THIRTY-ONE
“Shalo was smarter than I thought,” Han snarled as he drew his blaster. “He had backup for his backup.”
Jacen tried to pick apart the action. Karrde had placed people strategically within the cantina—both in the balcony and on the floor—to disarm Shalo’s men, and then set up a cordon outside. That outer ring of protection was now under attack by a third group. A very numerous third group. Karrde’s people outside were already down or had retreated within the building.
“Help me with this table,” Han said.
Jacen grabbed one edge and helped his father drag it to one of the windows. Several bolts seared by their heads as they barricaded the opening, bringing with them plumes of ubiquitous Tatooine dust.
“This planet always was bad luck,” the elder Solo grumbled. He lifted his blaster and fired a couple of shots over the edge of the table without looking.
“Good thing you have the situation completely in control,” Jacen remarked.
“Hey, no plan is perfect. Did you get a look at who they were?”
“Peace Brigade, I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m getting tired of those guys. Shalo set us up.”
“Imagine that, one of your old buddies setting you up.”
“Well, there’s been worse,” Han said. “You ready?”
“Ready for what?”
“I give it about six seconds before they start lobbing grenades in here. We do not want to stay here. On three?”
“Three it is.”
“Busy,” Karrde replied, firing through the doorway.
“Give us some cover.”
“You got it.”
“One, two—hey!”
On two Jacen ignited his lightsaber and bounded to his feet. He was immediately forced to deflect three blaster bolts in quick succession. His father popped up behind him, nailing one of his assailants with the first shot.
“That building across the street,” Han said. “Go!”
Fire rained down from the rooftops as they raced across the sunburned ground. Jacen deflected the more accurate shots while his father blazed away. Jacen slashed open the closed door of the trinket shop directly across the street, and the two men ducked in. A veritable barrage shredded the door frame behind them.
“They can throw grenades in here, too, you know,” Jacen remarked.
“Sure, but now we have ’em in a crossfire.”
“My door!” shrieked the Toydarian merchant behind them.
“Sorry about that,” Jacen told the merchant.
“Sorry? Sorry won’t—eep!”
A concussion grenade bounced through the door, and the Toydarian flitted for cover.
“See?” Jacen said. He gave the bomb a telekinetic swat that sent it back out the door.
His father seemed to have predicted the trend. What was left of one of the cantina windows blew out with a billow of flame.
“Karrde!” Han shouted, firing wildly at anything moving on the street.
Han was interrupted by the Gamorrean who came blazing around the edge of the door. The being’s close-range fire missed, but the butt of his weapon didn’t when he dealt the Corellian an uppercut that lifted him off his feet. His father’s body knocked Jacen off-balance, and before he could recover, the Gamorrean, squealing and snorking, wrapped his thick limbs around Jacen’s body and slammed him into the nearest wall. The Jedi’s lightsaber went flying.
Stunned, Jacen boxed his attacker’s ears, but if there was any effect, he didn’t notice it. He tried to focus on retrieving his lightsaber, but in all of the confusion he couldn’t be sure where it was.
He felt the Gamorrean, though, felt his heart hammering in his chest. He could easily reach out in the Force and …
No. He would die first.
And that was coming up fast, because he couldn’t breathe. He beat feebly at his attacker’s head as outside the twin suns seemed to be going out.
Then he was falling, slumping against the wall and covered with ceramic statuettes of Sand People and Jawas falling from the shelves above. The Gamorrean had turned back to Han, who had just clobbered it over the head with some sort of larger stone statue. His father’s eyes were widening in surprise at the fact that the Gamorrean hadn’t collapsed, but only gotten madder.
“You’re a thickheaded son-of—” he began, but then had to duck a powerful right.
“Look,” Han said, dancing back from the Gamorrean, “you don’t know who you’re dealing with. If you just go ahead and surrender, I’ll go easy on you.” He looked suddenly past his enraged opponent to Jacen.
“That’s right, Jacen. Use your lightsaber!”
Jacen was still trying to find his feet, much less his lightsaber. What’s he talking about?
The Gamorrean turned, though, and Han hit him over the head again, holding the statue in both hands. This time it broke. The Gamorrean, looking puzzled, collapsed.
“You okay, son?” Han asked.
“Yeah. A little woozy.”
Han hefted the half of the statue that remained in his hands, then proffered it to Jacen. “Here, a little souvenir.”
Jacen turned it over in his hands and uttered a small laugh. Very small, because it hurt his stressed—perhaps cracked—ribs.
Han, meanwhile, was rooting for his blaster, one eye on the door.
“I should have known that old smuggler wouldn’t sit still to be blown up,” Han muttered.
Looking past his father, through the dust and smoke, Jacen could make out a pair of figures on the rooftop—Karrde and Shada. They had just finished the snipers there and were now using the high ground to clear the streets. The job was almost done.
About fifteen minutes later, Jacen and Han met outside with Karrde and his people. By some minor miracle, none of them had been killed, though several would be in bacta tanks for a while.
“I’d say Tatooine isn’t going to be one of your safe houses,” Karrde remarked. “I also suggest we get off this ball of rock before the Brigade convinces the spaceport to impound our ships, if they haven’t already.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that,” Han said. “The Darklighter family still has some clout, and we’re at their dock. Still, it would probably be best to get out of here.” He shook his head in disgust. “What a waste of time this was. Now that they know we’re here, we’ll never find out anything about their operation.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Jacen said.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve still got Shalo, right?”
“Unless H’sishi was ambushed on the way back to my ship.”
“I got something from him, something he was hiding. I tried to tell you.”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. But he was expecting something. Something big.”
Shalo was a good deal more subdued during his second interview, and much more cooperative.
“A convoy is stopping off here,” he admitted. “Day after tomorrow. On its way to Ylesia.”
“What’s the cargo?”
“No, I don’t know,” Han said. “Please, enlighten me.”
“Spice, weapons, maybe a few, uh … a few slaves.”
“Sacrifices for the Yuuzhan Vong, you mean. You’re quite a piece of work, Shalo.”
“I’m a businessman, Solo.”
“Sure. Tell you what, once we’re done with this convoy, we’ll drop you off someplace where you can get nice and cozy with your new business partners. Nal Hutta, maybe.”
Tsavong Lah regarded the strange creature before him. It looked like some shaper’s fevered joke, with its short, ruffled feathers, spindly limbs, and cochlear antennae. It blinked luminous, slanted eyes at him and stretched its ridiculously wide mouth to speak.
“Greetings, Warmaster,” it said.
The warmaster considered her for another moment before deigning to answer.
“The deception-sect priests and the haar vhinic tell me you have yielded much useful information concerning the infidels. You seem to have been most observant during your captivity.”
“I would do more,” Vergere said boldly.
“So I am also told. You have information regarding the ship that has been harassing our infidel lackeys.” As he spoke, a pair of villips projected an image of a matte-black ship, lens-shaped, with odd projections.
“I know the ship,” Vergere replied.
“And why would you speak this only to me?” the warmaster rumbled.
“Because,” Vergere said, “I think the identity of this ship would be of particular interest to you, and because I believe you would prefer to have this information discreetly.”
“You presume much about me, familiar-of-a-dead-priestess.”
“If I presume incorrectly, I am prepared to embrace punishment.”
Tsavong Lah gave her an abbreviated nod of approval. “Waste no more of my time,” he said. “Say what you came to say.”
“I know the ship because it is the one from which I escaped,” Vergere told him. “It is the Millennium Falcon, and its captain is named Han Solo.”
“Solo?” Tsavong Lah felt a surge of rage at the name, and his vua’sa foot-claws clacked restlessly against the deck.
“Solo,” the creature said. “Father of Anakin Solo, who caused the late distress at Yavin Four, or so I’m told. Father of Jacen Solo.”
Tsavong Lah reared to his full height. “You were correct, familiar. This is of interest.”
“Find the Millennium Falcon, Warmaster, and you will find Jacen Solo. I believe he is aboard her. If he is not, once you have his father, he will not be long in arriving. It is the way these infidels think.”
“Indeed,” the warmaster replied, a vast satisfaction rising in his blood. “And the Jeedai are most particularly weak in that respect.”