[Legacy Of The Force] - 03(49)
He pulled his hands free of her Force grasp and resumed entering his parents’ data on the warrant.
“But this is bigger than me-and it may even be bigger than the Hapes Consortium.” He entered a description of the Millennium Falcon, then hit a key and sent the warrant to the dispatch center. “Whatever the terrorists are planning, my parents are a part of it-and GAG needs to know how.”
Chapter Twelve
The Falcon had reverted into the deepest, darkest space Leia had ever seen. The handful of stars she could see through the cockpit canopy were mere ghost twinkles, and the frequency with which they kept vanishing and reappearing made her think she might be imagining them.
“Who dimmed the blast-tinting?” Han asked, complaining more than inquiring. “Check that flash detector. It must be on the blink.”
Leia pulled a glow rod from the emergency kit next to the copilot’s seat and shined a light into a thumb-sized dome that sat on top of the instrument console. The ghost stars vanished instantly as the canopy darkened.
“The flash detector is fine,” she reported. “We must have stumbled into a bank of Transitory Mists.”
“Stumbled is not how I would describe it,” said their passenger, Nashtah. The assassin was slouched in the navigator’s seat, rolling an unsheathed vibrodagger between her long fingers. Her hair remained in its bushy topknot, and she was still dressed in her sleeveless bodysuit. “The mists absorb light and block long-range sensor readings.”
“I see,” Leia said. “So you were expecting this?”
“Always a good idea to blind your pursuers.” Nashtah’s black-rimmed eyes shifted to the back of Han’s head. “We can take our time plotting our next jump. They won’t find us in this.”
“I like your thinking,” Han said, watching her reflection in the canopy. “After the way things went back at the palace, we’ll be leading a fleet of Battle Dragons around the galaxy if we’re not careful.”
Nashtah shrugged. “No worries. They’d have to be right on top of us to plot our next vector.”
She continued to slouch in her seat, rolling the vibrodagger between her fingers and waiting for the Solos to start plotting jump coordinates they did not have. In the silence that followed, Leia began to think it might not be such a good idea to try tricking the assassin into revealing the identity of the coup leader. There was a cold hunger in Nashtah’s Force presence that suggested she was just looking for an excuse to plant her vibrodagger in the back of Han’s neck.
When the long silence began to stretch from uncomfortable to alarming, Leia unbuckled her crash webbing and rose.
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m famished.” She gave Han’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then turned toward the rear of the cockpit; the last thing she wanted was to fight this assassin-but if it had to happen, she wanted room to maneuver. “Why don’t I fix us something to eat while you do the sweep?”
“Sweep?” Nashtah asked.
“For homing beacons,” Han said, smoothly following Leia’s lead. “We always do a sweep after a scrape like that-a habit we picked up fighting Imperials.”
“Ah.” Nashtah’s sunken eyes shifted from Leia to Han’s reflection. “Very clever.”
Han seemed to wilt a little beneath her scrutiny. “Uh, yeah.” He unbuckled his crash webbing and started after Leia. “And count me in for the grub. I’m hungry enough to eat a rancor.”
“Yes, eating would be nice.” Nashtah sheathed her vibrodagger and followed, clearly determined not to let the Solos out of her sight-especially together. “A good fight always whets my appetite.”
They traveled down the cockpit access corridor to the main cabin. Han went to the engineering station to scan for unauthorized signals, and Leia went to the galley. The Noghri remained out of view, though Leia could feel them nearby, one hiding just inside the forward hold, the other lurking a few paces down the main corridor. Thankfully, C-3PO was in the rear of the ship, supervising a routine check of the backup life-support systems.
Instead of offering to help either Leia or Han, Nashtah took a seat at the table, where she would be in a good position to watch them both. None of them removed their weapons belts.
Leia called up a list of stores, then turned half toward Nashtah. “What would you like? We have brogy stew, gorba melts…”
“Do you have nerf steaks?” Nashtah interrupted.
“Sure,” Leia said. Nerf steaks were more dinner than lunch, but who knew what timetable Nashtah was on? “How would you like it?”