Honor Among Thieves

“Received, Ravenous. You guys have a nice day,” Han said, then laid in the course. Chewbacca bayed his disbelief.

“Yeah, I know. Star Destroyers directing traffic,” Han replied, bringing up the drive. “Welcome to the Empire.”

The Ravenous hadn’t been lying. The Falcon waited for two standard hours to get a landing assignment. To pass the time, Han checked the charge on his blaster, and Chewbacca stripped and cleaned his bowcaster. Han pulled on a long coat that covered his weapon. He knew that Cioran’s warm climate didn’t warrant a coat like that, but he figured it was better than wearing the blaster where everyone could see it.

“You know,” he said, pacing and twisting in front of his cabin’s mirror to make sure the blaster stayed hidden when he moved, “this is the heart of the Empire. I don’t know how many Wookiees with energy crossbows are going to be walking around. You might want to aim for subtle.”

Chewbacca growled, and Han put up his hands. “I’m just saying this isn’t our usual run-and-gun. We’re here to blend in. Move unnoticed.” Han turned suddenly, watching the swirl of the coat to make sure it didn’t open up too far. Chewbacca coughed out a laugh.

“Hey!” Han said, hurt in his voice. “I’ve blended! I can blend. And if I don’t—” He swatted at the coat, pushing it away and yanking out his blaster in a lightning-fast draw. “I’ll improvise.”

The docking bays on Cioran looked exactly like the docking bays on a hundred worlds Han Solo had seen during his travels, only clean. Unsettlingly clean. The same repair gantries and loading cranes. The same fuel tanks and repair droids and inspection clerks, but without the lived-in look. No fuel spills on the decking, no broken droids sparking in the corner, no grease spots on any of the inspectors’ uniforms. It felt vaguely funereal. Like a memorial to the idea of a docking bay.

A small, stout droid was waiting at the bottom of the crew ramp, ticking quietly to itself, a vaguely humanoid head on top of a square body sporting too many arms and sitting on rubber treads. When it saw Han, it perked up with a lurch.

“I am R-Four-Two-Seven,” it said in an annoying chirpy voice. “The Cioran Port Authority and the Trajenni Dock Management Collective welcome you to Cioran!”

“Thanks,” Han said, and tried to walk past it. The rubber treads whirred to life, and it darted in front of him.

“The Trajenni Dock Management Collective hopes we can be of service to you during your stay on Cioran!”

“Great,” Han said. “I don’t really need—”

“May I assist you with your bags?” R-427 continued, undeterred. “Or perhaps you would like a licensed Trajenni Dock Management Collective repair droid to look over your ship? Our refueling services are available at extremely competitive rates, and—”

Chewbacca growled and walked toward the droid. It backed up.

“We’ll let you know if we need anything,” Han said with a smile and a wave of dismissal. Chewbacca continued to advance on the droid until it finally spun around on its treads and sped toward the door.

“The Trajenni Dock Management Collective welcomes you to Cioran and hopes you enjoy your stay!” the droid shouted as it fled, its last words almost inaudible.

Chewbacca chuffed out a quiet laugh as it disappeared around a corner.

“The drop’s someplace called Staton Park,” Han said, walking to the dock’s street exit. Chewbacca followed with a low grumble. “Yeah, I don’t know why we aren’t meeting in a bar, either. There’s a way you do these things. Sometimes it seems like we’re the only professionals left.”

The exit led out to a wide pedestrian walkway with air traffic flying thick overhead. The speeders, landing ships, and personal speeder bikes moved in crisp lines that exactly matched the ground-level roadways. Imperial craft kept a watchful eye on the procession of vehicles, prominent laser cannons a visible warning against violating the traffic rules.

“It’s all very … orderly, isn’t it,” Han said, looking up with a sigh.

The Core reminded Han why he’d fled to the backwater planets on the edge of the galaxy in the first place. The massive walls of steel and glass that rose on both sides felt like a cage. He wanted to tell himself that this was what Imperial control looked like: order enforced at the end of a blaster. But any government was going to have traffic laws. Before the Emperor, the Republic had enforced its edicts at the lasersharp edge of a Jedi’s lightsaber. It was the way the universe worked. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Let’s get a drink.”

Even the bars stank of Imperial order. The gleaming chrome tabletops and uncomfortable chairs didn’t allow for much lounging or relaxation. A dozen patrons sat quietly at their tables drinking heavily and unenthusiastically. A few of them stared at Chewbacca when they came in, but no one challenged them. A small knot of men and women who looked like off-duty soldiers occupied one corner, their heads hunched close together, talking in whispers.

He found a table at the corner farthest from the Imperials and put his back to the wall. Chewbacca sat next to him, staring at the tabletop and rumbling quietly to himself.

Han caught the attention of a chrome-and-gold protocol droid standing behind the bar, pointed at a bottle of Corellian brandy, held up two fingers, and pointed at his own table. A few seconds later they had their drinks and Han flipped a coin to the droid, who caught it out of the air without a word.

Chewie growled softly at the droid’s retreating back.

“I hear you, brother. Not my kind of place, either,” Han said, then took a long swallow. “Booze isn’t bad. You see anyone following us?”

Chewbacca barked and lifted his chin.

“Me neither,” Han said. “So that’s a decent start.”

He pulled the disposable datapad Leia had given him out of his pocket and laid it on the table. It connected to the local network, updating its information with the most recent publicly available data and cross-checking it with what little the Rebel Alliance knew. Maps of the city flashed by in rapid succession, laying out the route from their current location to the park. Danger spots were marked in red: known trooper posts, Imperial government buildings, cams.

“Not going to be easy,” Han said. The dead drop location was a memorial to some Imperial bigwig at the center of the park. Security droids wandered the park day and night, looking for malfeasance. Imperial troops patrolled the streets and skies, and possibly the park, as well. Observation posts dotted the city at intervals as regular as grid markers.