“Maybe you should tell her.”
Lando shook his head. “You make it sound so easy.”
“YOU SURE THIS IS A good idea?” Han said, taking in the monstrous, gleaming citadel that formed the New Republic’s Defense Fleet headquarters. Security speeders zipped around each tower, and blaster cannons spun endless circles, menacing the air around them in all directions.
“Relax,” Lando said with a snicker. “This is our team, remember?”
“I know that. I just…I don’t like any of these places, to be honest.”
“Look, if we’re going to be tracking down this guy, especially some prison moon, we need a slicer. And who better to help us find a slicer than—”
“I guess,” Han said. “Let me do the talking though; Kyl’s a buddy of mine.”
Lando rolled his eyes. “You say that, and then—”
“We roughed up some flaky senators trying to keep us out of the Battle of Jakku two years back,” Han said. “Good guy.”
“Let’s hope so,” Lando said as they strolled in. “Because he might not like what we’re asking.”
“They probably stuck him in some basement dungeon with all the other code freaks.”
The hustle and bustle of bureaucrats and politicos getting to work on time flowed around them as Han and Lando checked the holoboard for the Digital Warfare Department.
“Twelfth floor,” Lando said. “Not a basement after all.”
Floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the misty Chandrilan forest mountains stretching out in all directions around Hanna City as the glass turbolift zoomed higher and higher into the towering New Republic monolith.
A short fuzzy figure was clacking away on a comm tablet behind the desk in the twelfth-floor lobby. “They’re hiring Ewok receptionists now?” Han muttered under his breath.
“Apparently so,” Lando said, then he fixed that million-credit grin on his face and stepped up, clearing his throat.
The Ewok kept typing.
Han and Lando traded a confused look.
“Uh…excuse me?” Lando tried, smile diminishing rapidly.
She paused, squinted at the screen, checked another screen, and then resumed her clackity-clacking with even more vigor.
“We have an appointment with Mr. Kyl,” Han said.
The Ewok looked up, still typing, cocked her head at them, then shook it, muttering something in Ewokese, took a sip of a steamy beverage from what looked like a tiny tree trunk, and directed her glare back at the screen.
“Well, all right,” Lando said. “Guess we’ll just stroll on in!”
“Captain Solo!” a gregarious voice called from the doorway. “And the infamous General Calrissian!” Conder Kyl, chief of cyberwarfare for the New Republic, stood with his thick hairy arms stretched to either side, a wide grin on his face.
Lando shrugged. “Well, I don’t know about infamous…”
“Conder!” Han said, before being wrapped in a bone-crushing bear hug. “Oof.”
“Come in, you two! It’s not every day not one but two real-life heroes of the Rebellion show up here.”
“See?” Han said, elbowing Lando. “Good people.”
“If you say so,” Lando said, casting a wary glance at the still-typing furball behind them.
“How’s Rath Velus?” Han asked, settling into a floating spinny chair in front of Kyl’s comp-cluttered desk.
Conder Kyl shook his head, but the way his eyes lit up spoke of a man deeply in love. “Oh, Sinjir’s gallivanting across the galaxy causing all kinds of Sinjiry-type trouble.”
“Conder’s husband runs the political shenanigans for Mon Mothma,” Han explained.
Lando lit up. “Talented man! I never would’ve thought Mothma had a fixer. He must be good at his job.”
“Oh, he is,” Conder said. “A little too good sometimes. But you two didn’t come here to trade niceties. What’s going on?”
“We need a…favor,” Han started. “A potentially delicate one…”
“Delicate is our specialty here,” Conder said with a grin. “Get in, get out, rupture all the security firewalls along the way, and capture as much code as you can moving through. It’s what we do.”
Lando crossed his arms over his chest and nodded. “That’s exactly what we’re talking about, but this mission is under the radar and off the record. We don’t have any kind of New Republic authority whatsoever. Feel me?”
“Hm.” Conder scratched his goatee. “Yeah, I’m in an official capacity here, obviously, and overworked up to my ears, plus I get the sense what you’re talking about involves a certain amount of”—he locked eyes with Han—“galactic travel?”
Lando and Han both nodded.
“You know,” Conder said, and you could almost see the gears turning inside his brain, “I do have a mentee I’ve been training. She’s the best slicer I know—I mean, I’ve picked up a thing or two watching her work—and she’s not officially on payroll yet with the NR.”
“Wait,” Han said. “You don’t mean—”
Conder pushed a button on his desk. “Peekpa, can you come in here, please?”
“Not the—” Lando started as the door slid open and the surly Ewok from the front desk waddled in, weird little tree trunk mug in hand.
“Frip trak?” Peekpa chirped.
“Peekpa, these two gentlemen are about to embark on an unspecified and top-secret under-the-radar mission that they need the assistance of a talented slicer for…”
The Ewok cast a sharp look at Han and Lando and then let loose a withering barrage of what had to be vicious Endorian curses.
“Well, tell us how you really feel, furball,” Han said.
“It seems,” Conder said, “your assumption that Peekpa was a receptionist was highly offensive to her.”
Han sighed. “Well, if she hadn’t been sitting at a—”
“Please let her know,” Lando cut in, “that we apologize profusely, Mr. Kyl, and we would be happy to—”
“Fraza koonatzgah!” the Ewok moaned, rolling her big brown eyes and throwing her arms up in the air.
“She says she understands Basic,” Conder said. “Obviously. So you needn’t have me tell her anything, she understood you perfectly well.” He grimaced apologetically and turned to Peekpa. “Miss Peekpa, if you would consider the offer from General Calrissian and Captain Solo, I’m sure we could—”
Peekpa held up a paw. “Pata pata Kri Solo?”
“Of course that Captain Solo,” Conder said.
With a squeal, Peekpa laid into a lengthy monologue, the gist of which Conder Kyl summarized like this: “She wants to know if the Wookiee Chewbacca will be joining you on this quest.”
Han rubbed his eyes. Chewie had finally settled back with his family two years ago and was hard at work rebuilding Kashyyyk’s shattered infrastructure with the other Wookiees. When they’d spoken a few weeks ago, Chewie had been concerned about a spate of disappearances in nearby villages. “I don’t—”
“We can absolutely arrange for that, yes,” Lando cut in.
Conder looked at Peekpa, who tossed her mug and ran in a small circle, chirping and shrieking.
“You’re telling Chewie,” Han hissed.
“It seems,” Conder said, “that you’ve found yourselves a slicer.”
“WHAT’RE YOU LOOKIN’ AT, SHORTY?” Han muttered, trying to find the eyes of the huge Fromprath seated alone on the small stage at Maz’s castle.
It was after hours; just a few folks sat huddled over their drinks and muttering quietly to one another, and, encouraged by Maz herself, the Fromprath had gone and retrieved his long wood-and-string batanga and posted up with a kind of slithery smoothness in the spotlight. Now the delicate, lithe notes shimmered out into the smoky club; they tittered and fawned like old gossiping ladies, and they seemed t
o surround Han and his heavy head, mocking and mesmerizing.
Obviously, the three-meter snakelike thing with six legs and who-knew-how-many eyes was reading his mind, because it was very clear that whatever that song was, it was all about Han’s current crappy state of affairs. Each bending lick and all those winding harmonies, echoing one another, teasing, returning to the ether. They were clearly designed to paint pictures of Han’s own mashed-up heart, the pulsing sense of regret, the never-ending replay of each step along his dumb broken life that had led him here to this moment: lovesick and wasted at Maz’s and waiting for Sana to show up with whatever ridiculous cargo she needed his help smuggling.
And Sana was late, which the song seemed to know, too. “Prep the Falcon,” she’d said before she left. Chewie would do it. And anyway the Falcon was always prepped. And why were these cackling batanga notes mirroring Han’s silent conversation with himself?
If the song was mocking him, which it was, it absolutely was, and could read his deepest thoughts, which it blatantly could, that meant the Fromprath was staring at him. Somehow. Probably with one of those hidden eyestalks Frompraths had tucked away in that huge (admittedly very well-groomed) mane of hair.
Sneaky thing.
And even worse, it was ignoring him! All the eyes Han could see were closed with concentration as the Fromprath’s many, many fingers danced and slid across the batanga strings. How was this six-armed snake gonna both ignore him and read his mind, Han wondered, pounding a fist on the bar. The audacity!
“Easy, little guy,” a voice said from somewhere around Han’s hip area. A barstool maybe? But why was it speaking in Maz Kanata’s voice? In fact, why was it speaking at all? He looked down, found himself staring directly into those two tiny eyes hidden behind two gigantic goggles.
Of course.
It was speaking with Maz’s voice because it was Maz.
Finally, something made sense.
“You’re not a barstool at all,” Han said as if he’d just solved one of the great mysteries of life. Then he frowned. “Wait…who you calling little?”
Maz climbed up the actual barstool and plopped down beside Han. She nodded at Bragthap the bartender and then lifted the bubbly concoction he put in front of her. Han watched her every move with mild, bristling awe that he couldn’t even begin to explain.
“Normally,” Maz said, “I would have you out the door and on your ass for even looking sideways at Frapsen here.” She nodded at the still-noodling Fromprath. “Not to even mention that you were staring at me again. He’s very shy, you know, Frapsen. Took me ages just to convince the poor fellow to get on the stage. But there he is.” She paused, taking in the lovely toppling and tumbling harmonic cascade that seemed to fill the air around them like delicious smoke.
“But anyway,” Maz continued, her expression sharpening on Han. “I’m not going to put you out.”
“Because you like me,” Han said.
“No,” Maz snapped. “Because I’m in a good mood, Han. That’s it.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t push your luck, smuggler.”
Han acknowledged the wisdom with a nod and sipped some more blue milk as the Fromprath’s song worked its way deeper into his own sense of loss, the feelings of emptiness he would never dare say out loud, his—
“What’s her name?” Maz asked.
“Why does everyone—bah!” He cut himself off and swatted the whole conversation away. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Names always matter,” Maz said. “Mine, for instance, means Owner of the Warrior’s Crown.” She chuckled. “One interpretation of it anyway. Depends who you ask.”
“Well, that is pretty,” Han acknowledged.
“And yours is such a lonely one, when you think about it.”
Han had, plenty, and now that familiar sorrow crept back over his heart, an eclipse on never-ending repeat. “This has been a really fun conversation; thanks, Maz.”
Maz shrugged. “I do what I can. But you’ll be all right. You’re still just a kid, really. What are you, eighteen? Nineteen?”
“I will have you know I’m well into my early twenties.”
“Imagine that. And still so much to learn.”
“About women?”
She got up in his face, her breath heavy with something flowery and sharp. “About yourself, smuggler.”
Han managed to smile. “Right, I knew that.”
“Then!” Maz declared, settling back down. “Then! Yes, lots to learn about us women, too.”
A low murmur slipped through the air, winding around the batanga notes like a lonely stream. Han shook his head. “There your boy goes again, playing songs that are about exactly what I’m feeling.”
“The song is about missing Dathomir,” Maz said quietly.
“Ugh, I take it back. What kind of maniac misses Dathomir?”
“Someone whose people have had to live in exile from there for hundreds of years because the Dathomirians forced them out.”
“Oh.”
“First lesson in learning about yourself,” Maz said, “is not everything is about you.”
“Han!”
It was Sana’s voice. And there was Sana, barreling into the bar with her blaster out and a package of some kind tucked into her armpit. Han frowned at her.
“Seems you might be needed,” Maz advised.
Sana knocked over a chair and brushed past Frapsen. “Han! Snap out of it, dammit! We gotta move.”
“Young lady,” Maz said testily. Then a roar erupted from the doorway. Something tall and hairy stood there, looking like a supersized Hassk on spice. Han didn’t have time to figure out what it was, because it lurched across the bar toward Sana.
“There is no fighting permitted in this establishment!” Maz yelled as Sana dashed past.
“Oh boy,” Han said.
“One good thing about having a Fromprath for entertainment,” Maz said, shaking her head, as Frapsen lifted his batanga over one shoulder, “they double as security.”
The Fromprath swung just in time to catch the charging beast directly in the face with a mushy crack. That sound wasn’t the batanga shattering like Han thought it would. The hairy thing flew backward, face shattered, and lay still.
“What was that—” Han yelled, and then a blaster shot shrieked through the air from the doorway.
Han was on the floor before he’d realized he’d jumped for cover. Above him, Maz dished out rushed commands as the few patrons left screamed and ducked under tables. Sana flew past, let off two shots toward the door, and glared at Han. “You coming?”
Another shot fizzed and then thunked against the bar right by Han’s head. “Coming!” he yelled, hopping up and dashing for the back exit behind Sana. “Who did you piss off now?” he demanded as they broke out into the thick Takodanan night.
“Bounty hunters,” Sana said. “Mean ones.”
“Is there a nice kind?”
The wall beside Han exploded, showering them both with debris as they hurtled out of the way. “That wasn’t a regular blaster,” Han said, glancing up. A cruel reptilian face glared out from the lit doorway. “You got us tangled up with a Trandoshan?”
“I told you it was mean bounty hunters,” Sana said.
The creature raised his mortar launcher and then something huge clobbered him from behind. Frapsen. All six of the Fromprath’s arms ensnarled the bounty hunter as the two tumbled forward in a clutter of curses and howls. Three more figures tumbled out of Maz’s place, blasters blazing.
“Go!” Sana yelled. “Now!”
They bolted down a quiet side street, cut a hard left, and crossed the main square toward the starship bay. The whole world had snapped perfectly into focus as soon as those blaster shots rang out, and now the hours leading up to it just seemed like a painful haze.
; “The Falcon ready?” Sana asked.
“Always, sister. Always.”
“Are you, though?”
“Usually, sister. Usually.”
They made their way between a Gungan freighter and two corvettes, ducked around the landing gear of someone’s poorly parked shuttle, and then dashed up the gangplank of the Falcon.
“Chewie!” Han yelled, stepping over some old clothes and a small pile of—What was that? Bottles of something—and barreling toward the cockpit. “Chewie, where are you? We gotta—”
The engines rumbled to life as Han slid into the seat beside his furry copilot. “Well, there you are,” he muttered, clicking on the navicomputer and prepping the hyperdrive. “What took you so long?”
Chewie barked with annoyance and then yelped, pointing. The bounty hunters had stormed into the bay, and a slew of shots peppered the Falcon along with the ships around it.
“Sana!” Han yelled over his shoulder. “We’re gonna need you on—”
Blasts splattered out from the Falcon, scattering the bounty hunters.
“—cannons,” Han finished. “Well, all right then. Glad to see everyone’s making themselves at home.” He pulled the accelerator and let the roaring engines fill him. Space awaited, that impossible vastness, as empty as his heart, where he could be perfectly free.
As long as they didn’t get blown up on the way out.
More blasts rocked the Falcon as they circled into the sky and then shot over the ancient spirals of Maz’s castle and dancing lights in Nymeve Lake.
“What in the stars did you steal, Sana?” Han demanded as they zoomed out of Takodana’s gravity pull and out into space.
A chuckle crackled over the comm. “About that…”
Chewie let out another growl of warning as three dots appeared on the radar screen.
“Yeah, one of ’em was a Trandoshan,” Han said. “Why?”
Chewie snarled and pushed a button.
“Why are we slowing down?” Sana yelled over the comm.
“Good question, Chewie,” Han snapped. “Why are we slowing down?”
The Falcon rocked as the approaching ships released a barrage of laserfire.
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