Han leaned forward, steadying himself on the plaque, and sank his arm into the cold water. Smooth stone with gummy sealant at the joints. He shifted left and then right. His fingers touched something out of place and hard, and he dug at the place where it was adhered to the stone. It popped away with a satisfying click.
The case was brown and about the size of his palm. Han slipped it into his pocket and strolled away to a bench while Chewbacca finished his performance, then applauded politely as the Wookiee stalked over, sat beside him, and growled.
“If that’s the worst thing that happens to you on this run, we’ll have gotten away with something. Now let’s see what we’re working with.”
Chewbacca grunted and whined.
“Yes, I’m opening it here. Look, if they noticed us, they’d follow us anyway. And if they didn’t, then we might as well.”
Now that it was dry, the cover of the case had a deep, almost iridescent sheen like an insect’s shell. Han ran his thumbnail around the edge until it caught against an invisibly thin seam. He twisted once, leaning into the motion, and the cover snapped open. A tiny pad glowed a soft but forbidding red. He carefully entered the passcode, and the pad chirped happily, shifted to green, and swung open. The small compartment behind it was empty. Chewbacca groaned accusingly.
“How could it possibly be my fault,” Han said as Chewbacca plucked the case from his hand. “I wasn’t there when she put it in the drop.”
Chewbacca tapped the case against the arm of the bench hard enough to make the metal chime, then peered into the space again.
“All right,” Han said. “There’s nothing here. So this is probably a trap, and we just took the bait. When they stop us, we stick to the story. We found the thing, we don’t know what it is, and they’re welcome to have it if they want it.”
Han looked around the park, trying to seem casual. No stormtroopers were flooding into it yet. He had to fight the urge to draw his pistol and sprint for the fliers. Chewbacca moaned.
“I wouldn’t believe us, either.”
“Solo.”
The voice was unexpected, calm, and friendly. Han twisted in the bench. The Mirialan walking across the grass toward them was broad and thick. His yellow-green skin was darker now than it had been when he was younger, and he had a few more tattoos on his chin and cheeks, but not many. He walked with a rolling gait that made him seem halfway to drunk, though as far as Han knew he never drank to excess.
“Baasen Ray? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting on you, apparently,” Baasen said. “Chewbacca. Good to see you again. Been too long.”
The Wookiee groaned and bayed. Baasen’s expression went pained. “What’d he say?”
“He said you’re looking good,” Han said. “He was just being polite, though.”
“Sorry,” Baasen said, nodding to Chewbacca. “It’s my hearing. Got a hard enough time making out all the words even in my own language. So blast it, man, but it’s been a long time. Guess you really are working for the rebels, eh?”
“What makes you say that, friend?”
Baasen rolled his eyes. “That when Hark called to get pulled, you showed up at her drop. Doesn’t take a genius to add those two sums, does it? Truth is, I was more than half expecting you. Takes a madman or an idiot, flying rebel spies out of the Core, and … well, word gets about. Who’s working for who. Like that.”
“Really? I haven’t heard much about what you’ve been up to. Last I heard, you were running the slow loop out of Hoven.”
“Hard times. Hard times. Turns out I’m getting pulled by the same strings as you. Rebel Alliance. ’S why I’m here now. Watch the drop. Make contact. All of that.”
“You’re the message at the drop?”
“Well now, the woman’s not an idiot. You didn’t really expect her to leave written instructions on how to track her just lying about in public, did you?”
Chewbacca pressed the case into Baasen’s broad hand with a chuffing groan.
“Sorry, what?”
“He said that we should get out of here, and I think he’s right. You have transport?”
“Transport’s what I do best,” Baasen said. “Follow on, then.”
Baasen trundled off to the north, not looking back to see whether they were coming. The men playing their game on the green ignored them as they passed. At the building’s edge, a gray transport floater hovered over the empty air, its docking ramp clinging to the pavement of the park. The same droid that had ordered Han back from the edge, or else one just like it, was squawking at a lifting droid and being magnificently ignored. As Baasen stepped onto the ramp, the park droid shifted its outrage to him with as little effect. Han and Chewbacca stepped around it as they passed, and the lifting droid turned to follow, hauling up the ramp after them.
“I have to tell you,” Han said. “After Caarsin Station, I’m a little surprised to see you.”
“Everyone’s got history,” Baasen said amiably. “Man still has to work, whatever’s in his past, eh?”
The interior of the transport was almost reassuringly musty and cobbled together. Three men squatted in the back. Two had the look of mercenaries; the last was thinner and more nervous about the eyes. They all wore blasters openly, and while they were cleaner than the average soldier of the Rebellion, they weren’t anywhere near as crisp as the usual citizen of Cioran. Baasen knocked twice on the door to the pilot’s cabin, and the transport swept out and down. Baasen, humming to himself, flicked a switch on the wall and tapped in a code on a keypad. Han nodded to the three men. They didn’t smile. Han’s belly went a degree tighter.
“Who’re your friends?” he asked Baasen, his eyes on the men.
“Hmm? Oh. Garet and Simm there are part of my crew. Have been since forever. Japet, on the end there? He’s a new friend. Just met him recent.”
The rumble in Chewbacca’s throat was a warning, but Han didn’t need it. He dropped his hand casually toward his holster, getting close to the blaster without going for it.
“Good to meet you,” he said with a disarming smile.
“Now, none of that,” Baasen said. A blaster had appeared in his hand, and Han hadn’t even seen him draw it. “We’ll need your weapons.”
Chewbacca bared his teeth with a bloodcurdling howl, but Baasen’s aim didn’t waver so much as a millimeter.
“You know how this is going to go,” Baasen said. “Shoot it out here and now, and you take a couple down with, but you’re still a dead man. Play nice, you maybe find a way out later.”
“It happened last time,” Han said.
“And maybe that’s part of what this is about. History and all that,” Baasen said with a grin. “So best you give us your weapons now, and no one dies for a time, eh?”
Chewbacca growled, looking from Han to Baasen and back again. Han weighed the chances. Baasen would die. And at least one of the others. Maybe two.
“Do as he says, Chewie,” Han said, raising his hands.
“Good man. Live to fight another day.”
“You used to be better than this, Baasen. Working for the Empire is low even for you.”
“Oh, that’s not me. Hand you over to them, and they’ll likely shoot me for my troubles. No. I got nothing against the Rebellion. It’s just the Hutt’s money’s too good, and times are hard.”
“Says something when Jabba is more trustworthy than the Empire.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” Baasen said as the hired gun he’d called Simm took Han’s blaster.
“What happened to Hark?”
“Nothing I know of. Imagine she’ll be disappointed that her ride never showed, but word is she’s a resourceful one. She’ll land on her feet.”
Chewbacca stared at Simm and bared his teeth in a silent promise of violence. The man swallowed, but he still took Chewie’s bowcaster and bandolier. The transport hit a patch of turbulent air, the car shifting a little and the drives whining to compensate. Simm handed the weapons to Garet and pulled tw
o pairs of cuffs out of a blue plastoid toolbox.
“What about the message at the dead drop?” Han asked as the cold, heavy restraints clicked around his wrists, cycling tighter until the pressure was just on the edge of pain.
“Put it in the recycler, didn’t I?” Baasen said. “Likely it’s halfway to being paper for some sad Imperial toilet.”
“Then there was one? She did leave a message?” Han said. “Written instructions on how to find her just out in public after all?”
“Of course she did,” Baasen said. “It was that or trust the locals. Woman’s not an idiot.”
THE WAREHOUSE WAS TUCKED OFF the flight hangar. Brushed-durasteel walls and impact-resistant ceramic crates were stacked as high as the ceiling in some places, dropped down and rearranged to serve as seats and tables in others. It was cold as a refrigerator, and the air was sharp with the stink of coolant and volatiles. Han sat on the floor. The wrist cuffs glowed blue, and the magnetic fields of the clamps made his joints ache. Chewbacca squatted a couple of meters to his left, scraping idly at one of the crates and ignoring Han, Baasen, and the two thugs entirely.
“Don’t,” Garet said, holding up his palm to Baasen. “I told you this before we left. I could stay and prep the ship, or I could go to the drop. You said come to the drop, so I did. Now I’m prepping the ship. Can’t do everything at once.”
“Hurry is all,” Baasen said, brushing the back of his hand across the tattoos on his chin.
“I’ve put in for clearance to go. Sunnim’s heating up the engines. We’ll get out when we get out,” Garet said. “You can try rushing the Empire if you want. I’ll wait here.”
Baasen shot a sour glance at Garet but didn’t say more. He seemed to have a pretty small crew: the three human toughs from the back of the transport and a brown-furred Bothan pilot with a face like a sad goat—Sunnim, apparently—who’d been driving it. Han twisted the cuffs. They didn’t even flex.
Garet walked away, the wide loading dock door hissing up to let him pass. Han caught a glimpse of the hangar. An ancient Sienar NM-600 squatted on the pad, the little freighter looking like a dirt clod against the shining backdrop of the dock. The pilot was standing beside it, speaking to a gray-clad Imperial functionary. Han wondered what would happen if he shouted for help. Nothing good. The loading dock door hissed down again. The other tough, Simm, yawned.
“Hoy, Chewbacca,” Baasen said. “Leave that crate be.”
Chewbacca looked up, answering with a complex howl.
“What’d he say?” Baasen asked.
“He thanked you for your kind suggestion,” Han said, not even pretending it was the truth. If Sunnim the Bothan was halfway competent, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to get the ship ready, even if it was dead cold. And once they were on that ship and out of the dock, Han didn’t have much hope that they’d ever make it back.
So whatever he was going to do, it had to be done in the next few minutes. He looked over at Chewbacca, who was running his claws over the crate’s hinge. If the Wookiee could pull the hinge bolt, he might—might—be able to short the magnetic coils in his cuffs. It wouldn’t unlock them, but it might reduce the fields to the point that Chewbacca could bend them open by brute strength.
If there was just some way to tell him without the others figuring out what they were doing …
Han craned his neck. Chewbacca’s blue eyes met his. Han glanced down at the crate, willing the Wookiee to follow his gaze. To understand. Chewbacca’s sigh was so soft, it was nearly silence. He lifted a brown, hair-draped arm to show Han the hinge bolt hidden at his side.
Ah, Han thought. Right. He’ll need a distraction.
He stood up. Simm and Baasen both raised their blasters.
“Obliged if you had a seat,” Baasen said.
“I’m stretching my legs,” Han said. “And you’re not going to shoot me. This is the Core. You start firing blasters in here, and there’ll be a hundred stormtroopers drawing down on all of us in about three minutes.”
Baasen grinned ruefully, lowering his blaster but not returning it to his holster. Han walked to the far wall, turned, and sat on a crate, his body loose and comfortable. He shook his head.
“How did we get to this, Baasen? Used to be we were the guys who prided ourselves on ignoring the authorities. Now we’re hunting each other down. And for what?”
“Money,” Baasen said.
“Pretty much the money, yeah,” Simm said, nodding. “It’s good money.”
The high screaming roar of an engine rose and fell as a ship left the hangar. Not theirs, but one fewer in the line that blocked their departure. Chewbacca sat forward, his expression disconsolate. His wrists vanished between his knees. Baasen sighed.
“Still, yeah. Know what you mean. The good days were good.”
“You remember when Lando tried to buy that load of Caskan wolf-snake venom from you? Only you said he had to try a sample first to make sure it was the real thing?”
Baasen’s eyes lit up a little, and his belly shook with silent laughter.
“He was seeing little pink fairies for a month,” Baasen said. “But that was before, old friend. And it was before Dusty.”
“Would it help if I said I was sorry about her?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” Baasen said, then shook his head. “But it wouldn’t help any, either. She did what she did because she did it. You weren’t anything but the occasion for what was going to happen anyhow.”
Simm shot a glance at Baasen, but if the Mirialan noticed, he chose to pretend he hadn’t. Then Simm looked at Han, who shrugged. Chewbacca’s shoulder twitched forward violently, and he bared his teeth in silent pain. No one but Han saw it.
“What about you, boyo?” Baasen said. “Rebel Alliance? I’d not have picked you for one of that kind.”
Han grinned. “What kind’s that? Idealist?”
“Government man.”
“Hey now,” Han said, surprised by how much the words stung. “No reason to get ugly.”
“Call it what you want, old friend, but it comes to the same thing. The rebels get their way, and they step back in where the Republic used to be, and then who are you?”
“Look, I only took the work to help out some friends. If it pisses off the Empire, that’s just a bonus.”
“Friends, eh? Strong word for a man like you.”
Han thought of Luke. It was strange that he’d taken to the kid as much as he had. All his life, he’d had a lot of people he got along with, a few he liked. There hadn’t been many he’d put himself in the line of fire for. He found himself hoping that the kid’s milk run as Wedge Antilles’s second worked out. And hoping that he and Chewie would be back at the rebel fleet to hear the kid talk about it.
Another drive roared to life, rising and then fading away. They were running out of time. Chewbacca wasn’t looking up from the glow of the cuffs in his lap, and Han couldn’t tell where he stood with them.
“Anyway, friends are a weakness, aren’t they?” Baasen said. “That’s where your Hark failed out, too.”
“How do you figure that?”
“The rebels, they’re going up against the Empire. Wrong side of the law, them. But that don’t make them criminals, if you see. Honest people with a different view of how things ought to be. Upstanding. Hell, heroic even, some of them. They’re looking to change the galaxy. They win—not that they stand a chance, but if, y’know—then they turn into the law. You and me, now. Even little Simm here—”
“I’m not little anymore,” Simm snapped.
“—we’re criminals,” Baasen went on as if the other man hadn’t spoken. “Not looking to make anything about the galaxy better except our little part. Put us in the Emperor’s palace, we’d sell all the furniture before we took off.”
“And Hark?” Han said. “Which one’s she?”
Baasen’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Can’t say quite. Bit of one thing, bit of the other. Only seen her once, but I can say I took a shin
e to her.”
Behind the two men, Chewbacca strained silently but hard. His massive arms trembled with the effort, and Han had to fight not to look at him directly. Simm shifted on his crate, and before he could glance back Han stood again. Simm’s eyes turned back to Han. And the muzzle of his blaster did, too.
“How do you figure Hark for making my same mistakes, then?” Han asked, pretending to ignore the weapon. Truth was, it made his neck itch.
“She made her mistake picking friends,” Baasen said. “Not seeing the difference between an honest rebel and a criminal who don’t mind working politics. Not as she had much choice, true. Cioran ain’t got a deep pool of rebel underground to draw from.”
“But everyplace has criminals,” Han said.
“Needed someone to help her, picked a wrong crew, said a wrong thing, and instead of keeping her secrets for free, gentleman sold ’em.”
“To you.”
“Paid best.”
“No, you didn’t. The Empire would have paid a thousand times anything you could manage. He can’t go to the Empire any more than you can,” Han said, pointing his hands at Baasen in feigned anger. Chewie paused, his chest working and his teeth bared. Simms’s blaster shifted another degree. Han’s mind raced, grabbing for something to say. Anything, really.
“Japet,” he said. “He’s the one, isn’t he? You said you’d just met him, and he’s not here now. He was the rat.”
Simm’s eyes went a little wider, and he glanced at Baasen. The old smuggler shrugged. “Figured that out, did you? Well, no point fighting about it. Yeah, Japet knew she was working for the rebels, knew she was calling for transport off.”
“How’d he know it was gonna be me and Chewie? Hark didn’t call for us in particular.”
“Didn’t know, did he? That was me keeping ears to the ground. Captain Solo gone rebel. Alliance needs someone brave and crazy enough to come to the Core. Don’t have many of those.”
“You’d be surprised,” Han said.
“Wouldn’t. Politicians. Soldiers. They’re the good people. They don’t think like us. Can’t make us out. Mistakes get made is all. No blame for it.”