Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [42]
Quire frowned. “Are you certain he's the one for this? My inclination would be to use someone more judicious. Gomman, perhaps.”
“He is safeguarding our star witness for the trade case.”
“The Colicoid? What did Gomman do to warrant that assignment?”
“It's simply a matter of his having a high tolerance for bugs.”
Quire nodded. “I'll let Cynner know.”
Oxic reclined in his seat. The next round of bidding was about to begin.
It was soon after he and Chewbacca returned from the Corporate Sector and began running spice for Jabba the Hutt that the Millennium Falcon started behaving erratically. One moment the ship would outperform herself and complete the Kessel Run in record time; the next, she would develop glitches in the worst possible situations, almost as if she were intent on drawing Imperial attention or involving him and Chewie in the Rebellion. He wondered if the Falcon's unpredictability owed to the fact that—part by necessity, part by design—he had transformed the onetime freighter into a well-armed warship.
The lost barrels of glitterstim spice that had earned them the enmity of Jabba wasn't the first cargo they had been forced to jettison in those days leading to the trip to Tatooine. For a time it appeared that Imperial tariff vessels were lurking on the dark side of every planet they passed or approached. It got so they had had to affix trackers to the loads before a run, just to ensure being able to recover them after dumping them and submitting to a search. But he always thought the Falcon had seemed peeved at having to partake in those missions.
Even the return to the Death Star after leaving Yavin 4 had seemed as much the Falcon's idea as Chewbacca's. Of course, it was sheer lunacy to think that a ship could think for herself or know right from wrong—even one equipped with a trio of droid brains that rarely agreed on anything. But the Falcon could be willful in that way, stubborn about going where he pointed her. And look what the about-face had led to. Aside from saving Luke's hide and thus being indirectly responsible for the destruction of the Emperor's superweapon, the Falcon had effectively enrolled him and Chewie in the Rebel Alliance.
But the Falcon had saved her finest act for later in the game, breaking down shortly before the forced evacuation of Hoth and seeing to it that he and Leia were thrown together for the slow trip to Bespin. True, he had been falling in love with Leia since their first encounter in a Death Star cell block, but their private time in sublight cinched it for him.
His own high opinion of himself wouldn't let him credit the Falcon for actually bringing them together, or for playing any real role in their courtship and eventual marriage. But he always thought that the ship deserved the equivalent of a Corellian Bloodstripe, not only for her actions during the Rebellion, but for helping to steer him into Leia's life and heart.
HAN, LEIA, ALLANA, AND C-3PO GAPED AT THE CROWD OF BEINGS and droids assembled near the foot of the Falcon's boarding ramp.
“Lando,” Han said out of the corner of his mouth.
Leia nodded. “He must have commed ahead.”
“So much for trying to blend in.”
“It never would have worked anyway.” She sighed. “I just wish I had dressed more appropriately.”
“You look great.”
She smiled at him. “Then I wish you'd worn something more appropriate.”
A male Lutrillian dressed like a Republic-era opera extra separated himself from the welcome committee. “Oseon Seven extends a heartfelt welcome to the esteemed Solo family,” he announced with a courtly bow.
“Thank you,” Leia said, speaking for everyone. “This is completely unexpected.”
“And unnecessary,” Han muttered.
“I am See-Threepio,” the droid said, descending the Falcon's ramp.
The Lutrillian inclined his large head. “Welcome, See-Threepio.” He turned to Han. “Is this your first visit, sir?”
“First time.”
“Then we hope Oseon Seven will live up to its reputation.”
Han laughed shortly. “It already has.”
The planet's sprawling and frenetic spaceport swarmed with ships