The Crystal Star (5 page)

Hero of the New Republic, Chewbacca.

At the bottom of the Millennium Falcon's ramp, the crawler's entryway was dim. A translucent rod

barred Han's path. He pushed it. It moved in his hand. He gripped it harder. It shivered and shook and

rattled against the skin of the crawler. Several similar rods, each one segmented, each joint a faceted

bulge, snapped across the doorway in front of him.

"Hey!" Han yelled.

"Let go!" the driver said.

"Let him go," Luke said. "You're holding on to his arm. His leg. His appendage." "How do you know?"

Luke just looked at him.

Han let go. "I hate it when you do that," he said to Luke.

"Pay first," the driver said. "Then enter." Han peeled off several bills and gave them over to the driver.

One of the thin, translucent appendages slid across the doorway in front of him until its four-clawed end

hovered before his face. The claws were as sharp and blue as steel, and each was as long as his hand.

"Nice fingernails," Han said. He put the cash into the claws. They closed gently, without piercing the

engraved paper.

"Thank you," the driver said. "You will pay more." "More? Now?" Han exclaimed. "For parking on a

chunk of rock?" "For parking on a chunk of rock under a rented shield," the driver said, "when a new

X-ray storm will approach. My rented shield.

However, I will move it away if you would prefer." Han had considered the radiation flux strong enough

to qualify as an X-ray storm. On Crseih, though, it was normal weather. When the white dwarf neared

the black hole, and the black hole began tearing heated gas from its surface, the X rays would intensify

into a true storm, an X-ray hurricane.

"An X-ray storm will surely have adverse effects on the systems of the Mil--of your ship," See-Threepio

said, "if it is left unprotected." "I know that," Han said. He pulled off three more bills and shoved them

into the driver's claws. He thought, This is going to leave us pretty short of cash. Never mind, the letter of

resources will take care of the problem.

The claws withdrew. Rustling, the other legs parted. Han's eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim

light. The driver sat on the other side of the crawler cabin, pulling its legs in around it like a pile of dry

sticks.

"The ride to Crseih," the driver said, "will be free." "Thanks so much," Han said. Behind them, the Falcon

drew in its ramp and locked its hatch.

See-Threepio peered around the inside of the crawler.

"You have no other passenger?" he asked.

"I will only have room to carry you," the driver said.

Threepio said a few ^ws in a language so strange it hurt Han's ears. Threepio had spoken it to him

before, while translating the messages from Crseih Station.

Threepio thinks this guy might be our contact!

Han thought.

The driver rattled several appendages, including those with aural sensory hairs, and sharp defensive

spines.

"What will you mean?" the driver said to Threepio. "Why will you irritate my auditory organs?" "I beg

your pardon," Threepio said. "I said nothing of any importance. I mistook you for someone else." The

crawler left the starship beneath its shield and headed toward the city.

The driver stopped the crawler in its bay. The airlink moved to meet the door. Han vaulted down and

strode into Crseih Station. Luke and See-Threepio followed.

The crawler backed out and rumbled away.

"Spiders," Han said, shuddering. "I'm sorry, but spiders really give me the creeps." "Spiders?"

See-Threepio said. "Are there spiders? Where? I must be careful that they do not spin their webs in my

joints. Why, I knew a droid once--" "I meant the driver," Han said.

"But the driver was not a spider," See-Threepio said.

"Metaphorically speaking," Han said.

"But--" "Never mind," Han said. "Forget I said anything." "He.was a good businessman," Luke said.

Han laughed. "Yeah, you're right. He was pretty grabby." See-Threepio took a few nervous steps

forward and looked around.

"I'm certain our contact is here somewhere!" he said, despite their being alone in the entry bay.

Han glanced at Luke. "Now what? Do you have any idea where to start looking for your lost Jedi?" Luke

shook his head. His hair fell across his forehead andfora moment he looked like the green kid he had

been when Han first met him. But he was not a green kid anymore. Far from it. Over the years, he had

developed an otherworldly presence that Han found both touching and alarming.

"I expected to be able to sense--" Luke shrugged unhappily. "There's nothing. Maybe they're shielding

themselves. Hiding. After the way the Empire hunted them down, who can blame them?" "You'd think

they'd notice," Han said, "that there hasn't been any Empire for years." "But there are plenty of people

who want it to return," Luke said stubbornly.

"Okay, okay." Han did not believe a group of lost Jedi existed. On the other hand, the longer Luke

searched for them, the longer Han's vacation would last.

Maybe I'd better go easy on the teasing, he said to himself.

Beneath the transparent radiation shields, the carnival light of the burning whirlpool turned gray and soft.

Small shadows appeared and disappeared, dappling the ground.

Han glanced up. As Crseih Station spun on its axis, the black hole and its accretion disk created a violent

dawn. The burning whirlpool stretched across a quarter of the sky.

When it set, its white dwarf companion would rise. As the white dwarf plunged toward the center of the

star system, it and its companion would rise closer and closer to the same time, until they rose together

and burned the heavens.

Han was careful not to look directly at the accretion disk of the black hole, even with the protection of

the shields. In an instant, the natural fireworks display expended more energy than all the celebrations

conceived by civilization since the beginning of history.

He proceeded through the airlink toward the first dome of the station proper. Hot, moist air, tropical and

fetid, closed in around Han.

He could practically see the air, practically open his fingers and grab a handful of it.

Most of the folks who live here must be from tropical worlds, he thought. It's easy to keep a space

station cool--But not a station like Crseih. Overworked cooling machinery vibrated the floor. The shields

protected the living space by absorbing X rays. But the enormous energy re-radiated as heat, and the

heat had to go somewhere. The cooling machinery strained to transport it to Crseih's night side, where

the heat could be radiated into the vacuum of space. With the black hole on one side of the station, and

the white dwarf on the other, Crseih's night side was barely a sliver of shadow.

Han held his palm a finger's width from the surface of the airlink. After a moment he pulled back. Even

with the efforts of the cooling machinery, the surface was uncomfortably hot.

See-Threepio hurried on ahead, strutting stiffly, strange in his purple-lacquer disguise. He continued his

futile search for his contact.

"I distinctly told our correspondent to meet us," Threepio said querulously. "I cannot understand--" Luke

strode past Han--He did go by me, didn't he? Han thought.

Did I see him? Or didn't I? Damn, I hate it when he does that!

"Threepio," Luke said, "it would be better not to broadcast our plans." "But, Master Luke, I never

would--I assure you I wasn't engaging my transmitter!" "Don't engage your vocal unit, either." "very well,

Master Luke," See-Threepio said, "if that's as you prefer it." The droid walked on, body language as

expressive as ^ws that he had expected to be met at the landing field.

In the humidity and the heat, sweat ran down Han's back and sides and beaded on his forehead without

evaporating. He wiped his face and rolled up his sleeves, for once not worrying whether he looked

proper.

Over the years, Leia and his own advisers had made him more aware of his clothing. Instead of putting

on whatever came to hand out of his closet, in whatever combination the cleaner droid deposited it, he

had begun to dress according to his day's duties. Usually he could get away without wearing a formal

uniform, unless his schedule included addressing or inspecting regular troops, or a diplomatic reception.

Han Solo hated uniforms. He was not particularly keen on speeches or receptions, either.

On this trip, he had not even brought a uniform. And though his frayed pants and comfortable old shirt

were too heavy for the climate of Crseih Station, he felt as if he were expanding with freedom.

No uniforms, no speeches, no receptions.

He laughed out loud.

"This is going to be fun," he said.

They rounded a curve of the steamy airlink. It stretched on empty before them.

"Where's Threepio?" Luke said.

"I don't know," Han said. "You probably hurt his feelings by telling him to shut up." "I just told him to

keep our plans to himself." "Don't you know where he is?" "I could find him," Luke said, "but I'd better

not. I'd better not do anything long-range. I don't want to give us away." "Why not send up a signal flare?

Let the Jedi Masters find us." "Let's get the lay of the land first," Luke said. "After all, we don't know

much about the people I'm looking for. Only the rumors, and the strange stories--" "You're right, kid,"

Han said. The longer Luke takes, the longer before I have to put on another uniform. "Absolutely right.

Take all the time you want." "And if they are Jedi--I want to be certain they aren't on the dark side."

"Wouldn't you know it--wdn't you sense it--if someone using the dark side was near?" "Sure I would,"

Luke said.

"Good." "I think I would." Luke stared through the translucent side of the tunnel. In the distance, domes

perched on flat rock between craters. He said in a soft voice, "I hope I would." Exasperated, Han strode

on ahead.

"What do I always say?" he muttered.

"They're more trouble than they're worth." He burst through the exit of the airlink and entered the first

dome of Crseih Station. Noise and light surrounded him, as thick and exciting as the hot, steamy air.

Luke followed more cautiously, poised at Han's right shoulder, keeping watch.

Han wondered how far Luke could project his illusion of disguise. Did the inhabitants of the station see

him as he really was, when they were at a distance, and then think they had mistaken what he looked like

when they got nearer? Or did his local effect of disguise surround him like a cloak, and project his image

to anyone who glanced at him?

Han could not tell, for Luke had kept his promise to leave his partner unaffected. As far as Han was

concerned, the young man beside him was Luke Skywalker, pilot, brother-in-law, and, incidentally, Jedi

Knight. He wore his robes, which fortunately were not much different from the everyday garb of many

humanoid beings. They did not mark him as Jedi, and they did conceal his lightsaber.

Han stroked his beard, a habit he had picked up while it was still growing. Those last few weeks before

he and Luke began this trip, he had been eager and anxious to be on their way.

Stroking his beard surely had not made it grow any faster, but the motion was a talisman, a reminder that

in two more weeks--if he could just get through this review, then in one more week--if he could just get

through this speech--he would be away and on his own again.

The enormous first dome of Crseih Station spread out like a carnival around him. Bands and jugglers,

acrobats and merchants demonstrated their abilities or displayed their wares.

A group of Brebishems lay in a heap on the side of the path, wriggling and rolling together, twisting their

long snouts and flapping their wide leaf-shaped ears. They squeezed so close together that they

resembled one organism, as if their soft wrinkled mauve skins had touched and melded. A low

continuous moan emanated from the group. It was impossible to tell if one or all made the sound.

Luke threw a coin into the basket sitting before the Brebishems.

"What's that for?" Han said.

"Appreciation for their art." "Art?" Han looked at Luke askance, but Luke was perfectly serious.

"It isn't any stranger than dancing, or bolo-ball." "You're entitled to your opinion," Han said.

An image came to him, unbidden, of the last time he and Leia had danced. Some reception somewhere,

he could not remember when or even what planet the event had been on. Only that there had been a few

minutes free of diplomacy, toasts, and salutations, and he and Leia had held each other close in the

mirror-fractured light on the sparkling dance floor. A sharp pang of desire and loneliness touched his

heart.

"Please, honors, a small coin left for me?" An individual only as high as Han's hip plucked at the sleeve of

his shirt. A long gray-green pelt concealed the being's form.

"Has it got a coin in its pocketses for me?" "No, I don't have any change on me," Han said. He pushed

the long thin fingers, like brittle twigs, away from his pockets.

"Wait," Luke said. "I have some." He gave the being a coin. His voice was very gentle when he spoke to

the being. The bony fingers snatched the coin, which vanished somewhere beneath the long coarse fur.

The being snuffled and went past them, toward the airlink.

"Other passengers coming?" the being said hopefully.

"Just us," Han said.

Several other beggars, guides, and tchochke-sellers converged on Han and Luke.