CHAPTER NINE
“There we go. I knew we could come to a cordial arrangement.”
Sal Tyrius smiled as he poured himself a glass of Corellian ale. Standing across from him, on opposite sides of the room, was his unique assortment of guests: to his left was Poe Dameron and his team, now joined by their three Jedi allies, while to the right stood Kylo Ren and his S’kytri apprentice. Thrackan Sal-Solo hung back near the window and barely heeded any attention at all to the meeting, likely still shaken by the earlier sight of the Millennium Falcon. The tense silence between the two groups was palpable, but it did little to dissuade Tyrius from moving things forward.
After taking a sip from his glass, he put it aside and picked up the cube-shaped device that Kylo Ren had delivered. He held it up to the light, admiring how it reflected in the cube’s emerald surface.
“Yes, undeniably the handiwork of Hafoo R’ruu. His datacrons always had a unique style to them that not even the best counterfeit artists in the galaxy have been able to replicate. For a Caamasi, he understood Corellian culture very well, though perhaps he owed that to his close friendship with King Berethron—”
“I don’t have time for this,” Kylo Ren growled. “I gave you your precious heirloom; now tell me what business you have here on Corellia.”
Tyrius sighed. “Ah, yes. The Supreme Leader warned me of your… impatience.”
“’Supreme Leader?’” Poe’s eyes narrowed as they focused on Kylo. “What’s going on here? Who exactly do you guys work for?”
Ignoring him, Kylo stepped closer to Tyrius, though the Arkanian was unfazed. “Give me answers, before I force them out of you.”
The Curator lazily lifted up his white eyes as the Knight of Ren. “Are you sure you want to know those answers, Ren? From what I’ve been told about you, you do not like to acknowledge your history — or, more specifically, your family’s history.”
At this, Kylo Ren tensed. Looks of confusion crossed the faces of everyone else in the room; even Thrackan had perked up at this and was now looking in Kylo’s direction.
Knowing he had struck a nerve, Tyrius began to smirk. “You know, this very room you’re standing in has a history,” he went on. “Many, many years ago, this star yacht — known by the name of the First Light — was owned by the crime lord Dryden Vos, leader of the Crimson Dawn syndicate. It was a rather powerful criminal organization during the reign of the Empire, close to rivaling that of Black Sun or even the Hutts. Were it not for Vos’ untimely death, perhaps it would still be in power today.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Poe muttered. “I mostly know of them through a holofilm I saw when I was younger. Han Solo and the Pirates of Kessel, I believe it was called.”
Tyrius let out a sharp laugh. “Ah, holofilms. Those who produce such things know how to filter the truth through a lens that makes it more easily digestible for the less knowledgeable.”
“Are you saying there’s some truth to it? Did Solo have a hand in bringing down Crimson Dawn?”
“You would have to ask him yourself,” Tyrius replied. “And, unless I am mistaken, I believe he is already on his way here.”
There was a snap-hiss as an unstable lightsaber blade appeared in Kylo Ren’s hand, which he then pointed at the Arkanian’s neck. In response, the three Jedi activated their own blades, readying themselves to intervene.
“Under no circumstances shall Han Solo enter this room,” Kylo Ren said coldly. “If you value your life, then you shall do as I command.”
Tyrius smirked. “Life has a different value to Arkanians than it does for other sentients. Threatening to kill me will not have the effect on me that you desire.”
“The datacron, then. I will destroy it and you will be unable to use it for whatever purposes you had in mind for it.”
This got a reaction from Tyrius, as much as he wanted to hide it. The thought of any artifact with historic value being destroyed always shook him to the core. To have all that knowledge, all that information being wiped out was something he dreaded more than anything else. Yes, such data was usually replicated in history books and other such documents… but those were second-hand accounts and had nowhere near the value of the original source from which such information was derived. Indeed, the loss of the datacron would be — from the perspective of an Arkanian such as himself — worse than death itself.
Clearing his throat, Tyrius started to say, “Perhaps we could reach some sort of—”
He was cut off by another beep coming from his desk. It proceeded to beep several times for a good minute as Thrackan slowly glided his way over to his desk, still caught in the daze that he had found himself stuck in.
“What is it?” he murmured as he pressed the comm button.
“Sir, we have another disturbance in the lobby,” responded the voice of Lunara. “The Knights of Ren are exchanging fire with five humans and a Wookiee.”
“Is one of them Han Solo?” Thrackan asked.
“I can’t tell. There’s too much in the— wait. Yes. Yes, I see him. I recognize his jacket.”
“Tell them all to hold their fire. I will be down there shortly.”
Tyrius’s pearl white eyes widened in surprise while Kylo Ren visibly tensed with anger. Even Lunara sounded confused as she said, “Er, I would not recommend that, sir. They… they really want to be allowed in, it seems.”
“Yes, because we’re holding their friends hostage.” In Tyrius’ opinion, the calmness and gentleness in Thrackan’s voice was intriguing to say the least. “I will bring them with me to meet with Solo and his companions, as one of my guests is not keen on being in the same room as him.”
“Very well, sir. I will do my best to diffuse the situation to make way for your arrival.”
“Excellent. Thank you.” Ending the call, Thrackan returned his attention to Tyrius and the others, straightening the lapels of his robes. Kylo stared back at him and, after a moment, switched off his lightsaber and stepped away from the Curator.
“I will call off my Knights,” Kylo said, though he sounded wary of whatever Thrackan was trying to pull off. “See to it that Han Solo is removed from these premises.”
“Of course,” Thrackan replied, a smirk twitching on his lips. “I’m sure my cousin will be none too pleased to see me anyway.”
* * *
“Wait! They’ve stopped shooting!”
Wedge had just been about to squeeze another shot from his blaster when he heard Jesmin. Drawing back, he dared to peek around the corner of the doorway he was hiding behind into the lobby room. Indeed, the masked warriors they had been exchanging blaster fire with had ceased in their attacks, though their weapons were still drawn and raised. Behind them was an Arkanian woman with a cybernetic eye, holding a comlink in one hand while she raised the other in a placating gesture, stepping out from her own hiding spot and into Wedge’s line of sight.
“The President has agreed to meet with our visitors,” she said. “Please stand by and await his arrival.”
Wedge glanced at Han Solo, who stood behind the other corner of the doorway. The ex-smuggler gave him a look that suggested he was as wary of this temporary truce as Wedge was. Slowly however, he holstered his DL-44 blaster pistol and carefully stepped out of his hiding spot and into clear view of the Arkanian and their masked assailants, with Wedge shortly following suit. Some of the warriors seemed to move with a start, as if startled by Han Solo’s appearance, but otherwise said nothing. The Arkanian woman stared at Solo for a moment before smirking.
“If it isn’t the man himself,” she said. “Welcome home, Han Solo.”
“Cut the pleasantries,” Han grunted. “Where’s Thrackan?”
“As I said, the President is on his way. I strongly suggest you all exercise patience and restraint until he arrives.”
With that, the Arkanian turned around and made a swift departure from the room. The masked warriors that they had just been fighting remained where they were, though they at least lowered their weapons (not that it made Wedge feel any better).
The next several minutes passed with tense silence, until finally footsteps could be heard coming from the direction the Arkanian woman had just went. Han braced himself as an older man with white hair, wearing blue and crimson formal robes, entered the lobby. Upon seeing Han, the man visibly tensed as his eyes narrowed and his lips formed a thin line.
“Han Solo,” the man said, spitting the name out like a curse.
“Thrackan,” Han responded in kind. “How’s life been treating you?”
“Favorably. Though I suppose I don’t deserve it, given my past actions.”
“So long as you're man enough to admit it,” Han muttered. He let those words hang in the air as the tense silence took reign once more. Thrackan started to shift uncomfortably and cleared his throat to keep the conversation moving.
“I suppose you’re here for your friends,” he said. “The Jedi and the others.”
Han raised eyebrow. “Oh, are they here? I hadn’t even realized. I just thought I would drop by to see how my cousin was doing.”
“Don’t toy with me, Solo!” Thrackan snapped. “I have better things to do then play games! I will release your friends, but only on one condition.”
Han shuffled his feet, keeping a hand on his holstered DL-44. “Not sure you’re in any position to call for any conditions.”
“I am Corellia’s legitimate head of state,” Thrackan said pointedly. “You’re an ex-smuggler and glorified war hero. I am confident that I have the most power in this negotiation.”
“Always so stuffy. See, this is why we don’t invite you to family reunions.”
Thrackan let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. “As if you would ever save a seat for me at the dinner table. Now then, once I release your friends, you will leave Corellia and never, ever return.”
Han raised an eyebrow. “That’s your condition?”
His cousin nodded. “Your face will never be welcomed on this planet ever again. If that ship of yours so much as parts the clouds, you will be destroyed on sight. Do I make myself clear?”
“Do you even have that kind of power?” asked Wedge. “I don’t know how the Senate would take something like that.”
Thrackan sneered at him. “The Senate has no say in this. Not anymore. With the help of my new allies, I will be able to lead Corellia into a brighter future that is free of the Galactic Alliance and their squabbling politics. I shall claim my birthright and reform the once-glorious Corellian Empire!”
“Uh-huh,” Han said. “And just who are these ‘new allies’ of yours?”
Thrackan opened his mouth to answer him only to stop himself. His brown eyes started to widen, as if realizing that he had let on too much. “That’s… that’s none of your business,” he sputtered hastily.
“Oh, I think it’s plenty of our business,” said Wedge. “Perhaps you would like to introduce us to them?”
Thrackan’s eyes began to dart, looking in any direction but Wedge and Han’s. He then looked over to the masked warriors and opened his mouth as if to say something only to stop when the floor beneath their feet began to vibrate. Suddenly, the door behind Wedge and Han whizzed shut, cutting them off from Chewbacca, Jagged, Jesmin, and Trey outside. Without missing a beat, Han drew his blaster and pointed it at Thrackan while the masked warriors raised their own weapons.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Han snarled.
“I’m not doing anything!” Thrackan protested. “I… I don’t know what’s happening!”
One of the masked warriors, wielding a scythe, raised a hand to their helmet. “This is Vicrul. Is everything all right up there?”
Wedge could not hear the response, if there even had been one at all. Without saying anything, Vicrul turned to his comrades and made a sharp gesture before departing from the lobby, with the other masked men trailing close behind. Han let them go, keeping his blaster trained on Thrackan.
“I think now might be a good time to start talking,” the former smuggler said darkly.
Thrackan stared back at him, his eyes betraying no emotion. After a moment, he straightened his posture and lifted his chin in a confident manner, though Wedge could see the tell-tale glint of fear in his cold brown eyes.
“Very well,” he said hoarsely. “Let us talk.”
* * *
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
Sal Tyrius appeared to be unperturbed by Kylo Ren’s outburst, though it was clear from his expression that the First Light suddenly rising from its anchored spot had not been something he had foreseen. Valrisa watched as he glided over to the main office desk and switched on its built-in comm unit.
“Lunara,” he said calmly, “why is the building rising towards the sky?”
“Unfortunately, I am not as all-knowing as you like to think I am,” the Arkanian woman sharply responded. “I am locked out of the control room and the control panel is not accepting any of my security codes.”
“Oh, dear,” Tyrius said, thought it was difficult to tell whether the fear indicated in his tone was genuine. “It would appear that the yacht has gotten a mind of its own. I wonder how that could be.”
“Do you know something we don’t?” Poe asked.
Before Tyrius could answer, the light from the comm unit started flashing and a beeping sound accompanied it. The Curator pressed a button and the lights in the room started to dim again. A nearby holoprojector whirred to life and a life-sized holographic image materialized in the center of the room.
The virtual figure standing in the room, female judging by their body shape, had an ornate appearance. Silver armor was worn over a form-fitting blue bodysuit with intricate gold detailing. Dark violet gloves with gold linings covered their hands while a similarly tailored cloak flowed behind their back. A fearsome silvery mask, with narrowed eye slits that seemed to have a red tint, covered the woman’s face as they leaned on an ornate cane that was likely more for show than to serve any purposes for support and mobility. Judging by the holstered blaster attached to a brown bandolier that stretched across their chest, the masked woman was no stranger to combat.
“Sal Tyrius,” the woman spoke, her voice modulated by her mask in a fashion similar to Kylo Ren. “Just the man I was looking for.”
“Queen Kestora.” The Curator bowed his head in respect. “I must admit, I was not expecting to be graced by your presence.”
“Of course you weren’t,” Queen Kestora hissed. “You were so confident in your own craftiness that you thought you could get away from me and never be found. I will give you credit, I am surprised that word of a giant Kalevalan star yacht serving as the capitol building for Corellia hadn’t spread sooner.”
“Oh, you can think Thrackan Sal-Solo for that,” Tyrius replied. “He was very efficient in making sure none of his people questioned its presence or even spoke a word of it.”
“Not efficient enough, it would seem. Anyways, as you’ve probably noticed, I have taken remote control of your little pleasure home. For all you boast about being a genius when it comes to genetic engineering, you Arkanians aren’t as good when it comes to starship computers.”
“I was afraid that our overriding of the security codes would not be sufficient,” the Curator said. “Alas, it would appear I have been outsmarted.”
“Indeed. How sad,” Kestora said dryly. “Now then, I will be taking back my yacht. Prepare to be boarded once you’ve cleared the atmosphere.”
With that, the hologram faded away and the holoprojector went dark. As the lights came back on, Poe immediately stormed over to Tyrius.
“Who was that?” he asked. “What’s going on here?”
“I said her name, didn’t I?” Tyrius replied. “She is Queen Kestora.”
“Right. Yeah, I got that. Except I have no idea who the hell she is.”
“I suppose word of her reputation hasn’t quite made it outside of the Outer Rim. She is the self-proclaimed Pirate Queen of the Veiled Sorority.”
“All right, them I’ve heard of,” Poe said. “They’re a pretty secretive bunch from what I’ve heard. Are they associated with the Cabal?”
“Only in the loosest sense of the term. They greatly prefer to do things by their own book and the Cabal only tolerates their operations so long as they don’t interfere with their own.”
“And… you stole her yacht from her?” Valrisa asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It wasn’t as if she was using it!” Tyrius said defensively. “It had been harbored on Dubrillion for a good year or so and hardly any of her people were around to guard it. My men and I only had to get rid of six guards, so she clearly didn’t care that much about it. Besides, it’s not like she appreciates its historic value as much as I do. The First Light was the capital ship of the Crimson Dawn, for stars’ sake! It deserves greater respect than what she’s shown towards it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” asked Kyla Kishanti. “Are you only on Corellia for its historic value?”
“Well, that and the fact that the Cabal wants to establish a presence on the Corellian Run. It’s more for its strategic value than anything, really.”
“Interesting,” Poe said, refraining from grinning. Neither he nor anyone else knew why Tyrius was talking so much, but he certainly didn’t want the Arkanian to stop. “And what interest does the Cabal have in the Corellian Run?”
Tyrius seemed as if he was about to answer but the opportunity was ruined when Kylo Ren suddenly turned on his lightsaber and swung it at the main window. It instantly shattered and a powerful gust of wind blasted into the room, threatening to suck everyone out as the First Light ascended higher and higher into the sky. While Valrisa and the others desperately tried to grab onto something to keep from being pulled out, Kylo’s S’kytri companion grabbed onto him as she spread her massive green wings and flew out of the room. Mere seconds after they had gone through the newly made exit, Tyrius slammed his fist on the desk’s control panel and a durasteel wall slammed down to fill in the space once occupied by the window.
While everyone else struggled to get back up and catch their breaths, Tyrius seemed more put out than anything as an unpleasant scowl crossed his face.
“How rude,” he said. “He even took the datacron with him. I was really looking forward to adding it to my collection.”
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