Star Wars: The New Rebellion (23 page)

Brakiss stood in his communication center, in the dome of the protocol-droid building. Experimental droid parts hung from the rounded ceiling: eyes that listened; hands that saw; mouths that grasped. The eyes were his favorites: They didn’t need a droid at all. They tracked everything that happened in a room, and they sent all communications forward. They also had the added benefit of spooking most creatures that used their eyes for sight. Brakiss wasn’t certain how to use the eyes yet, but he would figure something out.

He was good at this. Telti had brought forth his creative powers. If only Kueller had allowed Brakiss to work the factory without using his Force abilities. Kueller had
promised that Brakiss would have nothing more to do with Almania. But Kueller’s promises never held, especially with Brakiss. Kueller felt that Force-experienced warriors were rare, and he aimed to use each one in his power. The most talented one he had was Brakiss.

So Brakiss got to lure Skywalker into Kueller’s trap.

Brakiss sat. The chair molded to his shape and braced him. On the screens before him, he watched ten Luke Skywalkers shout hello into an empty room. Empty except for the overstock droid hands. Even the mighty Skywalker had looked surprised at that.

He hadn’t changed. And he should have. It had been years. Brakiss had heard that Skywalker had almost died on board the
Eye of Palpatine
. Yet he looked the same. His scarred face still had a boyishness, his body was lean and powerful, and he had the same assurance he had always had.

The assurance he had had when he forced Brakiss to face the darkness.

Brakiss swallowed. Even thinking of that moment, alone, with only himself and the evils Skywalker had thrown at him, sent trembling explosive shivers through him. If Brakiss thought about it too much, he felt as if his brain would shatter. Brakiss had run from that test, run as fast as he could, and when he returned to his mother, he found her living in the shadow of the Empire. He had had to report, and he had, on the condition that they let him go.

His information had been valuable enough, and his mind damaged enough, that they had let him go. He had run until Kueller found him, and Kueller had put him together again.

For a price.

Skywalker.

Brakiss leaned forward and flicked the communicator. Kueller answered immediately, forming a small holo image
on Brakiss’s holopad. This Kueller looked tiny enough for Brakiss to crush with his fist. Even so, the power radiating from the small image made Brakiss slide his chair back.

“He’s here,” Brakiss said.

Kueller’s death mask smiled. “Good. Send him to me.”

Brakiss licked his lips. “I was thinking … I thought … maybe I should kill him. I owe him. He—”

Kueller waved a hand. His skeletal grin grew. “By all means. Kill him.”

A chill ran down Brakiss’s back. His victory was too easy. “But I thought you said you would have to kill him.”

Kueller shrugged. “I doubt you can kill him, but if you do, my response is simple. I will have to kill you.”

Kueller spoke with such confidence and calm that Brakiss backed away even farther. “I thought we were working together,” Brakiss said.

“We are,” Kueller said. “But the person who kills the great Jedi Luke Skywalker becomes the strongest in the galaxy. If you kill Skywalker, you take that honor, and leave me no choice but to take that honor from you.”

“But the Emperor wanted Vader to kill Skywalker.”

“The Emperor has been dead a long time, Brakiss.” Kueller’s smile had faded. “It would do you good to remember that.”

Brakiss nodded.

“And remember, Brakiss,” Kueller said. “I will know if Skywalker dies.”

Kueller’s image winked out. The air around the pad glowed for a moment, then the strength of Kueller’s presence faded as well. Brakiss put his fist over the vanished image and pounded the pad. Pain shot through his palm. He was no match for Kueller yet. But someday he would be.

It would only be a matter of time.

He cupped his fist against his chest and stared at the screens. Skywalker had stopped yelling. He was looking toward the dome and frowning, his lips parted slightly, his eyes glazed like those of a man sensing only with the Force.

Had he felt Kueller’s presence?

Nonsense. No one could feel over so great a distance.

Not even Skywalker.

Could he?

Brakiss whirled. He snapped his fingers and a protocol droid strode in. This droid, C-9PO, was a newer model that Brakiss had modified for his own needs. The final memory wipe, done two months ago, combined with the language augmentation, made this droid useful in ways that went beyond language.

Skywalker might never learn that.

Then again, he might.

“See-Ninepio,” Brakiss said, “we have a guest.”

“I know, sir.” The droid stood the requisite two meters in front of him, its golden eyes radiant with inner light.

“Bring him to the assembly room, and have him wait for me.”

“But sir, guests do not go to the assembly room.”

He glared at See-Ninepio. See-Ninepio continued to give him an implacable stare. Some things remained the same in protocol droids no matter how many memory wipes they had.

“This one is not a buyer.”

“Then what is he, sir, that I may learn who goes to the assembly room?”

What is he? Brakiss smiled, but the smile had no amusement behind it. Skywalker was impossible to fit into a category that the protocol droid would understand.

“He is a Jedi Master, Ninepio. He is not here on factory business.”

“Ah,” See-Ninepio said. “Then it is personal. I understand.” He turned and minced out of the room. The small feet on the C-9’s were not an improvement over the normal-sized feet of the C-1’s through C-8’s. Not an improvement at all.

He would have to remember that.

But even focusing on the droids was not enough for him. It usually cleared his mind, and it did no longer. Skywalker’s presence surrounded him.

The sooner he got Skywalker off Telti, the better.

They took the
Millennium Falcon
to Skip 5. Seluss wanted to take one of the Skippers, but Han reminded him that Han was in charge of making the plans.

Han wasn’t going to go ten meters without the
Falcon
.

He had decided that he needed to see this outrageous operation for himself. Something felt wrong. Smugglers always moved
valuable
products. Now they were getting paid ten times more than usual for junk—junk any resourceful crime lord could find on dozens of worlds.

The Empire, or what was left of it, was no longer making equipment. The New Republic had seen to that by shutting down each factory it could find. The prototypes and designs were taken and destroyed. If any factories remained, then this crime lord had to be paying them, too, in order to get modern Imperial equipment.

Or was there something about the old stuff? Something different?

Han felt that if he looked at the stuff the smugglers were selling, he might discover it. For the first time in a long time, he missed having Threepio at his side. The Professor could tell him about the differences in Imperial equipment, and if Threepio didn’t know, Artoo did.

It felt odd to travel without his resources.

When Han had been a regular at the Run, Skip 5 had been abandoned. The caves of Skip 5, while huge, were lined with sunstone, and the ambient temperature inside was about forty degrees Celsius, unbearable for humans most of the time, deadly for many of the larger species that inhabited the Run. A decade before Han arrived, a gang of human smugglers had lived in the caverns for months. They ended up killing each other in a fight some said was sparked by the heat.

Han had never been to Skip 5. He had only heard about it.

He was unprepared for its size, and for its level of development.

The landing pad in the caverns at the edge of Skip 5 was large enough for six luxury liners to rest comfortably. Han hadn’t seen a landing pad that big outside of Coruscant in years. The
Falcon
looked small next to the dozens of freighters that waited, their cargo doors open, for the binary load lifters to finish placing boxes inside. Some of the boxes were as large as the
Falcon
’s cockpit.

Han glanced at Chewie, who moaned in astonishment. Seluss, who had been sitting behind them, chittered excitedly.

“Boxes could carry anything, Seluss,” Han said. “I want to see what’s inside.”

Seluss chittered again.

Han ignored him. He knew that no one would voluntarily open a box for him, especially now that he was perceived as legitimate. But he wanted to see the packing rooms and the work stations. He still didn’t entirely believe that smugglers had voluntarily pooled their efforts to supply this mysterious customer. He had a hunch that only a few worked together. The rest made a play at it, and delivered the real goods personally. He would discover who was working Skip 5, and who wasn’t. Then he
and Chewie would follow the ones who were conspicuously absent. He hoped one of those smugglers owed him an old debt. Then he could solve the mystery of the client without a personal meeting.

“You two stay here,” Han said to Chewie. “I’ll be back.”

Chewie growled.

“We’ve been through this,” Han said. “I’m not going to leave the
Falcon
unguarded here. And I’m not going into the Skip with Seluss alone.”

Seluss chirped.

“Just because your explanation’s plausible doesn’t mean that I should trust you,” Han said. He slipped out of the pilot’s chair. “If I’m not back soon, Chewie, get out of here.”

Chewie roared.

“I mean it, Chewie.”

Chewie shook his furry head and moaned.

“Yeah, I know. A life debt,” Han said. “So why doesn’t that mean you’ll listen to me?” He grabbed his blaster. “Protect the
Falcon
, Chewie. I’d rather rely on my own wits than be trapped on Skip 5 forever. Got that?”

Chewie mumbled under his breath, but he turned back to the control panel. Seluss grabbed Han’s shirt and chittered.

“Yeah, I know you know what you’re looking for, mouse brain,” Han said. “That doesn’t mean I’m looking for the same thing.”

He shook Seluss’s hand free and left the cockpit. Chewie already had the ramp down, and Han disembarked.

The heat was so intense it felt as if he had hit a wall. Sweat broke out all over him, plastering his clothes to his body. He wished he had brought water rations, but he didn’t want to return to the ship for them.

He wouldn’t be gone that long. He could last.

Besides, he’d been in this kind of heat before, weaker and with no protection. The worst time had been on Tatooine when he had hibernation sickness. Blind, in the blazing sun, a battle going on around him. He’d been amazed he had survived that.

Still was, if truth be told.

The deep breath he took stalled in his lungs. He tried again, and then hurried down the ramp.

Smugglers watched him from their cargo bays. Blasters followed him. Two binary load lifters stopped as he went by. Near the droids and the running spacecraft, the heat intensified. And this was a relatively open space. Inside it would be worse.

He slipped through the door and into a narrow corridor. The sunstone walls here were sealed with a coolant cover and the temperature dropped several degrees. Han took the moment to wipe the sweat from his face and to breathe deeply. He also checked his blaster, uncertain how well it would work in the heat.

It checked out fine.

“Plan to use that?”

Han looked up. A slender human with golden curls falling past his shoulder sat on a desk built into the wall. He wore mesh pants and no shirt. His chest was covered with tattoos. His hand rested on the desktop. Han couldn’t see the man’s fingers. They probably covered a blaster.

“Just making sure it worked in case I needed it,” Han said.

“That your ship outside?”

“Yeah.” Han kept his tone neutral. He wasn’t sure if the man was friend or foe yet.

“Awful small for a cargo ship.”

“She’s a great freighter,” Han said.

“Sure,” the man said, his tone full of disbelief.

Han made himself take a breath. “You have a problem with my ship?”

“No,” the man said. “It’s just this bay is usually used for larger ships. Ancient equipment goes to the other side of Five.”

“Well, no one explained the rules to me until now,” Han said. “Next time I’ll go to the other side.”

The man lifted his blaster and rested it sideways on his knee. “There won’t be a next time, pal, until you tell me your business.”

“A friend sent me here to inspect the cargo. He hired my ship to take his stuff off the Run.”

“Your friend got a name?”

Han lowered his blaster into position as well. “Seluss. He’s a Sullustan whose partner disappeared on him, with their ship.”

“Heard about that,” the man said. He still hadn’t moved his blaster. But he hadn’t moved his finger near the trigger, either. “Been happening a lot lately.”

“Smugglers disappearing?”

“Not coming back.” The man shrugged. “Guess they make their killing and get out of the business.”