Star Wars: Shadow Games

by Michael Reaves

  Han! Dash felt a surge of relief … until Edge toppled forward, the darkstick continuing its downward plunge.

  Dash rolled half on his left side and the weapon’s tip buried itself in the deck plating, roughly where his right lung would have been. He looked down the length of his body. The Anomid was laid out with his head between Dash’s feet, his long, muscular arm stretched upward, his hand still clutching the weapon. His body was smoking where the energy bolts had caught him. Dash gagged on the smell of burned flesh.

  The big sentient quivered, not yet done, and tried to push himself up.

  “Oh, blast it!” said a voice from the main corridor. Two more energy bolts took out the hydraulic assists on the cargo compartment’s hatch.

  The heavy durasteel deck plate dropped shut, crushing the Anomid’s lower body. He made a horrible, strangled bleat of rage and pain and looked up at Dash through those burning eyes. With a last, tremendous effort, Edge pulled the tip of the darkstick out of the decking, its tip dripping venom. He lifted it high, preparing to swing it at Dash—

  And died.

  Dash saw the light go out of his eyes, draining away like water from a broken bowl, and was glad he hadn’t witnessed that moment with Eaden. The thought of it would haunt him anyway.

  Edge went limp, his hand releasing the darkstick, which clattered to the deck. His body released its last breath.

  Dash carefully moved the darkstick away from his body. Then he scrambled to his feet, wincing a little, and stepped cautiously around the corpse into the main corridor.

  “Han, you are a—”

  But it wasn’t Han standing hip-deep in the next-door cargo compartment. It was Leebo. Mousie was by his side.

  Dash gaped. “Leebo? But …” He glanced at the dead Anomid. “You can’t … you’re not supposed to … What happened?”

  The droid gave as close to a shrug as Dash had ever seen. “I missed.”

  “You … missed.”

  “Is there an echo in here? I missed with the first two shots. I was aiming for the hydraulics. Got ’em the third time, though.”

  “You missed.”

  “That’s what I said.” Leebo glanced at the MSE unit. “Had some help, though.”

  Dash laughed and shook his head, his heart struggling to return to a normal rhythm. “You’re something else.”

  “I’m a souped-up LE-BO2D9 Cybot Galactica repair droid. I am not something else.”

  “Hey!” Han appeared in the hatchway that led to the cockpit. “What are you two doing down here, throwing a party?”

  Once Han recovered from finding a dead, armor-plated assassin in his secret cargo compartments, they confirmed his demise, stripped him of his weaponry, and put him in a contraband stasis pod that Han had added to his equipage. Dash had wanted to flush the Anomid out an air lock, but Han was insistent that there surely must be a bounty on him somewhere that could bring them some “serious credits.”

  Dash wasn’t sure how he felt about making money from Edge’s death, but he supposed there was a certain poetic justice to it. Maybe he could find Eaden’s cousin or sister, give some of the bounty to them.

  He was more intrigued by the alleged glitch that Leebo blamed for the assassin’s destruction. The droid said he didn’t want to talk about it—said it was humiliating to a mechanism of his capacity to have so badly missed a target. He was perfectly willing, though, to describe how he’d been alone aboard the Millennium Falcon—or rather how he should have been alone aboard the Millennium Falcon—when he realized there was another presence on the vessel. He’d seen Edge move from concealment in the aft hold and had hidden himself in the compartment beneath the deck plating.

  “It didn’t occur to you to call me?”

  “It did occur to me to call you, but I figured that if I did that while you were chatting with the nice soldiers it might cause problems for you. So I decided to wait until you came back aboard.”

  “Which we did,” noted Dash, “but you still didn’t call me.”

  “Well, you see, I ran into a bit of a problem. I was hiding in the secret compartment there, when this big ugly guy moved in right next door. If I’d made a peep …”

  Dash nodded. “Yeah, he’d have scragged you.”

  “Precisely. So, I waited him out. When he popped out of hiding, I figured to drop the lid on him, so to speak.”

  “And missed.”

  “And missed. Much to my dismay, of course. It was a humbling experience.”

  “You’ve got a BlasTech sighting mechanism built into your optics,” Dash reminded the droid. “Practically brand new. You trying to tell me it’s faulty?”

  “Must’ve gotten misaligned somehow,” Leebo said blandly. “I ran a diagnostic, so it should be aces now.”

  “Aces.”

  “There’s that echo again. You on some sort of repeat loop, boss?”

  “Don’t change the subject. That’s a helluva glitch to result in the death of a sentient, don’t you think?”

  Leebo was silent for a moment, then said, “He was not a pleasant sentient. Initially, you seemed pleased that I … neutralized him.”

  Leebo, Dash had come to know, tended to retreat to a more droidlike way of self-expression when cornered. Right now, he sounded almost like Oto. “I can’t say I was unhappy about it, no. If you hadn’t shot him—”

  “I didn’t shoot him. I shot the hydraulics and missed.”

  “Okay. If you hadn’t missed the hydraulics, we probably wouldn’t be having this conversation and you’d belong to Han.”

  “Force forbid,” said Leebo with a metallic shudder.

  “You don’t like Han?”

  “He treats me like a machine.”

  “You are a machine.”

  “There, you see? His attitudes are rubbing off on you. I’ll be pleased to return to Tatooine.”

  They did that—uneventfully, thank the stars—some ten standard days later, moving at flank speed and making only one stop for fuel at a little outpost off the beaten track. In Mos Eisley, they discovered—much to Han’s glee—that he’d been right about Edge. There was a bounty on his masked and helmeted head. Dead or alive. It seemed that in executing some of his Black Sun contracts, he had assassinated a rogue Vigo who happened to be the favorite nephew of the Mandalore, himself. The ruling council of the New Mandalorian tribes had therefore put a bounty on him.

  Han was altogether too tickled by the idea that he had done what Boba Fett had not.

  “You didn’t do anything, Han, old buddy,” Dash reminded him as he, Han, and Leebo left the Mandalorian “embassy”—a suite of rooms in the Dowager Queen Hotel. “In fact, I didn’t do anything except almost get myself staked to the decking with a darkstick. Leebo killed the assassin.”

  “I did not,” Leebo objected. “And I’ll thank you to stop saying that I did. Last thing I want is to get a reputation as a rogue droid. I simply missed my target. It was a glitch in my software, which I have fixed. I was merely trying to disable him or slow him down so you could deal with him.”

  “There, you see? Even Leebo says he didn’t do it,” argued Han. “He can’t spend the bounty anyway. He’s just a machine.”

  Leebo’s head swiveled toward Dash. “See what I mean?”

  “Oh, can it, tin pot,” growled Han. “Look, Dash, d’you feel a fifty-fifty split is unfair?”

  Dash shook his head. They’d had this argument all the way back from Alderaan. Dash maintained that since he’d nearly been killed by the assassin three times and his droid had “neutralized” him he might be entitled to 60 percent. Han argued that since he had rescued Dash from the first attempted assassination and helped Javul Charn complete her mission and the kill had taken place aboard the Millennium Falcon, he’d easily earned a full half—if not more. Dash had agreed to the fifty-fifty split mostly because he was tired of listening to Han go on about it.

  “It’s fine. Really. I’ve got enough to bail Outrider out of Kerlew’s dock. In fact, I think Leebo and
I will just drop over there right now and pay him off.”

  “You sure? I was gonna suggest we pop in to Chalmun’s for a glass of ale. My treat. Supposed to meet Chewie there today. I hope he’s got something lined up—that bounty money’ll just about cover most of my existing debts.”

  They’d reached the turning at Kerner Plaza from which they could see the façade of the cantina. Dash gazed up the street. “Tempting, but no. I really want to get back to Outrider. Been away too long. I miss her. And besides,” he added frowning, “there’s too many stormtroopers around today. Makes me nervous.”

  There were indeed a number of the white-armored soldiers roaming about, some congregated right in front of Chalmun’s.

  Han shrugged. “Have it your way. See you later, then?”

  “Maybe. Say hello to Chewie for me.”

  “Will do.” Han held out his hand, and the two men clasped forearms in a gesture of friendly solidarity.

  “It wasn’t a bad adventure,” Han said. “Lucrative, anyway. Sorry about your girlfriend turning out to be a Rebel and all that. I know … that’s gotta sting.”

  Dash met Han’s eyes. They were uncharacteristically solemn. “Yeah, well. I’ll get over it. Smooth spacing.”

  “Same to you.” Han turned on his heel and whistled as he strode toward Chalmun’s.

  Dash and Leebo started across the plaza, Dash noticing once again, somewhat uneasily, the large numbers of stormtroopers. They continued on to Spacers’ Row and the docking facility. Dash was relieved to note that his passcode still activated the security lock on the street access for Docking Bay 92. That meant Javul had been as good as her word and had paid all the repair and docking fees. Otherwise, Kerlew would have most likely changed the code.

  “It’ll be real good to get back aboard the old girl,” he told Leebo as they entered the bay. “I missed having my own command.”

  The lights came on as the motion sensors picked up their presence and Dash stared blankly at what they revealed—an empty bay. The Outrider was gone.

  “Huh,” said Leebo. “Looks like you’ll have to miss it a bit longer.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  “I COMPLETED THE REPAIRS ABOUT FIVE DAYS AFTER you and Han lifted off,” Kerlew told Dash as they sat in his preternaturally neat office-cum-workshop. “Would’ve been done a day earlier but we had to recable the auxiliary power bus to the port hyperdrive.”

  Dash sat forward in his formchair. “Ker, where’s my ship?”

  “I’m getting to that. About ten days later, I got a message from Charn’s road manager telling me they were going to need to move the ship for security reasons. About a week ago, a pilot and crew came and paid off all the repairs and docking fees and added a fat bonus to lie to anyone other than you who asked after her whereabouts. They took her.”

  Dash felt a chill glide down his spine. “Did anyone else ask after her whereabouts?”

  Kerlew nodded, looking grimmer than Dash had ever seen him. “Imperials. An Imperial colonel and a six-pack of stormtroopers. Dash, what the hell were you doing?”

  “He was saving the galaxy,” said Leebo drily.

  Dash glared at him. “I was guarding a celebrity with stalker problems. They just turned out to be bigger problems than I was led to believe.”

  “Imperial stalkers?” Ker shook his head. “That’s pretty big.”

  “You have no idea.” Dash tried to relax, to lean back in his chair and look unflustered. “Okay. So, where did they take her?”

  “I don’t know. They didn’t say. They only left this.” This was a data wafer, which Kerlew extracted from his vest pocket and handed over to Dash. “It’s passcoded,” he added.

  Dash glanced up from the wafer. “What’s the code?”

  “Two ships. They said you’d understand.”

  He didn’t understand at first, but it came to him pretty quickly. So after they’d checked their credit balance and gotten a comfortable room in a hotel somewhat less upscale than the Dowager Queen, he slid the data wafer into the computer terminal in their room and entered the phrase Nova’s Heart Deep Core. That didn’t work. Frustrated, he tried a few more permutations on the theme and finally cracked the lock with Nova’s Deep Core Heart.

  The message was simple. It was an address. In Tatooine’s planetary capital, Bestine. And another passcode. The passcode was followed by a phrase of three words: Buy new clothes.

  Dash was puzzled. Why in the world would Javul send him to the seat of Imperial power on Tatooine? He knew a moment of apprehension that maybe, just maybe, she was setting him up. Getting rid of him by sending him where he’d be arrested.

  But no, that made no sense. What made sense was that she was leading him precisely where no one would look for him. He could only hope that the Outrider was at the end of this wild chase.

  “Your girlfriend has a quirky sense of humor,” Leebo told him, sounding enough like Han to be irritating.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” Dash said testily.

  “You only wish she was, I guess … yeah, yeah, I know: shut up, tin man.”

  Dash did as Javul suggested. He bought new clothes—nice clothes, clothes that made him look more like a successful merchant than a scruffy smuggler. He shaved. He bought a high-end travel bag to keep his new and old clothes in and even made sure Leebo was transformed into a well-oiled, shiny droid.

  They took the regular shuttle to Bestine first thing in the morning, debarking at the central terminus and stepping out into the gleaming streets of the capital city. Bestine was the most cosmopolitan and largest settlement on Tatooine, a city of sculpted, graceful stone buildings the same color as the desert and ruddy mountains that ringed it.

  They took a speeder cab to the address they’d been given. The route took them past the capitol building, a beautiful, domed structure—the tallest in Bestine. It was now guarded by Imperial stormtroopers, who looked incongruously out of place there. Their white body armor was blinding in the light of Tatooine’s two suns.

  The address turned out to be an inn. The data wafer directed them to the “Bright Sun” suite, and the second passcode admitted them to a suite of rooms that was, without any exaggeration, the most luxurious residence Dash had been in since he was a boy. He hadn’t even imagined a place like this existed on Tatooine, but of course, it must. The wealthy, the celebrated, and the diplomatically important must be lodged somewhere. He was none of those things, and felt conspicuous because of it. But oddly, none of the staff or residents of the inn seemed to find him of the least interest. He was just one more well-heeled resident.

  In the suite’s opulent study was a HoloNet terminal to which Dash went immediately upon their arrival. Behind him in the living room, Leebo uttered a metallic sigh and dropped the travel bag. His heart rate rising, Dash activated the terminal and saw that there was a message on it.

  “Play message,” he told it.

  “Voice recognition necessary,” said the terminal in a prissy female voice. “Please repeat this phrase: Bantha flop.”

  “What?”

  “Inappropriate response. Please repeat: Bantha flop.”

  “Bantha flop.” Leebo was right—his girlfriend did have a quirky sense of humor.

  And of course, it was Javul. She shimmered into existence, looking achingly lovely and equally unattainable. She was dressed in traditional Alderaanian style—a floor-length gown of deep blue with a sash of woven gold and silver that matched her hair, which was done up in elaborate braids. He thought her smile was wistful. Or maybe he only hoped it was.

  “My cousin got the present you sent,” she said brightly. “It was everything she hoped for. We can’t thank you enough—no, really—we can’t. I hope someday I get to thank you in person. But in the meantime, I’ve arranged a little surprise for you. A token of my appreciation and affection. It’s in slip 4134A at the Bestine Port Authority. You can pick it up whenever you like.”

  He sagged back into the chair, relief flooding him. The Outrider was s
afe. Safe and repaired and waiting for him a stone’s throw away. He took a deep breath and let it out. Just for the moment, then, he did belong here. He gazed up into Javul’s holographic face.

  As if she were reading his mind across time and space, she said: “I hope you’ll stay and enjoy the other part of my gift awhile. At least until things calm down a bit in the outside world. You deserve it. I’ve made sure both your room and board—not to mention bar tab—are open-ended.” She hesitated, and now there was no doubt about the wistfulness in her eyes and her smile. “I wish I could see you again. It’s not fair, you know, because you can see me anytime you want.”

  That much was true, Dash reflected as he reached out his hand to freeze the image. She gazed down at him through those amazing silver eyes, smiling. He could see Javul Charn just about anytime he wanted merely by firing up the HoloNet and watching one of her shows.

  He just wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. But it was definitely a true thing.

  He reached out again and unfroze the image. An instant after he did so, the holo changed to a wider angle, showing two women side by side. One was Javul—the other was the dark-haired beauty she’d been with back on Alderaan. This time he recognized her. He blinked in astonishment.

  Princess Leia Organa?

  Javul’s cousin?

  Couldn’t be …

  “Well,” he heard Leebo murmur from behind him, “she did say she had friends in high places …”

  Dash didn’t respond. He was thinking about what it must be like to have climbed up from rags to not just riches, but royalty … to be able to indulge a friend in one of the classiest hotels in this section of the Rim for an indefinite time … to be able to do all that and yet be willing to sacrifice it all—to risk political prison and very possibly execution—to attempt to free a galaxy.

  Javul Charn was quite a woman.

  “So,” Leebo said, “y’gonna enlist after all, boss?”

  Dash was quiet for some time. Then he grinned and shook his head. “Tell you what,” he said. “When Han Solo joins the revolution—that’s when I’ll join.”