Honor Among Thieves (Page 9)

“What flight path?” Baasen asked.

“Commercial five,” Garet said. “It was the best I could do. They could have gotten us commercial two, but it would have meant another hour.”

“Commercial two is much better, though,” Han said. “I don’t mind waiting.”

Baasen sighed and hauled himself to his feet. He looked old. Worse than that, he looked mean. There had been a joy in him once, and the universe had pressed it all out of him until this was left. In other circumstances, Han might have felt a little sorry for him.

“Get the cell ready,” Baasen said. Garet nodded. The door opened, then closed behind him. “Time to go, old friend.”

“There’s another way,” Han said. “Rebellion has a fair amount of money in it, one way and another. I have some friends in very, very high places. And this isn’t a mission they want to see fail. Talk to the right people, they’ll match Jabba’s price. Maybe beat it.”

Simm looked to Baasen, and the expression on the tough’s face told Han it wasn’t the first time that idea had been brought up. Baasen shook his head. Another engine roared and faded.

“Pretty thought, but it can’t happen.”

“Why not? You were never one to leave money on the table.”

“Well, you see, I’ve already taken payment from Jabba. Not the full amount. A third, say. And most of that’s spent, so even if I wanted to—”

“Wait,” Han said, and for a moment, the blasters and ship and Empire faded to the back of his mind. “You spent Jabba’s money while we’ve been sitting in here? How does that work?”

“Not while we were here, no. Before. Getting ready.”

“Jabba paid in advance?”

“Well,” Baasen said, “I might have given the impression that you were a bird in hand. There was some overhead needed paying for. Anyway, no harm’s done. Present company excepted.”

Han’s jaw opened a centimeter in real shock. Everything else was forgotten for the moment. He looked at Baasen again, and it was like seeing him for the first time. The redness in his eyes, the angry set of his softening jowls under his facial tattoos. The Baasen Ray he’d known before wouldn’t have lied to the Hutt about having merchandise. And he would never have taken money for it.

Han laughed. “You’re an idiot. Didn’t you see what happened to me? I dropped cargo because we were about to get caught, and my life’s been three kinds of hell for it. And you thought you’d scam a Hutt?”

“It was a risk,” Baasen said. “Calculated, but it paid off. And, all respect, but you’re going to be five nights of unpleasant floor show at Jabba’s place before you’re food for a sarlacc. So I think the time for Captain Han Solo to be lecturing me’s pretty near its end.”

“Simm,” Han said. “Did you know he was crossing Jabba?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Simm said.

“Then you are as stupid as he is. Maybe worse, because you let him call the shots. Oh, I know, he plays the friendly, world-weary part pretty well. But he’s tying you to a cherfer and lighting its tail on fire.”

“Not your business how I run my crew,” Baasen said. “Not anymore.”

“Simm,” Han said, “if you get me to a communications array that can reach the Rim, I will see that you get enough money to retire for the rest of your life.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Baasen snapped. Dark blooms appeared on his yellow-green cheeks. “If you talk to anyone, you talk to me, and you don’t talk to me. You just march yourself to the ship. I’ve been kind not to break you. Jabba don’t care if you still got knees when you reach him. So don’t—”

“Really, Simm? Are you listening to this? Is this the kind of brilliant business acumen that says long-term career to—”

Baasen’s blaster muzzle poked Han’s throat. The Mirialan’s face was a deep and unhealthy green. The avuncular mask was gone, and all that was left was an angry smuggler, past his prime, over his head, stinking of desperation. And dangerous beyond words. Han swallowed and hoped Baasen remembered what they’d said earlier about blasterfire bringing down the stormtroopers.

“My crew is my crew,” Baasen said. “You say aught against me to them … well, that’s being insulting. You didn’t want to insult me, did you now?”

“I didn’t,” Han said.

Baasen smiled cruelly, stepped back, and lowered his blaster.

“What I really wanted was for both of you to keep looking at me,” Han said as Chewbacca rose up behind Simm like a mountain made of long brown fur and rage.

“OH” WAS ALL SIMM had time to say before Chewbacca threw him across the room. The thug went headlong through a pile of crates and disappeared in the collapse. His blaster spun across the floor, stopping a few strides from Han and Baasen.

They looked down at it, then back up at each other at the same moment. Han knew Baasen was reading his face as he calculated his odds of reaching it before the Mirialan shot him. Baasen’s hard half grin dared him to try. Neither of them moved until Chewbacca grabbed Garet and lifted him off the ground by the forearms.

Chewbacca’s growls were almost drowned out by Garet’s panicked shrieks. Baasen kept his blaster aimed at Han’s face. “I’ll shoot him, Chewbacca. Don’t test me.”

“Chewie is saying he’ll tear your friend’s arms off if you do, and he’d love for you to test him,” Han replied. They stared at each other for another long, tense moment.

The door to the bay snapped open, and an Imperial officer walked in holding a datapad. “I just need to check one—” He stopped when he looked up and saw the scene. His face went white. Han could see the realization that none of them was walking away from this play across Baasen’s face.

“Well, blast,” the older smuggler said, and his shoulders dropped. Chewbacca roared and threw Garet at the officer. The mercenary flew across the room like a rag doll and slammed into the Imperial with a meaty thud. Both men went down in a heap. Baasen turned toward the Wookiee, raising his blaster, but Han launched himself in a full-body tackle that took them both to the ground and sent Baasen’s blaster sliding across the floor. Baasen slammed a knee into Han’s stomach, knocking the air out of him, and pushed him away. The old smuggler started crawling across the floor to the blaster he’d dropped, and Han rolled toward Simm’s weapon as fast as he could.