[Dark Nest] - 3(18)

Arkanian technolord. “We have something truly special for you.”

Three of the Killiks thrummed their chests and came over, but the rest continued to explore the ship. Han motioned Cakhmaim and Meewalh to keep an eye on the others, then smiled and led the way back to the main cargo hold. Knowing the insects would investigate every meter of the ship, he and Leia and the Noghri had taken pains to shoot any hint of their true identity out the disposal tube, but he still had beads of nervous sweat trickling down his ribs. Given how things had gone in the Utegetu Nebula, it seemed unlikely that Lizil would react well to discovering who he and Leia really were.

When they reached the cargo hold, Han made a show of depressing the slap-pad that opened the hatch. “I present the Magcannon Max, the finest piece of magnetic coil artillery in the galaxy.”

The three Killiks stepped through the hatch, then stopped inside and craned their necks back to stare up at the weapon’s armored housing-all three stories of it. Han nodded to Leia, who went over to the base of the weapon and began a carefully rehearsed sales pitch in the sultry-if completely artificial-voice of a Falleen.

“The economical Magcannon Max delivers a planetary defense-grade firepower in a self-contained package. With a fully shielded housing and an internal sensor suite, this naughty girl can find a bombarding Star Destroyer as easily as she can spill its guts.”

Leia flashed a winsome Falleen smile, then turned to lead the way toward the weapon’s giant, telescoping barrels. Instead of following, the Killiks turned to Han and began to thrum their thoraxes.

“They would like to know how they move a weapon of this size,” C-3P0 translated. “Does it have its own propulsion system?”

Han addressed the bugs directly. “You don’t move it. We transport and install wherever you need it-even in the war zone.” Han gave them a regal Arkanian smile. “Our service package is superior.”

All three bugs turned and left the hold.

Han frowned and started after them. “So you’ll take it?”

The last Killik in line turned and fixed Han with its bulbous green eyes. “Rrrub uur.” It shook its head emphatically. “Buubb rruuur uubbu, rbu ubb rur.”

“Oh dear,” C-3P0 said. “She says the Colony has no use for weapons emplacements. The Chiss are overrunning their worlds too fast.”

The Killik started up the corridor again, chest rumbling.

“But the repeating blasters and thermal detonators in the secret weapons locker inside the wall behind the main engineering terminal will prove very useful,” C-3P0 translated. “Lizil has left a dozen shine-balls and fifty waxes of golden membrosia at the foot of the boarding ramp in exchange.”

“That’s all?” Han followed them to the ramp, where Cakhmaim and Meewalh were already bringing the shine-balls and membrosia aboard-still looking far too graceful for Ewoks. “We didn’t come all the way-“

Han’s objection came to an abrupt end when he found himself unable to continue down the ramp after the bugs, held immobile by the Force.

Leia came and took him by the arm. “Lord Rysto, there’s no use forcing the situation,” she cooed in her Falleen voice. “If Lizil doesn’t want the gun, we’ll just have to find another way to sell it.”

Leia’s words began to calm Han immediately. He was allowing his frustration to affect his judgment-and that could be very dangerous indeed, given how deep they were inside enemy territory.

Han placed his hand over Leia’s. “Thank you, Syrule you’re right.” He looked down toward the Mon Calamari Sailfish sitting below them in the middle of the hangar floor. “And I think I know just where to start looking.”





FIVE


With most of the Jedi order off chasing pirates or reconnoitering for Admiral Bwua’tu in the Utegetu Nebula, the Knights’ Billet on the tenth floor of the Jedi Temple was next to deserted. The only Jedi Knights present were the trio Luke had ordered to meet him here-Tesar, Lowbacca, and Tahiri-and the air had a stale, uncirculated smell. Tesar and Lowbacca were waiting in the conversation salon near the snack galley. Tahiri was in the exercise pen at the far end of the suite, working on a lightsaber form with thirteen fist-sized remotes whirling around her. Judging by the smoke haze visible through the transparisteel walls, the remotes’ sting-bolts were set high enough to inflict burns.

Luke leaned close to Cilghal, who stood next to him with an armload of sensor equipment. “Can we do this in the salon?”

“We can detect aural fluctuations anywhere,” she said, nodding. “But you know that won’t answer your real question.”