Chapter 3: The Queen of Air and Darkness
"The Queen of Air and Darkness is a wise and spiritual woman. She will guide you on a journey of self-discovery, through the deepest, darkest parts of your soul. She bids you step out of your comfort zone and rely on intuition rather than your physical senses."
—Lunira, The Sacred Jhabacc: Foretelling the Future
With Solo and Chewbacca in the cockpit plotting a course away from Tatooine, the lounge area of the Millennium Falcon's main cargo hold was quiet save for the hum of the ship's engines. Thane sat at the dejarik table and tried to meditate. He was on edge, tense and anxious, memories of Irikah threatening to drag him under. He needed to pull himself together. He would be of no use to Kolyat if he could not focus.
Captain Solo hadn't elaborated on his "idea," preferring to wait until they had left prying eyes and listening ears behind before revealing what he had in mind. Thane understood that, certainly. But until then, all he knew was that Kolyat was in danger on Tatooine—and they were leaving him behind.
He had come to trust Solo over the years. The man was bold and brave and more honest than he would likely care to admit, and Thane did not for one instant think that Solo might double-cross him. (And yet you would double-cross him, he chastised himself. He pushed the thought away.) Nevertheless, icy fingers of dread wound themselves around his heart as he pictured the planet falling away behind them. Dread, and guilt.
He couldn't help but feel as though he was abandoning his son. Again. None of this would have happened if he had not left home in the first place. If he had tried a little harder to make ends meet without returning to the life of an assassin. If he had been the husband and father his family deserved.
Perhaps… perhaps it would have been better if he had never met Irikah. Then he would still be serving the Hanar, blissfully ignorant of the vagaries of life outside the Compact. His life would be routine, predictable. He would have a purpose he could be proud of. And Irikah… the thought of never having known her stuck like a lump in his throat, but at least she would still be alive.
But then Kolyat—the one light, the one good, beautiful thing he'd ever added to this vast, dark, uncaring galaxy—would never have been born. And he could not truly bring himself to wish for that.
He was pulled from his ruminations by the familiar lurch of the Falcon's overpowered hyperdrive, as always just a scale's width out of sync with the inertial compensators, launching the ship past lightspeed. Moments later, Solo came sauntering into the hold, his usual self-satisfied smirk on his face, and Chewbacca close behind. "All right, we're under way," Solo announced unnecessarily. "We'll reach the Kallea Sector in a few hours."
There was only one world in the Kallea Sector that made sense as their destination. "Terminus?" Thane raised his brow ridge as Solo dropped gracelessly onto the other end of the semicircular couch. "What's your plan, Captain?"
Solo scoffed. "My plan? This whole escapade is your idea, buddy. That's up to you."
"…I see," Thane said slowly. This was good, actually. The more control he had over the mission, the easier it would be to accomplish his objective. "Then what is your business on Terminus?"
"We're going to see a slicer, calls himself Charade," said Solo. "He can get us a false registry for the Falcon.Jabba knows all the aliases I've used before, so we're gonna need a new one. That way, we don't get pounced by the rest of Jabba's flunkies when we get back to Tatooine."
Thane could see the wisdom in that, though the insinuation that Han saw him as just another of "Jabba's flunkies" carried an unexpected sting. "A sound strategy, of course."
"Glad you approve," Solo drawled sarcastically. He half turned and took an object from the shelf behind him. "Now, Charade's a strange one," he said. "He doesn't work for money, not little jobs like this. He makes his living off the really high rollers. Guys like you and me, he does this stuff for kicks. But it ain't exactly free." He tossed the object to Thane, who caught it easily. "We can't buy the codes from him. We gotta win 'em."
Thane looked down at the thick palm-sized rectangle in his hand, then back up at Solo. "Sabacc?" he asked dubiously.
Solo cocked an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you don't know how to play."
"I do, but I'm afraid my skills are inadequate against an experienced player," Thane admitted. "And I am uncomfortable putting our mission—my mission—at the mercy of a game. Especially one with so high a level of chance." He set the pack of cards on the table. "Is there no one else who can help us?"
"Sure, any halfway decent slicer could do it." Solo folded his arms. "But Charade's the only one I can guarantee you ain't on Jabba's payroll." He picked up the box and slid the cards free, shuffling them with practiced ease. "How about a refresher? We got time—I'll give you some pointers."
It seemed there was little choice. Thane eyed the cards warily. "Very well. What is the variant?"
"Centran," said Solo as he dealt them two cards each. "Do you know it?"
"It was explained to me once," Thane replied. "As memory serves, the Legates of each suit are worth eleven, but they trump the Elevens in case of a tie. And the Fives are wild." He shook his head. "But I haven't played that way. To be honest, I've only ever seen Centran cards used for… a form of divination."
"Divination? You mean fortune-telling?" Solo laughed out loud. "I knew you could have some funny ideas, Krios, but I never thought you'd put much stock in that sort of thing."
"I don't," Thane bit out, annoyed. "But a number of years ago, in the course of completing a contract, I saved the life of an elderly Ryn woman who insisted on repaying me by doing a reading." He studied the cards he'd been dealt: the Six of Coins and the Ten of Sabres. A reasonable starting hand, perhaps, but strangely contradictory in meaning, as he recalled. "It was… unsettling," he added softly, and then the tide of memory swept over him.
Scent of incense in the air. Dim candlelight, the only illumination. The Ryn woman turns over the first card and lays it on the table between us, smiling. "This card represents you—or rather, how you see yourself. Here we have the Universe: an auspicious sign indeed. You are happy with your place in life. You have everything you want. You are supremely confident in yourself, your skills, and your future."
I nod, surprised by the accuracy of her statements.
She turns over another, placing it crosswise atop the first. "Your chief opponent is the Master of Coins. This is a very wealthy and powerful man. He could be a dangerous enemy. Beware."
This is less impressive. Like any assassin, I would have many such enemies, if any of them knew my name. I want to laugh, but I school my expression carefully for the sake of politeness.
A third card, placed above the others. "Your conscious motivations: the Ace of Sabres. You're a practical man, with little tolerance for nonsense. You try to act logically. You are intelligent and discerning." A fourth, below. "But the Four of Flasks suggests a deeply buried dissatisfaction." She taps the Universe card. "Though you tell yourself you're happy, in truth you grow restless, unfulfilled. Perhaps even resentful."
I open my mouth to protest, then close it again, stunned. If I'm to be truly honest with myself, she is correct again. Though I've always put little faith in such things, the insight she appears to gain from the cards is frankly astounding. But as for what—or whom—I might be resentful of, I refuse to consider. I will not. This is nonsense, a series of lucky guesses, based on obscure symbols broadly interpreted.
She is watching my reactions, and smiles, sadly and knowingly. Something in her face sends shivers up my spine. I cannot help but feel as though she stares into my very soul.
She turns over another card, placing it to the left of the crossed ones. "The Four of Staves appears in your recent past—you're married?" she asks. I draw a sharp breath. She cannot know this! She studies me for a moment as I struggle to maintain my composure. Her guesses are beginning to strike too close to the truth for my comfort.
Narrowing her eyes, she adds slowly, "Not just married—you have a child!"
Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. "Enough!" I snap, more harshly than I intend. I stand to leave. "No more of this!" It's perhaps unforgivably rude, but it is imperative that no one associated with my work, however peripherally, know about my family. It's the only way I know of to keep them safe! That their anonymity might be compromised is enough to send me into a near panic.
"Sit down, young man!" she barks, and to my own surprise, I do. I do not know what makes me obey, but I can do nothing else.
She holds my gaze for a moment, sternly, then turns over another card, placing it to the right of the others. "The Eight of Sabres is in your future," she says solemnly. "You will be sorely tried, to the limits of your endurance, to the very edge of despair, until you are tempted to give in. Whatever you do, you must not give in."
"How ominous," I comment dryly. My patience grows short.
She glares at me as she turns over three more cards. "The Evil One, the Satellite, and the Ten of Sabres. These are the complications you will face: in short, temptation, illusion, and betrayal. Trust no one—yourself least of all."
She draws a final card from the deck, holding it face down. "The final outcome," she intones, and despite my skepticism, a chill settles in my gut. Slowly, as if she's dreading the revelation as much as I, she turns the card over.
Her eyes go wide when she sees it. "The Destroyed Starship!" she gasps. "Oh, Sere Krios, I'm sorry." She buries her face in her hands.
The breath stills in my throat. "What does it mean?" I demand.
She looks at me with the utmost pity in her eyes. "Catastrophe."
"Krios? Hey! You hearin' me?"
"Ah." Thane pulled himself back to the present, frills flushing hot with embarrassment at having lost himself so thoroughly in memory mid-conversation. It was a lapse of control he hadn't committed since he was a child. "My apologies, Captain. You were saying?"
Solo rolled his eyes. "I said, ante up."