[Hand Of Thrawn] - 01(7)
Chewbacca rumbled the obvious problem. “Yes, I know we don’t have a lot of ships to spare,” Luke said. “But the High Council ought to be able to scrounge up something.”
“Not enough to do any good,” Han said, shaking his head. “The Diamala do an awful lot of shipping, and I don’t think you realize how thin our hardware is spread out there.”
“It would still be cheaper in the long run than whatever it would cost to pull the Diamala and Ishori apart if they start shooting at each other again,” Luke argued.
“Probably,” Han conceded, toying with one of the datacards. “Problem is, I don’t think the Diamala would accept the offer even if we had the ships to spare. I don’t think they’re ready to trust anyone else with their security.”
“Not even the New Republic?” Luke asked.
Han shook his head, his eyes darting surreptitiously to Luke’s face for a moment, then just as quickly shifting away. “No.”
Luke frowned. In that moment he’d caught another flicker of the same troubled mood he’d felt back by the Falcon. “I see.”
“Yeah,” Han said, all brisk business again. “Anybody got any other ideas?”
Luke glanced at Chewbacca, searching for a diplomatic way to say this. But there really wasn’t one. “You know, Han, it’s not too late to bring Leia in on this. We could call Wayland and ask the Noghri to bring her here.”
“No,” Han said firmly.
Chewbacca growled agreement with Luke. “I said no,” Han repeated, glaring at the Wookiee. “We can handle this ourselves.”
There was a trill from the console built into the table. Luke looked at Han, but he was still engaged in a glaring contest with Chewbacca. Reaching out with the Force, he keyed the switch. “Skywalker,” he said.
On the hologram pad in the middle of the table the quarter-sized image of a young Iphigini appeared, his braided lip-beard not quite covering up the throat insignia of the Iphigin Spaceport Directorate. “I apologize for disturbing your deliberations, Jedi Skywalker,” he said, his voice far more melodious than the craggy face and physique would have suggested. “But we’ve received notification from New Republic Commerce that a Sarkan freighter is on its way here under a Customs Red alert.”
Luke looked at Han. Customs Red: a warning that there was illegal and highly dangerous cargo aboard. “Did Commerce identify the captain and crew?”
“No,” the Iphigini said. “A follow-up transmission was promised, but it has not yet arrived. The suspect freighter is already approaching Iphigin, and we have dispatched the bulk of our inner-system customs frigates and patrol craft to intercept. It was thought that as New Republic representatives, you and Captain Solo might wish to observe the procedure.”
There was a sudden change in Han’s emotions. Luke looked over, to see his friend gazing thoughtfully off into space. “We appreciate the invitation,” he said, looking back at the hologram. “At the moment, though-“
“Where’s this Sarkan coming in from?” Han interrupted.
“Sector Three-Besh.” The Iphigini’s image was replaced by a schematic of Iphigin and the space around it. A red dot blinked a few degrees off a line connecting Iphigin to its sun; nearly twenty blinking green dots were converging on it from the planet and nearby space. “As you can see, we have attempted to send a force adequate to overcome any resistance.”
“Yeah,” Han said slowly. “And you’re sure it’s a Sarkan?”
“Its transponder ID has been checked,” the Iphigini told him. “The ship itself is a Corellian Action-Keynne XII, rarely seen in this part of the Core except under Sarkan authority.”
Luke whistled soundlessly. He’d been given a tour of an Action-Keynne XII once, and had come away thoroughly impressed by both the touches of inner luxury and the multiple tiers of outer weaponry. Designed to transport the most valuable of cargoes, it very nearly qualified as a capital warship.
Which was probably why the Iphiginis were sending so many ships to intercept it. If its captain decided not to cooperate, the Iphiginis were in for a fight.
“Sounds like a Sarkan, all right,” Han agreed, his voice a little bit too casual. “You go ahead and do your intercept. Maybe we’ll come up later and have a look.”
“Thank you, Captain Solo,” the Iphigini said. “I will alert the officials that you will be joining them. Farewell.”
The hologram vanished. “Don’t count on it,” Han muttered, gathering up the datacards from where he’d tossed them on the table and thumbing rapidly through them. “Chewie, get over to that console-see if you can pull up a full listing of the traffic pattern out there.”