Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 07_ Conviction - Aaron Allston [16]
Then the base sirens sounded, filling the air with a noise like a city-sized dragon mourning the death of its offspring. The base lights came up. Its squadron of starfighters began lighting off, readying themselves for space.
Dolo, at his desk, monitoring the off-loading of the Dust Dancer cargo, cringed. His chances of getting his goods hidden away before they were detected were dropping fast.
He stepped outside the dome-shaped prefab where the quartermaster offices and facilities were located. The landing field was now bathed in lights and busy with personnel running to the bare dozen starfighters that defended this world.
He managed to grab a soldier passing by, a Rodian corporal and motor pool mechanic he regularly played sabacc with. “Vez, what’s happening?”
The corporal cocked his head at Dolo. His voice emerged in the classic Rodian singsong, so imitated and mocked by comedians. “A Star Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace. It’s entering orbit.”
“So? Alliance or Empire?”
“Neither. Private. Wanted for action against the Alliance. The Errant Venture.”
“Oh … stang.”
Rumors had spread days before, of course. The Errant Venture had been hosting a high-stakes sabacc tournament, the sort that every player worth his or her skifter salivated at. Combine a luxury cruise, the wealthiest card-playing opponents, media, free-flowing wine and other spirits, companionship … it was to have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Well, it was, except perhaps not in the way the organizers intended. The Star Destroyer left Coruscant, aiding a wing of Jedi who, in defiance of government orders, had fled the world in their StealthX space superiority fighters. No one had known whether the card players were hostages or just innocent bystanders swept along in some mad Jedi plan.
And now they were all here. Dolo’s heart sank. It was very hard to do a bit of honest stealing while under intense military and media scrutiny. Not impossible, but hard.
The base starfighters did not launch. The general in charge knew, as did every soldier and support staffer on Borleias, that an assault on a Star Destroyer, even one with a reduced number of weapons emplacements, was a suicidal act to be taken only if there were no other options. Word was that the general was in frantic hypercomm contact with Coruscant.
The Errant Venture did not wait. Immediately after it achieved orbit, it began sending shuttles down. It did not request landing instructions, merely offered a stern transmitted warning that firing on the shuttles would be a very bad idea. The shuttles began landing at Dolo’s field, and he saw them discharge their contents.
Their contents? Sabacc players.
Some were happy, some confused, others morose or spiteful. Some had been awake for days. Some could not get it through their heads that they were not back on Coruscant, despite the fact that the landing field was surrounded by thick stands of trees rather than skyscrapers. There were card players, reporters, companions and camp followers, piles of luggage, bottles, streamers and bunting, glittering confetti, music blaring from datapads … The Errant Venture had delivered the sputtering remains of a galactic-level party to this remote outpost.
Dolo brought his office chair out of the dome and set it down in the fresh air to watch things unfold. He’d managed to get the Dust Dancer cargo under wraps. Now he was hard at work falsifying a second manifest, a list of ill-fitting uniforms and tasteless preserved rations already in storage, that he could claim was the Dust Dancer’s delivery if all went well. When not copying and pasting items from list to list, he watched the events taking place on the field.
He recognized several of the celebrities brought down from the Star Destroyer—holodrama stars, famous dancers, millionaires, risk takers, politicians, high-ranking military officers. Dolo took a little time to make recordings of them. The recordings would at least