Honor Among Thieves

“Leia Organa?”

“That’s the one. Makes me wish I was ten years younger or a billion credits richer.”

Han gave the man a false smile through gritted teeth. The server droid offered him another drink, and he waved it off with a quick shake of his head. The two brown-robed delegates he’d noticed in the ballroom had been replaced by a knot of whispering Lannik, who kept their heads together and spoke in urgent tones too low for Han to hear the words. A few people were starting to take places at the tables scattered around the room, and Han suspected the speeches were soon going to begin.

“Everyone loves the Rebellion, though,” the smuggler said. “We pine for the glorious freedom of the Republic of old. And she can give a fine speech. I’m sure she’s gotten many offers of support and friendship. How many of them are going to hold up in an Imperial interrogation room? Not many. But we got six new contracts, and the Princess was a fine thing to look at while she speechified. And the dinners weren’t bad.”

“Yeah,” Han said. “That’s what I would have guessed. The glorious freedom of the Republic: meet the new tax collector, same as the old tax collector.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” the smuggler said and tapped his glass against Han’s.

THE HALL STRETCHED OUT as long as a flight hangar. The high, arching ceiling had been shaped from the same pale stone as the mountains and carved by alien hands into complex designs that made Han think of bird bones. A dirty yellow light filtered down through it. Tables of food and liquor for a dozen different species squatted along one side, filling the air with a dizzying rich stink guaranteed to have something to offend any nose. At the other side, a raised stage waited for a speaker. For Leia. All he could think was how little cover there was up there against blasterfire.

He’d expected the seating to be laid out in rows or concentric circles. What was the point in having a speaker if not to watch and listen? But the conclave hall was laid out in small, almost self-contained units. Chairs, tables, squatting couches for the physiognomies that didn’t get along well with chairs. Between that and the trio of Bith musicians covering the murmur of conversations with syncopated, reedy music, it felt more like a particularly posh cabaret. An old bronze-colored server droid clacked up beside him with a plate of grain crackers smeared with something green and algal-smelling and half a dozen unlabeled black bottles. Han shook his head. The droid squawked and shifted toward him.

“I said no,” Han growled.

The droid made an offended squeak and clanked off. Han plucked at the hem of his vest, straightening it. There were easily a dozen different species present, most in groups of their own kind. They were dressed in silks and formal robes, high-collared and conspicuously free of wrinkles. Han wasn’t the only one wearing a sidearm, but the others walking between the tables managed to make their weapons look ceremonial. The Rebel Alliance had a table near the foot of the little stage with half a dozen humans and one Mon Calamari. Scarlet Hark was sitting among them. She’d traded out her borrowed shirt, pants, and vest for a gown of startling red, and her hair was up in a loose, elegant bun held in place by lacquered sticks. She looked perfectly at ease. Han noticed that there wasn’t a chair at that table for him. Probably because he’d said he wouldn’t come. It seemed a little rude of them to take him at his word.

A Bothan man in pale brown robes that matched his pelt approached Han and wordlessly pressed an empty glass into his hand. The Bothan’s deep brown eyes seemed rich with gratitude and a kind of sympathetic sorrow. It wasn’t until he’d walked away that Han understood what had just happened.

“I’m not a waiter,” he called after the Bothan. “I don’t work here.”

“Thank you all for coming,” Leia said, and Han’s gaze shot to the stage. She was standing at the front of the little platform. She’d switched her gown for one with a dark cloak and sash that made her look as though she were in military dress without it actually being a uniform. The unpleasant yellow light that shouldered its way through the bonelike ceiling dimmed to a mellow gold. The musicians didn’t stop, but the music softened, fading into the background. Han stepped back, leaning against the wall. After a moment, he put the Bothan’s empty glass on the floor at his feet. A small droid no larger than an Erian table-ferret skittered by and scooped it up.

“I hope you’re all enjoying the food,” Leia said.

“Because a massive Imperial fleet may be descending on us at any second,” Han muttered, “and you may all be dead before you can digest it.”

“I wanted to take a moment and thank you all for coming to this conclave,” Leia continued. “It takes real courage to stand against the Empire, and that is something everyone in this hall shares. Each of us here is dedicated in our own way to fighting Imperial oppression.”

“So that you can avoid taxes,” Han muttered, “or run your own little religious cult, or just because you’re pissed off that you’re not the one sitting in Palpatine’s chair. And there’s an Imperial fleet I’m supposed to warn you about, which I’ll get to any minute now.”

“We have our differences,” Leia went on, smiling at the assembled room. “I’m not saying that we don’t. But after Alderaan, I think we can all see that the danger the Empire poses is too great for any of us to ignore. When the Rebel Alliance attacked and destroyed the Death Star, we weren’t acting out of vengeance, but to prevent the tyranny and terror that such a base represents. The tyranny and terror that would have been used to control every sentient being in this room.”

Leia’s smile was gone now, and she lifted her eyebrow.

“We’ve won our second major battle, but there are many, many more to come before the Empire’s power is broken. The truth is, we can’t do this alone. Unless we have friends who can support us, the Rebel Alliance will be defeated, and the next tool the Empire creates will go unopposed. And then everyone in this room and outside of it will have reason to mourn.”

“And, oh, by the way,” Han said under his breath. “Come on, Your Highness. Spit it out. Imperial fleet. Impending attack. You can do it.”

“Thank you all again for being here. It’s an act of courage, and I appreciate it from each and every one of you. And I look forward to talking about how we can all work together to make the galaxy a safer, freer place for everyone.”