Han gave him an injured look. “Oh, come on,” he said, reaching up to cradle his mug with both hands. “You think I’d invite you all the way here just to shoot at you? We’re old buddies, remember?”
“Sure we are,” Dravis said, throwing Chewbacca an appraising glance as he sat down. “Or at least we used to be. But I hear you’ve gone respectable.”
Han shrugged eloquently. “Respectable’s such a vague word.
Dravis cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, well, then let’s be specific,” he said sardonically. “I hear you joined the Rebel Alliance, got made a general, married a former Alderaanian princess, and got yourself a set of twins on the way.”
Han waved a self-deprecating hand. “Actually, I resigned the general part a few months back.”
Dravis snorted. “Forgive me. So what’s all this about? Some kind of warning?”
Han frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent, Solo,” Dravis said, the banter gone from his tone. “New Republic replaces Empire-all fine and sweet and dandy, but you know as well as I do that it’s all the same to smugglers. So if this is an official invitation to cease and desist our business activities, let me laugh in your face and get out of here.” He started to get up. “It’s nothing like that,” Han told him. “As a matter of fact, I was hoping to hire you.”
Dravis froze, halfway up. “What?” he asked warily.
“You heard right,” Han said. “We’re looking to hire smugglers.”
Slowly, Dravis sat back down. “Is this something to do with your fight with the Empire?” he demanded. “Because if it is-”
“It isn’t,” Han assured him. “There’s a whole spiel that goes along with this, but what it boils down to is that the New Republic is short of cargo ships at the moment, not to mention experienced cargo ship pilots. If you’re looking to earn some quick and honest money, this would be a good time to do it.”
“Uh-huh.” Dravis leaned back in his chair, draping an arm over the seat back as he eyed Han suspiciously. “So what’s the catch?”
Han shook his head. “No catch. We need ships and pilots to get interstellar trade going again. You’ve got ‘em. That’s all there is to it.”
Dravis seemed to think it over. “So why work for you and your pittance directly?” he demanded. “Why can’t we just smuggle the stuff and make more per trip?”
“You could do that,” Han conceded. “But only if your customers had to pay the kind of tariffs that would make hiring smugglers worthwhile. In this case-” he smiled “-they won’t.”
Dravis glared at him. “Oh, come on, Solo. A brand-new government, hard-pressed like crazy for cash-and you want me to believe they won’t be piling tariffs on top of each other?”
“Believe anything you want,” Han said, letting his own tone go frosty. “Go ahead and try it, too. But when you’re convinced, give me a call.”
Dravis chewed at the inside of his cheek, his eyes never leaving Han’s. “You know, Solo,” he said thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t trust you. Well, maybe I was curious, too, to see what scam you were pulling. And I might be willing to believe you on this, at least enough to check it out myself. But I’ll tell you right up front that a lot of others in my group won’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve gone respectable, that’s why. Oh, don’t give me that hurt look-the simple fact is that you’ve been out of the business too long to even remember what it’s like. Profits are what drives a smuggler, Solo. Profits and excitement.”
“So what are you going to do instead, operate in the Imperial sectors?” Han countered, trying hard to remember all those lessons in diplomacy that Leia had given him.
Dravis shrugged. “It pays,” he said simply.
“For now, maybe,” Han reminded him. “But their territory’s been shrinking for five years straight, and it’s going to keep getting smaller. We’re just about evenly gunned now, you know, and our people are more motivated and a lot better trained than theirs.”
“Maybe.” Dravis cocked an eyebrow. “But maybe not. I hear rumors that there’s someone new in charge out there. Someone who’s been giving you a lot of trouble-like in the Obroa-skai system, for instance? I hear you lost an Elomin task force out there just a little while ago. Awfully sloppy, losing a whole task force like that.”
Han gritted his teeth. “Just remember that anybody who gives us trouble is going to give you trouble, too.” He leveled a finger at the other. “And if you think the New Republic is hungry for cash, think of how hungry the Empire must be right now.”
“It’s certainly an adventure,” Dravis agreed easily, getting to his feet. “Well, it really was nice seeing you again, Solo, but I gotta go. Say hi to your princess for me.”
Han sighed. “Just give your people our offer, okay?”
“Oh, I will. Might even be some who’ll take you up on it. You never can tell.”
Han nodded. It was, really, all he could have expected out of this meeting. “One other thing, Dravis. Who exactly is the big fish in the pond now that Jabba’s gone?”
Dravis eyed him thoughtfully. “Well . . . I guess it’s not really a secret,” he decided. “Mind you, there aren’t any really official numbers. But if I were betting, I’d put my money on Talon Karrde.”
Han frowned. He’d heard of Karrde, of course, but never with any hint that his organization was even in the top ten, let alone the one on top. Either Dravis was wrong, or Karrde was the type who believed in keeping a low profile. “Where can I find him?”
Dravis smiled slyly. “You’d like to know that, wouldn’t you? Maybe someday I’ll tell you.”
“Dravis-”
“Gotta go. See you around, Chewie.”
He started to turn; paused. “Oh, by the way. You might tell your pal over there that he’s got to be the worst excuse for a backup man I’ve ever seen. Just thought you’d like to know.” With another grin, he turned again and headed back into the crowd.
Han grimaced as he watched him go. Still, at least Dravis had been willing to turn his back on them as he left. Some of the other smugglers he’d contacted hadn’t even trusted him that far. Progress, sort of.
Beside him, Chewbacca growled something derogatory. “Well, what do you expect with Admiral Ackbar sitting on the Council?” Han shrugged. “The Calamarians were death on smugglers even before the war, and everyone knows it. Don’t worry, they’ll come around. Some of them, anyway. Dravis can blather all he wants about profit and excitement; but you offer them secure maintenance facilities, no Jabba-style skimming, and no one shooting at them, and they’ll get interested. Come on, let’s get going.”
He slid out of the booth and headed for the bar and the exit just visible beyond it. Halfway across, he stopped at one of the other booths and looked down at its lone occupant. “I’ve got a message for you,” he announced. “I’m supposed to tell you that you’re the worst excuse for a backup man that Dravis has ever seen.”
Wedge Antilles grinned up at him as he slid out from behind the table. “I thought that was the whole idea,” he said, running his fingers through his black hair.
“Yes, but Dravis didn’t.” Though privately, Han would be the first to admit that Dravis had a point. As far as he was concerned, the only times Wedge didn’t stick out like a lump on plate glass was when he was sitting in the cockpit of an X-wing blasting
TIE
fighters into dust. “So where’s Page, anyway?” he asked, glancing around.
“Right here, sir,” a quiet voice said at his shoulder.
Han turned. Beside them had appeared a medium-height, medium-build, totally nondescript-looking man. The kind of man no one would really notice; the kind who could blend invisibly into almost any surroundings.
Which had, again, been the whole idea. “You see anything suspicious?” Han asked him.
Page shook his head. “No backup troops; no weapons other than his blaster. This guy must have genuinely trusted you.”
“Yeah. Progress.” Han took one last look around. “Let’s get going. We’re going to be late enough back to Coruscant as it is. And I want to swing through the Obroa-skai system on the way.”
“That missing Elomin task force?” Wedge asked.
“Yeah,” Han said grimly. “I want to see if they’ve figured out what happened to it yet. And if we’re lucky, maybe get some idea of who did it to them.”
The fold-out table in his private office was set, the food was ready to serve, and Talon Karrde was just pouring the wine when the tap came on his door. As always, his timing was perfect. “Mara?” he called.
“Yes,” the young woman’s voice confirmed through the door. “You asked me to join you for dinner.”
“Yes. Please come in.”
The door slid open, and with her usual catlike grace Mara Jade walked into the room. “You didn’t say what-” her green eyes flicked to the elaborately set table “-this was all about,” she finished, her tone just noticeably different. The green eyes came back to him, cool and measuring.
“No, it’s not what you’re thinking,” Karrde assured her, motioning her to the chair opposite his. “This is a business meal-no more, no less.”
From behind his desk came a sound halfway between a cackle and a purr. “That’s right, Drang-a business meal,” Karrde said, turning toward the sound. “Come on, out with you.”
The vornskr peered out from around the edge of the desk, its front paws gripping the carpet, its muzzle close to the floor as if on the hunt. “I said out with you,” Karrde repeated firmly, pointing toward the open door behind Mara. “Come on, your dish has been set up in the kitchen. Sturm’s already there-chances are he’s eaten half your supper by now.”
Reluctantly, Drang slunk out from behind the desk, cackle/purring forlornly to himself as he padded toward the door. Don’t give me that poor-little-me act,” Karrde chided, picking a piece of braised bruallki from the serving dish. “Here-this should cheer you up.”
He tossed the food in the general direction of the doorway. Drang’s lethargy vanished in a single coiled-spring leap as he snagged the mouthful in midair. “There,” Karrde called after him. “Now go and enjoy your supper.”
The vornskr trotted out. “All right,” Karrde said, shifting his attention back to Mara. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me this was a business meal,” she said, her voice still a little cool as she slid into the seat across from his and surveyed the table. “It’s certainly the nicest business meal I’ve had in quite a while.”
“Well, that’s the point, really,” Karrde told her, sitting down himself and reaching over to the serving tray. “I think it’s occasionally good for us to remember that being a smuggler doesn’t necessarily require one to be a barbarian, too.”
“Ah,” she nodded, sipping at her wine. “And I’m sure most of your people are so very grateful for that reminder.”
Karrde smiled. So much, he thought, for the unusual setting and scenario throwing her off balance. He should have known that particular gambit wouldn’t work on someone like Mara. “It does often make for an interesting evening,” he agreed. “Particularly-” he eyed her “-when discussing a promotion.”
A flicker of surprise, almost too fast to see, crossed her face. “A promotion?” she echoed carefully.
“Yes,” he said, scooping a serving of bruallki onto her plate and setting it in front of her. “Yours, to be precise.”
The wary look was back in her eyes. “I’ve only been with the group for six months, you know.”
“Five and a half, actually,” he corrected her. “But time has never been as important to the universe as ability and results . . . and your ability and results have been quite impressive.”
She shrugged, her red-gold hair shimmering with the movement. “I’ve been lucky,” she said.
“Luck is certainly part of it,” he agreed. “On the other hand, I’ve found that what most people call luck is often little more than raw talent combined with the ability to make the most of opportunities.”
He turned back to the bruallki, dished some onto his own plate. “Then there’s your talent for starship piloting, your ability to both give and accept orders-” he smiled slightly, gesturing to the table “-and your ability to adapt to unusual and unexpected situations. All highly useful talents for a smuggler.”
He paused, but she remained silent. Evidently, somewhere in her past she’d also learned when not to ask questions. Another useful talent. “The bottom line, Mara, is that you’re simply too valuable to waste as a backup or even as a line operator,” he concluded. “What I’d like to do is to start grooming you toward eventually becoming my second in command.”
There was no chance of mistaking her surprise this time. The green eyes went momentarily wide, and then narrowed. “What exactly would my new duties consist of?” she asked.
“Traveling with me, mostly,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “Watching me set up new business, meeting with some of our long-term customers so that they can get to know you-that sort of thing.”
She was still suspicious-he could tell that from her eyes. Suspicious that the offer was a smoke screen to mask some more personal request or demand on his part. “You don’t have to answer now,” he told her. “Think about it, or talk to some of the others who’ve been with the organization longer.” He looked her straight in the eye. “They’ll tell you that I don’t lie to my people.”
Her lip twisted. “So I’ve heard,” she said, her voice going noncommittal again. “But bear in mind that if you give me that kind of authority, I am going to use it. There’s some revamping of the whole organizational structure-”
She broke off as the intercom on his desk warbled. “Yes?” Karrde called toward it.
“It’s Aves,” a voice said. “Thought you’d like to know we’ve got company: an Imperial Star Destroyer just made orbit.”
Karrde glanced at Mara as he got to his feet. “Any make on it yet?” he asked, dropping his napkin beside his plate and stepping around the desk to where he could see the screen.
“They’re not exactly broadcasting ID sigs these days,” Aves shook his head. “The lettering on the side is hard to read at this distance, but Torve’s best guess is that it’s the Chimaera.”
“Interesting,” Karrde murmured. Grand Admiral Thrawn himself. “Have they made any transmissions?”
“None that we’ve picked up-wait a minute. Looks like . . . yes-they’re launching a shuttle. Make that two shuttles. Projected landing point . . .” Aves frowned at something offscreen for a moment. “Projected landing point somewhere here in the forest.”