“Antilles!” That was a new voice, raised in a shout from the far side of the simulator chamber … and the voice was distressingly like Han’s. “Where are you?” The voice was moving closer; the speaker was just around the corner.
Wedge’s eyes opened wide, and Han knew his own expression matched. That was the voice of Thrackan Sal-Solo, who did not know that Han was part of this mission-or that Han and Leia were even on Corellia.
Han looked frantically back and forth, but the corridor with the Shriek simulators was a dead end.
Wedge mimed putting on his helmet. Han did so and slapped the visor shut. A moment later, Sal-Solo turned the corner to face them. Behind him, trotting to catch up, were four CorSec guards. A moment later, the last elements of the retinue, two YVH combat droids, rounded the corner.
Sal-Solo put his hands on his hips, a gesture of aggressive impatience. “Well?”
Wedge gave him an unconcerned look. “Well, what?”
“How goes the mission training?”
“It goes very well. We just completed the third of three consecutive successful simulations at the anticipated difficulty level. Tomorrow, we’ll begin cranking up the difficulty level to unreasonable extremes.”
“Good, good. That’s what I thought. I was just watching the simulators’ visual feeds up in the control room.” Sal-Solo looked at Han. “Who’s this?”
“Minister of War Thrackan Sal-Solo, allow me to present you my mission partner, Aalos Noorg. Aalos spent most of his career in the Corporate Sector, flying corporate mercenary missions, until the crisis here convinced him to come home. Aalos, take your helmet off.”
Han put his hands on his helmet and tried to rotate it in its locking collar, but did not actually exert any strength. Naturally, it didn’t budge. He tried again, and then, miming desperation, he went through the motions of trying to open his helmet visor. It, too, remained obstinately closed.
“Prototype helmets,” Wedge said. “Obviously they need to work some of the bugs out of the system.”
“Obviously,” Sal-Solo echoed.
Han turned and banged his helmet several times against the side of the simulator, then began again. Still the helmet and visor remained in place.
“Never mind, never mind.” Sal-Solo stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s good to meet a patriot.”
Han shook his hand. Speaking in a low voice and mumbling so his words would not emerge distinctly, he said, “I want to thank the powers that be that my helmet is stuck, because it keeps your stink out of my nostrils.”
Sal-Solo shot Wedge a confused glance. “What did he say?”
“He wants to thank you and his luck, because he never dreamed he’d land this assignment.”
“Ah. You’re welcome.”
Han added, “And I’d like to chain you to a bantha and drag you across fifty kilometers of dart flowers and meat-eating plants until you’re just a stain.”
Wedge cleared his throat. “Aalos, try not to be so effusive with your praise. The Chief of State will think you’re trying to flatter him.”
“What he says doesn’t matter.” Sal-Solo clapped Han on the shoulder. “What matters is a successful mission. Keep up the good work.” He turned and strode away as quickly as he’d come, his escort hurrying to keep up.
When a distant whoosh and the cessation of footsteps signaled that Sal-Solo and his entourage had left the chamber, Han pulled his helmet off again.
“That,” Wedge said, “was close.”
“Too close.”
“To celebrate our narrow escape, let’s get a drink.”
“Two drinks.”
LORRD CITY, LORRD
Ben was awakened by someone shaking his foot. Resentful, he opened one eye to see Jacen standing at the end of his cot. “Time to get up,” Jacen said.
“M’wake.”
“Get dressed, get your gear.”
Ben managed to get his other eye open. He sat up. “Did Doctor Rotham translate more tassels?” he asked.
“No. We have another situation where they’ve asked for Jedi help.”
“Oh.” Ben concentrated on getting his brain working correctly. “I hope I don’t blow up this time.”
“I’m going to blow up again, aren’t I?” Ben said.
Jacen nodded absently. “Probably.”
They stood just outside the edges of the milling, uncertain crowd at the perimeter of a broad plaza. The duracrete of the plaza surface was inlaid with river-smoothed pebbles, making the surface aesthetically pleasing and artificially natural, and even out at this distance it was darkened by water.
At the far side of the plaza, just in front of the Lorrd Academy for Aquatic Studies, was a huge transparisteel aquarium. It had been preciously designed to look exactly like the sort of aquarium found in the living chamber of any set of quarters, or in the bedroom of any curious child, but it was the size of a three-story private residence; a Quarren or Mon Calamari family could have been happy there, if its members had an exhibitionist streak. Stairs and a small open-air lift were affixed to the narrower south wall, and stretched across its top was a mighty durasteel beam supporting the weight of a housing for the water-conditioning and -monitoring equipment.