Star Wars: The Hand of Thrawn II: Vision of the Future Page 7

  Karrde smiled. Dressed in a form-fitting dress glittering with subdued blue lights, she did indeed stand out dramatically against the general drabness. “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “As I said earlier, Bombaasa is a cultured sort of crimelord. You can never be too overdressed for that type.”

  He glanced at her. “Though personally, I have to say I prefer the silver and dark red outfit you wore when we first met at the Whistler’s Whirlpool on Trogan.”

  “I remember that outfit,” she said, her voice oddly distant. “It was the first one Mazzic bought me after I became his bodyguard.”

  “Mazzic always did have good taste,” Karrde agreed. “You know, you still haven’t told me why you left his service so suddenly.”

  “You haven’t told me anything about this Jorj Car’das character we’re looking for,” Shada countered.

  “Keep your voice down,” Karrde said sharply, glancing around them. There didn’t seem to be anyone within earshot, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “That’s not a name you want to casually toss around here.”

  Even staring straight ahead, he could feel Shada’s eyes on him. “He’s really got you spooked, hasn’t he?” she said quietly. “You weren’t exactly thrilled about all this when Calrissian talked you into hunting him down; but he’s really got you spooked.”

  “You’ll understand someday,” Karrde told her. “After I’m able to tell you the whole story.”

  She shrugged, her shoulder brushing briefly up against his arm with the motion. “Let’s compromise,” she suggested. “Once we’re off Pembric, you can tell me half the story.”

  “Interesting proposal,” Karrde said. “Agreed; but only if you in turn tell me half the reason why you left Mazzic.”

  “Well …” She hesitated. “Sure.”

  They turned a corner, and Karrde felt his mouth twitch. A long block away, fronting onto an open square, was the entrance to the ThrusterBurn tapcafe. Parked in front of it were perhaps twenty stripped-down speeder bikes. “On the other hand,” he said quietly, “getting off Pembric may not be quite as easy as we hoped.”

  “Looks like a swoop gang’s having a meeting in there,” Shada commented. “There are the sentries—to the left, under the overhang.”

  “I see them,” Karrde said. There were four of them: large, tough-looking young men in reddish-brown jackets sitting astride their swoops. They were pretending to talk together, but it was clear that their full attention was aimed in the newcomers’ direction.

  “It’s not too late to scrub this,” Shada murmured. “We can go back to the ship, get out of here, and take our chances with whatever Bombaasa decides to throw at us.”

  Karrde shook his head minutely. “We’ve been objects of official curiosity ever since we landed. If we try to leave now, Bombaasa’s people will intercept us.”

  “In that case, our best bet is to walk right up to the place like we own it,” Shada said briskly. “Keep your hand near your blaster—that’ll keep their attention on you. Not close enough that they try to draw first, though. If it comes to a fight, let me throw the first punch; and if it looks like I’m losing badly and you get an opening, make a run for it.”

  “Understood,” Karrde said, finding himself amused despite the seriousness of the situation. Shada had mostly kept to herself aboard the Wild Karrde, not joining into the normal shipboard camaraderie or showing any real interest in getting to know the crew. But yet here she was, slipping back into the role of bodyguard, preparing to defend Karrde’s life even at the cost of her own.

  What struck him the most was the sense that, down deep, she genuinely meant it.

  The four sentries let them get to within a few meters of the rows of parked swoops before saying anything. “Tapcafe’s closed,” one of them called.

  “That’s all right,” Karrde said, not breaking stride as he glanced incuriously over at them. “We’re not thirsty.”

  The swoopers had looked like they were lounging casually on their vehicles. They weren’t. Before Karrde and Shada had taken two more steps they’d zoomed across the square and skidded to a halt between the newcomers and the parked swoops. “I said the place is closed,” the one who’d spoken repeated darkly, the long maneuvering vanes of his swoop pointed with unsubtle threat directly at Karrde’s chest. “Go away.”

  Karrde shook his head. “Sorry. We have business with Crev Bombaasa that can’t wait.”

  One of the others snorted. “Listen to him,” he said derisively. “He thinks he can just walk in on Bombaasa anytime he wants. Pretty funny, huh, Langre?”

  “Hilarious,” the spokesman agreed, his face not showing any evidence of humor. “Last chance, murk. Leave in one piece or in a bunch of ’em.”

  “Lord Bombaasa is going to be very displeased if you don’t let us in,” Karrde warned.

  “Yeah?” Langre sneered, nudging his swoop forward. “Like I’m really scared.”

  “You should be,” Karrde said, taking a step backward as the maneuvering vanes poked perilously close to his chest. Shada, he noted peripherally, hadn’t moved backward with him but was still standing where he’d left her, shrinking wide-eyed back from the swoop snorting and vibrating its way alongside her as if terrified by its presence. “Lord Bombaasa doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “Then I guess we ought to hurry up and put you in a box for him,” Langre said, sneering a little harder. He nudged the swoop forward another meter, forcing Karrde to take another rapid step backward. Not quite rapid enough; the tips of the maneuvering vanes jabbed sharply against his chest before he could get out of the way.

  One of the other swoopers chortled. Grinning maliciously, Langre gave the swoop another burst of the throttle, clearly intent on knocking Karrde down this time. The movement brought him directly alongside Shada—

  And in that instant, she struck.

  It was doubtful Langre even saw it coming. One moment Shada was standing there, transfixed like a frightened animal in a hunter’s sights; the next moment she had swung her left leg back, rotated her upper body toward the swoop, and slammed her right fist into the side of his neck.

  There may have been a distinctive “pop” accompanying the flat crack of the blow; Karrde wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, as Langre did a sideways cartwheel off his swoop onto the ground, was that this one was definitely out of the fight.

  The other three had excellent reflexes. Before Langre even hit the sand they had twisted their handlebars around and roared off in different directions across the square, forestalling any attempt Shada might have made to similarly take them down. Cutting close to the surrounding buildings, they curved around and stopped short, turning their swoops around to point toward Shada.

  “Get out of the way!” Shada snapped to Karrde, moving to the center of the square and dropping into a low combat stance. Turning her head back and forth, she looked at each of the swoopers in turn as if daring them to take her on.

  For a few seconds they seemed to ignore her challenge as they discussed the situation in a hand-signal code Karrde didn’t recognize. Taking advantage of the lull, he backed up until he reached the edge of the square. So far the swoopers hadn’t shown any inclination to draw the weapons they were undoubtedly carrying, but that could change at any time. Watching them closely, he dropped his hand to his blaster—

  “I don’t think so,” a gruff voice said in his ear.

  Carefully, Karrde turned his head, the caution dictated by the hard muzzle suddenly pressed against the small of his back. Three hard-faced men in Security Legion uniforms were standing there, the last of them in the process of closing the concealed doorway that had opened up in the building behind him. “You’re just in time, Legionnaire,” Karrde said to the leader. This was probably futile, but he had to try. “My friend’s in danger out there.”

  “Yeah?” the other said, pulling Karrde’s blaster from its holster. “Looked to me like she was the one who started it. Anyway, trying to bluster your way in to
see Bombaasa is a crime all by itself around here.”

  “Even if Bombaasa decides he’s glad we dropped in to visit?” Karrde countered. “You’d be in serious trouble.”

  “Nah,” the Legionnaire said, sticking the appropriated blaster into his belt and coming around to Karrde’s side. “That’s why we got these,” he added, hefting his weapon as he stepped a prudent meter away from his prisoner. It was, Karrde saw now, not a blaster but an old Merr-Sonn tangle gun. “If Bombaasa decides he wants to see you, hey, we just cut you loose. If he doesn’t”—he grinned evilly—“then you’re already wrapped for burial. Real convenient.”

  He gestured with the tangle gun. “Now shut up. I want to watch this.”

  Throat tight with frustration, Karrde turned back to the square. The Wild Karrde’s crew wouldn’t be able to get here fast enough to help, even if he could get to his comlink to alert them. He could only hope that Shada was as good as she claimed.

  And at that moment, their private consultation finished, the swoopers attacked.

  They didn’t all charge at once, as Karrde had rather expected them to. Suspecting perhaps that Shada would try to maneuver them into head-on collisions if they did that, two of them instead began tracing out a loose encircling ring around her while the third drove hard and straight directly in.

  Shada stood her ground, but just before the maneuvering vanes reached her chest she dropped back flat onto her back. The thug whooped with glee as his swoop shot past over her, a triumphal shout that turned into a squawk of surprise as Shada tucked her legs to her chest and kicked hard straight up, catching the swoop just forward of the directional thrust nozzles and bucking the swooper right out of the saddle.

  It only took a second for him to get himself reseated and regain control. But in the enclosed area of the square that was a half second too long, and with a horrendous crash both swoop and thug slammed full-bore into one of the buildings.

  The Legionnaire beside Karrde whistled softly. “That’s two,” he commented. “She’s good.”

  Karrde didn’t reply. Shada was back on her feet now, and the two remaining swoops had pulled their circle a little farther back as if afraid to let her get too close. If they decided that she wasn’t worth the risk of another wreck and pulled their blasters …

  And then he noticed one of the swoopers glaring at the trio of Legionnaires; and with that single look he realized that the use of blasters was now completely out of the question. With this many witnesses watching, pride alone dictated that they deal with her without weapons.

  The two swoops were still circling. “Come on, Barksy,” the head Legionnaire called. “Not afraid, are you?”

  “Scrub it, murk,” one of the swoopers snapped back.

  “That’s Lieutenant Murk to you, scum,” the Legionnaire murmured under his breath.

  Abruptly, Barksy swung his swoop out of the circle and charged inward. The same basic technique his predecessor had tried, and Karrde found himself holding his breath as Shada again fell back onto the sand ahead of its advance. Surely the swooper couldn’t be so stupid as to try the same trick again.

  He wasn’t. Even as Shada hit the ground he pulled back hard on his handlebar controls, the swoop’s nose rearing up as the vehicle slid a couple of meters farther before pulling to a hard stop. With a triumphal shout, he swiveled a hundred eighty degrees and brought the swoop’s nose down hard on the spot where Shada had landed.

  But Shada was no longer there. Instead of simply hitting the sand and staying there as she had the last time, she had instead thrown her body into a convulsive, wavelike movement as she hit the ground, her arching back and legs bouncing her off the sand and up into an impossible-looking hand-and-foot grip on the underside of the swoop. Somehow she managed to hold on through the spin and nose-slam; and as the swooper leaned over, openmouthed, for a closer look at the empty ground where his victim should have been, she unhooked one of her feet from its perch and landed a solid kick against the side of his head.

  Beside Karrde, the lieutenant clucked his tongue. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered, clearly as stunned as Barksy had been before Shada’s kick cleaned all confusion from his mind. “Who is this bahshi, anyway?”

  “One of the best in the business,” Karrde assured him, pitching his voice in the sort of low, confidential tone that just naturally seemed to go along with the half step he took toward the man. Another step the same size, he estimated, and he would be close enough. “Actually, that was nothing,” he added, lowering his voice still more and simultaneously taking that extra half step. “Wait till you see what she does to this one.”

  He threw a careful glance to his side. The lieutenant was hooked, all right, staring in glassy-eyed fascination at the drama in the square, waiting to see what magic the mysterious woman would pull next from her sleeve.

  The last swooper seemed to make up his mind. Pulling out of his circle at the far end of the square, he leaned low over his handlebar controllers and charged. Shada feinted left and then dodged right, the end of the jutting thrust nozzles missing her hip by bare centimeters. The swooper spun the vehicle hard around, clearly hoping to catch her from the side with the long nose of the swoop. But he had misjudged his speed, and the swinging maneuvering vanes scythed past her with plenty of room to spare. It took him a few more meters to kill his spin and momentum, bringing himself to a halt no more than three meters from Karrde and the Legionnaires. He swiveled around again to face Shada, shoulders hunched with anticipation—

  And with a smoothly casual movement, Karrde plucked the tangle gun from the Legionnaire’s hand and fired.

  The swooper screeched an air-blistering curse as the semi-plastic webbing slammed into his back, whipping around him and pinioning his arms solidly to his sides. “As you were, gentlemen,” Karrde said mildly, taking a long step away from the Legionnaires and shifting his aim to cover them.

  “Cute,” the lieutenant said. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem particularly upset. “Real cute.”

  “I thought you’d like it,” Karrde said, nodding to the other two Legionnaires. “Your weapons on the ground, please.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” a suave voice said from somewhere above him.

  Karrde risked a quick glance, but he could see no one. “No, I’m not there,” the voice assured him, a touch of amusement in his tone. “I’ve been watching your performance from inside my casino, and I must admit to being impressed by your work. Tell me, what is it you want here?”

  “To see you, of course, Lord Bombaasa,” Karrde said to the hidden speaker. “I had hoped to collect on an old debt.”

  The lieutenant made an uncomfortable-sounding noise in his throat. But Bombaasa merely laughed. “I’m aware of no debt I owe you, my friend. But by all means let us talk about it. Lieutenant Maxiti?”

  “Sir?” the lieutenant said, straightening automatically to attention.

  “Give the gentleman back his blaster and escort him and the lady to the casino. And have your men clean the garbage out of the square.”

  The interior of the ThrusterBurn was a sharp contrast to the climate outside—a sharp contrast, for that matter, with nearly every low-rent cantina and tapcafe Shada had ever been in. The air was cool and comfortably dry, and while the booths lining the walls were dark enough to ensure privacy, the rest of the tapcafe was bright and almost cheerful.

  Not that the current clientele was the sort that would appreciate such homey touches. There were about twenty of them, stamped-templet copies of the four she’d disposed of outside, all glaring balefully at the newcomers from their group of tables in one of the corners by the curved bar. Briefly, Shada wondered if Bombaasa had told them their sentries were being unceremoniously carted out of the square outside, but quickly dismissed the thought. A man who owned this kind of tapcafe would be unlikely to risk it by deliberately inviting a fight inside.

  Nevertheless, she kept an eye on the swoopers as Lieutenant Maxiti led them across the main area to an unob
trusive door at the back of the dance floor.

  The door opened as they approached, giving them a glimpse of a small back room, and a large, dark-eyed human stepped out. He threw a measuring glance at Karrde, an even longer look at Shada, and then nodded to the Legionnaire. “Thanks,” he said to the latter, dismissing him with that single word, then looked back at Karrde. “Come on in,” he invited, stepping aside to let them pass.

  The back room had been fitted out as a compact casino, with four tables around which a dozen or so beings of various species were busily engaged in a variety of card and dice games. With their minds and hopes pinned to their money, it was doubtful any of them even realized anyone new had come in.

  All except one. A short, pudgy human with thin, sticklike arms, he sat alone at the largest table, his slightly bulging eyes focused unblinkingly on Karrde and Shada as they stepped into the room. Two large men with the same bodyguard look as the one now closing the door behind them stood at attention beside the pudgy man’s chair, also eyeing the newcomers.

  Shada grimaced, not liking this at all. But Karrde didn’t hesitate. “Good day, Lord Bombaasa,” he said, stepping right up to the edge of the table. “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.”

  The two bodyguards seemed to tense, but Bombaasa merely smiled thinly. “Like the legendary Rastus Khal, I am always available to those who intrigue me,” he said smoothly. “And you do indeed intrigue me.”

  His insectlike eyes shifted to Shada. “Though for a moment there I thought you had run out of tricks,” he added. “If your companion hadn’t snatched the lieutenant’s tangle gun, you would have been in trouble.”

  “Hardly,” Shada told him coolly. “I caught a reflection of him moving toward the Legionnaires and guessed he was about to try something. If it didn’t work, he was going to need my help right away, and the swooper would keep.”

  Bombaasa shook his head admiringly. “An amazing display, my dear, truly amazing. Though I’m afraid that in the process you’ve ruined your gown. Perhaps I can arrange to have it cleaned before your departure.”