Star Wars: Millennium Falcon

by James Luceno

  “You ready?” the Weequay named Erf asked in slurred Basic.

  Jadak gave the suit jacket a downward tug. “Good to go.” He nodded to Poste, who scowled but managed to pull himself away from the refresher's full-length mirrpanel.

  Erf pulled two blasters from the roomy pockets of his longcoat. “Safety engaged. Already set on stun.” He flicked the selector switches to make sure, then handed the blasters to Jadak.

  Jadak hefted them, then passed the more powerful one to Poste, who rechecked the selector switches, checked the battery charge and gas levels, and slipped the weapon into a shoulder holster.

  “Here the case,” the other humanoid said. “Inside is data card.”

  Jadak took hold of the small alloy case and experienced what he initially took to be a déjà vu moment. In fact, memory transported him to the docking berth in the lowest tier of the Senate Annex on Coruscant, where he had delivered a similar case to Senators Des'sein, Largetto, and Zar. In Jadak's mind, the memory felt no more than a month old.

  “The Antarian Ranger who will take possession of the ship is called Folee. You will find her in Salik City, which is the capital city of the western regions. She is expecting you. The phrase we've provided—”

  “You all right?” Poste said.

  The memory receded and was gone.

  “Lost you there for a moment.”

  Jadak looked away. “Just running through the plan.”

  “Second thoughts?”

  Jadak shook his head. “Thoughts.”

  They grabbed their small rucksacks, located the rented airspeeder in the hotel garage, and folded themselves into the bucket seats. A forty-year-old Incom T-11 with a stylish body and sloping prow, it was fully tricked out with a powerful repulsorlift and wide thruster nozzles. Jadak's hands went instinctively to the proper controls, and within moments they had lifted off and were slicing through the planet's thick air, merging with traffic in the thirty-meter lane.

  A world of varied terrain, Holess was home to a species of portly humanoids thought to be related to the long-eared Lannik. The native population was clustered in towering cities built on wealth derived from the planet's rich deposits of duranium, which had been mined and exported for thousands of years. With more disposable income and free time on their hands than most species would know what to do with, the Holessians had elevated their innate reverence for law to what amounted to a religion. As a result Holess had more petty laws than just about anywhere in the galaxy, and the native population was litigious to a fault. Laws were enacted simply for their sake, in the surety that someone would break them and be forced to mount a legal defense. Judges were revered as god-like figures, and lawyers—prosecutors and defense attorneys alike—were treated as celebrities. To be selected to serve on a jury was tantamount to being chosen to partake in a sacred ritual. Holessians followed cases as fervently as other species followed sports seasons. Betting on a verdict was viewed as sacrilege, but decisions were endlessly discussed, debated, and analyzed, often for years after the cases were concluded.

  The center of all the legal activity was the Mount of Justice, a cathedral-like structure built atop a natural prominence in the center of the capital city and reserved for the highest-profile cases, frequently those of galactic import. Though often compared to the Tower of Law on pacific Bimmisaari, the mount was the focal point of Holessian life, and a destination for pilgrimages all natives had to undertake at least once during their lifetime. The mount was accessed by a broad ramp that spiraled from the tor's monolithic base to the massive, gaping front doors of the structure itself. Above the entrance loomed an enormous holoscreen that could be seen for kilometers distant, and on which ran live coverage of cases being tried, along with advertisements for a host of products and services.

  The stately spires of the mount filled the forward view from the airspeeder as Jadak maneuvered effortlessly through traffic. Far below, the boulevards that surrounded the mount were lined with spectators, who were cheering on judges, lawyers, and jury members as they made their way to the base of the ramp. Makeshift stands erected along the processional route supplied food, drink, facsimile legal briefs, and souvenirs, including replicas of the chief participants.

  The fastest-selling item at the moment was a scale model of the star witness in a case that had consumed the Holessians' attention for the past several months. The case had been brought by Colla-Arphocc Automata against the Galactic Alliance government for the right to resume production of the battle droids that had earned the carnivorous Colicoids a reputation for barbarity in the years preceding the Clone Wars. Forced to disarm at the conclusion of the war, and in fear of violent reprisals by Imperial forces, the Colicoid Creation Nest had gone into hiding. They had recently emerged, represented by a celebrity attorney from Epica, claiming to be in possession of documents that bore the personal seal of Emperor Palpatine. The alleged documents stated that the ban placed on production of their war droids had expired a year earlier, and the Colicoids were arguing that they should now be free to compete with Roche, the Givin Cartel, Tendrando Arms, and others suppliers of armament and munitions.

  The fact that the star witness for Colla-Arphocc Automata was a former member of the think tank known as Colla Designs had given Holessian souvenir makers a real chance to shine. The facsimiles sold in the stands not only looked like a miniature destroyer droid—save for the twin blasters and distinctive defensive bubble—but could also be balled into a near-solid sphere. A seldom-witnessed, uncontrollable startle reflex triggered by encounters with an ancient predator known as a hueche, the transformation owed to the overlapping epidermal scales of horn that were the foundation of the Colicoids' bony shell. Some xenobiologists believed that the Colicoids' commitment to wiping out the hueche was the impetus for their eventual success in the field of weaponry design.

  Even from thirty meters up, Jadak and Poste could see that many spectators were having fun with the toy Colicoids, playing catch, juggling them, rolling them along the broad sidewalks, using the foamite models in mock battles with one another.

  Closing on the controlled airspace around the Mount, Poste transmitted the entry code they had taken off the advertising execs. Landing on or anywhere near the helical ramp was prohibited, as most participants and all pilgrims made the climb on foot—some on hands and knees. Bordered on both sides by low fences made of duranium, the ramp offered numerous resting areas for the weary, most of which were accessed by gates and decorated with duranium tablets elaborately engraved with laws and edicts.

  Granted clearance, Jadak banked for the hover platform that housed the control booth for the mound's colossal holoscreen.

  A Holessian sporting a blue tunic was waiting at the platform docking area. “You're the representatives from Desicare Deodorant?”

  “Fresh from Coruscant,” Jadak said, climbing from the pilot's seat.

  “Bone-dry and fragrant.”

  Poste showed the Holessian a blank stare, then grinned. “Hey, you know our slogan.”

  “I use your product every day.”

  “Our favorite kind of customer,” Jadak said.

  “We have laws that govern perspiration,” the Holessian said solemnly.

  “Raise your hands,” Poste said.

  The Holessian swung to him. “I assure you I'm quite dry—”

  At the sight of Poste's blaster he reached for the sky.

  “No reason to break a sweat,” Jadak said, drawing his blaster. “Just lead us into the control booth and follow our instructions like they're law.”

  Everyone but a lone security guard had their backs to them as they were led into the oval-shaped booth. Sensing that something wasn't right, the guard went for his blaster, but Poste was ready for him. Disarming the guard, Poste repeated the warning Jadak had given their greeter moments earlier. The commotion got the attention of some of the technicians, who swung around from their individual display screens to find the human executives from Desicare Deodorant leveling bl
asters in a general way.

  “If you want your product to have more screen time, you need only ask,” one of them said.

  That brought the rest of them around.

  “You are in violation of provision one-three-three-three-six-slash-two-slash-B of the penal code regarding unlawful entry. Be advised that we have the right to bring suit against you, notwithstanding your—”

  The bolt Poste fired into the acoustic tile ceiling put an end to the gabbing.

  Jadak popped open the carry case and raised a data card above his head. “A new spot we want you to run.”

  The Holessian in charge objected. “All advertisements are required to be submitted to the Ministry of Media for prior viewing to ascertain whether the content is fit for public consumption or should be rated according to the guidelines hithertofore established by the Board of Decency.”

  “So sue us if it doesn't meet your standards,” Jadak said.

  “We most certainly will.”

  “Do you have a permit to carry those blasters?” a technician asked.

  Poste triggered another bolt. “I'm going to stun the next one of you who speaks.”

  Jadak marched down a carpeted stairway that led to the booth's curving observation window. The mount and that part of the spiral ramp that ended at the front doors seemed close enough to touch. The huge screen was displaying live video of the jury being seated in the courtroom. Jadak swung around to face the production technicians.

  “We're going to wait until the star witness reaches the top of the ramp. When he does, and on my word, you're going to run our spot on the holoscreen.” He slapped the data card into the hand of the chief Holessian, who regarded it with revulsion.

  “If you are attempting to impress the Colicoid species,” the chief said, “I suggest you consider that, being insectoids, they do not perspire in the same fashion as humanoids. Toxins and waste are excreted by means other than sweat glands. What glands they do possess are for generating defensive odors and pheromones.”

  “We're hoping to market a special product just for them,” Jadak said.

  “Why not do that on their world?”

  “Because most of the nest is probably accessing your live feed.”

  “In that case, we reserve the right to claim a participatory share in all revenues generated by the sale of … whatever your new product is.”

  Jadak nodded. “Sure, and if it fails, Desicare reserves the right to bill you for a portion of the research-and-development costs.”

  A dozen separate conversations broke out.

  Jadak turned back to the window. He studied the patrol patterns of the Holessian security speeders and appraised the turbolaser battery installed at the summit of the mount's tallest spire, a holdover from the Yuuzhan Vong War. Lowering his gaze to the ramp, he spied the Colicoid nearing the top, under escort by a powerfully built Nautolan and a slim woman most likely in the employ of the attorney representing Colla-Arphocc Automata.

  Jadak moved quickly to the closest display screen. “Give me a close-up on the star witness and its escorts,” he told the technician at the controls. The Holessian selected one of the live feeds and brought it onscreen while Jadak watched over the tech's shoulder. The Nautolan was one of the thugs who had jumped him on Nar Shaddaa. The woman—the female, at any rate—was Koi Quire, of Core Health and Life.

  “Who's the attorney representing the Colicoids?” Jadak asked when his thoughts had stopped whirling.

  “Lord Lestra Oxic,” the technician said.

  The name didn't ring a bell, but Jadak tucked it away.

  “Get ready,” he said loud enough to be heard over the ongoing arguments.

  “You do realize that your spot is going to interrupt our interview with Chief Justice Margo?”

  “Run a breaking-news announcement.”

  “We could do that,” the chief Holessian said to his assistant. “If nothing else, we will have protected ourselves from possible action by—”

  “Do it,” Jadak said, brandishing his blaster.

  Peripherally he saw the giant holoscreen go blank for a moment, then display a news bulletin icon. Below, the Colicoid, the Nautolan, and Koi Quire were completing the final curve in the ramp and ascending straight for the front doors.

  “Run the spot—now!”

  A 3-D image of a snarling feline with two rows of razor-sharp teeth all but leapt from the mount, baffling some of the nearby spectators, surprising others, and frightening the rest. But only in the Colicoid did the twenty-meter-high visage inspire panic. Leaping straight up from the ramp, the star witness for the plaintiffs curled its body into an armored ball two meters in diameter and went rolling down the ramp at incredible speed.

  The chief Holessian hurried to the observation window. “What sort of advertisement is this? What is that creature?”

  “It's called a hueche,” Jadak said, without taking his eyes from the rolling alien.

  Spectators still climbing the ramp were leaping for cover as the ball flew into their midst, kept on track by the duranium fences that lined the ramp. At one point it looked like the Colicoid had gathered enough momentum to leap the fence entirely, but Rej Taunt's henchmen were on hand to see that that didn't happen. Throwing open one of the rest-area fences, they effectively flipped the balled Colicoid back onto the ramp, where its spiraling descent continued. Farther down, a second team of henchmen did the same, directing the fleeing alien toward the base of the mount where a speeder truck was waiting. In its bed sat a huge containment sphere, its hemispherical lid open wide.

  Jadak signaled Poste to head for the airspeeder. He thought about putting a couple of blaster bolts into the control booth's communications suite, but decided that they had already done enough damage. Chances were that security patrols had already been notified, and that he and Poste were going to have to do some evasive flying.

  The Holessians were too busy restoring normalcy to the broadcast to attempt to slow or prevent their retreat. Hurling themselves into the airspeeder, Jadak and Poste launched from the platform just in time to see the balled Colicoid swish into the speeder truck's gapping container, which slammed shut, trapping the insectoid inside.

  “Case closed,” Poste said from the passenger's bucket seat.

  At the same time, security vehicles circling above the truck broke from their holding patterns and began to race for the control booth.

  “Here we go,” Jadak said.

  They already had a good lead on the patrols and with any luck would arrive at the spaceport long before the speeder truck. Twisting the yoke, Jadak swerved the T-11 away from the mount, just in case anyone got reckless and decided to bring the turbolaser battery to bear. The throttle maxed, Jadak was angling for a cluster of tall buildings in the southern part of the city when he heard Poste loose a string of epithets.

  “What?” Jadak shouted.

  Poste was leaning out of the speeder, looking at something behind them. “They lost it! The sphere, the Colicoid—they dropped it.”

  “Dropped it?”

  “I didn't see exactly what happened but the kriffing thing is rolling down the street!”

  A dozen possibilities fought it out in Jadak's mind: the truck had taken fire from one of the security vehicles; the tractor system that anchored the containment sphere had failed; the Colicoid had somehow decompressed itself just enough to rock the sphere from the bed of the truck …

  “Is it still rolling?”

  “And picking up speed,” Poste said, looking over his shoulder. “It's downhill all the way to the river.”

  “Where's the truck?”

  “Chasing it.”

  “How many patrol craft on our tail?”

  Poste pivoted in the seat. “I make it three, but they're way behind us.”

  Jadak settled himself at the controls and blew out his breath. “Buckle up.”

  Poste had no sooner fastened the seat straps than Jadak threw the speeder through a twisting half loop and sped back toward the
Mount of Justice.

  “You promised no more stunt flying!” Poste said after he had reswallowed his breakfast.

  “Old habits die hard.”

  Jadak had the rolling containment sphere in sight, but the security vehicles now had the T-11 in sight and were darting in from both sides, with sirens howling and lights flashing. SoroSuub Police Specials, they were as fleet as the Incom, but only in the right hands, and the repeating blasters they carried were light-duty and of limited range. Text crawled across their rooftop-mounted display screens, showing the number of laws Jadak and Poste had broken.

  Less than a hundred meters ahead and twenty meters below the containment sphere was zipping toward the river, going airborne at each shallow hill. Flying five meters above the street, the speeder truck was still in pursuit, but short of cutting the Colicoid off there wasn't much it could do. Jadak took a moment to study the stretch of roadway ahead, then pushed the yoke forward and dropped the air-speeder almost to ground level and so close to the front of the truck that it was forced to veer off. Seeing what was coming, Poste extended his legs and arms to brace himself against the floor and passenger's-side door.

  Jadak waited for the next dip in the roadway; then, just when the containment sphere took to the air, he called all speed from the T-11 and dived beneath the sphere.

  The airspeeder's forward motion drove the ball up onto the slanted prow, over the low windscreen and the lowered heads of Jadak and Poste, and down into the rear nacelle, where it wobbled for a moment before nesting into the bucket seats. The extra weight sent the T-11 onto the street, sparks fountaining from the undercarriage, until Jadak managed to regain control of the repulsorlifts and get the speeder back into the air. By then, though, the police SoroSuubs had caught up and were attempting to keep the Incom from gaining additional altitude.