Jedi Search

by Kevin J. Anderson

  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.