He would have been even more intimidating with Barkhimkh and Sakhisakh standing there beside him. But Bothans didn’t much like Noghri, and Leia had decided this situation was ticklish enough already without that extra strain. The two Noghri were lurking somewhere outside, a quick comlink call away if they were needed.
But she wasn’t expecting them to be. Between the official weight she was bringing to bear and the threat of more physical consequences from Han, they had Orou’cya in a tight squeeze already. With luck, that should give them a good chance of getting to the financial records before anyone was able to hide or alter them.
“I personally need nothing more, Captain Solo,” the secretary said. “The problem is that only one of the Combined Clan leaders may grant authorization to see the records you are requesting, and none are on this part of Bothawui at present.”
Han took another step toward him. “You’ve got the letter from President Gavrisom-“
“Please.” Leia held up a hand. “Secretary Orou’cya, I understand your situation. I believe that there may be another way out of the problem. Do I understand correctly that in his capacity as New Republic representative Councilor Fey’lya would also have access to the financial records we seek?”
The Bothan’s eyes darted between the two of them, clearly suspecting a trap. “I believe he does,” he answered cautiously. “I would have to check the regulations.”
Leia looked at Han, lifted her eyebrows slightly. “Here,” Han said, thrusting a datacard at the secretary. “I’ve marked the place.”
Orou’cya started to take the card, hesitated, then dropped his hand back to his side. “I’ll accept your word on that,” he said. “But I don’t see how that point is relevant Councilor Fey’lya isn’t here, and a mere letter cannot extend such privileges to another person.”
“True,” Leia said with a nod. “However, such privileges do extend to Councilor Fey’lya’s personal possessions, do they not?”
Orou’cya frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean possessions such as his personal computers,” Leia said. “Or his droids.”
The Bothan looked at Threepio, and this time the fur definitely flattened. “His-? But-“
Han nudged his shoulder with the datacard. “That part’s marked, too.”
“And here’s the record of Fey’lya’s ownership,” Leia added, producing another datacard.
Mechanically, Orou’cya took the two datacards, his eyes on the golden droid standing silent and aloof with quiet hauteur.
At least, that’s what Leia hoped he saw. In actual fact, Threepio was being aloof and silent for the simple reason that he was too embarrassed and chagrined for words. It was bad enough, he’d complained over and over on the trip here, that Luke had “given” him to Jabba the Hutt during their rescue of Han on Tatooine. But to be summarily sold to a Bothan diplomat without any notice whatsoever was an utter disgrace.
It didn’t matter to him that the sale was only on datafile and not genuine. As far as he was concerned, the deceit involved only made it worse.
But Orou’cya didn’t know that. “I see,” the Bothan said, his voice rather flat, his eyes still on Threepio. “I …” He trailed off.
“Records room’s on the third floor, right?” Han demanded into the silence.
“If you’d rather wait down here,” Leia added, “I’m sure we can find what we’re looking for by ourselves.”
Orou’cya’s fur seemed to wilt. “No, I must escort you,” he murmured. “Follow me, please.”
He led them across the atrium to a wide, free-span ceremonial stairway arching gracefully between the first and second floors, apparently the only route from the more or less public departments on the first floor to the private offices and meeting rooms above. At the top of the stairway was a wide overlook balcony, also clearly designed with ceremony in mind.
Ceremonial or not, though, the Bothans hadn’t scrimped on security. A pair of armed guards stood at the bottom of the staircase, and Leia could see the camouflaged poles of a static barrier built into the banisters on either side a few steps up.
She also wondered how many of the privacy-glazed office windows peeking through the short trees and bushy borscii and kafvris vines from the top two floors had hidden guards watching the stairway and the atrium. Knowing the Bothans, probably at least one of them.
But no one, hidden guards or otherwise, interfered as Orou’cya led the party to the top of the staircase, then along a corridor to a more standard set of stairs leading to the third floor, and finally to a door marked simply ARCHIVES. There the secretary paused, but if he was having second thoughts, they weren’t going to be given time to ripen. Brushing past him, Han opened the door and went in.