by Timothy Zahn
“Us two, plus maybe a hundred bystanders,” Lando conceded. “You think it’s a trap?”
“Could be. Okay, Winter, thanks. We’ll be checking in more often from now on.”
“All right. Be careful.”
“You bet.”
He signed off and looked at Lando. “It’s your ship, pal. You want to go down and take a look, or give it a miss and go check out this swimming casino of yours?”
Lando hissed a breath between his teeth. “I don’t think we’ve got much choice,” he said. “If the message was from Luke, it’s probably important.”
“And if it wasn’t?”
Lando favored him with a tight grin. “Hey, we’ve run Imperial traps before. Come on, let’s take her down.”
After the way they’d blasted out of Ilic a few days earlier, it was doubtful the local authorities would be especially overjoyed to see the return of the Lady Luck to their city. Fortunately, he’d put the past two days’ worth of leisure time to good use; and as they set down inside the domed landing area, the spaceport computer dutifully logged the arrival of the pleasure yacht Tamar’s Folly.
“It’s just terrific to be back,” Han commented dryly as he and Lando started down the ramp. “Probably ought to snoop around a little before we head down to the Mishra.”
Beside him, Lando stiffened. “I don’t think we’re going to have to bother with the Mishra,” he said quietly.
Han threw a quick glance at him, dropping his hand casually to his blaster as he shifted his gaze to where Lando was looking. Standing five meters from the end of the Lady Luck’s ramp was a bulky man in an ornate tunic, chewing on the end of a cigarra, and smiling with sly innocence up at them.
“Friend of yours?” Han murmured.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lando murmured back. “Name’s Niles Ferrier. Ship thief and occasional smuggler.”
“He was in on the Mishra thing, I take it?”
“One of the key players, actually.”
Han nodded, letting his eyes drift around the spaceport. Among the dozens of people moving briskly about their business, he spotted three or four who seemed to be loitering nearby. “Ship thief, huh?”
“Yes, but he’s not going to bother with anything as small as the Lady Luck,” Lando assured him.
Han grunted. “Watch him anyway.”
“You bet.”
They reached the foot of the ramp and, by unspoken but mutual consent, stopped there and waited. Ferrier’s grin broadened a bit, and he sauntered forward to meet them. “Hello there, Calrissian,” he said. “We keep bumping into each other, don’t we?”
“Hello, Luke,” Han spoke up before Lando could reply. “You’ve changed.”
Ferrier’s smile turned almost sheepish. “Yeah—sorry about that. I didn’t figure you’d come if I put my own name on the message.”
“Where’s Luke?” Han demanded.
“Search me,” Ferrier shrugged. “He burned out of here same time you did—that was the last I saw of him.”
Han studied his face, looking for a lie. He didn’t see one. “What do you want?”
“I want to cut a deal with the New Republic,” Ferrier said, lowering his voice. “A deal for some new warships. You interested?”
Han felt a tingle at the back of his neck. “We might be,” he said, trying to sound casual. “What kind of ships are we talking about?”
Ferrier gestured to the ramp. “How about we talk in the ship?”
“How about we talk out here?” Lando retorted.
Ferrier seemed taken aback. “Take it easy, Calrissian,” he said soothingly. “What do you think I’m going to do, walk off with your ship in my pocket?”
“What kind of ships?” Han repeated.
Ferrier looked at him for a moment, then made a show of glancing around the area. “Big ones,” he said, lowering his voice. “Dreadnaught class.” He lowered his voice still further. “The Katana fleet.”
With an effort, Han kept his sabacc face in place. “The Katana fleet. Right.”
“I’m not kidding,” Ferrier insisted. “The Katana’s been found … and I’ve got a line on the guy who found it.”
“Yeah?” Han said. Something in Ferrier’s face—
He turned around quickly, half expecting to see someone trying to sneak up over the edge of the ramp into the Lady Luck. But aside from the usual mix of shadows from the spaceport lights, there was nothing there. “Something?” Lando demanded.
“No,” Han said, turning back to Ferrier. If the thief really did have a line on Bel Iblis’s supplier, it could save them a lot of time. But if he had nothing but rumors—and was maybe hoping to wangle something a little more solid … “What makes you think this guy has anything?” he demanded.
Ferrier smiled slyly. “Free information, Solo? Come on—you know better than that.”
“All right, then,” Lando said. “What do you want from us, and what are you offering in trade?”
“I know the guy’s name,” Ferrier said, his face turning serious again. “But I don’t know where he is. I thought we could pool our resources, see if we can get to him before the Empire does.”
Han felt his throat tighten. “What makes you think the Empire’s involved?”
Ferrier threw him a scornful look. “With Grand Admiral Thrawn in charge over there? He’s involved in everything.”
Han smiled lopsidedly. At last they had a name to go with the uniform. “Thrawn, huh? Thanks, Ferrier.”
Ferrier’s face went rigid as he suddenly realized what he’d just given away. “No charge,” he said between stiff lips.
“We still haven’t heard what we’re getting out of the deal,” Lando reminded him.
“Do you know where he is?” Ferrier asked.
“We have a lead,” Lando said. “What are you offering?”
Ferrier shifted a measuring gaze back and forth between them. “I’ll give you half the ships we take out,” he said at last. “Plus an option for the New Republic to buy out the rest at a reasonable price.”
“What’s a reasonable price?” Han asked.
“Depends on what kind of shape they’re in,” Ferrier countered. “I’m sure we’ll be able to come to an agreement.”
“Mm.” Han looked at Lando. “What do you think?”
“Forget it,” Lando said, his voice hard. “You want to give us the name, fine—if it checks out, we’ll make sure you’re well paid once we’ve got the ships. Otherwise, shove off.”
Ferrier drew back. “Well, fine,” he said, sounding more hurt than annoyed. “You want to do it all by yourselves, be my guest. But if we get to the ships first, your precious little New Republic’s going to pay a lot more to get them. A lot more.”
Spinning around, he stalked off. “Come on, Han, let’s get out of here,” Lando muttered, his eyes on Ferrier’s retreating back.
“Yeah,” Han said, looking around for the loiterers he’d spotted earlier. They, too, were drifting away. It didn’t look like trouble; but he kept his hand on his blaster anyway until they were inside the Lady Luck with the hatch sealed.
“I’ll prep for lift,” Lando said as they headed back to the cockpit. “You talk to Control, get us an exit slot.”
“Okay,” Han said. “You know, with a little more bargaining—”
“I don’t trust him,” Lando cut him off, running his hand over the start-up switches. “He was smiling too much. And he gave up too easily.”
It was a hard comment to argue against. And as Han had noted earlier, it was Lando’s ship. Shrugging to himself, he keyed for spaceport control.
They were out in ten minutes, once again leaving an unhappy group of controllers behind them. “I hope this is the last time we have to come here,” Han said, scowling across the cockpit at Lando. “I get the feeling we’ve worn out our welcome.”
Lando threw him a sideways glance. “Well, well. Since when did you start caring what other people thought about you?”
“Si
nce I married a princess and started carrying a government ID,” Han growled back. “Anyway, I thought you were supposed to be respectable, too.”
“It comes and goes. Ah-ha.” He smiled humorlessly at Han. “It looks like while we were talking to Ferrier, someone sneaked up and put something on our hull. Ten’ll get you one it’s a homing beacon.”
“What a surprise,” Han said, keying his display for its location. It was on the rear lower hull, back near the ramp where it would be out of most of the lift-off turbulence. “What do you want to do with it?”
“The Terrijo system’s more or less on the way to Pantolomin,” Lando said, consulting his display. “We’ll swing through there and drop it off.”
“Okay.” Han scowled at his display. “Too bad we can’t put it on another ship right here. That way he wouldn’t even know what direction we’re going.”
Lando shook his head. “He’ll know we’ve spotted it if we put down on New Cov now. Unless you want to take it off up here and try to toss it onto another passing ship.” He glanced at Han; paused for a longer look. “We’re not going to try it, Han,” he said firmly. “Get that look out of your eye.”
“Oh, all right,” Han grumbled. “That’d get him off our backs, though.”
“And might get you killed in the process,” Lando retorted. “And then I’d have to go back and explain it to Leia. Forget it.”
Han gritted his teeth. Leia. “Yeah,” he said with a sigh.
Lando looked at him again. “Come on, buddy, relax. Ferrier hasn’t got a hope of beating us. Trust me—we’re going to win this one.”
Han nodded. He hadn’t been thinking about Ferrier, actually. Or about the Katana fleet. “I know,” he said.
The Lady Luck disappeared smoothly through one of the ducts in the transparisteel dome, and Ferrier shifted his cigarra to the other side of his mouth. “You’re sure they won’t find the second beacon?” he asked.
Beside him, the oddly shaped shadow between a pile of shipping crates stirred. “They will not,” it said in a voice like cold running water.
“You’d better be right,” Ferrier warned, a note of menace in his voice. “I didn’t stand there and take that garbage from them for nothing.” He glared at the shadow. “As it was, you almost gave the game away,” he said accusingly. “Solo looked straight back at you once.”
“There was no danger,” the wraith said flatly. “Humans need movement to see. Not-moving shadows are of no concern.”
“Well, it worked this time,” Ferrier was willing to concede. “You’re still lucky it was Solo and not Calrissian who looked—he saw you once before, you know. Next time, keep your big feet quiet.”
The wraith said nothing. “Oh, go on, get back to the ship,” Ferrier ordered. “Tell Abric to get ’er ready to lift. We’ve got ourselves a fortune to make.”
He threw a last look upward. “And maybe,” he added with grim satisfaction, “a smart-mouthed gambler to take out.”
CHAPTER
19
The Etherway was clearly visible now, dropping like a misshapen rock out of the sky toward its assigned landing pit. Standing in the protective shadow of the exit tunnel, Karrde watched its approach, stroking the grip of his blaster gently with his fingertips and trying to ignore the uneasiness still tickling the back of his mind. Mara was over three days late in bringing the freighter back from Abregado—not a particularly significant delay under normal conditions, but this trip had hardly qualified as normal. But there had been no other ships on her tail as she entered orbit, and she’d transmitted all the proper “all clear” code signals to him as she dropped into the approach pattern. And aside from the incompetence of the controllers, who’d taken an inordinate amount of time to decide which pit she was actually being assigned to, the landing itself had so far been completely routine.
Karrde smiled wryly as he watched the ship come down. There had been times in the past three days when he’d thought about Mara’s hatred of Luke Skywalker, and had wondered if she had decided to drop out of his life as mysteriously as she’d dropped into it. But it seemed now that his original reading of her had been correct. Mara Jade wasn’t the sort of person who gave her loyalty easily, but once she’d made a decision she stuck with it. If she ever ran out on him, she wouldn’t do so in a stolen ship. Not stolen from him, anyway.
The Etherway was on its final approach now, rotating on its repulsorlifts to orient its hatchway toward the exit tunnel. Obviously, Karrde’s reading of Han Solo had been correct, too. Even if the other hadn’t been quite gullible enough to send a Mon Cal Star Cruiser out to Myrkr, he’d at least kept his promise to get the Etherway out of impoundment. Apparently, all of Karrde’s private worrying of the past three days had been for nothing.
But the uneasiness was still there.
With a hiss of back-release outgassing, the Etherway settled to the stress-scored paving of the landing pit. His eyes on the closed hatchway, Karrde pulled his comlink from his belt and thumbed for his backup spotter. “Dankin? Anything suspicious in sight?”
“Not a thing,” the other’s voice came back promptly. “Looks very quiet over there.”
Karrde nodded. “All right. Keep out of sight, but stay alert.”
He replaced the comlink in his belt. The Etherway’s landing ramp began to swing down, and he shifted his hand to a grip on his blaster. If this was a trap, now would be the likely time to spring it.
The hatchway opened, and Mara appeared. She glanced around the pit as she started down the ramp, spotting him immediately in his chosen shadow. “Karrde?” she called.
“Welcome home, Mara,” he said, stepping out into the light. “You’re a bit late.”
“I wound up making a little detour,” she said grimly, coming toward him.
“That can happen,” he said, frowning. Her attention was still flitting around the pit, her face lined with a vague sort of tension. “Trouble?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I feel—”
She never finished the sentence. At Karrde’s belt his comlink suddenly squawked, screeched briefly with the electronic stress of blanket jamming, and then went silent. “Come on,” Karrde snapped, drawing his blaster and spinning back toward the exit. At the far end of the tunnel he could see shapes moving; lifting his blaster, he fired toward them—
The violent thunderclap of a sonic boom shattered the air around him, slamming hard against his head and nearly toppling him to the ground. He glanced up, ears ringing, just as two slower-moving TIE fighters swooped past overhead, laying down a spitting pattern of laser fire at the mouth of the exit tunnel. The paving erupted into steaming blocks of half-molten ceramic under the assault, blocking any chance of quick escape in that direction. Karrde snapped off a reflexive if meaningless shot toward the TIE fighters; and he was just beginning to shift his aim back toward the figures in the tunnel when a dozen stormtroopers suddenly leaped into view at the upper rim of the landing pit, sliding down droplines to the ground. “Down!” he snapped at Mara, his voice hardly audible to his paralyzed sense of hearing. He dived for the ground, hitting awkwardly on his left arm and bringing his blaster to bear on the nearest stormtrooper. He fired, missing by half a meter … and he was just noticing the curious fact that the Imperials weren’t returning fire when the blaster was deftly plucked from his hand.
He rolled half over, looking up at Mara with stunned disbelief. “What—”
She was standing over him, her face so pinched with emotion he could hardly recognize it, her lips moving with words he couldn’t hear.
But he didn’t really need any explanation. Strangely, he felt no anger at her; not for concealing her Imperial past from him all this time, nor for now returning to her origins. Only chagrin that he’d been fooled so easily and so thoroughly … and a strange regret that he had lost such a skilled associate.
The stormtroopers hauled him to his feet and moved him roughly toward a drop ship that was settling onto the paving beside
the Etherway; and as he stumbled toward it, a stray thought occurred to him.
He was betrayed and captured and probably facing death … but at least he now had a partial answer to the mystery of why Mara wanted to kill Luke Skywalker.
Mara glared at the Grand Admiral, her hands curled into fists, her body trembling with rage. “Eight days, Thrawn,” she snarled, her voice echoing oddly through the background noises of the Chimaera’s vast shuttle bay. “You said eight days. You promised me eight days.”
Thrawn gazed back with a polite calmness that made her long to burn him down where he stood. “I changed my mind,” he said coolly. “It occurred to me that Karrde might not only refuse to divulge the Katana fleet’s location, but might even abandon you here for suggesting that he make such a deal with us.”
“The gates of hell you did,” Mara snapped back. “You planned to use me like this right from the start.”
“And it got us what we wanted,” the red-eyed freak said smoothly. “That’s all that matters.”
Deep within Mara, something snapped. Ignoring the armed stormtroopers standing just behind her, she threw herself at Thrawn, fingers hooking like a hunting bird’s talons for his throat—
And came to an abrupt, bone-wrenching stop as Thrawn’s Noghri bodyguard sidled in from two meters away, threw his arm across her neck and shoulder, and spun her around and halfway to the deck.
She grabbed at the iron-hard arm across her throat, simultaneously throwing her right elbow back toward his torso. But the blow missed; and even as she shifted to a two-handed grip on his arm, white spots began to flicker in her vision. His forearm was pressing solidly against her carotid artery, threatening her with unconsciousness.
There wasn’t anything to be gained by blacking out. She relaxed her struggle, felt the pressure ease. Thrawn was still standing there, regarding her with amusement. “That was very unprofessional of you, Emperor’s Hand,” he chided.
Mara glared at him and lashed out again, this time with the Force. Thrawn frowned slightly, fingers moving across his neck as if trying to brush away an intangible cobweb. Mara leaned into her tenuous grip on his throat; and he brushed again at his neck before understanding came. “All right, that’s enough,” he said, his voice noticeably altered, his tone starting to get angry. “Stop it, or Rukh will have to hurt you.”
