Part 28 (1/2)

Lando grimaced. ”Reggi, look-”

”And if you're going to bring up Taanab again, don't,” the other interrupted him. ”You've been squeezing that bit of history for favors for, oh, must be fifteen years now. Not going to do you any good this time.”

”It's always nice to see grat.i.tude,” Lando said frostily, getting to his feet. ”See you around, Reggi. Have fun with whichever war you settle on.”

The afternoon Cilparian sunlight seemed especially harsh after the cool dimness of the tapcafe. For a minute Lando stood beside the entrance, studying the business flags that flew all up and down s.p.a.cer's Street and wondering if it would be worth the effort to try checking out their current clientele.

No. Reggi was right: any mercenary group worth hiring these days was looking for bigger game than freighter escort duty. And a higher pay scale than Lando could afford.

After nearly two decades of agonizing struggle, the galaxy had finally found peace . . .

and all they wanted to do with it was get back to the petty little wars the Emperor's New Order had so thoughtlessly interrupted.

With a tired shake of his head, he turned back toward the s.p.a.ceport.

The noise of the crowd reached him long before he came into sight of them. It was a good-sized mob, as these things seemed to be going: probably three hundred humans and aliens, milling noisily around the entrance to Docking Bay 66. This group was better organized than most, though, with signs as well as the usual shouted demands for justice for Caamas.

The mood he was in, he would have welcomed the opportunity to shove his way through them, maybe get a chance to burn a little of the simmering resentment out of his system. But the universe wasn't going to cooperate even that far with him today: the Lady Luck was two bays down in 68. Muttering under his breath about people who had nothing better to do than protest something that had happened before most of them were even born, he stomped past the crowd and headed toward his bay. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he got off Cilpar, the better.

He was a good ten meters past the edge of the crowd when a stray fact managed to penetrate his blanket of grouchy self-pity. These protests invariably targeted Bothans: Bothan merchants or diplomats or businesses. But there were no Bothans at Mos Tommro s.p.a.ceport-they used a different facility entirely.

So what were the protesters doing here?

Keeping a wary eye on the crowd, he backed into an alley out of their sight and pulled out his comlink. He keyed it to run through the Lady Luck's comm system and punched for the s.p.a.ceport control center. ”This is Lando Calrissian in Bay 68,” he identified himself to the bored voice that answered. ”I'd like a listing of the s.h.i.+ps in Bay 66.”

”There will be no need for that,” a calm voice said from the alley behind him.

Lando spun around, his hand twitching aside the edge of his cloak with practiced ease and landing on the b.u.t.t of his holstered blaster. Standing a few meters away, decked out in full diplomatic regalia, were a pair of white-maned, leathery-faced Diamala. ”Yes?” he asked cautiously. ”Can I help you?”

”Yes, I believe you can,” the taller of the two aliens said. ”Allow me to introduce myself. I am Porolo Miatamia, Senator to the New Republic. May I confirm that my ears did not deceive me and that you are General Lando Calrissian?”

”Former general, yes,” Lando nodded, releasing his grip on his blaster and shutting off his comlink. The crowd of protesters at Bay 66 was starting to make sense now. ”May I confirm in turn that this is not a chance meeting?”

Miatamia smiled thinly, the only way Lando had ever seen a Diamal smile. ”You are correct,” the Senator a.s.sured him. ”My aide spotted you five streets away as you were approaching.” One fan-shaped ear dipped to point at the Diamal beside him. ”We have paralleled you to this point, seeking a way to confirm your ident.i.ty.”

”You've confirmed it,” Lando said. One of the more irritating Diamalan social characteristics-annoying to him, anyway-was this tendency of theirs to trample the ground flat around an issue before actually getting to it. ”Is there some service I can perform for you?”

Miatamia's ear flicked in the direction of the crowd. ”My s.h.i.+p is in Docking Bay 66,” he said. ”There are . . . persons who disapprove of my government's stance on the Bothan issue.”

”Yes, I've heard,” Lando said. So it was now the Bothan issue, not the Caamas issue.

Interesting. ”Your government wants to forgive and forget, or some such thing.”

The Senator eyed him closely. ”Would you then prefer to inflict mindless vengeance against innocents?”

Lando spread his hands. ”Hey, this is politics. I'm just a simple businessman trying to turn a little profit.”

Miatamia eyed him a moment longer. Then one of his ears twitched. ”As that may be,” he said cryptically. ”At any rate, the protesters have made their point. I have therefore appealed to the s.p.a.ceport authorities to remove them so that I may return to my s.h.i.+p.”

Lando nodded. After that lethal riot on Bothawui a week ago, he could understand the Senator's reluctance to try to push his way through the crowd. ”Let me guess. They refused to lift a finger.”

”There is no need to guess: I can positively state that that was their response,” Miatamia said. ”We were departing from their offices when we noticed you and made our tentative identification.”

”I understand,” Lando said. ”What service may I perform for you?”

Miatamia's other ear twitched. ”I wished to ask you to use your position and influence with the New Republic to intercede on my behalf.”

His influence with the New Republic. Right. ”I wish I could help you,” he said.

”Unfortunately, I'm afraid my influence these days is limited to a select number of friends and a.s.sociates. None of whom is currently on Cilpar.”

”I see.” Miatamia was silent a moment ”In that event, perhaps you would be willing to speak to the crowd. As a hero of the Rebellion, you would have a calming influence.”

Lando snorted under his breath. ”I very much doubt my past activities would get me very far with them, Senator. There's a bad tendency these days for people to forget what happened back then.”

”Then you refuse to help me?”

”It's not a refusal,” Lando said, trying hard to be patient. It was a language thing, of course; for all their calmly logical veneer, Diamala had a tendency to use words in nonstandard ways. One reason why a lot of people didn't like dealing with them. ”I'm simply pointing out that there's nothing I can do to help you.”

And then a sudden thought occurred to him. ”At least, nothing I can do to get you to your s.h.i.+p,” he continued before Miatamia could respond. ”If all you need right now is to get to Coruscant or back home, that's another matter.”

Both ears twitched this time. ”Explain.”

”My s.h.i.+p is docked in Bay 68,” he said. ”I would be honored to take you wherever in the New Republic you wished to go.”

”Others of the crew are still outside,” the aide pointed out. ”Trapped away from the s.h.i.+p by the crowd. Do you offer them transport as well?”

”I was thinking mainly of you and Senator Miatamia,” Lando said, looking at him. ”My s.h.i.+p has rather limited living s.p.a.ce.”

He s.h.i.+fted his eyes back to Miatamia. ”But it seems to me that the crowd isn't interested in your crew, just in the attention of the Senator. Once you're not here to give them that attention, there won't be much point in them hanging around.”

”You speak reason,” Miatamia said. ”Now speak cost.”

”No cost, Senator,” Lando a.s.sured him, waving a hand in invitation back toward his docking bay. ”I would be honored to have such a distinguished personage aboard my s.h.i.+p.”

The other didn't move. ”Speak of the cost, please. There is always a cost.”

So much for finding a subtle way to bring up the topic aboard the Lady Luck, ”There is no cost,” Lando repeated. ”However, my underwater mining operation is having problems with pirate attacks. I thought perhaps I might be able to make an arrangement with the Diamalan military to provide extra security for my s.h.i.+pments.”

”The primary task of the Diamalan military is to protect Diamalan interests,” Miatamia said. ”However, there may be room for discussion.”

”Thank you, Senator,” Lando said. ”Honest discussion is all I ask. Shall we go?”

The short trip across the street to the docking-bay door was just a shade worse than Lando had expected it would be. The two Diamala refused to run or even to hurry-a matter of dignity, apparently-and they were no more than halfway to the door when the crowd waiting two bays down spotted them. Fortunately, having no compunctions of his own against a little judicious haste, Lando had already reached the other side and was keying the door open by the time the mob started its belated surge toward them. The Diamala made it inside in plenty of time, with only a few minor fruit juice stains from glancing impacts as souvenirs.

”They are barbarians,” the aide said, his voice icy cold, as Lando sealed the door behind them. ”No being should have the right to attempt such dishonoring of another.”