Star Wars, page 12
Leia leaned down, focusing on it so that she had something to do, a reason not to face anyone else. As she hovered close to the glass, she knew no one could see the tired ache in her eyes. She let her mask slip, and she allowed her mind to be occupied with nothing more than the beautiful object inside the case.
An ancient hyperspace compass, clearly no longer in use and displayed now as a work of art. The astromeridian etch lines behind the lens showed precision craftsmanship. The entire compass required manual adjustment, not the fully computer-automated navisystems used on most ships, but the simplicity and straightforwardness of the compass was part of the appeal. It could tell the ship which direction to go. It couldn’t provide details about the obstacles along the way, the hardships, or the distance, but if one knew where one wanted to go, the compass told the way. Leia could appreciate that, as well as the irony of the compass behind the display case, where it stood as art instead of a useful tool.
The real gem of the compass, quite literally, was the supraluminite lodestone set above the inscribed base. It glowed from within, a shimmering blue that was made more magnificent through the adjustable lens over the top of it.
“Can you believe her?”
The voice from behind Leia was whispered, but the acoustics in the Atrium were particularly sharp where she was standing. Leia didn’t move, but her eyes shifted focus from the compass to the glass surrounding it—to the reflection of two people, both human, an older woman and her companion, a middle-aged man. The man was dressed in a fine suit, navy blue and embroidered with silver stars, while the woman wore red silk and a matching turban pierced with an enormous pin set with some sort of glittering red stone.
It had been the man who’d spoken, but the woman replied, cutting her eyes at Leia, unaware that Leia could see her in the reflection and hear her snide, not-quiet-enough words. “How dare she just act as if nothing has happened,” she said. The woman swiped a gloved hand at her face. “My son was moving up the ranks on the Death Star. He was poised for a promotion! So many died. Just days ago! And she’s just tra-la-la, off on a vacation.”
“How are you?” the man asked the woman, his voice sincere.
The woman shook her head. “I was better until she showed up. My Bierto, he snatched up reservations for the cruise as soon as he could, to help me get over my grief. And then to find out she’s here.”
They weren’t bothering to lower their voices anymore. Leia slowly straightened, hoping the movement was natural, but she didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to face them.
Leia knew she wasn’t universally loved—far from it, she was deeply aware that she had made many, many enemies. But she had somehow never thought to add a grieving mother to the list of people who despised her.
She swallowed down the bitterness rising in her throat. She understood why the Emperor was the way he was—a grasping man trying to control everything, greedy for power, a dictator and a tyrant. That was an easy person to hate, to fight.
But she also understood why this woman dressed in red silk was the way she was. And the death of a son? That was a motivation that Leia could understand.
That was a blame she accepted. At least in part.
Her eyes blurred as the pair walked away, the bright-red reflection of the woman’s dress growing smaller and smaller. Leia wondered if the woman had wanted Leia to turn around, defend herself. Maybe she had wanted a scene, and that was why she’d spoken so loudly. There were still X-0X droids around. As much as Mon had wanted the publicity stunt of Leia honeymooning aboard this ship, it would have generated far more talk had Leia gotten embroiled in a grieving mother’s rage. Not the kind of talk Leia wanted, though.
Leia focused on the compass. Even though it wasn’t being used, it was a reminder to stay the intended course, to find a path through the black.
CHAPTER 17
HAN
HAN DROPPED HIS EMPTY GLASS on the bar, along with a few credits as a tip in appreciation of the drink. The bartender sidled over, grabbing the glass and passing it to a server heading to the back. “This not your speed?” they asked.
“Not exactly,” Han said. “I prefer cards I can touch.”
They gave him the once-over. “You know Lyx?”
Han leaned over. “No. Should I?”
The bartender shrugged as if nothing they were saying was important. “Lyx works on the bridge, but sometimes you can find her in the Engineering Room,” they said.
“Thanks, I’ll check it out.” Han headed to the door, weaving around the stream of people coming into the lounge from the Atrium. He felt a little guilty not rescuing Leia, but then again, she was probably enjoying herself. Just because Han hated small talk didn’t mean she did. He caught a glimpse of her chatting with the captain, and he tried to catch her eye, but she was preoccupied.
The Engineering Room was two decks below the Atrium level, and Han took the stairs two at a time, heading portside when he came to the concourse. The large dining room called the most attention. “Crown of Corellia,” Han said, reading the sign aloud.
Corellia. Ironic, that. He should have considered the possibility, though—Corellia was known for its shipyards, so even though this was the flagship of the Chandrila Star Line, it had been designed and built on Corellia. Crown, though? Han scoffed. What a grand label attached to the name of a planet that had given him nothing but trouble.
And Qi’ra, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him.
Which just proved his point. Trouble.
Han turned his back on the dining room and spotted another access corridor to the side. He took a chance and, sure enough, found the Engineering Room. A sign by the door said: special credentials required. Credentials Han didn’t have. Fortunately, the door was propped open with a tiny screwdriver at the base, enough to leave a millimeters-wide crack. Han stepped inside, noting and ignoring the danger symbols plastered to the interior of the corridor.
The bartender had told him true—there was a game in progress. Not that there was all that much space for it. Han scanned the room, a little surprised he was able to access it so easily. The power core central control dominated the floor space, with coolant regulators taking up an entire corner. Han stepped around the fuel manifold and spotted a makeshift table set up between the mechanical systems and the systems patch bay.
The group here was small. A Cerean woman sat in the best seat, her back to the wall, her chair pushed out so no one could get behind her. Leaned up against the systems patch bay was a Lasat man, too big for the tight space for comfort, his yellow eyes sharp. The human man across from him was about Han’s age, with dark hair and light ochre skin, a little short, a little twitchy.
“How did you get here?” the woman asked sharply, looking up from her cards as Han’s boots announced him. Her long, pointed skull was offset by the curls at the back of her head, a juxtaposition between harsh lines and soft curves. Her skin was smooth, but her hair was white, so Han was left uncertain of the woman’s age.
“Door was open,” Han said.
“The door—?”
“Oh, that was me!” The human at the table beamed with pride. “In case anyone wants to join us.”
“I’ll take care of it,” the Lasat said in an aggrieved voice. He stomped over to the door, kicking aside the tiny screwdriver that had kept it open.
“Who are you?” the Cerean demanded of Han.
“Han. I’m just looking for a game,” Han said. “You Lyx?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Kimb send you?”
“The bartender—”
“Mm-hm.” Lyx vocalized without moving her lips, and Han suspected the bartender was going to be in trouble later. “Got credits?”
The Lasat returned and claimed his seat. “Mezza,” he said, introducing himself.
Han grabbed an empty chair that had been near the engineering computer and slung it over to the table. He didn’t like sitting on the end, but at least from this vantage point he could see if any additional people showed up. Han reached into his pocket, pulling out a few credit chips. Not all he had, but enough to get in the game.
“So what brings you to the Halcyon?” the human man asked Han.
Han shrugged and looked at the cards the Lasat had passed him.
“Yeah, they don’t talk much, either,” the man said. “My name is Kelad.”
Han glanced at the other players. Mezza, the Lasat, was clearly unhappy with his hand, but it was too early for Han to guess at whether that was a ploy or not—some people made sabacc more about the mind game than the card game. Lyx was a blank slate, completely unreadable, but she seemed the sharpest of them all. The bartender had said Lyx worked on the Halcyon’s bridge, and Han wondered if the Lasat did as well. Neither wore a uniform now, but they both carried themselves with a relaxed ease that implied they’d shared games before.
Han had a decent hand, but not a perfect one. He tapped his cred chip on the side of the table, thinking. Mezza paused to watch him. Lyx probably took into account Han’s implied tell as well, but the man, Kelad, blabbered away, only adding more credits to the pile when the woman prompted him.
“I junk,” Han said, tossing the hand. Lyx’s lips twitched just a fraction.
The other three played out the rest of the game, and Han watched them, trying to learn their habits, pick up how they played. But also, he felt his muscles unwind, his body relax. It wouldn’t matter if this game turned into a high-stakes round of chance, this was where Han thrived. The game wasn’t fun if it was just a game. He didn’t want to play among friends; he wanted to treat strangers like enemies, at least for a few hands.
Next round, Han had fantastic cards, enough to likely win. He made a point not to raise the bet, and he eventually tossed those cards, too. By the fourth round, he was ready to play for real.
“Want some?”
Han looked up from his hand to see Lyx holding a flask out to him. It was made of brown clay and marked with an orange sigil he recognized all too well.
“Where did you get that?” Han asked hollowly.
The woman arched her eyebrow, and Han knew she realized she’d struck an actual nerve by presenting the flask. He didn’t care; it wasn’t part of the game. “That’s Huttese,” he said. To the woman’s left was a pitcher marked with the same sigil, the long, narrow neck designed to pour boga noga.
“It’s strong stuff,” she admitted.
Han snorted. “It’s not good for anything more than getting the rust off an exhaust or flushing out an engine system—and only if you didn’t care too much about the engine in question.”
The Lasat laughed. “Can’t be that bad.” He took the flask the woman had offered to Han and tossed the liquid into his throat. A moment later, Mezza wheezed, yellow eyes bulging, both hands slammed on the table as he hunched over.
Kelad laughed nervously, eyes darting. He seemed like the sort of fellow who wasn’t sure when something was a joke or not, but laughed just in case, fearful of missing out more than of appearing foolish.
“Where’d you get that?” Han asked Lyx. Boga noga usually came bottled up, but this flask and pitcher set were just like the kinds Han had seen Jabba use at his palace on Tatooine. These were serving vessels.
The Cerean shrugged. “Found ’em in storage,” she said, not clarifying further. She held the pitcher out, inspecting it. “Huttese, you say? The Hutts owned this ship for a while. Can’t get caught up in gambling laws when you gamble in space, I suppose.”
Ah, that old scam. The crime lords were known to buy cruise ships and turn them into traveling casinos, only letting the betting happen in hyperspace to avoid paying any fees or taxes to a planet. Now that he thought of it, Lando had mentioned this.
Mezza coughed and sputtered, then pounded himself in the chest, one solid, echoing thump. “We don’t need that stuff,” he growled, his voice more gravelly than it had been before. “Let’s just play.”
“Right, right, the purity of the game, the integrity of the cards,” Kelad said too quickly.
“You eager to lose more?” the Lasat said. He laughed, but from someone his size it sounded almost threatening. Kelad squirmed in his seat.
Han had noticed that Kelad was working with a smaller stack of credit chips than the other two. He’d thought perhaps the man had come to the game with less, but it was evident now that he’d been steadily losing.
“I’m not very good,” Kelad confided in Han when he noticed him staring. “I just get distracted!”
Han didn’t think this was a bluff. The man truly was that bad of a sabacc player.
“But look at where we are!” Kelad continued as Lyx shuffled the cards for a new game. “This Engineering Room—on this ship!”
“Don’t start again,” Mezza groaned.
Lyx cut the cards, then started to shuffle. Han caught her eye, and she winked. Mezza was a decent player but had had luck on his side. Lyx was an excellent player but hadn’t been particularly lucky so far that night. By extending the chitchat between hands, she was hoping to break the Lasat’s concentration as well as his lucky streak.
Han could play that game. He turned to Kelad. “What’s so special about this ship?” he asked.
Mezza groaned as Kelad threw his hands in the air. “The Halcyon is legendary!” he said. “To be on this ship…” He sighed blissfully, then leaned over the table toward Han. “And to be in this room. I was hoping to get a sneak peek here. That’s how I found Mezza and Lyx!”
Lyx began dealing the cards, sliding them over the rough worktable.
“I tried to go belowdecks,” Kelad continued. “I really wanted to get closer to the engines, check out the Drabor Configuration firsthand, but I couldn’t get by the staff. Maybe you can—” he started, turning to Lyx.
“No,” she said flatly, not even looking up.
“You just…like engines?” Han asked. He was interested in the way ships ran as much as anyone else, but more for the practical knowledge. Not like a sightseeing tourist.
Kelad shook his head. “Oh, no, not the engines. Not just the engines. I like inventions. First things. I like to see the way people do things differently, you know? Solutions that aren’t common. Change!”
Lyx tapped the table, where Kelad’s cards were still facedown. The man blinked at them, as if surprised they were there, and gathered his hand hastily, fumbling the cards so the whole table saw he had banthas wild—not the best hand, but decently in the middle.
“Nothing,” Mezza growled, tossing his hand on the table. “Not even worth trying.”
Han tapped his credit chips, glancing at Lyx. She glanced at his faked tell and nodded slightly—this was Han’s round.
“I don’t have anything good,” he said. “But I guess…” He tossed a few chips into the game pot. Lyx played along, slowly driving up the pot while Kelad occasionally glanced at his cards, clearly debating the worth of playing it through. But the strong start enticed him enough to keep at it, until Lyx folded and Han called with a fleet, winning easily.
“I’m never lucky!” Kelad cried, but he laughed at himself in a good-natured way. Mezza took over shuffling and dealing. “Same with this war,” Kelad muttered.
“What was that?” Han asked, perhaps too sharply.
“Just unlucky,” Kelad muttered. When he realized that he had, for once, the undivided and focused attention of someone, he blinked owlishly. “I had a contract working with the Empire, you know. Well, the company I worked for did. I was going places!”
“What’d you do?” This was from Mezza, the deck of cards stacked in his palm. Lasats, like Wookiees, were no friends to the Empire, and if Kelad had a lick of sense, he’d tread carefully.
He did not. “Worked on ship tech, mostly,” he babbled, practically beaming with the attention. “Innovative stuff! My division was in gravity manipulation. The new BCL-500 tractor beams? I worked on those! See, someone in the Empire put in a complaint that a rebel ship escaped a tractor beam by messing with the targeting when they redirected toward a planet—the tractor beam couldn’t figure out where to focus, on the ship or the planet. I invented the new targeting system! That was me!”
Under the table, Han’s hands clenched in fists. This wonk was proud of his invention, but Han had been one of those who’d used the gravity of a planet to throw off the targeting of an Imperial tractor beam. And it had saved his life, his and Chewie’s, and that maneuver had saved the Millennium Falcon, too. And this big-eyed ingénue was bragging about giving the Empire better means to kill him and his friends and his ship?
Mezza, too, was visibly upset, and Han wondered just how close to the war the Lasat was. Lyx didn’t seem to care, but she’d proven already that she was good at hiding her emotions.
“ ’Course, never got credit for it,” Kelad muttered. “The Empire doesn’t give credit for inventions, they just take them. I should have gotten an Ashgad Prize for my targeting system, but no, that went to Erso instead.”
Han had been so focused on Kelad’s muttering that he hadn’t noticed someone else coming inside the Engineering Room. “What are you doing in here?” the short Ugnaught sputtered in anger. “You all need to get out of here, pronto-ronto! This is not a place for passengers!”
“Eh, stuff it,” Mezza growled. Han glanced at the Ugnaught’s uniform and noted he was a junior engineer. “We ain’t hurting nothing.”
“Not supposed to be here,” the Ugnaught said, coming closer, his tone rising. His eyes fell on Lyx. “You don’t get to be here, either! Don’t care where you usually work. This is engineering!”
