[Dark Nest] - 3(16)
“It won’t take more than an hour.” Leia pointed out the top of the cockpit canopy. “That Freight Queen is making ready to leave.”
Han looked, but instead of the Freight Queen, his gaze fell on a sharp-looking Mon Calamari Sailfish berthed directly “below” them in the middle of the hangar floor. The ramp was down, and there were two Flakax standing guard outside, keeping watch over a ragged mob of Verpine, Vratix, and Fefze who seemed to be waiting for an audience with the captain of the Sailfish. The sight sent a cold shudder down Han’s spine. He did not like seeing that many different insect species gathered in one place-it made him think they were planning something.
Instead of admitting that-he knew Leia already thought he was paranoid when it came to bugs-he asked, “Is that a LongEye booster on the back of that Sailfish’s rectenna dish?”
“How should I know?” Leia asked, frowning at the vessel. “And why would I care?”
“Because that’s what Lando adds to the sensor package on all his ships,” Han said. “Including that Sailfish he sold to Juun and Tarfang.”
“The one they traded to the Squibs?”
“That one,” Han confirmed.
Leia eyed the Sailfish for a moment, now clearly as interested in the vessel as Han was. Over the years, the Solos had crossed paths many times with the Squibs, an enterprising trio who liked to operate on the edge of any legal system to which they were subject. The last time, however, the trio had gone too far, helping the Killiks slip a swarm of commando bugs aboard the Admiral Ackbar.
Finally, Leia said, “I’m sure Defense Force Intelligence will be very interested in the answer-and what its connection might be to all those different insects loitering outside.”
“So I’m not the only one who thinks that’s weird,” Han said.
“It really isn’t that far out of the ordinary,” C-3P0 said. “When one considers that sixty-seven percent of the ship crews in this hangar are insects, it’s barely a statistical deviation.”
“Sixty-seven percent?” Han repeated. He looked around the hangar more carefully, paying more attention to the crews and their ships. As C-3P0 had pointed out, there were an awful lot of bugs, and fully half of the vessels had been manufactured by Slayn Korpil-a Verpine company. “This is beginning to give me the creeps.”
“It could be just the war,” Leia said. “Maybe the Killiks feel more secure dealing with insects.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?” Han asked.
“I said maybe,” Leia replied. “We’ll need to take a closer look.”
“May I suggest you do that after we finish berthing?” C-3P0 asked. “We seem to be in danger of setting down on top of another ship!”
Han glanced at his display and saw that one of the strut-cams showed a landing skid poised to set down atop the Courier’s dorsal observation bubble.
“Relax, chipbrain.” Han fired an attitude thruster to spin the Swiff back into proper position. “It’s a tight fit, so I’m using the Sluissi twist.”
“The Sluissi twist?” C-3P0 asked. “I have no record of that maneuver in my memory banks.”
“You will in a second,” Han said.
He fired another thruster to stop their rotation, then felt a faint shudder as the edge of the landing skid grazed the Courier’s hull. The worker-bugs scattered, and an instant later the Swiff touched down and settled onto its struts. Han sank the anchoring bolts and instructed the ship’s droid brain to initiate the automatic shutdown sequence, then looked over to find Leia staring out her side of the cockpit canopy.
“I didn’t know Wasbo mandibles could open that wide!” Leia said.
“That was a great berthing.” Han unbuckled his crash webbing, then went to the back of the flight deck. He turned in a slow circle, displaying the elaborate robes, long-haired wig, and white contact lenses he wore as part of his disguise. “Everything in place?”
“Very Arkanian,” Leia said. “Just don’t draw attention to your hands. That little finger still looks too thick.”
“Yes, the disguise would be far better if you had removed your ring finger,” C-3P0 agreed. “Amputation always results in a more convincing four-fingered hand, and I calculate Lizil’s current chance of recognizing us at fifty-seven point eight percent, plus or minus four point three percent.”
“That so?” Han asked. “How about we disguise you as a one-armed cleaning droid?”
C-3P0 drew his head back. “That hardly seems necessary,” he said, inspecting the green patina that had been applied to his outer casing. “Droids seldom attract much attention anyway. I’m certain my costume will prove perfectly adequate.”