Star Wars: Shadow Games

by Michael Reaves

  His own guards, all but one dressed in full Mandalorian body armor, assessed Dash through narrowed eyes—and dismissed him.

  He bristled. “Boyfriend,” he said as Javul said, “Bodyguard.”

  Again, the look from Javul. “This is my security chief, Dash Rendar.”

  The big, blond head tilted to one side. “Rendar. That’s a familiar name. That was the name of the family that owned RenTrans before Prince Xizor acquired it, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Dash didn’t blink.

  “Surely, you’re not related. I had heard the entire clan was wiped out.”

  The bodyguard at Kris’s back—the one not in armor—leaned forward and murmured something into his boss’s ear.

  “Ah! Of course. The outcast of the family who insisted on going to the Imperial Academy rather than take up the family business. Lucky move, that. But you’re a trained pilot then, aren’t you?” He put on a mask of theatrical confusion. “An Academy-trained pilot serving as a bodyguard for a spoiled, pampered holostar? How in the name of Chaos does that happen?”

  “Security chief,” said Dash through clenched teeth. Then he smiled. “A clan-trained warrior in line to be the Mandalore serving as a Vigo to a spoiled, pampered pirate like Prince Xizor? How does that happen?”

  Kris blinked, and the guard to his left took a half step forward. Dash’s hand was on the butt of his blaster when Kris put his arm out to stop his goon.

  “Please, Dash—may I call you Dash? We have no reason to bandy accusations in this way. I merely came down here to see the show and renew my acquaintance with an old friend.”

  “You sure you didn’t come here to strong-arm your ex-fiancée?”

  Now Javul whirled on him. “Dash!” she hissed. She turned back to Kris. “I hope you enjoy the performance, Hitch. For old times’ sake. It’s the only hope you’re going to get from me.”

  The big Mandalorian sighed dramatically. “After all I’ve done to prove my devotion to you? I’m hurt.”

  “I doubt it. But I might have been. I’m sure your spies told you about our … problems. Starting the day of our arrival.”

  “Problems?”

  Now, if that wasn’t a disingenuous furrowing of the brow, Dash was no judge of bad character. “Yeah,” he said. “Someone tried to make the Nova’s Heart think she’d sprung a leak on the way in. She buttoned up tight, sealing Javul and her road manager into the supposedly ruptured area of the quarterdeck. And three days ago, there was a freakish power fluctuation that almost got our lady friend cut in half. If not for the fact that my assistant is a teräs käsi master, she’d likely be dead right now.”

  Kris’s eyes narrowed. Surprise? Disbelief? Sly satisfaction?

  None of the above?

  “A teräs käsi master?” Kris said. “A martial arts adept and a crack pilot? What a waste of talent. I’d like to make you an offer, Dash. Leave this menagerie and come work for me … as a pilot. Bring your assistant with you. I could use someone like that in my own security team. I’ll triple what she’s paying you.”

  Dash heard a low mechanical whistle of appreciation behind him—and had the absurd thought of how much more quickly he could repair Outrider with that kind of money. He shook himself. “Sorry. I got a job.”

  “I’ll quadruple it.”

  “No thanks.”

  The Vigo shrugged. “Your loss, Dash. But if you should change your mind, the lady knows where you can find me. Don’t you, my love?”

  When she didn’t say anything, he took a half step forward and lowered his head toward hers. Dash instantly went on full alert, but the Vigo only murmured, “Don’t be stubborn, Alai. You seem to forget what your stubbornness has cost you in the past.” He straightened, turned on his heel, and led the way back into the lift.

  Dash and Javul stood a moment longer in the hallway, frozen in place. Dash realized suddenly that Javul was trembling. He moved to stand in front of her. For just a moment, her expression was unguarded—and so bleak it made Dash want to chase Hityamun Kris up to his skybox and push his face in. Then her show-must-go-on bearing was back in place.

  “My, that went well,” she said and started toward the stage door.

  Dash caught her arm. He wasn’t sure what he meant to say.

  She shook her head and pulled her arm free. “Don’t,” she said. “I just need to get through tonight. Just get through it. Tomorrow evening we’ll be back on Nova’s Heart and out of here.”

  Dash followed her backstage, wondering what the hell he should do. Leebo made a tiny interrogative noise as he passed the droid.

  “What are you staring at?” Dash growled.

  “Who me? Not a thing. I was just going back to work.”

  Dash hesitated just inside the stage door, watching as Javul was swept into the final preparations for her evening’s performance—the fitting of her harness and wire, a final safety check of all the bits and pieces of stuff that went with her onstage. He sensed a presence at his side.

  “Assistant?” Eaden inquired.

  Dash rolled his eyes. “I had to think on my feet, okay? It just came out.”

  “I prefer associate or possibly partner. And you should try thinking with your brain instead of on your feet. It would be vastly more effective. Assuming that your sense of balance is adroit enough to keep you poised on something so small.”

  Leebo cocked his head. “Not bad for an off-the-cuff.”

  Dash gave him a glare.

  “Shutting up,” the droid said.

  Dash turned back to Eaden. “Were you listening in on the whole conversation?”

  “Yes.” Eaden lifted a tendril and uncurled it slowly. “Interesting dynamic, that. She is afraid—no surprise or secret there. Even you must have sensed it. But Kris … strong emotions, very muddled. And you …”

  Dash turned to look at him. “What about me?”

  “You turned down quadruple pay.”

  Nothing in the Nautolan’s voice or expression gave Dash any indication of the emotion behind the statement. He hated that—it made him feel … off balance.

  “Look, I’m sorry, but—”

  “I’m not in disagreement with you. I merely find it remarkable.”

  Dash expelled a gust of air. “Yeah, well … so do I.”

  THIRTEEN

  DASH WOKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT WITH HIS brain in hyperdrive. He had dreamed of Javul’s fall from the vault of the Holosseum’s fake night sky repeatedly. It had given him a dark epiphany: he had heard multiple descriptions of the “incidents” that had preceded the sabotaged rehearsal—had even witnessed one of them firsthand—and he knew, at an instinct-deep level, that this last one was different.

  Why was it different? What had changed?

  He got up. He got dressed. He got a cup of caf from the beverage bar in the suite’s main room and sat, staring out at the landing park beyond his bay of windows.

  Whip the gray cells awake. Think, Dash, think. Why would the agenda change?

  He went over in his mind again the confrontation between Javul and Hitch backstage—the weird dynamic between the two.

  What was wrong with this picture?

  He tried to put himself in Kris’s place—tried to imagine that she had been his fiancée, that she had gummed up his clandestine operations, then resisted his every effort to scare her and escaped his one effort to do her real harm.

  Hell, he’d be spitting mad. On several levels. And if he’d seen her with another guy—a guy who seemed to be “attached” to her in some way—it would’ve deep-fried his circuits. But old Hitch was as cool and calm as a customer service droid on a HoloNet help node.

  And that did not make sense. The escalation from scare tactics to all-out, gonzo vengeance bespoke a towering rage. All Hitch Kris seemed to be harboring was a towering and perplexed annoyance. He was methodical, Dash would bet—and patient and implacable—but he was not murderous.

  What did that mean?

  It means he’s a Vigo, said Common
Sense. He’s too self-important to lose it over a woman. This is business to him, not revenge. There’s a method to his madness—you just have to figure out what the method is.

  Dash set his cup down, snatched up his jacket, and headed out into the corridor. Leebo, stationed by Javul Charn’s door, swiveled to look at him.

  “Did you know that metal creaks as it cools?” the droid asked.

  “Do you know how easily I could pop your head off with a pair of extractor forceps?”

  “Boorish threats.”

  Dash crossed to the droid. “Been any activity out here?”

  “I’ve been standing here for hours listening to metal cool. What do you think?”

  Dash moved past the droid to the door. He hesitated only momentarily before punching the call pad. He could hear the ringing tone on the other side of the door—though just barely. He waited.

  Nothing.

  He hit it again.

  More nothing.

  He pressed the intercom switch this time and said, loudly, “Javul? It’s Dash. We need to talk.”

  Not a peep from the other side.

  A very bad, very dark feeling began to rise up from the pit of Dash’s stomach. In all likelihood, there was a mole in the crew … and the crew now knew about Javul’s escape route.

  Cursing, he manually punched in the security override code for the lock. The door slid back, revealing the dimly lit living room.

  “Stay out here in the corridor,” he told Leebo and stepped into the suite.

  “And I wanted so badly to risk my life alongside you. But hey—you’re the boss.”

  Dash ignored the droid as he moved deeper into the suite. The lights were on, but dimmed, and he knew before he looked that he wouldn’t find her. The bed hadn’t been slept in, the suite was empty, and she hadn’t gone past her guardian droid. That meant only one thing—it meant Dash Rendar was an idiot for not posting another guard at the far end of Javul’s no-longer-secret escape route.

  “She’s gone,” he told Leebo tersely as he left the suite. “Roust Eaden, will you?”

  “The last time I rousted Eaden, I ended up embedded in the bulkhead of his quarters.”

  “This time it’ll be different.”

  “How so?”

  “Softer bulkheads. Now move!”

  The droid moved off, grumbling, while Dash went next door and pinged Dara Farlion’s door … repeatedly. She answered within ten pings, her hair twice as spiky as usual, her eyes at half-mast. She was wrapped in a velvety-looking shawl.

  “What’s up? Sheesh, Dash, you got a death wish? You’d better—”

  “Javul is gone.”

  “What?”

  “She’s gone. Out through the escape hatch—I assume willingly, though I could be wrong. There was no sign of a struggle, but I suppose someone could’ve slipped in and drugged her.”

  Dara’s eyes flicked toward Javul’s door. “Not with the alarm system …”

  “Do I need to remind you that someone has been able to get close enough to her to sabotage her props and rigging?”

  “What d’you want me to do?”

  “Get everybody up and accounted for. I’m going to see if she left any kind of trail.”

  Eaden was just entering the hallway from their suite as Dash crossed back to Javul’s door.

  “Leebo explained,” the Nautolan said, tying the sash around the waist of his tunic. “Down the hatch?”

  “Yeah … and Leebo,” Dash told the droid, “stick with Spike. She’s gonna wake everybody up and make sure they’re all here.”

  Dash and Eaden popped the door on Javul’s secret gangway and descended carefully to the cargo hold. Neither saw any indication of a struggle in the narrow passage. The hold was surprisingly eerie without most of its crates and containers, which were currently stored beneath the Holosseum stage, awaiting the morrow’s packing. Dash was surprised to find a light on in Mel’s office. He was more surprised to see that it was Mel’s apprentice cargo master, Nik, burning the midnight photons. The young Sullustan jumped almost his height out of his seat at the computer console when Dash leaned into the office through the open door.

  “Where’s your boss?”

  “Uh … sleeping. Like most people.”

  “Yeah? Why aren’t you sleeping—like most people?”

  “Schoolwork. Mel insists that I keep up my education.”

  “You’re doing schoolwork in the middle of the night after a three-night gig?”

  The kid looked guilty. “I … sort of procrastinated this week. ’Cause of the gig. Mel says I have to finish this tonight or I don’t get to help with tear-down.”

  Dash shook his head. Get to help? Whatever happened to adolescent laziness?

  “You been up for a while, kid?”

  Nik nodded solemnly.

  “You see anybody come through the cargo hold?”

  The Sullustan’s big dark eyes shifted from Dash to Eaden and back. “Anybody?”

  “Charn. Did you see Javul Charn down here tonight?”

  The youngster nodded, looking guilty. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. She, um, she went out.”

  “We know she went out. Was she alone?”

  The youngster nodded again.

  “Did she say where she was going?”

  “I didn’t talk to her. She just came straight through and headed for the cargo bay hatch.”

  This was like pulling teeth. “She see you?”

  “Yeah. I went out on the catwalk and she saw me and put her finger to her lips and went on out.”

  “And you didn’t think to wake up Mel or report the incident to Dara?”

  “No, sir. I mean, it’s like Mel always says: Whatever it was you just saw—you didn’t.”

  “Says that often, does he?”

  “Often enough.”

  “Well, I’m sure he doesn’t mean when something like this happens. Someone tried to kill our boss three days ago, Nik. Given that, she shouldn’t be out roaming around the city, should she?”

  Nik had the good grace to look contrite. “No. I suppose not.”

  “Okay, kid, listen—this is important. What was she wearing?”

  “Uh, she was dressed pretty wild. Lot of makeup—that glowy stuff around her eyes and a jewel in the middle of her forehead. She had this sparkly outfit on that …” A blush spread out across his dewlaps and over his large ears. “… Well, you could see through parts of it. And she was wearing one of those light-fiber hair things.”

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  Nik shrugged. “Sorry. I was doing homework. Lost track of time.”

  Dash pulled out his comlink, called Leebo, and told him to let everyone go back to sleep. There’d obviously been no kidnapping. “I don’t suppose you saw which way she went when she left the landing park.”

  Color suffused the Sullustan’s ears. “Actually, I did. I watched her all the way down the ramp and across the pad. I mean, I’ve never seen her dressed like that before. Ever.” He swallowed.

  Dash scowled at him discouragingly, but he just shrugged.

  “I think human girls are pretty. And Javul is one of the prettiest,” Nik defended himself.

  “Which way did she go?”

  “West. Toward Port Town.”

  West toward Port Town led Dash and Eaden directly into a brightly lit warren of entertainment spots—cafés, music clubs, spice houses, pubs, gambling dens, and places that tried to corner the market by being all of the above. Middle of the night or no, the streets were alive with people of diverse species, drifting back and forth, staggering here and there, even dancing in the street. Equator City nightlife was in full swing.

  The two men stopped at the top of the glittering main avenue to consider the sheer magnitude of the task before them. They had no idea when Javul had left the ship, where she was heading, or why. Which meant they were effectively groping in the dark.

  “You got your comlink with you?” Dash asked Eaden.

  The Nautolan no
dded.

  “Great. You take the right side of the street; I’ll take the left. If you see her or see anything that might—”

  But Eaden was already gone, slipping into the traffic and somehow managing not to look horribly out of place despite his somber, almost monkish garb. Dash took a deep breath and muttered a prayer to any Corellian deities that might be eavesdropping. If that failed, he hoped maybe the Force might lend a hand if it had no more pressing business. He headed for the first establishment on the left side of the street.

  Long after Dash had lost count of the number of doors he’d plowed through into too-bright or too-dim rooms, he came to the broad archway of a place that promised every delight. In fact, that was the name over the door: EVERY DELIGHT. Stepping through the entry, he realized it was a bazaar of sorts—a row of rounded arches along a broad central arcade, each decorated with a skillful painting that indicated what type of delight lay within.

  Some of the doorways were bright and some were stygian or filled with shifting, muted light in a rainbow of hues; some blared music and some were silent or carried the sound of breezes or wind-bells or ocean tides. Dash moved slowly past the doorways, wishing he had some keen sixth sense that would light up like a targeting array when he neared his goal. Alas, he had no such sense, but Eaden did—sort of. Dash stepped into a niche that was half filled by a kinetic sculpture of something vaguely humanoid, then pulled out his comlink and called Eaden.

  The Nautolan was there in short order, and Dash pointed him in the direction of the row of arches. “You’ve read Javul before—sort of. Think you could pick her out of a crowd?”

  Eaden looked at him skeptically. “My sense is just that—a sense. It is not a scientific instrument.”

  “Yeah, well—it’s all we’ve got.”

  The Nautolan shrugged and started a slow walk down the broad, festively decorated gallery, his head-tresses turning this way and that in graceful unison. As they passed each doorway, he murmured a word or two about what he sensed from within.

  “Dancing—much mindless celebration. Anger—ah, a gambling den, of course. Chaos—a spice parlor, I suspect …”

  Toward the end of the bazaar, before a dark archway to the left, Eaden paused and tilted his head, his tresses moving in sinuous harmony. “Something is buried in there that does not belong.”