A squadron of TIE fighters surrounded the hijacked shuttle like a cocoon,
making it impossible for them to deviate from the direct path of the tractor
beam. The Star Destroyer Gorgon opened its huge receiving bay to swallow the
prisoners. TIE fighters streaked up and into the cavernous metal mouth.
Han remembered being taken captive aboard the first Death Star in much the
same way, flanked by Imperial starfighters, fighting against a powerful
tractor beam. But that time he had been flying his own ship, and they had
been able to hide in the Falcon's secret storage compartments. Now they
didn't even have uniforms to steal; they wore only the thermal prison suits
used for working in the spice mines of Kessel.
"We're not going to make a very good impression," Kyp said.
The four Star Destroyers hovered over a cluster of interconnected rocky
bodies at the very center of the Maw. Other constructions and skeletal
debris orbited low to the asteroid archipelago.
Han wondered again what all this was. A staging area? A secret base? Why
would the Empire have squandered so much firepower to protect the little
clump of rocks below?
The tractor beam lifted the shuttle into the Gorgon's bay and hauled it over
to an isolated landing area. As the shuttle came to rest, Han heard faint
groaning and ticking sounds, like a chorus of mechanical sighs of relief
from the battered ship. Armed stormtroopers hustled into position, running
in regimented columns that showed they were still well drilled, still highly
trained. They carried old-model blasters held at the ready.
"We'd better see what they want," Han said. "Any bright ideas?"
"Only dim ones," Kyp answered with a shake of his dark head.
Han sighed in resignation. "Let's go out together. Hands up and move very
slowly."
Chewbacca grumbled that he had no particular aversion to dying while
fighting, if they were going to be executed anyway.
"We don't know that," Han said. "Let's go."
Chewbacca, the most intimidating, took the central position while Han and
the smaller form of Kyp Durron flanked him. They walked out and surrendered.
The stormtroopers instantly directed their weapons toward the three. Han
wondered how he could have earned himself such an unrelenting streak of bad
luck.
At a signal for attention the back ranks of stormtroopers snapped erect,
shouldering their weapons, while the front ranks held unwavering aim at the
prisoners. Han watched as doors at the rear of the landing bay slid open and
a tall woman strode through, accompanied by a bodyguard on each side.
She had a slender build and precise movements. She wore an olive-gray
jumpsuit and black gloves. She marched forward, paying little attention to
those around her, as if the troops were mere fixtures. She fastened her gaze
on the prisoners.
Her most striking feature was a full head of hair that billowed around her
shoulders and disappeared to some unknown length down her back. Her hair was
the color of hot copper and seemed to crackle with an electric life of its
own. Her eyes were green and piercing, like turbolaser bolts. She walked
straight toward them. Han saw the insignia at her collar and was taken aback
to recognize the rank of a full admiral.
Han had attended the Imperial academy himself when he was young and knew
that a woman reaching the rank of admiral was unheard of. Emperor Palpatine
had had a well-known prejudice against nonhumans, but he sustained more
subtle discrimination against women, rarely promoting even those who passed
the rigorous tests. For this woman to have the rank of full
admiral--especially of a small fleet of Imperial-class Star Destroyers--was
remarkable. Han put himself immediately on guard; this was no person to be
trifled with.
She stopped at the foot of the ramp and looked stiffly up at them. Her
features were as finely carved and as cold and rigid as a statue's. Her lips
barely moved as she spoke.
"I am Admiral Daala, in charge of the fleet guarding Maw Installation." She
flashed her green glance to each of them in turn. "You three are in a lot of
trouble."
Luke and Artoo had little to do as Lando Calrissian piloted the Lady Luck
toward Kessel. A nebulous haze of escaping atmosphere surrounded the
potato-shaped rock, while the jagged garrison moon rode in its close orbit.
"Welcome to the garden spot of the galaxy," Lando said.
Luke thought of his home planet of Tatooine, the Dune Sea, the Great Pit of
Carkoon, the Jundland Wastes. "I've seen worse," he said. Artoo bleeped in
agreement.
Lando leaned closer to the viewports. "Yeah, well don't make any hasty
judgments. We haven't looked at this place up close yet." He opened a comm
channel. If Kessel had a good tracking network, the station should have
pinpointed the Lady Luck the moment they came out of hyperspace. "Hello,
Kessel! Is anybody listening? I'm looking for someone named Moruth Doole.
I've got a business proposition for him. Please respond."
"Who is this?" a startled-sounding voice broke in. "Identify yourself."
"Name's Tymmo, and if you want any other information, have Doole ask me
himself." Lando grinned at Luke. They thought using the fake name of the
scam artist from the blob races added another bit of irony to their mission.
"In the meantime my associate and I have some money to dispose of--half a
million credits, to be exact--so run along and fetch Doole."
The speaker remained silent, evidently while the communications officer
conferred with someone; then the answer came back. "We're transmitting
parameters for a holding orbit, Mr., uh, Tymmo. Follow these instructions
precisely. Our energy shield is currently operational and will disintegrate
you if you make an unauthorized attempt to land. Do you understand?"
Luke looked at Lando, and they both shrugged. Lando spoke into the comm
channel, "We'll wait right here for Doole to roll out the welcome mat. But
if he takes too long, I'll go spend my cash somewhere else." He laced his
fingers behind his head and leaned back in the pilot's chair. Below, Kessel
filled the viewports. It was Lando's job to fast-talk them into places,
while Luke would keep his eyes and Jedi senses open for any trace of Han.
Before leaving Coruscant they had doctored up false personal backgrounds for
themselves, removing any mention of the New Republic but keeping enough
hints at shady dealings and fast transactions to provide corroborating
evidence. Luke would remain nameless, if at all possible.
A raspy voice finally burst out of the speakers. "Mr. Tymmo? This is Moruth
Doole. Do I know you?"
"Not at the moment ... but I've got a large and liquid credit account that
says you might want to."
They heard a bubbling intake of breath. "And what might that mean? My
communications officer said something about half a million credits?"
"I recently hit it big at the Umgullian blob races. I'm looking for a place
to invest the credits, and I've always thought there was money to be made in
spice mining. You willing to talk?"
Doo
le barely paused. "Half a million credits is certainly worth talking
about. I'll send a flyer escort for you. They'll take you through a safe
corridor in the energy shield."
"I look forward to meeting you face-to-face," Lando said.
Doole only made a hissing, froglike sound.
Lando left the Lady Luck on the landing pad of the Imperial Correction
Facility, surrounded by scout vehicles, ground transports, and other ships
that had been cannibalized for functional parts. He stood dressed in finery,
smiling and bright-eyed. Beside him Luke wore a nondescript jumpsuit from
which all insignia had been removed.
A squad dressed in hodgepodge stormtrooper armor and prison uniforms led
Luke, Lando, and Artoo-Detoo toward the enormous trapezoidal edifice of the
correction facility. The brooding mass of the prison seemed to throb with
years of pain and punishment, working at Luke's enhanced senses. He remained
silent, on guard. At least the escorts kept their weapons holstered and
behaved in as welcoming a fashion as they could manage.
They rode the tube elevators that climbed the sloping front wall of the
prison. Through the transparisteel Luke watched the wastelands of Kessel
spread hopelessly in front of them.
When the elevators opened into the mirrored administrative substructure, the
guards motioned them to follow. Clerks, bureaucrats, and seedy-looking
functionaries bustled through the halls, looking busier than they wanted to
be. Luke wondered if Doole had staged this activity as an impressive show
for Lando; but the frantic scrambling seemed more chaotic than efficient.
Moruth Doole himself met them in one of the corridors. The squat amphibian
rubbed his splayed hands together and bobbed his head at them. A mechanical
contraption covering one eye focused and refocused itself.
"Welcome, Mr. Tymmo!" Doole said. "Let me apologize for our turmoil here.
You haven't picked a very good time to visit. Yesterday I lost my right-hand
man and my primary shift boss in a tunnel mishap. Please excuse me if I seem
a bit ... flustered."
"Quite all right," Lando said, shaking Doole's extended hand. "I've been
administrator of several large mining operations myself. Sometimes the
planet itself doesn't want to cooperate."
"Very true!" Doole said, opening and closing his mouth like a young rawwk
begging for food. "Interesting way of looking at it."
"I hope the disaster didn't hurt your spice production too much?" Lando
said.
"Oh, we'll be back up to full output in no time."
Lando gestured to Luke. "My associate is here to help me check out the
details of spice mining and to advise me on its potential as an investment."
He took a deep breath. "I know I must have taken you by surprise. Tell me,
is there any part of your operation that I might invest in?"
Doole motioned for them to follow toward his office. His lizard-skin
waistcoat rippled in the uncertain light of the corridors. "Come in, and
we'll talk some more." Doole waddled ahead, turning his head from side to
side as if he had trouble seeing where he was going. Inside the former
warden's office Doole indicated for them to take a seat. Artoo idled beside
Luke.
Glancing around the office, Luke noticed the carbon-frozen man hanging on
one wall; the life-support indicator lights on the control panel were all
dark. "Friend of yours?" he asked.
Doole sputtered a hissing laugh. "A former rival. He used to be warden of
the prison here, before our little revolution brought genuine capitalism to
the spice-mining industry." He sat down heavily behind the desk. "May I
offer you any refreshment?"
Once seated, Lando folded his bands in his lap. "I'd rather talk business
first. If our negotiations look promising, maybe we can celebrate with a
drink."
"Good policy," Doole said, rubbing his bands again. "Now then, I've been
thinking ever since your transmission, and I may well have something that
could be the perfect investment. It so happens that just before his demise,
our shift boss uncovered an exceptionally rich deposit of glitterstim spice.
It'll take a good amount of money and effort to make repairs in the
collapsed tunnel and to exploit this resource, but the payoff can be greater
than your wildest dreams."
"I have some pretty wild dreams," Lando said, flashing his broadest smile.
Luke interrupted with a stern, skeptical voice. "Those are extravagant
claims, Mr. Doole. Would you allow our Artoo unit to tap into your network
and inspect the profits-loss picture of your operations for, say, the past
two years? That will give me hard data on which to make a recommendation to
Mr. Tymmo."
Doole squirmed on being asked to open his records, but Lando pulled his
credit-transfer card from his pocket. "I can assure you the droid will do no
damage to your data system, and I'd be happy to give you a small deposit, if
it would make you feel more comfortable. Say, five thousand?"
Doole was trapped between his own uneasy wish for confidentiality and his
need to appear aboveboard in front of a potential big investor--not to
mention wanting the five thousand credits for its own sake.
"I suppose that would be all right. But I can give your droid access for
only five minutes. It shouldn't need any more time than that to find the
information."
Luke nodded. "That'll be fine, thank you." Artoo wouldn't waste effort
checking out bogus profits-loss reports anyway. He would begin immediately
trying to track down any record of Han Solo, Chewbacca, or the Millennium
Falcon.
Humming forward, Artoo jacked into the terminal port beside Moruth Doole's
desk. His data-link arm whirred as it accessed the information buried in the
prison complex's computer.
While they waited, Lando continued his discussion with Doole. "I'd like to
see all aspects of your spice mining and production. I'm sure you can
arrange a tour immediately. Let us observe firsthand how the business works.
Including these collapsed tunnels of yours--maybe I'd like to invest in
repairs, if a good payoff seems likely."
"Uh," Doole said, looking behind him as if to find an excuse. "As I said,
now is not a very good time. Perhaps we could arrange a more convenient time
for you to come back--'' Doole spread his squishy hands.
Lando shrugged eloquently and stood as if to leave. "I understand. If you're
not interested, I can go someplace else. This money is burning a hole in my
account. I want to do something with it, right now. There are other spice
mines on other planets."
"Ah, but they are sources of ryll spice, not glitterstim--''
'They are still profitable."
Artoo withdrew and chittered to Luke. Though Luke only partially understood
the droid's language, he heard enough to know that Artoo had not found Han,
nor anything particularly incriminating as far as Doole was concerned. If
the information banks had held any record of the Falcon, they had been wiped
clean.
"Well, what's your droid's opinion?" Doole asked, hearing the bleeps.
"He finds nothi
ng out of the ordinary," Luke said. He exchanged a dejected
glance with Lando.
Doole stood up, beaming. "All right. I understand your concerns, Mr. Tymmo.
Sometimes inconvenience must take precedence in business matters. I wouldn't
want you to leave Kessel with any doubts. Come, I'll show you the
spice-processing line, then we'll arrange a tour of the newly opened
tunnels."
He burbled off, leading the way as they followed, still looking for any sign
of Han.
A floater car took them across the surface to the entrance shaft of the
collapsed tunnels. Luke and Lando ducked involuntarily as they sped into the
narrow corkscrew passage.
"This was the site of an illegal mining operation back when the Imperial
Correction Facility was in full control," Doole said, raising his voice
above the sound of the speeding engines. "The perpetrators were caught, and
this access shaft was sealed off until a recent avalanche opened everything
up again."
Doole took them down into a wide grotto where part of the ceiling had fallen
in. Wan light spilled down, illuminating the open areas. Workers had strung
lights around the perimeter as they hammered and hauled broken rock. A crew
of thirty or so milled around the chamber, shoring up walls and removing
debris. The tunnels out of the grotto had been blocked by portable pneumatic
doors that sealed the rest of the tunnels in blackness.
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