Star Wars: Shadow Games (7 page)

“Whoa. That’s different. One of Charn’s upgrades?”

Marrak shook his head. “It came with the ship. It’s a Falleen design.”

Dash’s insides squirmed.
Falleen
. That explained the faint sense of menace about the thing. Dash had no love for the Falleen—least of all for a particular Falleen, Prince Xizor, with whom his limited contact had been both deadly and disastrous. In Dash’s estimation all Falleen were duplicitous and cagey.

He felt suddenly as if Dantari fire ants were crawling across the nape of his neck. He shook the feeling away and studied the Falleen shuttle warily. “Came with the ship, huh? Well, it’s definitely not stock—”

“Of course not. It was something the previous owner added, apparently. Maybe he liked to take day trips.”

Day trips into danger, maybe
. Dash shook himself—damn thing was just a shuttle craft. “I’d like to see the bridge.”

“So would I,” said Eaden.

The bridge was spectacular. It was a large, open, teardrop-shaped chamber with formfitting seats for the captain and mate, and seats of only slightly less impressive design at three other consoles along the sloping bulkheads. Between the flight console and the viewport was a holographic tactical display that made Dash’s mouth water. Lando didn’t even have one of those on the
Lady Luck
.

Of course
, Dash reminded himself,
Javul probably makes in a day what Lando
—
or I
—
make in a year. If it’s a good year
.

“
That’s
not stock equipment.”

The captain smiled. “No, it’s not. And let me tell you it is worth the cost in an asteroid field or maneuvering in close quarters.”

“Indeed,” murmured Eaden, moving toward the flight console as if drawn by a magnet.

“I see communications and security consoles,” Dash said, waving at the stations along the port side of the bridge, “but what’s that over there?” He gestured to a station just starboard of the copilot’s seat.

“Weapons control,” said Marrak. “Another artifact of days gone by. The previous owner had laser cannons mounted on the fuselage.” He pointed up, then down. “They’re still there, but we’ve never had occasion to use them. It’s not polite to shoot at your fans, even when they’re really annoying.”

“Yeah.” Dash’s eyes were drawn back to the captain’s chair. “Um … can I?” He tilted his head toward the flight console.

Marrak’s smile deepened. “Be my guest.”

When they at last finished their tour, Dash was weary and his head felt as if the ship’s specs were leaking from his ears. It would all sort itself out during a good night’s sleep, though; that he knew from experience. By the time he woke tomorrow to his first full day of work as Javul Charn’s “security consultant,” he would have the various decks, rooms, and passageways of the
Nova’s Heart
categorized, cataloged, and classified. His mind worked best, Dash liked to say, when he wasn’t using it.

He was forced to use it, though, during dinner, at which he and Eaden were introduced to the ship’s complement as the “new security officers.” This was greeted with some interest by the crew, who exchanged knowing looks with one another. The officers present in the mess included the Twi’lek engineer Arruna Var, Marrak’s human first officer, Bran Finnick, and cargo master Yanus Melikan, who was also human, and from Corellia.

Melikan was of great interest to Dash because he, of everyone aboard the
Heart
, had the most intimate
knowledge of the ship’s lower decks—which would be the most attractive point of entry for someone who wanted to get a bit too close to the lovely Javul Charn. He’d make a point of chatting with the cargo master as soon as possible.

It was not to happen immediately, however. The moment the meal was concluded, the officers scrambled to their posts to prep the ship for departure. Dash’s effort to tag along with Melikan was thwarted by Javul Charn’s insistence that he brief her immediately on his first impressions of the ship’s security issues.

“What do you think?” she asked him when she, Eaden, and Dara had repaired to her quarters.

“I think,” he said, “that it would have been a good idea for me to follow your cargo master through his hyperspace flight prep. From what Captain Marrak tells me, the cargo hold may be the weak point in your defenses.”

Her brow furrowed. “What did he tell you, exactly?”

Dash glanced at Spike before directing his attention back to Javul. “Well, I may be speaking out of turn, but he mentioned an incident with a fan who hitched a ride in a cargo container.”

He’d expected her to be shocked and horrified—or even incredulous. She was none of those things, though she did blush to the roots of her pale hair. The effect was strangely charming. She almost looked like a Zeltron.

“Yes,” she murmured. “That was … awful.”

“It points to some access points that might need to be bolted down.”

Spike spoke before her boss could. “I’m sure they have been.”

“Can I ask what happened to the fan?”

“It’s hardly—” began the road manager.

“He died in a medcenter on Coruscant,” said Javul. She looked honestly grieved. “Mel was devastated. He took all the blame on himself. He wanted to quit. Said
he’d fallen asleep at the controls.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t let him do that. He’s a good man. The best.”

“I assume you won’t mind if I ask him some questions about his protocols and procedures.” Dash felt more than saw Eaden’s burgundy orbs slide into a sidewise look.

Javul shook her head, still looking so forlorn that Dash had a strong impulse to put his arm around her. One look at Spike, however, was enough to nip that impulse in the bud. If only it would deter the stalker.

“Protocols and procedures?” asked Eaden when they’d returned to their own quarters. “When have you ever been on speaking terms with protocols and procedures?”

It was late evening by the ship’s chrono and Dash was fuming a bit at having to put his investigation of the hold off until the new day. He shrugged and looked around for Leebo, but the droid was nowhere to be seen. Probably off whispering sweet nothings to the
Heart
’s ion engines. “I was just trying to sound … security-officer-ish.”

“You were trying to impress a female.”

“What’d I just say?”

“What
are
our protocols and procedures going to be, Officer Rendar?”

“I intend to do this job right. Okay, so we may be just glorified nursemaids for a pretty prima donna, but I intend to give this little prima donna the best care I can.”

“And how do you wish me to employ my highly talented cortex during our voyage?”

Dash rocked forward in the chair, ignoring the panorama of stars beyond the viewport. “I’d like you to attach yourself to the engineer, Arruna—you might mention what a pretty name that is, by the way—and find out as much about the ship’s systems as you can. Specifically, keep your magnificent maroons peeled for systems that might be most easily sabotaged. If someone
is really serious about getting to our new boss lady, becalming her ship might be a component in the plan.”

“You think this threat she received is linked to the incident with the black lilies.”

“I think it would be stupid to assume it wasn’t.”

Eaden stood and moved toward his room. He paused in the doorway. “I don’t know if it’s important, but there’s an exchange of energy happening between Kendara Farlion and the captain.”

“Exchange of energy? Could you be more specific?”

A couple of tresses bobbed and quivered slightly. “Let us just say they seem very aware of each other.”

“Oh, that’s helpful. I’m very aware of Spike, too.”

“Not, I think, in the same way the captain is,” said Eaden as he disappeared into his sleep chamber.

L
EEBO DID NOT RETURN UNTIL THE FOLLOWING MORNING
. In fact, Dash and Eaden woke to his off-key whistling.

“You’re a
droid
,” complained Dash as he threw himself into one of the formchairs in the suite’s parlor. “How can you possibly be off key?”

“I am merely paying homage to the sentient who programmed me. He couldn’t carry a tune in an antigrav pod.”

“
He
was naturally tone-deaf. You are not naturally anything. You can be perfectly in tune if you want to be.”

The droid approximated a shrug, lifting one shoulder with a whine of servos. “Think of it as an artistic choice.”

Dash opened his mouth to retort when Eaden, who had appeared silently in the door of his sleep chamber, said, “Dash, once again I’ll remind you that you are arguing with a mechanism. Leebo, where were you all night?”

Dash closed his mouth, his teeth meeting with an audible
click
. If Eaden noticed the sign of human irritation, he gave no sign of it, but merely waited for Leebo’s answer.

“I was in medbay,” the droid replied.

Dash and Eaden exchanged glances. “I’m afraid to ask,” said Dash, “but—why?”

“As it happens, I got on quite well with the ship’s medic. She’s fascinating. Knows more about the officers and crew of this ship than anyone alive.”

“She?” repeated Dash. “The ship’s medic is a sentient?
That’s kinda weird, isn’t it? Most ships this size would staff a medical droid.”

“She
is
a medical droid. A GA-7, as it happens, but with programming that’s definitely gender-biased. I said she knew more about the ship’s complement than any one
alive.
”

“Okay, okay, so it’s—”

“She.”

Dash rolled his eyes. “
She’s
a source of intel. Good to know. On to the big-credit question—do you have the schematics?”

“The med droid’s schematics? I should say not. I only just met her, after all.”

Dash ground his teeth. “I meant the
ship’s
schematics, you circuit-challenged drone! You know, what you were
sent
to get?”

“Oh,
those.
” The droid made a dismissive gesture. “Of course I got them. You want to go over them now, I suppose.”

“No time like the present.”

“True. Unless it’s the past or the future.”

The schematics were not as impressive as the ship herself. They were the SoroSuub factory specs and reflected none of the post-factory modifications. Nor did they note where modifications had been made.

Dash and Eaden consulted with the engineer over a hot beverage in the officers’ mess. Going over a holo-readout of the schematics Leebo projected over the center of their shared table, she indicated several points at which the
Heart
did not match her stats, helpfully amending the record.

“Isn’t it unusual that no one’s done this before?” Dash asked.

The Twi’lek’s blue lips parted in a smile, revealing teeth that were startlingly white in comparison. “Not unusual
for someone who procrastinates whenever there’s vapor work to do.”

“Vapor work?” repeated Eaden as he used a laser pen to graft the updated data about the ablative shielding. The schematics, hanging in the air before the Nautolan’s face, shifted to accommodate the new information.

“I love engineering. I hate engineering specs. Well, let me amend that: I could easily get lost in someone else’s specifications—great late-night reading—but I hate having to write and edit the annoying things. They just get stuffed into some tin can’s rattling brain case—no offense to present company—and forgotten. However, I
love
watching someone else edit them for me.” She turned her smile on Eaden, who pretended not to notice, though at least three of his tendrils twitched.

“You said the hull is fortified with an over-coat of bandorium,” he remarked blandly. “That’s quite an upgrade.”

“Normal ablative shielding and jammers are fine for the average hotshot yacht owner,” she said, watching Eaden annotate the files in Leebo’s memory. “But Javul isn’t your average hotshot yacht owner.” She shrugged her lekku dismissively. “Besides, I’d bet everyone who buys one of these babies modifies it in some way. I hear they’ve become pretty popular with smugglers.” She gave Dash an oblique look from the sides of her startlingly azure eyes.

“I wouldn’t know,” he said easily. “Who’d this one belong to before Javul Charn bought it?”

Again, the shrug of lekku. Dash thought a couple of Eaden’s tresses curled in response.

“I’m not sure. I’ve heard rumors, of course.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not comfortable peddling rumors. You’ll have to ask Dara or Javul.”

Dash agreed without rancor. Interviewing the charming holostar was no hardship, after all. He spent a moment
more studying the changes Arruna had noted on the schematics, then left her with Eaden and headed for the hold.

He found Yanus Melikan in his office on the main cargo deck going over the manifest. Double-checking, no doubt. The cargo master greeted him with a smile, told Dash to call him Mel, and took him on a tour of the hold.

It was tidy. Obsessively so. Every row of containers was arranged according to size and shape; every aisle was even and straight with no odd pallets or boxes sticking out. Everything was clamped down. Tight.

Which made Dash wonder …

“How could anybody stow away in here?” he asked as they meandered down one of Mel’s scrupulously neat aisles. “I mean, saying you run a tight ship is an understatement.”

The cargo master shook his head. “Near as I can figure, the guy got into the container while it was at the venue. Maybe took advantage of a momentary lull in loading or someone being called away to another task. It would only take someone looking away for a moment to allow time for the guy to slip in and hunker down. Then the container gets buttoned up and it’s all over … except for the dying.” The expression on Mel’s long, angular face was grim. “Starvation … asphyxiation … Hard way to go, if you ask me.”

“There an easy way?”

Mel chuckled ruefully and shook his head. “Maybe—maybe not. But you’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

Dash stopped and swung to face the other man, pretty sure he wasn’t going to like the sudden turn the conversation had taken. “What d’you mean?”

“I read about what happened to your brother in the newsies. Hardly seemed fair, what Palpatine did to you and your family afterward. There was talk at the
time … people saying Stanton got off easy, dying in the wreck. I don’t imagine you feel that way about it.”