Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [97]
Jabba would never return alive from that trip.
Fortuna decided he would set off the thermal detonator just after he escaped from the barge: killing Jabba and all those Jabba had shamed him in front of. He regretted the probable loss of Solo’s body, but would find another for Nat. Fortuna methodically completed preparations for his coup. He had his private skiff placed on the barge for his escape. He left orders for the monks to take over the palace when everyone left with Jabba. He sent out codes that froze all of Jabba’s accounts.
His plot was in motion.
All the plots were in motion. Fortuna sat back and, during the ride across the sand, contemplated the many ways Jabba could die on this trip. The situation was enormously amusing. R2-D2, one of the Rebellion’s droids, rolled up and offered him his choice of drinks, delicate little sandwiches, pickled effrikim worms (they had finally come in) sure to delight Jabba—and sure to kill him: the worms were all poisoned. Half the drinks were poisoned. The poison was a slow one—those who ingested it would not notice its effect for quite some time. Fortuna could tell which glasses were safe, and he drank freely. He watched Jabba eat a handful of effrikim worms and start the process of his death. Fortuna quietly set the thermal detonator to make sure of it.
C-3PO approached Fortuna and bowed. “Master Fortuna,” he said. “May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Has anyone ever been rescued from the Sarlacc?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Fortuna said, and he turned away, not wanting to be bothered with a droid’s worries. Still, he wondered why the droid would ask about rescue from the Sarlacc. Fortuna’s intuition could not tell him—it was difficult to unravel the motives of mechanical beings. But Fortuna guessed at devotion in the droid. Perhaps another plot was being born here: one to come out to somehow rescue a former master. It touched Fortuna. He thought that, if such devotion could be turned to him, he would welcome it. He turned back to the droid.
“See-Threepio,” he said quietly. “My private skiff is hidden near the aft ventilation grate. Go and wait by it. When you see me running toward it, uncover the skiff and climb in.”
But the droid never had a chance to go to the skiff. It lingered to witness the executions, and the unexpected took place. The Rebels proved harder to execute than Jabba anticipated, and fighting broke out. In the commotion, Fortuna lost sight of C-3PO. He never knew what became of the droid. But Fortuna stayed on the barge just long enough to learn what actually killed Jabba. It wasn’t the poison. It wasn’t any of the assassins after their various rewards. It wasn’t, in the end, the rigged thermal detonator: Leia, the former princess, strangled Jabba with her chains. Fortuna watched Jabba die, then hurried to his skiff.
He thought he should have expected the unexpected. It was the way of the universe: always to surprise.
The trip back to the palace was a pleasure to Fortuna. The light from the thermal detonation came exactly when he expected it, and the shock wave seemed a pleasant wind: a wind of change. He encountered no Sand People, no sandstorms, no Jawas, even. It was as if, after the explosion, the desert were waiting for something more.
He arrived at the palace in the evening. The gates opened to him at once. Monks met him inside: they had taken the palace.
“Master Fortuna,” one of them said. “Did things go as planned on the barge?”
“Jabba is dead. I am in charge now. Call the high monks to the throne room: I must speak with them.”
He had been careful not to call it Jabba’s throne room. It was his now.
Fortuna hurried there and began keying important information into the palace security systems: code words had to be changed, security clearances upgraded or denied, the robotic defense systems put at full alert. Attacks could come from many