That brought Koyan up short. Until the station was operational again, those resources were incalculably valuable.
Common sense dictated that he take a step back, offer some appeasement, play nice. As an experienced politician, he knew this.
But his next words surprised even him. “Don’t threaten me, General. You wouldn’t like the results.” He gestured to his technicians, invisible outside the glow of the hologram, and the image of Phennir disappeared, plunging the chamber into blackness.
Gulping, Koyan turned toward the chamber exit. He probably shouldn’t have done that. On the other hand, it was important to show the Confederation which world held the controls, and which ruler was boss.
The answers were Corellia, and Sadras Koyan.
Chapter 22
KASHYYYK, MAITELL BASE, HANGAR HOUSING THE MILLENNIUM FALCON
Jaina trotted into the hangar office-a set of improvised rooms, set off from the rest of the building by sheets of corrugated durasteel, that now served as headquarters and workshop for the Alema hunters-and paused just inside the door. The main office was dark. “Jag?”
His voice floated through the curtain separating this chamber from the next. “Workshop.”
She moved to and through the curtain. “We have some preliminary results from Talon Karrde on the data from Jacen’s shuttle…” Seeing what stood in the center of the workshop, she stopped short, staring.
Surrounded by tables and shelves piled high with metal parts and electronic components was a man-probably a man, though he could have been some new variety of battle droid. Most of him was covered in a jumpsuit of crinkled, reflective silver-gray material. Over this were attached a helmet, metal gauntlets, boots, a mechanical rig held against his back by two straps crossing in an X-pattern across his chest, and a broad belt holding pouches and a holster carrying an oversized blaster pistol. All these accoutrements had similar metallic surfaces resembling brushed silver.
The helmet was the one Jag had worn aboard Love Commander during the last engagement with Alema Rar, and the gauntlets were the crushgaunts sent by Boba Fett.
Jaina scowled. “Why is it I always catch you playing dress-up?”
“Just assembling my gear-my current kit.” Jag pushed up the visor of his helmet, revealing his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
Jaina approached and rapped her knuckles against his chest. It rang, the noise dulled by the cloth covering it. “And the breastplate, too.”
“Not exactly the height of fashion, is it?”
“Well, I’ll forgive you for wearing too much shiny stuff if it’s useful.”
“Oh, it’s all useful.” Jag tapped each item in turn as he explained. “You’re familiar with the helmet, the breastplate, and the crushgaunts.”
Jaina nodded.
“The backpack is a thruster. It’s not much use in Coruscant-level gravity, but in low-grav conditions it will me get around, help make up for the fact that I can’t do Jedi leaps. The blaster pistol I designed from the ground up.” He drew it and managed a creditable Han Solo spin around his trigger finger, despite the presence of his crushgaunts. “It’s oversized, so I can draw and fire it while Wearing the gauntlets; it’s engineered to function in the temperatures and vacuum of deep space-I can fire it while extravehicular.” He bolstered it again. “Plus, it has a feature I don’t think any blaster has ever had.”
“What’s that?”
He shook his head and the bridge of his nose crinkled.
Jaina guessed that he was grinning at her. She felt a flash of annoyance but let it pass. “All right, keep your little boy’s secret.”
He gestured at the material of his flight suit. “Laced with cortosis alloy. Not much-with the Temple and the academy at Ossus both abandoned, Master Luke could supply me with only a little. But a little still means that a graze from a lightsaber could result in minor or no damage instead of an amputation. The belt pouches, full of surprises for Alema. The boots …” His voice trailed off.
“Yes?”
“Keep me from stubbing my toes.”
She sighed. “Funny. Or not.” She looked over his battle array. “How long have you been working on this?”
“I’ve been carrying pieces of it for years, gradually adding items as I learned more about our quarry.” He shrugged; his entire torso rose as one piece. “It doesn’t make me a Jedi. … but we don’t need another Jedi. We need something she can’t predict. Also, if I take the crushgaunts off, I can pilot a starfighter in this. The suit offers all the usual virtues of a flight suit.”
“Well, I have something your suit doesn’t have.” From her belt, she extracted a piece of flimsi and held it up before Jag’s eyes.