Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon Part 23

"We're looking for a hairstylist."

"Guess you've been looking for your entire life." Keeping a straight face, the Balosar planted his hands on his hips and rocked back and forth on his feet, as if awaiting Jadak's comeback. "I think he wants to be helpful," Poste said, appraising the humanoid. "Just try not to feed him another straight line." Jadak nodded dubiously. "This being's a specialist..."

"You don't need a specialist, you need an expert." Antenepalps quivering slightly, the Balosar took stock of Jadak's mood. Sensing frustration rather than anger, he grinned. "Once more," Poste said. "Skip to the gist."

"Her name is Zenn Bien."

The Balosar's grin blossomed into a smile. "You should have said so to begin with." He gestured for them to turn left at the corner. "Four blocks down from there."

Jadak watched the colorfully dressed humanoid saunter off. As ungoverned as Holess was law abiding, New Balosar seemed to have attracted every joker in the galaxy. A holosign at the s.p.a.ceport welcoming new arrivals read: NATASI DAALA is Chief of STATE, SO WHY GIVE A POODOO?

It was the last place Jadak would have expected to find a former owner of the Stellar Envoy-or the Second Chance-but Rej Taunt had a.s.sured him and Poste that Zenn Bien was here. Taunt's underlings had dropped them off on the way to wherever it was they were delivering their Colicoid cargo. Taunt had made a point of saying that while Zenn Bien had never actually owned the s.h.i.+p, she could probably tell them where it had ended up. Jadak took in stride the fact that the YT had had a female pilot, but he had been surprised to learn that Bien was Sull.u.s.tan.

"Someone must've installed a smaller pilot's chair," Poste had remarked.

Jadak had also been surprised to learn that his opponent in the race for whatever treasure the Republic Group had buried was a high-powered human attorney named Lestra Oxic. The HoloNet listed mil-lions of references to Oxic, but Jadak had found as much as he needed in the first entry he'd called up. Oxic's face had been among the distinguished dozens of holoimages on display in Sompa's office at Aurora Medical. The lawyer had been celebrated even as far back as the Clone Wars, and had a.s.sociated with some of the same members of the Republic Group whom Jadak had answered to. One of those members had to have told Oxic about the treasure and about Jadak as well, since it was likely that Oxic, hiding behind Core Health and Life, had been covering the costs of Jadak's prolonged reawakening. What Oxic didn't seem to realize was that the genuine key to finding the treasure was the YT-1300.

Regrettably, Jadak was no closer to solving the s.h.i.+p's place in the puzzle than he had been before recalling that the code phrase the Senators had given him was a mnemonic device. He had spent most of the jump from Holess with Poste's wand and notepad in hand in a futile effort to decipher the phrase. He had run the words restore Republic honor to the galaxy through the few simple decryption methods he knew, and dozens more he was able to access through the HoloNet. He dismissed that the phrase was an anagram, but he had toyed with possibilities nevertheless.

Senators Zar, Des'sein, and Largetto had said that the Antarian Ranger on Toprawa who was to accept delivery of the YT was expecting Jadak, and that the phrase had been designed as a memory aid for her. So she must have known in advance what was expected of her, if and when a time should arrive to retrieve the treasure.

The mnemonic phrase told her how to do it.

Then there was the modification the Jedi had made to the Stellar Envoy. Were the modification and the mnemonic phrase linked in some way, or did the modification a.s.sure that the Envoy would be able to execute her task? Was that what Senator Largetto meant when she said that the Envoy would handle the rest of it?

Perhaps the answer would have to wait until he found the s.h.i.+p.

Closing on The Kindest Cut, as Zenn Bien's salon was called, they pa.s.sed half a dozen cafe-emporiums stocked with balo mushrooms, ryll spice, and a host of other mind-altering organics outlawed on other worlds. The sidewalks were crowded with tourists dressed as vibrantly as the indigenous humanoids, and many of them were sporting earbeads that allowed them to hear in the Balosars' natural subsonic range.

The planet's polluted namesake world in the Core had by the end of the Republic era become a haven for criminals and death stick ad diets, but the new iteration was unspoiled and arguably the most tolerant and crime-free planet in its sector of the galaxy. Some of that was due to the soporific substances that drew visitors from across the galaxy. But the planet's youth culture was equally responsible. Many of the young who came were artists, whose dreams of success often wound up taking a backseat to languor. Why strive to create when New Balosar's pleasant climate, toothsome inexpensive cuisine, plethora of sensual entertainments, and continuous pulse of subsonic music were more than just about anyone could ask for from life?

"There's a story on Nar Shaddaa about a Hutt crime lord who wanted to open a death stick processing plant on New Balosar," Poste said as they walked. "The Hutt figured that the Balosars' immunity to toxins would make them ideal workers. What happened, though, was that the Balosars kept consuming all the balo mushrooms he delivered without turning a single batch into death stick extract."

If the planet was a veritable melting pot for sentients, then The Kindest Cut was a kind of saucepan for the galaxy's most diminutive species. Scarcely through the door Jadak spied several Chadra-Fan, a pair of Ugnaughts, three Squibs, and an entire warren-clan of Sull.u.s.tians. In chairs of varying sizes, hirsute beings of larger stature were having their coats combed, their fur oiled, their claws filed and lacquered, beards and mustaches waxed, manes cut and styled. In one chair sat the first Wookiee whom Jadak had seen in, well, sixty-two years. New Balosar's most industrious enterprise, The Kindest Cut was tonsorial beautification on a grand scale, with fuzz and fleece as thick in the air as spring pollen on Taanab.

Jadak asked to see Zenn Bien, and he and Poste sat down to wait. A Bimm served them steaming cups of herbal tea, and a Jawa set a basket of cookies on the table they shared. The salon's Sull.u.s.tan owner wasn't long in arriving. Judging by the droop in her dewflaps, Jadak put her age at seventy-five standard years. But she was otherwise spry, clear-eyed, and pink-skinned, with a tattooed forehead and l.u.s.trous plaits that spilled from the back of a stylish bonnet.

"You must be the ones Rej Taunt told me to expect," she said in staccato Basic.

Jadak supplied the same aliases they had given the crime boss on Carcel.

"He told you that I never actually owned the Second Chance?"

"He told us."

"He said you're seeking the s.h.i.+p for nostalgic reasons."

Jadak nodded. "That's a good way to put it. My uncle owned it before Taunt."

Her round ears twitched, and she sighed. She took a seat opposite Poste, her feet dangling in the air. "Perhaps I should tell you the full story first."

"I hope it has a good ending," Poste said.

She glanced at him. "Let's just say that it ends."

Zenn Bien, whose name meant "tranquil breeze," didn't realize until she left Sull.u.s.t that beings had not been created entirely equal. As a member of a bipedal near-human species, she was afforded a bit more respect than insectoids and saurians, but as a member of a diminutive near-human species she was both literally and figuratively looked down on by countless varieties of humanoids, from Falleen to Bith to Duros and Gotals. Despite the fact that each species was blessed with unique talents and abilities, size seemed to matter most. And yet the discrimination she experienced was never enough to send her scurrying back to the safe inclusiveness of Sull.u.s.t. Not when there were so many worlds to explore and adventures to be had, whether you were 1.3 meters tall or 2.5.

Tuerto was a world that had attracted intrepid Sull.u.s.tans before her, although even on Tuerto short beings received short shrift. Jobs were hard to come by, and anonymity was a constant companion. However, when you're a being of natural technical expertise who can see in the dark and memorize a map at a glance, opportunities of an illegal sort present themselves, and it wasn't long before Zenn Bien found her way into one of them.

s.h.i.+p theft, she convinced herself after committing the first of many such acts, was not in the same league as s.h.i.+pjacking, in which violence almost always played a part and victims were often injured while trying to hold on to their property. Also, victims of s.h.i.+p theft were usually reimbursed for their loss by insurance companies; so sometimes yon were actually doing beings a favor by separating them from vessels they couldn't really afford to own or operate.

None of the vessels Zenn Bien stole in her first couple of years in business were for her personal use. Nine times out of ten she worked for crime families that filled orders for beings in need of a certain cla.s.s of s.h.i.+p, or obsessed with one s.h.i.+p in particular. Rarely did she see a s.h.i.+p after she had done her part-overriding security, disabling a wide array of tracking and anti-theft devices, hot-scrambling it. Most stolen vessels were piloted to far-flung worlds where registries were altered and telesponders swapped, and the s.h.i.+ps began new lives under new owners.h.i.+p.

Quip Fargil was one of the few humans on Tuerto she counted as both employer and friend. A notorious joyrider, Quip had learned much of what he knew from Zenn Bien, and on two occasions only had hired her to steal a s.h.i.+p for resale. When he approached her about adding a third to the list, she had to suppress a strong urge to talk him out of it. But Quip was nothing if not persuasive.

"A fifty-year-old YT-Thirteen-hundred," he told her. "It's been in Imperial impound for so long, no one will even know it's gone."

"What do yon want with a fifty-year-old freighter?"

"We're going to jump it to the Tungra sector, strip it, and sell it for parts."

"Freighter parts?"

"It's a YT-Thirteen-hundred, fem. Parts for those s.h.i.+ps sell for a uniall fortune in the Outer Rim."

She laughed at the foolhardiness of the idea. "You know how much fuel a trip like that will require?"

He had an answer for that as well. "We're going to put in at Sriluur on the way. I've got a contact there that can get us fuel at wholesale- without the Imperial tax. He'll ride with us to the Tungra and super-vise the dismantling himself. He already has a slew of junkyard owners lined up."

"How much are you planning to pay me?"

"Ten for helping get the s.h.i.+p out of impound, another fifteen for piloting it to Sriluur and the Tungra, plus fifteen percent of what we make on the parts after costs are met." He paused, then added: "More than enough to pay for that operation on your eyes."

As with many Sull.u.s.tans, her corneas were already showing signs of deterioration. Corrective surgery was certainly preferable to having to wear spectral goggles for the rest of her life.

"Where's the impound facility?"

"Practically next door. The Nilash system. I've also got a contact there who's going to make things easy for us."

"An Imperial contact?"

"You know what enlisted-ratings make? You might as well be a stormtrooper the way you're forced to live."

"So paying him falls under the category of costs."

"Right."

"And your friend on Sriluur?"

"He's satisfied to take a split of the profits."

Zenn Bien took a day to decide, and told Quip she'd do it.

Guarded by a contingent of aging stormtroopers overseen by a cadre of bored human officers and enlisted-ratings, the Nilash Imperial Impound Facility opened its hangar door every so often to prospective buyers of s.h.i.+ps that were being put up for auction--a wide a.s.sortment of vessels confiscated from pirates, spicerunners, smugglers, and slavers. Good bargains could be had but you had to be careful, because the Imperials were known to subst.i.tute worn-out parts for what they stripped from the captured vessels. Ferrying to the Nilash system, Zenn Bien, Quip, and a mixed-species couple of dozen others traveled from Nilash III to the immense orbital pen aboard an Imperial picket.

Zenn Bien couldn't imagine a more dreary duty than Nilash Impound.

Questioned, patted down, and scanned, they had just been admit ted to the inspection area when Quip's inside man, a young raven-haired warrant officer, separated them from the pack, ostensibly to double-check their ident.i.ty doc.u.ments. In the act of examining their travel permits, the Imperial slipped Zenn Bien a flimsiplast map.

Zenn Bien glanced at it, committing it to memory, and slid it back.

"That fast?" the Imperial said.

"Want to test me?"

He sn.i.g.g.e.red. "We could sure use some of you folk."

"Sull.u.s.tans don't clone as easily as humans."

"I'm sure that's true." The Imperial returned the doc.u.ments. "Make as if you're inspecting the auction s.h.i.+ps. In exactly half an hour local I'll be on the other side of the starboard hatch." He gestured with his chin. "The security cams will be disabled. I'll dim the illuminator once; that's your signal to come through. The only way to reach the YT is by patrol boat. Have you ever piloted one?"

"How hard can it be?" Zenn Bien said.

"Maneuver the patrol boat to the YT's port-side docking ring and secure to it. The s.h.i.+p's life-support systems will be on standby, so all you'll have to do is wait for the air lock to cycle and you're in."

"Anything we need to know about anti-theft or anti-intrusion devices?" Zenn Bien said.

"No anti-intrusion. That's the best I can tell you."

"What about fuel? Quip says the s.h.i.+p has been gathering rust and micrometeors for years."

"There's enough fuel and power to complete a jump to Sriluur."

"How'd you accomplish that?"

"It took me six months to see to it."

'Zenn Bien looked from the Imperial to Quip and back again. "You two have been planning this heist that long?" Both of them nodded. "Guess the Empire doesn't pay very well."

"That's the least of it," the warrant officer said. Half an hour pa.s.sed in no time. Ambling to the hatch, Zenn Bien and Quip waited for the illuminator to dim, then hurried through. The Imperial directed them down a dark corridor to the waiting patrol boat and wished them luck.

The YT-1300 that Quip was after was corralled with several dozen other vessels-many of them CIS wars.h.i.+ps-in a zero-g docking station adjacent to the inspection hangar. The perimeter of the impound facility was patrolled by roving illuminators and clone pilots flying old V wing fighters, but the patrols were so widely s.p.a.ced they were able to reach the YT undetected, thanks in large measure to Zenn Bien's ability to see in the dark. As they made their approach, she regarded the freighter through the boat's small viewport.

"This isn't a stock YT-Thirteen-hundred. It's more of a Thirteen-hundred-pea hybrid."

"Is that a problem?"

"Just the opposite. We'll have more parts to sell." Fastening the boat to the docking ring, they enabled the lock and waited for it to cycle. Then they scurried into the s.h.i.+p's pitch-black ring corridor, Quip holding on to the back of Zenn Bien's flight jacket. Glancing around, she shook her head in astonishment. "Wait till you get a load of this s.h.i.+p."

Stepping out from behind her, Quip stubbed his foot against a large round object and fell back against the bulkhead, s.h.i.+ning a handheld glow rod along the deck.

"Is that what I think it is?" he said while he nursed his foot. Zenn Bien bent down to inspect the sphere. "Buzz droid," she said, clearly baffled. Moving to the bulkhead, she palmed the actuator that brought up the emergency lights and headed aft down the ring corridor.

Quip planted his sore foot on the deck and began to hobble after her. "Where are you going? The c.o.c.kpit's the other way."

"I want see what other surprises this s.h.i.+p has in store for us."

Poking her head into the main cabin, she marveled at the huge double bunk and luxurious appointments. Aft, she gazed in awe at the sublight and hyperdrive engines. Moving forward through the star-board ring corridor, she peeked into the secondary cabin and chuckled in amazement at the galley's fixtures and devices.

"Who owned this s.h.i.+p?" she asked Quip over her shoulder as they headed into the c.o.c.kpit connector.

"What I heard, the Imps took it off a criminal from Nar Shaddaa." Zenn Bien nodded. "That would explain it. It'll be a shame to chop this one."

"Like you said, more parts equals more credits for us." In the c.o.c.kpit, Zenn Bien climbed up into the pilot's chair, adjusting its position to suit her size. Strapped into the copilot's chair, Quip adjusted it to place himself on an even height with her. Humanity needs more like him, she told herself. They waited an hour for the clone-piloted V-wings to complete their patrol of the corral; then, disabling the magnetics that kept the YT from drifting, they maneuvered out of the press of CIS wars.h.i.+ps, firing the att.i.tude thrusters briefly to drop the s.h.i.+p out of the corral.

"The port-side jet has a problem," Zenn Bien said as momentum began to carry the YT away from the impound facility. "We can have it looked at on Sriluur."

Zenn Bien centered herself at the controls. "Ready?" She grabbed hold of the throttle and sent the YT hurtling into s.p.a.ce.

"Dial up the compensator!" Quip said, struggling to remain in the chair.

Catching her breath, she eased up on the throttle and reached for the inertial compensator, dialing it up to 99 percent. "I had no idea this thing would be so fast!"

The Nilash Impound Facility was already a distant memory. Zenn Bien swiveled to the Rubicon navicomputer and tasked it with plotting a course for the Sisar Run. A moment later the stars elongated into lines and the s.h.i.+p leapt into hypers.p.a.ce.

Zenn Bien blew out her breath and extended a hand toward Quip. "Look at this-I'm actually shaking."

"I told you it would be a breeze."

She laughed. "Not from stealing her. From flying her."

They put in at a remote desert s.p.a.ceport on Sriluur, where they paid a couple of Weequays to watch the s.h.i.+p while they went looking for Quip's contact. A Verpine more than twice Zenn Bien's height, Luufkin was waiting for them in the s.p.a.ceport's small tapcaf. The four-limbed hermaphroditic insectoid greeted Quip like a long-lost friend. "Everything is prepared," Luufkin said, struggling with Basic. I have computer doc.u.mentation for new registry and name for freighter-Gone to Pieces. Fuel is waiting, full recharge of power systems. A cargo of fine brandy and tabac sticks on hand."

Noting Zenn Bien's puzzlement, Quip said: "Good for bribing officials in the Tungra sector."

"And for celebrate with junkyard owners who purchase parts," Luufkin added.

Quip smiled. "May as well celebrate our luck so far." While Quip hurried to the bar to order drinks, Luufkin turned to Zenn Bien. "You leave Sull.u.s.t long time back?" She nodded. "Long time back."

"Quip tells us much technical ability you have. Why not working for SoroSuub Corporation?"

Zenn Bien scowled. "SoroSuub is part of the reason I left Sull.u.s.t. They were wrong to support the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and they're wrong to support the Empire now. But most Sull.u.s.tans know better. Things will change."

No slouches when it came to technical wizardry, the Verpine species had their own version of SoroSuub in the form of the Roche I live Mechanical Apparatus Design And Construction Activity For Those Who Need The Hive's Machines. Among other s.h.i.+ps, Roche had manufactured the predecessor of the V-wing fighter used by the Republic during the Clone Wars, and was still in use at remote Imperial facilities like Nilash Impound. Luufkin had the manner of some-one who had worked for the hive. "Support Rebels you do?" She laughed. "I can barely support myself."