And now, as she stepped forward, she limped.
This was no monster in the night or phantom of the imagination. Lavint stared, incredulous. “Who are you?”
“We are Alema.”
“Alema. And what are you doing here?”
“We are a stowaway.”
Lavint stared at Alema for a few moments more, and then it happened. The laugh came bubbling up out of her like a high-pressure sanispray stream. The laugh became a painful howl. It shook her and it kept coming.
Dizzied, Lavint bent over to rest her hands on her knees and rested her backside against the bulkhead; otherwise she would have fallen. Finally her laughter trailed away, leaving her throat hoarse, her body weary.
Alema’s expression did not change, except to become slightly curious. “Why do you laugh?”
“Because you’re the worst stowaway in the galaxy, in history.” Lavint straightened. “Because you picked the worst possible ship to stow away on. The Hero of the Galactic Alliance sabotaged my hyperdrive.”
“We know this. We watched his agents do it.”
That snapped Lavint out of her manic mood. “You watched it?”
“Yes.”
“And got on board anyway.”
“Yes.” Alema smiled. “No, we do not wish to die. We stowed away after making sure of what the agents had done … and after acquiring the parts needed to repair the drive.”
Lavint took an involuntary step forward. “You can fix it?”
“Yes. Though we will only fix it if you are dead. But if you and we come to terms, you will live and you will repair the drive.”
Lavint had to parse that statement. Alema’s use of we to refer to herself caused her sentences to jump through flaming hoops like a carnival bantha. “You mean, if we come to terms, I make the repairs and we both get out of here. If we don’t come to terms, you presumably kill me and then you make the repairs and you get out of here.”
Alema’s smile broadened. “Good. Yes.”
“What are your terms?”
“You help us find the parents of that Hero of the Galactic Empire. You act as a public face for us in that search. You do not reveal our presence to the authorities. You do not attack or unnecessarily endanger us. You are one of the smugglers, yes? You use your knowledge of smuggling to help in this search.” She furrowed her brow for a moment, then relaxed. “You treat us as an esteemed paying passenger.”
“And once you’ve found the Solos?”
“You will have fulfilled your obligation.”
Lavint considered her options. She’d always admired Han Solo, and this woman’s obvious need to stay out of public sight didn’t argue well for what her intentions were when she found him. Lavint could ask, but then she’d have to decide whether she was willing to object, and ruin this dral, if Alema’s intentions were hostile.
Well, if they were, she could admire Han Solo as a unique piece of galactic history. “I agree.”
“Good. We will find the replacement components where we have hidden them. We will even hand them to you as you effect repairs.”
“Much obliged.”
CHAPTER SIX
CORONET, CORELLIA
The crowd seated in the assembly hall, mostly holonews professionals, applauded, but more courteously than enthusiastically.
That was all right, Wedge decided. He wasn’t here to be validated. He just wanted brevity.
With a glance at Prime Minister Dur Gejjen to his left and Admiral Delpin to his right, Wedge leaned in over the lectern to conclude his speech. “The reorganization of any military force works best if it synthesizes mature experience with youthful innovation, mature patience with youthful energy. I like to think that in this time of crisis I’ve been able to provide the experience and patience. And I have every confidence that Admiral Delpin offers the innovation and energy to finish the job. Corellia’s armed forces are in good hands.”
He stepped back as the questions started.
Gejjen took his place. “Admiral Antilles and I will be taking our leave of you, but Admiral Delpin will be making some introductory remarks and then taking questions. Thank you.” He nodded to Wedge, and together the two of them made their way to the end of the stage and the comparative privacy it offered.
The applause increased, and out of the corner of his eye Wedge saw a few of the news professionals rise to their feet for him. Then he and Gejjen were in the darker, cooler backstage area.
Not that Wedge could relax. Not yet.
Gejjen gave him a close look. “You’re sweating.”
“Hot under those lights.”
They passed through the doors leading out of the backstage area. The CorSec guards waiting there-Gejjen’s bodyguards, a tiny uniformed woman who moved like a dancer, and a YVH battle droid-fell in step behind them. “So what will you do now that you’re a civilian again?” Gejjen asked.