Honor Among Thieves

“Red Wave, this is Pointer, come in Red Wave,” Leia said for the hundredth time. Han could hear the words echoing down the corridor from her station in the cockpit. Red Wave was the call sign for the escort wing Wedge Antilles was commanding, and so far they weren’t answering. That could mean a lot of things. Maybe they were out of range of a hyperwave relay, or having comm failures. It might mean they were too close to an Imperial listening post and were maintaining radio silence. It could mean they were dead.

Or it could mean they had jumped into the Seymarti system and been trapped by the Empire’s new hyperspace nullifier. Han tried to imagine being trapped in the same star system for his entire life and failed.

He headed to the lounge to get away from Leia’s pleading, but her voice followed him like the muttering of a ghost.

Scarlet and Chewbacca sat at the dejarik table with Baasen’s dim-witted Bothan thug and pilot. Scarlet was in the process of annihilating Sunnim’s side one piece at a time. Chewbacca watched and laughed at each new kill. The Bothan growled and counterattacked ineffectually. Within minutes his last piece was gone, and he stormed away from the table in a huff.

“You can try Chewie,” Han said, taking the Bothan’s place at the table. “He’s not bad.”

Scarlet laughed and turned off the board. “I like both my arms right where they are, thanks.”

Chewbacca cocked his head to one side and whimpered at her.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt me, sweetie,” she replied, patting the Wookiee’s huge arm. “Han and I are bantering. It’s what you do when you can’t have a grown-up conversation.”

“Hey,” Han said. “Are you saying I’m not a grown-up?”

“Is that what I was saying?” Scarlet bounced to her feet, gave Chewbacca one last pat, and wandered off toward the crew quarters, whistling.

Chewbacca growled and narrowed his eyes.

“I did not run her off.” Han leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head. “I think she’s worried Leia will catch the two of us together.”

Chewbacca bared his teeth in a Wookiee grin, then broke into a long, honking laugh.

“Laugh it up, but I know women. You didn’t see how Scarlet was at that ballroom back on Kiamurr. This thing will definitely be a problem. And soon. How are you doing on that shield generator?”

Chewbacca gave a massive shrug and howled.

“Yeah, I hear you. Let’s hope we don’t get shot anytime soon to test that. The Falcon’s been taking a beating lately, and at some point she’ll be more patch than ship. Probably just in time to really screw us up.”

Chewbacca glanced at something behind Han, and he turned in time to see Baasen wander into the lounge carrying a flask and four glasses in a wire mesh box. The Mirialan sat at their table with a friendly nod to Chewbacca and set down his bottle.

“Sunnim gone already, then?”

“Scarlet thumped him at dejarik and he left in a huff,” Han said. He picked the flask up and rotated it in his hands, but there was no marking on it. The metal felt cool to the touch, but not cold enough to have been refrigerated. A thin film of condensation had started to form on it.

“That,” Baasen said, taking the flask away from him, “is the last of a fantastic brandy I smuggled once. Been carrying it ever since, looking for an excuse. I want you to share it with me, Solo.”

“Wait, so while we were running around Kiamurr, you had a bottle secretly stashed down your pants?”

“Well, the universe is an unlikely place filled with unlikely people. Most things, I’m willing to lose, but there’s a few I keep near to hand. No pun intended.”

He took three of the glasses, set them on the table, then opened the flask with his teeth and poured. The smell of high-grade rocket fuel filled the air. He pushed one across the table with his steel-capped stump, but Han waved it off.

“Don’t need a drink.”

“Oh, boyo, you surely do,” Baasen said, then tossed off his own glass and gave Han a grin. The message was clear: It’s not poison. Chewbacca picked his glass up and sniffed at it, nose crinkling up with disgust.

Han sighed and raised his glass. “To your health.”

Baasen refilled his and tapped it against Han’s. “And to your own.”

They both drank. To Han’s surprise, the brandy was mild and vaguely sweet, while still strong enough to drop a charging bantha in its tracks. Chewbacca put his glass down without drinking and pushed his chair back, trying to get away from the smell.

“That’s not bad,” Han said as Baasen refilled his glass.

“Better than not bad, I’d say.” Baasen refilled his own, but didn’t drink right away. He just rotated the glass slowly on the tabletop, leaving a small moisture ring on one of the table’s black squares. “Solo, we needed to sit down, you and I, as men.”

“I’m listening.”

“We know this side of the law, and we know how a friend can become an enemy at the wrong word or the right price.”

Han nodded but said nothing. Chewbacca narrowed his eyes at Baasen, and his heavy shoulder muscles tensed.

“I won’t apologize for trying to take you to the Hutt,” Baasen said after a moment. “That was business, and I’d do it again if all things were the same.”

“Baasen, you’re making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside,” Han said. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well,” Baasen said, then paused to drain off his glass. “I want you to know where I stand. I’ve agreed to help find your magic whatsit, and I’ll stand by that. We’re allies now. But if it turns out to be wishful thinking and broken promises when we get there, I’ll have no choice but to fall back on my old intentions and deliver you to Jabba.”

“And I’ll have no choice but to try and shoot you first,” Han replied. Chewbacca was growling so low in his chest it was almost subsonic.

“I’d expect no less,” Baasen said. “But that’s understood. What I came to say was until that time comes, we’re allies, and you can count on my help. And Sunnim’s. He’s a bit dim, but he follows my lead.”

Han drank off his glass, then refilled it. “So we’re friends again right up until we find out this thing we’re chasing doesn’t actually exist, at which point we both immediately try to kill each other.”

“Aye.”

“Well, that’ll be quite the day.”