Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon Part 14

"I'm your way out!" Poste said, wide-eyed.

The newcomer squinted. "What's this, your good-deed day?"

Behind them, three of the a.s.sailants were hurrying toward the landspeeder, leaving their unconscious comrade to fend for himself. Farther away, two police vehicles were attempting to maneuver through a logjam of skimmers and hovercabs.

"What are you waiting for?"

Still trying to get past the newcomer's initial remarks, Poste froze for an instant. But it didn't matter. The newcomer shoved the throttle forward, snapping Poste's head back against the rest and almost yanking his hands from the steering yoke. Rebounding, Poste saw that the newcomer had his b.l.o.o.d.y-knuckled left hand clamped on the yoke and that he was already steering them into the thick of traffic.

Speeders to both sides veered and collided. Air traffic on Nar Shaddaa was often compared to that on Coruscant, but with one major difference: where on the capital world rude driving earned you a few curses or filthy gestures, on the Smugglers' Moon drivers frequently replied with blaster bolts and joined the chase.

Berating himself for having gotten involved, Poste tried to wrestle the controls back. "I'm still making payments on this thing!"

The newcomer refused to remove his hand. "Whatever you're saying's too much."

"Who's rescuing who?"

"That remains to be seen."

The first of the pursuers' blaster bolts crackled past Poste's head, and he slumped deeper into the seat.

"Drive!" the newcomer said, hauling him upright. "Don't let yourself get distracted."

Poste glanced at him in disbelief. "They're firing at us, in case you didn't notice!"

"If they wanted me dead they would have killed me on the platform."

"Then maybe you should talk to them."

"Only on my own terms."

The newcomer pivoted on the seat and took aim on the SoroSuub The vehicle swung out of the line of fire, slammed into a smaller air speeder, and bounced back into the traffic lane.

"Turn here!" the newcomer said, motioning with his free hand. "It's one-way."

The newcomer laughed. "You've already broken ten laws and you're worried about a traffic violation?"

Poste threw the speeder into the turn, weaving through approaching traffic five hundred meters above the floor of the city canyon. "That's it. Stay focused."

"Like I have a choice."

"You had a choice about inviting me in."

"I still don't know what I was thinking."

"Yes, you do," the newcomer said. "You're a chiseler." Poste's eyebrows arched. "Chiseler?"

"You're hoping there'll be something in this for you." Poste swallowed what he had in mind to say and began again. "Who'd you cross?"

The newcomer shook his head. "I'm not sure yet."

"What was in the attache case?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing important, you mean?"

"No, I mean it was empty." The newcomer raised himself up over the retractable windscreen. "Turn into the second chasm."

"You know your way around?"

"Not like I used to." He used his hand to shield his eyes from Y'Toub's harsh light. "Pull up in front of that truck and switch places with me."

Poste gaped at him. "My first impression of you was right. You did escape from a psych ward."

"I've piloted swoops, speeders, skyhoppers, and just about everything else that flies." The newcomer gestured with the blaster. "Now shove over."

Poste clenched his jaw and traded places on the bench seat. The newcomer slammed the speeder back into motion and shot into traffic, finding s.p.a.ce between vehicles where there shouldn't have been any, and creating s.p.a.ces when he had to. Fifty meters behind them the pilot of the SoroSuub was trying hard to narrow the lead, or at least line up a shot.

The newcomer glanced at Poste. "You actually know how to use a blaster or you just carry it for adornment?"

"Adornment?" Poste laughed at the word. "Where've you been hiding for the past fifty years?"

"Can you use it or not?"

"I can use it."

The newcomer slapped the weapon into Poste's hand. "I'm going to put us behind the SoroSuub. When I do, you put a bolt into the ride side of the repulsorlift compartment. That'll end this little chase."

Poste looked over his left shoulder at the SoroSuub. "You're going to have to increase our lead."

"What are you talking about?"

"To get behind them. Cut around the TransBormea Building. If you can get them to follow us..."

Hitting the booster, the newcomer threw the speeder vertical, then into a loop perfectly timed to drop them almost directly behind the pursuit vehicle.

"Fire!"

Poste tried to swallow his stomach and force his eyes to focus.

"Fire!"

Taking unsteady aim, Poste triggered three bolts, the last of which connected, burning through the repulsorlift compartment and conjuring flames from within. Black smoke pulled from the blunt rear end and the SoroSuub began to veer wildly, then lose alt.i.tude, Poste leaned over the pa.s.senger's-side door to watch the speeder spiral down into Nar Shaddaa's lower depths.

"Nice move," he said when he could. "Fripping brilliant." The newcomer pulled up to a crowded landing platform, shut down the speeder, and hopped out. Sliding behind the controls, Poste looked up to find a wad of credit bills centimeters from his face. "Will this do?"

Poste thought about accepting it, then shook his head. "Keep it. You taught me a valuable lesson about picking up strangers."

The newcomer almost grinned. "Suit yourself." Shoving the wad into his jacket pocket, he stepped away from the speeder to regard it front to back. "Who's responsible for the paint job?"

Poste touched himself in the chest. "Me."

The newcomer laughed through his nose. "Looks like a piece of candy."

Poste exhaled wearily. "First you're a swoop pilot, now you're an art critic?"

"Expunge the flames."

"Ex..."

"And it needs a tune-up."

"I'm sure it does after your s...o...b..ating."

"Have the turbine overdrive relay replaced."

Poste put his tongue in his cheek. "Okay, so maybe you're not a total psych case." He hit the ignition b.u.t.ton. "Still, I hope I don't see you around."

"Hold on," the newcomer said. Poste turned slightly in the seat. "I need some information."

"Yeah, what a surprise."

"I'll compensate you well."

Poste laughed. "What world are you from where they use words like compensate and expunge?"

The newcomer ignored the question. "I'm looking for ship salvagers who would have been working Nar Shaddaa's envelope sixty or so standard years ago."

"Sixty . . ." Poste gestured dismissively. "Go to the library."

"I plan to. But I need someone to ask around in the depths while I'm doing that. Do you know of any starship mechanics or engineers who might have been working back then?"

"Old timers."

"They'd have to be."

Poste considered it. "There are a couple of beings ..." He tilted his head to the side. "In the event I'm sick enough to be interested, how do I find you?"

"You've got a comlink?"

Poste dug into the pouch pocket of his pants and set the comlink down on the bench seat. The newcomer set his comlink down along-side it.

"Mate them."

Poste enabled his comlink's pairing function. "You want to tell me your name?" he said, handing back the newcomer's comlink.

"Not yet."

The blond man turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Jadak showed up at the Slag Pit II half an hour before he was due to meet with the scammer his comlink had identified as Flitcher Poste. Nar Shaddaa's short night had just fallen, with Nal Hutta shielding the moon from the light of Y'Toub. He waited outside, across the street from the flashing front entrance, until he recognized Poste making his way through the mixed-species crowd. A thickset kid of twenty-five or so, Poste had a pleasant face with symmetrical features and bushy eye-brows. His hair was several shades of blond and brown and swept straight back from his forehead. If Poste had grown up on Nar Shaddaa and was still fleecing tourists at his age, then he must have had a pretty lousy low-level childhood. Jadak watched him approach the tap-caf, exchanging greetings with a few beings. He had come alone, as Jadak had instructed, and was taking all the right precautions. Jadak waited awhile longer to make certain no one else showed up, then entered the Slag Pit II by way of the side entrance.

He had spent two days making info forays from a cubicle hotel in the heart of what was once known as the Red District. His research had returned a couple of promising leads, but he was hoping that Poste would have something substantial for him. Waiting for his eves to adjust to the tapcaf's dim lighting, Jadak made a complete circuit of the large main room before heading for the table Poste was holding, a bottle of brew in front of him. Jadak got the attention of a waitress and told her to bring him a Meranzane on ice. He came up behind Poste, startling him, and slipped into the opposite seat.

"I wasn't sure you'd show," Poste said in genuine surprise.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I figured you might have found what you're looking for."

"I haven't," Jadak said. The waitress delivered the drink, and he took a sip, letting the liquor linger in his mouth. "This guy you mentioned ..."

"He'll be here. But he's had to come a long way. I promised him you'd make it worth his while, no matter what."

Jadak nodded. "I already told you I would. What do you know about him?"

"Not much, except that he had a reputation as being one of the best mechanics onworld until something went down that drove him into hiding for a couple of years. When he returned, he worked exclusively for Black Sun, keeping their cargo freighters shipshape. If he doesn't know whoever you're looking for, he'll probably know some one who does."

Poste paused for a moment. "What's this all about, anyway?"

"That can wait till the mechanic gets here."

"You know, I'm still not sure I want anything to do with you. The way you handled those goons. What are you, an undercover cop? Alliance agent?" He sniffed elaborately. "You've got that . . . aura about you. Who were they, anyway-rivals? Enemies?"

"Keep your voice down," Jadak said.

"I'm just telling you, I don't have any big dreams. I'm content making a small living here."

Jadak sat back into the chair. "Picking pockets? Making off with bags at the s.p.a.ceport? Doing a bit of breaking and entering on the side? Some petty theft during power failures or while folks are attending funerals?"

Poste nodded knowingly. "See? You even talk like a cop." He started to rise from the table, but Jadak grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"Sit down. I'll explain everything after we talk to the mechanic."

"Bammy."

Jadak looked up from his drink.

"Bammy Decree. That's his name." Poste nodded with his chin Inward the circular bar. "And I think this might be him."

Jadak followed Poste's gaze to an elderly human, nicely dressed but somewhat stoop-shouldered and hobbling on perhaps century-old legs. "Are you Poste?" he asked as he approached the table.

"That's me."

Poste stood, as if to offer to help him into a chair, but Decree waved him off and sat down una.s.sisted, glancing uncertainly at Jadak.