Jedi Eclipse

by James Luceno

Without warning, Han rapped his fist against the droid’s chest plastron, eliciting a hollow sound. “You sure you never carried another droid in there? Cubical thing, no bigger than this”—Han spread his hands a few centimeters apart—“but smart as a whip.”

  “Another droid? Certainly not! What do you take me for?”

  Han stroked his beard, shook his head, then snorted a laugh. “You coulda fooled me.”

  Baffle bowed slightly. “I’m flattered that I remind you of someone, sir—I think.”

  “Now what’s this about a central database?”

  The droid directed them to a computer terminal, at which several folks were queued. Han and Droma planted themselves at the end of the line, behind a Duros couple, and waited while everyone had a go at getting the machine to cooperate. Han handled the input when they finally reached the head of the line.

  “Refugees are grouped by species,” he said, frowning. “But the Ryn aren’t even listed.”

  “Try ‘other,’ ” Baffle suggested.

  Droma smirked. “The droid’s right. Allow me to do the honors.”

  Han moved away from the keyboard but kept his eyes on the display screen.

  “Here we are,” Droma said. “Just where we usually show up—between Rybet and Saadul. And my clanmates are here!” He turned excitedly to Han. “Well, five of them at any rate.”

  “Your sister with them?”

  Droma read over the list again, then shook his head. “Leia was correct, I’m afraid. Sapha must have been left behind on Gyndine.”

  Han made his lips a thin line. “We’ll find her next. Where are the others?”

  “Facility 17—along with thirty-two other Ryn.”

  “Oh, I know that camp well, sirs,” Baffle said. “Several of my peers and counterparts have had occasion to work there.”

  Han swung to the droid. “What’s the quickest way to get there?”

  “In my cab.”

  “You’re a driver?”

  Baffle pointed out the terminal window to a battered SoroSuub landspeeder. “Just there, sir—the one lacking a proper windscreen and in need of paint.”

  Han glanced from the landspeeder to the dented and spot-welded droid. “Looks like you and your vehicle get your work done at the same mechanic’s shop. Will that thing make it to Facility 17?”

  “No problem at all, sir. The camp is actually within walking distance—for those with sufficient time, that is.”

  The three of them headed out to the cab. Baffle clambered into the open-air operator’s perch and got the aft-mounted repulsorlift generator and outboard turbines running. When Han and Droma were cinched into the molded seats below the perch, the droid set off down a well-maintained road that coursed between immaculately cultivated fields. Through gaps in the topiary shrubs that lined the road, Han could see droids of endless variety—though far fewer than he was accustomed to seeing on similar agricultural worlds.

  “Why aren’t you out there with the others?” he shouted to Baffle.

  “Oh, I’m too old for that sort of work, sir.”

  “Salliche sidelined you, huh?”

  “Basically, yes. Ever since Salliche Ag offered to accept refugees, Ruan has become a rather chaotic environment, so I was reassigned to function as the driver of this reliable if somewhat woebegone vehicle.”

  “Seemed to be a lot more people coming than going,” Han said.

  “That’s very observant of you, sir. In fact, many refugees have become so enamored of Ruan, they have remained onworld to work for Salliche Ag.”

  Han and Droma exchanged puzzled looks. “To work for Salliche?” Han said. “Doing what?”

  “Why, field work, sir. Thanks to Ruan’s climate-control station, labor is a pleasurable enterprise for many folks.”

  Han uttered a laugh. “That’s crazy. Salliche has an army of droids at its disposal.”

  “They do, sir, it’s true. But Salliche Ag has recently developed a preference for living workers.”

  Again, Han glanced at Droma, who shrugged. “I just got here, remember?” the Ryn said.

  Han might have pursued the topic with Baffle, but just then the refugee camp came into view around a wide turn.

  “Facility 17, good sirs.”

  The droid conveyed them right to the gate, where access to the camp was by way of a turretlike security booth. Han tapped his knuckles against the booth’s transparisteel window to draw the attention of a thickset guard inside. The uniformed man stuck his scarred face outside the window, got an eyeful of Han and Droma, and scowled.

  “Get a load of this,” he said to someone else in the booth.

  Shortly, a woman joined him at the window, giving Han and Droma the same once-over. “What’s your business here?”

  “We’re looking for a couple of friends,” Han told them.

  “Aren’t we all,” the man said in self-amusement.

  “A group of Ryn,” Han went on. “They would have arrived maybe two standard weeks ago.”

  “A group of Ryn, you say.” The guard jerked a thumb at Droma. “Like this one.”

  Han rolled his tongue around in his cheek. “That’s right, like this one. If you’ve got a problem with him, maybe you should step outside so we can all discuss it.”

  The guard grinned down at him. “I don’t have a problem, big guy, but your little pal here does.”

  Han heard the whirring of charging blasters and spun around to find half a dozen uniformed guards moving in on the booth from three sides. Cautiously he raised his hands to the back of his head, and Droma did the same.

  “We didn’t come looking for trouble,” Han said. “It’s like I told the welcome committee, we’re just looking for a couple of friends.”

  The lead guard ignored him and waved his blaster at Droma. “Step to one side.” When Droma did, the guard added, “You’re under arrest.”

  Han did a double take. “Arrest? On what charge? We haven’t even been here long enough to litter!”

  With four blasters trained on Droma and two on Han, the lead guard snapped a pair of cylindrical stun cuffs around Droma’s wrists.

  “The charge is forgery of official documents,” he said to Han. “And if you’ve any sense, you’ll get off Ruan before we haul you in as an accessory after the fact.”

  NINETEEN

  In imperious repose on her cushioned and pillowed pallet, Borga Besadii Diori fixed her gaze on Nas Choka, as Leenik escorted the black-haired Yuuzhan Vong supreme commander and his minions into the palace court. Though rarely known to exercise restraint, Borga refrained from elevating her couch, in the interest of getting off to a better start with Choka than she had with Commander Malik Carr on his first visit to Nal Hutta.

  Trailing Choka, and similarly attired in attenuating helmet and swishing command cloak, stepped Malik Carr, and behind him the New Republic traitor, Pedric Cuf, sporting pegged trousers, low black boots, and stiff-collared jacket. Advisers and armed guards dispersed to both sides of Choka’s retinue, assuming positions that encouraged confrontation with the members of Borga’s own security contingent.

  “I welcome you to Nal Hutta,” Borga said in Yuuzhan Vong while Choka assessed the trappings of the court from the chair to which the Rodian Leenik had shown him. “We are at your disposal.”

  Choka smiled in surprise. “Excellent, Borga. I didn’t realize that you were acquainted with our language.”

  “A few simple phrases,” Borga said in Basic. “Courtesy of the tutorial supplied by Pedric Cuf.”

  Choka glanced at Nom Anor, then his closely set eyes came back to Borga. “I’m told that you have already been exceedingly accommodating.”

  Borga smiled pleasantly. “We are renowned for our hospitality—especially of the sort we render to revered guests.”

  Choka’s tone of voice changed. “Guests.” Deliberate or not, his faceful of bulges and indentations gave him the look of someone who had gone fifteen hard rounds with a Hapan kickboxer. “An interesting choice of words, Borga
. Unless you mean to imply that the Yuuzhan Vong are nothing more than visitors to this galaxy.”

  “A visitor who takes well to new surroundings often becomes a resident,” Borga replied, refusing to be flustered. “When you have established yourselves on Coruscant, I would be honored to call you neighbor.”

  Choka grinned faintly. “You would do well to call me lord.”

  Borga’s large eyes blinked. “Then when the title suits the circumstance, I will do so.”

  Choka nodded, apparently satisfied. “I’m not one to mince words, Borga. With respect to your gracious offer to oversee the transport of captives in exchange for information regarding imperiled star systems, I have determined that such services are unwarranted at this stage of our campaign. As a gesture of good faith, however, we will continue, from time to time and as we see fit, to furnish you with some advance notice of our activities.” He paused momentarily. “For example, you may resume delivery of your euphoric spice to the Bothawui system, without fear of inadvertent entanglement.”

  Borga licked her lips. “We thank you—and I’m sure the Bothans will do likewise.”

  Choka studied her for a moment. “For the spice, you mean.”

  “Precisely. For the spice.”

  Choka’s expression didn’t change. “I trust, Borga, that you’re not sharing this privileged information with any third parties.”

  Borga spread her smallish hands, palms outward. “With whom would I share? Our primary concern is to maintain trade—and, of course, to avoid complicating your business, whatever that may be.”

  “That’s comforting to hear,” Choka said. “Be advised that should evidence ever come to light that you have been violating our confidence … Well, I don’t think I need to enumerate the horrors that would befall Hutt space, do I?”

  Borga shook her head. “We are also renowned for our vivid imaginations.”

  “Splendid.” Choka gestured toward Malik Carr. “My second in command informs me, as well, that you expressed a desire to commence apportioning the galaxy, in anticipation of our complete and utter conquest.”

  Borga swallowed audibly. “I may have been premature, Excellency.”

  Choka’s invidious grin returned. “Nothing pleases me more than a well-reasoned response. We will lay siege to whichever worlds we require or crave, including this ‘glorious jewel’ of yours—not that we have any such designs—for the moment, that is—although one never knows—save for Warmaster Tsavong Lah, who could decide tomorrow that Nal Hutta needs to be razed. Do we understand each other?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Borga replied, “given the limitations of Basic—and, of course, the relative youth of our association—notwithstanding the depths it has already achieved—despite our many differences.”

  Choka smiled with sincerity. “Very good. We prize sportive circumlocution above almost anything but valor. Speaking of valor, Borga, have the Hutts had many dealings with this gang of ruffians that calls itself the Jedi Knights?”

  Borga adopted a look of distaste. “Some, Excellency. In fact, before you deigned to grace this galaxy with your presence, the Jedi were making things rather irksome for us by interfering with our myriad operations.”

  “Yes,” Choka mused, “they have proved troublesome for us, as well. We’ve had a few Jedi in our grip, but they have all managed to slip through our fingers.” He regarded Borga for a long moment. “You would profit by assisting us in separating one from the pack.”

  Borga fell silent, wondering if she was being tested, but ultimately deciding that Choka’s offer was genuine. “But, Excellency, you have one in your possession even now,” she said cautiously.

  It was Choka’s turn to fall silent. He turned to glance at Malik Carr, then Nom Anor, both of whom returned nescient shrugs.

  “Explain yourself, Borga.”

  “The vessel aboard which my son Randa is currently a guest,” Borga supplied. “Randa sent word that a Jedi had been discovered among the ship’s complement of captives.”

  Once more Choka looked to Malik Carr, who said, “I know nothing of this.”

  “To which ship does the Hutt refer?” Choka demanded of his advisers in Yuuzhan Vong.

  “The Crèche, Supreme Commander,” a bare-headed Yuuzhan Vong answered. “The yammosk vessel under the command of Chine-kal.”

  Choka muttered angrily. “Can we communicate with the ship?”

  “Provided that it is not in superluminal transit, Supreme Commander.”

  “Then have Chine-kal’s villip prepared and brought to me at once!”

  “Excellency, I could easily arrange to put you in contact with my son,” Borga started to say, when Choka whirled on her.

  “You dare insult me by suggesting that I consort with one of your ghoulish machines?”

  “But I—”

  “Keep silent, you mutated slug! You will speak only when spoken to, or I’ll have that obscene tongue ripped from your head!”

  Clearly waiting for just such an opportunity, Borga’s guards raised their blasters and stun batons. In rapid response Choka’s soldiers, crouching into combat stances, brought forth their amphistaffs and coufees. Everyone remained silent and unmoving, as if suddenly removed from the flow of ordinary time, waiting for fate to play its hand. Borga and Leenik exchanged meaningful glances, as did Nom Anor and Malik Carr. Then Borga motioned her forces to stand down.

  Nas Choka squinted slyly. “So you do have a spark of intelligence, after all.”

  Whatever else he might have said was interrupted by the arrival of a Yuuzhan Vong attendant, cradling an already everted villip in his folded arms. A second attendant carried what was obviously one of Choka’s own dedicated villips.

  In the language of the Yuuzhan Vong, Choka addressed the facsimile visage of Chine-kal. “Commander, is it true that you have a Jedi Knight in custody?”

  “Yes, Supreme Commander. Our rapidly maturing yammosk has the distinction of having exposed him. I thought I might keep him as a prize for Warmaster Tsavong Lah.”

  Choka glowered. “I will determine the best use for this Jedi. What is the present position of your vessel?”

  “We are nearing a world called Kalarba, Supreme Commander. In fact, we have been awaiting word from you regarding the attack on—”

  “Silence!” Choka’s eyes became angry slits. “You will remain at Kalarba and relinquish the Jedi Knight to bearers I am dispatching to rendezvous with the Crèche. Is that clear?”

  “Abundantly clear,” Chine-kal’s villip replied deferentially.

  Choka cast a glance at Borga. “For your part in this, you have my word that Nal Hutta will remain yours to command for as long as I live and breathe. Unless, of course, you are fool enough to betray me.”

  Borga forced a smile. “Then may perfect health shadow you wherever you tread, Excellency.”

  “I warned you,” Pazda was telling Borga shortly after the Yuuzhan Vong had left the court. The gray-bearded Desilijic Hutt brought his hoversled closer to Borga’s levitated pallet. “Any dealings with these heathens will come to a dreadful end.”

  From her pallet, Borga watched Crev Bombaasa, Gardulla the Younger, and former Consul General Golga nod in agreement. “I myself sensed as much, though I confess I thought we’d be able to remain neutral for a while longer.”

  Pazda loosed a scornful sound. “The Yuuzhan Vong do not suffer safe, middle ground. They will have things their way or not at all. Before long, there will be nothing counterfeit about the obeisance we show them.”

  From atop a modest repulsorlift couch, Golga looked from Pazda to Borga. “Short of going to war, what can be done?”

  Borga interlocked her fingers in patent disquiet. “What was it Senator Viqi Shesh told you regarding New Republic battle contingencies?”

  “She intimated that the senate and the military were convinced that the Yuuzhan Vong would strike next at either Corellia or Bothawui,” Golga said. “However, the message I was to deliver to you was that the Ne
w Republic hopes to see Corellia attacked, where they evidently have a surprise in store. Senator Shesh also wanted it known that the information was a gift—to rectify an earlier wrong, as I recall. Obviously the New Republic was trusting that the Yuuzhan Vong would call her bluff.”

  “I relayed as much to Malik Carr,” Borga said pensively, “and it now appears that Choka has taken the bait. But I begin to wonder who is using whom. If Choka is keen on using us to send a false message to the New Republic, he does so by deliberately putting our spice ships at risk at Bothawui. And if that is indeed the case, he is obviously prepared for the eventuality that we will declare war.”

  “You see,” Pazda said, “there is no middle ground.”

  Borga turned to the ample Crev Bombaasa. “Triple our usual spice shipments to the Bothan worlds. Let’s be certain we send a clear message to the New Republic that Corellia is the target.”

  Bombaasa nodded dubiously. “What about your promise to Choka about sharing information?”

  “A promise is like a shipment of spice jettisoned in deep space,” Gardulla the Younger sniped. “It weighs nothing.”

  “That may be so,” Crev said, “but if our treachery is discovered, Nal Hutta itself will be imperiled—not to mention Randa.”

  “We risk something greater by partnering with the invaders,” Pazda argued.

  Everyone waited for Borga’s response.

  “Crev is correct,” she said at last. “If we’re to help thwart the Yuuzhan Vong, we must be circumspect. When drawing the Sarlacc from its hole, a wise Hutt uses another’s hand.” She turned to Leenik. “You have a better grasp of Yuuzhan Vong than I. What instructions did Choka give to the commander of the Crèche?”

  The Rodian bowed. “Choka said that he was dispatching a ship to rendezvous with the Crèche at Kalarba.”

  Borga looked at Crev Bombaasa. “Contact your friend Talon Karrde. Perhaps the Jedi will be interested in learning the whereabouts of one of their missing Knights.”

  “I had to see for myself,” Randa Besadii Diori said, using his mighty tail to move himself to the edge of the inhibition field two dovin basals had fashioned aboard the Crèche. “Ah, but of course, there’s no way to identify a Jedi by appearance alone. Consider Luke Skywalker, for example. Looking at him, who would guess he possesses the power he does?”