by Timothy Zahn
“It’s been a while,” he conceded. “Like you said, things get pretty busy during the Festival.”
“Well, you need to make that time,” she said firmly, reaching over and taking hold of his right upper arm. “If you don’t get your rest—”
She broke off as he twisted his arm back out of her grip, simultaneously pushing her hand away with his left hand. “Gun hand,” he said shortly. “Never do that.”
“I’m so sorry,” Bink apologized, screwing up her face into her best embarrassed wince. “Look, I can see you’re not in the mood to just relax and have fun. Maybe I’d better go and let you concentrate on your work.”
“No, that’s all right,” he said hastily as she started to back away. “I’m just a little twitchy this morning, that’s all.” He took her hand and gently pulled her around to his left side. “Come on, let’s go see if they’ve got the ambrosia steamer up and running.”
“All right,” Bink said, wrapping her hand possessively around his left arm. This time, he didn’t push her away. “But only if you promise to relax and have one of them with me.”
“A small one only,” he said.
They got two steps before he suddenly changed direction. “On second thought, let me show you something else first,” he said, angling off through the crowd. “The hanging waterfall is one of the Honoring’s highlights, and it’s about to go into its quarter-hour show. We’ll watch it and then go get the ambrosia.”
“Sounds interesting,” Bink said, a small red flag waving in the back of her brain. He was up to something.
New orders via his collar-clip comlink? Probably. Shifting her grip on his arm, Bink snuggled in a little closer. If the comlink’s speaker hadn’t been focused correctly, she might be able to get in close enough to hear what was going on.
Unfortunately, Villachor’s tech people hadn’t been that careless. But even as she eased casually away again, a hint of an odd scent touched her nostrils. Not enough for her to identify, but enough to tell her that she’d smelled it before. And that it was something significant.
It would be risky to move that close again so soon. But she had time. The scent was on Sheqoa, and Sheqoa had clearly been ordered to keep her close. There would be opportunities later to chase it down. More important right now was figuring out this sudden change in his schedule.
And then, just ahead, a pair of Kubaz moved aside, giving her a momentarily clear view of the hanging waterfall Sheqoa had mentioned.
The waterfall, and the big furry shape of Chewbacca towering over the crowd.
Apparently whoever had been watching Lando had decided it might be fun to throw Bink at him and see if the two of them knew each other.
Mentally, she shook her head. Of all of Han’s group, she and Lando were probably the two least likely to show any of the reaction Sheqoa was hoping for.
Still, points for effort. Patting Sheqoa’s arm, prattling on in the breezy, carefree way she knew he’d come to expect from her, she settled her mind for the immediate task ahead.
“—over by the hanging waterfall,” Villachor was saying into his comlink as Han sauntered into eavesdropping range. “Take the girl over, spring her on him, and see if they recognize each other.”
Han felt his throat tighten. He’d known ahead of time that Villachor would be taking it up a notch today. And if Villachor didn’t, then Qazadi or Aziel certainly would. Trying to figure out how the various newcomers into their lives were connected was the obvious first step.
Still, throwing a ghost thief at a professional gambler would probably be a complete waste of time. Both Bink and Lando were more than capable of controlling their expressions and behavior.
Now it was Han’s turn.
He squared his shoulders. He could do this. He’d faced down Jabba the Hutt, Imperial Commander Nyklas the sadist, and any number of other thugs and bandits. Villachor was just the latest in a long line. A couple more greeters and well-wishers wandered up to Villachor, babbling their thanks for the show under the watchful gaze of his two bodyguards. Han waited until they moved on, then walked over. “Nice show, Master Villachor,” he said.
“Thank you,” Villachor said, giving him a quick up-and-down look. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I hear you have a really nice collection of airspeeders and landspeeders,” Han continued, gesturing toward the garage at the north end of the mansion. “Any chance you’ll be bringing them out to show us?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Villachor said with the same forced smile he was giving everyone else. “Not until an Honoring of Moving Vehicles is added to the Festival.”
“I suppose not,” Han said. He moved a step closer and lowered his voice. “What about the blackmail files? You going to bring them out?”
Villachor’s smile vanished, and both bodyguards shifted their hands to their concealed blasters. “Excuse me?” Villachor said quietly.
“Easy,” Han soothed. “I’m just here to talk.”
“Then talk fast,” Villachor snarled, hissing out the last word. “Did you bring the item?”
“No, and I’m not going to,” Han said. “Not after what happened two nights ago.”
“That wasn’t my doing,” Villachor insisted. He was starting to recover, and Han could see the little computer chips in his mind starting to spin again. “Are you the boss Kwerve promised to bring me?”
“No, and you’re not going to see him, either,” Han said. “If that wasn’t you, who was it?”
“A misguided colleague,” Villachor said. “Someone who felt we needed to know more about you before our discussions continued. If you didn’t bring the item and we’re not discussing terms, why are you here?”
“Mostly as a courtesy,” Han said. “I wanted to warn you that another player has joined the game.”
Villachor’s face changed, just enough to show that the guards had indeed reported Dozer’s off-duty visits. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” Han said. “Someone’s going around bribing your guards.”
“Trying to bribe them,” Villachor corrected. “All the men who were approached turned in the credits.”
“You sure about that?” Han countered. “Because the numbers I’m hearing say that at least five of them took the packages and kept their mouths shut.”
Abruptly a blaster muzzle jabbed into Han’s ribs. “Who?” Villachor demanded. “Give me their names.”
“I don’t have their names,” Han growled, glaring at the guard pressing the blaster into his side. “I told you, it’s someone else who’s doing that.”
“A girl, perhaps?” Villachor suggested. “Black hair, medium height?”
“I … don’t … know,” Han said, biting out each word. “We don’t know who they are.”
“Or maybe they are you?” the guard growled.
“Use your head,” Han growled back. “Our group is trying for a nice, quiet, civilized recruitment. Why would we risk that by throwing credits at employees who don’t even matter?” He raised his eyebrows. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Villachor said. “Put it away, Tawb.”
Reluctantly, the bodyguard returned the blaster to its hiding place.
“Enough small talk,” Villachor continued. “Here’s the bottom line. Before I make any decisions, I will meet with someone who has the authority to make me a deal. And I want to see the cryodex work one more time.”
“You already got one sample,” Han reminded him. “Didn’t it pan out good enough for you?”
“Oh, it panned out quite nicely,” Villachor assured him. “The inquiries I sent to Bespin have confirmed this Morg Nar person your man identified is indeed working for the Hutt.”
Han felt his stomach tighten. And if he knew anything about the way Black Sun did things, the inquiry alone was going to blow Nar’s cover straight out the airlock. Jabba was not going to be happy about that.
And when Jabba wasn’t happy, everyone connected to him paid the price.
The faster they got Eanjer’s credit tabs and Han could pay off his debt, the better.
“But any one-time winner could just be luck,” Villachor continued. “A second sample will make things more definitive.”
“That’ll be up to the boss,” Han said. “And before you ask, yes, he’s already on Wukkar.”
“Then what’s the holdup?”
Han looked him straight in the eye. “He’s waiting on confirmation that whoever grabbed Kwerve and Bib is under control.”
“I can assure you there’ll be no repeat of that incident.”
“No offense, Master Villachor, but he’s not looking for confirmation from you,” Han said. “He’s looking for confirmation from us. Don’t worry, we’re working on it.”
“I see,” Villachor said, his voice subtly shifting tone. “Any idea when you and he will deem the time right for such a conference?”
“Soon,” Han promised. “I’m hoping I can bring him in two days from now during the Honoring of Moving Fire.”
“And if you can’t?”
“We will,” Han assured him. “If that doesn’t work—”
“Excuse me a moment,” Villachor murmured, his eyes flicking somewhere over Han’s shoulder as he pulled out his comlink. “Sheqoa? Anything? … Never mind. I’ve been informed that a man who may be yesterday’s mystery courier is on the grounds.… Yes, that’s the one. I think you should take your friend over there and see if they’d like to say hello to each other.” He listened another moment, then closed down the comlink and turned back to Han. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”
“I was saying that if we can’t secure the area by the end of the Festival, we should be able to set up a meeting for a day or two afterward,” Han said, keeping his voice and expression calm and unconcerned. So security had spotted Dozer, or at least thought they had, and Villachor was sending Sheqoa and Bink over to confront him.
Problem was, while Han could trust Bink and Lando to handle the non-recognition game, he wasn’t nearly so sure Dozer could pull it off without dropping any of the cues that Sheqoa would be watching for.
But there was nothing he could do. Villachor was watching, and if he made the slightest move to warn Dozer or to cut short the conversation, the other would be all over it.
In fact, that was probably the reason he’d made the call in Han’s presence in the first place. Any reaction, and they would have the link between him and Dozer that Villachor obviously suspected.
Han could do nothing.
Luckily, he didn’t have to do anything.
“But if you have a moment,” he continued smoothly, “I have one other thought my boss wanted me to float past you.”
“Certainly,” Villachor said. “Come. Let’s walk.”
“Uh-oh,” Winter said under her breath.
She thought she’d said it quietly enough not to be heard, but Rachele’s ears were obviously better than average. Halfway across the room, standing on top of the low serving table, the other woman still caught the muttered word. “Trouble?” she asked.
“Nothing serious,” Winter assured her, shifting the electrobinoculars a little as she pulled out her comlink. “Looks like Sheqoa’s attempt to get Lando and Bink to react to each other has gone flat. So he’s going to try it again with Bink and Dozer.”
“With Dozer?” Rachele said, sounding worried. “That’s not exactly nothing.”
“Hold still,” Zerba said testily. “You’re going to pull out those arm seams again.”
“I was just trying—”
“It’s okay,” Winter soothed, keying the comlink for Kell. Dozer was being watched, which meant she couldn’t call and warn him without the timing looking suspicious. But Kell was under no such surveillance. “Kell, you need to get Dozer out of there,” she said when he answered. “Can you do it without alerting his security playmates?”
“Sure,” Kell said. “You want him all the way out, or just somewhere else on the grounds?”
“Better make it all the way,” Winter said. Dozer had wanted another look at the Marblewood security setup, but with Sheqoa on the prowl it would be safer to just pull the plug.
“You sure?” Kell asked. “He could play hide-and-search for a long time without Sheqoa ever catching up with him.”
“Out, and now,” Winter said tartly, her memory flashing with the faces of all the Rebel operatives she’d seen push their luck too far.
“Okay, okay,” Kell said defensively. “You don’t have to shout. You want me out, too?”
“Only if you’re spotted,” Winter said, scowling to herself. She shouldn’t have let the memories get the better of her. Especially not with Kell, who was going through the same agony of loss that she was. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll get him out.”
“Don’t be too hard on him,” Rachele said as Winter put away the comlink. “He’s young. The young always believe the dice are on their side.”
“Enough reason right there to go hard on him,” Winter countered, focusing the electrobinoculars back on Dozer. “I want him to live long enough to grow out of that phase.”
“Or long enough to learn how to make the dice work for you,” Zerba said. “How’s it look?”
Winter’s first impulse was to remind him that she had work to do, that she wasn’t exactly loafing over here by the window. But Kell had been alerted in plenty of time, Bink had Sheqoa reasonably under control, and Lando, Chewbacca, and Han all seemed to be doing fine. She could probably spare a glance at Zerba’s masterpiece.
It was well worth it. The last time Winter had seen the outfit, it had been mostly a stack of delicate pieces of red silk. Now, two hours later, Zerba had transformed the pieces into an elegant red formal-wear dress that could have held its own at one of Queen Breha’s formal receptions.
In fact, except for the deeper waistline, higher collar, and slightly different shade, it was identical to one that the queen had worn at Princess Leia’s twelfth-birthday celebration.
“Well?”
With a jolt, Winter realized she’d been staring as the memories flooded over her. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “The color suits you, Rachele.”
“Thanks,” Rachele said wryly. “I’d curtsy, except I’d probably pull out more of Zerba’s seams.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
“Tavia’s busy, Bink’s busy, and you’re their size,” Zerba reminded her.
“I know,” Rachele said with a sigh. “But there’s something fundamentally wrong about asking a woman to stand for a fitting when she’s not going to get to wear the dress.”
“Tell you what,” Zerba offered. “When this is over, I’ll make you one of your very own.”
“You mean that?”
“Absolutely.” Zerba ran his fingers gently across the silk. “And I’ll even make it one like Tavia’s that you can wear more than once.”
Rachele chuckled. “That would be nice,” she said dryly.
Winter turned back to the window and refocused her electrobinoculars. Dozer was on the move, drifting casually through the crowd and heading toward the double stream of people moving in and out of the grounds. Two of the security men were paralleling him, staying well back but keeping him in sight.
Mostly in sight, anyway. There was a spot, just before the gate, where the positioning of the trees and hedges would temporarily block him from their sight. Keying her comlink to Dozer’s number, she got ready.
“So what exactly do you do for Mazzic?” Rachele asked.
“Procurement, mostly,” Winter said. “I track through shipping manifests and warehouse throughputs and find him things he needs and people who are trying to hide their merchandise. The latter he can approach about smuggling work; the former he simply steals.”
“Sounds like the kind of job where you sit at a computer and don’t get shot at,” Zerba commented wistfully. “Must be nice.”
“It’s not quite that easy
,” Winter told him. “I also handle security systems and alarms for him. That means being on-site for a lot of the work. But you’re right—we mostly don’t get shot at.”
“I hope he pays you well,” Zerba said. “You don’t seem the type who lives for the thrill of the challenge.”
Winter shrugged. Mazzic’s pay scale was fairly tepid, actually. What kept her at the job was the fact that she could use his resources to find and break into supply and weapons storehouses, let the smugglers take what they wanted, and leave the way clear for her Rebel Alliance associates to slip in behind them and gather up the rest.
She was pretty sure Mazzic at least suspected her secret affiliation. But he’d never said anything. Apparently he was smart enough to see the mutual advantages of their relationship.
Though maybe that was why he paid her as little as he did.
“Not really,” she told Zerba. “But it’s worth it.”
Dozer was nearly to the gate now, walking alongside a group of long-eared, buck-toothed Lepi, their arms gesticulating wildly as they strode along, chattering among themselves. Winter checked the positions of the security men, then double-checked the covering flora and prattling aliens.
As Dozer slipped momentarily out of sight, Winter tapped her comlink’s call key. Without breaking stride, Dozer shrugged off his brown jacket, flipped it inside out to show the blue-and-silver jagged-slice pattern on the other side, and put it back on. As he settled it over his shoulders, he pulled a fold-up hat from the jacket’s pocket and jammed it onto his head.
A moment later he had passed through the gate, past two security men who were starting to look puzzled as they scanned the crowds marching along in front of them.
Winter smiled in satisfaction. There were undoubtedly still cam droids floating around up there beneath Villachor’s umbrella shield, and someone in the monitor room had probably caught the quick change. But the inevitable communication delay between monitor and gate had given Dozer just enough time to slip out.
Of course, now they knew he wasn’t just an innocent courier but a part of the mysterious gang throwing bribes at Villachor’s people. But that was all right. That part of the plan was over. Hopefully, it had accomplished its goal of making Villachor doubt his guards’ trustworthiness.
