Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 04_ Exile - Aaron Allston [76]
But she never spotted the Jedi. To the logic she employed in her calculations, that meant one thing: the Jedi was hiding—hiding from her—and therefore it was Leia.
That evening, in the cabin she surreptitiously shared with Captain Lavint, she spoke of these matters. “You are almost free of your debt to us,” she said. “You have brought us to where the Solos, at least Leia, conceal themselves. But we cannot find her. Them. When we see them, then you are free.”
“I’m in no hurry,” Lavint said. She sat cross-legged on the bed, a small bottle of expensive prewar Corellian whiskey trapped between her ankles. “We—you and I, that is, not just me—are making a killing at the gambling tables. Did you ever think about giving up your quest, whatever it is, and turning pro?”
“No.”
“All right. Here’s a hint, then. You’re using only your Jedi magic and your royal we instead of your brain.”
Ordinarily Alema would have been offended by such a declaration. She would not necessarily have demonstrated it, except to exact a little revenge. But Lavint was not trying to insult. She simply had no filter between her brain and her mouth. Whatever she thought came tumbling out, particularly when she had some alcohol in her.
“Tell us, then, what we are doing wrong. What we are not thinking.”
Lavint raised a forefinger. “One. What is Han Solo?”
“Adventurer, friend to Jedi, husband, father, smuggler, general, ship captain—”
“Those are all the branches. Except smuggler. That’s the trunk. Corellian smuggler.” She raised two more fingers. “Two. Wedge Antilles, who just vanished from Corellia. What’s he?”
“That’s three.”
“Eh?”
“That’s three fingers, not two.”
Lavint glared down at her hand and folded one of her fingers down. “Antilles.”
“General, admiral, pilot, husband, father, friend to Jedi—”
“And when he was just starting, a Corellian smuggler.”
Alema looked at her suspiciously. “Is this the speech about Corellian smugglers?”
“Yes.” Lavint raised the third finger into place again. “Three. What’s Booster Terrik?”
“Businessman, shipowner…and, we must guess, Corellian smuggler?”
“Retired.” Lavint smiled. “You’re catching on. Also father of a daughter named Mirax Terrik. What’s she?”
“Corellian smuggler.”
“Good. We’ve got the trunks all laid out. They grow from the same ground. Corellian-smuggler-hood. Now, where do the branches come together? Han Solo is married to Leia Organa, so there’s a Jedi connection—and not just any Jedi connection, because Leia’s the sister of the Grand Master. Antilles is married to an ex–New Republic Intelligence agent, so he’s got branches into Galactic Alliance Intelligence. Booster’s daughter is married to Corran Horn, another Jedi, with branches into CorSec. Horn and Antilles flew together. I’ve been doing more research on them. Antilles has a daughter named for Terrik’s daughter. You see how tight the branches are?”
Alema added it up. “So the Solos are here because of all their friends, the security they represent—”
“And money, and resources, and you’re not going to find them in the Deepcore Lounge because they don’t have to mingle, they’re all in it together with the owner of the entire establishment. You’ve been wandering the public areas while they’re probably all on the bridge, drinking and laughing together.”
Alema felt a sudden flush of gratitude that she had not killed this woman. It was a rare emotion for her. “We must begin to search other places.”
“Yes, and right away, so I can get some sleep.”
BOTHAWUI SYSTEM SHAMUNAAR
On the records and assignment sheets, a thin screen of starfighters and armored shuttles equipped with long-range sensors guarded the Rimward edge of the star system. If the fleets that were assembling, performing maneuvers and war games, and otherwise rattling their