“You’re not that good?” Scarlet asked innocently.
“Nobody’s that good.”
“Not even the man who made the Kessel Run in thirteen parsecs?”
“Twelve,” Han said around a grin. “I did it in twelve. So you have heard of me.”
Scarlet Hark smiled, and then sobered. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to find out what Galassian found. And I’ve watched some good people die because I asked them to. I have to get that before we leave. If you want to wait in the hangar, I won’t stop you, but I think my chances would be better if you came with.”
“You see now, that’s sounding more like you’re asking for my help.”
“I’m asking for your help.”
They were silent for a moment. Han tapped his fingers against the fake leather of the Imperial uniform’s boot.
“What do I get out of it?” he asked.
“Bragging rights.”
“That’s pretty thin.”
“Bragging rights and the undying gratitude of the Alliance.”
“How about bragging rights, undying gratitude, and three thousand credits as a performance bonus.”
“Done,” she said.
Han blinked. “Really?”
“I’d have gone to six, if you’d asked.”
“I’d take six.”
“Three it is,” she said, standing up and checking the time. “If we leave here in an hour, that will put us just about where we need to be. What do you need to get the ship ready?”
“The ship’s ready,” Han said. “What about your pet droid? How does he fit into this?”
“Ma’am?” CZ asked, and the electronic voice seemed to hold some weight of meaning that Han couldn’t quite fathom. Scarlet looked at the blue droid, and her face seemed to soften. Han felt a moment of awkwardness and discomfort, as if he was seeing something intimate.
“This is it,” she said. “Finish this, and we’re square.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the droid said, and bowed its head. Scarlet put her hand on its shoulder.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Han cleared his throat. “Am I missing something here?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Scarlet said, her voice crisp and amused again. “Let’s go over the plan.”
CZ re-formed the schematic hologram, and for half an hour Han and Scarlet Hark went over each detail. Where the entrances to the building were, the schedule of the patrols, the placement of the conduit. CZ interrupted once to deliver a forged identity card with Han’s face on it still warm from the fabrication unit. Scarlet packed her equipment from the spare bed with a practiced efficiency. The tools of spycraft folded into the seams of her pants and the sleeves of her jacket.
When they were done, Han called Chewbacca on his comlink. The Wookiee’s roar overloaded the tiny speaker, making his words a stuttering crackle.
“Well, I’m checking in now, aren’t I?” Han said. “I found her, but there’s an errand we need to do before we go.”
Chewbacca’s growl was a warning.
“I don’t like it, either, but I talked her up to a three-thousand-credit bonus if I help her out. You just make sure the engines are warmed up and the clearances are ready. We’re probably going out hot.”
Chewbacca whined and grunted. Scarlet raised her eyebrows and smiled. Han found himself smiling back.
“Well, we didn’t get where we are by playing it safe, did we?” he asked. Chewbacca’s shout was louder and more obscene than usual. Han dropped the connection to the soft sound of Scarlet’s laughter.
“He knows you pretty well,” she said.
“We’ve shipped together for a long time,” Han said. “Are we ready to do this?”
She frowned. “You look like you slept in those clothes,” she said. “It’ll stand out. CZ? One last favor?”
“Of course, ma’am,” the droid said.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” Han said. “What are you thanking him for?”
Scarlet tilted her head. “We need to press your uniform. If we had time, we’d get you a haircut, too, but we’ll make it work.”
“All right, but I’m wearing it,” Han said.
“So take it off. We don’t have much time.”
Han hesitated.
“If it helps, I promise not to look,” Scarlet said.
“No,” Han said, undoing the belt with a violence born of embarrassment. “Go ahead and look if you want to. Take a great big long stare.” Scarlet turned to face the door of the room, her long-fingered hands laced together behind her. Han pulled off the shirt, then the boots, then the pants. He handed them to the droid.
“I’m not looking,” Scarlet said in a teasing singsong.
“I’m not embarrassed,” Han said to the back of her head. “I am a very good-looking man.”
“Indeed you are, sir,” the droid replied. “I’ll have these for you in a moment.”
“YOUR DROID DOES GOOD LAUNDRY,” Han said as he and Scarlet rode the lift to the roof of her building. Not only was the officer’s uniform cleaned and pressed, but it actually seemed to fit better. Han couldn’t see any stitches where the droid had made alterations.
“He’s not my droid. He’s his own,” Scarlet said, but didn’t elaborate.
The top of the building had a strictly regimented garden space, with planter boxes and fountains. No one was sitting on the benches, which left Han sighing with relief. Someone dressed like an Imperial officer and someone dressed like a maintenance worker climbing into a rental flier together might be odd enough to be remembered, and once Scarlet’s plan went off, Imperial security forces would be swarming through the city looking for their trail. Han had left enough of one with the shootout at the docks. No reason to connect the dots from there to Scarlet Hark.
“Over here,” Scarlet said, walking to the landing pad on one side of the roof. She hit the key to summon a flier. “You have credits on you?”
“A few,” Han replied.
“Give them to me.”
“I’m not sure—” he started.
Scarlet stabbed her hand at him impatiently. “Do you think an Imperial officer traveling with someone of a lesser rank ever pays for anything?”
Han handed her his few remaining creds. “I’ve been robbed before, but never without a fight.”
“We could fight, if you’d feel better,” Scarlet said, raising an eyebrow. Her dark eyes stayed on his as she pulled her long black hair into a practical knot at the back of her neck. She locked it in place by pushing two small sticks through it.
Han crossed his arms and shrugged. “You know, I’ve never in my life been bossed around as much as I have since I hooked up with you rebels. It makes me wonder if you guys actually know what that word means.”
“What word?”
“Rebel.”
Scarlet carefully went over her gray maintenance jumpsuit, checking to see if her various tools and patches were all in place. She had a methodical nature Han found grating and familiar at the same time.
“We’re not anarchists,” she said, tugging at the patch on one sleeve that identified her as a level-three technician. “We have goals. We want to end the Empire.”
“And replace it with what?”
“You know what,” Scarlet said. Her crossed arms matched his own. “Are you trying to make fun of me?”
“It was rhetorical. I’ve heard the speech, sweetheart. ‘A glorious return to the Republic of old.’ To a guy like me, a new boss is still a boss.”
“Then why are you helping us?”
“Honestly? Still trying to figure that one out.”
If she had a reply, the rumble and air wash of the approaching rental flier drowned it out. She hopped on board and gave the droid driver an address. It waited until Han was seated and Scarlet had dropped a handful of coins into its receptacle, then the flier shot up into the sky, Han’s belly sinking.
Scarlet leaned back in her seat not looking at him, so Han ass
umed the conversation was over. The truth was, it was an argument he’d been having with himself ever since the rebel fleet had left Yavin. The Death Star had been destroyed. He’d been given his reward for the rescue of Leia. Jabba was still out there, putting a price on his head and waiting for either his money or his corpse. But he kept lingering. Running missions for the rebels, spending time with Leia and Luke, taking chances that the old Han Solo would never have taken. Three thousand credits was nice, but it wasn’t any more than a good smuggling run someplace besides the Imperial Core might have netted him. He was having a progressively harder time convincing himself that he was still doing it for the money.
Part of it was watching out for Luke. If there was anyone in the galaxy likely to get in over his head, it was the kid. Part of it was the joy of thumbing his nose at the Empire.
But always there was the voice at the back of his head telling him that by joining the Rebellion he’d become less of a rebel than he’d ever been. Flying off to assault yet another impossibly well-defended Imperial stronghold. It was getting to be a bad habit.
“Over there,” Scarlet said. She was talking to the droid. The flier dropped between the towering buildings to stop at the pedestrian level below.
They climbed out onto a quiet side street. A walkway wound through carefully cultivated trees and planters set into the narrow strip of sunlight the surrounding buildings allowed in.
“Thank you for choosing—” the droid started, but Han slapped the button to shut the flier’s door and cut him off.
“Which way?” he asked.
“Three more intersections that direction,” she pointed, her voice cool and professional. “There’s an Imperial watch post that we can’t avoid at the second intersection. They’re going to be looking for traffic offenses and street crime, so I doubt they’ll stop an officer and a tech.”
“If they do?”
“CZ redid your identification, so it should hold up to casual scrutiny. I’ve had more time to work on mine, so it’s even more solid.”
“Great,” Han replied, checking how tight the blaster sat in its holster at his side. The Imperial sidearm was a clumsy thing. The weight felt wrong in his hand. He worried that if he had to pull it, it would slow him down and throw off his aim.
“Stop fidgeting with your weapon,” Scarlet whispered at him as they walked. Han bit back his retort with a smile. The uniform didn’t have pockets, so he hooked his thumbs on the belt and tried to match the stiff swagger of the other Imperials.
The few pedestrians they passed wore business attire and moved quickly. No one looked at them for more than a second. At first Han thought it was his uniform that frightened them, but then he noticed that they didn’t look at one another, either. This was the heart of the Empire. People didn’t need a reason to be frightened; fear was just part of the lifestyle. So maybe that was why he was working with the rebels. It was as good a reason as any.
Half a dozen stormtroopers and a junior lieutenant manned the observation post. The officer nodded to Han as they walked by, then shot a questioning look at Scarlet. Han shrugged and rolled his eyes in a what-are-you-going-to-do gesture. The officer smiled and shrugged back, a gesture of solidarity. Yeah, just a couple of low-ranking whip crackers, doing their bit for the glory of the Empire. It left Han feeling dirty.
No one stopped them until they reached the entrance to the Imperial Intelligence Service Center. The doors were massive and metallic, and looked as if they could stop a blast from a Star Destroyer–grade turbolaser. And while they were open when Han and Scarlet arrived, they were also guarded by a full score of stormtroopers and two officers, one of whom stood next to a large red button on the wall. Han guessed the button would set off the alarm and slam the blast doors shut fast enough to cut a bantha in half.
“Halt,” one of the officers said, holding up an imperious hand. The stormtroopers stood behind him in postures of boredom, though their helmets hid their faces. “Identification.”
“Lieutenant Sololo,” Han said, handing over his freshly minted identity card and trying to match the boredom of the guards.
“Choya Sebastiao,” Scarlet said after the guard looked up from Han’s card at her. “Environmental tech, third class.”
“Business?”
“Ventilation failure,” Scarlet said, tapping one hand on the tools in her belt.
“It’s in a secured area,” Han added. “So guess who gets to waste his day watching her pull cable and patch ventilation holes?”
“We can have one of our people escort her,” the officer said. Oops, Han thought, may have overplayed the annoyed card.
“No, no, I’m already here. You men keep doing, you know, guarding. That’s important work.” Han gave the man a smile and a nod.
“They check out,” the officer said, and the knot of stormtroopers parted to let them through.
“See?” Scarlet whispered once they were in and walking down a long hallway toward the turbolifts. “No problem.”
“Saying ‘no problem’ is a sure sign that everything is about to go terribly wrong,” Han said.
He hit the lift button, and a mechanism on the other side of the doors whirred to life.
“I’m so glad I brought you along to tell me these things,” Scarlet replied.
A man in civilian clothes walked down a side hall and came to stand next to them. He was short, thick through the middle, and balding. He smiled at them without ever meeting their eyes and then rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet whistling tunelessly. When the lift arrived, Han let Scarlet enter first, then stepped in after her and put a hand on the man’s chest. “Take the next one.”
“What? I—” the man started but the doors snapped shut and cut off whatever else he was about to say.
“He might complain to someone,” Scarlet said as they rode up.
“Naw, he’s a good citizen of the Empire. If he started complaining every time an officer was rude to him, he wouldn’t have time for anything else.”
“Or they’d shoot him,” Scarlet said.
“Or that.”
Scarlet began pulling tools off her belt and out of her sleeves for the job to come. Cutters, sensors, the grapnel for climbing the long shaft up to the security level. Each tool exactly the right one for the job, each perfectly maintained and ready for use. Han thought of the random boxes of tools lying around the Falcon and made a mental note to have Chewbacca clean up a bit before they boarded.
The lift doors snapped open, revealing a long Imperial-gray corridor with many smaller doors leading off to either side. “Lots of places to get ambushed in here,” Han said, dropping his hand to rest on the butt of his blaster.
“It’s eleven doors up on the right,” Scarlet whispered, and headed off down the corridor at a fast walk. Han followed, looking over his shoulder as he went.
“What are you doing on this level?” a voice demanded, and Han’s head whipped around. A high-ranking Imperial officer stood looking at Scarlet with open disdain, his arms crossed behind his back and his chest puffed out with authority. Scarlet lowered her gaze and tried to walk past him. He stepped in front of her, blocking the path with his body. “I said, what are you doing on this level? No non-military personnel above level ten at any time.”
“Well, I—” Scarlet said, but the officer turned his attention to Han.
“You! You should know the regulations regarding non-military personnel on secured levels. Who’s your commanding officer?”
“Sir,” Han replied, trying for a meek and chastened tone of voice. “This is just to fix a ventilation thing—”
“Captain!” the officer bellowed. “I will be addressed as captain, Lieutenant.” He managed to squeeze more contempt into the word lieutenant than Han would have thought possible.
“Yes, Captain, sir. I was just saying—”
“You,” the captain said, spinning on his heel to thrust his chin at Scarlet, “are under arrest. I will have you in a detention cell and talking
to an interrogator droid before the hour is out.”
“I think that’s a mistake,” Han said.
“And you,” the captain continued, spinning back to Han, “will be lucky not to be shot for dereliction of duty. Give me your commanding officer’s name. I plan to have him here immediately to deal with you.”
Han gave the captain his most disarming smile and moved to draw his blaster. Time to take care of the loudmouthed idiot once and for all. The idea felt like coming home.
Before Han’s weapon had even cleared his holster, the captain spun sideways and threw his own head against the corridor wall. Scarlet was standing behind him, hands raised and knees bent. It took Han several long heartbeats before he realized she was in a fighting stance.
The captain rebounded from the wall, staggering back toward her, stunned and unsteady on his feet. Scarlet snapped her right foot up into his stomach, dropping him to his knees with a loud whuff. She kicked him again, this time between the shoulder blades, and dropped him to the floor. She dived onto his back and locked her arms around his neck. The captain struggled feebly for a few seconds, then went limp.
Scarlet stood up, her cheeks flushed with exertion, but looking none the worse for wear.
“Is he dead?” Han asked.
“Put your blaster away,” Scarlet replied. “If you fire it in here, every alarm goes off.”
“Right,” Han said, and slid it back into his holster. “Is he dead?”
“No. Does your identity card open these doors? We’ll need to get him out of the hallway.”
Han punched the button next to the nearest door, and it whooshed open. “Yep.”
The room turned out to be a meeting space with a small table and six chairs, currently unoccupied. Han dragged the unconscious captain inside and dumped him unceremoniously under the table. Scarlet was already moving down the corridor to their destination.
“Ready?” she asked. Han nodded.
She punched the entry code and the door opened. Inside was a small technical station. The walls were covered with control panels and displays. It looked exactly like the kind of room that would house a cabling junction.