by Troy Denning
The remaining trio of insects stopped where they were and dropped into a six-limbed crouch. Their antennae fell flat against their heads, and a soft little “rrrrrrrr” began to come from their chests. Someone else might have described the sound as meek, but Han knew better than to assume. Bug minds did not work the same way as those of other species.
BD-8, the Solos’ battle droid, appeared behind the Noghri and pointed his blaster cannon over Meewalh’s shoulder. “Do not be alarmed!” With the full jacket of laminanium armor and red photoreceptors in a death’s-head face, he still resembled the YVH droid from which he had been refitted. “Intruders identified. Permission to fire?”
“No!” Leia snapped. “Stand down! Return to leisure station.”
“Leisure station?” BD-8’s tone grew doubtful as the other bugs continued up the ramp. “Ma’am, we’re being boarded!”
“We’re not being boarded,” Leia said.
“Not if I can help it!” Han said.
He snatched another of the bugs and, in the low gravity, sent it spinning twenty meters across the hangar. Cakhmaim and Meewalh removed the last two, grabbing a mandible and executing quick twists that sent the insects tumbling away.
Han nodded his approval. “See?”
A bitter odor began to waft up from the floor. Han looked down to see two of the dislodged bugs standing beside the ramp on their four front limbs, their abdomens raised so they could squirt greenish fluid on the sides of the ramp.
“What the garzal?” Han cried.
“Ubbub bubbur,” the bugs drummed.
“Bubbur yourselves!”
Han raised his arms to shoo them away. They continued to squirt, and C-3PO picked that moment to interrupt.
“Captain Solo, we seem to have another visitor.”
The droid pointed past Han’s shoulder.
Han turned around to find a tall, bald-headed figure with large, buggy eyes and a pair of thick tusks approaching the Falcon’s boarding ramp. In his hands, he carried a rag and a spray canister.
“Great,” Han said. “Now an Aqualish.”
“That can’t be good,” Leia said. The Aqualish were an aggressive species known across the galaxy for picking fights— and jumping into the middle of them. “What’s he want?”
“To wash the viewports, it looks like,” Han said. The Aqualish reached the base of the ramp and started forward toward the bugs. “What do you want, Fangface?”
The nickname was despised by Aqualish, but it was better to take an aggressive tone with them. They were less likely to start a fight with someone who did not intimidate easily.
“Nothing, friend,” The Aqualish spoke in the gravelly voice typical of his species. “Just to help you out.”
Han and Leia exchanged puzzled glances. Friend was not usually a word you heard from an Aqualish.
“We’re not your friends,” Han said.
“You will be.”
The Aqualish waited until the bugs finished squirting, then shooed away the one on his side of the ramp and sprayed a harsh-smelling foam over the same area.
“That stuff better not be corrosive,” Han warned.
Aqualish could not smile—the need had probably never arisen during their evolution—but this one lifted his head and managed to seem like he was.
“It’s not.” He tossed the spray canister to Han. “You need to clean that mess up.”
The Aqualish pointed at the far side of the ramp, where the other worker had squirted its goo, then started to wipe the area he had already coated. Han sprayed a thick layer of foam over the side of the ramp, filling the air with a smell somewhere between rotting fruit and burned synfur.
“Tell me again what I’m doing?”
“When you tossed the workers off, they marked you,” the Aqualish explained. He tossed Han the rag. “Now you have to start over, or they’ll call their soldiers and tear your ship apart to see what you’re hiding.”
“Start over?” Leia asked.
“Transacting,” the Aqualish explained. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Uh, maybe,” Han said. “You mean like trading, right?”
“More like taking,” the Aqualish said. “They take what they want. You take what you want. Everybody’s happy.”
The insects started up the ramp again.
“Boarding imminent,” BD-8 reported. “Permission to—”
“No!” Leia said. “Stand down.”
Han finished wiping the foam away, then stood up to find the six insects lined up on the ramp below.
“They’re not going to lay eggs or anything?” he asked.
“No, they only do that in the heartcomb,” the Aqualish assured him. “Just let them bring out whatever they want, then take back whatever you want to keep. It’s a lot easier—and safer.”
“If you say so.” Han stepped aside to let the bugs pass. “Okay?”
The lead worker responded with a single mandible clack, which was simultaneously echoed by the rest of the squad.
“That would be an affirmative,” C-3PO offered helpfully.
The bugs started up the ramp.
Han jumped down beside the Aqualish and returned the spray canister and rag. “Sorry about that Fangface stuff.” He reached for his money. “What do I owe you for the help?”
“Nothing, friend.” The Aqualish waved a dismissing hand. “It happens to everyone the first time.”
“Really?” Han’s mind began searching for angles, trying to figure out what kind of swindle the Aqualish was trying to pull. “Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you’re a pretty helpful guy for your kind.”
The Aqualish watched the last bug disappear into the Falcon, then nodded. “Yeah. I don’t get it, either.” He turned and started back toward his own vessel. “This place just makes me feel good.”
Han, Leia, and the others spent the next hour returning to the Falcon most of what the bugs carried off. At first, the work was confusing and frustrating—especially after they had carried the same crate of protein packages aboard for the seventh or eighth time. But eventually order emerged, with the ship’s crew leaving anything they could bear to part with at the foot of the ramp and stacking whatever they wanted to keep in the forward hold. Toward the end, the bugs even started to add balls of wax and jugs of some amber, sweet-smelling spirit to the Falcon’s stack.
Finally, the only item under contention was Killik Twilight, a small moss-painting that had once hung outside Leia’s bedroom in House Organa on Alderaan. Designed by the late Ob Khaddor—one of Alderaan’s foremost artists—the piece depicted a line of enigmatic insectoid figures departing their pinnacle-city home, with a fierce storm sweeping in behind them. Han had no idea why the bugs were so taken with it—apart from the subject matter—but every time he put it on the keep stack, an insect would deposit a jug of spirits or a shine-ball in its place and carry it back down the ramp again. Han was about ready to start exterminating. The painting was Leia’s most prized possession, and he’d almost died trying to recover it for her on Tatooine.
A bug emerged from the Falcon carrying Killik Twilight in its four arms and stopped about halfway down the ramp, peering over the top of the frame. Han, waiting at the bottom, folded his arms and sighed.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get it over with.”
Instead of continuing down the ramp, the worker jumped to the floor and disappeared behind the disordered heap of crates and spare tools stacked next to the Falcon.
“Hey!”
Han rushed to the other side to cut off the bug’s escape, but it was nowhere to be seen. He glanced back at its buddies— waiting for this last bit of “transacting” to be completed—but they only turned their oblong eyes away and pretended not to notice. Han sneered, then knelt down to peer behind the Falcon’s landing struts.
Nothing.
“Blast!” Han slowly turned, his pulse pounding as he searched for the bug. Halfway up the hangar wall, he saw the Skywalkers emerging from a pass
age with Saba Sebatyne and a black-furred Ewok, but no sign of the thief. “Huttslime!”
“Han?” Leia appeared at the top of the boarding ramp, her arms loaded with provisions that she and the others were stowing again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Han answered. “The bugs are getting sneaky.”
Leia put her load aside. “Define sneaky, Han.”
“Nothing to worry about.” A soft rustle sounded from the transaction pile. Han peered over a stack of raw protein packages and saw a slender insect foot sliding behind a crate of Endorian brandy. “I’ve got everything under control.”
Han slipped around the stack of packages, then pulled the crate aside and found the worker bug cowering with Killik Twilight in its four hands.
“Uub urr,” it thrummed.
“Yeah? Two can play that game.”
Han pulled the painting from its grasp, then turned to find Ben rushing up ahead of Luke and the others.
“Uncle Han!” He raised his elbow in an old smuggler’s greeting Han had taught him. “Dad said you were here!”
“Good to see you, kid.” Han touched his elbow to Ben’s. “I’d love to talk, but I’m in the middle of a contest of wills.”
Leaving Leia to slow down the bug and greet Luke and the others, Han carried the painting onto the Falcon, then knelt on the floor and opened a smuggling compartment.
“That’s a funny place to put Aunt Leia’s painting,” said Ben, who had followed him aboard.
“Tell me about it,” Han said. He slipped the painting into the compartment, closed the cover, and stood. “Now let’s go see your mom and—”
The bug appeared in the corridor, sweeping its antennae along the floor. It passed Han with a polite rumble, then stopped and began to pry at the secret panel. When the compartment would not open, it sat down and began to clack its mandibles.
“All right! You don’t have to call your buddies.” Han knelt on the floor beside the bug. “Just get out of my way.”
Han opened the panel. The insect pulled the painting from the compartment and turned to leave, then let out a startled rumble when it found Saba and her Ewok companion coming up the corridor. The Ewok snatched the painting from the bug’s hands, turned it over, and spat on the back.
“What the blazes!” Han turned to Saba. “Is this guy a friend of yours?”
“Tarfang and I have made no killz together,” Saba said. “But he can help us.”
“Yeah?” Han watched doubtfully as Tarfang placed the painting on the floor. “How?”
The Ewok glared up at Han and jabbered something in the squeaky language of his species, then motioned Han and the others toward the boarding ramp.
“Listen up, Cuddles,” Han said, “I don’t know who you think you are, but on the Falcon—”
“Uncle Han, look!”
Ben pointed at Killik Twilight. The bug stood holding the painting in its hands, running its antennae over the back where the Ewok had spit. It repeated the gesture several times, then emitted a sad little hum and returned the painting to the smuggling compartment.
Han looked back to Tarfang. “How’d you do that?”
The Ewok’s only answer was an indignant snort. He spun around and started for the boarding ramp, no longer seeming to care whether Han or anyone else followed.
“Touchy little fellow, isn’t he?”
“Tarfang is not a nice being.” Saba started after the Ewok. “But his captain can help us find Jaina and the otherz.”
Han caught up to her outside, where C-3PO informed them that Luke and the others had gone on ahead with Tarfang. Despite Saba’s assurances that Killik Twilight was perfectly safe now that someone had spit on it, Han asked the Noghri to stay with the painting.
They dropped Ben at the Shadow with Nanna, then joined Luke, Mara, and Leia outside the blast-pocked, carbon-scored disk of a small YT-1000 transport. A smaller cousin to Han’s own YT-1300, the YT-1000’s cockpit sat atop the hull where the Falcon’s upper laser cannon turret was located; there was no lower turret at all. For defense, the vessel had only four short-range blaster cannons spread evenly along the rim of its hull.
“That thing flew here?” Han gasped.
An indignant Ewok voice chuttered from inside the vessel’s shadowy entrance.
“He says it came straight from Regel Eight,” C-3PO translated.
Tarfang stepped into the light and jabbered at Han some more.
“I’m certainly glad we don’t fly on this ship!” C-3PO said. “He says not everyone has credits to waste on repairs!”
Leia stepped to Han’s side. “We apologize, Tarfang.” She flashed one of her old diplomat’s smiles, a bland show of teeth that could have meant anything. “Han didn’t mean to insult you.”
“Yeah,” Han said. “I was just amazed by your bravery.”
Tarfang eyed Han for a moment, then growled deep in his throat and waved them up the ramp.
Han turned to Luke and Mara. “You sure about this?”
“Not really,” Luke said. He smiled and clapped Han on the shoulder. “We weren’t expecting you and Leia.”
“Yeah, well . . . anybody can bust up a pirate ring,” Han said. “But Jaina—we figured you’d need the help.”
“We might,” Mara said with a laugh. She kissed him on the cheek. “Good to see you, Han.”
They exchanged greetings all around, then climbed the boarding ramp into a surprisingly tidy air lock with all proper emergency equipment neatly stowed in a transparisteel rescue locker. Beyond the hatch, the interior of the main access corridor was lit only by two of the waxy shine-balls the bugs used for illumination. By the green glow, Han could see that the durasteel floor panels had been sanibuffed a little too well. There was a telltale shadow where the “invisible” seams came together over the smuggling compartments.
Tarfang was waiting a few steps up the corridor. He grunted and waved them into the main cabin. Given the ship’s dim lighting, Han expected to find some fierce, dark-loving being like a Defel waiting inside.
Instead, kneeling in front of an open engineering panel was a little jug-eared Sullustan in a set of carbon-smeared utilities. He was busy soldering powerfeeds to a new master control board, though Han could not imagine how even a Sullustan could see to work by the light of the single shine-ball stuck to the wall above him.
Tarfang went to the Sullustan’s side and, coming to attention, cleared his throat.
“Go on.” The Sullustan spoke without looking away from his work. “I’m listening.”
Tarfang launched into a lengthy explanation, gesturing at Saba and Luke even though the Sullustan’s attention remained fixed on the control board. Finally, the captain finished the attachment he was working on and turned to his visitors.
“I’m Jae Juun, captain of the XR-eight-oh-eight-g.”
“XR-eight-oh-eight-g?” Han asked. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s a Galactic Alliance registration number, of course.” Juun frowned and squinted in the direction of Han’s voice, but Han was standing well back in the shadows, where even a Sullustan’s sensitive eyes would have trouble with the contrast between light and darkness. “You haven’t heard of the XR-eight-oh-eight-g?’
“Should we have?” Leia asked.
Juun pasted on a small Sullustan smirk. “Not if I’ve been doing my job.”
“You’re succeeding beyond your wildest dreams,” Han said.
Leia grabbed the back of his elbow and squeezed in warning, but the Sullustan merely smiled in pride.
“Tarfang tells me you’re looking for someone to help you catch your friends.”
“To find them,” Luke corrected.
“I see. Well, it makes no difference.” Juun cast an annoyed glance in Tarfang’s direction. “I’m afraid my first mate sometimes exceeds his authority.”
Tarfang asked something in a disbelieving tone.
“It’s not the mate’s responsibility to raise funds,” Juun replied. “You let m
e worry how we’re going to pay for that vortex stabilizer.”
“A warp vortex stabilizer?” Han asked. “For a YT this old? It can’t be easy to come by one of those out here.”
“Not at a fair price,” Juun agreed. “I’ve had one brought in, but I’m two hundred credits short of the shipping fees.”
“Not if you help us, you’re not,” Han said, stepping into the light. “We can pay you the two hundred credits.”
Juun’s mouth fell. “I knew that was your voice!” He turned to Tarfang. “Why didn’t you tell me Han Solo was with them?”
Tarfang sneered in Han’s direction and prattled an answer.
“Yes, but this is Han Solo!” The Sullustan rose and thrust a hand out. “The XR-eight-oh-eight-g follows all your procedures, and I’ve memorized all your combat maneuvers from the history vids.”
“Uh, I wouldn’t trust everything I see in those holovids,” Han said, allowing the Sullustan to shake his hand. “Now, about that help . . .”
“I’d like to help you.” Juun’s voice grew disappointed, and he turned back to his work. “But it wouldn’t be proper.”
“Proper?” Han echoed. That particular word encompassed everything he hated about Sullustans. “Why not?”
“Because I have an arrangement with our hosts, and evidently they don’t want you to find your friends.”
Tarfang groaned and slapped his brow.
“We can’t ignore the wishes of our business partners,” Juun said to the Ewok. “We have a deal.”
“A deal you can’t keep until you find two hundred credits,” Han said. “How long are they willing to wait?”
“We are facing a bit of a dilemma,” Juun admitted.
“What if we were to buy a copy of your charts?” Luke asked.
Juun shook his head. “My charts wouldn’t help you. Your friends went to Yoggoy.”
“And you don’t know where Yoggoy is?” Luke asked.
“Nobody does,” Juun said. “The Yoggoy are very proud and secretive. They hide the location of their nest from outsiders.”