Honor Among Thieves

“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 assumed 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.