by Timothy Zahn
“No,” Marcross said. “But I’m guessing they’re with the rioters out front.”
Mara frowned up at him. “We have a riot going on?”
“Reasonably big, very loud, and getting nastier by the minute,” Marcross told her. “The whole palace security contingent has been ordered to the wall to stop the people who are trying to climb over.”
“Which could also be accomplished by opening fire and slaughtering a few of them,” LaRone added. “Fortunately, the general in charge seems to be trying to avoid that.”
“That would be General Ularno,” Mara said as she laid the patches across Ferrouz’s burns. “Very stolid, very by-the-book. Not very imaginative.”
“I can believe that,” Marcross said. “He keeps calling for Governor Ferrouz to check in. Probably hoping for some fresh ideas.”
“You’re not actually going to take him out there, are you?” Axlon asked anxiously.
“You mean out where someone else can take a shot at him?” Mara countered, closing the medpac and handing it back to LaRone. “Don’t worry. We’re going to find someplace to go to ground until we get this mess straightened out.”
“You mean the riot?” Marcross asked.
“I mean the fact that someone set me up,” Mara said bluntly. “They set up Ferrouz to commit treason, then they set me up to kill him.” She gestured toward the bodies lying in the doorway. “And they wanted to catch me in the act.”
“There may be another possibility,” LaRone said. “There’s a person—”
“Can this wait?” Mara interrupted.
“Yes, of course,” LaRone said, sounding a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“I assume we’re not going out the front?” Marcross said, nodding toward the office door.
“That depends,” Mara said. “How many dead guards did you see outside the office suite on your way in, and did you see any of our attackers cross the courtyard while you were waiting out there for me?”
The two stormtroopers exchanged looks. “There were two dead guards and a woman I assumed was a receptionist,” LaRone said.
“We didn’t see anyone in the courtyard who wasn’t security or a stormtrooper,” Marcross added.
“What does any of that have to do with anything?” Axlon asked.
“A lack of dead guards would have meant that a sizable fraction of Ferrouz’s security force was in on it,” Mara told him. “The guards would have simply stepped aside instead of letting themselves get killed defending him.”
“And since the attackers didn’t come in through the front gate in the last half hour, they either had a private way in, or they came in earlier and were hiding somewhere inside,” LaRone said. “The security corps in general may still be loyal, but someone in the palace is helping them.”
“So we go for Ferrouz’s bolt-hole,” Mara said, looking around the room. “Let’s spread out and find it.”
“Try back that way,” Axlon said, pointing toward one of the rear corners. “I think he was getting ready to move in that direction when he was hit.”
Mara studied the corner. The walls back there included a lot of hand-carved scrollwork that would be more than adequate to conceal release buttons. “LaRone, watch the door,” she said, heading across the room. “Marcross, pick up the governor and come with me.”
“That’s all right,” Axlon said. “I can carry him.”
“I apparently didn’t make myself clear,” Mara said, pausing and looking back at him. “We’re leaving. You’re staying here.”
“Governor Ferrouz is my friend,” Axlon said firmly. “More than that, he’s my ally. I won’t desert him in his time of need.”
“So you’re a Rebel.”
Axlon flinched, but nodded. “Yes, I am,” he said, with no regret or embarrassment in his voice. “But like it or not, sometimes enemies have to work together against a bigger enemy.” He gestured at Ferrouz. “Whoever’s trying to kill the governor is that bigger enemy.”
“Just one small problem,” Mara said. “I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t trust you, either,” Axlon countered. “So let’s get practical. There may be more trouble out there, trouble you’ll need to shoot your way through. You really want to find out the hard way whether stormtroopers can lug an unconscious man and shoot at the same time?”
Mara grimaced. They didn’t have time for this.
Besides which, the man had a point. “You should have been in politics,” she said, resuming her trip across the room. “Don’t drop him. Marcross, you’re with him.”
Most governors, Mara knew, had their private exits locked mechanically, with no circuitry that could be located by someone with an energy scanner. Mechanical locks worked only in certain specified ways, and under normal conditions she could have found the release within a couple of minutes.
But today she didn’t have the luxury of time or finesse. Igniting her lightsaber, she slashed through the wall at waist height until a puff of cool, stale air told her she’d hit the hidden door and the tunnel behind it. Quickly she carved out the rest of the opening and then thrust the lightsaber inside. By the faint glow of the blade, she could see that there was a short passageway leading away from the office wall and ending in a narrow stairway. “Axlon, can you handle stairs?”
“No problem,” Axlon said. He had Ferrouz up over his shoulder now, holding him in a standard rescue carry. “You want me to take lead?”
“I’ll take lead,” Mara said, stepping into the doorway. “Marcross next, then you. LaRone, you’re on rear guard. Give Grave and the others a call and tell them to get back to the truck, unsuit and dump their gear inside, and wait for my call.”
She turned back to the corridor and took a deep breath. Sometimes, she knew, governors set traps in their emergency exits to discourage pursuit. “Let’s go.”
Caldorf VII interceptor missiles were big and bulky, and even with a couple of ASP-7 lifter droids to assist, Han quickly found out why Ranquiv was willing to pay two hundred for each one of the things that his workers could successfully jostle into place.
Leia wasn’t any help, of course. She tried to be, and Han was pretty sure she thought she was being helpful. But mostly she just got in the way, or handed him the wrong tool, or offered advice that he didn’t want.
But he couldn’t tell her that. She would just get into a snit, and a public argument would draw attention that they couldn’t afford.
So he suffered and sweated and swore, and let her help, and occasionally accepted her orders even when he already knew what he was doing.
He had attached the nesting rack to the ship and had the first four bolts of the missile casing in place when he spotted one of the humans, a man with spiky brown hair, having an animated conversation with one of the yellow-eyed aliens off to the side of the cavern near the tunnel where the speeder bus was parked. As he watched, two more of the aliens drifted into the group, and a casual look around showed another three in other parts of the cavern also moving in that direction.
Something was going on. Han should probably find out what.
He turned away from the discussion. “Hydrospanner,” he told Leia, gesturing toward the tool kit they’d been given. “Biggest one you’ve got.”
She peered into the box and pulled out a five-centimeter version. “This big enough?” she asked, holding it up.
“Perfect,” Han said, taking it and putting one of the bolts wrong-end first into the tool’s hydraulic receiving collar. Glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one was watching, he triggered the tool, squeezing the collar down onto the bolt. There was a soft grinding of metal on metal, and when he unlocked the collar he found that the bolt’s threads had been mashed just a little on one side.
“What are you doing?” Leia asked as he pulled the bolt out and put in a second one.
“Making an excuse to go eavesdropping,” Han told her, squeezing the hydrospanner down on that one, too. “What do you think? Two enough? Or should I make it
three?”
She didn’t answer, but just stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“Yeah, let’s make it three,” Han decided, and mashed the threads on a third bolt. “You can put this away,” he told her, handing her the hydrospanner. Collecting his three damaged bolts, he turned again and headed across the cavern toward the conversation.
The other aliens had joined the party now, but Spikes seemed to be doing most of the talking. “—have any more men inside,” he was snarling as Han got into hearing range. “The frilty little bittern took them down. Every last frilting one of them.”
“Then send in more,” Ranquiv said, his voice dark. “You said you would bring enough.”
“Numbers aren’t the problem,” Spikes retorted. “The problem is, no one else can get into the palace until our man inside comes out of wherever he’s hiding.”
“Did she kill him as well?” one of the other aliens asked.
“I don’t know,” Spikes ground out. “Stelikag was on the outside, organizing the riot. He doesn’t know what happened in there any more than I do.”
“You must find him,” one of the other aliens insisted.
“You think?” Spikes said sarcastically. “Don’t worry, we’ve still got—” He broke off as he spotted Han. “What do you want?” he demanded.
“How about workable equipment?” Han growled, holding up the bolts. “You see these? Threads are crushed. Three of them with threads crushed. How do you expect me to do my job if you don’t give me decent stuff?”
“There are more bolts there,” Ranquiv said, pointing to a set of tool and supply cabinets along the side wall. “Get what you need. Do not bother us further.”
“Yeah, I can see how busy your schedule is,” Han said sourly. Turning, he headed for the cabinets.
And as he walked he kept an eye on Leia, standing beside his half-finished install. It was hard to tell at this distance, but it looked like her eyes were on the group of aliens.
Which probably meant Spikes and the aliens were watching him.
He made it to the cabinet without anyone shooting him in the back, found replacement bolts, and headed back to the ship.
“What was that all about?” Leia asked as he picked up one of the hydrospanners and got back to work.
“They looked like they were talking about something interesting,” Han said. “I wanted to find out what it was.”
“Did they tell you?” Leia asked drily.
“Not exactly,” Han said, grunting as he snugged one of the bolts in place. “But I got enough to know there’s trouble on Poln Major. Trouble involving the palace.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Leia stiffen. “Han,” she said quietly, her eyes on something past his shoulder.
“We need to get hold of Luke—” he continued.
“Who’s Luke?” Spikes’s voice asked from behind him.
With an effort, Han managed not to jump. He’d expected a follow-up, but not quite this quick. “Buddy who flies with us sometimes,” he said casually, setting the next bolt in place and giving the hydrospanner a couple of cranks. “I was telling her that if you’ve got more of these things to do, we should bring him in on it,” he added, turning around as Spikes walked up to him, a data card in his hand.
“We already have plenty of help,” the other growled, eyeing Han suspiciously. “If it hadn’t been a rush job we could have done all the work ourselves.”
“Yeah, I can see you knocking yourselves out over there,” Han said. “I just thought if you needed more help—”
“We don’t,” Spikes said shortly, peering up at Han’s work. “Adequate,” he said. “Nothing special, but it should hold. You’re still missing those last three bolts.”
“Yeah, I’m working on it,” Han said, setting one of the bolts into the hydrospanner. “Anything else?”
“Not from you.” Spikes pointed at Leia and jerked his head toward the ramp running from the ground up to the side of the ship. “But I need her inside.”
Han glanced at Leia. “What for?” he asked warily as he put down the hydrospanner, freshly aware of the blaster at Spikes’s hip.
“I want to get her started on the calibration,” Spikes said. “No—you stay put. I just need her.”
“Call me curious,” Han said, stepping to Leia’s side.
“How about I call you dead?” Spikes retorted.
Han stayed where he was. Spikes glared at him for another moment, then muttered a curse. “Fine,” he growled, gesturing at the ramp again. “Go.”
“Where?” Han asked as he walked past the other and headed for the ramp.
“Cockpit,” Spikes said. “Come on, move it.”
Han nodded. Rounding the ramp, he headed up, his back itching as Spikes started up the ramp behind him. Still, Leia was now behind Spikes, and hopefully she would be fast enough to do something if he went for his blaster.
Fortunately for all of them, he didn’t.
The cockpit systems were in standby mode, half the instruments and displays dark, the rest glowing softly. The controls were also lit, with identification labels in blue and red script that was as alien as the ship itself. “Okay,” Han said as he dropped into the pilot’s seat. “Now what?”
In answer, Spikes stepped up to the board and slid his data card into a slot on the lower part.
And with a multiple flicker, all the control labels simultaneously switched from alien characters to standard Basic.
Han looked at Spikes.
“Don’t look so surprised.” Spikes said, a mocking smile on his face. “There are a lot of different alien types who fly these ships. This is the smart way to make sure they know what button to push.” He pointed to the upper part of the board. “That’s the calibration setup. She can start on that—and you can get your butt out of that seat and finish with the hardware.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and pushed past Leia as she stood in the cockpit doorway. A moment later, the ship vibrated with his footsteps as he headed back down the ramp.
Han climbed out of the seat and gestured to Leia. “You’re on, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll go run the rest of those bolts in and be right back.”
“Take your time,” Leia said, grimacing a little as he brushed closely past her. “I don’t really need you here.”
“I need me here,” Han told her. “I’ll be right back.”
He got the rest of the bolts secured in two minutes, and was back in the cockpit in three. “That was fast,” Leia commented, not looking up from her work as he took up position behind her, leaning one hand on the back of her seat. “I’ve barely started.”
“Take your time and do it right,” he told her. “It’s not like we need the money they’re paying.”
“Hey!” Spikes’s distant voice called.
Han leaned forward and peered out the crosshatch canopy. Spikes was standing at the foot of the ramp, pointing imperiously toward the ground beside him. “What does he want?” Leia asked.
“Me, probably,” Han said. Waving back genially, he returned his attention to the board. “Ignore him—maybe he’ll go away.”
No such luck. A moment later, the ship once again began to vibrate with the tramp of feet on the entrance ramp. They didn’t sound like happy footsteps, either. “You need me,” Han said softly in Leia’s ear.
She frowned up at him; and then Spikes was at the cockpit door, glaring at them. “You deaf, Shrike?” he bit out. “She can handle this herself. You need to get started mounting another missile.”
“I need him here,” Leia said in that firm, no-argument voice that Han had heard her use on him so many times over the past few months. “You’ll have to wait until I’m done.”
Spikes snorted. “What does he do? Hold your hand?”
“No, he does all the double-mark, ginlay, and parity checks,” Leia told him. “If you had any real professionals out there, you’d already know that’s the accepted procedure.”
Spikes snorted again. “You think
anyone here gives a womp rat about accepted procedure?”
“I assume they give a womp rat about getting the job done right,” Leia said calmly. “Single-eyetrack calibrations have a twelve percent error rate, which means that in one job out of eight you’ll have to go back to dirt and do the whole thing over.” She waved a hand. “But hey, you said you’d pay for calibrated missiles. You never said you needed the calibrations to be any good.”
Spikes took a deep breath. “Fine,” he growled. “Do it your way. You’ve got one hour.” He leveled a finger at her. “And I’ll be checking every line of your work later. Personally.”
Turning, he walked away, and again the ship vibrated as he stomped down the ramp. “Thanks,” Han said quietly.
“You’re welcome.” Leia looked up at him. “If you were planning to hold my hand, forget it.”
“What I’m planning is to memorize these controls,” Han told her, nodding toward the board. “I somehow don’t think Spikes is going to let you keep that translator card once the missile’s been calibrated.”
“Why do you need to memorize the controls?” Leia asked, looking puzzled. “The only way out that’s big enough for these things is that conveyance tunnel at the far end.”
“Yeah, I saw it,” Han said. “I also saw that they’ve got enough firepower clustered there to level a city block. No one’s getting in or out that way, not until Ranquiv says so.” He considered. “Unless someone tries for a suicide run.”
Leia’s eyes were suddenly very steady on his face. “You’re not serious.”
“You never know,” he said casually. He gestured to the board. “You’d better get busy before he decides to come hold your hand. And get it right.”
“Don’t worry,” she said stiffly, turning back to the board. “I won’t,” he said, just to get in the last word.
He would worry, of course. Whatever was going on here was well worth worrying about. But right now his main job was to figure out how to fly one of these things. Just in case he wound up needing to.