Honor Among Thieves: Star Wars (Empire and Rebellion) (31 page)

“You want it? Fine. Here it is.” His gesture encompassed the table, the platforms, the core spinning below. Everything. The humor left his eyes, and he looked like a corpse. “What do you plan to do with it?”

Leia and Scarlet looked at each other, the hot wind tugging at their hair. Baasen coughed and spat down through the grating and into the more-than-oceanic void beneath them.

“I've got to say,” Han said, “I'd been picturing something a little smaller.”

Twenty-Nine

Scarlet stepped toward Galassian, her blaster pointed at his heart. Han moved forward, too. The man ignored the threat and turned back to the glass table. The light from its display danced across his face.

“Back away from the table. Do it now,” Leia said.

“Or else what exactly?” Galassian said.

“At a guess, we kill you,” Baasen said from his place beside the door. “That's how these things tend to play out.”

He might as well not have been there for all the attention Galassian paid.

“You have interrupted me. Threatened me. I imagine you must have killed some number of my escort? That was rude, Princess. I don't think I care to speak with you further.” The spinning droids were going too fast for the eye to follow now, the curving paths seeming like streaks of silver air behind him.

“All right,” Han said. “What's the plan?”

“Plan was we get in here,” Scarlet said, “kill him, take the hyperspace-blocking device, and head back for the surface. Turns out there's a problem with the middle part.”

“Maybe we should make a new one.”

“Working on that.”

“Once again,” Han said. “Planning. Not our strong suit.”

“We can hold him as hostage,” Baasen said.

“What will happen,” Galassian said, his voice calm, almost amused, “is that you will put down your arms, surrender yourselves to me, and hope that I'm feeling merciful. You have blasters? I am wielding the greatest weapon the galaxy has ever seen.”

Baasen held up his blaster. “Our matched fours beats your high single, seems to me.”

Scarlet shushed him.

“Bigger guns,” Galassian went on, returning his gaze to the glass table. “Stronger blasters. Blowing up planets. It's all well and good. Controlling who can speak now? Who can travel? That's power. The only use of violence is to convince people to do what you demand. If you have the power to simply enforce your will, why bother with wars? Rebellions? The Emperor will disband the fleet. There will be no need for it. Your kind is dead, and I'm at the trigger.”

Han shifted to the right. The grating under his feet rang a little with each footstep. Galassian glanced up at him, sneered, and looked away. The wind tugged at his robes.

“You know what the Emperor will do with this,” Leia said. “It won't be your power. It'll be his.”

“My ambitions are small. Go wherever I wish. Do whatever I wish. Have worlds bow down before me,” Galassian said. “I'll do quite well on his table scraps. But thank you for thinking of me.”

“Enough of this,” Baasen said, raising his blaster, and for once Han agreed. His finger twitched, but as the shot went off, Galassian gestured at him. One of the floating droids whipped out like an extension of his hand and knocked Han back. The bolt from his blaster passed over Galassian's shoulder, and Han struggled to keep his feet. Baasen, struck by the second droid, fell against the steel grating with a crash and a rush of breathless swearing. The droid swung down again, catching him hard in the ribs. Baasen rose to his knees, grabbed his side, and sank back to the floor. His face was flushed with pain and anger.

“Surrender now,” Leia said, “and I'll see to it you aren't abused.”

“Princess, take your servants, lay down your weapons, and stop wasting my time. I have many, many things to do that are all more interesting than you.”

Leia shifted to the left, spreading out the group. It would be harder for Galassian's droids to block them all if they weren't so close together. Han followed her lead, moving a little more to the right.

“Don't flatter yourself,” Leia said. “The Star Destroyer that brought you here is already vapor and meteors. A rebel attack group is preparing to jump into the system. And you're outnumbered four to one.”

“Three to one,” Galassian said, and before any of them could respond, he lifted both hands toward her, shouting. Leia shrieked as the paired droids swooped down, struck her in the belly and chest, lifted her from her feet, and threw her to the edge of the grate. And over it. Han's chest went hollow, and he rushed toward Galassian, blaster firing as Scarlet lunged for Leia.

Galassian turned on Han. The man's face twisted in a mask of inhuman rage. Han shot him.

Galassian stepped back as the bolt struck his chest. The surprise in his expression spoke of affront:
You presume to hurt
me
?

“He's wearing armor!” Han shouted.

“So shoot his head, boyo!” Baasen shouted. Leia was screaming. Han glanced past Galassian to the edge of the platform. Scarlet lay flat, her chest and arms out over the void, her legs just beginning to tip up and over. From where Han stood, Leia was a flutter of motion and a sense of determined struggle.

A streak of silver went past him, and Han shot. Years of practice and reflex paid off, and one of the droids fell out of the air, clanging on the decking and rolling toward the edge of the platform. Han dodged the second one. It seemed to have sprouted knives. Behind him, Baasen yelped.

Galassian's hand closed over Han's like a vise. The bones in Han's wrist popped, and a bright pain shot through his fingers as Galassian twisted the blaster away, holding it loosely in his left hand. The universe seemed to narrow to just the two of them as Han wondered what it would be like to be killed with his own weapon. He swung his other fist, and Galassian blocked it. Hitting the man's arm was like punching concrete, but Han did it again. Galassian struck back, hitting Han's face. His nose stung, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. The world seemed to ring like a gong.

Scarlet shifted. Only one hand was down to Leia. The other scrabbled desperately at her belt, looking for some tool. Galassian followed Han's glance, smiled, and shot Scarlet in the leg with Han's blaster. The spy yelped in pain, but she didn't drop the Princess or stop what she was doing. Han swung his elbow against Galassian's ear, and this time the strike had some effect. Galassian took two steps back and turned the blaster toward Han.

A bright bolt from Baasen burned the air. The old Mirialan was on his knees now, resting his firing hand on his stump. Galassian gestured toward him, and the remaining droid swept in toward Baasen's face, driving him against the wall and then looping around for another attack. The distraction was enough. Han grabbed his blaster, still in Galassian's grip, and twisted. Galassian bent his knees and turned.

The enemy was solid, strong, and implacable. Centimeter by centimeter, the blaster's barrel moved toward Han. Galassian pulled the trigger, and the blast singed Han's ear and filled the air with the stink of burning hair. Behind them something popped, and a thin line of cord, bright as a spiderweb in the gloom, shot up from where Scarlet and Leia struggled. Scarlet's grapnel line. Leia cried out.

Han put all his strength into moving the blaster away, but it continued to turn toward him. Galassian's grin was bloody, his teeth turned crimson. His eyes widened with the prospect of Han's death.

Baasen plowed into them both, slamming his full weight against them. Han sprawled out on the grate, disoriented and half convinced he'd been shot. Galassian kept his feet, but Baasen was before him, hammering at his throat with his one good fist. Behind them, Leia had her hands back on the decking and was pulling up her knee. The thin cord of Scarlet's grapnel was wrapped around her. Scarlet rolled to her side, blaster up, waiting for a chance to end Galassian, but Baasen was blocking her shot.

Galassian fell back a step under the rage and violence of Baasen's attack. There was blood pouring from half a dozen cuts on the man's face and from Baasen's knuckles. When the blaster shots went off—three in close succession—Han thought at first it was Scarlet. Then Baasen slipped down, smoke rising from his chest and a surprised expression on his face. He grabbed at the edge of Galassian's robes with his one hand, the stump of the other brushing against it as the missing fingers tried to find some purchase.

“Han!” Leia cried.

He looked at her as Scarlet fired. Galassian waved his hand, and the women scattered as the remaining droid drove in for them. Han put his head down and ran, charging Galassian with a roar. The impact felt like tackling a wall, but Baasen had hold of Galassian's ankle and, when the man staggered, kept his grip. Like a tree cut at the base, Galassian tipped back. Han saw annoyance turn to surprise, and then disbelief. A volley of blasterfire and a metallic shriek marked the death of the second droid, but Han didn't turn to look.

Baasen let go of Galassian's ankle as the madman disappeared over the edge of the platform with a scream. And then another one. And then another, each growing more distant as Galassian began the long fall to the planet's glowing core thousands of kilometers below them.

Han knelt at Baasen's side. The wounds in the old bounty hunter's chest were deep. The stink of cauterized flesh was bright and greasy. Baasen's yellow-green face was pale and his breathing shallow. He blinked up at Han, and Han was surprised by the thickness in his own throat.

“Hold on, old man,” he said. “We're going to have to get you patched up.”

“Han, old friend,” Baasen said. “You always were a third-rate liar.”

“What are you talking about? I lie with the best of them.”

“Not that time.”

Scarlet came forward, limping. The medpac in her hand looked profoundly insufficient. Han could see from her eyes that she was thinking the same thing.

“We got him, though,” he said. “Just like old times.”

Baasen bared his teeth in a kind of smile, turning to look through the grate over his shoulder. “I suspect he'll outlive me, for all of it. That is a powerfully long fall,” he said, then gasped. “Truth is, if I'd thought for part of a second, I wouldn't have done that.”

“The man you used to be is still down in there somewhere.”

Scarlet pulled back the ruins of Baasen's shirt and doused the wounds with numbing spray. Baasen sighed and swallowed.

“If that's right and there's a world past this one, me and that man I was are going have words in it.
Powerful
stupid, he was.”

Leia came to stand by them. The glow of the planetary core streamed up past Baasen, casting him in shadows and brightening her face as she looked down. Her expression was calm, gentle, and strong. Baasen coughed again, and it was a deep, wrong sound.

“Y'know, Han, old friend. If I'd had both my hands, I think I'd have taken him,” he said with a grin. “So there's a way this is all your fault.”

“Same to you,” Han said, but he said it to a corpse. He plucked Baasen's blaster up from the steel grating and put it in his own holster. The three of them stood over the Mirialan, silent for a long moment. Memories flooded Han of the times he'd known Baasen before.

“Turned out he was a good man,” Scarlet said.

“No, he wasn't,” Han said.

“A friend, then,” Leia said.

“Not for a long time.”

At last, they turned away, walking back to the lighted table that Galassian had been standing over. The bright surface was alive with strange letters and shifting designs. The script was like nothing Han had ever seen, and while some of the images—a circle more than halfway colored in red, a series of bars with triangles at different points along them—had the vaguely familiar, functional look of technical readouts, what they meant was opaque.

“Does any of this make sense to you?” Leia asked, scowling at the readouts as if simple force of will could make them make sense. Han was still shaking a little from the fight, and he tried not to show it.

“Maybe a little?” Scarlet said. “Let me . . . let me look at it.”

“I was afraid you were in trouble for a second, Your Highnessness,” Han said, but the barb sounded hollow and unconvincing. Leia looked up at him, and the softness in her face told him that she'd heard the relief in his voice. He might just as well have said
I thought I'd lost you
.

“No such luck,” she said softly. He had the powerful urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. For a moment, there was something else in her expression—apprehension or hope or something of both. She blinked and looked away. “Do you think he's still falling?”

“If they excavated the mantle down to the actual planetary core, he'll be falling for about the next five hours,” Scarlet said, not looking up from the table. “The heat will probably sear his lungs and light him on fire before he makes impact, though.”

“Couldn't happen to a nicer guy,” Han said. “So can you work this thing?”

“No,” Scarlet said.

“I thought you had the instructions.”

“Galassian wrote the instructions, and he couldn't work it all, either. Not completely, anyway. Let me see what I can manage.”

Han nodded, stepped away from the table, and tried to comm Chewbacca and the
Falcon,
to get some better idea of what was happening on the other side of the planet's crust. He had the irrational certainty that the full Imperial fleet had jumped into the system just after they'd gotten down to the bottom of the K'kybak ruins, and they'd be going up to a massive, ongoing firefight. There was no signal. He hadn't really expected one.

Baasen Ray's body lay still and silent, his eyes closed and his face the calm that seemed to come over all people in death. At peace. He'd been a good smuggler once, with all the bravado and addiction to excitement that they'd all suffered from to one degree or another. And then the universe had worn him down. Beaten him until he was a third-class bounty hunter carrying bad debts and desperation. Han could have gone down the same path, becomes another Baasen Ray. That he hadn't was equal parts luck and perversity of character. He didn't really see how he could take credit for either one.