Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy Trilogy 01_ Jedi Search - Kevin J. Anderson [91]
The speaker remained silent, evidently while the communications officer conferred with someone; then the answer came back. “We’re transmitting parameters for a holding orbit, Mr., uh, Tymmo. Follow these instructions precisely. Our energy shield is currently operational and will disintegrate you if you make an unauthorized attempt to land. Do you understand?”
Luke looked at Lando, and they both shrugged. Lando spoke into the comm channel, “We’ll wait right here for Doole to roll out the welcome mat. But if he takes too long, I’ll go spend my cash somewhere else.” He laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back in the pilot’s chair. Below, Kessel filled the viewports. It was Lando’s job to fast-talk them into places, while Luke would keep his eyes and Jedi senses open for any trace of Han.
Before leaving Coruscant they had doctored up false personal backgrounds for themselves, removing any mention of the New Republic but keeping enough hints at shady dealings and fast transactions to provide corroborating evidence. Luke would remain nameless, if at all possible.
A raspy voice finally burst out of the speakers. “Mr. Tymmo? This is Moruth Doole. Do I know you?”
“Not at the moment … but I’ve got a large and liquid credit account that says you might want to.”
They heard a bubbling intake of breath. “And what might that mean? My communications officer said something about half a million credits?”
“I recently hit it big at the Umgullian blob races. I’m looking for a place to invest the credits, and I’ve always thought there was money to be made in spice mining. You willing to talk?”
Doole barely paused. “Half a million credits is certainly worth talking about. I’ll send a flyer escort for you. They’ll take you through a safe corridor in the energy shield.”
“I look forward to meeting you face-to-face,” Lando said.
Doole only made a hissing, froglike sound.
Lando left the Lady Luck on the landing pad of the Imperial Correction Facility, surrounded by scout vehicles, ground transports, and other ships that had been cannibalized for functional parts. He stood dressed in finery, smiling and bright-eyed. Beside him Luke wore a nondescript jumpsuit from which all insignia had been removed.
A squad dressed in hodgepodge stormtrooper armor and prison uniforms led Luke, Lando, and Artoo-Detoo toward the enormous trapezoidal edifice of the correction facility. The brooding mass of the prison seemed to throb with years of pain and punishment, working at Luke’s enhanced senses. He remained silent, on guard. At least the escorts kept their weapons holstered and behaved in as welcoming a fashion as they could manage.
They rode the tube elevators that climbed the sloping front wall of the prison. Through the transparisteel Luke watched the wastelands of Kessel spread hopelessly in front of them.
When the elevators opened into the mirrored administrative substructure, the guards motioned them to follow. Clerks, bureaucrats, and seedy-looking functionaries bustled through the halls, looking busier than they wanted to be. Luke wondered if Doole had staged this activity as an impressive show for Lando; but the frantic scrambling seemed more chaotic than efficient.
Moruth Doole himself met them in one of the corridors. The squat amphibian rubbed his splayed hands together and bobbed his head at them. A mechanical contraption covering one eye focused and refocused itself.
“Welcome, Mr. Tymmo!” Doole said. “Let me apologize for our turmoil here. You haven’t picked a very good time to visit. Yesterday I lost my right-hand man and my primary shift boss in a tunnel mishap. Please excuse me if I seem a bit … flustered.”
“Quite all right,” Lando said, shaking Doole’s extended hand. “I’ve been administrator of several large mining operations myself. Sometimes the planet