Star Wars: Scoundrels (14 page)

She was nearly done when Winter appeared at her side. “Almost,” Bink whispered, mildly surprised that the other woman had made it through the window and across the room without making any noise. Maybe Winter was more experienced in criminal activity than Bink had thought.

She keyed in the final number, and there was a soft click from the mechanism. Mentally crossing her fingers, hoping there wasn’t some hidden alarm she hadn’t spotted, she rotated the lever—

From somewhere in the distance came the faint sound of an explosion. She twisted her head toward the door—

“That must be our diversion,” Winter whispered. “Hurry.”

Clenching her teeth, Bink leaned back, throwing her full weight on the lever. The heavy door swung ponderously open.

Bink felt her eyes widen. The safe was empty.

No; not quite. On the middle shelf was an odd-looking datapad. “What the—”

She broke off as Winter reached past her and picked up the device. She took a step to the side, moving into the light, and briefly turned the datapad over in her hands. Then, stepping back again, she returned it to the safe. “Time to go,” she whispered, and headed back toward the window.

“No kidding,” Bink whispered sourly to herself. A datapad. She’d risked her life for a kriffing
datapad
.

Closing the safe, she resealed it and followed Winter back across the room.

A long minute later she was safely outside, the transparisteel plate back in position, the window closed, and the plugs she’d cut out of both of them back in place. For the moment the plugs would be visible, but three more minutes and the adhesive she’d used to glue them in would have everything melded back together, leaving not even a hint that either plate had ever been cut. The rock putty anchors she’d fastened to the side of the building for her harness were the last to go, their adhesive melting away with a few blasts from her solvent spray bottle.

And with that she was on her way back, following Chewie and Winter, firing her grapples and swinging to each tree as quickly as she could. She’d lived through yet another operation, and the sooner she was safely back inside their room, the happier she would be.

She could only hope that whichever of Solo’s people had provided the explosive diversion back there would likewise make it back in one piece.

The bomb was a tiny one, a little squeaker charge that Kell had put together for the occasion, all smoke and sound and very little actual fury. It wasn’t nearly powerful enough to knock Dozer over.

The man with the blaster, on the other hand, was. Dozer landed flat on his back on the thick carpet, the man’s left palm pressed hard against his chest the whole way down, his blaster pressed equally hard against Dozer’s left cheek. Somewhere along the way, the sound of the blast was echoed by the sound of the suite door being slammed shut.

Dozer had intended to yelp something terrified-sounding, something that would fit in with his innocent-bystander persona. But the impact with the floor left him barely enough air for a choking gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, beneath the tendrils of smoke and past the knees of the man now kneeling beside him, he saw two more armed men charging toward the stairway, their blasters drawn and ready.

Mentally Dozer shook his head. Brave men, and undoubtedly very tough. Also very stupid. They had no idea whether there was one man or twenty lurking in the stairway they were heading toward. If he’d been in charge, he’d have sent either a five-man squad or no one at all.

But it was a Falleen calling the shots in there, and Falleen weren’t known for caring about any species other than their own.

Down the corridor, the stairway door thudded open as the two men charged in, prepared to kill or die at their master’s command. Luckily for them, this time they had nothing to worry about either way. Between Kell’s squeaker and Zerba’s spring-loaded timed kick launcher, those stairs had been long since deserted.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get your friend,” the man leaning over Dozer said. “It’ll go a lot easier for you if you talk now.”

“I’m just a courier,” Dozer managed, putting a good healthy shaking into his voice, as a truly terrified man would. “I’m just here to deliver a package.”

“And get us to open the door so your friend could roll a bomb in at us?”

“I don’t know anything about any bomb,” Dozer protested, putting a little more trembling into his voice. It wasn’t all that difficult, not with that blaster grinding into his cheek. “Look, I was standing right there with you. You think I
want
to get blown up?”

The man grunted. “Gorkskin? Talk to me.”

“Looks legit,” someone outside Dozer’s field of view said reluctantly. “Got a businessmark here that checks out with the Iltarr City data lists.
And
there’s a delivery order here for Mencho, tagged with time and place.”

Dozer’s guard grunted again. “Open it.” He raised his eyebrows. “Any objections, courier?”

Dozer considered reminding him that the box could legally be opened only by the proper recipient. Under the circumstances, he decided that would be extremely out of character. Not to mention dangerously stupid. “No,” he said.

“Good. Gorkskin?”

“It’s locked,” Gorkskin said.

“You sure?”

There was a quick double snap-and-flash of blaster shots, and Dozer winced as the heat washed over his face. “I guess not,” Gorkskin said sarcastically. There was another crunch as he broke open the damaged security case. “Well, well. You’re going to love this, Wivi. The box is filled with cash. Five or six hundred credits at least.”

The blaster at Dozer’s cheek dug in a little deeper. “Well, well,” Wivi said, his voice deceptively casual. “I wonder who likes Mencho enough to send him credits.”

“All coinage, too,” Gorkskin said. “Not some nice, easily traceable credit tab.”

“Of course not,” Wivi said. “Let’s try this again, courier. Who sent you?”

“I told you,” Dozer said, throwing as much fear and confusion into his voice as he could, wondering uneasily if he’d bitten off more than he could swallow. They’d seen the whole fake backdrop Rachele had planted in the datapad and city records, and they still weren’t buying it. If Solo had more evidence, he’d better get busy and trot it out. “I’m just a delivery man—”

“For Quickline Courier Service,” a new voice put in calmly.

Dozer felt his stomach tighten. On the surface, the voice was quiet, peaceful, and quite civilized. But that air of civilization was molecule-thin … and beneath it was something cold and dark and very, very evil.

“With all respect, Lord Aziel, you shouldn’t be out here,” Wivi said, his voice suddenly deferential. “Not until we’ve secured the area.”

“There’s no danger,” the voice said. There was a hint of something different in the corridor’s scent flow, Dozer noticed.

And then, to his surprise, he felt his heartbeat slowing and a new calmness flowing into him. Maybe the newcomer, this Lord Aziel, could do something about his predicament.

“The attacker, whatever his purpose or plan, is long gone,” the voice continued. “And this man is as he claims: a mere courier.”

“Sir, we haven’t yet confirmed that,” Gorkskin said.

“Then let us do so,” the voice said. “Allow him to stand.”

Wivi gave Dozer one final frustrated scowl. Then, reluctantly, he pulled the blaster away from Dozer’s cheek and got to his feet. After another second’s hesitation, he reached down and stretched out his hand. Dozer hesitated, too, just the fraction of a second that a still-terrified bystander should hesitate, then reached up to the proffered hand and allowed Wivi to haul him upright.

And as he started to straighten his jacket, Wivi half turned him around and he found himself face-to-face with the Falleen they’d seen earlier from across the park.

Only the alien wasn’t nearly as threatening as he’d seemed back then. In fact, as Dozer gazed into his green-scaled face and dark blue eyes he couldn’t even remember why Solo and the others had thought he was someone they had to worry about in the first place. This was a gentleman of the highest order, hardly someone who would engage in anything as vulgar as criminal activities.

“Are you indeed a courier?” Aziel asked.

Dozer swallowed, a flood of guilt and regret washing over him. The Falleen standing before him was honorable and caring. To even
think
about lying to such a person felt like a betrayal of all that was right and proper about the universe.

And yet a small, nagging part of his mind remembered that there
was
a reason that Dozer was here. Something about all this that was vital he keep secret from even this splendid Falleen. Vital to other people’s lives as well as Dozer’s own.

Maybe he could have it both ways. Dozer had certainly brought the security case in here at Solo’s request. So … “Yes,” he said. “I’m a courier.”

“For Quickline Courier Service?”

Given that Quickline didn’t really exist and Dozer was literally its only employee: “Yes.”

“Did you have anything to do with that explosion?”

The squeaker had been Kell’s handiwork, the delivery system had been Zerba’s, and the plan had been Solo’s. “No,” Dozer said.

“Very well,” Aziel said. He looked at the two glowering thugs—for that was all they were, Dozer realized now: low-living creatures who barely even qualified as sentient compared to the nobility of their master—and gave a small gesture. “Return his case, and allow him to go his way.”

“And the credits?” Wivi asked.

“The delivery order says they’re to go to Mencho Tallboy,” Aziel reminded him. “So shall they be delivered.” His eyes glittered. “And he can then explain the source and purpose. At any rate, the courier may go his way.”

Dozer felt a rush of gratitude as Wivi silently handed him the damaged case. There were so few true gentles in the Empire these days. It was an honor to have met one of them.

It wasn’t until he was in the turbolift heading back to street level that the feeling began to fade, and he slowly began to realize what had just happened to him.

And how with just a hair less care on his part he might have given the whole thing away.

He was still shaking when Han pulled their landspeeder back into the flow of late-night traffic.

“I
t’s called a cryodex,” Winter said when the group was once again assembled in their suite overlooking the Marblewood Estate. “It was an old Alderaanian encryption device, built into a specially modified datapad. Unlike normal encryptions methods, which use software and overlays, the rotating single-spark patterns here were built directly into the machine.”

“Sounds tricky,” Lando commented.

“Not to mention inefficient,” Tavia added. “If the encryption becomes obsolete, you’d have to scrap the whole device and build a new one.”

“In theory, yes,” Winter said. “But the system had two advantages. First, a message encrypted by one cryodex could be read on any other cryodex. That meant you could have one device at each end of your diplomatic channel without worrying about transmitting the encryption pattern back and forth or trusting a courier to deliver it.”

“A thief could still intercept the message itself,” Tavia pointed out.

“True,” Winter agreed. “But it wouldn’t do him any good … because the second advantage is that a cryodex-encrypted message can’t be decrypted. By anyone. Ever.”

“Really,” Lando said, a hint of polite skepticism in his voice.

“Really,” Winter said, with an edge Han hadn’t heard from her before. “In over two hundred years of use, no cryodex encryption was ever broken.”

Han nodded to himself as part of her aura of mystery came clear, and he suddenly understood the air of tension and sadness about her. “You know this from personal experience?” he asked.

Winter turned to face him, and for a moment they locked eyes. He watched as she fought a brief battle within herself and came to a reluctant decision. “Yes,” she said quietly. The brief moment of edge was gone, leaving only the sadness. “I was connected with the royal palace on Alderaan.”

There was a moment of silence as the others digested that. The official details surrounding the Death Star’s single tour of duty were still sketchy, Han knew, but Alderaan’s destruction was all over the HoloNet. “I’m so sorry,” Rachele murmured at last.

“Thank you,” Winter said, back on balance again. Briefly, Han wondered how she could put it out of her mind so quickly. He’d seen how deeply Princess Leia and the others at Yavin had been affected, and even though Han himself hadn’t lost a bunch of friends or family, it had still been a severe gut punch to fly through a swarm of rocks that had once been a thriving world. Either Winter had terrific self-control or she was really good at suppressing memories. “I didn’t tell you that to elicit sympathy,” she continued. “I told you, as Han said, so that you’d understand that I know firsthand what I’m talking about.”

“So where did this particular cryodex come from?” Zerba asked. “Any idea?”

Winter’s lips compressed briefly. “There were a hundred thirty-seven cryodexes known to be in existence as of—” She broke off. “All but eight of them were on Alderaan,” she continued. “Of those eight, seven were in upper-level diplomatic hands.” She hesitated. “The eighth went missing four years ago, presumed stolen.”