Star Wars: Shadow Games (23 page)

Dash waited a beat, then hurried after her. She ducked into the shadows of the nearest building, moving from one pool of soft light to another as she navigated the façade. Dash strove to stay a constant distance behind her and was taken aback when, suddenly, the golden billow of fabric entered a shadow between two buildings and stopped.

He had taken four or five long steps before he realized this and pulled up short, his heart hammering in his chest, his eyes on the golden robe. Five seconds passed without movement. Puzzled, he crept forward, keeping to the shadows cast by the ornate shrubs in a planter to his left. The patch of gold still did not move. In fact, it was
too
still.

He emerged from the shadows and slipped up behind the figure, putting out his hand. It met empty fabric. The robe was hanging on the branch of a tall conifer that marked the boundary between two buildings. Even as he clutched at it, it dropped from the tree branch to the glittering permacrete beneath his feet.

He swept the robe up and glanced feverishly around. Where had she gone?

Deep breath, Rendar. Focus
.

The plaza was empty. She might be hiding behind one of the cut stone planters, but he doubted it. She wouldn’t have used the robe to buy time for hiding. She was clearly headed somewhere with intent. He moved forward again, along the front of the building to his right. The elaborately carved heads of fantastic animals jutted at intervals from the wall, each with a lamp in its maw. The light was dim but warm—golden. Between the animals were strange symbols and occasionally a niche that housed a figurine … or rather, an icon.

It was a Wayfarer’s Temple complex, he realized. A series of shrines and chapels from a variety of worlds and religious and philosophical traditions set up so that
travelers of a meditative or pious bent could offer devotions at the shrine of their choice. Why had Javul come here? They’d never discussed religious beliefs, so he had no idea if she might have gone to a particular shrine. He wasn’t even entirely sure what planet she called home, so if she worshiped planetary deities, he was out of luck.

He reached the door of the building. It was made of wood and heavily carved. Though it was closed, light peeped from beneath it. Dash turned the quaint door handle and leaned against the door. It glided open on well-lubed hinges—no squeaks to upset the meditations of the faithful. The place was empty, but a huge piece of statuary dominated the front of the long room. Dash blinked. The deity—if that’s what the hideous thing was—looked like what might happen if you took Eaden Vrill, enlarged him, and gave him a beard of prehensile tresses in addition to the ones on his head.

Dash looked away from the figure and listened. The room was silent. He withdrew and moved on, past one of the austere shrines devoted to The Silent—an enigmatic order that operated under a perpetual vow of silence and somehow radiated meditative waves of healing as well. She could only have entered there if she’d taken vows of silence. He didn’t bother to peek inside the shuttered entrance. His imagination balked at the thought of Javul Charn taking a vow of silence.

Three empty sanctuaries later, he reached the rear of the plaza and turned left to move along the row of chapels there. The first one to his right was a study in simplicity and clean lines. Not austere, but balanced, with curvilinear ornamentation. It was small, too, almost lost amid the larger, more opulent shrines. The scent of incense wafted from it. It struck Dash’s senses like an all-encompassing memory: wood fires, rainy nights, spices, the warmth of a sun, the comfort of a soft word, sleep, waking in the arms of …

He shook himself and moved to the door of the little chapel. The entry was covered only by strands of silver beads that seemed to glow softly in the light from the plaza and from within the chapel. At the far end of the dimly lit room was a simple dais above which a holographic representation of the galaxy turned slowly. Behind and above that on the rear wall was a large oval that seemed to mirror the shape of the galaxy. It contained a geometric pattern of black and white.

Dash recognized the symbol. It was the sigil of the Equilibrates—believers in Cosmic Balance, a religion-
cum
-philosophy whose main tenet was that for every action in one place an equal and opposite reaction occurred somewhere else. So one person’s fortune was another’s misfortune and vice versa.

Somehow he had trouble imagining Javul Charn as a devotee. By that theology, what must her massive success have done to some poor shmuck half a galaxy away? He knew Javul well enough by now to suspect that question would nag at her. But maybe the universe was kinder than that; maybe it parceled the bad luck out among millions in some sort of intergalactic insurance policy.

Peering through the silvery rain of beads, Dash could see that the chapel was occupied. Someone dressed entirely in black knelt at the dais. Dash hesitated. He couldn’t tell if that was Javul. She’d been wearing black boots beneath the golden robe, he’d noticed, but other than that he had no clue about her current mode of dress. He started to enter the chapel and stopped as a second figure appeared from the shadows just to the left of the dais.

This person was dressed from head to toe in a hooded robe that seemed to soak up any light that touched it. An Equilibrate monk or priest, Dash guessed. It moved to stand before the kneeling devotee and bent its head toward her, murmuring something Dash couldn’t make
out. Nor could he hear the answer given by the kneeling figure, but the voice was female.

He pushed through the silver strands and slid into the shadows of a pillar inside the doorway just as the penitent figure rose, revealing a cascade of gleaming black hair and a very female form.

Dash swallowed. Javul.

And who else?

“What do you seek, my daughter?” The voice was androgynous—rich, deep, and somehow reminiscent of the incense that continued to eddy in the semi-darkness of the chapel.

“I seek the balance,” Javul answered. “The balance of heart and body. The balance of core and flesh. The balance of line and curve. I seek the passage of the night on its way to dawn.”

“This is a hidden way, revealed to few.” The priest—if that’s what this was—made a gesture with both hands. They were gray-green, long-fingered, elegant.

Dash’s heart stuttered. A Falleen. He drew his blaster.

Javul faced the taller figure and made some gesture in return that Dash couldn’t see. The Falleen bowed its head, then reached into the folds of its robe.

Heart thudding, Dash trained his weapon on the Falleen priest, his finger on the trigger—

The elegant hand came free of the robe.

There was no weapon in it. Only something small enough to fit in the palm—a data wafer, maybe.

Dash sagged with relief against the pillar. He couldn’t see what happened to the small object, but he suspected the Falleen had passed it to Javul.

The Falleen raised its head and hesitated before it lifted a hand and pressed its thumb to Javul’s forehead. “I pray you have left nothing behind,” the priest said, then turned, retreating to the shadows once more.

Dash was so intent on watching the Falleen that he
didn’t realize Javul had moved until she was halfway up the aisle. He pulled farther back behind his shielding pillar.

She swept past the pillar, but stopped just inside the cascade of silver beads. “You gonna walk me back to the ship or what?” She didn’t even turn her head. She just glanced in his direction, then stepped out into the half-light of the plaza.

He slipped out after her, caught up with her in three strides, and tossed the golden robe over her shoulder.

“Thanks.” She slipped the robe on and strode out into the plaza.

He bit his tongue. There were too many things he wanted to say. To ask. But he knew if he opened his mouth right now, nothing coherent would come out—and it would come out in anger. He was furious with her. Terrified for her. And curious beyond his ability to express it.

They walked in silence back down the length of the plaza. As they crossed the avenue to the spaceport terminal, Javul said, “Are you going to ask?”

He found words. “Hitch is right about you. You do have a death wish.”

“No. I don’t. Trust me.” She stopped to face him. “That was my priest.”

Dash blinked in surprise. “You’re an Equilibrate?”

“I believe in Cosmic Balance, yes.”

“Huh,” Dash said, and shook his head. “I never would’ve thought it.”

“Why not?”

“Your success. I mean, you gotta figure that with all you have, there are a whole lot of have-nots out there that you’re responsible for, right?”

“I’m not responsible for them, Dash, any more than you’re responsible for … ugly men.”

“What?” He glanced sideways at her, saw the curl of her mouth. “Was that a compliment?”

“Yes, it was.”

He let himself be flattered for a second or two, then said, “Don’t try to distract me, Javul. Why did you go there? We were getting ready to dust this dirtball. Your life is very likely in serious danger here and you know it. What kind of vacuum-brained stunt was that to pull?”

“I needed some balance, Dash. Is that so hard to understand? I needed … guidance. A benediction. A path.”

“And is that what the priest gave you on that data wafer?”

“I lost my copy of the
Fulcrum
. The priest had one for me.”

The
Fulcrum
was the holy text of the Cosmic Balance. A perfectly reasonable, smooth answer—and yet …

Something was still off center.

They crossed the concourse and entered the lift that would speed them to Level 22 of the huge terminal.

Dash counted to ten, then asked, “What’s really on the wafer, Javul?”

She had no chance to answer. The lift doors slid open. Outside, in the corridor leading to the
Millennium Falcon
’s berth, was a tall Anomid dressed in some sort of formfitting metalloid body armor. The lower half of his face was concealed by the typical vocalizer mask his species—which had no vocal cords—wore to enable communication with other species. But it was what he carried in one six-fingered hand that caught Dash’s immediate attention: a Kerestian darkstick—its long, sharp-tipped blade curved like the talon of some mythical beast. Nor was that the end of his weaponry. A repulsor razor-thrower and a Wookiee ryyk blade dangled from his belt, and a force pike and a Morgukai cortosis staff were crossed on his back, their handgrips extending up behind his head.

Dash took in all this in a heartbeat, which was all the time he had to shove Javul back into the lift and yell,
“
Emergency close
!” as he dived in behind her. As the door slid shut, he saw the glint in the Anomid’s orange eyes, saw the arc of the Kerestian weapon as the assassin whipped it toward them, heard it strike the door.

The tip punched through the five-centimeter-thick durasteel as if it were paper, driving a good part of its length into the lift, level with Dash’s eyes.

“L
EVEL
O
NE!
”

The lift plunged, severing the darkstick’s thick hilt. The blade dropped to the floor at Dash’s feet, reddish, viscous liquid oozing from the tip.

“Wh-who was that?” Javul was huddled in a corner of the lift.

Dash reached down to haul her to her feet, avoiding the dripping tip of the darkstick. “I have no idea. I thought maybe you did.”

“Me? How would I know?” She was terrified—finally, when it might be too late. Her breath was coming in sharp gasps, and all the blood had leached from her face. She was shaking.

Dash pulled her to his side, trying to think fast and well. If they went all the way to the first floor, made their way toward the
Falcon
’s berth, chose a way up at random …

He pulled out his comlink and hailed Eaden.

“Eaden?”

“Do you have Javul?”

“Yeah, but something almost got
us
just now. We’re in a turbolift heading down to Level One. There’s an assassin after us, Ead. An Anomid. Armed to the teeth—if Anomids even have teeth. We’re in trouble here. We need backup. We’ll get to Level One before he does, but—”

Han’s voice broke in. “No, not Level One. Go all the way down to the sublevel and head this way. Don’t come
up to the docking level, ’cause for sure that’s where he’ll be, right? We’ll have to find this guy and take him out.”

“Right. Yeah. Sublevel.” He punched the lift button. Made sense. They’d have to get to the
Falcon
’s docking bay eventually, so the assassin need do no more than go wait there for them, unless … “Han, listen—are there any empty docking bays below or above you?”

“What? Uh, yeah. There’s an empty bay about three levels down. A Bothan freighter just pulled out.”

“What’s that—Level Nineteen?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Take the
Falcon
down there and soft-dock. Send someone out to cover us. We’ll be coming in hot.”

“That’s highly irregular, you know. You’re gonna get me in deep banthaflop with the port authority.”

“
Han
—”

“Kidding! I’m on it.”

At the sublevel landing, Dash held the lift door, then turned to Javul. “You have a weapon on you?”

“Yes.”

Probably some feckless little hold-out blaster. “Get it out.”

He was boggled when she reached beneath her robe and drew a BlasTech Deathhammer 17 from her sash. “Where did you get that?”

“Mel got it for me, if it matters.”

He drew his own primary weapon—a much smaller BlasTech DL-22—which seemed suddenly inadequate.
Helluva time for blaster envy
, he thought. Aloud, he said, “We’re going to switch lifts, just in case. All right? Here we go. Ready?”

She nodded.

Dash keyed the door open, and they slipped out into the half-light of the empty corridor. Well, almost empty—a small maintenance droid polished the floor in front of one of the other turbolift cars.

Windfall.

Dash picked up the small droid, shoved it into the nearest turbolift, and punched Level 22. Then he hustled Javul into a car across the corridor and keyed it to go to Level 19.