by Timothy Zahn
For a long minute Dayja stared at him. Then, carefully, he closed the box. “You play sabacc, Lando?” he asked.
“Yes,” Lando said, feeling a frown crease his forehead.
“Yes, of course you do,” Dayja said, walking back over to the chair but remaining standing. “And I’ll bet you rely heavily on your ability to bluff.”
“I prefer having the actual cards.”
“So do I,” Dayja said. “But sometimes we have to be creative with the hand we’ve been dealt.” He pulled out his comlink. “Captain Worhven? I’m finished. Have your men prepare my shuttle.” He gave Lando an oddly wry smile. “As soon as I’m gone, our guest and his ship will be free to leave.” He got an acknowledgment and put the comlink away.
“Really?” Lando asked cautiously.
“Really,” Dayja assured him. Reaching down to the chair, he picked up his mask. “Fortunately for you, it’s now in my best interests to make it look as if we had a deal, transacted our business, and then parted company.” He cocked his head. “Unless you wanted to stay aboard?”
“No, no, not at all,” Lando said hastily.
“You’re not to tell your friends about this, of course,” Dayja continued. “What happened here will remain our little secret.”
“Don’t worry,” Lando growled. “I doubt I’ll be seeing any of them again. Not for a long time.”
“Good.” Dayja put on his mask and readjusted his cloak and hood. “A good night to you, and a safe voyage. And one more thing.”
He leveled a finger at Lando’s face. “You owe me,” he said. “Someday I’ll be back to collect.”
Tucking the box into a pocket of his cloak, he turned and left the lounge.
Lando waited for a minute. The troopers didn’t come back. He waited another minute, then one more, and finally opened the lounge door.
The troopers were gone. So was Dayja. Lando went to the hatch, made sure it was properly sealed, then headed to the cockpit.
He was in the pilot’s seat, gazing at the men moving around inside the flight control station across the hangar, when he was given his release order.
It took all the way to hyperspace, though, before he started breathing normally again.
The sound of fireworks from around the city had long ceased. So had the mass of traffic as the people of Iltarr City left the various Festival venues and headed for home. And Han still hadn’t shown up.
Finally, belatedly, Eanjer got it.
It was an excellent copy, he had to admit as he walked beneath the ship, playing his glow rod over the hull. A vintage YT-1300 freighter, roughly the proper age and condition, even with some of the same modifications.
But only some. Others, like the concussion missile bay and the Ground Buzzer blaster cannon, were missing.
It wasn’t the Millennium Falcon. It was a decoy, swapped out in the landing bay sometime during the past nine days.
Han wasn’t coming. In fact, he was undoubtedly long gone.
Eanjer smiled a brittle smile into the darkness. Dozer, of course. It had to be. All that time he’d spent away from the suite during those first days of preparation, supposedly running errands and buying equipment for all the others.
He would have to find some way to pay the ship thief back.
Still, there would be other opportunities. He could wait.
Leaving the bay, he headed across the spaceport to where his own ship was docked. He didn’t look back.
The crowds had long since gone, and the rogue fireworks had long since spent themselves.
And Villachor’s life was over.
He stood at the railing of his balcony, gazing across the grounds at the massive, impenetrable safe sitting out there for all the universe to see. The impenetrable safe that had been breached.
Prince Xizor’s blackmail files were gone. Aziel had gotten free from the Imperials but had lost the cryodex and was looking furiously for someone to blame.
And Qazadi was dead. Murdered.
In Villachor’s own house.
Behind him, the suite’s secure comm station warbled. Briefly Villachor considered ignoring it. But there really was no point. When Black Sun decided to track him down, there wouldn’t be anything he could do about it. Giving his beloved, devastated estate a final look, he turned and went inside.
He’d expected it to be Aziel, possibly Prince Xizor himself. But it was neither.
“Master Villachor,” Lord d’Ashewl said, smiling genially out of the display screen. “I trust I’m not calling too late?”
“Not at all,” Villachor said. “What can I do for you?”
“I was thinking about our conversation of a couple of days ago,” d’Ashewl said, “and I thought you’d be interested in something that’s just come into my possession.” Reaching down, he lifted the Black Sun file box into view. “I presume I don’t need to tell you what this means,” he added, opening the box to show Villachor the five black data cards nestled neatly inside.
“No, you don’t,” Villachor agreed wearily. “Did you call me to gloat?”
“Not at all,” d’Ashewl assured him. “I called to see if you were still interested in a deal.”
Villachor frowned, trying to read past that round, ruddy face. “You have the files and you have the cryodex. What do you need me for?”
D’Ashewl shrugged. “You know a great deal about Black Sun. You could be very valuable to us.”
“And you would protect me, of course?” Villachor growled sarcastically.
“We’re quite good at such things, actually,” d’Ashewl said, all traces of levity gone from his face and voice. “Lord Vader is even better. I rather think that under the circumstances he could be persuaded to take a personal interest in this.”
It was a long shot, Villachor knew. Black Sun had people and agents everywhere. His life was still probably measured in days or even hours.
But even a long shot was better than no shot at all.
“Very well,” he said. He braced himself. All his life, all his efforts, all his amassed power and wealth … “You have a deal.”
“And still no sign of Eanjer?” Dozer asked, for probably the tenth time since he’d arrived.
“No,” Han said, dropping tiredly onto the couch. The suite wasn’t as large or fancy as the one on Iltarr City, and the furniture wasn’t nearly as comfortable. But under the circumstances it was much safer.
And safe was good right now. Safe was very good. “And there won’t be,” he added. “Rachele just found—”
“Wait a second,” Zerba cut in incredulously. “Are you telling us he just bailed?”
“More likely he missed the note at the rendezvous,” Bink put in. “Maybe one of us should go back and see if he’s still waiting there.”
“He’s not.” Han waved at Rachele, seated behind her computer, a pinched look on her face. “You want to tell them, Rachele? Or should I?”
“I will,” Rachele said, her voice somber. “I just picked up a report from the Iltarr City police. They’ve found Eanjer’s body.”
“Oh, no,” Tavia breathed, looking stricken. “Oh, Rachele.”
“Don’t get too mushy,” Han growled. “Tell them the rest.”
“They found his body,” Rachele repeated, “where he’d apparently been dumped and left to bleed out.” Her throat worked. “Six weeks ago.”
For a long moment no one spoke. Han looked around the room, watching their expressions of surprise or confusion turn to horrified understanding. “You mean … before he even talked to Han?” Kell demanded. His eyes darted to Han. “Or—”
“Or whoever it was,” Dozer said, sounding like he wasn’t sure whether to be stunned or outraged. “But then—”
“What did he want?” Han shook his head. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“I do,” Bink said in a low voice. “He came to kill Qazadi.”
Chewbacca rumbled.
“That’s for sure,” Winter agreed soberly. “And we all fell for it.
”
“But you at least suspected something, didn’t you, Han?” Rachele asked. “That conversation you had with him after we got Lando and Zerba back.”
“I knew something was funny with the guy,” Han said. “He seemed more interested in getting inside the mansion than he did in us getting his credits out. But I figured that was just the revenge part talking. The rest of it—” He shook his head. “I didn’t have a clue.”
“So he used us,” Kell murmured. “He brought us in to do all the heavy lifting, get him inside, and take out Qazadi’s guards. Son of a bantha.”
“And for nothing,” Zerba growled, tossing the credit tab he’d been fiddling with back into the stack on the table. “Without Eanjer—the real Eanjer—these things are worthless.”
“Not completely,” Rachele said. “I know some slicers. We should be able to get—I’d say about eight hundred fifteen thousand.”
“My mistake,” Zerba said sarcastically. “It’s still closer to zero than it is to the hundred sixty-three million we signed up for. If I ever catch up with that guy—”
“You won’t,” Bink said. “Whoever he was, he was a professional.”
“Or an Imperial,” Dozer growled.
“Or an Imperial,” Bink agreed. “My point was that we don’t even know what he really looks like. Not with all that medseal plastered across his face. Wherever he disappeared to, he’s gone for good.”
“So what now?” Kell asked.
“We salvage what we can,” Han said, trying hard to keep his own crushing disappointment out of his voice. So much for his dream of being free of Jabba. So much for all his dreams. “Rachele’s said she can get eight hundred fifteen out of the tabs. That’s eighty-one five each. Still not bad for a couple weeks’ work.”
“Eighty-one five?” Zerba asked, frowning. “I make it ninety plus change.”
“Ten of us makes eighty-one five each,” Kell reminded him.
“I only see nine people in this room.”
“Lando still gets his share,” Han said firmly.
“I thought his share was the blackmail files,” Zerba said, scowling.
“Which he didn’t get,” Han said. “So he gets a tenth of the credits like he signed up for.”
“Which you’re going to deliver in person?” Zerba snorted. “That I’d pay to watch.”
“We’ll get it to him,” Han said, eyeing the collection of loot on the table. The rest of the data cards had turned out to be worthless—details of Villachor’s smuggling operations that would be interesting to a prosecutor’s office but not to a bunch of freelance scoundrels.
But there were still the five blackmail cards. Like the other data cards, they were worthless to everyone in the room.
But maybe not useless to everyone. From what Han had seen of the Yavin base, the Rebel Alliance had all sorts of strange stuff squirreled away. If they could dig up a cryodex somewhere, maybe they could put the blackmail files to some use.
And if so, maybe he could hit up Dodonna for some more reward. Probably not enough for a lifetime of leisure, like this job was supposed to have provided, but maybe enough to at least give him and Chewbacca a little breathing space.
He did a quick mental calculation. If he kept back enough to pay off his debt to Jabba … “Let me sweeten the pot a little,” he offered. “I’ll buy out your shares of the blackmail files for eighteen five each. That’ll bring you all up to an even hundred grand.”
Chewbacca rumbled a question.
“Well, yeah, I’m dipping into your share,” Han confirmed. “How else did you think I was going to get to eighteen five each?”
“So first Lando wants the cards, and now you want them?” Zerba asked suspiciously. “Is there something you’re not telling the rest of us?”
“Not really,” Han said. “I just figured you could all use the extra credits. And it’s not like Chewie and me are going anywhere.”
“You could pay off your debt to Jabba,” Bink pointed out.
“We’ll have enough left to do that,” Han assured her.
“Actually—” Rachele broke off. “Never mind.”
“So is it a deal?” Han asked.
The others looked at each other. “Fine with me,” Kell said.
“Me too,” Dozer seconded.
“Sure, why not?” Zerba growled. “It’s not like I can use them in my act or anything.”
“Okay,” Han said. “Leave your contact info with Rachele and she’ll send you your splits after she gets the tabs sliced.”
“And we never talk about this again,” Rachele added. “To anyone.”
“No problem,” Kell said. “For starters, who’d believe us?”
“Only the people who’d kill us for having done it,” Zerba said, standing up. “Well. So long, everyone. Happy flights.”
“It was great not meeting like this,” Tavia said wryly.
“For whatever it’s worth, Han, it’s been fun,” Bink said as she also stood up. “Call us next time you’ve got a job.”
Five minutes and a round of farewells later, all of them except Chewbacca, Rachele, and Winter had left. “Did you want something?” Han asked Winter.
“In a minute,” Winter said. “First I’d like to hear what Rachele was starting to say earlier.”
Chewbacca growled agreement.
“That makes it unanimous, Rachele,” Han said. “Go ahead.”
Rachele sighed. “It was something I picked up on the back channel earlier,” she said. “Before we found out about Eanjer.” She took a deep breath. “Jabba’s raised your debt marker, Han. Raised it to half a million.”
Han stared at her. “Half a million?”
“He’s blaming you for Black Sun finding out about Morg Nar on Bespin,” Rachele said miserably. “I’m so sorry. I figured it wouldn’t really matter, since you were about to pull in almost fifteen million, and I didn’t want to ruin the moment for you. But then we found out about Eanjer, and …” She trailed off.
“It’s okay,” Han said, feeling the weight of the entire universe crashing down on him. He hadn’t expected word about Nar to get back to Jabba so fast. Even if it had, he wouldn’t have figured Jabba would be able to pin it on him. He certainly wouldn’t have expected Jabba to take the loss of his Bespin operation personally.
So instead of getting Jabba off his back for good, he was in even deeper.
Chewbacca grunted.
“Yeah, maybe,” Han agreed doubtfully. “But he sure isn’t going to cool down for a while. That Bespin operation wasn’t bringing in much, but for some reason he really liked it.”
“If you need somewhere to stay, I’m sure I can find you a place,” Rachele offered.
“Or,” Winter said quietly, “you could go back to your other friends.” Han frowned. “What other friends?”
“The people you work with,” Winter said. “The people I assume you’re going to give the blackmail files to.” She raised her eyebrows slightly. “The people who just might be able to track down another cryodex.”
Han shot a look at Chewbacca. How in space had she been able to figure that out? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do,” Winter said. “You see, I work procurement for them … and that escape pod you fired into the factory was part of a lot I smuggled to them seven months ago.”
“Of course it was,” Han said in disgust. He should never, ever have let Her Worshipfulness talk him into letting her replace the escape pods he’d dumped during that Death Star thing. “Look, I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you think. She insisted we take them.”
It was as if someone had flipped on a searchlight behind Winter’s eyes. “She?” she echoed, abruptly sitting straighter in her chair. “Which she are we talking about?”
Han stared at her, that bitter-edged confession she’d made suddenly coming back to mind. I was connected with the royal palace on Alderaan … “The Princess,” he said. “Leia.”
“You’ve s
een her?” Winter asked, her voice shaking a little. “Since Alderaan, I mean?”
“Sure,” he said. “In fact, I was with her at Yavin, where the—” He shot a look at Rachele.
“It’s okay,” Rachele said. “We know about Yavin and the Death Star.”
“She got away from there just fine,” Han said. “Far as I know, she’s still fine.” And stuck-up and insufferable, he thought about adding. Still, if Winter knew the Princess, she probably already knew all that.
“Thank you,” Winter said quietly. “I’ve been … we hadn’t heard the details.”
“Well, you’ll have to get the rest from someone else,” Han said, standing up. “If Jabba’s jumped my debt, he’s probably jumped the bounty, too. We need to find someplace to lie low for a while.”
“Leia will take you in,” Winter promised.
“We’ll see.” Han eyed her. “By the way, that thing about never mentioning this to anyone? That goes double for Her Highness.”
Winter smiled. “Absolutely,” she promised. “Take care, Han.”
“He will,” Rachele said with a smile of her own. “He always does.”
They were back in the Falcon and waiting for their lift slot when Chewbacca finally asked the obvious question.
“I don’t know yet,” Han said. “We’ll go back when it’s time, I guess.”
Chewbacca considered, then rumbled again.
“Of course she likes me,” Han said dryly. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“Master?” the protocol droid called hesitantly from the doorway. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?” Eanjer asked, focusing on the mirror in front of him as he eased the last of the medseal strips off his face.
“His High Exaltedness awaits your presence,” the droid said, sounding even more nervous than usual.
Not surprising, really. “Tell His Exaltedness I’ll be there when I’m ready.”
“Yes, sir.” The droid hesitated. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather wait here until you’re ready.”
“Fine,” Eanjer said. “Suit yourself.”
Gently he prodded his cheek where the medseal had covered it. He hadn’t realized what three weeks of being wrapped up like that would do to the skin. It was red and puffy, was mottled in places, and itched like deep-core chaos. His right hand and arm looked nearly as bad.