Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [148]
Gepta raised an interrupting hand. He knew perfectly well why a droid might help destroy a system. Programmed to obey, it wouldn’t have a choice, and properly disguised with an organic-appearing plastic coating, it would be a perfect spy. The sorcerer, however, wasn’t about to argue with the man and possibly lose an ally. Shanga would have his uses—and his ultimate disposition.
“Very well, Admiral, we each of us have personal reasons for wishing a conclusion to this hunt, and your offer of assistance is welcome. But your communication hinted at more; there was a claim that you know where the Millennium Falcon may be found?”
“And trapped!” the warrior added with a snap in his voice. “Imagine the sweetness of it: trapped between us and the Navy!” He began laughing, the edge in his voice growing increasingly hysterical until he leaned heavily against the stone column, wiping his eyes and coughing. When he could speak again, it was only one word: “StarCave!”
Rokur Gepta kept his peace, offering no reply. The term was meaningless to him, but given an hour of privacy and access to his sources of information it would not remain so. Finally he replied. “StarCave, you say.”
The fighter pilot nodded. “Yes, we have our spies, too, Gepta—we have to. After all, they’re the ones who—but never mind that. The navy’s keeping a heavy blockade there. We don’t know why. There are rumors, but most of them are so silly that we think they’re an Intelligence cover. Whatever the reason, we also know that Calrissian’s planning to run the blockade, in fact may be there as we speak. We have things you need: information, a rebuilt fighter squadron. You have something we need: passage through the blockade. With Calrissian bottled up there, we can …”
There was a very prolonged silence during which each of the figures savored his personal revenge. Gepta was secretly surprised that the military could mount a major action of that type without his knowing of it. On the other hand, he hadn’t known about the Renatasian affair until years after it had happened. He was equally surprised at the depth—and enthusiasm—of Shanga’s intelligence sources. After it was over, if he, the sorcerer, could incorporate … But that was for later. This was now, and the culmination of a very long, very annoying episode in the gray magician’s otherwise unopposed rise to total power.
“Very well, Admiral Shanga, let us make an agreement between us. We shall go to this, this StarCave and see what may be seen. The refitting of the Wennis is nearly complete, and I will hurry the work. Your squadron will rendezvous with her at a place convenient to us both. I shall take us through the blockade, and you shall assist with the destruction of the Millennium Falcon and her owners. And afterward …”
Shanga stood, his right hand flexing where his blaster would have been hanging had it not been taken from him by Gepta’s security people. He felt incomplete without it. There was a worn diagonal area across the lower half of his pressure suit, from high behind the left hip where the heavy belt ordinarily settled itself, to the middle of his right thigh where the weapon would have been strapped down.
“Yes,” said the Admiral, “and afterward: what?”
The sorcerer smiled, an expression that manifested itself only in the sarcastic tone of his voice. Inside the dark gray windings about his hidden face, it was a far from pleasant expression.
“Afterward, my dear Admiral Shanga, we two shall go our separate ways, you to rebuild Renatasian civilization to glorious, dizzying new heights, while I, on the other hand—”
“Mynock muffins!” Shanga raised his gauntleted hand in a mocking salute. Then, without further ceremony, he turned on his space-booted heel and began the trek across the damp cavern floor to the elevator.
He itched