Star Wars_ Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor - Matthew Woodring Stover [29]
This was surprising not because of anything to do with Lando himself, whom Han, despite their long and often unhappy history together, actually liked—well, most of the time—but rather with what Lando was bringing to this table. Well, less what than who.
Lando Calrissian, unlike his old buddy Han, had hung on to his general’s commission. He was currently the director of Special Operations, a fancy-sounding title that apparently involved, today, being a highly decorated chauffeur. He was on his way back from Mandalorian space, where he had gone to corral the one guy in the galaxy Lando claimed could change the alleged minds of these commandos: the Big Boss of the Mandalorian Protectors and self-styled Lord Mandalore, Fenn Shysa himself.
Or, as Han usually thought of him, Fenn You-So-Much-as-Look-at-Leia-That-Way-One-More-Time-and-I-Swear-I’m-Gonna-Pop-Your-Mando-Skull-Like-a-Bladdergrape Shysa.
Shysa and his men had given up the mercenary life, and he’d organized his cadre into the kernel of the Protectors—kind of civic-minded volunteer police and freelance do-gooders, more or less. Which meant that Shysa, on top of his born-and-bred MESFAC more-studly-than-thou thing, had piled more-honorable-than-thou, more-self-sacrificing-than-thou, and more-all-around-good-guy-than-thou.
If Han were inclined to be entirely honest about such things—which he was not, on principle—he might have admitted that his problem with the Protector commandant had more to do with a sneaking suspicion that Fenn might also be better-looking-than-thou, and with how much attention this particular Hero of Mandalore paid to Leia. And how much Leia seemed to enjoy it.
This time, though, Han was actually grudgingly willing to let Shysa have the pleasure of spending time in a room with Leia—a conference room, with Han and a few dozen officers as chaperones—as long as it got this situation resolved. He figured this proved he’d grown as a person. A little. Maybe.
Just how questionable that growth might be was amply demonstrated when Leia turned to him, put a hand on his arm to draw him close, and leaned toward him to whisper in his ear; he actually more than half expected that she was about to tell him how much she was looking forward to seeing Shysa again.
Instead, she muttered in a voice stretched thin with tension, “Han, Luke’s in trouble.”
The front legs of Han’s chair bumped back down to the floor. “What?”
Leia gave her head that little shake, one Han knew so well, barely more than a lip-compressed shiver that signaled I don’t know why, but I don’t like this at all. “It’s a—feeling. He might—”
“Hey, I worry about him too, but—” Han laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He can take care of himself, you know? The stuff he can do …”
His voice trailed off as he felt the knots of tension in her shoulder; instead of him giving her comfort, she was giving him dread.
A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth that told Han she was biting the inside of her lower lip. “It’s not just the Mindor raid. I think—I think there’s something … wrong there. Something bad.”
“Something he can’t handle? I mean, we’re talking about Luke, here—Luke I-Must-Face-Vader-and-Palpatine-Alone Skywalker, y’know?” Han thought it was a pretty good line, but it sounded hollow, even to him. He forged on. “How much trouble can he really be in?”
“I—I don’t know, Han!” The twist of uncertainty at the corners of her eyes brought a similar twist to Han’s heart. “If I knew, I wouldn’t even have mentioned it—or else we’d be on our way already.”
“Excuse me, please—I beg your pardon most awfully, Princess—” C-3PO leaned in between them. “Though my vocabulary filter and voice-stress analysis subprogram suggest that your conversation is very likely private, the commander is becoming restive, and is requesting a translation. Not very respectfully, I might add.”
“Ask him if he needs you to translate this—” Han began, but the gesture