Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [62]
Fearing that Palpatine would one day proclaim himself Emperor, the Republic Group had hidden a treasure on a remote world—a treasure they hoped would be sufficient to restore the Republic. And the key to locating that treasure was a former pilot for the Republic Group named Tobb Jadak, who had disappeared just days before the end of the war in a '25 YT-1300 freighter called the Stellar Envoy.
Others knew of the hidden treasure and had been actively seeking it, but only Oxic had Jadak's name. Even so, the name hadn't amounted to much of a lead until shortly after the Battle of Endor, when documents belonging to onetime Imperial Intelligence Director Armand Isard had come into Oxic's possession. Kept from Isard's daughter, who wound up being Armand's successor and executioner, the documents contained a brief mention of the Stellar Envoy, which had been pursued from Coruscant by clone pilots following the battle there. The clones had been unable to keep up with the Envoy, but had logged the coordinates of the freighter's jump to hyperspace. After a year of investigating possible destinations, Oxic had discovered not only that the Stellar Envoy had jumped to Nar Shaddaa, but also that Tobb Jadak had survived a collision there—though in a coma that had already endured for more than twenty years.
At great personal expense, Oxic had had Jadak moved to the Aurora Medical Facility and had installed a young neurosurgeon named Sompa to oversee his care and possible recovery, which had required another forty years.
“Des'sein told me that Jadak was the key,” Oxic said finally.
“Could he have hidden something aboard the Envoy?” Quire said. “Or could the ship actually know something about the location of the treasure that Jadak doesn't know?”
Oxic shot to his feet once more. “We should have put a locator on him.”
“Sompa wouldn't hear of it.”
“Sompa, Sompa,” Oxic said, whirling. “I'm sick of hearing that name.”
She smiled tolerantly. “Only until your next visit to Aurora for treatments.”
He sighed. “Perhaps you know me better than I know myself.”
“Sometimes it takes two imperfect beings to make one perfect one.”
As if unaware he was still holding the star map crystal's small remote, Oxic began to thumb the activating button on and off, on and off, on and off.
AS HAD BECOME A HABIT DURING MOMENTS OF TEDIUM OR PREOCCUPATION, Han, wearing a fake beard and wig, reached absently into his pant pocket for the archaic transponder and began to turn it about in his hand, sliding his thumb along the T-shaped device's seamless surface, hefting it as though in an attempt to ascertain its weight in lieu of being able to divine its enigmatic purpose.
If they had bothered to time their arrival on Taris, they would have been able to meet with Vistal Purn the previous day. But now the onetime owner of the Millennium Falcon and former manager of the Molpol Circus was engaged in overseeing the judging of creatures vying for titles in Sok Brok's Fiftieth Annual Pet Show.
Any meeting with Purn would have to wait until after the prizes had been handed out.
A dozen rows forward of where he sat with Leia, Allana, and C-3PO, hundreds of pets accompanied by their owners or handlers were parading around the arena floor, strutting their stuff for groups of judges in the hope of being crowned most ferocious in species or ugliest in show. As far as Han could determine, the contests had little to do with talent or skill, other than whatever ability it took to prance with poise, grovel with grace, or stalk with style. In a galaxy where so many species had evolved to sentience, the very notion of keeping a pet struck Han as absurd, and yet in even the most far-flung star systems you'd find beings who doted on their miniature nagaths and toy moings more than they did their own offspring. Sometimes it was merely pathetic, and often it was downright comical. Especially at Sok Brok's, where it wasn't unusual to encounter an arachnoid Critokian walking a leashed bipedal ornuk, or a sanus feline leashed to a canine-faced