Star Wars: Dark Nest III: The Swarm War

by Denning, Troy

  Luke’s concern—or perhaps it was sorrow—permeated the Force-bond Mara shared with him, but he retained a neutral expression as he spoke to Madame Thul.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said. “The y’luubi was beyond description. I’m sure the Yuza Bre will continue to prosper under Bornaryn’s ownership.”

  “You really must leave?” Madame Thul asked.

  “I’m afraid so,” Luke said. “Until the troubles with the Colony are resolved, it’s probably better for Bornaryn Trading and the Jedi to keep their distance.”

  Madame Thul nodded. “I understand. But before you go, I hope you’ll allow me to make one gift to you—friend to friend.”

  Tyko’s eyes widened. “Aryn, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We might still have a use—”

  “I doubt it.” Madame Thul scowled at her brother-in-law. “It’s obvious that we’re not going to sway Master Skywalker with a droid, so we may as well give it to him.”

  Mara frowned. “A droid?”

  Madame Thul smiled. “You’ll see.” She turned to her bodyguard. “Gundar, you can bring in ArOh now.”

  Gundar activated a remote, and a terrible squealing arose in the kitchen. A moment later, an ancient R series astromech droid lurched into view, its locomotion system so corrupted and corroded that it resembled an ancient sailing ship zigzagging into a headwind. Someone had recently made an effort to polish its brass casing, but the tarnish along the crevices and seams was so thick, it looked like paint.

  “An antique droid?” Mara asked.

  “A very special antique.” Madame Thul waited until the droid had wandered within arm’s length of the table, then reached out and gently guided it to her side. “Master Skywalker, allow me to present Artoo-Oh, the original prototype for the R-two astromech line.”

  Luke’s jaw fell. “The prototype?”

  “So my systems supervisor assures me,” Madame Thul said. “I’m told it contains the original Intellex Four droid brain. I hope it will prove helpful in working through Artoo-Detoo’s memory problems.”

  “I’m sure it will!” Mara gasped. “Where did it come from?”

  “An abandoned warehouse, apparently,” Madame Thul said. “It was owned by Industrial Automaton, which Bornaryn recently purchased. Of course, their records were almost completely useless in locating the prototype.”

  “Industrial Automaton?” Mara asked. “Ghent said the Artoo was an Imperial design.”

  “Misinformation,” Tyko said. “Imperial Intelligence waged a deliberate campaign to obscure the origin of all the Empire’s vital military technology.”

  “Then the designer of the Intellex IV droid brain wasn’t an Imperial?” Luke asked.

  “Not when he worked on the R-series.” Tyko shrugged. “Who can say what happened later? He might have become one, or he might have been forced into their service. All our historians could determine was that his identity has been deleted from all known databases regarding the R-series.”

  “But you have the prototype,” Madame Thul said. “I hope you can find what you need there.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Luke said. “Thank you!”

  “ ‘Thank you’ will be quite sufficient,” Madame Thul said. “Every man should know his mother.”

  “I’m sure it will be very helpful,” Mara said. “But what made you think of it? Artoo’s memory problems aren’t exactly common knowledge outside of the Jedi order.”

  Madame Thul smiled. “Tesar and the Wookiee,” she said. “I told you—they have good hearts.”

  FOUR

  With dozens of battered transports hanging on the wax-coated walls at every possible angle and swarms of orange worker-Killiks floating war cargo through the microgravity, the Lizil hangar looked even busier than the last time Han and Leia had visited. The largest available berth was a wedge near the top of the sphere, and even that looked barely big enough for the bulky Dray-class transport the Solos had borrowed from Lando to complete their disguise. Han rolled the Swiff onto its back and began to ease toward the empty spot.

  Leia inhaled sharply, then activated the landing cams and studied the copilot’s display. “Wait. Our clearance is only half a meter.”

  “That much?”

  “Han, this isn’t the Falcon.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Han said. “This big tub handles like an asteroid.”

  “I believe Princess Leia is suggesting you might not be adept enough with this vessel to berth in such a confined space,” C-3PO offered from the back of the flight deck. “Your reaction speed and hand-to-eye coordination have degraded twelve percent in the last decade.”

  “Only when you’re around,” Han growled. “And quit telling me that. My memory is fine—and so’s my driving, metal mouth.”

  “What I’m suggesting,” Leia said, “is that it’s a tight fit, and you promised Lando you wouldn’t scratch his ship.”

  “And you think he believed me?”

  “I think we should wait for a larger berth to open up,” Leia said. “We’re not going to win the Colony’s confidence by causing an accident.”

  “We don’t need their confidence.” Han jerked a thumb toward the Swiff’s huge cargo bay. “When they see that big magcannon we’ve got back there, they’re going to beg us to take it out to the front lines.”

  “That’s quite unlikely, Captain Solo,” C-3PO said. “Insect species rarely have a sense of charity, so it simply would not occur to them to appeal to your compassion.”

  “Han means they’ll be eager to contract with us,” Leia said. “Which is all the more reason to wait. We don’t want to overplay our hand. Jaina and Zekk will still be in the front lines when we get there.”

  “Wait?” Han shook his head and continued to ease the Swiff toward the landing spot. One of the adjacent transports, an ancient Republic Sienar Systems Courier-class, had extended its boarding ramp into the space he intended to occupy, but he wasn’t worried. The Swiff’s landing struts were far enough apart to straddle the ramp, and the Lizil workers streaming up and down the incline were used to dodging ships. “It could take days for another berth to open.”

  “It won’t take more than an hour.” Leia pointed out the top of the cockpit canopy. “That Freight Queen is making ready to leave.”

  Han looked, but instead of the Freight Queen, his gaze fell on a sharp-looking Mon Calamari Sailfish berthed directly “below” them in the middle of the hangar floor. The ramp was down, and there were two Flakax standing guard outside, keeping watch over a ragged mob of Verpine, Vratix, and Fefze who seemed to be waiting for an audience with the captain of the Sailfish. The sight sent a cold shudder down Han’s spine. He did not like seeing that many different insect species gathered in one place—it made him think they were planning something.

  Instead of admitting that—he knew Leia already thought he was paranoid when it came to bugs—he asked, “Is that a LongEye booster on the back of that Sailfish’s rectenna dish?”

  “How should I know?” Leia asked, frowning at the vessel. “And why would I care?”

  “Because that’s what Lando adds to the sensor package on all his ships,” Han said. “Including that Sailfish he sold to Juun and Tarfang.”

  “The one they traded to the Squibs?”

  “That one,” Han confirmed.

  Leia eyed the Sailfish for a moment, now clearly as interested in the vessel as Han was. Over the years, the Solos had crossed paths many times with the Squibs, an enterprising trio who liked to operate on the edge of any legal system to which they were subject. The last time, however, the trio had gone too far, helping the Killiks slip a swarm of commando bugs aboard the Admiral Ackbar.

  Finally, Leia said, “I’m sure Defense Force Intelligence will be very interested in the answer—and what its connection might be to all those different insects loitering outside.”

  “So I’m not the only one who thinks that’s weird,” Han said.

  “It really isn’t that
far out of the ordinary,” C-3PO said. “When one considers that sixty-seven percent of the ship crews in this hangar are insects, it’s barely a statistical deviation.”

  “Sixty-seven percent?” Han repeated. He looked around the hangar more carefully, paying more attention to the crews and their ships. As C-3PO had pointed out, there were an awful lot of bugs, and fully half of the vessels had been manufactured by Slayn & Korpil—a Verpine company. “This is beginning to give me the creeps.”

  “It could be just the war,” Leia said. “Maybe the Killiks feel more secure dealing with insects.”

  “And that doesn’t worry you?” Han asked.

  “I said maybe,” Leia replied. “We’ll need to take a closer look.”

  “May I suggest you do that after we finish berthing?” C-3PO asked. “We seem to be in danger of setting down on top of another ship!”

  Han glanced at his display and saw that one of the strut-cams showed a landing skid poised to set down atop the Courier’s dorsal observation bubble.

  “Relax, chipbrain.” Han fired an attitude thruster to spin the Swiff back into proper position. “It’s a tight fit, so I’m using the Sluissi twist.”

  “The Sluissi twist?” C-3PO asked. “I have no record of that maneuver in my memory banks.”

  “You will in a second,” Han said.

  He fired another thruster to stop their rotation, then felt a faint shudder as the edge of the landing skid grazed the Courier’s hull. The worker-bugs scattered, and an instant later the Swiff touched down and settled onto its struts. Han sank the anchoring bolts and instructed the ship’s droid brain to initiate the automatic shutdown sequence, then looked over to find Leia staring out her side of the cockpit canopy.

  “I didn’t know Wasbo mandibles could open that wide!” Leia said.

  “That was a great berthing.” Han unbuckled his crash webbing, then went to the back of the flight deck. He turned in a slow circle, displaying the elaborate robes, long-haired wig, and white contact lenses he wore as part of his disguise. “Everything in place?”

  “Very Arkanian,” Leia said. “Just don’t draw attention to your hands. That little finger still looks too thick.”

  “Yes, the disguise would be far better if you had removed your ring finger,” C-3PO agreed. “Amputation always results in a more convincing four-fingered hand, and I calculate Lizil’s current chance of recognizing us at fifty-seven point eight percent, plus or minus four point three percent.”

  “That so?” Han asked. “How about we disguise you as a one-armed cleaning droid?”

  C-3PO drew his head back. “That hardly seems necessary,” he said, inspecting the green patina that had been applied to his outer casing. “Droids seldom attract much attention anyway. I’m certain my costume will prove perfectly adequate.”

  “And so will Han’s,” Leia said, joining them. She was disguised as a Falleen female, with a face covered in fine green scales, beads and combs adorning her long hair, and a spiny dorsal ridge showing through her shape-hugging jumpsuit. “How do I look?”

  “Good—great, even.” Han flashed a lustful smile, openly admiring the athletic figure Leia was developing under Saba’s rigorous training regimen. “Maybe we have time to—”

  “What happened to getting our clearance to enter the war zone?” Leia interrupted. She pushed past him, shaking her head. “At least I know the artificial pheromones are working.”

  Han followed her aft, fairly certain that it wasn’t the pheromones he was reacting to. He and Leia had been married for nearly thirty years, and not a day passed when he still did not ache for her. It was as though his attraction to her had been growing a little stronger every day, until one morning he had awakened to find that it was the force that held his galaxy together. It was not a feeling he really understood—perhaps the cause lay in his admiration of her spirit of adventure, or in his love for her as the mother of his children—but it was something for which he was deeply, immensely grateful.

  “You’re welcome,” Leia said.

  “What?” Han frowned. Now, whenever anyone read his thoughts, it made him worry he was on his way to becoming a Joiner. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “Not aloud.” Leia turned around and gave him a sly reptilian grin that he found rather…stirring. “But I’m a Jedi, remember? I sensed your gratitude through the Force.”

  “Oh…yeah.” Han found it embarrassing to get caught being so sentimental, even by Leia—especially by Leia. “I was just thinking how grateful I was you wanted to come along.”

  “And I can tell when you’re lying, too.” The outer corners of Leia’s reptilian brows rose. “And why shouldn’t I have come? Jaina is my daughter, too.”

  “Take it easy—I didn’t mean anything,” Han said. “I was talking about that whole ‘Jedi come first’ thing Luke is pulling. It couldn’t have been easy for you to leave with me.”

  “Luke has to do what he thinks is best for the order,” Leia said, avoiding a direct answer to the question. “We have to do what we think is best for Jaina and Zekk. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

  “Right,” Han said. “But I get the feeling Luke and Saba would’ve felt a whole lot better about it if they had actually sent us to get Jaina and Zekk back.”

  “I’m sure they would have.” Leia started toward the hatch again. “But I don’t know if I can support Luke’s decision to make himself Grand Master of the Jedi.”

  “Come on,” Han said. “It’s not like he had any other choice—and you know he’ll do a good job.”

  “Of course,” Leia said. “But what happens to the order when Luke is gone? That’s a lot of power for one being to wield, and power corrupts. The next Grand Master might be more susceptible to its dark influence than Luke.”

  “Then you’re worried about nothing,” Han said. “You saw how the Masters were. Without Luke, the order won’t last a year.”

  “I know,” Leia said. “And that worries me, too.”

  They reached the main hatch, where Cakhmaim and Meewalh were waiting in their disguises. The Noghri were doing their best to waddle about and cock their heads in the characteristic expressions of curious Ewoks, but somehow they still looked far too graceful. Han slipped the voice synthesizer into his mouth, then turned and spoke to the Noghri in a deep, booming tone.

  “Try to be a little clumsy,” he said. “Maybe drop some stuff and trip once or twice.”

  The pair looked at Han as though he had asked Ewoks to fly.

  “Well, do what you can,” Han said.

  He lowered the boarding ramp and nearly gagged on the clammy, too-sweet air that rolled through the hatchway. The cacophony of ticking and thrumming was even louder than the last time he was here. A dozen waist-high Killiks with deep orange thoraxes and blue abdomens appeared at the bottom of the ramp and started to ascend without requesting permission.

  Han stepped aside and—gritting his teeth at their lack of ship etiquette—waved the bugs aboard. They brushed past him and immediately began to spread out through the Swiff, running their feathery antennae over every available surface and clacking their mandibles in interest.

  Han waved them toward the stern. “This way, my friends,” he said, trying to give his best impression of a down-on-his-luck Arkanian technolord. “We have something truly special for you.”

  Three of the Killiks thrummed their chests and came over, but the rest continued to explore the ship. Han motioned Cakhmaim and Meewalh to keep an eye on the others, then smiled and led the way back to the main cargo hold. Knowing the insects would investigate every meter of the ship, he and Leia and the Noghri had taken pains to shoot any hint of their true identity out the disposal tube, but he still had beads of nervous sweat trickling down his ribs. Given how things had gone in the Utegetu Nebula, it seemed unlikely that Lizil would react well to discovering who he and Leia really were.

  When they reached the cargo hold, Han made a show of depressing the slap-pad that opened the hatch. “I present
the Magcannon Max, the finest piece of magnetic coil artillery in the galaxy.”

  The three Killiks stepped through the hatch, then stopped inside and craned their necks back to stare up at the weapon’s armored housing—all three stories of it. Han nodded to Leia, who went over to the base of the weapon and began a carefully rehearsed sales pitch in the sultry—if completely artificial—voice of a Falleen.

  “The economical Magcannon Max delivers a planetary-defense-grade firepower in a self-contained package. With a fully shielded housing and an internal sensor suite, this naughty girl can find a bombarding Star Destroyer as easily as she can spill its guts.”

  Leia flashed a winsome Falleen smile, then turned to lead the way toward the weapon’s giant, telescoping barrels. Instead of following, the Killiks turned to Han and began to thrum their thoraxes.

  “They would like to know how they move a weapon of this size,” C-3PO translated. “Does it have its own propulsion system?”

  Han addressed the bugs directly. “You don’t move it. We transport and install wherever you need it—even in the war zone.” Han gave them a regal Arkanian smile. “Our service package is superior.”

  All three bugs turned and left the hold.

  Han frowned and started after them. “So you’ll take it?”

  The last Killik in line turned and fixed Han with its bulbous green eyes. “Rrrub uur.” It shook its head emphatically. “Buubb rruuur uubbu, rbu ubb rur.”

  “Oh dear,” C-3PO said. “She says the Colony has no use for weapons emplacements. The Chiss are overrunning their worlds too fast.”

  The Killik started up the corridor again, chest rumbling.

  “But the repeating blasters and thermal detonators in the secret weapons locker inside the wall behind the main engineering terminal will prove very useful,” C-3PO translated. “Lizil has left a dozen shine-balls and fifty waxes of golden membrosia at the foot of the boarding ramp in exchange.”