“That’s just because you’re a good friend, Han. I really appreciate it. Mara Jade wouldn’t want me to be late.”
Han smirked. “If she remembers to show up, you mean.”
Lando laced his fingers behind his neck, staring at the rising moon as the Falcon arrowed in to a close orbit. “She’ll be there,” Lando said. “I’ll bet she’s been counting down the days.”
“Wish I had Chewie back as a copilot,” Han muttered, rolling his eyes. “At least he didn’t say such hokey things.”
At the mention of Chewbacca, both men subconsciously looked toward the glowing tapestry of ragged gases surrounding the Maw cluster. Somewhere inside, Chewbacca and the rest of the strike force should be mopping up their efforts to retake the Maw Installation. The black holes made communication impossible, so they had no way of knowing what had happened during the occupation.
“I hope he’s all right, Han,” Lando said quietly.
Han leaned forward to finger the controls on the comm unit. He hesitated, and his face sagged for an instant; he flicked on the transmitter, then cleared his throat, businesslike again. “This is Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon, approaching Kessel.”
Lando watched Han’s left hand drift to the hyperspace controls. A new course had already been programmed into the navicomputer. Han was ready to dash away at a moment’s notice if anything suspicious happened.
“We’re looking for Mara Jade, a representative of the Smugglers’ Alliance,” Han continued. “We, uh, request permission to land on the garrison moon. Please acknowledge before we come any closer.” Han’s face was lined with concern.
“Don’t be so nervous, Han,” Lando said. “Things have changed on Kessel. You’ll see.”
Han’s voice took on a defensive tone. “I just don’t want to take any chances after what’s already happened.”
Before Lando could respond, Mara Jade’s crisp, businesslike voice came over the speaker. Lando felt his heart warm at hearing her subtle tones. He imagined her soft lips moving, forming the words.
“You’re half a day late, Solo,” she said.
“Well, Lando here wanted to make himself look presentable,” Han said, grinning, “and you know how much time that could take.”
Mara gave a short, sharp laugh, and Lando glared at Han. “Come on in, then,” she said. “I’ve brought a defensive fleet from the Smugglers’ Alliance. The garrison moon is secure. We’ll discuss our business there. I have an escort coming for you—something I think Calrissian will appreciate.”
Lando smiled broadly. “She’s planned some kind of surprise for me! Probably a token of her affection.”
“Oh, brother.” Han rolled his eyes again.
Han checked the coordinates on his navigation console and vectored in toward the large station on Kessel’s moon.
Disguised as potential investors in the spice-mining operations, Lando Calrissian and Luke Skywalker had been shuttled up to this moon by froglike Moruth Doole. Doole had done his best to show off the spice-mining operations in hopes that Lando would sink his blob-won credits into the facility.
With a shudder Lando remembered how all the ships in the hangar bay had launched after them when he and Luke had stolen Han’s repaired Falcon. The Kessel pirate fleet had run headlong into Admiral Daala’s Star Destroyers, as they charged out of the Maw cluster after Han Solo. The two fleets had crashed into each other, inflicting horrendous damage, but Han, Luke, and Lando had fled into hyperspace before seeing the outcome of the battle.…
Now a single small ship appeared over the misty horizon of Kessel. “This is Jade. I’m your escort. Follow me.”
The space yacht approached, then spun about to dart toward the moon. Han increased the Falcon’s speed.
Lando sat up sharply, his eyes blinking in astonishment. “Hey, that’s my ship!” he cried. “That’s the Lady Luck. That’s—”
“Well,” Han said, “at least that saves us the trouble of looking for it.”
Lando grabbed the comm unit. “Mara, you found my ship! I can’t thank you enough.” He lowered his voice. “If there’s anything I can do to repay you, anything in your wildest dreams …”
“Keep talking like that, Calrissian, and I might just send this ship on autopilot into the sun.”
Lando leaned back in the seat with a sigh and a smile. He flashed a glance at Han. “She’s such a kidder.”
The space yacht Lady Luck looked sleek and angular with propulsion pods slung below. Her hull gleamed, none the worse for wear, somehow unscathed from the devastating battles on Kessel.
Lando fidgeted, anxious to see Mara again, anxious to sit back in the plush cushions of his own pilot chair, to luxuriate in the smell and feel of his own ship.
They entered the cave mouth of the moon garrison, flying past the thick blast doors into the garish light of a large landing bay. The atmosphere-containment fields closed behind them and repressurized the habitable area. The Falcon coasted in on its repulsorlifts and landed in a broad polished area beside the Lady Luck.
Mara Jade swung out, clad in a tight metallic jumpsuit with a helmet tucked under her right elbow. As she tossed her head to loosen her dark, reddish-brown hair, she narrowed her eyes. Lando stared with a warm-cold shudder at the energy and intelligence that radiated from this woman. He marveled at her generous curves, her tough exterior.
“Hey, Mara,” Han said, “where did you find Lando’s ship? We thought we were going to have to spend days combing the surface for it.”
“Right where Lando claims he landed it. Seems nobody had time to strip her down and remove the identification markings.”
Lando glanced around the garrison bay, but all the ships looked unfamiliar, custom designs—not the barely moving scrap heaps that had made up Doole’s fleet. These were emblazoned with markings unique to each vessel, though each carried a crosshatched design on the wing.
Mara noticed his inspection. “That’s our new insignia for the Smugglers’ Alliance,” she said. “Not too obvious, but enough for us.”
“What happened to all of Doole’s ships?” Lando sniffed the enclosed dry air, smelling the powdered rock and spilled hyperdrive fuel that made the air sour and unpleasant.
“Ninety percent of Doole’s ships were obliterated in their tangle with Daala’s Star Destroyers. Most of the surviving pilots took their ships and fled into hyperspace. No one knows where they are now—and frankly, I don’t really care.
“When a few New Republic relief ships came in, they evacuated most of the inhabitants, the prisoners in the Imperial Correction Facility, a few holdouts in the city of Kessendra. Nobody wants to make a life on Kessel if they have another option.”
“So what you’re saying,” Lando said, letting his hopes rise, “is that Kessel is deserted, ready for the taking?”
“Yes,” Mara said. “I’ve talked over your proposal with some members of our Alliance, and it sounds good to us. Not only have you proved your ability in your other ventures, but you’ve also got strong connections with the New Republic, which will allow efficient distribution channels for glitterstim. You’ve even got enough money to invest in the new infrastructure.” She shrugged. “Sounds like a good deal all around.”
Lando beamed. “I knew you’d realize that being partners with me is a very good deal.”
Mara turned abruptly and continued with her discussion, ignoring his insinuation. “But we need to move right away. We’ve heard talk of other, less-scrupulous crime lords arranging to take over the mines. The spice tunnels are empty, ripe for the plucking. Frankly, we’d rather deal with you, Calrissian, than someone who’s going to bring in his own teams and cut the Smugglers’ Alliance out of the entire operation. That’s why we brought our forces here to hold it, just in case some Hutt crime lord gets any ideas.”
“Makes sense to me,” Han said.
Lando rubbed his hands together, looking at the other ships in the bay. Various smugglers moved around, humans and aliens, burly-looking men and wome
n, people he wouldn’t want to meet alone in the dim lower levels of Coruscant. “Should we go down and have a look at the real estate?”
“Fine.” Mara snapped to attention. “Let’s go ahead and take your ship, Calrissian. You pilot her.”
Lando reveled in the feel of his controls again, running his hands along the soft, polished seats. This was his own space yacht, specially built to his personal design. Now he was riding in the cockpit with a beautiful, intelligent woman, heading down to a planet where he intended to make a fortune. He didn’t think the day could possibly get better.
He was right.
When they soared low over the parched and blasted surface of Kessel, they cruised past one of the major atmosphere factories, which had once spewed manufactured air to replenish the constant loss from the low gravity.
But the tall stack stood half-collapsed. Black blaster scorches mottled its pale exterior. The baked, dry ground—already lifeless except for a few tufts of extremely hardy vegetation—had been torn up by TIE bombers and space-based turbolaser strikes.
“Over half of the atmosphere factories are out of commission,” Mara explained. “Admiral Daala did a lot of damage. Seems she thought this was a Rebel base, so she struck at anything that showed up on her targeting screens.”
Lando had a sinking feeling deep in his chest. “This is going to take more work than I had anticipated,” he said. But he consoled himself by calculating the unclaimed wealth within the tunnels below and thinking of how he could get teams of droids, Sullustans, and other races to work for shares in the profits. It might take a little longer to earn back his investment, but the demand for pure glitterstim was so high that he could raise his prices—at least until he turned a profit.
“I’m heading toward the prison,” Lando said. “That fortress should have withstood the attack from space. I think I’ll use that as my base of operations. It’ll take some conversion, but we should be able to adapt it into the control center for our new manufacturing complex.”
The speed of the Lady Luck rapidly ate the kilometers across the empty landscape until a towering trapezoid stood like a great monument on the barren surface.
The old Imperial prison was made of synthetic rock, flat, unappealing tan veined with other colors. An outcropping of crystal windows jutted from the slanted smooth front. Tubed elevator shafts rode along the angled comers. The place was streaked with burn marks, but appeared undamaged.
Lando heaved a sigh of relief. “At least the building looks intact,” he said. “Something’s going right for a change. This’ll be a great place to start.” He smiled at Mara. “You and I should christen our new headquarters!”
Mara Jade frowned and kept looking out the front viewport. “Ah … there is one problem, Calrissian.”
Lando and Han turned to look at her. The prison loomed higher as the Lady Luck continued to approach.
Mara continued. “Well, you see, Moruth Doole has holed himself up inside the prison building. He’s scared to death, doesn’t know what to do. All of his cohorts have fled or been killed, and now he’s using the sophisticated prison-defense systems to keep everyone else out.”
The fortress looked impenetrable, a huge hulking mass of stone armor. Lando had no desire whatsoever to see Moruth Doole again, and neither, he knew, did Han.
“I wish you had mentioned that detail a little sooner,” Lando said with a grimace as he brought the Lady Luck in for a landing.
25
Inside the rigid cleanness of the medical chambers in the old Imperial Palace, Terpfen stood silent and patient. He waited and watched the massaging bubbles in the bacta tank working on Mon Mothma’s ailing body.
The medical chambers glowed with sterile whiteness. The tiles on the floor and walls had been acid scoured; utensils and surgical equipment gleamed silver and chrome. Wall monitors blinked with a steady, throbbing rhythm, proclaiming the declining state of Mon Mothma’s health.
Outside the chamber doors two New Republic guards stood watch, making certain no one could intrude.
Sound-absorption panels in the ceiling deadened the mechanical whispers in the large chamber. Two bullet-headed medical droids hovered on either side of the tank, tending Mon Mothma and paying no attention to Terpfen.
Beside him Ackbar stood tall and strong. “She’ll be finished soon,” he said. Terpfen nodded, not eager to speak to Mon Mothma—but resigned to the necessity of it.
In these chambers the Emperor had himself undergone rigorous treatments as dark-side workings rotted his physical body. Perhaps the same facilities could remove the scourge within Mon Mothma’s body. Terpfen had little hope of that, though, now that he knew what had caused it.…
Mon Mothma blinked her greenish-blue eyes through the murk of the tank solution. Terpfen couldn’t tell if she could focus on them standing outside, or if she merely sensed their presence. She moved her head, and the thick air hose drifted with her. Bubbles pummeled her body, forcing invigorating solutions through her pores.
Mon Mothma released her grip on the stabilizers within the tank and floated up. The droids assisted her in getting out. She stood sagging, dripping as her lightweight robes dribbled solution into drainage grates on the floor. Even the thin wet robes seemed as heavy as a leaden shroud to her. Her auburn hair clung like a skullcap. Her eyes were sunken, her face chiseled with deep canyons of pain and weakness.
She filled her lungs and exhaled, resting the flat of her hand against the medical droid’s green shoulders. She raised her head with obvious effort and acknowledged her visitors.
“The treatments give me strength for only about an hour. Their effectiveness decreases every day,” she said. “Soon it will be useless, I’m afraid, and I will no longer be able to perform my functions as Chief of State. The only question is whether I resign before the Council removes me.…” She turned to Terpfen. “Don’t worry, I know why you are here.”
Terpfen blinked his glassy eyes. “I don’t believe—”
She raised a hand to cut off his objections. “Ackbar has spoken to me at great length. He has considered your case thoroughly, and I agree with his conclusions. You were not acting of your own free will, but were merely a victim. You have redeemed yourself. The New Republic can’t afford to throw away defenders who are willing to continue the fight. I have already issued a full pardon for you.”
She wavered, on the verge of slumping backward. The two medical droids moved to help her to a chair. “I wanted to make sure that got done before …”
Ackbar made a grumbling noise as he cleared his throat. “I am also here to tell you, Mon Mothma, that I have decided to stay. I will request that my rank be reinstated, now that it is clear the crash on Vortex was not solely due to my error, as I had originally thought. The people of Calamari are resilient, and they are strong—but if the New Republic is not also strong, my work at home will be fruitless, because we will face a galaxy full of shadows and fear.”
Mon Mothma smiled at Ackbar, a sincere expression of relief. “Ackbar, knowing that you will be here makes me feel stronger than any of these treatments ever did.” Then she showed a deeper misery and let her chin sink into her hands, a moment of weakness she would never have displayed in front of the Council. “Why did this disease have to strike me now? I’m mortal just like everyone else … but why now?”
Terpfen walked across the slippery floor, feeling the cold, polished surface on the soles of his broad feet. He bowed his scar-traced head. At the doorway the two New Republic guards stiffened at seeing the known traitor so close to their Chief of State, but Mon Mothma showed no alarm. Terpfen looked down at her.
“That is what I have come to discuss with you, Mon Mothma. I must tell you what has happened to you.”
Mon Mothma blinked, waiting for him to continue.
Terpfen searched for the right words. His mind seemed so empty now that the implanted biological circuits had been neutralized. He had hated the insistent compulsions from Carida, but now he was left alone wit
h his own thoughts—no one else inside his skull to taunt him, or to guide him.
“You are suffering from no disease, Mon Mothma. You have been poisoned.”
She jerked in sudden shock but did not interrupt him.
“It is a slow, debilitating poison targeted specifically to your genetic structure.”
“But how was I exposed to this poison?” She looked hard at him, not accusing, but insisting on answers. “Did you do it, Terpfen? Was this another of your programmed actions?”
“No!” He reeled backward. “I have done many things—but this is not one of them. You were poisoned by Ambassador Furgan himself, as dozens of people watched. During the diplomatic reception at the Skydome Botanical Gardens. Furgan carried his own refreshment because he claimed you might try to poison him. He had two flasks, one on each side of his hip. In one flask he carried his true beverage, in the other he carried a poison specifically developed for you. He pretended to propose a toast and then tossed a glassful of the poison into your face. It seeped into your pores and has been multiplying and attacking your cells ever since.”
Both Ackbar and Mon Mothma stared at him in astonishment.
“Of course!” she said. “But it’s been months. Why did they choose such a slow-acting …”
Terpfen closed his eyes, and the words came to him as if he were reciting a script. “They wanted a long, debilitating decline for you because of the damage it would do to the New Republic’s morale. If you were simply killed, you could become a martyr. Your death might have galvanized support from otherwise neutral systems. But with a slow, progressive weakening, it could be seen as the decay of the Rebellion.”
“I see,” Mon Mothma said.
“Very shrewd,” Ackbar said. “But what are we to do with this information? What else do you know of the poison, Terpfen? How can we treat it?”
Terpfen heard the silence in his head like a scream. “This is not a true poison. It is a self-replicating swarm of nano-destroyers: microscopic, artificially created viruses dismantling Mon Mothma’s cells one nucleus at a time. They will not stop until her life ceases.”
Star Wars: The Jedi Academy Trilogy III: Champions of the Force Page 17