Star Wars: The New Rebellion (30 page)

F
our new languages in the last day. Threepio sat at his computer bay in the Solos’ apartments. He had had no duties since the children left, and he was using the time to catch up on the new languages. Two were from recently discovered planets, and two were new droid languages. That made eighteen new droid languages in the last week, or 2.571 languages per day.

The computer bay was near the children’s quarters. Threepio sat in the chair because Jaina had once insisted he do so. Anakin had pasted stickers of heroes of the Old Republic onto the bay walls. Threepio had asked him to remove them, but Anakin had “forgotten,” a word he often used when he meant that he did not want to.

A tiny icon flashed on the corner of the screen. It was a small R2 unit. Threepio pressed a key with a golden finger and the icon covered the screen. Then he pressed another key and the icon turned into a single blinking message:

There was a small code tagged onto the
y
. Threepio opened the code, and binary covered the screen. The message was from Artoo. He was in the cargo bay with someone named Cole Fardreamer, and they were being accused of sabotage. The message was new, and it kept repeating, over and over.

Threepio pressed two more keys. Artoo was still online. Threepio started to send a message back when the screen went blank. Then nothing.

Artoo was gone.

It amazed him how quickly the credits disappeared. Kueller sat at his desk on Almania. The curtains were open, revealing the lights of the city below. The towers of the Je’har were black blotches against the night skyline. Emptiness. Ruins. A sign of Kueller’s tremendous power.

But wealth supported power. He would have to strip Pydyr of its treasures and sell them on the open market. His agents were already sending out discreet feelers to the greatest collectors in the galaxy. If he could sell the homes of Pydyr as a set, the gems of Pydyr as another, and the clothing of Pydyr as a third, he would have enough credits to complete Phase 3 of the operation.

Phase 1 was over, and Phase 2 was underway.

Kueller leaned back in his chair. His gloves were on the table beside the five small computer screens. His hands looked pale in the artificial light. A young man’s hands. Not the hands of the most powerful man in the galaxy.

Not yet.

But soon. Very soon.

A chime rang softly on his private line. He touched the screen in response. Brakiss’s face appeared. His blond hair was tousled, and his eyes looked tormented.
Brakiss had faced Skywalker, then. Kueller knew the signs.

“So,” Kueller said, not waiting for Brakiss to speak, “he raised questions in your tormented heart.”

Brakiss flinched. If Skywalker could tempt Brakiss, a man who had loved the Empire with all of his twisted heart, he could tempt anyone. Kueller had made the right choice: Destroying Skywalker and all who believed in him was the next step. Kueller would not succeed without doing so.

“Is he your master now, Brakiss?” Kueller asked.

“No!” Brakiss actually backed away from his screen. His image was smaller—Brakiss seemed smaller.

“Then who is your master, Brakiss?”

“No one,” Brakiss said. His mouth was a thin line, his eyes full of terror and sadness. “I want out this time, Kueller. I’m done.”

Kueller let his death mask smile, even though his own irritation was deep. “What did Skywalker do to you?”

“Nothing,” Brakiss said.

“Then why this sudden loss of faith?”

“It’s not sudden, Kueller. You wouldn’t let me kill him.”

“Even though you tried.”

Brakiss flinched again.

Kueller leaned forward, knowing the movement would make his death’s-head mask fill Brakiss’s view-screen. “You tried and you failed, and Skywalker, out of the goodness of his Jedi heart, let you live. And now you are grateful to your old master, and you wonder how anyone could best him, and you are not certain whether anyone
should
best him, am I right, Brakiss?”

“I hate Skywalker,” Brakiss said.

Kueller shook his head. “You don’t hate Skywalker. You hate the way he makes you feel. You hate yourself, Brakiss. You hate what you’ve become.”

Brakiss raised his chin. “He says I could go back to the academy. He says I could abandon the dark side. He says Vader did.”

“Of course Vader did,” Kueller said, his voice calm, even though he felt like shredding Brakiss for even listening to Skywalker. “Vader was dying. Skywalker was beside him. The Emperor was gone. Vader had nothing left. He had no power and no hope. He took what Skywalker offered. He had no real choice.”

“Skywalker says he did.”

“Skywalker was trying to take you into his power. Did he succeed, Brakiss?”

Brakiss crossed his arms. “You can’t tell?”

Kueller smiled, glad he had not used the holo-projector. He seemed bigger on the screen, more powerful, and he needed all that power at this moment. “I think Skywalker could have taken you back if he truly wanted to, but he did not. He’s not interested in you. You are nothing to him. You aren’t even worth killing.”

Brakiss flinched again. So Brakiss had left himself open, made it easy for Skywalker to kill him. And the virtuous Luke Skywalker had not.

“Skywalker wants me,” Kueller said. “He knows that to maintain his power, he must defeat me.”

“He doesn’t even know you exist,” Brakiss said. His tone had defiance in it. Just enough defiance to make him still useful.

“Oh, he knows,” Kueller said. “You sent him to me, didn’t you?”

“I warned him away from you.” Brakiss’s eyes widened even as the words left his mouth. He apparently hadn’t planned on telling Kueller that.

“Good,” Kueller said. “Skywalker is more apt to come to me now. You did well, Brakiss.”

“Well?” Brakiss sounded stunned.

“Yes,” Kueller said. “You did my work even better than I had hoped you would.”

“Th—then I can stay here?” Brakiss stammered like a small child. He loved the factory. It gave him a peace that Kueller found very useful.

“Is that what you want?” Kueller asked.

Brakiss nodded, slowly, as if he was afraid to reveal himself to Kueller.

“Then of course you can stay, Brakiss. You have served me well.”

“And you won’t send anyone else here?”

Kueller smiled. “No one else needs to come. Telti is yours, Brakiss. I will continue to subsidize it for you. And you will continue to work for me, as you always have. And we will never again discuss Skywalker, the academy, or Yavin 4. Is that what you want?”

“I want Skywalker to stay away.”

“You’ll always be alone there. Your Force talents will go to waste, but that will be your loss, Brakiss, not mine. Your usefulness is done.”

“And Skywalker?” Brakiss couldn’t seem to let it alone. Skywalker must have made an impression. More of an impression than Kueller was comfortable with.

“Skywalker is mine now,” Kueller said. “Soon he will bother no one ever again.”

T
he Glottalphib smiled at Han. Smoke seeped between his long yellow teeth, narrowly missing the walls of the
Falcon
. “Well, General Solo,” he said. “We meet again.”

Han had to struggle to recall his name. “You’re outnumbered, Iisner.”

Chewie was still growling. His fur had stopped smoking, but there were missing patches where the flame the Glottalphib had used had burned through. His paws were up, just as Davis’s hands were. Seluss had scooted as close to the metal walls as he could get.

“I don’t think I’m outnumbered,” Iisner said. “One deep burst of flame and your friends here will be of no use to you. And while I fry them, I can turn my blaster on you. Imagine, a hero of the Rebellion forgetting his blaster.”

Han cursed. His blaster was in the cockpit.

“Such language, General Solo,” Iisner said. “And when I am here on a courtesy visit.”

Han kept his gaze on Iisner. He had to buy time. The
Falcon
was his ship; he would be able to get them all out of this if he only had a moment to think up a plan.

“It seems I’m always explaining manners to you,” Han said. “Threatening to kill my friends is not polite.”

“I merely do this to protect myself,” Iisner said. “My boss would not understand if you refused his invitation.”

Chewbacca slowly unsheathed his claws. Their tips touched the low ceiling. Han kept his features impassive, so that Iisner wouldn’t notice Chewie.

“What does Nandreeson want with me?”

Iisner breathed out slightly. Licks of flame caressed the gray scales near his nostrils. “He doesn’t want you, precisely. He is most interested in your position. He believes that he can help the New Republic.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

Iisner nodded. “He has information that your people might find of value.”

Chewie inserted one claw between the wall and the door to a secret cargo hatch.

“What kind of information?” Han asked.

“Now, General Solo, if I knew that, I would tell you. But I am merely an assistant, an underling with no real power. I have been instructed to bring you to Skip 6—”

“And I told you before that I’ll meet Nandreeson on Skip 1.”

Chewie had inserted another claw. The process was painstakingly slow. Seluss had moved even closer to Chewie’s legs. Davis was watching Iisner’s blaster intently. If Chewie didn’t act quickly, Davis probably would. And then they would have a disaster.

“I must tell you the truth, General Solo.” Steam came out of Iisner’s mouth when he said, “Solo.” “Nandreeson does not like to travel to the other Skips. The accommodations are, shall we say, lacking?”

“I’m not asking him to sleep over,” Han said. “We can meet on the Falcon if he wants. I just don’t plan to go to Skip 6. I learned a long time ago to stay off Nandreeson’s personal turf. No offense, Iisner.”

“None taken. Your friend Calrissian would have done better to have shown the same restraint.”

Chewie had inserted two more claws into the area.

“Nandreeson’s still holding a grudge against Lando?” Han asked.

“A grudge is perhaps the wrong word,” Iisner said. “A debt marker would be more accurate. They have a score to settle.”

“I’m sure they do,” Han said. “But tell your boss it has nothing to do with me.” He nodded at Chewie, who tugged with all his Wookiee strength. Iisner looked up. The door to the cargo space fell on him. Flame blew out of his mouth. Chewie dodged to the left, Davis to the right, and Seluss cringed. The flames scorched the wall and the top of Seluss’s head. Davis slammed into Han and they both went rolling down the corridor.

Flames roared from under the door, heating the metal, burning Han’s already-damaged skin.

He swore and grabbed the wall rungs, pulling himself off the metal. Davis ran, cursing, all the way into the cockpit. Chewie stepped on top of the cargo door, crushing Iisner. Seluss was cluttering and pounding his smoking head against the wall.

Chewie reached down and pulled Seluss against him, crushing the Sullustan’s burns against Chewie’s furry chest. The metal flooring was glowing bright red, and the air smelled of burning flesh and seared Glottalphib.

The flames faded, and then went out. Han climbed across the wall using the rungs, careful to keep his boots off the metal floor. When he reached Chewie, he stopped, leaned down, and took the blaster out of Iisner’s motionless hand. The handle of the blaster was hot.

“Solo?” Iisner’s voice sounded from below. “Make your friend get off me.”

More flames licked out from under the door.

“Get off him, Chewie.”

Chewie shook his head and roared. Han trained the blaster on Iisner.

“I’ll be all right,” Han said. “Take Seluss to the storage lockers and see if you can find the medical kit. We need to put something on those burns.”

Chewie roared in protest.

“Go!”

Chewie wrapped one shaggy arm around Seluss, and gripped the wall rungs with the other arm. Then he moved across the wall, just as Han was doing.

Iisner crawled out from under the cargo door. Webbed burn marks matching the pattern on the metal floor crisscrossed his chest and arms. His gray scales were flaking off his back. He looked weak and dizzy.