by Timothy Zahn
“Why do you care what a gang of pirates is doing?” Grave asked.
“Why do you think?” Han countered. “So we can figure out how to avoid them.”
“Not because you want to join them?” LaRone countered, his voice suddenly sharp.
“No, we want to avoid them,” Han repeated, a terrible thought icing its way through him. Up to now he’d been assuming LaRone was connected to Purnham law enforcement somehow, possibly a mercenary hired by the locals. But what if he was with the BloodScars? “But you guys seem to be on top of it,” he added, taking a casual half step back toward the ladder. “Like Luke said, thanks for the help.”
“What’s your hurry?” LaRone asked. “I thought you wanted to talk to our prisoners.”
“No, that’s okay,” Han said, taking another step toward the open hatch. Neither LaRone nor Grave seemed to be armed; if he could get Luke clued in on this, they might be able to duck down the ladder to the lower hatch before the rest of the Suwantek’s crew could react.
Only Luke seemed to have missed the cue completely. He was still standing there, his head cocked a little to the side like he was listening to voices in his brain.
“I think you ought to hear what they have to say,” LaRone persisted. He and Grave hadn’t moved, either. Was Han the only one who was picking up on trouble here? He took another half step—
And then, abruptly, Luke’s hand snaked out to grab his left arm. “It’s all right, Han,” he said, staring at LaRone. “They’re not with the BloodScars.”
“Who said they were?” Han protested, stifling another curse. That tore it. Swinging his left arm in a wide movement designed to shake off Luke’s hand and simultaneously draw LaRone’s and Grave’s eyes in that direction, he dropped his right hand to his side—
“Don’t,” a voice advised from behind him.
Han froze, his hand bare centimeters from his blaster, and looked carefully over his shoulder.
Two men stood there, cut from the same ex-military cloth as LaRone and Grave, their blasters leveled at him and Luke.
And Han hadn’t even heard any of the doors open. These guys were smooth, all right. “Okay,” he said as calmly as he could as he turned back to LaRone. “Now what?”
“That depends,” LaRone said, stepping forward and relieving Han of his blaster. With only a slight hesitation, he took Luke’s lightsaber, as well. “Let’s start with exactly who—and what—you and your friends are.”
“Like I said, we’re independent shippers,” Han told him.
“With dual quad lasers on your ship?” LaRone asked pointedly. “Try again.”
“We need those for protection.”
“I’m sure you do,” LaRone said. “Tell me, if we searched your holds right now, would we find anything that shouldn’t be there?”
“Absolutely not,” Han assured him. For a change, it was even true. “We’re not smugglers.”
“Of course not,” LaRone said. “Back to the BloodScars. You genuinely think they’re trying to create their own little copy of the Rebel Alliance here in Shelsha sector?”
“I’d call it more like a Hutt pyramid,” Han said, a small part of his mind wondering why he found LaRone’s comparison so irritating. Certainly that was what the Rebel Alliance was, when you boiled it down: a big illegal group of lots of other illegal groups. “But yeah, I think they could be trying something like that.”
“Good,” LaRone said. “Because that’s exactly what they are doing. Our prisoners say an agent from the BloodScars came by only a week ago pressuring them to join up. He’s supposed to return soon for their answer.”
Han frowned as it suddenly hit him. “And you think one of us is the agent?”
“The thought had crossed our minds,” LaRone said. “Rather ironically, since I gather you were wondering the same thing about us.”
“Well, we’re not,” Han said firmly.
“Can you prove that?”
“We helped you blow away these other pirates,” Han reminded him. “Not the sort of thing recruiters usually do.”
“Maybe the Purnham group had already turned down the BloodScars’ invitation,” LaRone pointed out. “Our prisoners say their chief was leaning that way. In that case, you might have been sent to create an object lesson.”
“Or maybe he didn’t turn him down,” Han said. “In that case, we just have to sit here until they send someone back here for his answer.”
“What, wait another week?” LaRone shook his head. “We can’t afford to sit around here that long.”
“Maybe there’s another way,” Luke spoke up.
LaRone eyed him. “We’re listening.”
“If they did turn down the BloodScars, they probably did it through the HoloNet,” Luke said. “If they did, and if we can get the local station’s call log, the contact may still be in there.”
Han winced. A call log was useless in itself—all it would show was all the planets that had been called in a given time frame, and even a world as small as Purnham put out a lot of HoloNet traffic. There was no reason for Luke to even bring it up unless he had something else to add to the mix.
“Let’s assume we can get the log,” LaRone said, a note of fresh interest in his voice. He’d probably tracked through the logic the same way Han had. “Then what?”
“Then we—”
“What’s your interest in all this?” Han cut him off. He was pretty sure he knew what Luke had in mind, and there was no way he was going to give that up. Not until he knew what side LaRone and his friends were on.
“The same as yours,” LaRone said, frowning at the interruption. “Only instead of just avoiding the BloodScars, we want to wipe them out.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an official-looking identity tag. “We’re with Consolidated Shipping Security.”
“Oh,” Han said, the hairs on the back of his neck starting to tingle. “Well. I guess you’re all right, then.”
“I told you they were,” Luke murmured.
Han grimaced. Yes, the kid had said that, all right.
Problem was, the kid was wrong.
“But I believe you were starting to say something?” Grave said, raising his eyebrows at Luke.
“Not really,” Han said, giving Luke a warning glance. “He sometimes pops off his mouth before he thinks things through.”
“Enough,” LaRone snapped.
Han jerked at the sudden flash of fury, his hand dropping automatically to his empty holster.
“No more games,” LaRone bit out. “These pirates are a threat to the entire sector. If you have information about them, let’s have it. Now.”
Han gazed at him, the bitter taste of distant memory welling up on the back of his tongue. He’d had that same noble fervor once, back before the Empire’s basic fundamental cruelty had finally gotten through to him.
And it was a righteous passion no pirate or raider could ever counterfeit. Whoever these men were, they weren’t with the BloodScars. “Let me use your comm a minute.”
LaRone studied his face. “In here,” he said, stepping to one side and gesturing to the door behind him.
Beyond the door, as Han had guessed, was a crew lounge. “We can patch you through the intercom,” LaRone said, pointing to an entertainment computer desk. “Quiller?”
“Who do you want to talk to?” a voice asked from the speaker.
“Our friend in the freighter out there,” Han said, sitting down at the computer. A keyboard lit up, and he punched in Casement’s comm frequency. “Casement, it’s Solo.”
“About time,” Casement’s voice growled. “Are you all right? Chewbacca said you’d gone aboard the Suwantek—”
“We’re fine,” Han interrupted. “Porter said you had a brush with the BloodScars off Ashkas-kov a couple months ago. Did you get their vector when they left?”
“Yes,” Casement said, sounding puzzled. “But there’s no reason to think they were going anywhere in particular.”
“I’m betting t
hey were headed home,” Han said. “Porter told us everyone was dead except you, and they thought you were, too. No reason for them to hide where they were going.”
“I suppose,” Casement said. “You want me to send you the vector?”
“If you haven’t got anything better to do,” Han said, trying hard not to be sarcastic. These Rebel types could be ridiculously slow sometimes.
“Sure,” Casement growled. “Just let me put down the hook-point scarf I was working on.”
Han rolled his eyes. Slow and snippy. “Anytime.”
“Here it comes,” Casement said.
“Got it,” Quiller’s voice confirmed.
Han looked at LaRone. “Now what?”
LaRone looked at Grave. “Tell him he can go, with our thanks.”
“Our new friends say you can take off,” Han relayed. “Good flying.”
“You, too,” Casement said. “And thanks for your help. You and your new friends.”
There was a soft click as the contact was broken. “There he goes,” Quiller reported.
“So now all we have to do is hit up the HoloNet station and see what kind of messages they sent to systems along that vector,” Han said. “That pretty much what you had in mind, Luke?”
“Yes,” Luke confirmed.
“Let’s hope they like Consolidated Shipping people down there,” Han added, eyeing LaRone closely.
The other’s face didn’t even twitch. “Fortunately, we won’t have to find out,” he said. “As it happens, we already have the Conso City HoloNet records from just after the swooper attack.” He smiled faintly. “That’s why we were on Drunost. We thought that whatever was left of the gang might have called big brother for help.” He gestured to one of the two men who’d played backstop earlier. “Marcross?”
“I’ll set up the program,” Marcross said, giving Han a speculative look as he brushed past. He went through a door at the forward end of the lounge, and Han caught a glimpse of a cockpit anteroom before the door closed again.
“This is Brightwater, by the way,” LaRone added, gesturing to the remaining man.
“Nice to meet you,” Han said. “I guess we’ll be off, then. If I could have my blaster back?”
“What’s your hurry?” Brightwater asked.
“Independent shippers, remember?” Han said. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“What schedule?” Brightwater countered. “You haven’t got any cargo.”
“And you have a damaged hyperdrive,” Grave added.
“It’s not that damaged,” Han said.
“Let’s cut to the core,” LaRone said. “Bottom line is, we’re not sure we want to let you out of our sight just yet.”
The hairs on the back of Han’s neck were starting to tingle again. “We gave you that vector,” he pointed out.
“There could be any number of reasons the BloodScars wouldn’t mind us having that,” LaRone countered. “It could lead to a base they’ve already abandoned, or into a trap.”
“But don’t worry,” Grave assured him. “I think you’ll find the accommodations up to independent shipper standards.”
“Great,” Han growled. “We’re dead.”
“If you’ll call the Wookiee up here, we’ll be off,” LaRone said. “He’s to come unarmed, of course.”
“What about our ship?” Han asked, keeping his expression neutral. Unarmed Wookiee—now there was a contradiction in terms. “We can’t just leave it here.”
“Quiller?” LaRone called.
“No problem,” the pilot’s voice came. “We can lock it to the hatch collar and take it in tow.”
“You’re kidding,” Han said, frowning. “The Falcon’s as big as you are.”
“It’ll work,” Quiller assured him. “Trust me—we’ve got power to spare.”
“Call the Wookiee,” LaRone said. “Then we’ll show you to your quarters.”
The cabin door slid shut on the glowering Wookiee. LaRone double-checked the lock, and then he, Brightwater, and Grave returned to the lounge.
Marcross and Quiller were waiting for them there, Marcross still seated at the computer desk. “They all happily snugged in?” Quiller asked.
“As happily as possible, which isn’t very,” LaRone told him. “Opinions?”
“There’s definitely something off key about them,” Brightwater said. “I just don’t know yet what it is.”
“How sure are we they aren’t with the BloodScars?” Grave asked. “A smart enforcer might have been able to spin that kind of story for us on the fly. Might even have been willing to frost those local pirate ships to throw us off the mark.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t explain their work at Conso City,” Quiller pointed out. “According to the latest reports, the raiders made off with about fifty thousand in cash, plus a few passengers.”
“The BloodScars picking up the swoop gang survivors,” Brightwater murmured.
“With the robbery as a diversion or cover,” Quiller said, nodding. “And Solo and his friends were definitely working against them.”
“Part of a rival gang, then?” Grave suggested.
“Possible,” LaRone said. “But they just don’t feel like pirates to me.”
“You’re sure you’re not letting that lightsaber influence you?” Grave countered.
LaRone snorted. “Not when the only other person I’ve ever actually seen carrying one is Lord Vader.”
“Interesting you should mention Vader,” Marcross said thoughtfully. “There was a rumor making the rounds awhile back about some special Imperial agent called the Emperor’s Hand who’s popped up onto the scene. Reports directly to Palpatine, outranks practically everyone in the Empire—”
“And carries a lightsaber,” Brightwater said suddenly. “Yeah, I heard that same rumor.”
“Rumors being worth half a credit a truckload, of course,” LaRone reminded them.
“But it’s definitely the sort of thing Palpatine would do,” Marcross pointed out. “Look at how he tried to outflank the regular military establishment with the ISB and the Grand Admirals.”
“You think Luke might be this Emperor’s Hand?” Grave asked doubtfully. “I don’t know. He doesn’t seem the type, somehow.”
“Maybe that’s what he wants you to think,” Marcross said. There was a beep from the computer, and he swiveled back around. “Got it,” he said, peering at the display. “Correlation between Solo’s vector and our HoloNet data gives us exactly one system: Gepparin. A few farming settlements, a good-sized mining complex, and not much else.”
“Good spot for a pirate hideout,” Brightwater commented. “How far out is it?”
“About forty hours,” Marcross said. He cocked an eyebrow at LaRone. “I trust you weren’t planning to show our guests our shiny white dress outfits?”
“Not to worry,” LaRone said. “As long as they’re locked in their cabins, we can come and go as we please.”
“Speaking of locking, I hope someone remembered to lock down the armories in those three rooms,” Quiller warned.
“I did,” Brightwater assured him. “There’s a simple sequence in the cabin computers that can lock and unlock them. What about the two kids in the hold?”
“Purnham security’s going to take them off our hands,” Quiller said. “Their brig shuttle’s on its way now.”
“Good,” LaRone said. “Quiller, set course for Gepparin. We’ll leave as soon as the prisoners are off.”
Chapter Thirteen
MARA’S TRAINING HAD INCLUDED A BASIC OVERVIEW of starship operation, but most of that had been geared to military craft. Fortunately, Tannis seemed to know his way around civilian ships like the Happer’s Way, as did the two men Colonel Somoril had sent with her.
Mara had dealt occasionally with ISB men and generally found them to be rather cold fish. But even by that standard Brock and Gilling were exceptional. They were unbendingly formal, keeping to themselves and away from both her and Tannis as much as possible. Eve
n when accepting and carrying out orders, they spoke no more than necessary, often completing a job in complete silence. They asked no questions, made no comments, indulged in no idle chatter. For all their companionship, Ozzel might as well have given her a pair of maintenance droids.
As a result, Mara focused on Tannis, spending as much free time with him as possible as she tried to learn everything she could about this nest of gundarks she was flying into.
The BloodScars had apparently been on Gepparin for only two years, having taken over the big mining complex at that time. They had set up their base in one half, Tannis explained, leaving the other half still pulling out low-grade ore as a cover for their other activities. Most of their loot was taken directly to the base, where it was sorted and repackaged into ore crates and sent out either directly to buyers or to various warehouses like the Birtraub Brothers operation on Crovna.
“But there are a few cargoes that go directly to Caaldra,” Tannis added as he sketched out a floor plan of the base. “This ship was supposed to be one of them, actually. Taking it to Gepparin could get us in trouble.”
“Blame it on Shakko for dying with that data instead of surrendering like I told him to,” Mara said.
“Blame it on anyone you want, but it’s going to be trouble,” Tannis warned. “I hope your buddies back there are good fighters. And that they don’t start blasting before they have to.”
“Captain Ozzel wouldn’t have given us anyone but the best,” Mara assured him, wishing she actually believed that. Knowing ISB, it was more likely Somoril had picked a pair of expendables. “How many crew are typically at the base?”
“Depends on whether there are any ships there,” Tannis said. “There are only thirty or so full-timers, but a couple of unloading ships could double that.”
“Any idea how many ships might be there right now?”
Tannis shook his head. “With all these other gangs Caaldra and the Commodore have been bringing into the nest, your guess is as good as mine.”
Mara nodded. Apparently they would have to find out the hard way. “So what’s behind all this, anyway? I assume Caaldra is smart enough to realize that creating a huge pirate gang just begs Shelkonwa and Imperial Center to come down on you.”