Honor Among Thieves: Star Wars (Empire and Rebellion) (20 page)

“All right,” she said. “I've got him. You can step away.”

Han didn't answer directly, but turned his back to the accommodations suite and walked along the pathway through the hive. A crowd of thin-faced, mean-looking humans scowled at him as he passed a little garden. Han touched his forehead in mock salute and didn't break stride.

It was nearing midnight in Talastin City, and the foot traffic in the conclave hive had a furtive feel. People moving between one clandestine rendezvous and another, eyeing one another warily. Everyone trying to see who was nearby without themselves being seen. Right now, everything was for sale on Kiamurr. Weapons and drugs and slaves, loyalty and betrayal. And, thanks to Hunter Maas, the future of the galaxy. The bad thing was that it meant shadowing Hunter Maas had been tricky. The good thing was that it had been possible, and with Han and Scarlet working together to trade off observing and protecting their target, they'd managed without being spotted.

“Hey,” a voice whispered. Han glanced over. A rail-thin Noghri with a heavy brow and permanently bared teeth hissed, “I'm looking for transponder IDs. You selling IDs?”

“I'm not selling anything, sister. I'm just a peaceful-minded civilian on a walk,” Han said. She smiled and nodded. They were both lying, and they both knew it. At least they could be cheerful about it.

“We're clear,” Scarlet said in his ear. “He's paid up and they've assigned him a room. Head back in.”

“What about his droid?”

“He took it in with him,” Scarlet said. “The common area's clear.”

“Not leaving it as a sentry? Wow,” Han said. “This guy really is an amateur.”

“I think I'd mentioned that.”

“It's just that you're such a professional. Still trying to figure how you lost to him.”

“Haven't lost yet. Still playing,” she said.

Han angled his way back down the path and toward the accommodations suite. Behind him, he heard the Noghri talking to someone else, asking for IDs she almost certainly didn't need. When he got back to his place at the tree, Scarlet was framed by the glass wall. She'd altered her hair and changed her stance in some small, subtle, and extremely effective way. She was wearing the same dark pants, the same gray blouse, but she looked like an entirely different woman. The soldier of fortune was gone, and a friendly tourist had taken her place. He wasn't sure how she did that, but he was getting the feeling that she found it useful to be underestimated. He paused at the tree until she twisted away from the droid, smiled, and waved him over.

He crossed the courtyard with a sense of being vulnerable. There were too many places around here for someone to hide. That he was one of the people looking to sneak through it only made him more aware of the fact.

“This is him,” Scarlet told the droid as Han walked up. “He seriously wanted us to spend the whole trip on the same ship we came here in. Can you imagine anything so utterly boring?”

“I'm sure the gentleman had his reasons,” the droid said.

“I did,” Han said. “They were good reasons, too. Very . . . reasonable.”

Scarlet frowned a little, and Han lifted his hands.
What did you want me to say?

“He was going on about how much safer we'd be on board ship,” Scarlet said.

“Yes,” Han said, catching on. “Yes, I was. And I'm still not convinced by the security here. We have sensitive documents. For business. I don't want to see them lost just so we can have a bigger bunk.”

“No need for concern,” the droid said, shaking its silver-gray head. “The rooms here are securely sealed from the time our guests leave until they return. Not even service droids, if you'd like. Though that does reduce the amenities, of course.”

“Not good enough,” Han said, starting to get into the role. “I need absolute assurance that my sensitive documents aren't going to be disturbed.”

“In addition,” the droid went on, “for a very reasonable fee, encryption-locked safes are available in every room. They can even be set for automatic purge in case of an attempted intrusion.”

Han scowled and looked at Scarlet. He raised his eyebrows.
I don't know. What else do you want?

“It's perfect,” Scarlet said, handing the droid a credit chit. “We'll take it.”

“My gratitude, madam,” the droid said. “You will be in seventeen-c. If you have any concerns, please only ask.”

Scarlet put her arm around Han's again as she had in the ballroom, and he pulled it back out, unwilling to be steered. Scarlet's smile was merry. They walked down a short, broad hallway of laser-cut stone. Scarlet tapped her fingertips together, her eyes scanning the other rooms as they passed. Han didn't ask what she was thinking about.Seventeen-c was a wide room with a low ceiling. The bed was larger than the bunks in the
Falcon,
but by less than he'd expected. Scarlet made a quick pass through the place, then opened the closet and accessed the safe. It chirped, accepted her credit chit, and clacked open.

“How's it look?” Han asked.

“Good and bad,” she said. “Magnetic locks. It's just a mechanism, not a droid, so none of the programming workarounds apply. I want to see if I can get any information on the encryption unit.”

A brilliant white light bloomed around her, sparks like stars cascading down. Han yelped in surprise and jumped toward her. Scarlet turned to him, concerned.

“Are you all right?” Han asked.

“Sure. I'm just trying to get to the encryption unit,” she said, and held up a tiny matte-black tube. “Welding torch.”

“Oh,” Han said. “Right. Carry on.”

The brilliant light came back, and the smell of hot metal. Han lay back on the bed.

“For what it's worth,” Scarlet said, “I think she's very lucky.”

“Who is?”

“The Princess.”

“You do? She just watched her world be destroyed by Darth Vader, and now her begging-for-money mission turned into a get-the-dangerous-information-before-the-Imperial-fleet-slags-the-planet mission. I don't see how you get any less lucky than her without breaking bones.”

“Mmm,” Scarlet said.

Han twisted on the bed, looking at her over his shoulder. “Why? What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing. Here, hold this,” she said, tossing the little welding torch to him. She leaned into the closet. Something groaned and there was a loud ping. She came out with a triumphant expression and a small, glowing, green square the size of her palm. “Korrison-Mout model eighty.”

“Is that good?”

“It's better than good, it's possible. I'm going to need to get the door-seal protocols, too. Hold on.”

She sat on the bed beside him and pulled up the computer. The screen displayed a simple login, and she took a small gray chip out of her pocket and slid it into the access port with an audible click. The screen froze, shuddered, and a stream of complex data started scrolling up. Han sat upright, cross-legged. Scarlet tapped the keyboard. A simple prompt appeared. She started typing.

“He got lucky,” Scarlet said.

“Who?”

“Hunter Maas. He was working on Galassian's estate as a gardener. He talked one of the security detail into doing something stupid, and then when it went south, he left her to get burned down for it.”

“Sounds like she made a bad choice in partners.”

“She wasn't as narcissistic as Maas, but she was just as overconfident. I don't know what it is about people that they find their own level.”

“Well, the smart people try not to work with idiots, and the idiots don't know any better,” Han said. “Makes sense to me.”

“Do you think they know whether they're the smart kind or the idiots?”

“Nope,” Han said. “Hunter Maas is in his room convinced that he's got the galaxy by the hair. The stupidest ones are always sure they're smart.”

“So we could both be idiots who just think we're competent?” Scarlet asked, picking up the encryption unit and reading something printed along its side.

“We know the Imperial fleet's lost a ship that was chasing our boy Hunter. And they know what he's selling. We're on the same planetary hemisphere with that moron. I'm pretty sure we're stupid.”

Scarlet tapped the keyboard twice. “He's in twenty-four-d. Sole access, keyed to his voice.”

Han sighed and sat up. “I'll go make sure no one kills him.”

“I'll figure out how to steal his stuff.”

“Then can we leave?”

“Oh my, yes,” Scarlet said.

“So maybe we're not
that
stupid.”

The door hissed open before him and closed again with a snap. Han rubbed his palms together and sauntered down the hallway, trying to look innocuous. The doors to the other rooms followed only the most general of numbering schemes, so it took Han several minutes to find the hallway with the doors marked 24. It was a little shabbier than the 17s, with worn tiles on the floor and a crack in the pale wall. He had to wonder if the droid that assigned the accommodations had taken a dislike to Hunter Maas.

Where the corridor ended, there was a small atrium with a pair of couches built into the walls. Han sat on one, adjusting his position until he could see the edge of 24-d's doorway, but someone coming out unexpectedly wouldn't be able to see his face. He checked his blaster. It was charged. He sat back and prepared to wait. It was already past midnight. Even if Scarlet found a way in, it would probably mean waiting until Hunter Maas was out at his next meeting. Han wondered where exactly the man had hidden the information when he was meeting with Leia. He hadn't gone back to his ship before coming here, and Han didn't think he was the kind of person who left something important get too far from his hand. Maybe he'd had a datachip sewn into his cape.

A maintenance droid hummed down the corridor, nodded to Han, and continued on its way. Han traced patterns in the grain of the polished stone walls and counted the leaves on the ferns and ivy that struggled to make the waiting area seem natural and welcoming. His leg fell asleep.

The first time the sound came, Han wasn't certain that he'd heard it. A gentle ticking, like a pebble being thrown against a window. The second time, he was listening for it. The third time, he drew his blaster and stood up. It wasn't coming from the same hallway as Hunter Maas's room, but from the next one down. Han peeked around the corner in time to see something at the far intersection. A shape that ducked out of sight before he could tell what he was looking at. Someone else was in the corridors, and they didn't want to be seen any more than he did.

He opened a connection.

“Scarlet?”

“Han?”

“Everything all right with you?”

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing, maybe. But you're all right?”

“Making progress,” she said. “I think I see how to do the thing, but if there's trouble out there—”

“I don't know that yet,” Han said. “I'm going to look around a little. If you hear, you know, blasters and screaming . . .”

“I'll keep my ears up.”

Han cut the connection. He stepped back to corridor 24. No one. Slowly, rolling his feet heel-to-toe to keep from making any more noise than the minimum, he made his way toward the intersection where the other person had been. His blaster felt light in his hand; his blood sang in his veins. Through one of the doors, he heard deep, chuckling laughter.

At the intersection, he glanced around the corner, pulling his head back quickly in case someone shot at him. Another long corridor, but at its end, a small, huddled shape. Someone—humanoid, maybe even human—hunched down, half hidden by a lush stand of ornamental plants half a meter wide and two meters tall. Han looked again. Whoever it was, they hadn't turned to look at him. The shoulders shifted as if they were doing something.

Han debated for a moment. There were a million things going on in the conclave hive right now that had nothing at all to do with him. Chances were this was one. He could pull back, make his way to his couch, and take up his vigil again. Or he could just make certain that whatever the figure at the end of the hall was building wasn't a bomb. That might be good, too.

He slipped around the corner. The dark, hunched figure didn't react. Han moved forward step by step, his blaster before him. He reached the edge of the stand of plants and leveled his blaster at the hooded figure's head.

“Excuse me, friend,” Han said. “Couldn't help wondering what you were doing there.”

The dark-cloaked figure's head came up. It raised its hands and turned around slowly. It was a Bothan. Han frowned. It was a very familiar Bothan. Han's gut went heavy with dread. He turned to look into the ornamental foliage at his side.

A blaster poked out from between the fronds, pointing at his left eye.

“No need to blame poor Sunnim, now,” Baasen Ray said. “Lad's just a pilot that fell in with the wrong crowd. You know what that's like. Now, let's try this again.”

“You know,” Han said, “this is a really bad time.”

“Always is, lad, isn't it?”

Nineteen

Han walked as slowly as he could, his mind racing. The hallway was quiet and dim. If there were any security droids or monitors, Han couldn't see them, and no alarms sounded. Either his abduction was going unnoticed, or it was beneath the level of violence that caused concern on Kiamurr. Baasen knew better than to actually put the barrel of the blaster against Han's back. Sunnim walked in front, close enough to block him if Han tried to run but not close enough to grab and use as a shield. He considered screaming for Scarlet Hark, but that would spook Hunter Maas.

All in all, it was not turning out to be a good night.

“You'll be needing to call our friend Chewbacca,” Baasen said. “Let him know about the change of plan. And he'll be wanting to get the
Falcon
ready to take off. And you can tell him there's no hard feelings about Cioran. I'd have done the same as him.”