Star Wars_ X-Wing 05_ Wraith Squadron - Aaron Allston [33]
Cubber clapped Kell on the back. “There’s your brush with greatness, kid. You can tell your children, ‘I saw Han Solo get off his ship once. He ignored me completely.’ C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“Right.” But Kell lingered and watched for a moment as a gigantic humanoid mass of hair, doubtless Solo’s companion Chewbacca, descended the ramp. The famous Wookiee stood there a long moment, sniffing the air, then uttered a roar—not menacing, but low and resonant, perhaps just announcing his presence or claiming this part of the hangar as his territory. Then the Wookiee ascended the ramp and was gone.
As Kell returned his attention to the X-wing he’d been working on, he heard a scuttling noise. He jumped, then spun around, looking for its source. The sound was what he’d expect if an insect the size of a small floor-scrubbing droid were running around in the hangar. But he caught no sight of such a thing, and the sound ended as soon as he moved.
Cubber was already dismissing the men and waving Kell to follow. “C’mon, kid. Remember sabacc?”
“Right, right.” Kell smoothed down the hair that had stood to attention on the back of his neck. He closed up the last of the X-wing’s engine panels and followed.
“How was your flight in?” asked Wedge.
“Dull, what do you think?” said Han. “But not as bad as a night of diplomatic functions back on Coruscant. Sorry I missed you when you got back from Thyferra, but I was off on another pointless leg of the search for Zsinj.”
They passed through the archway leading into the main access corridor serving most of the hangar chambers.
“You’re not still doing that? I was under the impression that you were on the Mon Remonda and that the Millennium Falcon would be in storage until Zsinj was flushed out.”
Han grinned. It was the roguish grin he offered up when he was among friends and enemies, but never at official functions, never in the presence of holorecorders. “I escaped Coruscant and its endless diplomatic functions with the Mon Remonda mission, but we haven’t had any luck on the Zsinj pursuit in the last few weeks, so it’s all dull procedure and maintenance right now. You know how I feel about procedure and maintenance.”
“So you escaped your escape?”
Han nodded. “Officially, I’m hand-carrying orders regarding the hunt for Zsinj. Unofficially, I’m here to compare and evaluate on-base gambling all over the Alliance.” He sobered. “The orders are variations of the ones Coruscant has sent out recently. They supercede those orders. We’re trying to see whether Zsinj and the other warlords have a tap in on those transmissions.”
“Meaning that if they set up patrols and ambushes that would be really efficient against the old orders but not as good against the new, you have a problem.”
“Right. I have to head out again tomorrow for my next destination—which leaves only tonight for recreation. So, what do you do around here for entertainment?”
“Nothing.” Wedge kept his face straight. “There are no women assigned to Folor Base. Because of the general’s philosophical beliefs, there’s no alcohol, no gambling, and we can’t watch broadcasts from Commenor. This has led to a rather high suicide rate, but there’s no getting around that. We do have some holorecordings of Coruscant diplomatic functions, if you’d like to see them.”
Han wore an expression of growing horror, then it became pure outrage. He pointed a finger at Wedge as though it were a blaster barrel. “You—you—”
Wedge grinned. “I had you going. You believed every painful word. Come on, I’ll introduce you to General Crespin, and then to DownTime, which has the moon’s greatest supply of Corellian brandy. We’ll see if we can put a dent in it.”
“I should never listen to you.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Even Leia finally realized that you’re a liar.”
“Well, she’s right.”
“She always is. But if you ever tell her I said that—”
“I’ll be vaped for sure. I know.”
7
Four X-wings raced through the hangar tunnel and punched through the magcon field into the vacuum surrounding Folor.
“Two Group, form up on me,