“You’re always careful?”
“I’m always careful enough.”
“Your first objective is to make the connection and complete the retrieval,” Leia said. “If you can’t do that, find out as much as you can about what happened and whether any of our people are in danger. But if you smell a trap, get out. If we’ve lost her, we’ve lost her. We don’t want to sacrifice anyone else.”
“ ‘Her’?”
Leia touched the display controls again, and the image shifted. A green security warning flooded it, and she keyed in the override. A woman’s face filled the screen. High cheekbones, dark eyes and hair, V-shaped chin, and a mouth that seemed on the verge of smiling. If Han had seen her in a city, he’d have looked twice, but not because she was suspicious. The data field beside the picture listed a life history too complex to take in at a glance. The name field read: SCARLET HARK.
“Don’t get in over your head,” Leia said.
THE SAAVIN SYSTEM FLOATED in the air above the display panel, tiny colored balls representing the various planets rotating around a bright orange star. A small blue world nestled in a swarm of Imperial ships and independent stations. Cioran, bureaucratic heart of the Empire. Or if not heart, kidney. Maybe small bowel. Another world, a large, bright red planet toward the edge of the system, swelled even larger when Chewbacca waved a paw at it. The Wookiee growled.
“That’s the point,” Han said. “It’s on the edge of the system, and it’s a big ball of useless gas. No one lives there. There aren’t even any gas miners. It’ll take a little longer to fly into Cioran from there, but it’s a nice quiet spot to take a look around.”
Chewie growled and crossed his arms.
“Look, this is Empire central. I don’t want to drop out of hyperspace on top of a Star Destroyer.”
Chewie turned away and began prepping the Falcon. He carried on a low rumbling conversation with himself, his back to Han.
“You’re gonna thank me when we slip into the Saavin system without anyone noticing us.”
Chewie grunted, and Han pulled the lever to shut down the hyperdrive. The streaking white of hyperspace that had filled their cockpit viewport snapped back into a steady starfield, the bloated red of Saavin’s gas giant filling half of the view.
“See, now we just—” Han started.
“Unregistered YT-thirteen-hundred, this is the Imperial Star Destroyer Ravenous, respond immediately.”
The Falcon began blaring collision alarms as two TIE fighters took flanking positions next to her. The massive dagger shape of the Star Destroyer drifted into view from her port side.
“Unregistered YT-thirteen-hundred—” Han killed the comm. Chewbacca turned to look at him, not saying anything.
“This is not my fault,” Han said, looking for an escape route and finding nothing. “What are they doing out here?”
Chewie growled and reached for the deflector controls.
“No, wait,” Han said, grabbing the Wookiee’s arm to stop him. “I can handle this.” Chewbacca barked out a laugh.
“Hello, Ravenous, this is Captain—” Han racked his brain for one of the names on the list of fake registration codes he kept. “—Boro Mandibel, of the light freighter Vortando. How can I help you today?”
He put his palm over the mic and said, “Chewie, better turn on the registration broadcast. Make sure it’s the Vortando codes.”
“Vortando,” the reply came after a few moments. “You’re broadcasting a nonstandard registration—”
“Sorry about that,” Han interrupted with a heartily false laugh. “Hired on a Wookiee mechanic, and he’s been using nonstandard parts on all the repairs.”
Chewie growled dangerously from behind him, and Han covered the mic again. “If he understands Wookiee, that little remark is going to get us in a lot of trouble.” Chewbacca rumbled a response that demonstrated a lack of remorse.
“Destination and cargo,” the Star Destroyer demanded.
“Uh, going to Cioran with Corellian brandy and Sacorrian wines. How are you guys doing today?”
There was a pause that felt as if it lasted hours. Han began plotting a course to get them out of the system as fast as possible. The two TIE fighters hung next to the Falcon like an unspoken threat.
Han turned off the mic and said, “Chewie, this isn’t working. Get ready to angle the rear deflectors and make a run for it.”
“Vortando,” the Star Destroyer said. “Proceed to Cioran on the following course. Do not deviate. We’re seeing an incoming load, and we don’t need you disrupting the landing queue.”
“Received, Ravenous. You guys have a nice day,” Han said, then laid in the course. Chewbacca bayed his disbelief.
“Yeah, I know. Star Destroyers directing traffic,” Han replied, bringing up the drive. “Welcome to the Empire.”
The Ravenous hadn’t been lying. The Falcon waited for two standard hours to get a landing assignment. To pass the time, Han checked the charge on his blaster, and Chewbacca stripped and cleaned his bowcaster. Han pulled on a long coat that covered his weapon. He knew that Cioran’s warm climate didn’t warrant a coat like that, but he figured it was better than wearing the blaster where everyone could see it.
“You know,” he said, pacing and twisting in front of his cabin’s mirror to make sure the blaster stayed hidden when he moved, “this is the heart of the Empire. I don’t know how many Wookiees with energy crossbows are going to be walking around. You might want to aim for subtle.”
Chewbacca growled, and Han put up his hands. “I’m just saying this isn’t our usual run-and-gun. We’re here to blend in. Move unnoticed.” Han turned suddenly, watching the swirl of the coat to make sure it didn’t open up too far. Chewbacca coughed out a laugh.
“Hey!” Han said, hurt in his voice. “I’ve blended! I can blend. And if I don’t—” He swatted at the coat, pushing it away and yanking out his blaster in a lightning-fast draw. “I’ll improvise.”
The docking bays on Cioran looked exactly like the docking bays on a hundred worlds Han Solo had seen during his travels, only clean. Unsettlingly clean. The same repair gantries and loading cranes. The same fuel tanks and repair droids and inspection clerks, but without the lived-in look. No fuel spills on the decking, no broken droids sparking in the corner, no grease spots on any of the inspectors’ uniforms. It felt vaguely funereal. Like a memorial to the idea of a docking bay.
A small, stout droid was waiting at the bottom of the crew ramp, ticking quietly to itself, a vaguely humanoid head on top of a square body sporting too many arms and sitting on rubber treads. When it saw Han, it perked up with a lurch.
“I am R-Four-Two-Seven,” it said in an annoying chirpy voice. “The Cioran Port Authority and the Trajenni Dock Management Collective welcome you to Cioran!”
“Thanks,” Han said, and tried to walk past it. The rubber treads whirred to life, and it darted in front of him.
“The Trajenni Dock Management Collective hopes we can be of service to you during your stay on Cioran!”
“Great,” Han said. “I don’t really need—”
“May I assist you with your bags?” R-427 continued, undeterred. “Or perhaps you would like a licensed Trajenni Dock Management Collective repair droid to look over your ship? Our refueling services are available at extremely competitive rates, and—”
Chewbacca growled and walked toward the droid. It backed up.
“We’ll let you know if we need anything,” Han said with a smile and a wave of dismissal. Chewbacca continued to advance on the droid until it finally spun around on its treads and sped toward the door.
“The Trajenni Dock Management Collective welcomes you to Cioran and hopes you enjoy your stay!” the droid shouted as it fled, its last words almost inaudible.
Chewbacca chuffed out a quiet laugh as it disappeared around a corner.
“The drop’s someplace called Staton Park,” Han said, walking to the dock’s street exit. Chewbacca followed with a low grumb
le. “Yeah, I don’t know why we aren’t meeting in a bar, either. There’s a way you do these things. Sometimes it seems like we’re the only professionals left.”
The exit led out to a wide pedestrian walkway with air traffic flying thick overhead. The speeders, landing ships, and personal speeder bikes moved in crisp lines that exactly matched the ground-level roadways. Imperial craft kept a watchful eye on the procession of vehicles, prominent laser cannons a visible warning against violating the traffic rules.
“It’s all very … orderly, isn’t it,” Han said, looking up with a sigh.
The Core reminded Han why he’d fled to the backwater planets on the edge of the galaxy in the first place. The massive walls of steel and glass that rose on both sides felt like a cage. He wanted to tell himself that this was what Imperial control looked like: order enforced at the end of a blaster. But any government was going to have traffic laws. Before the Emperor, the Republic had enforced its edicts at the lasersharp edge of a Jedi’s lightsaber. It was the way the universe worked. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Let’s get a drink.”
Even the bars stank of Imperial order. The gleaming chrome tabletops and uncomfortable chairs didn’t allow for much lounging or relaxation. A dozen patrons sat quietly at their tables drinking heavily and unenthusiastically. A few of them stared at Chewbacca when they came in, but no one challenged them. A small knot of men and women who looked like off-duty soldiers occupied one corner, their heads hunched close together, talking in whispers.
He found a table at the corner farthest from the Imperials and put his back to the wall. Chewbacca sat next to him, staring at the tabletop and rumbling quietly to himself.
Han caught the attention of a chrome-and-gold protocol droid standing behind the bar, pointed at a bottle of Corellian brandy, held up two fingers, and pointed at his own table. A few seconds later they had their drinks and Han flipped a coin to the droid, who caught it out of the air without a word.
Chewie growled softly at the droid’s retreating back.
“I hear you, brother. Not my kind of place, either,” Han said, then took a long swallow. “Booze isn’t bad. You see anyone following us?”
Chewbacca barked and lifted his chin.
“Me neither,” Han said. “So that’s a decent start.”
He pulled the disposable datapad Leia had given him out of his pocket and laid it on the table. It connected to the local network, updating its information with the most recent publicly available data and cross-checking it with what little the Rebel Alliance knew. Maps of the city flashed by in rapid succession, laying out the route from their current location to the park. Danger spots were marked in red: known trooper posts, Imperial government buildings, cams.
“Not going to be easy,” Han said. The dead drop location was a memorial to some Imperial bigwig at the center of the park. Security droids wandered the park day and night, looking for malfeasance. Imperial troops patrolled the streets and skies, and possibly the park, as well. Observation posts dotted the city at intervals as regular as grid markers.
Chewbacca pawed at the pad, scrolling the map back and forth and grumbling.
“Wouldn’t be my first choice as a drop location, either,” Han agreed. “But maybe that’s the point. If it’s a trap, I’d put it someplace that didn’t look like one. This Scarlet Hark character is supposed to know her business, so I guess we back her plays until we learn otherwise.”
Chewbacca grunted agreeably and pushed the pad back to Han, who hit the button that melted the insides with a quiet sizzling sound and a tiny curl of smoke. He tossed it into a disposal unit in the wall.
“Well, we’re earning our pay on this one. And maybe we have to get past a couple hundred Imperial troops, dozens of cams and observation points, and not draw attention to ourselves on one of the most heavily controlled planets in the Empire, but there’s a silver lining to that.”
Chewbacca cocked his head and growled.
“Nobody who works for Jabba’s going to be here.”
THE STATON MEMORIAL PARK AND RECREATION AREA was twenty-five hectares of green on the roof of the massive Imperial Water Processing Authority. Half a kilometer of bureaucracy rising from the street level of Cioran, topped by a sward of hydroponic grass, trees, and fountains. A flier station perched at the building’s edge, and thin, sleek machines docked or hovered, waiting to ferry citizens of the Empire to their next hygienic, clean, constrained appointment once their recreational period was done. Han felt about as inconspicuous as a Messian flame lizard.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” the flier intoned as he stepped off it.
“No.”
“I can provide the menus of the park’s food and drink vendors, if you are in need of refreshment.”
“Thanks. No.”
“Perhaps a guide for the statuary and memorials that adorn this, the most lovely of the recreation centers of Greater Cioran?”
Chewbacca lumbered up out of the flier’s too-small seats. It was probably only Han’s imagination that the vehicle floated a little higher afterward.
“We just want to explore it all for ourselves,” Han said, trying to sound like a tourist.
“The Jaino Personal Transport Collective thanks you for your business. We hope you’ll keep us in mind for all your travel needs,” the flier said, then pulled out of the slip and joined the line of hovering machines waiting to carry people away again. Han stepped to the park’s edge and looked down. The building was like a chalk cliff, pale and huge and windowless.
“Please step back from the edge, sir,” an automated voice said. “For your safety and comfort, viewing platforms are at the northwest and southwest corners of the park.”
Han gritted his teeth at the little service droid in something like a smile. “Why, thank you,” he said. “I’ll just go take a look.”
“Please enjoy your stay at the Staton Memorial Park and Recreation Area,” the droid said, cheerfully. It waited for Han to walk away first.
Chewbacca grunted amiably, stretching his massive arms.
“Yes, getting here did go very well,” Han said.
Chewbacca growled again, craning his neck and smiling under his fur.
“Makes me nervous, too. I don’t know. Maybe we caught a break.”
The park was beautiful. Trees lifted their boughs a uniform six meters above the colonnades, and half a meter more in the open field. Grass so green it hurt to look at grew up four centimeters from the gel mats that took the place of actual dirt. All the paths formed perfect right angles, and discreet service droids lurked politely in the shadows, waiting for a bird to make a mess so that they could swoop in and clean it away. The soft cool breeze smelled of nothing.
Han had dealt with enough spies and criminals to understand that how a person worked said a lot about who they were. The profile on Scarlet Hark didn’t have much character to it. Data and history, but nothing about who she was or how she operated. That she’d chosen the park for her dead drop told Han more about the woman than an intelligence profile could. The place was everything bad about the Empire. Every single element was regulated, controlled, built to specification, and then eliminated if it didn’t meet standards. She’d picked it, he figured, because she’d fit in here among the pinch-faced Imperials in gray uniforms. He tried to imagine how it would feel, living someplace like Cioran where everything was kept exactly in place, everyone was watched and monitored, and order was enforced with a false politeness that only barely stretched enough to mask the threat of violence. He’d been in prisons he liked better.
Han felt his jaw growing tight as he and Chewbacca made a slow, careful turn around the whole place. There were maybe two dozen people in the park. Four old men sitting at dejarik tables, playing with the grim focus of sappers trying to defuse a bomb. Two younger women sitting on a bench that overlooked the vast canyons of the city, not speaking to each other. Some men playing a complex game on the turf, their expressions angry and joyle
ss.
“Not as much security as I’d expected,” Han said, once they’d made the first full turn through the place and come back to the paved court by the flier station. “So that’s good.”
Chewbacca moaned low.
“Of course they’re all looking at you. You’re a Wookiee.”
The reply was a bellow.
“They probably haven’t. I told you Saavin’s not the kind of place that attracts a lot of Wookiees. Did you see the memorial? I think it’s that black thing in the middle there.”
Chewbacca chuffed.
“Why don’t you let me take this part? You can go stand over there and … do something distracting. Sing, maybe.”
Chewbacca looked at him silently.
“As a distraction. If they’re all looking at you, they won’t be looking at me, and it’ll be easier to get the packet. This is basic stuff, Chewie.”
The Wookiee sighed and made a show of lumbering away. Han waited a few seconds, then headed back toward the great black structure in the center of the park, pausing a few times on the way to admire perfectly unadmirable flowers and planters.
The fountain stood as high as the trees, symmetrical laminar jets of water arcing from it like rods of bent glass. In the center, the black stone statue of a human man stood heroically, his right hand over his left breast in salute. Han looked around innocently. A thick-faced man was buying a bowl of chaka noodles from a bright yellow stand. An old woman sat on a bench at the statue’s left, looking disconsolately out into nothing, a service droid hovering at her side. Han ran his fingers over the memorial plaque, pretending to care what it said. CHIEF MOY STATON OF THE IMPERIAL RESOURCES COUNCIL IMPROVED EFFICIENCY OF SUBJECT SPECIES ASSIMILATION FOURFOLD AND WON SPECIAL MENTION BY THE EMPEROR and so on and so on. Han looked over his shoulder. Chewbacca stood about twenty meters away in a stand of manicured trees. Han nodded at him. Chewbacca didn’t move. Han nodded again, the motion a little larger, and Chewbacca’s voice lifted in a melodious howl, his wide, furry arms spread like an opera singer’s.
Honor Among Thieves: Star Wars Page 2
