before he even had a chance to plead the New Republic's case? 'If he wanted me dead, he could have done it at any of a hundred points along the way. He could certainly do it right here.'
'I know that,' Shada shot back. 'And it doesn't matter. I came along as your bodyguard. And that's what I'm going to do.'
Karrde stared at her, a sudden strange sensation running through him. Back at that Orowood Tower meeting with Solo, Organa Solo, and Calrissian, Shada had merely agreed to come along on this trip to help out. When during the two and a half weeks since then had that grudging agreement transmuted into the far deeper commitment of bodyguard? 'Shada, I appreciate your concern,' he said, quietly but firmly, reaching up to where she still gripped his arm and putting his hand gently on top of hers. 'But you need to remember the big picture. My life, and what happens to it, isn't the most important thing at stake here.'
'I'm your bodyguard,' Shada said, just as quietly and just as firmly. 'It's the most important thing to me.'
'Please,' Entoo Nee spoke up. 'Please. I think you misunderstand. Captain Karrde and I must go in first, but you may certainly come in right behind us. It's simply that—well, you'll see.' Shada still didn't look happy, but she gave a reluctant nod. 'All right, fine,' she said. 'Just remember that if anything happens, you personally will be directly in my line of fire. You two first, then me, then Threepio.'
'Really, Mistress Shada, I'm sure it's not necessary for me to come in with you,' the droid hastened to assure her, taking a shuffling step back toward the landspeeder. 'Perhaps I should remain here and guard the landspeeder —'
'Actually, he may be useful,' Entoo Nee said, smiling reassuringly. 'Come, Threepio, it'll be all right.'
'Yes, Master Entoo Nee,' Threepio said in a resigned tone. Moaning almost inaudibly to himself, he shuffled to a spot half a meter behind Shada. 'But I must say, I have a bad feeli—'
'Good,' Entoo Nee said cheerfully. The solemn moment past, he was radiating his usual harmlessness again. 'Shall we go?'
The door was unlocked. Karrde followed the little man in, feeling more vulnerable than ever as they stepped out of the sunlight into a dank, gloomy room.
A room that, to his surprise, had apparently not been used for some time. The few pieces of furniture scattered about were old and dusty, with the same signs of long neglect that they'd seen in the exterior of the house itself. The three windows, which from the outside had seemed so dark and threatening, could now be seen from this side to be merely incredibly dirty, with the slight frosting effect that came from years of wind-driven dust or sand slashing across them. In the shafts of dim sunlight that managed to penetrate the grime, long strands of cobweb could be seen stretching from some of the chairs to the ceiling.
'This way,' Entoo Nee said quietly, his voice an intrusion in the eerie atmosphere as he led them across the room to a closed door. 'He is here, Captain Karrde. Please prepare yourself.' Karrde took a deep breath. Behind him, he heard the faint scraping sound as Shada's blaster came free of its holster. 'I'm ready,' he said. 'Let's get it over with.'
'Indeed.' Reaching past him, Entoo Nee touched the door control. With a faint squeak, it slid open.
It was the smell that hit Karrde first. An odor of age, and distant memories, and lost hopes. An odor of sickness and tiredness.
An odor of death.
The room itself was small, much smaller than Karrde would have expected. To both sides built-in shelves covered each of the side walls, on which were stacked a strange assortment of small art objects, useless-looking knickknacks, and medical vials and equipment. A large bed took up most of the rest of the space, the foot coming to within a meter of the doorway and leaving barely enough room left over for two people to stand.
And lying in the bed beneath a stack of blankets, humming softly to himself as he stared at the ceiling, was an old man.
'Jorj?' Entoo Nee called softly as he stepped through the doorway. The humming stopped, but the man's gaze remained on the ceiling. 'Jorj? There's someone here to see you.' Karrde stepped in beside him, squeezing into the remaining space, his mind spinning. No. Surely this couldn't be Jorj Car'das. Not the vigorous, hot-tempered, ambitious man who'd almost single-handedly created one of the greatest smuggling organizations ever known. 'Jorj?' he called carefully.
The wrinkled face frowned, and the head lifted up. 'Mertan?' a quavering voice asked. 'Mertan?
Is that you?'
Karrde let his breath out in a tired sigh. The voice, and the eyes. Yes, it was indeed him. 'No, Jorj,' he said gently. 'Not Mertan. It's Karrde. Talon Karrde. You remember?' The old man's eyes blinked a couple of times. 'Karrde?' he said in the same uncertain voice. 'Is that you?'
'Yes, Jorj, it's me,' Karrde assured him. 'Do you remember me?' A tentative smile started on the old man's face, fading as if the muscles were too old or too tired to hold on to it. 'Yes,' he said. 'No. Who are you again?'
