Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [108]
Fargil slapped his knee in surprise. “That is amazing—amazing in the old way.”
“So they're here,” Jadak said carefully.
“A couple of friends of mine at the 'port comlinked me. Not that Nido character. And not that they know I have any connection. But just hearing about them being here made me sorry all over again about giving her away—even to a worthy cause like that Thorp woman was behind. I'm guessing you already know about her.”
“Uh, we're still, you know, putting the pieces together.”
“Dr. Parlay Thorp. Gorgeous young woman, and smart as a whip.”
“We'll talk to her next,” Jadak said.
Fargil stood up as abruptly as his legs would allow. “If I could interest you two in a drink, I've got a batch of potent homebrew waiting to be sampled.”
“We're samplers from way back,” Poste said. “Bring it on.”
“Also got some eskrat stew if you're hungry.”
“The local rodent,” Jadak told Poste quietly, then he told Fargil: “My friend will have a double portion.”
Fargil put the stew on the stove to heat and poured three glasses of thick yellow liquid from a metal container.
“I ferment it with spittle,” he said, passing the glasses around.
Jadak took a gulp, finding it tolerable. “You were saying that the ship's owners are on Vaced.”
“Strangest thing, isn't it, your being here and them being here at the same time?” Fargil shook his head in wonderment. “As sorry as I am to have given her away, I'm proud about all that she accomplished. Even if most of what she's done couldn't have been done without Han Solo's piloting skills.”
Homebrew spewed from Poste's mouth and he began coughing without letup. Jadak rose and began slamming him on the back.
“Boy's apparently not tough enough for your brew, Quip.”
Fargil pressed his lips together and nodded. “Happens to the best of them sometimes. Especially with the spittle-fermented variety.”
Sluicing tears from his cheeks, Poste gaped at Fargil. “Han Solo is here? On Vaced? Right now?”
“Well, son, who else would be flying the Millennium Falcon if it wasn't Han Solo?” Fargil took a long pull from his glass, then sat back in his chair smiling broadly. “Gave her the name myself. But that's just part of the story.”
Still trying to make sense of Poste's reaction, Jadak finished his drink in one gulp and handed the glass back to Fargil. “I think I'm going to need a refill first.”
“YOU'RE TELLING ME YOU NEVER HEARD OF THE MILLENNIUM FALCON?” Poste said.
“I've been saying it for the past four hours.” Jadak stroked his beard. “Maybe I read something about it when I was playing info catch-up at Aurora, but obviously it didn't stick.”
Still half drunk on Fargil's homebrew, they were standing on the roof of a prefab building that overlooked the spaceport. In a roofless docking bay at the edge of the field, a modified YT-1300 freighter sat on her hardstand with starboard boarding ramp extended. Only moments earlier Han Solo, his wife, a young girl who was probably their ward rather than their child, and a golden protocol droid had boarded the ship.
“Let's start with the Galactic Civil War,” Poste said.
Jadak held up his hands. “Save the refresher course for some other time—”
“No, no,” Poste cut in, shaking his head, “you need to hear some of this right now before you land us in a very serious situation.”
Jadak opened his mouth, then closed it. “Keep it short.”
“Han Solo,” Poste began, slurring his words, “Han Solo is … well, he's what you might call a certified hero. He's not only fought in every war since the Rebellion, he's played a major part in winning them. Understand? In winning them.”
Jadak blew out his breath. “Okay. I'm impressed. What else?”
“His wife—that would be Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan, former Senator and Chief of State Organa, present-day Jedi Leia Organa Solo—is a hero of the same caliber. They're like a match made in the stars, and the point I'm trying to make is that we don't want to cross them. Under no circumstances do we want to cross them.”
Poste was getting a bit shrill, and Jadak gestured for him to keep it down. “I appreciate