Honor Among Thieves: Star Wars

by James S. A. Corey

  The third bar was a temporary structure in a ballroom that was being rearranged. Droids were setting up tables and chairs, enough to seat several hundred. At one end of the room a small stage had been erected with a podium. The room was so large that even with dozens of tables and hundreds of chairs scattered through it, it looked empty. The murals of the jagged mountains surrounding the conference center that adorned the walls struck Han as silly. Why put up a bunch of walls to block the view, and then paint the view on the walls?

  At the base of a painted mountain, a droid behind a long bar served drinks to half a dozen people, including two brown-robed delegates. Han ordered a Seikoshan whiskey. The sharp liquor burned his throat going down, but did help clear his head a bit. Knowing he’d have to meet up with Leia again in just a few hours, Han nursed the drink.

  “I agree,” someone said to his left. A man in plain gray clothes with no badges or sashes designating rank. He was holding up a glass of brandy in salute. When Han nodded to him, the man tipped his glass and tossed off the rest. “The only way to survive these things is with a touch of the liquid excitement.”

  Han smiled noncommittally and sipped at his drink.

  “I’m here with a trade alliance,” the man said. “Non-guild.”

  Smugglers, Han thought. “Me, too.”

  “I’ll drink to that!” the man said.

  I’d bet you’d drink to anything. Han smiled and took another tiny sip. “Say, you know a guy named Hunter Maas? Runs with the Sendavé Collective?”

  “Weapons,” the man replied, showing that he, at least, knew what the collective was. “Don’t deal much in weapons.”

  “I’ve got some personal business with Maas, so trying to track him down. Heard he’d be here.”

  “Blood, money, or love?”

  “Would you believe none of those?” Han asked.

  “No!” The man guffawed at him. “No, I would not. But it’s not my business anyway. Only know the collective by reputation, and that’s all bad. Sorry I can’t help.”

  “It was a long shot,” Han said. “What about Essio Galassian?”

  “Name rings a bell. Heard of a human went by something like that. Antiquities dealer. Explorer. But not for his main line. Doing it for love, not money. Hooked up with the Empire somehow.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I’ve heard he’s a sadistic animal,” the man said with a shrug.

  “Well, that’ll make him stand out from the Imperial crowd,” Han said drily, and his companion laughed. “Let me get you the next one.” He waved at the bartender droid and pointed at the smuggler’s empty glass.

  “Thank you, friend,” the man said. “A generous soul is its own reward. You have business with this Galassian, too?”

  “Might. It’s a little hard to say right now. Sort of depends on how the rest of this conference plays out,” Han replied.

  The man shrugged, thick shoulders rolling under his loose gray shirt. “It’s good for picking up new contracts with like-minded folks. That’s why my group comes. But do I think this ends with everyone holding hands and pledging to end the Empire? No. And only a fool thinks otherwise. The Empire isn’t going anywhere, no matter how many battle stations the rebels manage to blow up. If that even happened.”

  “Pretty confident it did.”

  “That’s as it may be, but I haven’t seen any rebel fleets winning victories in my stretch of space. We’re still sneaking past Star Destroyers to make our runs and dodging Imperial tax collectors at the ports. If the rebels are winning, I can’t tell.”

  It was like talking to an older version of himself. The man sitting next to him was who he would have been in a few years if he’d never dumped that cargo of Jabba’s and gotten himself in enough trouble to take Luke and Ben Kenobi on their suicide mission. He’d be sitting in bars, talking about the fact of Imperial rule and the fantasy of a rebellion actually winning. It gave Han a strange sense of disconnection. Like he was watching the conversation from outside.

  “That Alderaanian princess, though,” the man continued after a few moments. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”

  “Leia Organa?”

  “That’s the one. Makes me wish I was ten years younger or a billion credits richer.”

  Han gave the man a false smile through gritted teeth. The server droid offered him another drink, and he waved it off with a quick shake of his head. The two brown-robed delegates he’d noticed in the ballroom had been replaced by a knot of whispering Lannik, who kept their heads together and spoke in urgent tones too low for Han to hear the words. A few people were starting to take places at the tables scattered around the room, and Han suspected the speeches were soon going to begin.

  “Everyone loves the Rebellion, though,” the smuggler said. “We pine for the glorious freedom of the Republic of old. And she can give a fine speech. I’m sure she’s gotten many offers of support and friendship. How many of them are going to hold up in an Imperial interrogation room? Not many. But we got six new contracts, and the Princess was a fine thing to look at while she speechified. And the dinners weren’t bad.”

  “Yeah,” Han said. “That’s what I would have guessed. The glorious freedom of the Republic: meet the new tax collector, same as the old tax collector.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” the smuggler said and tapped his glass against Han’s.

  THE HALL STRETCHED OUT as long as a flight hangar. The high, arching ceiling had been shaped from the same pale stone as the mountains and carved by alien hands into complex designs that made Han think of bird bones. A dirty yellow light filtered down through it. Tables of food and liquor for a dozen different species squatted along one side, filling the air with a dizzying rich stink guaranteed to have something to offend any nose. At the other side, a raised stage waited for a speaker. For Leia. All he could think was how little cover there was up there against blasterfire.

  He’d expected the seating to be laid out in rows or concentric circles. What was the point in having a speaker if not to watch and listen? But the conclave hall was laid out in small, almost self-contained units. Chairs, tables, squatting couches for the physiognomies that didn’t get along well with chairs. Between that and the trio of Bith musicians covering the murmur of conversations with syncopated, reedy music, it felt more like a particularly posh cabaret. An old bronze-colored server droid clacked up beside him with a plate of grain crackers smeared with something green and algal-smelling and half a dozen unlabeled black bottles. Han shook his head. The droid squawked and shifted toward him.

  “I said no,” Han growled.

  The droid made an offended squeak and clanked off. Han plucked at the hem of his vest, straightening it. There were easily a dozen different species present, most in groups of their own kind. They were dressed in silks and formal robes, high-collared and conspicuously free of wrinkles. Han wasn’t the only one wearing a sidearm, but the others walking between the tables managed to make their weapons look ceremonial. The Rebel Alliance had a table near the foot of the little stage with half a dozen humans and one Mon Calamari. Scarlet Hark was sitting among them. She’d traded out her borrowed shirt, pants, and vest for a gown of startling red, and her hair was up in a loose, elegant bun held in place by lacquered sticks. She looked perfectly at ease. Han noticed that there wasn’t a chair at that table for him. Probably because he’d said he wouldn’t come. It seemed a little rude of them to take him at his word.

  A Bothan man in pale brown robes that matched his pelt approached Han and wordlessly pressed an empty glass into his hand. The Bothan’s deep brown eyes seemed rich with gratitude and a kind of sympathetic sorrow. It wasn’t until he’d walked away that Han understood what had just happened.

  “I’m not a waiter,” he called after the Bothan. “I don’t work here.”

  “Thank you all for coming,” Leia said, and Han’s gaze shot to the stage. She was standing at the front of the little platform. She’d switched her gown for one with a dark cloa
k and sash that made her look as though she were in military dress without it actually being a uniform. The unpleasant yellow light that shouldered its way through the bonelike ceiling dimmed to a mellow gold. The musicians didn’t stop, but the music softened, fading into the background. Han stepped back, leaning against the wall. After a moment, he put the Bothan’s empty glass on the floor at his feet. A small droid no larger than an Erian table-ferret skittered by and scooped it up.

  “I hope you’re all enjoying the food,” Leia said.

  “Because a massive Imperial fleet may be descending on us at any second,” Han muttered, “and you may all be dead before you can digest it.”

  “I wanted to take a moment and thank you all for coming to this conclave,” Leia continued. “It takes real courage to stand against the Empire, and that is something everyone in this hall shares. Each of us here is dedicated in our own way to fighting Imperial oppression.”

  “So that you can avoid taxes,” Han muttered, “or run your own little religious cult, or just because you’re pissed off that you’re not the one sitting in Palpatine’s chair. And there’s an Imperial fleet I’m supposed to warn you about, which I’ll get to any minute now.”

  “We have our differences,” Leia went on, smiling at the assembled room. “I’m not saying that we don’t. But after Alderaan, I think we can all see that the danger the Empire poses is too great for any of us to ignore. When the Rebel Alliance attacked and destroyed the Death Star, we weren’t acting out of vengeance, but to prevent the tyranny and terror that such a base represents. The tyranny and terror that would have been used to control every sentient being in this room.”

  Leia’s smile was gone now, and she lifted her eyebrow.

  “We’ve won our second major battle, but there are many, many more to come before the Empire’s power is broken. The truth is, we can’t do this alone. Unless we have friends who can support us, the Rebel Alliance will be defeated, and the next tool the Empire creates will go unopposed. And then everyone in this room and outside of it will have reason to mourn.”

  “And, oh, by the way,” Han said under his breath. “Come on, Your Highness. Spit it out. Imperial fleet. Impending attack. You can do it.”

  “Thank you all again for being here. It’s an act of courage, and I appreciate it from each and every one of you. And I look forward to talking about how we can all work together to make the galaxy a safer, freer place for everyone.”

  There was a round of polite applause, and Leia stepped off the stage toward the Rebel Alliance’s group. The light brightened, and the music grew louder. Han ground his teeth and turned to leave. At the Rebel Alliance’s table, a Phindian with skin the color of old spinach was shouting at Leia. Han couldn’t make out the words of Leia’s reply, but the sneering tone carried. The generals and soldiers of the Alliance looked up at the two in various stages of consternation and embarrassment. The Phindian lifted both hands in fists and gabbled out a plume of invective that could have stunned a krayt dragon.

  Han pushed off from the wall and started toward the arguing pair, his palm resting on the butt of his blaster. His fingertip tingled and his chest warmed. After all the frustrations Kiamurr had offered him up to now, a little honest violence was sounding pretty good. Dozens of people had turned to watch the argument, some with curiosity, some with apparent glee. Han felt his joints loosening in anticipation.

  He didn’t see Scarlet approach. She was just suddenly at his right side, her arm around his as if he were escorting her. She smiled up at him, her dark eyes glittering. “Why, Captain Solo. And here I was thinking you weren’t going to attend our little shindig.”

  Leia crossed her arms, her mouth thin and her chin high. She asked something, and a roll of laughter passed through the first rank of spectators. The Phindian’s face grew darker.

  “Careful, sister,” Han said. “That’s my gun arm you’re on.”

  “I know, right?” she said, moving half a step in front of him and steering him to their left as if he were a cart animal. “Why don’t you come sit with me, and we’ll talk about things before you get all dashing and impulsive.”

  “What are you …”

  The Phindian pointed a long finger at Leia and muttered something. Leia waved him away and sat down, ignoring him. The Phindian closed his fist. Scarlet reached a small table with a single curved bench on one side and maneuvered Han into it, her hand still on his arm. They looked less like he was politely escorting her now. Other people sitting that close and touching that much would have meant something more intimate by it.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Han asked.

  “I’d love to,” Scarlet said. “Thanks for asking. The Phindian is Haverous Mok, and he’s the head of an engineering corporation called Sorintechnic. He’s a major supplier of ship-grade weapons for the Alliance, but not everyone knows that, because he’s tried to keep it off the books. Following that?”

  “So why is he yelling at—”

  Scarlet nestled in close, looking to anyone walking by as if she were flirting outrageously with him. It let her speak softly and almost directly into his ear.

  “Because he thinks she’s going to cancel an order that he’s almost finished with. He’s mistaken, but it took several people a lot of effort to make him mistaken, and we’re all very glad he is.”

  “That makes no—”

  “If you look about fifteen degrees to port, there’s a man in a blue-gray suit with a little mustache that makes him look like a womp rat. You see him?”

  The man was sitting in a group of eight others, human and Yaka. The one Scarlet meant was watching Leia and the Phindian with narrowed, appraising eyes. Han had the feeling that maybe this was the one he should have been looking to shoot all along.

  “Syrynys Lamarkin,” Scarlet said. “He’s been putting pressure on the companies that make bacta to increase their prices when they deal with the Rebellion. Don’t scowl at him. He’ll see you. He’s been telling himself and everyone who’ll listen that Leia Organa is so mad with grief over the loss of Alderaan that she’s unstable and on the verge of collapse. As good as insane.”

  The Phindian shouted again, and this time Han could make out the words faithless and promise breaker. Leia stepped closer and put her hand on the Phindian’s arm, her expression polite but implacable. At his table, the rat-faced man turned to one of the cyborg Yakas and said something.

  “Right now, a dozen different people are watching Leia deal with an irate partner, and they’re seeing that she’s keeping her temper, standing her ground, and controlling the situation. And not being the person Lamarkin said she was. Which was what this whole evening has been about.”

  Unless he had stepped in the middle and screwed things up, Scarlet didn’t say. The Phindian gestured accusingly, but there was less force behind the gesture now. Leia nodded and drew him over toward her table, seating him where Scarlet had been. The rat-faced man rose from his seat and walked stiffly toward the side of the room.

  “None of this is going to matter when the Imperial fleet comes and shoots all these people,” Han said.

  Scarlet let out a peal of laughter that could have passed for sincere and shook her head at him as if he’d said something witty and impudent. Leia looked over at them as if seeing them for the first time and nodded. Han was suddenly very aware of being at a small table with a beautiful woman pressed close to him. He smiled at Leia and leaned in toward Scarlet.

  “General Chith has worked out an evacuation plan,” Scarlet said, ignoring them both. “I’m taking it to everyone who needs to know so that we’re ready when they come. And I’ve found two of the people Hunter Maas is scheduled to meet with. They haven’t heard from him, but the first meeting is scheduled for tomorrow night. If you’re not going to shoot anybody, I’m going to go back to doing that now.”

  “I’m … You know, someone could have told me about all this.”

  “If I’d known you’d be here, I would have,” she
said, and her voice had lost its false flirtatiousness. “There are a dozen things going on here, they’re all critical, and they all affect one another. I assumed you’d be in the hangar with Chewbacca.”

  Han pulled his arm free of hers and leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He felt embarrassed and resentful and embarrassed for feeling resentful, but he wasn’t going to let any of it show. Leia said something, and the Phindian laughed ruefully. A server droid trundled up to the table, and Scarlet waved it away.

  “I’ll get back where I belong, then,” Han said.

  “I know the danger’s real,” Scarlet said. “And more than that? She knows it is. I respect that you want to protect us both, but you need to trust me. And her. These are risks we have to take.”

  “You don’t need to tell me about taking risks,” Han said, standing up. “Taking risks is what I do best.”

  “I know,” Scarlet said. “It’s why we need men like you on our side.”

  “Damn right you do,” Han said, the words a little less powerful than he’d meant them to be. He stood for a moment. “Are you teasing me?”

  A glimmer came to Scarlet’s eyes. “Absolutely not. And I promise as soon as I hear anything important, I’ll make sure you know. Peace?”

  “Of course, peace,” Han said, tugging his vest into trim. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All right then.” Scarlet stood up, too. “I should get back to work.”

  “I’ll be at the ship. For what it’s worth, you’re really dressed nicely.”

  “I’m really dressed appropriately,” she said.