[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(106)
He was a good ten meters past the edge of the crowd when a stray fact managed to penetrate his blanket of grouchy self-pity. These protests invariably targeted Bothans: Bothan merchants or diplomats or businesses. But there were no Bothans at Mos Tommro Spaceport-they used a different facility entirely.
So what were the protesters doing here?
Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he backed into an alley out of their sight and pulled out his comlink. He keyed it to run through the Lady Luck’s comm system and punched for the spaceport control center. “This is Lando Calrissian in Bay 68,” he identified himself to the bored voice that answered. “I’d like a listing of the ships in Bay 66.”
“There will be no need for that,” a calm voice said from the alley behind him.
Lando spun around, his hand twitching aside the edge of his cloak with practiced ease and landing on the butt of his holstered blaster. Standing a few meters away, decked out in full diplomatic regalia, were a pair of white-maned, leathery-faced Diamala. “Yes?” he asked cautiously. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I believe you can,” the taller of the two aliens said. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Porolo Miatamia, Senator to the New Republic. May I confirm that my ears did not deceive me and that you are General Lando Calrissian?”
“Former general, yes,” Lando nodded, releasing his grip on his blaster and shutting off his comlink. The crowd of protesters at Bay 66 was starting to make sense now. “May I confirm in turn that this is not a chance meeting?”
Miatamia smiled thinly, the only way Lando had ever seen a Diamal smile. “You are correct,” the Senator assured him. “My aide spotted you five streets away as you were approaching.” One fan-shaped ear dipped to point at the Diamal beside him. “We have paralleled you to this point, seeking a way to confirm your identity.”
“You’ve confirmed it,” Lando said. One of the more irritating Diamalan social characteristics-annoying to him, anyway-was this tendency of theirs to trample the ground flat around an issue before actually getting to it. “Is there some service I can perform for you?”
Miatamia’s ear flicked in the direction of the crowd. “My ship is in Docking Bay 66,” he said. “There are … persons who disapprove of my government’s stance on the Bothan issue.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Lando said. So it was now the Bothan issue, not the Caamas issue. Interesting. “Your government wants to forgive and forget, or some such thing.”
The Senator eyed him closely. “Would you then prefer to inflict mindless vengeance against innocents?”
Lando spread his hands. “Hey, this is politics. I’m just a simple businessman trying to turn a little profit.”
Miatamia eyed him a moment longer. Then one of his ears twitched. “As that may be,” he said cryptically. “At any rate, the protesters have made their point. I have therefore appealed to the spaceport authorities to remove them so that I may return to my ship.”
Lando nodded. After that lethal riot on Bothawui a week ago, he could understand the Senator’s reluctance to try to push his way through the crowd. “Let me guess. They refused to lift a finger.”
“There is no need to guess: I can positively state that that was their response,” Miatamia said. “We were departing from their offices when we noticed you and made our tentative identification.”
“I understand,” Lando said. “What service may I perform for you?”
Miatamia’s other ear twitched. “I wished to ask you to use your position and influence with the New Republic to intercede on my behalf.”
His influence with the New Republic. Right. “I wish I could help you,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid my influence these days is limited to a select number of friends and associates. None of whom is currently on Cilpar.”
“I see.” Miatamia was silent a moment “In that event, perhaps you would be willing to speak to the crowd. As a hero of the Rebellion, you would have a calming influence.”
Lando snorted under his breath. “I very much doubt my past activities would get me very far with them, Senator. There’s a bad tendency these days for people to forget what happened back then.”
“Then you refuse to help me?”
“It’s not a refusal,” Lando said, trying hard to be patient. It was a language thing, of course; for all their calmly logical veneer, Diamala had a tendency to use words in nonstandard ways. One reason why a lot of people didn’t like dealing with them. “I’m simply pointing out that there’s nothing I can do to help you.”