Last Shot_Star Wars Page 3

  For a few moments, they just stared at each other.

  “Some fine Endoran caf to cool the nerves?” BX-778 suggested, whirring to life and sending all seven arms into action.

  “Not now!” Han and Leia both snarled at the same time.

  “It was just a suggestion,” BX mumbled, powering back down. “No need to get prickly.”

  “I did a run,” Han said quietly. He sat, looking up at Lando, who still stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Leia sat very slowly.

  Lando stared down Han for a good couple of seconds then took his seat. “Go on.”

  “Ten years ago. With Sana Starros.”

  “Ah, your other wife,” Leia said.

  Han sighed. “Are we gonna do this now?”

  “I must say,” Lando mused, “of all the women in the galaxy to get fake married to for a pile of land, you certainly picked a beautiful one.”

  “Lando!” Han snapped. “Not helping.”

  Leia shook her head with a tired grin and stood. “No, Han, we’re not doing this now, but I am going to let you boys figure this out yourselves. I do have an emergency security council session to get ready for, much as I’d like to stay and enjoy the fireworks.”

  “Anything important?” Lando asked.

  Leia shrugged. “Could be yes, could be no. You can never tell with these brand-new bureaucrats.”

  “They’re mobilizing the fleet,” Han said.

  “And you’re not even supposed to know that,” Leia snapped, “let alone say it out loud to someone not on the security council.”

  “Hey.” Lando tipped his head. “I’m a war hero, remember?”

  “Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean you have clearance. And we’re not at war anymore. And anyway, our fleet isn’t even a fully military one, remember? We’ve technically disarmed. Everyone’s still just scrambling to make sense of what this new democracy’s going to look like, so it’s like being a teenager: Every new crisis feels like the first one.”

  “Good times,” Lando snorted.

  “Heh.” She threw back her whiskey and kissed Han on the cheek. Han flinched and she swatted him. “Oh, come on, he didn’t hit you that hard.”

  She nodded at Lando. “It’s good to see you, Lando. I’m sure my husband will do what’s right, both for you and for his family.”

  Lando reached for her hand and kissed it. “And may I say, Your Highness, that—”

  “You may not,” Leia said with a smile. “But I know you’ll try anyway.”

  “You look absolutely—” The bedroom door whirring closed cut him off.

  “You never change.” Han rubbed a hand through his hair and pulled up closer to the table. “You really don’t.”

  Lando barked a laugh. “The Jawa calls the Ewok short! And anyway, I’ve changed quite a bit, thank you very much.” He poured Han some whiskey, slid it across the table: a peace offering.

  Han raised an eyebrow. “Easy to be generous with someone else’s whiskey.”

  Lando scoffed. “Don’t get cute, flyboy. You’re still in the dog house, you know.”

  “Fair enough.” Han took the drink, clinked it with Lando’s. “Sana and I made a run on Fyzen back in the day, yeah, and there was a device of some kind involved, but I swear I don’t remember what it was exactly. And the whole thing went to hell. We didn’t even get paid! Not really, anyway.”

  “Well, we’ve got some backtracking to do,” Lando said. “First of all, we need to find out where this Fyzen is now and where his device got to, and—”

  “Whoa whoa whoa.” Han shook his head with a smirk. “What’s all this we stuff, Lando?”

  “Han.” Lando felt the blood rushing back to his face, his fists, but it wasn’t anger at his old friend this time, it was something much worse. That…thing, had gotten the drop on him, caught him completely off guard. Lando was the most protected citizen of Cloud City, and he’d had a lifetime of experience getting himself out of trouble to know how not to get got. But somehow that red-eyed droid had gotten itself all the way to the inner sanctums of his home. “Seventy-two hours,” it had croaked. Up close, the droid reeked of some heady chemical antiseptic with hints of a slowly rotting carcass, like someone was trying to hide a body inside it. Lando had no doubt that whatever attack was set to be launched in three days would be devastating and merciless.

  He shuddered, forced the calm façade back over himself. “Han, I know we’re here joking around, and I don’t totally know what this is all about yet, but the truth is, I need your help. It’s not just that you owe me because it’s probably all your fault in the first place—”

  “Hey now…”

  “Let me finish—outside of that, Han, if this creep Gor has a way to turn droids against us, imagine what that could mean for Cloud City—for the galaxy. If I don’t track down this Phylanx thing in three days for the guy, he’s coming for me, Han, and he’ll probably wipe out a good chunk of my city, too. Now the way I see it, we get this device and then we use it to lure Gor in and wipe him out. But I can’t do it without you, Han.”

  “Lando, I…” He shook his head, gestured vaguely around the room: Ben’s toys scattered across the floor; some mindless holo of happy little monkey-lizards singing in trees playing on repeat forever on the deck; BX-778 preparing caf again even though no one had asked him to.

  Lando wrapped his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “I don’t even have to pull the this-is-all-your-fault card, do I? You can’t wait to get out of here.”

  Han frowned. “I just…”

  The door flew open and Ben Solo, buck naked, hurtled in with a scream. “Unca Wanwo!”

  “There’s my little buddy!” Lando said, scooping the boy up in his arms and turning him upside down to giggles and shrieks.

  “Oh dear,” LC muttered, whirring along in Ben’s wake. “Terribly sorry, sirs, I was giving him a bath and he could barely contain himself when he heard that General Calrissian was here.” The droid reached out and plucked Ben out of Lando’s arms.

  “That’s all right,” Lando said with a chuckle. “Always happy to see the young Mr. Ben.”

  Han watched as his son squirmed in the droid’s metallic arms, reaching out for Lando and bursting into tears as LC whisked him out of the room.

  “WHAT’S HER NAME?”

  Han Solo squinted up from the swirl of dust he’d been staring at for…how long now? Who knew? He was tired, annoyed. Possibly drunk; he couldn’t even tell anymore. But if fed up was a state of being, he’d entered it at least a week ago and pretty soon was gonna have to start paying rent. He probably looked the part, too: His hair was certainly disheveled, and not in the cute, carefree way—just a damn mess. His white shirt was stained with…was that Ithorian blood? Probably. He’d washed it since that run-in with the Torrian security guards on Hosnian Prime, but that purplish stain wasn’t going anywhere.

  The woman standing before him, on the other hand, was an absolute portrait of well put together. It wasn’t that she was wearing anything fancy, but her leather jacket was crisp and her pilot pants were creased and smooth; even the blasters hanging on each hip seemed to match her whole color scheme. Her braids were tied back in a ponytail that wrapped over one of her shoulders and her arms were crossed over her chest, a look of slight disapproval mixed with amusement on her dark-brown face. Behind her, a mottled array of starships, trawlers, and freighters stood at wait in the Takodanan dust field that had become the unofficial docking bay for Maz’s castle.

  “Sana Starros,” Han said.

  Sana rolled her eyes. “No, that’s my name. What’s her name?”

  “Oh, the Millennium Falcon.” He nodded at the cockpit jutting out above his head. “And she’s not for sale.”

  “Not the ship, you mynock.”

  “Oh! Chewbacca. And she’s a he.” The Wookiee was passed out o
n a cot by the Falcon’s gangplank, snoring recklessly.

  Sana sighed and took a seat on the little bit of bench next to Han, who stubbornly did not scootch over to make room for her. “I can’t tell if you’re actually this dense or you’re just really determined not to talk about what’s bothering you.”

  Han allowed a smile and rubbed his face. Sana was right on all counts. He was wrecked in ways he didn’t even know how to describe, his insides had never felt so shattered, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it. He slid over to give her more room on the bench, and she handed him a small pouch. “What’s this?”

  “Hemchar root. One of Maz’s hangover cures. Just pour it down your gullet, you’ll be all right.” She pulled out another and tore it open. “C’mon, we’ll do it together.”

  He stared at her. “You’re hung over? You look…”

  “Beautiful? Why, thank you!”

  “That’s…I mean…”

  “Just shut up and take the hemchar, Han.”

  She emptied her own packet into her mouth as he watched, and then he tore his open and did the same. And then the whole ship hangar around him turned a very bright shade of purple. “Um…”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention the side effects,” Sana said with a slight giggle.

  “Do they include…whoa!” It wasn’t just that everything was purple, it was that even brighter-colored splotches kept bursting out of nowhere.

  “Technochrome hallucinations,” Sana admitted. “And sometimes olfactory ones, too, just FYI.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Han said, closing his eyes. “Was there a reason you came to find me here or was it just to make my life even weirder?”

  “You looked like you could use a pick-me-up,” Sana said. “Ooh, turquoise!”

  “And?”

  “And I have a job.”

  Han shrugged, eyes still closed. “And?”

  “A paying job.”

  Another shrug.

  Sana made a low growling sound. “A job that I could use your help on…and a fast ship.”

  “Aha,” Han said, finally opening his eyes. “Whoa, yellow. Everything is yellow.”

  “It’ll pass.”

  “What’s the job?”

  “Just gotta get this little thingymadoo and bring it from one place to another for someone is all.”

  “So…smuggling?”

  Sana looked offended. “So crass.”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “Eeyn choo pitakra,” a screechy voice rasped. Both Han and Sana looked up. Five pinched, snarling faces glared back at them. The creatures formed a semicircle in the dusty open area. Crusty bald patches speckled their mangy black fur. One was missing an eye, another an arm. All carried stun clubs, their business ends charged and sparkling.

  “Do the hallucinations include giant feral rats?” Han asked.

  Sana glowered. “Sadly, these are quite real. And they’re probably mad about that landspeeder of theirs I borrowed.”

  “Hassk bacha kree!”

  “We know you’re Hassks, you mange-eaten fleabag.”

  The Hassks growled and closed in a few steps, twitching and seething as they raised their fizzling stun clubs.

  Han looked up, above the grimacing Hassks, above the freighters and transports parked around them, to the sky, the glorious, shimmering sky. It went on forever; each trembling speckle of starshine contained whole universes, a million billion worlds, all glowing bright orange…

  “Han?” Sana said under her breath. “You with me?”

  “What is this stuff?”

  “Maz might’ve said to only take a teaspoonful for hangovers,” Sana admitted. “Maybe not the whole packet.”

  “Great.”

  “Speena foolok m’shar!” the lead Hassk demanded.

  “I’m sure Sana here will give you back your landspeeder if you ask nicely,” Han said. “No need to get personal.”

  Sana frowned. “About that…”

  The Hassks all yelled as one: “Frazkrit!”

  “I kinda wrecked it.”

  “Oh boy,” Han said.

  “Yeah, long story. Anyway, we might need to make some moves…”

  A high-pitched whine sounded: one of the stun clubs supercharging. Han felt like he was moving in slow motion as he stood and stepped out of the way of the sparkling blast. The Hassks chuckled, and more supercharges rang out.

  “Chewie!” Han yelled.

  Behind him, he heard the Wookiee stir and grumble something profane.

  “I know you’re sleeping. But we could use a hand here…”

  Another growled curse. The Hassks stopped chuckling.

  “And weren’t you just talking the other day about how you wanted to wreck some Hassk ass?”

  With a grunt and a clatter of metal—apparently, he’d been sleeping next to a toolbox, now spilled across the floor—Chewbacca rose to his full fur-covered height. He blinked in the harsh lights of the landing bay.

  “Frazkrit,” one of the Hassks whispered.

  “Parandoo mrakpan,” another suggested. “Shreevat.”

  Sana shook her head. “Oh, now you wanna negotiate? You can negotiate with my Wookiee.”

  “Your Wookiee?” Han said, as Chewie cocked his head to the side.

  Sana shrugged. “It’s an expression.”

  “No, it’s no—” Han started, but then the Hassks charged, their stun clubs whining and crackling. Han spun out of the way, still in slow motion somehow, and clocked the nearest one across its gnarled face. His hand came back sticky, he didn’t want to imagine from what, but the Hassk stumbled away a few steps, stun club clattering to the ground. Two more came in swinging and then were swept clean out of the way as Chewie roared into the melee.

  “Thanks,” Han said. “But bright green is a terrible color for you. Next time you want to dye your fur, let me know and we’ll find a better match.”

  Chewie squinted a concerned look down at him.

  “Duck!” Sana yelled, and both Han and Chewie crouched low as blasterfire flashed over their heads.

  A Hassk screeched behind them and flew backward.

  “You’re welcome,” Sana said, blowing away the plume of smoke from her blaster. Howling and hissing, the Hassk raiders scattered into the shadows. “How’s it going, Chewie?”

  Chewie moaned and shook his head.

  “I have something that can help you with that,” Sana said, patting her jacket pocket with a grin.

  “No!” Han growled. “You don’t.”

  “So touchy. I was gonna measure it out properly this time.”

  Chewie swatted the air at both of them like they were figments of some bad dream and went back to the bench he’d been sleeping on.

  For a few seconds, Han and Sana took in the sudden silence and fading rainbow splashes around them. Han felt a strange kind of peace settle in.

  “Nice shooting,” he said.

  Sana smiled. “It was a good thing you ducked. My aim may be slightly compromised right now.”

  A cleaning droid moped past, ancient gears whining in protest with each clomp.

  Not far away, the sound of music and laughter rose from Maz Kanata’s castle as another night of debauchery and shenanigans got under way.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Han said.

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  “Her name.”

  Sana nodded, didn’t press him any further.

  Inside Han, some tiny part of himself let go, some knot he’d been tying over and over again just seemed to dissolve, and all it took was that tiny admission to just let it go.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. It was time to get back in the saddle. “You said you had some smuggling to do?”

  “HOW’D IT GO?” KAASHA ASKED when Lando walked
back onto the bridge of the Lady Luck. Lando paused to take in the way her back arched between the two dangling lekku, her brow slightly furrowed as she sat staring at the dejarik board, where it looked like she was about to deliver a sound walloping to Lobot’s diminishing hologram army.

  Lobot didn’t look up, either; he just frowned at the tiny flickering beasts.

  “Han’ll come along,” Lando said, pulling off his cape and hanging it beside the door. None of this was how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to compliment Kaasha’s beauty as soon as he noticed it, tell her how disarmingly gorgeous she was. And it was supposed to be a little bit of a lie; not the gorgeous part, of course—that was always true—but Lando was never disarmed. Not by the sight of a woman. This, though…none of this was right. “How’s Florx doing with the unit?”

  Finally, Lobot looked up, still frowning. He shook his head, glared back at the board.

  “That good, huh? Your karkath is in…”

  Kaasha pushed a button and a throng of tiny, squawking creatures raced across the board and swarmed over one of Lobot’s armored beasts. It squealed and then vanished beneath the onslaught. Lobot stared, eyes wide.

  “You know he’s never lost, right?” Lando said.

  Kaasha grinned across the table at Lobot. “Oops.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Lando said, chuckling, and headed to the corridor. “I’m gonna check on Florx. Have fun, you two.” The door slid closed behind him. Up ahead, sparks and bright flashes of light cast manic shadows across the far wall. The grunting snorts of Lando’s Ugnaught droid expert sounded beneath the sizzling hum of a mechtorch.

  Lando rounded the corner, stopped in his tracks. Soot and burn marks covered the tiny entirety of Florx Biggles. Fortunately, the Ugnaught was wearing one of those heavy-duty protective suits they favored and a metal face guard that made him look like some kind of humanoid astromech that had survived a nasty crash. DRX, or what was left of him, lay splayed out in various twitching pieces across Florx’s workbench, and the walls, and the floor. And one or two fingers that were somehow dangling from the ceiling wires.