Star Wars: Scoundrels (9 page)

“How are you going to get him that far into the mansion?” Kell asked, pointing at the schematic. “I’m seeing the mansion’s outer wall
and
another interior one before you even get to the vault.”

Chewbacca rumbled.

“Chewie’s right,” Han agreed. “Even if the crowds Villachor’s letting in for the Festival aren’t supposed to go inside, his security’s bound to be stretched thinner than usual. We’ll find a hole.”

“Or make one,” Dozer said.

Han nodded. “Or make one.”

“At least we’ll know where to start looking for those holes,” Rachele said. “Marblewood’s been a Festival venue for the past six years, and it’s had extensive coverage, official and unofficial both. I’ve taken a look at the various records, and there are a lot of things Villachor seems to do the same way every year.”

“I thought the pattern and order of the Honorings were always the same anyway,” Dozer pointed out.

“I’m talking about the details,” Rachele said. “Like where he positions the food pavilions, or how he dresses all the service and maintenance droids in coordinated and themed overgarments for each day of the Festival. Little things like that.”

“Patterns are good,” Lando said. “Like in sabacc, when someone always bets the same—”

He broke off as, across the room, Winter suddenly snapped her fingers. “Here they come,” she announced.

There was a mad scramble as everyone jumped out of their seats and rushed to the windows. “Where?” Zerba asked.

“Those three landspeeders two blocks away,” Winter said, pointing. “No—don’t,” she added as Dozer started to open the door leading onto the long balcony. “If someone’s watching, we’ll be way too visible out there.”

“Where are those electrobinoculars?” Lando asked.

“Here,” Kell said, pressing a set of the oversized viewers into his hand. “Rachele?”

“I’ll get the other one,” Rachele said, and hurried away.

The room fell silent. Han watched the landspeeders maneuver to and through the gate onto Villachor’s grounds, noting that the vehicles barely even slowed down before the guards waved them through.

“Here,” Rachele murmured in his ear.

“Thanks,” Han said, taking the electrobinoculars from her and pressing them to his eyes. The landspeeders were even more impressive close up than they were at a distance: black and heavy-looking, obviously armored, with tinted windows concealing the passengers.

“Boost-equipped, looks like,” Lando murmured. “See the reinforced lower edge plates?”

“Yeah, I see ’em,” Han confirmed. The vehicles might look like normal landspeeders, but with the hidden boosts they could instantly become airspeeders anytime they wanted.

“So why are they bothering with the streets?” Zerba asked. “Why not just fly in?”

“The airlanes in Iltarr City aren’t much faster than the landlanes,” Rachele said. “Besides, they’d have to come to ground to get in anyway. The umbrella shield, remember?”

“And if you’re the paranoid type, you might like having one direction that you can’t be shot at from,” Lando added.

The vehicles tracked along the pathway between the hedges, bushes, and small trees and finally came to a halt by the covered entrance at the mansion’s south wing. Han held his breath, holding the electrobinoculars as steady as he could, wondering if this would be the day the mysterious visitor made a mistake.

He didn’t. The awning over the entrance completely blocked their view of him as he left the landspeeder and headed inside. And with the sunlight streaming down from nearly overhead, there weren’t even any of the tantalizing shadows Kell had mentioned.

“They’re slick, all right,” Lando commented. “How soon did you say the next wave is due?”

“Ten to thirty minutes,” Winter said.

“So just enough time for a snack,” Lando concluded. “Do I smell carni chips and glaze sauce coming from somewhere?”

“Yes,” Eanjer said, sounding a bit taken aback by the sudden change in subject. “And also some kamtro grassticks. But shouldn’t we be watching Marblewood?”

“I’m watching it,” Lando assured him, turning back to the window. “Winter, tell me when you see a likely landspeeder. Bink, would you do me a favor and get me a small plate of those carni chips?”

Bink sent Tavia a wry smile. They knew Lando all too well. “Sure,” she said, and headed toward the kitchen.

Han started to turn away, stopping as a hand caught his arm. “A word?” Dozer said quietly.

They stepped a few meters away from the others. “Problem?” Han asked.

“More of a question.” Dozer nodded toward Lando, who had pulled a chair over to the window and settled himself in it. “You told me that I was going to be front man on this scheme. Now that Calrissian’s here, I assume that’s changed?”

“Probably,” Han said. “But don’t worry—there’ll be other stuff for you to do.”

“Uh-huh,” Dozer said. “And the split?”

“Same as before,” Han assured him. “Everyone gets the same share.”

Dozer pursed his lips, and it wasn’t hard to read the calculation going on behind his eyes. The shares might be passed out equally, but an even split among eleven was still smaller than an even split among ten.

“That going to be a problem?” Han pressed.

Dozer’s expression cleared. “No,” he said. “Just wondering.” With a little nod, he turned and headed over to where Tavia and Rachele were standing.

There was a rumble from behind him, and Han turned to see Chewbacca standing there. “You heard?”

The Wookiee rumbled again.

“He’ll be all right,” Han assured him. “Dozer wouldn’t let hurt pride get in the way of a paying job. Besides, I’m pretty sure he knows Lando will do better as a front man than he will.”

Chewbacca warbled one final time and moved away.

“He’ll be fine,” Han murmured to himself as he turned back toward Dozer. “Trust me.”

Ten minutes later and halfway through Lando’s first helping of chips, the expected visitor cruised through the gate and onto Marblewood’s grounds. Han, having already turned his electrobinoculars back over to Winter, watched from the side as he munched mechanically on a plate of kamtro grassticks. Something big was going on here, something way bigger than Eanjer and a stash of stolen credit tabs.

The two big questions were whether they could figure out what Villachor was up to and whether it was going to affect their own operation.

He’d left the window and was off in the corner, discussing the finer points of lock-picking with Bink, when Lando gave a warning whistle. “He’s coming out,” he called.

Once again, there was a brief scramble as the group reassembled by the windows. Han strained his eyes, but at this distance all he could see was a human male stalking down the steps to the waiting landspeeder. The man climbed in, the door closed, and the vehicle turned and headed back down the pathway.

“Interesting,” Lando murmured, lowering his electrobinoculars. “That man just lost something.”

“What did he lose?” Dozer asked.

“I don’t know,” Lando said. “It could have been credits, prestige, or power. But the changes in his expression and body language were very clear. Whatever he lost, it was something he wanted to keep.”

“Wasn’t enough time for a high-stakes sabacc game,” Zerba said thoughtfully.

“But plenty of time for a serious conversation,” Han pointed out. “Especially if one side was doing most of the talking.”

“You think Villachor threatened him?” Tavia asked.

“Or blackmailed or extorted,” Dozer said. “Those are the main three ways of controlling someone without having to fork over credits to pay them off.”

Chewbacca warbled a question.

“No idea,” Winter said. “He wasn’t in the group of holos Rachele gave me.”

“I only gave her the top-level players in Iltarr City’s power structure,” Rachele explained.

“Maybe we should go down a tier or two,” Zerba suggested.

“Agreed,” Rachele said. “I’ll see what I can pull together.”

“And while you do that,” Dozer said, “let’s see if we can figure out who the other visitor is. I think we’ve got enough people now for a proper tail. Shall I go out and get us a few landspeeders?”

“No need,” Rachele said. “Eanjer was able to scrape together enough credits to get us a few rentals. We have three of them downstairs, plus the speeder truck, plus two airspeeders in the rooftop lot.”

“Good,” Dozer said. “It’s probably too late to get in position before he leaves, so we’ll have to pick him up later tonight.”

“Assuming the drama gets a repeat performance,” Bink said.

“It will,” Winter assured her. “These people like to think they’re being clever, but they’re very much into patterns.”

“Great,” Dozer said. “Who’s up for a little drive?”

“You should ask Han,” Eanjer said. “He’s the one in charge.”

Dozer blinked, then smiled wryly. “Of course he is,” he acknowledged, turning to Han and inclining his head. “Sorry. Too many years of working for myself. So who’s going?”

Han looked around, doing a quick assessment. “You, Bink, Zerba, and me in the landspeeders,” he decided. “Lando and Chewie will coordinate from the airspeeder.”

“Sounds good,” Dozer said.

“I’d like to go along, too, if I may,” Eanjer said. “I want to help.” He looked down at his medsealed hand. “Though I’m not sure what I’d be able to do,” he added ruefully.

Han hesitated. They had a lot of reasons to keep Eanjer happy. A hundred sixty-three million of them, to be exact.

But he was an unknown quantity, and Han had no idea how he would react in a crisis situation. If something went wrong, one panicked person could easily run the whole thing straight into a wall.

To his relief, Chewbacca had followed the same line of thought and was already on it with a tactful suggestion.

“Good idea,” Han said. “Chewie says an extra pair of eyes would be handy in the airspeeder.”

Dozer gave a small snort. “A
pair
of eyes?”

“I meant an extra observer,” Han corrected, glaring at the ship thief. Eanjer was aware enough of his handicap without someone drawing attention to it. “You can go with him and Lando, Eanjer.”

“Thank you,” Eanjer said. He looked at Dozer, a hint of fire in his single eye. “And my current prosthetic works well enough, thank you,” he added icily. “I plan to get something more aesthetically pleasing when I get my stolen credits back and can afford to fix the rest of the injuries Villachor caused me.”

“That’s settled, then,” Lando said cheerfully into what could have been the start of a long and awkward silence. “Chewie will fly, you and I will watch, and by the time we settle in for the night we’ll have gotten to the bottom of this little mystery.” He beamed a smile around the room. “While we wait, anyone for a game of sabacc?”

The man’s name was Crovendif, and he thought of himself as an up-and-coming crime lord.

He wasn’t, of course, and never would be. True, he had the clothing and style down, and had even made an effort to get the rhythm and pitch of his voice to match those of prominent holodrama criminals. But what he
didn’t
have was the empty eyes and utter soullessness that Dayja had seen far too often in the humans and aliens he’d dedicated his life to bringing down.

No, Crovendif was just a lost kid who’d fallen in love with the idea of being a crime lord, or maybe had seen that as his path to contentment, security, and respect. Sooner or later those half-formed dreams would fade, and he would accept the fact that a crime lord’s street manager was all he would ever be.

All of that assuming, of course, that he survived the next few minutes.

“You’ve been dancing a challenge through my territory for nearly two weeks,” the would-be crime boss said, his voice low and menacing, his head raised slightly so that he could stare down his nose at his prisoner. He even had the holodrama stance down cold, Dayja noted. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t have you killed right here and now.”

“I’m not looking to take over your territory,” Dayja said mildly. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

Crovendif’s expression slipped, just noticeably. Expecting bluster and defiance from his prisoner, he wasn’t prepared for a quiet, conciliatory response. “Really,” he said sarcastically. “And what impression
should
I have gotten?”

“I’m looking for a partner,” Dayja said. “I have some product that’s worth a lot of credits. But I don’t have the time or resources to set up the distribution end of the business.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in such a deal?” Crovendif scoffed.

“Not you,” Dayja corrected. “Your boss. I have far more product than your six or seven blocks can deal with.”

Crovendif’s face darkened. Maybe he’d had a brief hope that this was his ticket to greatness. “If you think I’m going to bother anyone else with such a ridiculous story—”

“He’ll want a sample, of course,” Dayja continued smoothly. “May I?”

Crovendif hesitated, then nodded to the two men currently pinioning Dayja’s arms. “Left,” he ordered.

Silently, the thug on Dayja’s left side released his grip on that arm. Dayja slipped two fingers into his side pocket, pulled out a small vial, and tossed it across to Crovendif. The other caught it with a nimble quickness that suggested he’d started as a blade fighter before joining up with Black Sun. Yet another reason he’d probably never get any higher than he was already. “Glitterstim, obviously,” he said as Crovendif looked closely at the vial. “But with a difference. Mine is artificial.”

“Then it’s not glitterstim,” Crovendif said.

“You’re right,” Dayja conceded, inclining his head. “I misspoke. What I should have said was that it’s genuine glitterstim, created by genuine Kessel spiders. But
not
spiders currently living on Kessel.”

There was a pause as Crovendif apparently worked that through. “You have spiders here on Wukkar?”

“Let’s just say they’re nearby and creating glitterstim as we speak,” Dayja said. “Bottom line is that I can make the product for a fraction of what it costs to make it on Kessel, and that doesn’t even take the lower transportation costs into account.”

“And you expect me to just take your word for all this?”