[Legacy Of The Force] - 04(6)

“Yes, yes.” Jacen nodded. “Where is she?”

“Your office.”

Jacen followed her back through the bulkhead doors a of the Command Salon. Once in the main corridor beyond, they moved through a portside door into the office that served as Jacen’s retreat aboard the Anakin Solo.

Waiting there were two people-a large man, dressed in the uniform of ship’s security, standing, and a woman seated … though she rose as Jacen and Ebbak entered.

Jacen looked into the weathered face of Captain Uran Lavint. “Yes?”

Lavint paused, apparently put off by his distant, brusque manner. “I simply wanted to find out if you had any requests or, more to the point, assignments for me before I left.”

Jacen repressed a sigh. “First, I’d never prolong a business relationship with someone who sells out her fellows. Second, you’re lying.”

Lavint flushed, but her expression did not change. “All tight. I mostly just wanted to meet you.”

“Ah.” Jacen paused, and carefully considered his next words. “Lavint, you now have all the time in the galaxy avalilable to you. In betraying thirty-odd fellow smugglers, you have earned enough credits to pay off all your debts and start over, whether as a smuggler or something legitimate. You can cruise, you can frolic, you can relax. I, on the other hand, don’t have time to spare. And you have no wasted some of it. I don’t appreciate that.” He turned to the security officer. “Take her down to Delta Hangar, put her on her ship, and get her off my ship.”

Lavint cleared her throat. “Breathe My jets is on Gamma Hangar. And the engines won’t be repaired for a couple of standard days at least.”

“That’s right. I’m claiming Breathe My jets for the current military crisis.” Jacen pulled his datapad from a pocket and consulted it. “Your ship is now the Duracrud.”

“Duracrud?” Lavint practically spat the name. “That’s a stock why-vee six-six-six older than I am. It’s a brick with wings and a hull that leaks gases like a flatulent Hutt. It’s a fraction the size of Breathe My Jets.”

“And exactly the sort of vessel needed by a smuggler starting a new career.”

“Our agreement…”

“Our agreement was that you would receive a sum of credits-Ebbak, you showed her the transfer proof and gave her the data to claim it from the Bespin account? Yes-and that you would be allowed to depart on your ship, minus her cargo. The agreement did not specify which was to be your ship.” He fixed Lavint with an impassive stare. “Now would you care to waste any more of my time?”

The glare she turned on him was murderous. He understood why. He’d just taken her ship, her beloved business and home, and given her a hovel in its place. His father, Han Solo, would have felt the same way.

But Uran Lavint was no Han Solo, and Jacen didn’t worry that she might someday return to cause him grief. Her record made it clear that she had no goals, no drives other than the acquisition of credits. She was nothing.

Lavint turned away, her body language stiff, and marched to the door, her security man behind her. Then, as the doors slid open, she paused. Not turning back, her voice quiet she asked, “What’s it like to have once been a hero?” Then she left, and the door hissed closed behind her.

Jacen felt himself redden. He forced the anger away. It wouldn’t do to let an insect like Lavint bother him. But clearly, additional punishment was in order.

He turned to Ebbak. “My father used to have endless trouble with the Millennium Falcon. The hyperdrive would fail all the time, and he’d tell the universe that it wasn’t his fault, and then he’d fix it and be about his business.” He nodded toward the closed door. “Delay her in transit to the hangar bays. Have Duracrud’s hyperdrive adjusted so that it will fail catastrophically after one jump.”

“Yes, sir.” Ebbak considered. “Since she’s a smuggler she’s not going to go anywhere with a single jump. Her first jump will always be to some point far away from planetar systems or traffic lanes. She’ll be stranded.”

“That’s right. And she’ll become intimately acquainted with her hyperdrive.”

“She might die.”

“And if she doesn’t, she’ll be a better person for the experience. More polite, probably.”

“Yes, sir.” Ebbak moved to the door. It slid open for her.

“Sir, your meeting with Admiral Antilles is in one hour.” Jacen consulted his chrono. “So it is. Thank you.”

“And, Colonel, if I can make a personal remark…”