Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights 01_ Jedi Twilight - Michael Reaves [50]
“You must excuse Mok,” he said in a surprisingly pleasant tone. “He’s quite proud of those boots.”
An MSE-6 droid scurried from one of the corridors onto the bridge and began vacuuming up the remains of Nick’s last meal. The human grinned. “Welcome aboard the Far Ranger,” he said.
A few moments later the Weequay returned, his boots having been restored to their former glory. He glowered at Nick. “Ought to space ’im,” he said, each word grinding laboriously from his larynx.
“Let’s keep our eye on the goal,” his human partner replied. “Remember, there’s a handsome bounty on Major Rostu. After all, he’s a deserter, and he killed a high-ranking representative of the Empire.”
Nick’s heart sank. He’d been downlevel so long, had had his life and freedom threatened from so many different directions, that he’d almost forgotten there was an Imperial death mark on his head. Through the forward canopy he could see the cityscape passing beneath the ship. They were headed for the heart of Imperial City, and the Palace. It was just before dawn in this time zone—later than the dead of night he’d left behind in the Slums. He estimated that he’d been unconscious about two hours.
“We’re almost to our destination,” his captor said. “Oh, excuse my lack of manners—my name is Drach Coven. Not that it’ll matter much to you in the long run. I imagine you’ll be either dead or in prison before the day’s end. They tell me that justice is dispensed pretty swiftly now that that whole tiresome litigation process has been replaced by Imperial fiat.”
Nick wondered briefly who this guy was; though he looked like a lowlife, he spoke like someone from a more genteel class. But it really wasn’t his uppermost worry at the moment. He was much more concerned with how he was going to escape standing in front of a blasting squad in the very near future. Several possible scenarios flickered quickly through his brain—unfortunately, they all started with him not being forcecuffed hand and foot.
The mouse droid finished scouring the deck and scooted off. The Weequay, with a final sneer at Nick, settled back into the pilot’s chair.
Coven said amiably, “Mok can be a bit short-tempered; a failing of the species, I’m given to understand. I know he sounds thuggish, but he’s actually very bright, and a far better pilot than I. Speech is a secondary mode of communication for his kind. Among themselves they discourse by pheromone discharges.”
That explained the odd smell, Nick realized. Probably the olfactory equivalent of muttering under one’s breath for a Weequay. When he didn’t respond to this factoid, the smuggler frowned. “I hope you’re not going to get all sullen just because we’re turning you in for the bounty. Obviously, it’s nothing personal. I have expenses, after all. This ship doesn’t run on pleasant thoughts.”
“I’m guessing it’s running on black-market fuel,” Nick said.
Coven raised an eyebrow. “Amusing—a killer taking the high moral ground about marketeering.”
Nick started to reply, then shrugged. What was the point?
Coven turned back to the console and opened a comm channel. “Docking Bay One-Four-Five-Three-See-Gee, this is Corellian freighter Far Ranger of the Interstellar Trading League, requesting landing clearance …”
The ship settled gently down on her invisible cushion of repulsor energy. Nick caught a glimpse of a small committee waiting; a few stormtroopers, an underling, and an Elomin in expensive robes. Once the ship’s landing gear was firmly on the dock, Mok opened the ramp.
Nick was hoping they would uncuff his legs so that he could walk out of the ship. Instead Mok picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, carrying him like Nick might carry a sack of ripe purnix, so that he could see nothing but the deck and the Weequay’s boot heels.
Coven exchanged greetings with the Elomin, who identified himself as Haninum Tyk Rhinann. Mok dumped Nick on the deck as Rhinann made a gesture