Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon Part 10

She turned to Tal-lik-Tal. "Isn't there some way to prompt it?"

"I made several attempts at interrogating the device using codes common during the latter Republic and early Imperial eras, but to no effect. It appears that it will only transmit its encoded message in response to a predefined received signal."

Leia frowned, then brightened. "Amelia will be thrilled to learn that we failed to solve the mystery."

"I would vouchsafe one suggestion," Tal-lik-Tal said. "Do not reinstall it."

A holoimage of Jadak's brain was revolving on a display screen when he entered Ril Bezant's office and lowered himself into an armchair.

The Twi'lek psychotherapist smiled and came around the desk to take a seat opposite him. "How are your legs?"

"Getting me around."

She took note of his sullen tone of voice and nodded. "And, in general, how are you?"

"Well, let's see, my memory's still shot full of holes and I feel like I'm imprisoned in someone else's body. I'm sleeping an hour a night if I'm lucky, and my hands shake." Jadak showed them to her. "Other than that everything's fine."

"Go on," she said.

"My body seems to know that a lot of time has pa.s.sed but my mind hasn't caught up."

"It will."

"So you keep telling me. But sixty-two years ago feels like yesterday to me."

"The past is nothing but yesterdays, Captain, whether years or decades have elapsed."

"I'll try to keep that in mind next time I watch some HoloNet Doc.u.mentary about Emperor Palpatine and think to myself that I caught a glimpse of him last week on Coruscant." Jadak looked her in the eye. "I've got this phrase stuck in my head. Alliance for the Restoration of the Republic. I can't get past it. Like my mind's waiting tor some kind of prompt that'll bring back the rest of my memory."

"And you feel that your agitation has something to do with the phrase, with the words themselves?"

"Restoration . . . Republic . . . like they're on a loop."

"You said yourself that you're waiting for your memory to be re-stored."

Jadak considered it. "What about the rest of it?" He worked his jaw. "It's beginning to get to me."

Bezant moved her head-tails behind her shoulders. "I warned Sompa this might happen."

"What might happen?"

"That post-traumatic stress might engender a form of dissociative disorder-feelings of depersonalization, accompanied by severe anxiety and depression. It's likely there are underlying organic factors as well." She gestured to the display screen. "Your brain imaging shows damage to key areas of the cortex."

Jadak glanced at the display. "I know stars.h.i.+p engines, Doc, not brains. And I don't really care about the cause, I just need to know if I can be fixed."

"There are drugs, but I'd caution against using them."

"What do you suggest-twice-weekly sessions with you?"

"Even if that were possible, I'm not sure how much help I could be."

"You're booked that far in advance, huh?'

"No, Captain. The fact is, you're being released."

Jadak sat up straight in the chair. "When?"

"Soon. Your body is healthy, your legs are healed. Aurora specializes in rejuvenation, not rehabilitation. There's really nothing more we can do for you."

"Then why was I brought here to begin with?"

Her eyes s.h.i.+fted slightly. "You'd have to direct that question to Dr. Sompa."

"Sompa's too busy to see me." Jadak rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward Bezant. "Just tell me about the accident and who's really been paying for my care. Obroa-skai stores data on just about everything in the galaxy, but n.o.body at Aurora can tell me a single thing about what landed me here."

Bezant regarded him, her expression softening. "One moment." Rising, she went to her desk and tapped a code into the control pad. "I've turned off the security cams," she said when she returned to the chair. "Captain, believe it or not, I'm as curious as you are to learn what landed you at Aurora. Dr. Sompa has treated you like a special project for the past forty years-ever since he joined Aurora's staff."

"Forty years? Where was I for the first twenty-two?"

"I don't know. None of us knows."

"Except Sompa."

She nodded. "Except Sompa."

Insomnia had allowed Jadak to familiarize himself with the routines of the night-s.h.i.+ft nurses and droids and security personnel. He had a window of opportunity to make his move while the staff were getting the rundown on newly admitted patients and receiving updates on existing ones. The beauty of Building One was that most of the security details were posted outside. Once inside, clients were allowed to roam about freely-to the entertainment rooms, the dining areas, the libraries and workout centers-and the med and maintenance droids were programmed to keep a low profile and refrain from speaking unless spoken to.

Sompa's office was on the fourteenth floor and overlooked the rear gardens. The broad corridors leading to it were dimly illuminated and empty, except for floor-polis.h.i.+ng droids. Using the same code he had seen Bezant enter into the desk pad, Jadak deactivated the surveillance cams and tricked Sompa's office door into opening with a device he had cobbled together from parts liberated from the bank of monitoring machines in his own room. Once he had deactivated the waiting room cams, he entered Sompa's personal office and did the same. Raising the lighting a bit, he took a long look around. Holoscreens niched into the walls showed Sompa in the company of rejuvenated beings Jadak could only a.s.sume were wealthy, important, or both. Politicians, celebrities, lawyers, the executive officers of major corporations. In nearly every holo, Sompa looked the same age.

The neurologist's huge desk was cluttered with data cards, flimses, and durasheet doc.u.ments. Jadak activated a shaded illuminator and began to rummage around. He got lucky almost immediately, discovering his name and patient identification number on a durasheet listing clients who were slated for discharge. The desk drawers were locked and the private files on Sompa's stylish computer were pa.s.sword-protected. Digging deeper into the strata of doc.u.ments, Jadak found a data card marked with his identification number and slotted the card in a reader. Most of the terabytes of technical data were devoted to the convoluted procedures he had undergone while in a vegetative state and subsequent progress reports, but there was a history subfolder, as well. In antic.i.p.ation of what he might find, Jadak took a deep breath and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.

His eyes scanned the scrolling text, seizing on every appearance of the word accident, and in every instance he was left disappointed by the absence of details. The accident resulted in damage to this or that part of him, interfered with the functioning of one organ or another, required a procedure time-tested or experimental. But in a subfolder labeled PREVIOUS HISTORY Jadak struck pure aurodium. He had been transferred to Aurora after languis.h.i.+ng in a coma for twenty-two years at a public medical center. There was no mention of cost covering by Core Health and Life.

The medical center was on Nar Shaddaa.

The images that ignited in his mind drove him back into Sompa's simple chair.

He and Reeze had jumped the Stellar Envoy to Nar Shaddaa! The YT had sustained damage. All systems were down. The s.h.i.+p was streaking into the planet's envelope on a collision course with a bulk freighter. They had hurried all into the escape pod. The YT had suddenly powered up and veered. But too late: they had jettisoned the pod-almost directly into the mammoth s.h.i.+p's V-shaped hull- Fresh as yesterday, the images a.s.saulted his mind and body, accelerating the beat of his heart and drenching him in sweat. When he finally could, he began to pick the images apart.

They had jumped into hypers.p.a.ce at Coruscant, on the heels of the battle in which Palpatine had been held hostage. But preceding .1 chase to the stars and a hasty jump to hypers.p.a.ce, they had been a downside... at the Senate Annex.

Meeting with members of the Republic Group. Senators Des'sein, Largetto, and Fang Zar.

Jadak pivoted to Sompa's computer. State-of-the-art, it would have outwitted Jadak's best attempts to slice into the files it contained, but he knew enough to gain access to the HoloNet. Conjuring an image of the white-bearded Senator from Sern Prime, he used it as one would a meditation aid, to prompt recollection. A Jedi was present at the meeting.

A Kadas'sa'Nikto Jedi who had installed something in the Envoy . . .

"Right!" Jadak said aloud.

The Senators had wanted him to deliver the Envoy to one of their allies on Toprawa!

Jadak recalled his disappointment. After all his years of service, he had been asked to surrender the s.h.i.+p he loved to a stranger. But there had been something of great importance at stake . . . something that had to do with restoring the Republic. No.

With restoring Republic honor. . .

He had asked the Senators about the phrase. And they had provided an answer.

Jadak stared at the 3-D image of Fang Zar. And slowly the Senators' words bubbled to the surface: Think of the s.h.i.+p as a key-the key to a treasure. A treasure sufficient to restore Republic honor to the galaxy.

He pulled the computer toward him, practically into his lap.

A search on the name Stellar Envoy returned hundreds of hits, but none of the entries coincided with a YT-1300 freighter. Navigating his way into Nar Shaddaa's subnet, he requested data on air and s.p.a.ce collisions that had occurred in the year of his accident.

Suddenly there it was, staring him in the face in green holotext: a brief report of a collision between two Corellian s.h.i.+ps-one, a bulk freighter named the Jendirian Valley III; the other, a '25 YT-1300 freighter. Both pilots were presumed to have died in the crash, but the s.h.i.+p had survived and been claimed by salvagers.

The s.h.i.+p that was now a key to the puzzle his life had become had survived.

There was no telling for how long, but Jadak had a starting point-and pursuing the s.h.i.+p was worth whatever risks he would be forced to take.

Chapter thirteen.

"One hundred and ten thousand."

"Lord Oxic bid'sa hundred ten thoussand. Do'sa we hear ten-five?"

"One hundred ten thousand five hundred," someone in the back of the room said.

Lestra Oxic turned in his seat and looked over his shoulder. The rival bidder was a Bith sporting a stylishly embroidered headcloth, his handheld ident.i.ty screen displaying nothing more than a number.

"Eleven thousand," Oxic said, displaying his screen while he swung to face the auctioneer's podium.

"We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred eleven thoussand. Do'sa we hear twelve?"

The guest auctioneer was a Gungan clothed in a long embroidered robe and celebrated for his rapid-fire delivery; the item up for bid, a small statue that had once graced the northwest atrium of Coruscant's Galactic Courts of Justice. A rare and valuable piece, as all examples of Republicana had become since the Yuuzhan Vong had devastated half the galaxy almost twenty years earlier.

"One hundred and twelve." the same Bith said, drawing excited inhales from the mixed-species audience of one hundred or so bidders. Oxic immediately raised his screen above his head. "One hundred twelve five."

Hydians, as the auction house was known, was itself a prime example of Republicana, studded with elegant columns and floored in the finest polished stone. Originally it had sat at the center of Sah'ot on Chandrila, but two years into the Yuuzhan Vong invasion a team of architects and construction engineers supervising an army of flesh-and-blood and droid laborers had worked feverishly to disa.s.semble the building piece by piece and s.h.i.+p it to Epica, which, as hoped by those who had funded the undertaking and despite its natural beauty, had I Moved too remote and insignificant to attract the attention of the invaders. Many of the beings responsible for the building's relocation and tedious rea.s.sembly had remained onworld after the conclusion of the war, and had since raised opulent palaces and mansions in the forested hills that embraced the s.p.a.ceport, in the process transforming Epica's once nondescript princ.i.p.al city into a place of privilege and sophistication. Transformed, too, was the native population of humans, Bothans, Duros, and Bimms, who now served to satisfy the increasing needs of the wealthy who had co-opted their planet.

"We'sa stil'la waitin' for a bid'o one hundred thirteen thoussand," the auctioneer was saying.

Oxic pivoted in his chair to regard the Bith, this time through a pair of compact alumabronze macrobinoculars. In his free hand, the being from the Clak'dor system was holding an expensive comlink.

"One hundred thirteen thousand," the Bith said.

"One hundred fourteen," a woman seated a few rows in front of the Bith countered. Oxic recognized her from past auctions as an employee of the Trouvee family, which owned a gambling complex on Oseon VII.

"One fourteen-five," the Bith responded.

Oxic squirmed in his seat. Unusually tall for a human, he had a flawless, clean-shaven face that belied his advanced age. His narrow frame bordered on the skeletal and his hands and feet were unnaturally lung, yet his custom wardrobe was cut in a way that emphasized his delicate thinness and contributed to an overall impression of his being. larger than lite. A force of nature.

He knew just the spot for the small figurine: atop the fluted pedestal from 500 Republica that stood alongside his office desk. But he hadn't planned on paying more than 114,000 for it-the piece was somewhat overvalued even at 113,000-and certainly not when other items on the block would suffice. Still, the statue was hard to resist.

"One hundred and fifteen thousand," he said, talcing himself by surprise.

When he turned, he saw the Bith whispering into his comlink, then listening to whoever was at the other end of the link.

"One hundred and seventeen."

The crowd gasped and Oxic's shoulders sagged. He resisted an urge to look at the Bith.

"We'sa have'a bid'o one hundred seventeen thoussand," the Gungan said in excitement. "Will'sa any'say eighteen? How'sa 'bout seventeen-five?" He waited a moment. "One hundred seventeen'sa goin' once . . . 'sa goin' twice ..." His mallet struck the podium with a resounding thock! "Sold to bidder six-three-seven!"

Nearly everyone applauded.

A Falleen stepped to the podium. "The next item up for auction is number seventy-one-dash-zero-zero in the catalog-a chandelier from the princ.i.p.al dining room of Ralltiir's Darpa Hotel. Made of electrum, the piece has undergone substantial restoration but is fully provenanced. The piece has a suggested opening bid of. . ."

Oxic stopped listening and turned his attention to the exquisitely designed holocatalog. Items from Ralltiir were of no interest to him, Republicana or no. Some beings were fascinated by items from Alderaan or Naboo; others with Hutt artifacts. But Coruscant was and would remain the focus of his collection, and his obsession. He was advancing through the catalog when Koi Quire slid effortlessly into the adjacent seat he had held for her. "How was the trip?" he asked. "Uneventful. A pity you lost the statue."

Oxic cut his eyes to the Bith. "I'd like to know who he's representing."

"We can find out."

"Yes, by all means, let's do that."

With Firrerreos on the brink of extinction, Koi Quire was herself a collectible, rare as any of the pieces up tor auction. She had come to Oxic's law firm fifteen years earlier, following the Yuuzhan Vong's success is in turning Belderone's native population against the displaced Firrerreos it had once welcomed, and had instantly become an invaluable a.s.set. Her innate powers of intuition were unmatched, and often her mere presence in a courtroom was enough to sway a jury. Aware of the peculiarities of Firrerreon culture, Oxic had never asked to know her real name and Koi had never volunteered it, though he believed she trusted he would never have made use of the knowledge to secure her allegiance.

"Standing room only," she said, taking in the room.

"More and more with every auction." Oxic sighed. "We have Chief of State Daala to thank for it. Her leaders.h.i.+p of the GA has resulted in a resurgence of interest in late Republicana and early Imperial artifacts. As a speculator, one can't go wrong. But the serious collector suffers for it."

"Then I have news that may cheer you up," she said softly. "Your investment is on the move."

Oxic tensed in excitement but managed to keep his voice conspiratorial. "Where is he?"

"Headed to Nar Shaddaa-on the new legs you paid for, and using Core Life's indemnity payment."

"His memory has returned?"