22
Wedge thumbed his comlink on. “What do you need, Mirax?”
“Coming up on the Kala’uun Starport, Wedge. I thought you might like to be up here on the bridge as we come in. It’s quite the sight.”
“On my way.” He glanced around the cargo hold and nodded at his R5 unit. “Hang on, Mynock, we’re almost there. Keep a scanner on these crates for me, will you?”
The cylinder-headed droid beeped affirmatively. The R5 unit then exchanged some softer tones with the Pulsar Skate’s Verpine maintenance droid.
No, they can’t be talking about me. Wedge laughed at his flash of paranoia and stepped out of the hold. The doors crunched shut behind him. Letting a hand trail along the corridor’s ceiling, he made his way along the spine of the ship to the bridge. He thought he might have been imagining things, but heat from the atmosphere already appeared to be bleeding in through the ship’s hull. Scant wonder there are Twi’leks that think of Tatooine as a suitable place to flee to during the hot season here.
He stepped down into the bridge and dropped into a seat behind Mirax. “I’d forgotten how impressive this is.”
The tortured surface of Ryloth spread out before them like the shards of a shattered earthenware vase. Black basalt mountains thrust up into a dusky red sky. Centermost in their view of the planet stood a massive mountain with a huge tunnel cored into the interior at its base. The smaller holes dotting the face of the mountain would have appeared to be natural openings except for the regularity with which they were arranged.
Because the planet rotated on its axis once per year, the same side of Ryloth always faced the sun. Kala’uun existed near the terminus line—where day and night met—making it one of the cooler sunside locations. Because of Ryloth’s elliptical orbit, the planet did have seasons, though most humans could not tell the difference between summer and the cool season since both were unbearably hot.
“Yeah, impressive and impressively treacherous. Liat, watch the crosswinds as we enter the tunnel.”
The Sullustan pilot chittered angrily at her.
“I know you can’t miss the rocks out there, I just want to make sure we miss the rocks.” Mirax smiled. “No heat storm activity today, it seems, but the currents can still be tricky.”
“Right.”
Liat Tevv took the Pulsar Skate down into the canyon that led to the tunnel. Harsh winds had smoothed the stone to the consistency of polished glass in some spots, and had torn away huge dagger-like slabs in others. Smaller areas of damage to the rocks—some graced with a splash of paint or metallic debris—gave mute testimony to the need for care in negotiating the approach to Kala’uun.
The Pulsar Skate slipped into the approach tunnel with plenty of room to spare on all sides. Liat flicked on the ship’s external running lights and floods, filling the dark tunnel with jagged shadows. Up ahead a massive portcullis slowly rose into the tunnel’s ceiling. As they flew past it Wedge guessed it was at least thirty meters thick and would require a lot of pounding before it admitted unwanted visitors.
Mirax glanced back at him. “Ever get the feeling that the portcullis is as much for keeping folks in as it is for keeping them out?”
“Only when I’m on the inside of it.” Three years had passed since his first and last trip to Kala’uun, when he and the rest of Rogue Squadron had arrived unbidden and in pursuit of a Twi’lek. The circumstances of this trip were certainly more favorable. Even so, just to make certain there were no grudges being borne against him, he’d put Emtrey’s scavenging abilities to good use and had him round up a plethora of gifts for the Twi’leks.
Mirax nodded. “Kala’uun is the one place my father figures he didn’t make out like a bandit. The Twi’leks are tough negotiators.”
“I hope that skill holds for Nawara’s efforts on behalf of Tycho.”
Mirax’s brown eyes narrowed. “I hope so, too, I think. I know you believe Tycho had nothing to do with Corran’s death, but I can’t be so sure. I wish I could, really, because Tycho helped me save Corran at Borleias.”
“Don’t forget that Tycho saved me and the rest of the Squadron on Coruscant.”
“I’ve not forgotten that, but while he was saving you, Corran and I were saving each other from the Empire and the traitor in Fliry Vorru’s organization.” She patted Wedge on the knee. “We’ve been over this a dozen times and I’m getting better about it, I really am. I don’t cry nearly as much right now as I did.”
Wedge tipped her face up with his left hand and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Hey, being sad doesn’t reflect badly on you at all.”
“Thanks.” Mirax sniffed a little. “It’s just that it seems so ridiculous sometimes. We’d not even dated. We didn’t know each other that well. For his death to hurt this much we should have been a lot closer.”
“That’s the trick of it, Mirax, you were a lot closer than you imagine. The two of you shared a lot of the same qualities.” Wedge smiled. “Your father and Corran’s father were mortal enemies. Why? Because they were a lot alike, too. Both of you had strong relationships with your fathers, which is reflected in how you turned out. Under different circumstances old Booster and Hal Horn probably could have been friends. You and Corran became friends because you met under those different circumstances.”
She frowned for a moment. “You are probably right. I could also help myself get over this, I think, if I could just finally accept the fact that Corran’s dead. Listening to the comlink call when he went in, that was pretty nasty, but we never found a body. I know it’s stupid to make anything of that, what with the building coming down on him and all, but my father always said that if you don’t see a body, don’t count on someone being dead. He did once—”
“And it cost him his eye. I remember the story.” Wedge laughed lightly. “Now I remember it. That explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Biggs, Porkins, Corran, my parents—I never saw their dead bodies. Partly because of your father’s story, I suspect, and just human stubbornness, I find myself sometimes expecting to see them walk into my office.”
Mirax’s face brightened. “Or you think you see them walking along in a crowd. You catch a glimpse of them.” She glanced down. “Part of me thinks that we see them because we don’t truly believe they’re dead. Maybe the barrier that separates the living from the dead is permeable as long as there is someone who doesn’t accept death. Sithspawn, listen to me. I’m talking like a glitbiter.”
“That’s not a problem, Mirax, I understand.” Wedge leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “And I don’t think your theory is all that wrong. I don’t imagine we can bring people back to life by hoping, but letting their memories live on inside us is not a bad thing to do at all.”
The Sullustan cheebled something at Mirax, prompting her to spin around in her command chair. She hit several switches above her head, then punched a button on the console. “Landing gear deployed, repulsorlift drives engaged. Kill thrust and set her down gently.”
Liat’s melodic grumble accompanied the delicate thunder of the Pulsar Skate’s landing. Mirax slapped a button on the command console and Wedge immediately felt a rush of warm air as the ship’s gangway lowered itself. Mirax nodded toward the aft and the opening. “After you, Commander Antilles.”
“Thank you, Captain Terrik.”
Mirax smiled. “By the way, I think you look slicker than a Hutt’s slime trail in that native garb.”
“Thanks.” Since the mission was diplomatic in nature, Rogue Squadron had been supplied with clothes like those their counterparts on Ryloth would wear. Because of the planet’s oppressive heat, the natives tended to wear loose, bulky, hooded cloaks over their other garments. The nature of the clothes they wore beneath the cloaks depended upon their occupation. Twi’lek warriors tended to be clad in a loincloth, wrapped leggings to the knee, fingerless gloves, and a highly decorative bandoleer that did still serve a martial function. Their cloaks also tended to be abbreviated, as if their whole costume was meant to show they were tough enough to endure even the harshest of conditions on the planet.
Wedge’s attire varied only slightly from that Twi’lek warriors wore. His brown boots came up to his knees and beige trousers had been tucked into them. To that he added an emerald green loincloth and a bandoleer of the same color. All of his battle ribbons and awards had been embroidered on the bandoleer, starting with two Death Star representations at his right shoulder and ending with a symbol representing Coruscant near his left hip. The crests of the Alliance and Rogue Squadron stood side by side over his heart. His cloak was a darker green than his bandoleer and had been lined with a shiny red fabric that formed two red wings when he folded the cloak back behind his shoulders.
He descended the gangway and looked up. Kala’uun Starport occupied a colossal cavern which had been hollowed out of the heart of the mountain that sheltered it. Above his head lay level upon level of Twi’lek clan warrens, comprising the living quarters and work areas of over 100,000 Twi’leks. He could only guess at what the warrens looked like—according to Nawara, few were the non-Twi’leks who ever saw them, and those individuals were people a clan had acknowledged as a friend.
The Courage of Sullust had landed off the Skate’s starboard wing. Nawara Ven disembarked and came walking over toward Wedge. They wore similar clothes, though Nawara’s loincloth, bandoleer, and cloak were all a deep shade of purple. His cloak had been lined with a grey that was slightly darker than his skin tone. “Are you ready, Commander?”
Wedge nodded. “Lead the way.”
Nawara did, and Wedge followed a step behind him and one to his left. “It looks like our welcoming party. Is the Shak clan still the Head-clan here?”
One of Nawara’s braintails ran back along his spine. The tip of it jerked up and down in what Wedge had been told was the Twi’lek equivalent of a nod. “Koh’shak is still the master of the starport. It would appear, from the colors of the individual next to him, that someone from the Olan clan has chosen to greet us as well.”
“Cazne’olan, perhaps?”
Nawara shrugged. “Possibly. I don’t know him. The Olan clan and mine do not mix much—no animosity, just little association with each other. His presence here could be good or could be very bad.”
Wedge smiled, stepping up beside Nawara as they both stopped before their hosts. Nawara Ven bowed deeply, bringing both his braintails down to dangle limp by his knees. Wedge aped his bow, then opened his hands and pressed their backs against his thighs. The gesture was slightly awkward but was meant to symbolize exactly what the limp braintails did: a lack of negative feelings and thoughts about the people in front of him. Without braintails he had to rely on the universally peaceful symbolism of an empty, open hand to make his intent clear.
Wedge and Nawara straightened up at the same time, then their hosts bowed to them. Scarlet cloth swathed the corpulent Koh’shak. The gold badges of his office and clan held his outer cloak closed at his throat, though his round middle poked through the central opening. Wedge got an eyeful of Koh’shak’s red robe and a wide cloth of gold sash pressed into the double duty of containing his girth and supporting a pair of Sevari flashpistols.
Cazne’olan would have seemed thickset except by comparison with Koh’shak. His black cloak covered a bright yellow robe and blue sash. The gold office and clan badges he wore were smaller than Koh’shak’s, but the craftsmanship on them seemed more delicate and less overpowering. Cazne’olan held his bow for a second longer than Koh’shak, but straightened up with less effort.
The heavier Twi’lek opened black-taloned hands. “In the name of Kala’uun’s Clans, I bid you welcome, Nawar’aven.”
“In the name of my clan, I am pleased to be accepted at Kala’uun.” Nawara turned to his left. “I am pleased to present to the Clans of Kala’uun my commanding officer.…”
Cazne’olan stepped forward between Nawara and Koh’shak, extending his hand to Wedge. “Nawar’aven, you have no need to introduce Wedgan’tilles to us. We remember him from his last adventure on our world.”
Wedge smiled and shook Cazne’olan’s hand. “Good to see you again.”
“And you.” Cazne’olan took a step back and paused for a second before his headtails began to twitch up and down. “You have done much and learned much in the time since we have seen each other. Not the least of which is learning how to dress.”
Nawara glanced over at Wedge. “Commander, I did not realize—”
“No reason you should have Nawar …,” Wedge hitched a moment. The way the Twi’leks ran Nawara’s name together, he couldn’t be certain exactly what Nawara’s clan name was. When in doubt, go with indigenous custom. “… Nawar’aven. It was an adventure the squadron had well before you joined it. Suffice it to say it was resolved to the satisfaction of all interested parties.”
“It was indeed, Wedgan’tilles.” Koh’shak stretched the last syllable of Wedge’s name into a whole sibilant phrase of its own. “And now you are come here seeking satisfaction of another kind.”
“Quite true, Koh’shak.” Wedge half-turned and pointed back at the two Alliance ships. “We have for you some wondrous things drawn from the various worlds of the New Republic.” As he turned back to face the starport’s master, he noticed Nawara and Cazne’olan speaking to each other in low tones, with their braintaiis convulsing wildly.
Koh’shak closed his pinkish eyes and settled interlaced fingers over the bulge in his middle. “I am certain what you have brought will be impressive. Shall we begin our negotiations?”
His offer seemed a bit abrupt to Wedge, and the surprised look on Nawara’s face indicated he also thought something was amiss. What’s going on here?
Before Wedge could venture a reply, Nawara gently grabbed Wedge’s right forearm. “While the Commander applauds your alacrity in seeing to his needs, we have been traveling for days to get here. He chooses to invoke twi’janii.”
Koh’shak’s eyes popped open with the speed Wedge would have expected if the starport master had felt a gun being jammed against a spine. “I welcome Wedgan’tilles and would have granted him twi’janii without reservation if I felt he did not find our climate oppressive.”
“Open your eyes yet wider, Koh’shak.” Cazne’olan gestured toward Wedge. “He is a warrior in truth as well as dress. Even in the hot season he would not be discomfitted.”
“Your courtesy in reminding me of that is appreciated, Cazne’olan.” Koh’shak’s words came out light and even, but the violent twitching of his braintails seemed to belie the benign tone of the reply. “Wedgan’tilles, you and your people are to consider yourselves our guests. We will see to your pleasure, then to our business.”
“You are most kind,” Wedge said, believing Koh’shak to be anything but. I don’t know what he has in mind as our pleasure, but I’m certain his will be business, and I don’t anticipate that being much fun at all.