Read on for an excerpt from
Star Wars: Crucible
by Troy Denning
Published by Del Rey Books
With lowlifes of every species from three-eyed Gran to four-armed Hekto standing belly-to-bar, the Red Ronto reminded Han Solo of that cantina back on Mos Eisley, the one where he had first met Luke and Obi-Wan all those years ago. Smoke hung in the air so thick and green he could taste it, and the bartender was pulling drinks from a tangle of pipes and spigots more complicated than a hyperdrive unit. There was even an all-Bith band up on stage—though instead of upbeat jatz, they were blasting the room with outdated smazzo.
Usually, the raucous music made Han think of banging coolant lines. But today he was feeling it—that driving bass and stabbing wail-horn … and why not? This trip promised to be more getaway than mission, and he was looking forward to seeing Lando again.
“I don’t like it, Han,” Leia said, raising her voice over the music. “It’s not like Lando to be so late.”
Han turned to look across the table, where Leia sat with a fog-blaster in front of her; the glass was barely half-empty. Wearing a gray gunner’s jacket over a white flight suit, she was—as always—the classiest female in the joint … and, despite a few laugh lines, still the most beautiful. He thumbed a control pad on the edge of the table, and the faint yellow radiance of a tranquility screen rose around their booth. The screen was a rare touch of quality for a place like the Red Ronto, but it was one Han appreciated as the raucous music faded to a muffled booming.
“Relax,” Han said. “When has Lando ever missed a rendezvous?”
“My point exactly. Maybe that problem is more dangerous than he thought.” Leia nodded toward the entrance. “And take a look at that miner over there. His Force aura is filled with anxiety.”
Han followed her gaze toward a swarthy young human dressed in the dust-caked safety boots and molytex jumpsuit of an asteroid miner. With a nose just crooked enough to be rakish and a T-6 blaster pistol hanging from his side, the kid was clearly no stranger to a fight. But he was not exactly streetwise, either. He was just standing there in the doorway, squinting into dark corners, while he remained silhouetted against the light behind him.
“He doesn’t look like much of a threat,” Han said. Still, he dropped a hand to his thigh holster and undid the retention strap. As a Jedi Knight, Leia felt things through the Force that Han could not sense at all, and he had long ago learned to trust her instincts. “Probably just some crew chief looking for new hires.”
The miner’s gaze stopped at the Solos’ booth. He flashed a brash smile, then said something to the bartender and raised three fingers.
“I don’t think he’s looking for new hires, Han,” Leia said. “He’s looking for us. This must have something to do with Lando and his pirate problem.”
“Could be,” Han allowed, but he hoped Leia was wrong. Missed rendezvous and strange messengers were never good signs.
Any lingering doubt about the miner’s intention vanished when the bartender handed him three glasses and a bottle of Corellian Reserve, and he started in their direction. There was something in his bold stride and cocky grin that set Han on edge.
“Whoever he is, I don’t like him,” Han said. “He’s way too sure of himself.”
Leia smiled. “Actually, I like him already,” she said. “He reminds me of you at that age.”
Han shot her a scowl meant to suggest she needed an eye exam, and then the newcomer was at their table, stepping through the tranquility screen. He placed the glasses on the table and opened the bottle.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said, pouring. “But they keep a case of Reserve on hand for Lando, and I thought you might prefer it to the usual swill around here.”
“You were right,” Leia said, visibly relaxing at the mention of Lando’s name. “Whom shall I thank?”
The miner placed a hand on his chest. “Omad Kaeg at your service,” he said, bowing. “Captain Omad Kaeg, owner and operator of the Joyous Roamer, one of the oldest and most profitable asteroid tugs in the Rift.”
Han rolled his eyes at the overblown introduction, but Leia smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Captain Kaeg.” She motioned at the table. “Won’t you join us?”
Kaeg flashed his brash smile again. “It would be an honor.”
Instead of taking a seat where Leia had indicated, Kaeg leaned across the table to set his glass in the shadows on the far side of the booth—an obvious attempt to position himself where he could watch the door. Han quickly rose and allowed Kaeg into the back of the booth. If a stranger wanted to place himself in a crossfire zone between two Solos, Han wasn’t going to argue.
“So, how do you know Lando?” he asked, resuming his seat. “And where is he?”
“I know Lando from the miner’s cooperative—and, of course, I supply his asteroid refinery on Sarnus.” Kaeg’s gray eyes slid toward the still empty entrance, then back again. “I think he’s at the refinery now. At least, that’s where he wants you to meet him.”
Han scowled. “On Sarnus?” The planet lay hidden deep in the Chiloon Rift—one of the densest, most difficult to navigate nebulas in the galaxy—and its actual coordinates were a matter of debate. “How the blazes does he expect us to find it?”
“That’s why Lando sent me,” Kaeg said. “To help.”
Kaeg’s hand dropped toward his thigh pocket, causing Han to draw his blaster and aim it at the kid’s belly under the table. He wasn’t taking any chances.
But Kaeg was only reaching for a portable holopad projector, which he placed on the table. “Let me show you what you’ll be facing.”
“Why not?” Han waved at the holopad with his free hand.
Kaeg tapped a command into the controls, and a two-meter band of braided shadow appeared above the pad. Shaped like a narrow wedge, the braid appeared to be coming undone in places, with wild blue wisps dangling down toward the corrosion-pitted tabletop and even into Han’s ale tankard.
“This, of course, is a chart of the Chiloon Rift,” Kaeg said.
He tapped another command, and a red dash appeared in the holomap, marking the cantina’s location on Brink Station just outside the Rift. The dash quickly stretched into a line and began to coil through the tangled wisps of hot plasma that gave the Chiloon Rift its distinctive array of blue hues. Before long, it had twisted itself into a confusing snarl that ran vaguely toward the center of the nebula.
“And this is the best route to Lando’s refinery on Sarnus,” Kaeg said. “I’ve been doing my best to keep the charts accurate, but I’m afraid the last update was two standard days ago.”
“Two days?” Han asked. With three kinds of hot plasma rolling around at near light speed, hyperspace lanes inside the Rift tended to open and close quickly—sometimes in hours. “That’s the best you can do?”
“I’m sorry, but yes,” Kaeg said. “It’s important to take it slow and careful in there. If you were to leave a hyperspace lane and punch through a plasma cloud, you would fry every circuit on your ship—including your navigation sensors.”
“You don’t say,” Han said. Hitting a plasma pocket was one of the most basic dangers of nebula-running, so it seemed to him that Kaeg was working way too hard to make sure he knew how dangerous Rift travel was. “Thanks for the warning.”
“No problem.” Kaeg grinned, then let his gaze drift back toward the cantina door. “Any friend of Lando Calrissian’s is a friend of mine.”
Instead of answering, Han caught Leia’s eye, then tipped his head ever so slightly toward their tablemate. She nodded and turned toward Kaeg. After forty years together, he knew she would understand what he was thinking—that something felt wrong with Kaeg’s story.
“We appreciate your concern, Captain Kaeg.” Leia’s tone was warm but commanding, a sure sign that she was using the Force to encourage Kaeg to answer honestly. “But I still don’t understand why Lando isn’t here himself. When he asked us to look into the pirate problem in the Rift, he was quite insistent about meeting us here at the Red Ronto.”
Kaeg shrugged. “I’m sorry, but he didn’t explain. His message just said to meet you here and make sure you reached Sarnus.” Continuing to watch the door with one eye, he paused, then spoke in a confidential tone. “But I don’t blame you for hesitating. This trip could be very risky, especially for someone your age.”
“Our age?” Han bristled. “You think we’re old or something?”
Kaeg finally looked away from the door. “Uh … no?” he replied. “It’s just that, uh—well, you do need pretty quick reflexes in the Chiloon Rift.”
“It’s called experience, kid,” Han said. “Someday, you might have some yourself … if you live that long.”
“No offense,” Kaeg said, raising his hands. “I’m just worried about you heading in there alone.”
“Don’t let a few wrinkles fool you, Captain Kaeg,” Leia said. “We can take care of ourselves.”
Kaeg shook his head almost desperately. “You wouldn’t say that if you had ever been inside the Rift,” he said. “It isn’t the kind of place you should go without a guide on your first visit. The plasma in there kills S-thread transmissions, so HoloNet transceivers are worthless—and even emergency transmitters aren’t much good.”
“What about the RiftMesh?” Han asked. Communication inside the Chiloon Rift was supposed to be handled via a network of fifty thousand repeater beacons. “All that hardware, and you’re telling me it doesn’t work?”
“The ’Mesh works, but it’s slow. It can take an hour for a beacon to relay a signal.” Kaeg tapped the holopad controls again, and a multitude of tiny white points appeared in the holochart. “And it’s not unusual for a message to pass through a thousand beacons before being picked up. Trust me, there’s no lonelier place in the galaxy to be stranded.”
“It’s a wonder any rock-grabbers go in there at all,” Han replied. “I can’t imagine a worse place to drag around half a billion tons of ore.”
“It’s worth it, my friend.” Ignoring Han’s sarcasm—or possibly missing it altogether—Kaeg flashed a square-toothed grin. “The tumblers in the Rift are fantastic, Han. There are more than anyone can count, and most are heavy and pretty.”
By tumblers, Han knew Kaeg meant asteroids. Heavy and pretty was slang for a high content of precious metals. According to Lando Calrissian, the Chiloon Rift contained the most bountiful asteroid field anywhere, with more capture-worthy tumblers than any other field in the galaxy. Unfortunately, its roiling clouds of plasma and a sudden infestation of pirates meant it was probably also the most dangerous.
“Which makes asteroid tugs very easy prey for pirates,” Leia said. “You’re hauling all that valuable ore, and there’s no one to call for help.”
Kaeg nodded eagerly. “It’s terribly dangerous. You can send a message and go gray waiting for an answer.” He winced almost immediately, then said, “No offense, of course.”
“None taken,” Leia said, a bit stiffly. “But with all of those asteroid tugs running around, I can’t imagine the pirates coming after a small vessel like the Falcon.”
Not seeming to notice how he was being tested, Kaeg shrugged and leaned forward. “Who knows?” he asked. “Even if the pirates aren’t interested in the Falcon, there are many other dangers.”
“And let me guess,” Han said. “You’re willing to make sure that doesn’t happen to us—for the right price?”
“I could be persuaded to serve as your guide, yes,” Kaeg said. “As I said, any friend of Lando Calrissian is a friend of mine.”
“How very kind of you.” Leia flashed a tight smile, and again Han knew what she was thinking. No trick was too low for a pirate gang, and one of their favorites was to slip a saboteur aboard the target vessel. “But you still haven’t explained why Lando didn’t meet us here himself.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Kaeg said. “As I mentioned, he didn’t give a reason.”
Han leaned toward Kaeg and pointed a finger at him. “You see, now, that’s where your story falls apart. Lando isn’t the kind of guy who fails to show with no explanation. He would’ve said why he couldn’t make it.”
Kaeg showed his palms in mock surrender. “Look, I’ve told you all I know.” He focused his attention on Leia. “He kept the message short. I’m assuming that’s because he didn’t want everyone in the Rift to know his business.”
“And why would that happen?” Leia asked. “Do you have a habit of breaking a confidence?”
Kaeg scowled and shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “But I told you—Lando sent that message over the RiftMesh.”
“And?” Han asked.
Kaeg sighed in exasperation. “You really don’t understand how things work here,” he said. “The RiftMesh is an open network—open, as in one single channel. Everybody listens, with nothing encrypted. If a message is encrypted, the beacons won’t even relay it. That makes it tough to keep a secret out here, but it also makes life hard on the pirates. They can’t coordinate a swarm attack if everybody is listening to their chatter over the RiftMesh.”
“And that really works?” Han asked.
Kaeg waggled a hand. “It’s not perfect. The pirates find other ways to coordinate,” he said. “But the ‘Mesh is better than nothing. And it helps the rest of us keep track of one another, so our tugs don’t pile up when a good hyperspace lane suddenly opens.”
Han turned to Leia. “That actually makes sense.”
“As far as it goes.” Leia did not look away from Kaeg. “But he’s been working pretty hard to get us to take him on, and that just doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah, I know.” Han looked back to their confused-looking table companion. “Since when do tug captains have time to take on extra work as tourist guides?”
The confusion vanished from Kaeg’s face. “Is that all that is troubling you?” he asked. “My tug has been in for repairs for a month. That’s how Lando knew I would still be here to give you his message. And, quite honestly, I could use something to do.”
Han considered this, then nodded and holstered his blaster. “Maybe we’re being too hard on the kid,” he said. “After all, he did know about Lando’s stock of Corellian Reserve.”
Leia continued to study Kaeg for a moment, no doubt scrutinizing him through the Force, then said, “Fair enough. But he’s worried about something.”
“Yes. I’m worried that you aren’t going to let me guide you to Sarnus.” Kaeg glanced toward the door again, then said, “If you don’t want my help, you know how to use a holochart.”
He started to rise.
“Not so fast, kid.” Han grabbed Kaeg’s arm. “You’ve been watching the door since you got here. You expecting someone?”
“Not anymore,” Kaeg said, still watching the front of the cantina. “If you don’t mind, I have things to do.”
Han pulled the asteroid miner back down, then followed his gaze and saw a huge scaly green figure entering the cantina. The reptilian was so tall it had to duck as it stepped through the entrance, and its thick arms hung from shoulders so broad they rubbed both sides of the door frame. Its spiny skull-crest almost scraped the ceiling, and a thick tail swept the floor behind him. The creature stopped just inside the room, vertical pupils dilating to diamonds as its eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“Who’s that?” Han asked, keeping one eye on the newcomer.
“No one you’d ever want to meet.” Kaeg slid into the back of the booth and slumped down in the shadows. “Just one of the Nargons.”
“Who are the Nargons?” Leia asked. “I’m not familiar with that species.”
“Lucky you,” Kaeg said, sinking even deeper into his seat. “You should try to keep it that way.”
“Care to explain why?” Han asked. “And while you’re at it, maybe why you’re hiding from them?”
As he spoke, two more Nargons ducked through the door, their big hands hanging close to the blasters in their knee holsters. They stepped forward to flank the first one and began to scan the cantina interior.
Kaeg was careful to avoid looking in their direction. “Who says I’m hiding?”
“Kid, I was ducking bounty hunters before your grandfather met your grandmother.” As Han spoke, the first Nargon’s gaze reached their table and stopped. “I know the signs, so answer the question—or you’re on your own.”
Kaeg’s brow shot up. “You would back me?”
“Assuming you’re really a friend of Lando’s,” Leia said cautiously, “and if you start being honest with us. Then, yes, we have your back.”
The first Nargon said something to its companions. They eased away in different directions, one going to the far end of the bar, the other drawing angry glares as it jostled its way into the opposite corner.
Kaeg swallowed hard. “Deal.”
“Good. Tell us what you know about Nargons,” Han said. He reached over and tapped the holopad controls, and the chart dissolved in a rain of sparkles. “Like, where do they come from?”
“Kark if I know,” Kaeg said. “I never saw them before the new outfit brought them in, when the pirates grew bad.”
“New outfit?” Han asked. He was no expert on the Chiloon Rift, but he knew the miners here were mostly independent operators whose families had been in the business for generations. “What new outfit?”
Kaeg’s lip curled in distaste. “G.E.T.,” he said. “Galactic Exploitation Technologies. You know them?”
Han had never heard of G.E.T., but he didn’t bother to ask for details. His attention was fixed on the entrance, where two more figures were just stepping through the doorway. Unlike the Nargons, this pair was not an exotic species. Standing less than two meters tall, with shoulders no broader than Han’s, they were almost certainly human. But they were also wearing full suits of colored armor and blocky helmets with opaque visors, and that could only mean one thing.
“Mandalorians!” Leia whispered.
“Yeah.” Han hated Mandalorians. Like their leader, Boba Fett, they had a bad habit of selling their combat skills to the highest bidder—and the highest bidder was almost always on the side opposite Han. He turned to Kaeg. “What are Mandos doing here?”
“They work security for G.E.T. They’re sort of handlers for the Nargons.” As Kaeg spoke, the first Nargon leaned down to say something to the taller Mandalorian. “Is this going to be a problem? Because if you can’t handle Mandalorians, then you really can’t handle—”
“Relax, kid,” Han said. “We can handle Mandos. We can handle anything in this room.”
Kaeg looked doubtful. “Tell me that after you figure out what a Nargon is.”
The first Nargon raised a long arm and pointed toward their booth, then fell in behind the two Mandalorians as they crossed the room. The muffled rhythms of the smazzo music continued to reverberate through the tranquility screen, but otherwise the cantina fell uneasy and still. Judging by all the worried brows and averted eyes, Han half-expected the other patrons to clear out. Instead, most remained in their seats, and the miners in the crowd turned to glare openly as the trio passed.
“Not real popular, are they?” Han remarked.
“Nobody likes rock-jumpers,” Kaeg said. “Galactic Exploitation came in fast and hard with a whole fleet of those giant asteroid crunchers. Trouble is, vessels that big aren’t nimble enough to run the Rift—and even if they were, G.E.T. crews have no nose.”
“No nose?” Leia asked.
Kaeg scowled. “You need a sixth sense to operate here,” he said. “Outsiders can’t smell good rock, and they can’t see a lane getting ready to open. They have no feel for how the Rift moves.”
“So they trail independent operators,” Han said. “And then push in on your finds.”
Kaeg nodded. “Push in is one way to say it. Steal is another.”
“And when did that start?” Leia asked.
“About ten standard months ago,” Kaeg said. “G.E.T. showed up a little before the pirate problem grew bad.”
Leia shot Han a look that suggested she found the timing as suspicious as he did, but before she could say anything, the Mandalorians arrived with the lead Nargon. Too huge to fit completely inside the tranquility partition, the reptile stopped halfway through and loomed over Leia, seemingly oblivious to the gold static dancing over its scales. The short Mandalorian—a squat fellow in yellow armor—came to Han’s side and stood with one hand resting on his holstered blaster.
The taller Mandalorian placed a chair at the table across from Kaeg, then removed his helmet and sat. He had dark, curly hair and a burn-scarred face that still appeared half-melted along the left side. Barely glancing at the Solos, he placed the helmet in front of him, then folded his hands on top and leaned toward Kaeg.
“Skipping out on your marker, Kaeg?” he asked. “I took you for smarter than that.”
“I’m not skipping out on anything, Scarn.” Kaeg’s voice was a little too hard to be natural. “I’m just catching a ride so I can get what I owe you.”
A muffled snort sounded inside the helmet of the shorter Mandalorian, and Scarn sneered. “Why do I doubt that?”
“Look, you know what those pirates did to my tug,” Kaeg said. “There’s no way she’s leaving the repair docks for another two weeks, minimum.”
Scarn shrugged. “So?”
“So I’ll be back for her,” Kaeg said. “But it’s going to take more credits than I had before our game to pay for repairs. I’m just heading to Sarnus to make arrangements. I’ll get what I owe you at the same time.”
“Arrangements with Calrissian?” Scarn rubbed his chin just long enough to pretend he was thinking about it, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. We don’t like Calrissian, and he doesn’t like us. We’ll do this another way.”
“That’s the only way we’re going to do it,” Kaeg said. “I’m not giving you the Roamer—that ship has been in my family for two hundred years.”
Kaeg overtly dropped his hand below the table, and Han tried not to wince. Hinting at violence was usually a bad idea when you were outnumbered and outflanked. But at least Han was feeling better about the kid’s story. Gambling debts he could understand, having had a few himself, and the debt explained why Kaeg was so eager to get off Brink Station. Han rested a hand on his own holstered blaster and tried to look bored, as though firefights against armored Mandalorians backed by overgrown lizards were a common occurrence for him … and, really, that wasn’t much of an exaggeration.
The Nargon hissed and started to pull the blaster from its knee holster, but Scarn called it off with a two-fingered wave.
“There’s no need for anyone to get hurt today.” The undamaged half of his face smiled. “The last thing I want is that crate of corrosion you call an asteroid tug.”
It was hard to say whether Kaeg’s frown was one of confusion or outrage. “The Roamer may not look like much, but she’s all pull,” he said. “She’s dragged moons out of orbit.”
Scarn looked unimpressed. “If you say so. But I have another idea.” He extended a hand toward his Mandalorian subordinate. “Jakal?”
Jakal withdrew a pair of folded flimses from a pouch on his equipment belt and handed them to Scarn.
Scarn unfolded the sheets and pushed them toward Kaeg. “Considering the size of your marker, that’s more than fair.”
Kaeg eyed the flimses skeptically, then reluctantly picked them up and began to read. Scarn waited with a bored expression, as though the kid’s consent was irrelevant to what was about to happen. Han kept his hand on his blaster grip and watched the Nargon watch him. Jakal’s helmet pivoted from side to side as he kept an eye on the rest of the miners in the cantina, who were all carefully observing the situation at Kaeg’s table. The other two Nargons continued to stand guard in opposite corners of the room, their tails bumping the walls as they, too, scanned the crowd. But no one was watching Leia, who was probably the most dangerous person in the Red Ronto.
Maybe the situation wasn’t as bad as it looked.
Kaeg was still on the first page when he stopped reading and looked across the table. “Galactic Exploitation wants my family’s share of the miner’s cooperative?”
Scarn nodded. “That’s right,” he said. “You sign your share over to G.E.T., then G.E.T. pays me, and your debt is settled. Simple.”
Kaeg looked more confused than alarmed. “Why?”
Scarn shrugged. “All I know is the bosses want to join your little co-op,” he said. “Maybe they’re worried one of their yachts will need to be rescued or repaired or something.”
“Then they can pay for an associate membership.” Kaeg tossed the flimses in the middle of the table. “I’m not giving you a Founder’s Share. I’d be run out of the Rift.”
Scarn’s expression grew cold. “Either you put your thumb in the verification box, or Qizak here rips your arm off and does it for you.”
A nervous sheen came to Kaeg’s lip, but he looked into the Nargon’s eyes and managed to fake being calm. “Just so you know, Qizak, you touch me and you die. Clear?”
Qizak bared a fang, then looked to Scarn. “Now, Boss?”
Leia raised a hand. “Hold that thought, Qizak.” Her voice was calm and soothing, the way it always was when she made a Force suggestion. “There’s no rush here.”
The Nargon studied her as though considering whether to rip her limb from limb, or simply bite off her head.
Leia ignored the glare and focused on Scarn. “How much does Omad owe, Ver’alor?”
The eye on the good side of Scarn’s face flashed at her use of the Mandalorian word for lieutenant. But the eye on the scarred side merely pivoted in her direction, its cybernetic cornea fogging as it adjusted focus.
Scarn studied Leia in silence. His sneer of contempt suggested that he had no idea she was Princess Leia Organa Solo, sister to Jedi Grand Master Luke Skywalker, and a famous Jedi Knight herself. And if Scarn hadn’t recognized Leia, it was a pretty good bet he didn’t realize that her companion was Han Solo, one of the finest gamblers in the galaxy—and someone who would know how a cybernetic eye might be used to cheat a kid in a high-stakes sabacc game.
Finally, Scarn asked, “What do you care? You his mother or something?”
Leia’s eyes grew hard. “Or something,” she said. “All you need to know is that I’m a friend who might be willing to cover his debt … once you tell me how much it is.”
She pointed at the transfer document and used the Force to summon both pieces of flimsy into her hand.
Scarn’s jaw dropped, then his gaze snapped back to Kaeg. “If you think hiring some old Jedi castoff will get you out of your marker—”
“She’s not exactly a castoff,” Kaeg interrupted. “But you’ll get your money, Scarn. Omad Kaeg is no shirker.”
“Yeah, but he is kind of a rube,” Han said. He looked Scarn square in his artificial eye, but when he spoke, it was to Kaeg. “Omad, the next time you play sabacc, make sure it’s not with someone who has a cybernetic eye. Those things can be programmed to cheat in about a hundred ways.”
Kaeg’s voice turned angry. “You have a cybernetic eye, Scarn?”
“He didn’t mention that?” Han shook his head and continued to watch Scarn. “You see, now that’s just bad form.”
Scarn’s face grew stormy. “You calling me a cheater?” His voice sounded just like the voices of all the other cheaters Han had spotted over the years—well-rehearsed outrage with no real astonishment or confusion. “Because you weren’t even there.”
“No, but Omad was.” Being careful not to look away from Scarn, Han nodded toward Kaeg. “What do you think, kid? Fair game or not?”
It was Leia who answered. “Not, I think.” Her eyes remained on the flimsy. “Omad, a million credits on a marker? Really?”
“I needed to pay for repairs,” Kaeg explained. “And I’m usually very good at sabacc.”
“Oh, I can see that,” Han said. He was starting to wonder about the convenient timing of the pirate attack on Kaeg’s ship … and he was starting to get angry. “And I’ll bet after the pirates had you limping back into the station, someone at the bar was buying drinks and talking about the Mando sucker in the back room.”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Kaeg sounded embarrassed. “How did you know?”
“It’s an old trick, Omad.” Leia’s voice was kind. “Han has fallen for it himself a few times.”
“You have?” Kaeg asked. “Han Solo?”
“No need to talk about that now,” Han said. A few times was exaggerating, but he knew Leia was just trying to keep Kaeg from starting a fight she didn’t think they would win. Deciding she was probably right, he shifted his gaze back to Scarn. “So now that we know your marker is no good, why don’t you sign it paid—”
“I didn’t cheat,” Scarn said, sounding a little too insistent. He raised a thumb to the damaged side of his face, then popped out his cybernetic eye and slapped the device on the table. “Check it yourself.”
Han barely glanced at the thing. “I’d rather check the eye you used during the game.”
“That is the one I used.”
Scarn’s tone remained aggressive and hostile, but the mere fact that he had switched from intimidation to arguing his innocence told Han the balance of power had shifted. Scarn recognized the Solo name, and he was no more eager to start a fight with Han and Leia than they were to start one with him and his Nargons.
“Maybe that’s the cybernetic eye you were using,” Han said, “and maybe it’s not. But you didn’t tell the kid you had one, and you gotta admit that looks bad.” When Scarn didn’t argue, Han extended a hand. “So give me the kid’s marker, and we’ll put all this behind us.”
Scarn remained silent and looked around the table, no doubt weighing his chances of actually leaving with Kaeg’s thumbprint against the likelihood of surviving a fight. Han risked a quick peek in Leia’s direction and was rewarded with a subtle nod. She could feel in the Force that Scarn was worried, and worried meant they were going to avoid a battle.
Then Kaeg asked, “What about the rest?”
“The rest of what?” Han asked, confused.
“I lost ten thousand credits before I signed that marker,” Kaeg said. “It was all the money I had.”
Han frowned. “You took your last ten thousand credits to a sabacc table?”
“I didn’t see another choice,” Kaeg said. “And don’t tell me you haven’t done the same thing.”
“That was different,” Han said.
He glanced over at Scarn and caught him glaring at Kaeg in fiery disbelief. There was no way the Mandalorian was going to return the ten thousand credits, probably because most of it had already been spent. Han shifted his gaze back to Kaeg.
“Look, kid, ten thousand credits may seem like a lot right now, but it’s not worth starting a firefight over. Why don’t you think of it as tuition?”
“No,” Kaeg said, glaring at Scarn. “Nobody cheats Omad Kaeg.”
“Omad,” Leia said gently, “we’re going to pay you for serving as our guide. It will be more than you lost, I promise.”
Kaeg shook his head. “It’s not about the credits. These Out-Rifters come pushing in here, thinking they can just take what’s ours.” In a move so fast it was barely visible, he laid his blaster on the table, his finger on the trigger and the emitter nozzle pointed in Scarn’s direction. “It’s time they learned different.”
Han groaned but slipped his own blaster out of its holster and placed it on the table with a finger on the trigger. Scarn did the same, while Jakal pulled his weapon and held it nozzle-down, ready to swing into action against Han or Kaeg. Leia simply laid the transfer document in front of her and dropped one hand onto her lap, where it would be close to her lightsaber. The Nargon watched them all and snarled.
When no one actually opened fire, Han let out his breath and shifted his gaze back and forth between Kaeg and Scarn. “Look, guys, things can go two ways from here,” he said. “Either everyone in our little circle dies, or you two come to an understanding and we all walk away. Which will it be?”
Kaeg stared into Scarn’s remaining eye. “I’m good with dying.”
“Then why are you talking instead of blasting?” Scarn asked. Without awaiting a reply, he turned to Han. “Jakal is going to put his blaster away and hand over that marker. Then we’re done here. Clear?”
“What about the kid’s ten thousand?” Han didn’t really expect to get it back, but he wanted Kaeg to understand that some mistakes couldn’t be fixed, that sometimes the only smart move was to cut your losses and move on. “Jakal going to hand that over, too?”
Scarn shook his head. “The ten thousand is gone,” he said. “You think I’d be out here on the edge of nothing, wrangling a bunch of overgrown lizards, if I didn’t have problems of my own?”
The question made Qizak’s skull-crest stand erect, and it studied Scarn with an expression that seemed half appetite and half anger. Han contemplated the display for a moment, wondering just how much obedience the Mandalorian could truly expect from his “overgrown lizards,” then turned to Kaeg.
Kaeg sighed and took his finger off the blaster’s trigger. “Fine.” He held a hand out toward Jakal. “Give me the marker.”
Jakal holstered his weapon, then pulled another flimsy from his belt pouch and tossed it in the middle of the table.
And that was when Qizak said, “Coward.”
Scarn craned his neck to glare up at the Nargon. “Did you say something?” he demanded. “Did I tell you to say something?”
Qizak ignored the question and pointed to the unsigned transfer document, still lying in front of Leia. “The bosses need Kaeg’s share,” he said. “That is the plan they have.”
Kaeg’s eyes flashed in outrage. “Plan?”
Shaking his head in frustration, Han said, “Yeah, kid, plan. You were set up. I’ll explain later.” Hoping to keep the situation from erupting into a firefight, he turned back to Scarn. “Like you said, we’re done here. Go.”
Qizak pointed a scaly talon at the transfer document. “When Kaeg gives his share to the bosses.”
“No, now,” Scarn said, rising. “I give the orders. You—”
A green blur flashed past Han’s face, ending the rebuke with a wet crackle that sent Scarn sailing back with a caved-in face. The blur hung motionless long enough to identify it as a scaly green elbow, then shot forward again as Qizak grabbed Kaeg’s wrist.
Jakal cursed in Mandalorian and reached for his blaster again—then went down in a crash of metal and snapping bone as the Nargon’s huge tail smashed his knees. Han stared. How do we stop this thing?
By then, Qizak was dragging Kaeg’s hand toward the transfer document. Han checked the other Nargons and found them both in their corners, still watching the crowd rather than the trouble at the booth. Good. If they were worried about the other patrons getting involved, it would take them longer to react. That gave the Solos ten or twelve seconds to even the odds—maybe longer, if the miners really did jump into the fight.
Han pointed his blaster at Qizak’s head. “Hey, Finhead. Let—”
A green streak came sweeping toward Han’s arm. He pulled the trigger, and a single bolt ricocheted off Qizak’s temple. Then a scaly wrist cracked into Han’s elbow; his entire arm fell numb, and the blaster went flying.
From the other side of the booth came the snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber. The acrid stench of burning scales filled the air. Qizak roared and whirled toward a spray of blue embers that made no sense, and then an amputated forearm dropped onto the table, trailing smoke and sparks.
Sparks?
Too desperate to wonder, Han launched himself at Qizak, burying his shoulder in the Nargon’s flank and pumping his legs, driving through like a smashball player making a perfect tackle.
Qizak barely teetered.
But the huge alien did look toward Han, and that gave Leia the half second she needed to jump onto the booth seat. Her lightsaber whined and crackled, and Qizak’s remaining arm dropped next to the first. Two arms, maybe three seconds. Not fast enough. Han drove harder, trying to push the Nargon off balance … or at least distract him.
Leia buried her lightsaber in Qizak’s side. The Nargon roared and pivoted away … but not to retreat. Remembering how the lizard had smashed Jakal’s knees, Han threw himself down on the huge tail, slowing it just enough to give Leia time to roll onto the table. The lightsaber fell silent for an instant, then sizzled back to life.
Qizak let out an anguished bellow, then its tail whipped back in the opposite direction. Han went tumbling and came to rest against a flailing heap of armor—Jakal, writhing with two broken legs. Han spun and reached for the Mandalorian’s blaster but discovered his numb hand lacked the strength to wrench the weapon from Jakal’s grasp.
Jakal pulled the blaster free and started to swing the nozzle toward Han.
“Are you crazy?” Han jerked his thumb toward Qizak. “He’s the one who smashed Scarn’s face!”
Jakal paused, and Han used his good hand to snatch the blaster away. So far, the fight had lasted six, maybe seven seconds. The other Nargons would arrive soon. A tremendous banging sounded from the booth, and suddenly Leia was trapped against the wall as the armless Qizak tried to kick the table aside to get at her. Kaeg stood next to her, pouring blaster fire into the lizard’s chest, but the bolts bounced away with little effect.
“What are those things?” Han gasped.
Jakal might have groaned something like scaled death, but Han was already attacking Qizak from behind, firing with his off-hand. The storm of ricochets was so thick, he did not realize he was caught in a crossfire until he stood and nearly lost his head to the bolts screeching in from two different directions.
Han dived and began to kick himself across the floor behind Qizak. The bolts had to be coming from the other Nargons, blasting on the run as they tried to push through the panicked crowd to help their companion. But who would do that, fire into a brawl when their buddy was right in the middle of it?
He continued to squeeze his own trigger, pushing himself toward Qizak’s flank and firing toward the smoking hole Leia had opened in the Nargon’s ribs. Finally, he saw a bolt disappear into the dark circle.
And that drew a reaction. Qizak spun as though hit by a blaster cannon, pupils diamond-shaped and wide open. Gray smoke began to billow from its chest, followed by blue spurting blood and something that looked like beads of molten metal. The Nargon lurched toward Han, its legs starting to shudder and spasm as it prepared to stomp its attacker into a greasy smear.
Leia came leaping over the tabletop, her lightsaber flashing and sizzling as she batted blaster bolts back toward the other Nargons. She pivoted in midair, bringing her bright blade around in a horizontal arc. Qizak’s head came off and went bouncing across the durasteel floor.
Han saw the body falling and tried to roll away, but he was too slow. The huge corpse crashed down atop him, and the air left his lungs.
In the next instant, the weight vanished. He saw Leia crouching at his feet, one arm outstretched as she used the Force to send Qizak’s body flying into a charging Nargon.
“You okay, Flyboy?” she asked.
“I’m …” Han had to stop. His chest hurt something fierce, and the breath had definitely been knocked out of him. Still, he managed to get his feet under him. “Fine. I think.”
Kaeg scrambled from beneath the table. A flurry of blaster bolts nearly took his head off. He cried out in surprise, then waved an arm toward a dark corner.
“Emergency exit!”
He scrambled away, staying low and not looking back.
Han did not follow immediately. Recalling the strange sparks that had sprayed from Qizak’s arm as Leia amputated it, he grabbed one of the limbs off the table—and was so surprised by its weight he nearly dropped it. He flipped the stump around and saw that instead of bone, the Nargon’s flesh was attached to a thick durasteel pipe with just room enough for a bundle of fiberoptic filaments.
“Han!”
Leia used the Force to send the last Nargon stumbling back toward the bar, then grabbed Han by the arm and raced down a short passage, past the refreshers, and out through an open iris hatch. It wasn’t until Kaeg sealed the hatch behind them and blasted the controls that she finally released his arm and took a good look at what he was carrying.
“Really, Han?” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “Souvenirs?”