Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 04_ Agents of Chaos 01_ Hero's Trial - James Luceno [41]
“Is this Fijisi?” Han asked in disbelief, squatting to run his fingers over a section of parquet.
“Actually it’s uwa,” Roa said. “Got it out of a salvaged Alderaanian pleasure craft. Pirates had stripped the thing of practically everything else.”
Han roamed about, inspecting details and shaking his head. “You know who used to fly one of these? Lando Calrissian. But even his didn’t measure up to this.”
“Unless Lando’s changed since I knew him, he probably spent more on tracking devices and weapons than it cost me to outfit the entire ship.”
“Maybe, maybe.” Han grinned at Roa, grateful for the opportunity to get back at him for the ribbing he’d taken at home. “So, what do you do, rent out cabin space to traveling jizz orchestras?”
Roa laughed shortly. “I make no secret of the fact that the tax-and-tariff agents I employed on Bonadan made me a wealthy man. But now this ship is all I have.”
He clapped Han on the shoulder and steered him toward the main forward hold, where a burnished silver protocol droid stepped from a forward compartment to intercept them. “Pardon me, Master Roa, but a stranger is approaching the ship.”
“Han, meet Void,” Roa said. “He escaped destruction at the hands of some antidroid zealots on Rhommamool, but the incident was so traumatizing he had to undergo a memory wipe. I picked him up for a song, but it cost me five hundred Coruscant credits to get him up to speed.”
Roa instructed Void to show him the stranger the security scanners had zeroed in on in the docking bay. A console screen instantly displayed video of a slight, brown-haired, blue-eyed teenager wearing an off-white, rough-weave tunic over brown leggings.
“You recognize him?” Roa asked.
Han’s eyes narrowed. “My younger son.”
Anakin was already at the foot of the Happy Dagger’s ramp by the time Han appeared. The scanners had captured the boy’s agitation. Now the disquiet turned to wariness. “Hey, Dad,” he said carefully.
Han stormed down the ramp and planted his hands on his hips, thumbs backward. “How’d you track me down?”
Anakin took a step back. “Mom said you were traveling with someone named Roa, and that you weren’t taking the Falcon. Wasn’t all that hard to locate the right docking bay.”
Han’s expression hardened. “I hope she didn’t send you here to find out where I’m going, because it’s like I told her, I don’t know yet.”
Anakin frowned. “She didn’t send me. I came on my own.”
“Oh,” Han said softly and awkwardly. “So …”
“I—I have something for you.” Anakin unclipped a small leather case from the belt that cinched his tunic. “Consider it a going-away present.”
The lightweight cylinder Han prized from the case was shorter than his hand and no more than four fingers wide. Scored along its length, it appeared to be made of some sort of shape-memory alloy.
“I give up,” he said at last. “What is it?”
“A survival tool.” Brightening slightly, Anakin took back the device and ran through procedures for accessing a score of miniature utensils, including knife blades, spanners, a luma, and the like. The tool even featured a macrofuser and a miniature transpirator.
For a moment, Han didn’t know what to say. “Look, kid, it’s a clever piece of hardware, but I don’t have any hiking trips planned for the near future.”
“Chewie made it for me,” Anakin said evenly.
Han’s face fell. “All the more reason I can’t take it, if he made it for you.”
Anakin placed it in Han’s hand nevertheless. “I want you to have it, Dad.” His eyes darted nervously.
Han started to protest but thought better of it. The tool was a peace offering, and refusing to accept it would only widen the rift that had separated them since Sernpidal.
“First, Chewie’s bowcaster and shoulder bag, now a survival tool. I usually don’t do this well at birthdays.” He forced a smile and turned the tool about in his hands. “Who knows, maybe it’ll come in handy.”
“I hope it does,” Anakin muttered.