by Timothy Zahn
“About as sure as it’s possible to be,” Leia said. “It has his signature code, plus the bridgebreak confirmation.”
“That’s, what, that crypt-embedded code trick Ghent came up with a couple of months ago?”
“That’s the one,” Leia said. “I don’t think the Imperials even know the codes are in there, let alone have a way to access or duplicate them.”
“Unless Ghent was using the same trick back when he was still working for Karrde,” Han mused, rubbing his chin. “Could be the Imperials picked up on it then.”
“No, Bel Iblis asked him that when he first proposed the technique,” Leia said. “Ghent said it was something he’d just developed.”
“Mm.” Han read the message again. “No idea what this is about?”
“None,” Leia said. “I guess we’ll find out in a couple of days.”
“Well, you’ll find out, anyway,” Han said. “Carib and I will be long gone by then.”
Leia took a deep breath, the ache returning abruptly to her chest. “Han—”
“No argument, hon,” Han said quietly, reaching over to take her hand. “I don’t like it, either. But if we don’t get this stopped, everything’s going to go up in smoke. You know that better than I do.”
“We don’t know that,” Leia argued. “We’ve got the New Republic government and Luke’s Jedi students to help hold things together. If it comes to civil war, we can force the Bothans to pay whatever reparations are necessary, even if it winds up wrecking their economy.”
“You really think the Diamala will let Gavrisom force them into that kind of self-destruction?” Han countered. “Not to mention the Mon Cals, the Sif’kries, and whoever else has lined up on the Bothans’ side since yesterday? Come on, we didn’t win the war with wishful thinking.”
“Well, then, what about Karrde?” Leia asked, trying one last time.
“What about him?” Han asked. “Just because he’s gone out looking for a copy of the Caamas Document doesn’t mean he’s going to find it. Matter of fact, he didn’t seem too confident about it himself. If he had, he would have asked for half the payment up front.”
Leia glared at him. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I,” Han said, squeezing her hand. “You think I want to go walking into the middle of the Empire? Look, you can talk all you want about holding things together; but if the New Republic blows, you and Gavrisom and all the Jedi in Luke’s school aren’t going to be able to put it back together. And if that happens, what kind of life are Jacen and Jaina and Anakin going to have? Or Chewie’s cubs, or Cracken’s grandkids, or anyone else? I don’t like it any better than you do, but it’s got to be done.”
Leia took a deep breath, stretching out to the Force. No, she didn’t like it at all. But at the same time, paradoxically, it somehow felt right. Not pleasant, certainly not safe, but right. “You aren’t going alone, are you?” she sighed. “I mean someone besides Carib?”
“Yeah, I’ve got someone in mind,” Han said, his voice an odd mixture of relief and regret. Relief, she suspected, because his Jedi wife wasn’t going to insist he not go; regret for exactly the same reason.
Leia managed a smile. “Lando?”
“How’d you guess?” Han said, managing an answering smile. “Yeah. Him and a couple others.” He half turned to look at Sakhisakh. “Not you, in case you were going to ask.”
“I would advise you reconsider,” Sakhisakh said. “A Noghri guard disguised as your slaves could be unobtrusive even on an Imperial world.” His eyes flicked to Leia. “We have already failed you twice, Lady Vader, first on Bothawui and now here. We could not endure the shame and disgrace of a third such failure.”
“Disgrace isn’t going to matter much if you get us picked up ten steps off the ramp,” Han pointed out. “Sorry, but Lando and me can do this ourselves. You just keep an eye on Leia, all right?”
“Do not fear,” Sakhisakh said, a dark menace in his voice. “We will.”
Under the table, Leia caught Han’s hand. “So much for our little vacation,” she said, forcing a smile that probably looked as unconvincing as it felt.
The look that flickered across Han’s face made her wish she hadn’t said that. “I’m sorry, Leia,” he said in a low voice. “We never seem to get a break from all this, do we?”
“Not very often,” she agreed with a sigh. “If I’d realized at the beginning how much all of this was going to cost … I don’t know.”
“I do,” Han said. “You’d have died on Alderaan, Palpatine would still be running the Empire, and I’d still be shipping spice for slimetails like Jabba. All that by itself makes it worth it.”
“You’re right,” Leia said, feeling slightly ashamed of her moment of self-pity. “When were you and Carib planning to leave?”
“Well, let’s see,” Han said consideringly, an unexpected glint of roguishness touching the somber tone of his emotions. “I’ve got to get a transmission across to Lando, and Carib’s got to roll their freighter out and run a check on it. And he’s a family man, too, so he’s going to need time to say good-bye to his wife and kids. So let’s say … tomorrow morning?”
Translation: he’d told Carib they weren’t leaving till morning, with whatever excuses he’d needed to make it stick. “Thank you,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand and trying the smile again. It felt much better this time.
“It’s not what I was looking for,” Han said. “But I guess it’s better than nothing.”
“Much better,” she assured him. “But do you think all these crises can wait an extra night?”
“I don’t know,” Han said, sliding out of his seat and offering her his arm in one of those old Royal Alderaanian gestures he too rarely used. “But I guess they’ll have to.”
CHAPTER
9
Outside the curved transparisteel canopy came one last burst of bubbles from the blue-veined rock formation rising from the ocean floor. As if that had been a signal, the blazelights illuminating the area began to dim. The quiet buzz of conversation in the observation gallery stopped in anticipation.
Standing against the back wall, Lando Calrissian smiled in some private anticipation of his own. When he and Tendra Risant had first proposed this undersea mining operation, her family had been less than enthusiastic; but they had been openly critical of his idea to add an observation gallery so that paying customers could watch. Ridiculous, they had said—no one pays good money to watch miners mining, even aquatic miners in the admittedly unusual locale of the Varn ocean floor. But Lando had insisted, and Tendra had backed him up, and the family’s financiers had grudgingly forked over the extra money.
Which made it that much more of a pleasure to watch packed galleries like this one waiting eagerly for the show.
The blazelights finished their fade, leaving the rock formation just barely visible as a dark shape against the slightly lighter seawater around it. Someone in the gallery murmured to a friend …
And suddenly there was a single point of blue-green fire at one edge of the rock. The point grew rapidly, becoming a line and then a pair of branches, and finally an arachnid-web of light as the blue veins of fraca ignited and burned.
And then the sheets of yellow bubbles appeared as the heat of the burning fraca set off the tertian beneath it, and for perhaps the next thirty seconds the entire formation was surrounded by a twisting fury of fire and light. Like a living creature writhing in the silent agony of its death throes—
And with a shower of multicolored sparks and one final flurry of bubbles, the formation collapsed into a pile of rocks.
Someone gasped; and as the sparks and bubbles faded and the blazelights began to come up again there was a ripple of spontaneous applause. The gallery’s own lights came back, and with a buzz of excited conversation the audience began their exit back to the casino areas. Lando waited by the door as they filed out, smiling, accepting compliments, answering a scattering of questions covering the usual range of intellige
nt to banal, and as the last two Duros filed out he reset the doorway for general admission. The miners were scheduled to collapse one more ore formation today, but until that time the gallery would be open, free of charge, to anyone who wanted to come in and watch.
He was just starting down the corridor toward the Tralus Room when his comlink beeped. Pulling it out, he thumbed it on. “Calrissian.”
“Transmission coming in on the surface link,” the voice of Chief Command Officer Donnerwin announced. “It’s encrypted and marked private.”
“I’ll take it in my office,” Lando told him, keying off the comlink and changing direction. Tendra, perhaps, calling to say she’d wrapped up her Corellian trip and was heading back to join him. Or maybe it was Senator Miatamia or another Diamalan official with news about the security arrangements he was hoping to make with them for his ore shipments.
Either one would be welcome. Reaching his office, he sealed the door, dropped into his desk chair, and with twice the anticipation those gamblers back in the gallery had shown he keyed the comm.
It wasn’t Tendra. It wasn’t even Miatamia. “Hi, Lando,” Han said, an all-too-familiar half smile on his face. “How’re things going?”
“A lot better two minutes ago than they are now,” Lando told him, the anticipation popping like a bubble and settling into the pit of his stomach like a bad feeling. “I know that look. What do you want?”
“I need you to go on a little trip with me,” Han said. “Can you get away for a few days?”
The feeling in Lando’s stomach got a little colder. No who-mes, no what-makes-you-think-I-want-somethings, no banter of any sort. Whatever was going on, Han was deadly serious about it. “That depends,” he hedged. “How dangerous is this little trip likely to be?”
Again, there should have been some banter. There wasn’t. “Could be pretty risky,” Han admitted. “Could be worse than that.”
Lando grimaced. “Han—look, you have to understand—”
“I need you, Lando,” Han cut him off. “We’re on a tight schedule, and I need someone I can trust. You’ve got the expertise I need, you know the people I need, and there’s no one else I can get.”
“Han, I’ve got responsibilities here,” Lando said. “I’ve got a business to run—”
“Karrde had a business to run, too,” Han interrupted again. “He’s not going to like it if you say no.”
Lando shook his head in resignation. No, Karrde certainly wouldn’t be happy if he passed on this. Not after Lando had single-handedly talked him into heading out to Kathol sector to try to get an intact copy of the Caamas Document from the mysterious Jorj Car’das.
Whose ties to Karrde Lando still didn’t understand. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Karrde hadn’t wanted to confront Car’das, but he’d gone anyway. Now Han was calling the pot hand, and Lando was about twenty points shy of a twenty-three. “All right,” he said. “But only because of Karrde. Where and when?”
“Right now,” Han said “You have the Lady Luck there?”
“On the surface, yes,” Lando told him. “I can take the next shuttle up and be there half an hour later. Who are these other people you said we need?”
“Your old admin pal Lobot, for one,” Han said. “And that Verpine he was working with for a while—what was his name?”
“Moegid,” Lando said, feeling his eyes narrowing. “Han, this isn’t what I think it is, is it?”
“It’s probably worse,” Han conceded. “Lobot and Moegid still running that little slicer trick you once told me about?”
“I don’t know if they still are,” Lando said with a sigh. “But I’m sure they still can. You haven’t by any chance located—?”
He hesitated. Even with the transmission encrypted he didn’t want to say the name aloud.
Obviously, neither did Han. “You mean the place we talked about at the Orowood?” the other said obliquely. “I think so, yeah. Get Lobot and Moegid and meet me two systems Coreward from where you didn’t have any choice.”
Lando smiled tightly. They arrived right before you did, the words echoed accusingly through his memory as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. I had no choice. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry, too, Han had replied as he and Leia, a squad of stormtroopers behind them, had walked forward into that private dining room on Cloud City to face Darth Vader. “Two systems Coreward it is,” he confirmed.
“I’ll be waiting,” Han said.
The transmission ended. Lando leaned back in his seat, gazing unseeingly at the blank display. The place we talked about at the Orowood. They’d talked about several different places at that clandestine meeting. But only one of them could have gotten Han this riled up.
Bastion. The latest site of the oft-moved Imperial capital, its location and name of its host planet hand-sealed secrets. Probably one of the best-defended worlds in the galaxy; certainly the central focus of Imperial power; most definitely a place where the names Han Solo and Lando Calrissian were rather less than admired.
And one of the last places in the galaxy where a complete set of Imperial records would be stored. Records that might have the names and clans of the Bothans who had helped destroy the world of Caamas half a century ago. Records that could end the increasingly violent argument about whether the entire Bothan species should pay the penalty for that handful of anonymous murderers.
If they could find that crucial record. And get out with it alive.
He keyed the comm. “Donnerwin, send a transmission to Lobot at Dive Central,” he ordered. “Tell him to get himself and the Lady Luck prepped—we’re going on a little trip.” For a moment he debated ordering Lobot to contact Moegid, decided against it. The Lady Luck had better encryption than the under-to-over comm, and the less information out there for snoopers to listen to, the better. “And get me a seat on the next surface shuttle.”
“Acknowledged,” Donnerwin said, unfazed as always by this sudden change in his boss’s plans. “The shuttle leaves in twenty minutes. Do you want me to hold it?”
“No, I can make it,” Lando told him, running a quick mental list. Everything he was likely to need was already aboard the Lady Luck, and barring any major disasters the casino/mining operation should be able to run itself for a while. At least until Tendra got back.
A pang of guilt jabbed into him. After all he and Tendra had been through together, she had a right to know why he was dropping everything like this. Especially if there was any chance at all that he wouldn’t be coming back.
He swallowed, his mouth unexpectedly dry. He would come back, all right. Of course he would. Hadn’t he flown right into the heart of the second Death Star and lived to tell about it? Sure he had. And he’d survived the destruction of Mount Tantiss, and that Corellian unpleasantness, and everything in between.
But he was older now, and wiser, with a business he really enjoyed and a woman who for possibly the first time in his life he felt truly and honestly connected to. He didn’t want to lose any of it. Certainly not by dying.
But, hey, there was nothing to worry about. He was going with Han, and Han was about the luckiest old scoundrel he’d ever known. They’d come back okay. Sure they would. Guaranteed.
“Boss?”
Lando blinked, snapping out of his private pep talk and focusing on Donnerwin again. “What?”
“Will there be anything else?” the other asked.
“No,” Lando said, feeling slightly ridiculous. “Just keep things running smoothly until Tendra gets back.”
Donnerwin smiled. “Sure thing, boss. Have a good trip.”
“Thanks.”
Lando keyed off the comm, and with a grimace pushed back his chair and stood up. No, there was nothing foolish about a little healthy caution. It was far worse than that.
It was age. Lando was starting to feel old; and he didn’t like it. Not a bit.
So fine. He would go ahead and take this little jaunt into the heart of the Empire. It would do hi
m good, and might just save the New Republic on top of it.
Sure. It would be just like old times.
In her earphone came the sound of Calrissian’s door opening and closing; and with a sigh, Karoly D’ulin pulled the device out of her ear. “Shassa,” she murmured into the empty air.
The word seemed to hang in front of her, there in the tiny utility closet. An old Mistryl battle curse, but spoken now not with anger or combat rage but a deep sadness.
Her gamble had paid off … and now she was going to have to kill an old friend.
With practiced fingers she began disassembling the audio tap she’d put into Calrissian’s office when she’d arrived here forty hours ago, a flush of anger intruding on her dour mood. Anger at Talon Karrde for being so predictable; anger at herself for anticipating his moves so precisely; anger at Shada D’ukal for putting her in this position in the first place.
What in the ashes of Emberlene had possessed Shada to defy the Eleven that way? she wondered. Loyalty, Shada had said up on that windswept rooftop. But that was clearly ridiculous. Mazzic was a grubby little smuggler—nothing more—with no more claim on Shada’s loyalty than any of the dozens of other employers she’d worked for over the years. True, this particular job had lasted longer than most; but no matter what Mazzic might have thought, Shada had still been a Mistryl shadow guard all that time, ultimately answerable only to the Eleven Elders of the People.
So Shada had defied her orders, and as a result a Mistryl deal with a Hutt crimelord had gone sour, and the Eleven were demanding Shada’s head. All Mistryl had been alerted to watch for her, and several teams had been sent specifically to hunt her down.
And out of all that flurry of activity it had been Karoly who had found her.
Even now, eight days later, the irony of it was still a bitter taste in Karoly’s mouth. She hadn’t worked with Shada for twenty years, yet had still managed to anticipate that Shada’s next move would be in the direction of the New Republic hierarchy, though whether to join up or sell out Karoly still didn’t know. She’d arrived on Coruscant just in time to see Shada leaving the Imperial City, and had tracked her to an apartment owned by High Councilor Leia Organa Solo and her husband near the Manarai Mountains.
