat at the table. “Again, Senator, the plan is contingent on corroboration of the intelligence Elan furnished.” She paused briefly. “I’m as suspicious as anyone here—we all are—but I am also convinced that Elan could prove crucial to our efforts, even if she is part of a ruse. Not only does she claim to know the whereabouts of Yuuzhan Vong operatives who have infiltrated New Republic worlds, but also the identity of many of the agents they have recruited from among cells of smugglers, mercenaries, pirates, and the like.

“In fact, we have reason to believe that one such cell, which calls itself the Peace Brigade, may have been responsible for apprising the Yuuzhan Vong that Elan and Vergere were relocated to Wayland.” Kalenda passed out additional durasheets, bearing the mercenary cell’s insignia of two clasped hands: one that could have been human; the other, fully tattooed. “These contain dossiers
on the members of the Peace Brigade, along with a brief summary of their suspected acts of subversion.” She glanced at Luke Skywalker. “Stirring anti-Jedi sentiment is apparently one of their specialties.”

Skywalker nodded.

“I hope Intelligence is keeping a watchful eye on this group,” Shesh said, lifting her eyes from the durasheet.

“Read on,” Kalenda said pleasantly.

Bogen cleared his throat loudly. “About the importance of this Elan …”

Kalenda turned to him. “Aside from being able to identify agents, Elan knows how the Yuuzhan Vong tacticians think—No, it goes beyond that. She knows the auguries and omens they look for in plotting their attacks. She may even be able to lead us to worlds where war coordinators have been entrenched.”

“Just a moment,” Tolik Yar broke in, one hand entering a flurry of commands into a datapad. “One report—I can’t locate it just now—suggests that these war coordinators have telepathic abilities.” Yar stopped doing input to glance at Kalenda. “Suppose this putative defector is telepathically linked to the creatures and is busy sending
them
intelligence about
us
?”

“The report you refer to was filed by an ExGal scientist who spent a brief time in Yuuzhan Vong captivity,” Kalenda supplied. “In any case, the possibility of a link between the defectors and the Yuuzhan Vong—whether telepathic or otherwise—is the reason we’ve been keeping them essentially blind. They’ve been kept isolated from anything that could be of strategic value to the enemy. Even if the Yuuzhan Vong somehow manage to reclaim them, they’ll have nothing vital to present.”

“Why are these two so eager to defect?” Senator Shesh asked.

“Elan hinted at dissension among the Yuuzhan Vong ranks. Some disagreement as to the legitimacy of the invasion. Seemingly, she wants to help us.”

“In return for what—wealth, a new identity, a hiding place? I’m not convinced that she doesn’t have some ulterior motive. Even a vornskr that loses its teeth doesn’t necessarily lose its nature.”

Kalenda’s eyes narrowed. “Elan does have one request.” She looked pointedly at Skywalker. “She wishes to meet with the Jedi Knights.”

Skywalker gave the disclosure his full attention. Even Anakin perked up. “Did she say why?” Skywalker asked.

“She said it has to do with some sort of illness the Yuuzhan Vong introduced in advance of the arrival of their worldships. She refused to elaborate. She said the Jedi would understand.”

Skywalker and his nephew traded astonished glances. “Nothing more?” the elder Jedi said, clearly intrigued.