Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 04_ Agents of Chaos 01_ Hero's Trial - James Luceno [121]
“There will be no cannibalizing of ships,” Choka ordered gruffly. “I will be arriving soon from our shipyard at Sernpidal with a young yammosk and additional forces. In the meantime, the fleet will divert to Hutt space, under the leadership of Commander Malik Carr.”
Malik Carr stepped forward and offered salute.
“Commander Tla and Eminence Harrar are hereby recalled to the Outer Rim.”
Tla and Harrar said nothing.
Attention turned to the third villip, consciousness-joined to Prefect Drathul. “I would speak privately with Executor Nom Anor,” Drathul said.
When everyone else had filed from the command center, the prefect’s wide and broad-browed face took on a minatory look. “Precisely what occurred, Executor?”
Nom Anor gestured in dismissal. “The blame lies with Harrar and Elan. They had no knack for improvisation.”
“Were the Jedi involved in thwarting us?”
“They may have had a hand in it.”
Drathul’s villip nodded. “Word has reached my ear that some of your agents were responsible.”
“They were trying to protect our interests, nothing more.”
Drathul considered it. “For your sake, Executor, I hope so. After the Praetorite’s disaster in the Helska system, Warmaster Tsavong Lah will brook no further failures on your part.”
Nom Anor nodded. “I understand, Prefect. I have a new plan in mind, which I intend to launch once the fleet has been relocated to Hutt space.”
“Do not disappoint me.”
“You have my word. What’s more, we may have found a potential ally on Coruscant. Someone as yet unknown—though highly placed in the New Republic military or intelligence divisions—reached out to us through my agents.”
“Interesting,” Prefect Drathul allowed. “Learn the identity of this one.”
“I will do so.”
“One final question, Executor. Have we underestimated these infidels?”
Nom Anor scoffed. “Only their blind good fortune.”
* * *
“We were lucky,” Droma called down to Han from the roof of the Falcon. “Some minor scoring around the aft heat exhaust vents, but nothing a bit of plasteel and paint won’t remedy.”
“We don’t have the time for that,” Han said from the floor of Docking Bay 3733. “Besides, I like her scratched and imperfect.”
The Falcon sat on its hard stand, umbilicaled to diagnostic monitors, pressurizers, and tanks of coolant and liquid metal fuel. They had spent more than two days going over the ship, inside and out, making repairs where necessary and generally tidying up. Droma had shown himself to be an able mechanic, although slightly better at intuitive problem solving than he was with hydro-spanners or macrofusers.
“Come to think of it, a paint job might not be such a bad idea,” Han said a moment later. “After what happened in the Bilbringi system, opticals of the Falcon are probably plastered inside every Yuuzhan Vong warship and coralskipper.”
“Provided the paint job turns out better than your beard.”
Han frowned and grabbed hold of his chin. “You want to talk about follicle disasters, if those mustachios of yours get any longer, you’ll be tripping on them.”
Droma climbed down off the roof and jumped nimbly to the floor. Han tossed him a rag and watched as Droma cleaned his hands, then used the bristly edges of his hands to clean his velvety fur.
Aware of Han’s gaze, Droma paused. “What?” he asked.
Han concealed a grin. “Nothing. How ’bout you unhook the outboard power feeds while I take care of the refueling lines?”
Droma shrugged. “Fine with me.”
“Then I guess we’re all set.”
Droma studied him for a moment. “Will Leia be coming by to see you off?”
“I don’t think so.”
“A pity. I wanted to tell her good-bye.”
“Next time,” Han said, then quickly added, “Not that there’s likely to be a next time.”
“Well, then, tell her good-bye for me—the next time you see her.”
Han scowled. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want you making yourself too comfortable in the copilot’s chair.”
“I know better than to do that.”
“I’m just trying to make