The Ruins of Dantooine (15 page)

“Good. Now, about my end of the deal,” the pirate lord continued. “There’s a small transport waiting for you in my starport. You’ll be flyin’ with a Mon Cal, but Han and Chewie here are gonna escort you all the way to Corellia. Seems you run in the same circles,” he added slyly.

Han nodded in salute to Finn, while winking at Dusque. The Wookiee howled a salutation to them, as well, before rising to his full, towering height. Han turned his attention back to Nym and his demeanor grew serious.

“Listen, Nym,” he began, speaking freely now, “there’s still a lot of credits to be made working for the Alliance. We could use your help, and I can arrange for high-risk, high-paying jobs.”

The pirate shook his head. “We’ve gone over this, Solo, and you know where I stand.”

It was Han’s turn to shake his head in disappointment. “I know what you’re thinking,” he told Nym. “I was there once and you’re wrong. You think that no one’s gonna bother you, locked up here in your personal fort. Well, sooner or later the Empire will find you, and they will shut you down.” Dusque heard the genuine passion in his words, his casual demeanor forgotten for the moment.

Han looked at the pirate one more time before heading for the door. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving,” he tossed over his shoulder, businesslike, to
Dusque and Finn, and left with the Wookiee trailing behind.

Dusque thought about his words and how closely the conversation mirrored the one she and Finn had shared. All around her, she was finding accomplished people who firmly believed in the Rebel Alliance. She was starting to wonder how she had avoided the whole conflict for so long, buried away in her lab as Nym was in his fortress. She was starting to see that both were just elaborate prisons of a sort.

“Finn,” Nym said, “you an’ me, we’re free of each other. Understand? Take the transport, but this is the last favor I do for you. Or the Alliance.”

Finn saluted him in return. “We are quit of our debts.” He turned and started out of the room.

“And good-bye to you,” Nym said, addressing Dusque with mock gallantry. “I hope our paths cross again.”

Dusque surprised both of them by winking at the pirate lord. “You never know. The galaxy is full of surprises. Oh—” she tapped her sword, “—I’m going to hang on to this. Something to remember you by.”

Dusque could still hear the Feeorin’s hearty laughter as she and Finn made their way toward the small starport. She didn’t know much about ships, but the small one in front of them seemed adequate enough. A Mon Calamari was standing near the landing gear.

“I hope he flies better than he looks,” Dusque
whispered to Finn, eyeing the pilot’s mangy clothes and tarnished weapons with concern.

“Me, too,” Finn grinned. “But if Nym recommended him, he’ll be one of the best.”

When the Mon Calamari pilot saw them, he waved them aboard. “She’s no cruise liner, but she does what she has to. And with the
Falcon
flying escort, this trip should be a breeze,” he told them. Inside, Dusque and Finn found seats crammed among all sorts of cargo and junk. As they strapped in, Dusque could hear the Mon Calamari signal to Han.

“Peralli to
Falcon.
All cargo is secured. Ready for departure.”

“Copy that,” came the static-laced reply. Dusque wondered when the communications equipment on this ship had last seen maintenance. “
Falcon
out.”

“Hang on,” the Mon Calamari shouted back to them. “This is going to be a little rough.”

Dusque gripped the arms of her seat when the transport shuddered to life. As they left Lok for Corellia, Dusque looked at Finn and wondered what lay ahead.

“Now that we’ve jumped into hyperspace,” Peralli said, “you’ve got some time. Nym sent me a message. He said that you”—he pointed to Dusque—“can help yourself to that small crate over there. He wanted you to have something a little more practical than that skinny gurnaset sticker to remember him by, whatever that means.” The Mon Calamari shrugged his shoulders and ambled back to the cockpit.

“Wonder what Nym’s got in mind for you,” Finn said. He unbuckled himself and maneuvered over to the small crate. Dusque did the same.

“Let’s open it up and find out,” she replied.

Finn grabbed a metal bar and pried the top loose. Inside the small crate was an impressive selection of blasters, all new and shiny. Dusque briefly recalled Tendau’s weapon and how there seemed to be something vaguely sinister about it, like unspoken betrayals.

“Not bad,” Finn murmured as he rummaged through the contents of the container. He pulled out
various styles of blasters and checked their power supplies. Dusque was impressed with how comfortable he was with each type, easily disassembling them and reassembling them again after verifying their condition.

“What’ll it be?” he asked her when he was finished.

“Doesn’t really matter,” she confessed, “because I don’t know the differences between any of them.”

“You’ve never used one of these?” he asked her.

“Not in my line of work. Survival knives, some fencing, and hand-to-hand techniques are all I’ve ever practiced or used.” She lowered her head, afraid that she had disappointed him and that he must now have found her wanting.

He surprised her again. “Then we better rectify that while there’s time,” he said easily, without a hint of derision in his voice. “C’mere.”

Dusque moved closer to the crate. Finn pulled out four different models of blasters and handed two to her, while he hung on to the other two himself. He nudged a few scraps of metal and other crates aside with his foot and cleared a path to a small workbench. He laid his blasters down and then had Dusque add hers to the lineup. He arranged them, then picked up the first one on the left, a long, slim one, and held it up, barrel pointed away, for Dusque’s inspection.

“This is a sporting blaster,” he explained. “It has a manual sight here just in front of the cooling coils on the barrel. It’s light and easily concealed. Go on,” he urged her. “Take it.”

Dusque accepted the weapon from him and felt the heft of it in her hand. It was very light, weighing not much more than a decent survival knife. While she balanced the item in her hand and tried to become more familiar with the feel of it, Finn moved up beside her.

“The downside to this weapon is that it doesn’t have a very powerful charge and it burns up power packs pretty quickly. Also, it uses a manual sight, so there’s more room for error. Actually,” he continued, “it’s more the weapon of the nobility than anything else.”

“Then it’s no good?” she asked.

“Don’t discount this little one so fast,” Finn told her. “You can swap out power packs pretty quickly and, if you need to sneak a weapon in someplace …” He paused. Moving to stand behind her, he pointed out a small recessed button on the blaster above the trigger.

“See there?” he asked her. She nodded and found herself standing taller as he stood closer.

“Press this and she pops into three pieces: the grip with the power pack, the main body with the blaster components, and the barrel. Give it a try.”

Dusque found that the gun came apart readily. Without waiting for his instruction, she snapped its parts back into a functioning weapon. “That could be handy,” she agreed coolly, trying not to show how pleased she was by the obvious approval on his face.

He took away the sporting blaster and handed her the next one.

“This is a DH-seventeen blaster,” he explained. When she took it from his hands, he moved even closer to her.

“Heavier than the other one,” Dusque remarked.

“Yep,” he agreed. “Longer range than the sporting model and longer-lasting firepower.” He wrapped his hand over hers. It was warm and dry and strong.

“The safety release,” he told her, “is above the trigger. See?”

“Mm-hmm,” she agreed, studying the pistol. “Is that the power pack?” she asked, pointing to a unit above the trigger, near the barrel.

“That’s right,” Finn replied, sounding delighted that she noticed. He released her hand and stepped back. “On the other model it was in the grip itself. These are a little trickier to take out, but can still be removed quickly when you get the hang of it.”

“Pros and cons?” she asked.

“It can blast through stormtrooper armor, but not a ship’s hull, so this is a good choice for close fighting on a ship. And on the low-power stun, it can knock someone out cold. It’s normally semiautomatic, but this one’s been juiced to fully automatic. See?” he asked as he pointed out the modification.

“The downside with that is you burn up packs very quickly and can even overheat the outer components if you’re not careful. And it’s illegal for any nonmilitary personnel to possess.”

“Oh,” Dusque said, and held the weapon out as though she were targeting something. Finn moved behind her and placed his hand over hers again as she sighted down the weapon. He guided her head with his other hand.

“It’s got a scope,” he explained quietly, “not a manual sight. Notice the difference?”

Dusque faltered for a moment when she felt his body touch her back lightly. As much as she wanted to deny it, there was a current that ran between them. It excited and frightened her at the same time.

“I do,” she finally said. Finn was quiet for a minute, and when he stepped over to their arsenal, Dusque was certain he let his fingers trail over hers longer than he needed to. He busied himself with his next selection, and Dusque wondered if he needed to collect himself. When he did choose another, she realized she had seen one like it before.

“The other pilot, Han Solo, carries one like that,” she said.

Finn gave her a grin. “Very good,” he complimented her. “You obviously studied him pretty closely,” he added after a moment’s thought, and Dusque could’ve sworn there was just the touch of jealousy in his voice. Even while she felt exasperated, she knew she was also pleased.

“Well, I did have a hard time taking my eyes off him,” she told Finn innocently and watched his jaw clench. She bit back a laugh. When he didn’t respond, she began to wonder if her teasing had gone too far. She was about to say something to make up
for it, but then the storm cloud lifted from his face and he smiled back at her, although it was not the easy smile of a moment ago.

“Anyway,” he began, ignoring their last exchange, “the DL-forty-four is what’s known as a heavy blaster.” He tossed the weapon at her, and Dusque needed both hands to catch it. She wondered if he was mad at her.

“You’re right,” she said, “but I can still carry it one-handed.”

Finn nodded. “And you can fire it that way, too. But this weapon is really designed for close-quarters combat, and it uses up power packs even faster than the DH-seventeen.

“The nice thing, though,” he continued and leaned in, “is this right here.” He pointed to a small unit in the grip. “That device vibrates the grip when you’re low on power, so you know to switch out packs. Downside with this weapon is you have to be a good shot. You can’t just blast away and hope for the best, or you’ll burn out the pack. And the button above the grip but below the sight is a quick release for the power pack.”

He took that one away and handed her the last weapon on the table. It was longer than the others.

“This is the E-eleven blaster rifle,” he told her. “Go on, take it.”

Dusque was a trifle hesitant because he still seemed angry with her. Finn appeared to sense her discomfort and eased off a bit. “You can do it,” he
told her. She accepted the rifle and realized she needed both hands to hold it comfortably.

“It has a range almost three times that of a blaster.”

“It’s heavier,” Dusque admitted. “I don’t think I could hold this with one hand.”

“Most can’t. If you see under the barrel, there’s an extendable stock that’ll help your aim.”

Dusque fumbled with the mechanism and Finn assumed his earlier pose, standing behind her and cradling both her and the weapon in the circle of his arms. He snapped the stock partially open, forming a triangle under the gun.

“Now hold this up and look through the scope,” he instructed her.

Dusque saw that the view with this one was different. “It’s not like the others,” she told him. When he responded, he spoke into her right ear and his breath sent shivers through her once more.

“It’s computerized so that you can aim in the worst conditions. Doesn’t matter,” he continued, “low light, haze, or smoke won’t affect your shots. For more stability—” He paused and pulled the stock toward Dusque, opening it fully. He placed it against her shoulder. “—open this up.”

He stretched his arm against the length of her left one and there wasn’t a part of their bodies that wasn’t touching. Dusque wasn’t sure which of them was trembling.

“The switch over here,” he continued softly, “is
so you can vary the power setting from stun to something … more … powerful.” He hesitated.

Dusque was no longer listening to the words he was saying. She leaned her body against his and found his solidity comforting. She didn’t know which one of them lowered the weapon, but it slid to the floor with a dull thud. His hands trailed up her arms and he gripped her shoulders firmly. His breathing came out in short puffs that tickled her neck, and chills ran up and down her spine.

“Dusque,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she replied in kind.

“H …” He faltered.

“Yes?” she asked gently, overcome with an emotion she feared to name.

“I-I can’t,” he finished and pushed her away from him.

Dusque reeled slightly as she regained her balance, and she was surprised at herself for having relied so much on his strength to support her. She leaned forward to grip the workbench and take a deep breath.

When she had composed herself, she saw that Finn had a torn expression on his face. She wondered if he was frustrated by pushing her away, or upset that he had allowed her to get too close to begin with. And then his words about the Empire came back to her, how he believed that everyone betrayed those they loved to it eventually.

As Finn started to speak, Dusque held up a hand
and placed it against his lips. “It’s all right,” she said. “I understand. It’s the Empire, isn’t it?’