Tales from the New Republic (19 page)

Fen positioned herself precisely so that the ramp of the ship extended to rest at her big toe. From the bottom, she studied the two Mistryl at the hatch. Tall and not so tall, dark and light, mature and young, they bore vibroblades, blasters, and the easy confidence of those accustomed to using them.

“Shada, you’re lucky you didn’t lose your rear deflector when that wind shear caught you,” Fen said, in her equivalent of “Welcome to Ryloth.”

“It’s nice to see you, too, Fenig,” the older of the Mistryl returned, calm and unruffled. “I’m sorry to hear the
Star Lady
is still dry-docked. We’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible on
The Fury
.

Fen scowled. Shada knew nothing pained a pilot more than playing passenger on someone else’s ship. “You know me, Shada. I’ll be comfortable anywhere.”

Shada moved down the ramp to stand next to Fen. Fen made a point of ignoring the younger Mistryl who followed. To Shada, she muttered, “New sidekick, I see.”

“Dunc T’racen,” the younger woman identified herself. “And we of the Mistryl don’t refer to subordinates as sidekicks.”

“My mistake,” Fen replied, her voice flat. Dunc bore her Mistryl heritage proudly, but not yet with Shada’s smooth competence. Possibly a novice, she speculated. “My partner’s over there,” Fen continued, with a tilt of her head. “Hammering out the final details with the Shak Clan representative.”

Across the Leb’Reen landing cavern, they saw Ghitsa in an earnest, close exchange with an immense, cloaked Twi’lek. Abruptly, Ghitsa spun about and trotted away, swallowed quickly in the darkness of the spaceport. With a flick of his head tails, the Twi’lek stalked after her.

“Where’s the cargo?” Shada asked.

“And how much ryll are we talking about?” Dunc added.

“Ryll?” Fen scoffed. “Who said anything about ryll?”

A frown creased Dunc’s delicate face. “Given the cost of your Ryloth cargo, we assumed you were moving ryll kor for bacta use.”

Fen barked crudely, “
Saltan valoramosa n telval mord
.”

“What’s that supposed—?” A subtle hand signal from Shada, and Dunc swallowed the rest of her question unasked.

“It’s old Corellian,” Shada said, measuring Fen with a cool gaze. “It means ‘assumption is the first step into a shallow grave.’”

“Very good, Shada,” Fen responded, trying to sound casual or even a little sneering, no small feat under that gaze. “But I would have expected better language skills in your younger mercs.”

“We’re not mercenaries,” Dunc uttered with the firmness of one who still believes what she has been told.

Heels tapping a staccato rhythm on the stone floor interrupted them. Ghitsa emerged from the gloom of the landing bay; one by one, five Twi’lek females followed her. Subdued, head tails limp, each shouldering a heavy pack, the Twi’leks padded forward, as if links in a chain, one after another.

“You’re shipping Twi’lek females?” Shada moved closer, her sheer physical presence crowding Fen back a step. “To Nal Hutta?” she added, her voice chilling still further.

“I have a contract, executed by your leadership, that guarantees our passage to the Hutt homeworld,” Fen said, again striving for offhanded casualness. She drew her datapad from her pocket, careful to keep her movements slow and nonthreatening.

“Ladies, is there a problem?” Ghitsa asked pleasantly.

Shada ignored her. “You know we won’t run slaves,” she said icily, her eyes still on Fen. She threw a quick glare at the approaching Twi’leks, who took the cue and stopped.

Ghitsa held out her hand; Fen wordlessly slapped the datapad into her palm. “It’s Shada D’ukal, isn’t it? Pursuant to our agreement, the Mistryl are bound to provide passage from Leb’Reen to Nal Hutta for myself, my colleague, and our cargo.” Her intricately wrought bracelets clattered against the display. “Fee of twenty thousand, nonrefundable deposit of five thousand, contract void if done in aid of the former Empire…”

“The Mistryl won’t deliver anyone into slavery,” Dunc bit out.

Ghitsa spared Dunc a slitted, reptilian glance before returning her attention to Shada. “Of course you wouldn’t slave. Slavery is illegal under New Republic Senate Resolution 54.325.” She deftly manipulated the pad again. “This is my contract with Brin’shak, the Twi’lek talent agent. He is providing the services of a Twi’lek dancing troupe to Durga the Hutt. Durga will pay these dancers.”

Shada shifted her measuring gaze to Ghitsa. Not that the diminutive con artist would require that much measuring. “Sure he will,” the Mistryl said, her tone clearly indicating how much she believed that.

Ghitsa proffered the datapad. “And pay them very well. Datapage eight, paragraph twelve.”

Shada took the pad and reviewed the contract entry. Not satisfied, she scrolled through the document from beginning to end. Dunc, in a tribute to her training, remained watchfully silent.

The seconds seemed to be dragging on toward forever before Shada finally looked up again. “According to this, eighty percent of the dancers’ pay reverts back to the Shak Clan,” she pointed out.

“The Twi’lek method of compensation is not your concern, Shada,” Ghitsa said loftily. “And if you back out now, you’ll forfeit the deposit, lose the contract, and pay a ten thousand penalty.”

Fen winced inside herself. That was the right lever for moving impoverished Mistryl, all right. And Ghitsa had done her usual expert job of pulling it.

Shada didn’t react, at least not visibly. Her younger partner, though, wasn’t nearly so good. “Shada, we can’t be party to this,” Dunc urged quietly. “Not in good conscience.”

“Conscience?” Ghitsa asked blandly.

Fen couldn’t let that one pass unremarked. “Do you need to look up the word, Ghitsa?”

Ghitsa waved a gilded hand. “No, Fen. I have a passing familiarity with the costly phenomenon known as conscience. Still, if this conversation is going to drift into ethics, I might point out that our hirelings should not be trying to renegotiate an agreement their leadership executed.”

“The contract appears to be both legitimate and legal.” Shada shoved the pad back to Ghitsa. “But of course we all know what appearances are worth. So I’m going to go talk to Brin’shak and your alleged dancers. If they show any indication of coercion, the deal’s off. Period.”

Shada gave Ghitsa a smile that didn’t make it anywhere near her eyes. “I suppose I could also threaten to report your activities to every law enforcement agency you’ve ever heard of, plus a few you haven’t. But I won’t bother. I’ll just mention that you’ll be in trouble with us. Serious trouble.”

She looked at each of them in turn, as if daring them to protest. “And if the whole thing is legitimate, you’ll pay thirty-two thousand, not twenty,” she added. “Or you can back out right now, we leave, and the contract is void. Your choice.”

“No problem,” Ghitsa said airily, waving toward the Twi’leks still waiting off to the side. “Satisfy yourselves as much as necessary. We have nothing to hide.”

Sure we do
, Fen thought grimly.
Sure we do
.

“Did you really have to say that the Twi’leks could just rattle around in the cargo hold since they are trained to endure physical pain?” Fen grumbled, strapping herself in for the ride to come. Her partner had quickly moved to Phase Two of their plan and was determined to make the now-committed Mistryl rue the day they contracted with Ghitsa and Fen.

“I did see the wisdom of seat restraints,” Ghitsa conceded, struggling to squeeze her shoulder pads into a passenger seat of
The Fury
’s main cabin. “None of them have been off-planet before. We don’t want them panicking and injuring themselves.”

“Of course not,” Fen said. “Incidentally, the next time you feel an urge to spout off about how an injured dancer depreciates in value, either don’t do it when Dunc’s hand is anywhere near a hold-out blaster, or wait until I’m not around. Okay?”

“Given what we have heard of their unarmed combat skills, a blaster would make little difference to a motivated Mistryl,” Ghitsa pointed out.

Fen swallowed her retort, preferring to savor instead the familiar thrill of a ship lifting. She felt every pitch and roll as
The Fury
fought the Leb’Reen cavern wind shear, only to emerge into the blistering wind and driving sand of Ryloth’s brutal lower atmosphere. Fen counted down the minutes of that wild ride in anxious anticipation.

The moment the ship surged into hyperspace, Fen slipped free of her seat harness. She rose from her seat with a grace borne of thousands of hours logged in flight while Ghitsa was still fumbling with the clasps of her restraints. Eyes darting to the winding passage leading forward, Ghitsa whispered, “You go check on the Twi’leks.”

Ghitsa was curled in the most comfortable seat in the cabin, filing a perfect, pink nail when her partner returned. Fen responded to Ghitsa’s unasked inquiry, “They’re fine.” Fen turned her attention to the cabin’s computer station, wondering if all of it had been passworded.

A moment later, Shada and Dunc appeared in the cabin, without the slightest sound to warn of their approach. Nodding a greeting, Fen started her mental countdown. She made it to three—a new galactic record—before Ghitsa asked the inevitable question. “So, what do you have in the way of recent holovid recordings?”

“We’re not here to entertain you,” Dunc said scornfully.

Shada leaned against the bulkhead, crossing one long leg over the other. From this vantage, she was, Fen realized, able to observe both the burgeoning spat and the score in Fen’s own battle game.

“Come now, last we heard, Princess Leia had been kidnaped by that rogue smuggler.” Ghitsa rose, and moved across the cabin to a small holovid recorder. Pawing through the cataloged disks, Ghitsa asked in a pout, “You do not have anything more recent?” She withdrew a disk from a pocket, “How very fortunate that I purchased the last two weeks of downlinked
Coruscant Daily Newsfeed
before we left.”

The trip had just taken a horrifying turn for the worst. The Mistryl would be demanding combat allowances.

“Have you checked on your passengers yet?” Shada asked.

“The cargo?” Ghitsa asked airily. “Why?”

Shada sent a cool look her direction, then turned without a word and left the cabin. “How very humanitarian,” Ghitsa commented, just loudly enough. “For a mercenar…”

Annoying electronic theme music interrupted any rejoinders. “Ah, there we go.” Ghitsa sashayed across the cabin, forcing Dunc to shift slightly out of her way. “I confess to being an avid Imperial Palace watcher,” she divulged.

An image of a human man appeared on the screen. “Welcome to the
Coruscant Daily Newsfeed
. Today’s top story, the dramatic kidnaping of Princess Leia Organa by her former flame, Han Solo.”

“White is simply not her color,” Ghitsa clucked.

Dunc threw Ghitsa a look of obvious disdain as the vid droned on. “And now Organa’s brother, Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, and Hapan Prince Isolder have gone in search of the errant Princess.”

“He’ll never find them,” Fen declared. “Not a chance.”

“Of course he will,” Dunc countered, clearly being drawn into the conversation despite herself. “A Jedi Knight using the Force—”

“Force, my blaster,” Fen retorted, pulling on a loose thread on her flight suit. “He’s just a farm boy from a dust bowl.”

“A very lucky farmer,” Ghitsa murmured. “I wish I’d taken those odds on the second Death Star…”

“I’d say Skywalker has a better chance than anyone of finding his sister,” Shada put in.

Fen had not even heard Shada return from the cargo hold. “Unless her ladyship doesn’t want to be found,” the smuggler sneered.

They all started at Ghitsa’s loud outburst of laughter. “Why would that be, Fen? Not everyone is as smitten with the astral General Solo as you were.”

Fen stiffened involuntarily. “Me? Smitten? He could only wish.”

“Is that why there is still a Wookiee-sized bunk on the
Star Lady
?”

“You know I had that bunk installed specially to accommodate your shoulder pads, Ghitsa.” Fen slipped out of her seat. “I’m going to go check on the cargo, make sure they weren’t damaged.”

“I’ve just checked,” Shada told her. “They’re fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Fen said shortly. “You don’t mind if I look for myself, do you?”

Fen headed out of Ghitsa’s line of verbal fire. Prowling down the passage, she took a turn, stopping at the plate concealing the shield generator. She popped the panel out, pulled a multitool from her pocket, and waited for Shada to arrive.

She didn’t have to wait long. “I don’t think you’ll find the Twi’leks in there,” came the Mistryl’s calm voice.

“No Sithspawn?” Fen peered at the deflector matrix. “Must have taken a wrong turn.”

“You must also be feeling particularly foolhardy today,” Shada warned.

“Oh, come on, Shada. You know I know what I’m doing.”

“Perhaps.” Shada lifted an eyebrow. “On the other hand, would you allow me to tinker with the
Star Lady
?”

“Not while fully conscious,” Fen conceded, pocketing the tool. “Fine. You check the rear shields.”

Shada stepped to the wall and punched a button. A hidden panel slid open at Fen’s elbow, exposing a row of tools. Waving Fen out of the way, she selected a scanner and probe tip and set to work. “So tell me, Fen,” she said. “What is going on here?”

“Should be obvious,” Fen said, craning her neck to see over Shada’s shoulder. “With that wind shear slamming the ship down stern first and the rough ride out, I figured the shield had probably gone weak back there.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Fen asked, trying to sound innocent and sly at the same time.

Shada glanced up at her. “I meant what are you doing with…” She seemed to struggle to find a suitable word, finally gave up. “Her.”

“Ghitsa?” Fen laughed. “She’s not bad with a datapad, and she can cook.”

“And she’s got Coruscantan Imperial stamped all over her,” Shada said bluntly. “What do you really know about her?”

“Probably no more than you do,” Fen countered. “Come on, Shada. I know the Mistryl have her mapped out. Her entry is probably right next to mine in the ‘useful but untrustworthy’ category.”

“She’s not Jett, though, is she?” Shada observed quietly, the question really a statement.

A thick, tense silence hung in the air. “That’s the whole point,” Fen finally replied, her voice dead.

Shada’s next words were careful, like a sculptor gently carving a piece of limestone. “Jett Nabon was a man of great compassion.”

“And look where that got him,” Fen spat. “Dead on the floor of an Ord Mantell cantina, with a bunch of drunks stepping over his carcass for last call at the bar. He might have lived if someone had bothered to pull the vibroblade out of his throat, but nobody showed him any
compassion.
”

“His compassion also brought trade to the Mistryl when almost no one else would,” Shada continued, ignoring the outburst. “I think that’s why the Eleven agreed to this contract with you, despite their misgivings about your partner. Because we honor his memory.”

“And look where it got you.” Fen pointed over Shada’s shoulder at one of the flux rods. “Make sure you tighten that one,” she said. “It can jar loose sometimes.”

“Already did.” Shada picked up the panel and snapped it back in place before speaking again. “That same compassion compelled Jett to pull a young, abandoned pickpocket off the streets of Coronet and adopt her as his own.”

“Guess you could say that was another one of his mistakes, huh?”

Silently, Shada returned the tools to their wall case. Still silently, she headed forward, leaving Fen alone with her memories.