Return to Ord Mantell

8

Putting the despised Han Solo behind her, Anja hurried away from the docking bay, moving faster than she had expected. Emotions surged through her, and adrenaline flooded her body. She had been warned that the encounter might affect her strongly, but she now found herself relishing the moment she had anticipated all her life.

The setup had been perfect, and Solo’s reaction was priceless. Guilt had been written like a brilliant holographic billboard across his face.

Even his own children would have to doubt him now.

Oh, how she hated the man. Anja gripped the lightsaber hilt that hung at her waist. Her fingers spasmed. She stretched out her hand in front of her and watched her fingers tremble until she forced a calm upon them.

Calm … calm.

She stepped into a turbolift that took her down to the lower levels of the tall, nondescript warehouses. She paced inside the enclosed lift, feeling like a trapped animal. With a clenched fist she pounded on the metal wall, but the slow repulsor engines took no notice of her frustration. She gritted her teeth and breathed deeply, but the cold air held a tart and metallic smell. Sweat trickled down her temples and leaked out from under the leather headband.

Han Solo’s face kept flashing in front of her mind’s eye, taunting her with the thought of all the unfair advantages he had in his life—his three delightful children, his beautiful quarters at the old Imperial Palace…

After an eternity, the lift doors opened, and Anja dashed out onto the midlevel connecting walkways. She glanced at her wrist chronometer.

It was late. She would miss her meeting unless she ran. A feral grin spread across her face. She could handle it. She had plenty of excess energy to burn off, so she sprinted. Her small feet made light clanging sounds on the metal walkways as she turned, descended a hollow-sounding staircase, and ran between a pair of large buildings in search of the right entrance.

Because of the privacy and secrecy requirements on Ord Mantell, most buildings were not numbered or identified in any way. That proved a detriment only to people who didn’t know where they were going.

And Anja Gallandro knew where she was going.

Inside the echoing, complicated enclosures, she saw a host of shady-looking creatures. Some were bounty hunters or scavengers, criminals of various sorts huddling in the alleyways. Suspicious eyes gleamed at her, some on swiveling stalks, some with faceted insect eyes that captured multiple images of her figure as she flitted down one narrow alley into another. When she finally reached a sealed door with a hidden keypad, Anja punched in the code, then paced and fidgeted for the two seconds it took for the door to acknowledge her presence and slide open.

She ducked inside, hot, anxious, burning with inner energy. The door sealed behind her with a thunk. Inside, the room was dark. Anja waited, refusing to be intimidated. Her heart still pounded, and her head seemed to crackle with static from the fading aftereffects of the dose she had taken.

Suddenly all the chamber lights blazed on. Anja stood blinking, unmoving. She knew this couldn’t be a trap, because her employer had had ample opportunity to kill her before—and now she had information he needed.

“So what have you learned, little velser?” Czethros said from his comfortable seat. His single cybernetic eye blazed red behind his visor.

Velser. At first, Anja had hated the nickname Czethros gave her after taking her under his wing and training hell — to be his tool, his weapon.

But then Anja had learned that velsers were fearsome, fast-flying predatory creatures from Bespin. They were sleek, deadly attackers.

She could think of worse things to be called.

“I learned quite a bit. I met Han Solo,” she said. “I told you those old space mines you set as a trap wouldn’t fool him for an instant. Now he’s on his guard. I hate the man, but I respect his abilities. His children have excellent skills as well—I watched them fight.” She tossed her streaked hair back, adjusted her headband, and raised her chin. “Not as good as me, of course, even though they’re using Jedi skills. They don’t have quite the… enthusiasm.” Czethros laughed. “Enthusiasm? You go into a berserker rage when you’ve had too much.”

“It’s useful sometimes,” Anja said. “And I managed to drive back most of those clumsy chameleon attackers. Your work, I presume?”

“Did they get away with the evidence?”

“Easily. I hope you didn’t mind losing a few of them. We had to kill about seven.”

Czethros shrugged. “They’re cheap. I can always buy more.”

“Now it’ll be harder to kill Solo,” Anja said. “The one thing I’m after. You might have screwed up my chances.”

Czethros laughed, though his pale, sickly-looking face showed no humor at all. He ran one hand over his moss green hair. “Solo is cocky. His easy escape from the space mines, and your resounding defeat of the chameleon creatures, will probably only make him more willing to jump into peril, not less. He doesn’t know how to be careful. And his children seem to have even greater potential for getting into trouble than he does.”

“Well, I’ve planted the suggestion in his mind,” Anja said, getting down to business. “I taunted Solo with the desperate situation on Anobis. If he rises to the bait and blunders happily into the war there, he’s doomed.”

“Excellent,” Czethros said. “That way my overall plan can proceed without his interference. He’s one of the few people in the galaxy who can expose the enterprises we’re trying to build through Black Sun.”

“And, if you help me get rid of him, there can be no greater payback for me than to avenge my mother and father.”

“Be patient, Anja. The time will come,” Czethros said. “You’ve waited this long. Let’s do it right.”

She bit her lip and nodded. She tapped her fingers on the metal surface of the nearest table, stood up and fidgeted, looked around. “I… may need to go with Solo, in order to nudge a few things along.” She hesitated.

Czethros watched her with his cybernetic red laser eye, waiting.

The cruel streak was coming out in him. He had to know what she wanted, but he twisted the screws, making her ask for it. For what she needed.

She drew herself up again, trying not to look weak. “But in order to be at my peak performance, as this mission requires, I’ll need...”

She trailed off. He knew what she meant.

Czethros continued watching her. “Yes?”

Anja felt a flash of anger, and pounded her fist on the metal wall with a dull clang. “I need my supply! I used my last dose of spice in order to fight your clumsy henchmen.”

Czethros laughed and then made a taking sound. “You seem so desperate. Don’t worry, little velser. You can count on me.” From his pocket he withdrew a sealed black case and held it aloft, just far enough away that she would have to step forward and reach out to take it from him.

He tried to toy with her, pulling it back, but Anja moved too quickly.

Still in the aftereffects of her hypersensitivity, she snatched the case before he could play his little trick. Czethros covered his surprise at the speed of her reactions.

“There’s your supply of andris spice,” he said. “You’re taking too much of it, you know. I can’t keep up this rate of payment without further results.”

“You’ll get results,” Anja said, checking the contents of the tiny carbon-freeze box. Each of the small cylindrical containers inside was wrapped in an insulated covering. Exposing the andris fibers to deep cold intensified the effect of the spice. But she didn’t need another dose now—though she wanted one very, very badly. She would keep the samples, hoard them, take them only when she needed the spice.

When she needed it more than she did now.

Without a word of thanks or goodbye, Anja turned and slipped back out of Czethros’s hidden warehouse. She would keep a close watch on Han Solo, and insinuate herself into his journey to Anobis. She was almost certain he wouldn’t be able to resist going there now that she had challenged him.

And once he got there, he would be very surprised indeed.