Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 04_ Backlash - Aaron Allston [73]
Ben led a search party back to the body he’d tripped over. In the light of Dyon’s glow rod and the torches of the Dathomiri, they recognized that body as well.
It was Tribeless Sha. She had a stab wound in her back, and her throat had been slashed. Her eyes were open, her expression vacant. Solemn, Luke stooped to close her eyes.
“She’s cold,” Ben said. “She’s been out here for quite a while.”
Kaminne’s expression was sympathetic. “She must have stumbled across some of the Nightsisters as they were setting up traps, and they killed her.”
Ben shook his head. “As good a tracker as she was? She comes out here, sees something odd going on, hunkers down to watch—and they sneak up on her?”
Luke shrugged, an It’s possible gesture. “They had the Force on their side, Ben.”
“Yeah, I suppose. But something doesn’t feel right.”
His father gave him a half smile. “Well, I’ve learned to listen whenever someone like Corran Horn said something like that. I’d better learn to do the same with you. Trust and follow your instincts, Ben.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
They returned to camp in time to hear Han and Leia react to beeps from their comlinks—beeps indicating a message received and recorded. Han pulled his comlink out and activated it.
Allana’s voice came over the miniature speaker. “Hello? Uh, this is Millennium Falcon. We need to talk to Han and Leia right away. Please? Anji’s hurt.”
C-3PO’s voice, faint, could be heard next: “Don’t forget to say ‘over,’ miss.”
Allana continued, “Please, over? Hello? Please call. He’s going to be coming for us soon.”
Han paled. The change to his complexion was visible even in the firelight. He activated the transmitter on his comlink. “Han to Falcon, Han to Falcon. Come in, Amelia. Over.”
There was no answer.
ABOARD THE MILLENNIUM FALCON, DATHOMIR SPACEPORT
“We could call the spaceport guards.” Allana kept her voice hopeful. There had to be an answer that would keep Monarg away from her, and she hadn’t exhausted the full range of adults-coming-to-her-rescue options yet.
C-3PO, now in the copilot’s seat, sounded less sure. “Analysis of recent events, local records, and other probabilities suggests that any involvement of local authorities will result in the Millennium Falcon being seized and you being held to compel the surrender of Master Han and Mistress Leia. The likelihood that local authorities know their true identities, and are merely waiting for some authorization or provocation to move, approaches a certainty.”
“Speak Basic, Threepio.”
Something moved into the field of Allana’s vision on the ground before the Falcon’s cockpit. It was Monarg, his expression clearly unhappy even in the limited light being cast through the forward viewports. With him were some broad-shouldered men in festive garments, likely friends of Monarg’s rounded up while dining or drinking in the spaceport’s limited facilities, and a rolling gantry—a mechanism that was half droid, half metal stepladder.
Monarg held up what was in his hand, an industrial-strength cutter-welder. He pointed at it, then pointed at Allana. Finally he walked around to the Falcon’s side, out of Allana’s sight, followed by his companions.
“Not good, not good, not good.” C-3PO sounded distinctly worried. “I calculate that even with the Millennium Falcon’s formidable armor plating, a tool like that, competently utilized, will allow him to cut his way through in a matter of minutes.”
R2-D2 rolled in, back from his errand retrieving