Star Wars_ Luke Skywalker and the Shadows of Mindor - Matthew Woodring Stover [59]
The comm responded with the sound of the redhead’s voice. “What about that Jedi? Where’s he?”
“That’s what we wanted to ask you.”
“Like that, is it? Well, I’ll tell you what—we’ll down weapons and have our Jedi chat if you can help us out with bandages and bacta. I’ve got a lot of wounded in here.”
“Fair enough. I’ll be with you in a nanosec.”
When he reached the forward cargo hold, the place looked like a field hospital way too close to the front lines. On the losing side. People sat or lay sprawled every which way, some wrapping their own bandages, some twisting or moaning softly, others just staring blankly at the bulkheads as if they couldn’t believe they were actually alive. Leia and Chewie were already hard at work treating the wounded. Han hurried over to Leia’s side. “Hey, hey, hey, take it easy with the bacta, huh?”
“Han, he’s hurt.”
“Sure, I know. But he’s not dying, is he? Do you know how much that stuff costs?”
A woman’s voice came from behind his left shoulder. “You can bill me.”
Han rounded on her, then stopped, making a face. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yeah, it’s me,” the good-looking redhead said, and offered him a lopsided smile that made her, if anything, even better-looking. She stuck out her hand. “Aeona Cantor. You the pilot of this scow?”
“I’m the captain of this scow,” Han corrected her, but then grinned and took her offered hand. Her hand was warm, and harder than it looked. He just didn’t have it in him to bicker right now. Besides, Leia would probably think he was flirting. “Han Solo.”
Her eyes widened. “For real? The Han Solo?”
He started to flush. “The only one I know.”
“Wow.” She looked impressed. “I mean, the Han Solo who supposedly outdrew Gallandro in a fair fight?”
“Well, y’know …” His face was getting full-on hot all of a sudden. “It wasn’t exactly a fair fight—and I didn’t exactly outdraw him. You shouldn’t believe everything you see on the HoloNet.”
“I don’t,” she said. “I always figured you shot him in the back.”
“Hey, now—”
“That your weapon? BlasTech, huh? Kinda old-fashioned, isn’t it?”
Han dropped his hand to the blaster’s grip and fiddled with it as though uncertain. “Uh, well …”
“I favor the Twenty-one myself.” She nodded toward the number-six cargo hopper, where a weathered but exceedingly well-cared-for blaster belt lay on top. From the holster projected a custom KYD grip that showed an equal amount of wear, and even more care. “Go ahead,” she said. “Feel free. Here—”
She reached over and pulled her blaster from its holster using only two fingers, nice and slow, plenty slowly enough that Han didn’t feel like he needed to shoot her, then spun it around her finger and offered it to him butt-first. “Give it a feel. Combat-action tournament model. Trigger-pull’s smooth as bantha butter, and you can shoot the eyestalks off a terramoth at seventy-five meters.”
Han took the weapon and weighed it in his hand. It was a nice piece, he had to admit. Beautifully balanced, and he said so.
She grinned. “Knew you’d like it.” She nodded toward his holstered blaster. “D’you mind?”
Han shrugged and passed it over.
She squinted into the DL-44’s optical electrosight and whistled. “Nice. Modified for speed-draw, right?” She spun it around her finger. “Little barrel-heavy, though, huh? Wait, what’s this custom work here?”
She took a close look at the gas chamber and collimator. “Oh, I get it—enhanced output. What does it generate, double power?” She gave him another look and that lopsided grin. “Don’t you know that’s illegal?”
He felt himself flushing again. “Okay, give it back.”
“Nah. I like yours better.”
Han blinked. “What?”
“You can have mine. Fair trade. Even counting the custom work, mine’s worth double this old relic. Call it even, huh?” She turned and walked toward a knot of her men. “Hey, Tripp, check this out—I just traded for Han Solo’s blaster! Can you believe