"Nothing save that you be silent," he said.
The chair's vox shut up. The machineries within the cloned leather seat hummed and adjusted the support to Xizor's new position. He sighed. He was rich be- yond the income of many entire planets, and he had a malfunctioning form-chair that couldn't even pro- nounce his name correctly. He made a note to have it replaced, now, today, immediately, as soon as he was finished with his business here this morning.
He looked at the one-sixth-scale holoproj frozen in front of him, then up at the woman standing across the desk. She was as beautiful, if not as ethnic, as the two Epicanthix women fighters in the holograph between them. But her beauty was of a different order. She had long and silky blond hair, pale and clear blue eyes, an exquisite figure. Normal human males would find her attractive. There were no flaws in Guri's face or form, but there was a coolness about her, and that was easily explained if you knew the reason: Guri was an HRD, a human replica droid, and unique. She could visually pass for a woman anywhere in the galaxy, could eat, drink, and perform all of the more personal functions of a woman without anybody the wiser. And she was the only one of her kind programmed to be an assassin.
She could kill without raising her ersatz heartbeat, never a qualm of conscience.
She'd cost him nine million credits.
Xizor steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow at Guri.
"The Pike sisters," Guri said, glancing at the holo.
"Genetic twins, not clones. The one on the right is Zan, the other is Zu. Zan has green eyes, Zu has one green and one blue eye, the only noticeable difference. They are masters of teras kasi, the Bunduki art called 'steel hands.' Twenty-six standard years old, no political af- filiations, no criminal records in any of the major sys- tems, and, as far as we are able to determine, completely amoral. They are for hire to the highest bid- der, and they have never worked for Black Sun. They have also never been defeated in open combat. This"- she nodded at the unmoving holoproj image again-"is what they do for fun when they aren't working." Guri's voice was, in contrast to her appearance, warm, inviting, a rich alto. She activated the hologram.
Xizor smiled, revealing his own perfect teeth. The holo had shown the two women mopping the floor with eight Imperial stormtroopers in some rat's nest of a spaceport bar. The soldiers had been big, strong, well trained, and armed. The women weren't even breathing hard when they finished. "They'll do," he said. "Make it happen." Guri nodded once, turned, and left. She looked as good from behind as she did from the front.
Nine million and worth every decicred. He wished he had a dozen more like her. Unfortunately, her cre- ator was no longer among the living. A pity.
So. Two more handpicked assassins now under his command. Assassins with no ties to Black Sun, not be- fore and, with Guri's expert manipulation, not ever.
Xizor glanced up at the ceiling. He'd had the pattern of the galaxy installed into the glowtiles. When the lights were dim-and they usually were-he had an edge-on view of the home galaxy floating holographi- cally there, with more than a million individual glow- ing dust-small stars hand-drawn in it. It had taken the artist three months and had cost a warlord's ransom, but the Dark Prince could not spend what he already had even if he tried hard, and more than that kept flowing in all the time. Credits were nothing; he had billions. A way of keeping score, that was all. Not im- portant.
He looked at the holograph again. Beautiful and deadly, these two, a combination he enjoyed. He him- self was of the Falleen, a species whose distant ances- tors had been reptilian, and who had evolved into what was generally considered the most beautiful of all hu- manoid species. He was over a hundred years old, but he looked thirty. He was tall, had a topknot ponytail jutting up from his otherwise bald head and a hard body crafted by stim units. He also exuded natural pheromones that made most of the human-stock spe- cies feel instantly attracted to him, and his skin color, normally a dusky green, changed with the rise of those pheromones, shading from the cool into the warm spectrum. His handsomeness and appeal were tools, nothing more. He was the Dark Prince, Underlord of Black Sun, one of the three most powerful men in the galaxy. He could also kick a sunfruit off the top of a tall humanoid's head without a warm-up stretch, and he could lift twice his own weight over his head using only his own muscles. He could claim a sound-if ad- mittedly devious-mind in a sound body.
His galactic influence was surpassed only by the Em- peror and the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader.
He smiled at the image before him again. Third- but about to become second, if his plans went as in- tended. It had been months since he'd overheard the Emperor and Vader talking of a threat they'd perceived, months, and now the preliminaries were done.
Xizor was ready to move in earnest.
"Time?" he said.
His room computer answered and gave it to him.
Ah. Only an hour remained before his meeting. It was but a short walk through the protected corridors to Vader's, not much beyond where the Emperor's mas- sive gray-green stone and mirror-crystal palace thrust itself up into the high atmosphere. A few kilometers, no more; a brisk stroll would put him there in a few min- utes. No hurry. He did not want to arrive early.
A chime announced a visitor.
"Enter," Xizor said. His bodyguards were not here, but there was no need for them in his sanctum-no one could penetrate its defenses. And only a few of his un- derlings had the right to visit him here, all of them loyal. As loyal as fear could make them.
One of his sublieutenants, Mayth Duvel, came in and bowed low. "My prince Xizor." "Yes?" "I have a petition from the Nezriti Organization.
They wish an alliance with Black Sun." Xizor gave Duvel a measured smile. "I'm sure they do." Duvel produced a small package. "They offer a to- ken of their esteem." Xizor took the package, thumbed it open. Inside was a gem. It was an oval-cut, bloodred Tumanian pres- sure-ruby, a very rare stone, apparently flawless, and easily worth several million credits. The Dark Prince held it up, turned it in his fingers, nodded. Then he tossed it onto his desktop. It bounced once, slid to a stop next to his drinking cup. If it had fallen onto the floor, he would not have bent to retrieve it, and if the cleaning droid came in later and sucked it up, well, so what? "Tell them we'll consider it." Duvel bowed and backed away.
When he was gone, Xizor stood, stretched his neck and back. The evolved reptilian ridge over his spine elevated slightly, felt sharp against his fingertips as he rubbed it. There were other applicants waiting to see him, and ordinarily he would sit and attend to their petitions, but not today. Now it was time to go and see Vader. By going there instead of insisting that Vader come here, he was giving away an advantage, appear- ing to be himself a supplicant. No matter. That was part of it; there must not seem to be any contention between them. No one must suspect that he felt any- thing but the greatest respect for the Dark Lord of the Sith, not if his plans were going to succeed. And suc- ceed they would, he did not doubt it.
Because they always did.
2 Leia sat in a bad cantina in the bad part of Mos Eisley.
You really had to work at it to earn both of those low distinctions. Calling this place a dive would have elevated it four notches. The table was expanded metal, aluminum plate turned into a cheap and easy-to-clean mesh-probably they used a high-pressure solvent hose to wash everything into that drain in the middle of a sunken spot over there in the floor. If they opened the door to the arid outside, it would dry in a hurry. The cup of whatever vile brew it was she had in front of her was certainly losing more liquid to evaporation than to her drinking from it. The air refreshing system must have had a bad circuit-the place was hot, the desert air outside seeping in along with the gutter scum who came to hang out here. It smelled like a bantha stable in the hot summer, and the only good thing about the place was that the light was dim enough so she didn't have to look too closely at the patrons-from a dozen different species and none of them particularly savory- looking examples at that.
Lando must h
ave done it on purpose, picking this pit in which to meet, just to get a rise out of her. Well.
When he finally arrived, she wouldn't give him the sat- isfaction. For a time, she'd hated him, until she under- stood his apparent betrayal of Han had only been a ruse to help save them from Vader. Lando had given up a lot for that, and they all owed him for it.
Still, this wasn't a bar she would have gone into without a good reason-a very good reason-and not a place she would have gone alone, despite her protests that she didn't need a bodyguard. But need one or not, she had one-Chewbacca sat next to her, glowering at the assorted patrons. The only reason Chewie had left her with Luke after the last encounter with Vader was to go with Lando to Tatooine to set up Han's rescue.
Once Leia had arrived, Chewie had stayed as close to her as part of her wardrobe. It was irritating.
Lando had explained it: "Chewie owes Han a life debt. That's a big deal among Wookiees. Han told him to take care of you. Until Han tells him otherwise, that's what he's going to do." Leia had tried to be firm. She told Chewie, "I appre- ciate it, but you don't have to." It was no use, Lando told her. As long as he was alive, Chewbacca was going to be with her, and that was that. She didn't even speak Wookiee, save for a couple of swear words she thought she recognized, but Lando had smiled and told her she might as well get used to it.
She almost had, after a fashion. Chewie could un- derstand a number of languages, and while he couldn't speak them, he could usually make known what he wanted somebody to know.
Leia liked Chewie okay, but here was another rea- son to find and free Han-so he could call the Wookiee off.
Then again, even though she would never admit it, there were times when having a two-meter-tall Wookiee around was useful. Such as in this wonderful place.
During the last hour, she'd had to look a little closer at several of the patrons than she liked. Despite the fact that she wore old and threadbare freight handler's cov- eralls spotted and stained with lube, had her hair wound into a tight and unattractive bun, and did not meet anyone's gaze, there had been a steady parade of various humans and aliens to her table, trying to pick her up-also despite the fact that a fully grown and armed Wookiee sat at the same table.
Males. Didn't seem to matter what species they were when they wanted female company. And it didn't seem to matter what species the female was, either.
Chewie made it clear they weren't welcome, and be- tween his size and bowcaster, nobody much wanted to argue the point. But new ones kept coming.
Chewie growled at a bulbous-headed Bith who banged into the table. The alien, whose species was normally well behaved and peaceful, had obviously had way too much to drink, if he would even think it possi- ble that he and Leia could find anything in common.
The Bith looked at Chewie's bared teeth, hiccuped, then tottered off.
Leia said, "Look, I appreciate your help, but I can handle these guys." Chewie turned his head to one side and regarded her, a gesture she was coming to realize meant skepti- cism and amusement mixed about equally.
She took it as a challenge. "Hey, next time some- body comes over, just watch me. You can do it without threats, you know." It didn't take long. The next pest in the rotation was a Devaronian, a horned humanoid who-surprise- wanted to buy Leia a drink.
"Thank you, but I'm waiting for somebody." The Devaronian said, "Well, why don't I keep you company until they get here? Perhaps they were de- layed? It might be a long wait." "Thank you, but I have company." She nodded at Chewie.
The alien ignored the gesture and, since the Wookiee didn't speak or point his weapon, kept right on talking.
"I'm really quite pleasant to have around, you know. Many fems have thought so. Many." He leered at her, his pointed teeth looking particularly white against his red lips. Shot his tongue out and sucked it back in; it was as long as her forearm.
Spare me, Leia thought. So much for the easy way.
"No. Go away." "You don't know what you are missing, little one." His leer grew wider, making him look more demonic.
She glanced at Chewie, who was about to start laughing, she could tell. She glared at the Devaronian.
"I'll try to get over it. Leave." "Just one drink. And I can show you my Weranian holocards; they are very, ah... stimulating." He started to sit across from her.
Leia pulled the small blaster she had tucked into her coverall pocket, brought it out over the table where the Devaronian could see it. She pointed it at the ceiling and thumbed the power setting button from "stun" to "kill." He saw that, too.
Very quickly he said, "Ah, well, perhaps another time. I, ah, just recalled that, ah, I left the converter charging on my ship. You'll excuse me." He hurried away. Amazing what waving a blaster under an obnoxious would-be suitor's nose would do to improve his manners.
Chewie did laugh now. Said something, and she had a pretty good idea of what it meant.
"Nobody likes an obnoxious Wookiee," she said.
But she smiled. That point went to Chewie, and she was woman enough to admit it.
She put the safety on and tucked the blaster away.
Fiddled with the stir stick in her drink. Lando was go- ing to pay for calling the meeting in this hole. Some- how.
Somebody opened the door and a flash of hot light spilled into the dank bar. Outlined in the doorway was a human who, for just a second, reminded her of Han.
Han.
She felt the grief start to well in her again, and she shook her head, as if that could stop the emotions from flowing. The last time she had seen Han Solo, he had been frozen in a block of carbonite. The last thing he had said to her was an answer: "I know." Leia sighed. She hadn't really known until that mo- ment that she loved him. When she saw Vader order him lowered into the freezing chamber, when she knew there was a chance he might not come out alive, she'd had to say it. It had come out of her unbidden, it had seemed as if the words had been spoken by another woman. It had been so... unreal.
But she couldn't deny it. Not then, not now. She did love him, pirate and rogue that he was. There was no help for it.
That feeling scared her more than anything she could think of. More than when she'd been in Vader's hands on the Death Star, more than when it seemed half the Imperial Army and Navy had been after them- "Buy you a drink, beautiful?" somebody said from behind her.
Leia turned. It was Lando. She was angry at him, but glad to see him, too. "How'd you get in here?" "Back door," Lando said. He smiled. He was a handsome man-tall, dark-skinned, a thin mustache above those shiny white teeth-and he knew it, too.
Behind him were the droids R2-D2 and C-3PO.
Artoo's dome swiveled as the droid took in the bar, and Threepio, the most skittish droid Leia had ever been around, managed to look nervous even though he could not change his facial expression.
Artoo whistled.
"Yes, I see that," Threepio said. A short pause.
"Master Lando, wouldn't it be better if we waited out- side? I don't think they like droids in this place. We're the only ones here." Lando smiled. "Relax. Nobody is going to bother you. I know the owner. Besides, I don't want you alone outside. You might find this hard to believe, but this town is full of thieves." He opened his eyes wide in mock amazement and waved his hands to take in the bar and the port around it. "You wouldn't want to wind up shoveling sand on some moisture farm, now would you?" "Oh, dear me, no." Leia smiled, unable to help herself. What a band of characters she'd wound up with. Two funny droids, Lando Calrissian the gambler, Chewbacca the Wookiee, Luke the- What was Luke? Halfway to becoming a Jedi, at least. And awfully important, given how badly Darth Vader seemed to want him. She'd heard other rumors, too, that Vader wasn't particular how he got Luke, alive or dead. She loved Han, but she felt something for Luke, too.
Another complication she did not need. Why wasn't life simpler?
And Han.
"I think we've got Slave I spotted," Lando said qui- etly.
That was Boba Fett's ship. The bounty h
unter who had taken Han from Cloud City. "What? Where?" "A moon called Gall, circling Zhar, a gas giant out in one of the far Rim Systems. The information is third-hand, but the informant chain is supposed to be reli- able." "We've heard that before," she said.
Lando shrugged. "We can sit and wait or we can go see. The bounty hunter should have delivered Han to Jabba months ago. He's got to be someplace. I've got a contact in that system, an old gambling buddy who does a little, uh, freelance cargo delivery. Name is Dash Rendar. He's checking it out for us." Leia smiled again. "Freelance cargo delivery" was a euphemism for "smuggling." "You trust him?" "Well, as long as my money holds out, yeah." "Fine. How soon will we know?" "A few days." Leia looked around. "Anything would be better than waiting here." Lando flashed his bright smile again. "Mos Eisley is known as the galaxy's armpit," he said. "I guess there are worse parts of the anatomy where we could be stuck." Chewie said something.
Star Wars - Shadows of the Empire Page 2