Razor's Edge

by Martha Wells

  Han led the way up to the makeshift serving area, mostly to have something to do while scoping out the crowd. The mix of strong, acrid scents from the pressure containers made his throat itch, but it was actually a relief from the rot and mold in the air. The Bith who was serving handed them metal cups without asking what they wanted. Han sniffed his and found it was some kind of alcohol laced with ryll, and strong enough that the fumes almost made his eyeballs melt. The Bith didn’t ask for payment, and no money was exchanging hands anywhere in the bar, leading Han to believe this must be a service provided free for the crews who docked here.

  Terae downed half her drink in one shot, then split off to approach a group of aliens whom Han recognized as Letaki: bulbous heads, four eyes, beaked mouths that looked like they’d make drinking uncomfortable but not—judging from the drunken way they were waving their tentacles around—impossible. Good choice, he thought: they would likely be too unfamiliar with human expressions to find Terae’s behavior suspicious. Han made a mental note not to file Terae away as too ignorant to be dangerous, despite her naïveté about the Aegis’s current activities.

  Han left the bar to look for a spot away from the band area and out of earshot of others, where he and Sian could blend in with the scenery. Near the edge of the crowd, he found a bench made out of one of the dead droid’s armatures, and he and Sian took seats on it.

  Sian tasted her drink and grimaced. Han didn’t know her well. He had seen her on the Independence a few times, when he was killing time with Luke and the other pilots. Watching Terae and keeping her voice low, she said, “Solo, do you think the Princess has a chance of pulling this off?”

  “Of getting the flightmaster to let us leave? Maybe.” Han figured it was far more likely that they would have to blast their way out at some point. He just hoped they could find a way to do it that wouldn’t involve being blown to pieces by all the heavily armed and probably twitchy trigger-fingered ships in orbit.

  “No, I mean, does she have a chance of recruiting these Alderaanians into the Alliance?”

  Han thought there wasn’t much chance of that. He thought Leia more than capable of convincing some of the individual crew members to give up piracy, but as a group they were too stubborn and too attached to Metara. Since saying so felt like he would be undermining Leia without her being there to defend herself, he said, “I don’t know. And as long as we get out of here, I don’t care.”

  “I don’t think Metara is going to change her mind. And I talked to some of the crew.” Sian shook her head. “It’s just … Maybe I don’t understand where they’re coming from. My family didn’t want me to join the Alliance. They aren’t Imperials, but they’re comfortable on Commenor and they don’t believe in rocking the ship. But I saw and heard enough about the Empire that I knew I had to do something. I don’t know how I would have felt if … Well, if my home had been destroyed, much less the whole planet, nothing could have stopped me from joining the Alliance to kill as many Imperials as I could. I can’t imagine just sitting on the sidelines.”

  Han figured that if there was anything that could get someone to risk it all and join the Rebel Alliance, it would be having their home planet shot out from under them by the Empire. But just because Sian couldn’t imagine something didn’t mean there weren’t people who would do it. He had seen the Alderaanians on Yavin and with the fleet go through shock and survivor guilt, breaking down, burying themselves in their work, or dedicating themselves to revenge.

  Leia, though, was a special case. She was the only one who had watched it happen from the front-row seat of the Death Star, and she was the only one who felt personally responsible for it. It was too much for one person, even Leia, and there were times when he had seen the pain of it tearing at her. It frustrated him that she felt it was somehow all her fault, but he knew there was nothing he could say about it that wouldn’t make it worse, or just lead to a shouting match.

  She was also the only one who might have a chance of cracking Metara’s defenses, but Han couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all going to end in disaster. Sian was still waiting for a reply, so he just said, “She might break Metara down—there’s no telling yet.”

  Sian sighed. “I know the Princess is tough, tougher than most people realize. But I don’t know if thinking she can talk sense to Metara is irrational or … inspired.”

  “I wonder that a lot myself,” Han admitted. Some days things did fall more on the irrational end of the scale. Though he was pretty certain Leia felt the same way about him, probably with more reason.

  They watched Terae work the Letaki crew. Han tossed his drink back just to get rid of it. Sian managed to unobtrusively pour the rest of hers into the armature’s innards.

  Terae returned, her face flushed from the liquor, and said, “They told me how it works. We need to go down this way, and then cut back toward the docking ring.”

  They left the junction and the party behind and started down the ramp. It was darker through this section, the floating lumas less frequent, and there was more debris in the corridor. Smaller doorways led to corridors that were shrouded in darkness or blocked by rubble and metal debris. This place was like a large and unappealing shadow-port, only you knew that everybody was a pirate, instead of just suspecting it. Han felt his nerves itch even worse than they had before and wished he had brought Chewie. It had seemed more important at the time to get the sensor jammer installed immediately, mostly because he was afraid someone would change their mind and pull it for a more important ship. There were people in the Alliance who didn’t like the fact that Princess Leia Organa kept company with a Corellian smuggler, and none of them would be happy that the Falcon had gotten one of the coveted jammers, even though it had been in payment for services rendered.

  And maybe spending so much time with the Alliance fleet had gotten him out of the habit of places like this. Han was getting too used to being able to walk around without worrying about getting shot in the back or worse. You’re losing your edge, Solo, he told himself. You’ve got to do something about that.

  Once they were well out of earshot of the bar, Terae said, “We were on the right track—the holding area is near where the Wastrel docked. They bring the people they capture here, mostly crews and passengers off ships, but some of the bigger pirates will raid small backwater settlements. They hold them here until one of the slaving guild ships comes to collect them. The slavers pick who they want and bargain with the flightmaster, who takes the payment and parcels it out to the individual crews. No one is happy with the system, from what I could tell. They all think the flightmaster is cheating them.”

  “Of course the flightmaster’s cheating them,” Han said. “That’s the only reason you set up a system like that—so you can cheat everybody dumb enough to use it.”

  Sian said, “What do they do with the people the slavers don’t want?”

  Terae shook her head. “I didn’t ask.”

  Han had no intention of letting her get away with that. “They get spaced. Or if they’re lucky, they get shot and then spaced,” he said. “What did you think?”

  Terae pressed her lips together, then drew breath to answer.

  That was when the first figure dropped out of the ceiling. Han ducked sideways and drew his blaster; he fired at the two nearest and hit one. Their attackers were dressed in filthy dark clothing, their heads covered, so ragged Han couldn’t tell if they were human or not. They were armed only with old tools, which would have been almost laughable except for the fact that one of those tools was a hand rock drill. One landed on Sian, but she had her hand on her blaster and fired it through the holster as she went down. Wounded in the leg, her assailant jerked backward off her, and she scrambled to her feet.

  Terae wrestled with one while another danced around, trying to hit her with an arc wrench. Han shot the dancer, then something hit him from behind hard enough to knock him flat, though pure survival instinct made him keep his grip on his blaster. He twisted and rolled and
managed to grab the pry bar with his free hand before it hit his skull. The guy was panting in his face, growling, but Han was mad, too. He jerked his blaster down and fired point-blank. The guy went limp with a cry, and Han wrenched the pry bar away and tossed the body off him. Another landed on him before he could get up, but Sian kicked that attacker in the head. Han shoved him off and rolled to his feet.

  Four of their attackers sprawled unmoving on the floor, two limped rapidly off into the shadows, and one had a blaster burn in his leg and struggled to stand. Someone yelled an incomprehensible order and the others broke off, bolting for the nearest openings. Two paused to grab the wounded one and haul him away. Han watched them disappear down the shadowy tunnels and then pivoted, making sure no others were nearby. He remembered to look up this time, too.

  Terae eased up out of a crouch and demanded, “What was that?”

  Breathing hard, Sian looked at Han. “Dock thieves?”

  “Yeah.” Han nodded. He leaned down to pick up his satchel. “That’s what happens when a pirate ship maroons crew here and they can’t find another berth.” He tried not to care about the way they had dragged their wounded friend off. He doubted things were bad enough that they meant to eat the guy, so they had probably been together long enough to bond. He shook off the uncomfortable thought. It just meant that they would be all the more desperate. It was a pointed little reminder of the times he and Chewie had come close to losing the Falcon in a port where their options would have been just as limited.

  Sian nodded grimly, carefully watching the grids overhead. Terae started to speak, her face set as if she wanted to argue, then she shook her head.

  Han hoped Terae was enjoying the tour she was getting here of the less thrilling aspects of pirate life. But all he said was, “We need to keep moving.”

  Viest savored her drink, and Leia worked on calming thoughts to keep her face and her body language under control. From Viest’s lack of reaction, she must not have betrayed herself too badly. But something in her face or voice must have indicated too high a degree of interest in the merchant captives. Finally Viest asked, “So do you want stock from us? Or you want to buy into our operation?”

  She calls them “stock,” as if they were bales of plant fiber. Leia hoped the involuntary curl of her upper lip would be interpreted as a superior smile. “Just testing the waters.”

  “But we aren’t talking about the proposition on the table, are we?” Viest said. She focused on Metara. “So why do you want to work with her and not me?”

  Metara shrugged and took a sip of her drink. Leia clearly read that as stalling for time to formulate an answer and had no doubt Viest did, too. Finally Metara said, “Leia and I have a connection, that’s all.” She hadn’t stumbled over Leia’s first name, as far as Leia could tell. Viest would sense any hesitation. Metara added, “I pay my debts, and I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. With the augmentations you purchased for my ship, I can easily make enough to pay you back with whatever interest you ask for.”

  Watching Viest’s expression, Leia didn’t think that was going to go over well. This was why she had asked Metara to let her handle the negotiation. At least she had the consolation of knowing her annoyance would be correctly interpreted by Viest.

  “So it’s just that simple, is it?” Viest said. “I invite you into my business, trust you with my personal funds to repair and upgrade your ship, and you want to cut me off without a second thought when an old friend comes along.”

  Metara stared. “I’m sorry. But our arrangement is just business. It’s not a matter of personal loyalty.”

  Viest lifted a brow. “It is to me.”

  Leia let go of her last hope of still pulling off her original plan. Viest was clearly exaggerating her pique but also clearly had no intention of letting Metara out of her agreement, at least not in this conversation.

  “If a buyout isn’t to your liking,” Leia said, “we can still all three do business together. I’m open to suggestions.” And she really was open to suggestions, because unless she thought of something else, they were going to lose the merchant crew to slavers and be stuck on this rock for a long time.

  Viest considered them both for a moment, then set her glass aside. “If we’re going to do business, then we’ll need to get to know you better.”

  Leia didn’t like the sound of that. There was just a little too much anticipation in Viest’s voice. “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing here.”

  “That we have,” Viest said, and smiled in a predatory way that she made no attempt to conceal. “But I like to have my new partners show all of us their mettle.”

  Mettle, really? Yes, this wasn’t going to be good. Leia kept her voice only mildly interested. “And how do you do that?”

  “We play a game,” Viest said. “Or, they—you—play a game.”

  On the surface, a game didn’t sound nearly as bad as the other array of horrible things that had paraded through Leia’s imagination in the past moment. But something in Viest’s expression told Leia that it might just be worse. “What sort of game?”

  “A test of skill and reflexes.” Viest nodded toward the port that overlooked the dark space beyond the control center. “The arena is in the center of the mine. The grav generators are turned off there, so it makes a good zero-g playing field.” Her eyes narrowed. “Makes a good way to tell the serious players from the ones who just like to talk.”

  Leia decided there was no reason for her persona to go along with this, especially since it had trap written all over it. Viest knew they were lying, but she wasn’t quite sure just what they were lying about. If they were lucky, Viest thought this was only an attempt to cheat her out of her investment in the Aegis. Not that the consequences of that would be any less dangerous, but at least Viest wouldn’t suspect Alliance involvement. Leia said, “We don’t go in for the frivolous much, where I’m from.” Also a strictly true statement.

  “Let me sweeten the deal for you,” Viest said. She looked as if she had no intention of being talked out of this but would find it amusing if they tried. “If both of you play and win, I’ll give you my interest in Metara and her ship, free and clear.”

  That deal was a little too sweet, Leia thought. Best to decline and try to offer a payment again. But before she could reply, Metara said, “If you throw in the merchant ship we captured for you and its crew, you have a deal.” She glanced at Leia. “And I’ll play alone, or with one of my crew.”

  Leia found herself meeting Viest’s complacent gaze. She let herself smile faintly, though she was thinking, I hate working with amateurs. Viest knew everything that Metara really wanted now, and would make her pay dearly for it. And she knew, too, that Metara had a stake in protecting Leia. That Leia was not just another prospective business partner or former acquaintance willing to help fund Metara’s piracy; that Metara cared about her safety.

  Viest’s smile was now considerably more satisfied. “It’s a deal—if Leia here plays our game, too.”

  There was no choice. Leia lifted her glass in salute, then downed its contents. The drink burned her throat and sat heavily in her stomach. Her voice grated as she said, “I’m happy to oblige.”

  Viest raised her glass to Leia. “Good.”

  Han had been hearing voices and movement ahead for a while; then the tunnel opened into a huge docking and cargo area. “This is just dandy,” he muttered under his breath.

  The ramp they were on branched off into a gallery along a row of bay doors, and the main branch led down to a loading area where there were several openings to huge tunnels. Several of the derelict repulsor guide tracks stretched across the loading area, and the floor held stacks of pressure crates and barrels of all sizes. A number of aging, slow-moving droids wandered among them, sorting them and rearranging the piles. A group of pirates stood in the middle of all the activity, arguing and emphasizing their disagreement by pointing at piles and shouting.

  Some of this cargo might have come from
the merchant the Wastrel had brought in, but there was clearly too much here for a freighter that size. This looked like either one large cargo transport or maybe the combined spoils of several smaller ships.

  Watching the scene uneasily, Terae said, “The Letaki didn’t say which tunnel to take, just that it was down here.”

  Everyone in the loading area looked angry and suspicious, and as far as Han could see they were all armed. “We can’t just wander down there like tourists,” he said. “We need to find a map.”

  Sian asked, “You think they’re using the old mine’s detention center? That would be marked on a map.”

  “Maybe.” A mine this big must have had some kind of facility to deal with the miners who stole or got drunk or did spice or got into fights about stealing and drinking and doing spice. “If it’s big enough.”

  “I saw a small tunnel marked for engineering admin back there,” Terae said. “Some of the lumas were still lit, so it might be worth a try. But to get to it, we’re going to have to go back through that dark area where the castaways were.”

  “The dark area doesn’t have anything to do with it,” Han told her. “Those castaways will be all over this place. Come on.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  AFTER SEARCHING TWO of the side corridors, Han, Sian, and Terae found a rock-carved chamber marked TECH SERVICES 112. It looked like it had been trashed in a drunken party, which probably meant there wasn’t anything left here that was useful. They split up to search, and after a moment Sian found some general access terminals back against the far wall, tucked under a small rock outcropping.