Han Solo leaned forward in the pilot’s seat of the Wayward Girl. “Entering atmosphere, Captain,” he said. He watched the system’s big, pale sun slip into the great curve of ruddy light at the world’s edge and disappear behind the planet’s limb. Bespin’s huge, dark nightside loomed up to blot out the stars. Han checked his sensors. “They say Bespin’s got some big flyin’—or should I say, floatin’—creatures in its atmosphere, so keep those forward shields at maximum strength.”
One-handed, his co-pilot made an adjustment. “What’s our ETA to Cloud City, Han?” she asked, a hint of strain in her voice.
“Not long now,” Han replied reassuringly, as the Girl sliced into the upper atmosphere, swooping over the planet’s dark pole, lightning far below making a flickering fog of dim light. “ETA twenty-six minutes. We ought to be in Cloud City in time to catch a late dinner.”
“The sooner the better,” she commented, grimacing as she flexed her right arm in its pressure-sling. “This thing itches like fury.”
“Just hang on, Jadonna,” Han said. “We’ll get you straight to the med-facility.”
She nodded. “Hey, Han, no complaints from me. You’ve done great. I’ll just be glad to get this arm into bacta.”
Han shook his head. “Ripped cartilage and ligaments … that’s gotta hurt,” he said. “But Cloud City’s sure to have adequate meds.”
She nodded. “Oh, they do. It’s quite a place, Han. You’ll see.”
Jadonna Veloz was a short, stocky, dark-skinned woman with long, straight black hair. Han had met her two days ago, after she’d advertised from Alderaan on the spacer-nets for a pilot to fly her ship to Bespin. Veloz’s arm had been injured when it was struck by a malfunctioning anti-grav loader, but, determined to meet her tight shipping deadline, she’d postponed real treatment until she delivered her cargo.
After paying Han’s passage from Corellia on a fast shuttle to Alderaan, he’d taken over as pilot, and brought them to Bespin right on schedule.
The Wayward Girl was through the wispy exosphere now, and plunging deeper, moving toward the evening twilight, blue sky building above them. Han altered course, heading southwest, toward where the setting sun must be. As they streaked along, the tops of the piled, puffy masses of clouds far below began taking on colors, deep crimson and coral, then yellow-orange.
Han Solo had his own reasons for needing a ride to Bespin. If it hadn’t been for Jadonna’s ad on the nets, he’d have had to dip into his rapidly dwindling stash of credits to buy passage for himself on a commercial vessel.
Veloz’s accident couldn’t have come at a better time, far as Han was concerned. With the credits she’d promised him, he’d be able to afford a cheap room and a few meals during the big sabacc tournament. The buy-in alone was a staggering ten thousand credits. Han had barely managed to scrape those credits together by fencing the small golden palador figurine he’d stolen from the Ylesian High Priest Teroenza, plus the dragon pearl he’d discovered in Admiral Greelanx’s office.
The Corellian wished for a moment that Chewie was here with him, but he’d had to leave the Wookiee behind in their little flat on Nar Shaddaa because he couldn’t afford to buy his passage.
They were deep into the atmosphere now, and Han could actually see Bespin’s sun, a squashed looking orange ball just clearing a massive bank of clouds. The Girl was surrounded by a golden glory of heaped clouds—as golden as Han Solo’s dreams of wealth.
Han was staking everything on this big gamble … and he’d always been lucky at sabacc. But would luck be enough to let him win? He’d be playing against professional gamblers like Lando.
The Corellian swallowed, then resolutely concentrated on his piloting. This was no time to get an attack of nerves. Han made another adjustment to the Girl’s approach vector, thinking that he ought to be within range of Cloud City traffic control any time now.
As if in answer to his thoughts, a voice spoke up from his comm. “Incoming vessel, please identify yourself.”
Jadonna Veloz reached left-handed to activate their comm. “Cloud City traffic control, this is the Wayward Girl out of Alderaan. Our approach vector is …” she glanced at Han’s instruments and reeled off a string of numbers.
“Wayward Girl, we confirm your vector. Cloud City is your destination?”
“That’s an affirmative, traffic control,” Jadonna said. Han grinned. From what he’d heard, Cloud City was about all there was to Bespin. There were the mining facilities, of course, and gas refining, storage and shipping facilities, but more than half of all incoming traffic was probably bound for the luxurious resort hotels. In the past few years, bored tourists had made the city in the clouds one of their favorite vacation playgrounds.
“Traffic control,” Jadonna continued, “we have a priority shipment for the Yarith Bespin kitchens. Nerf tenderloins in stasis. Request a landing vector.”
“Permission granted, Wayward Girl,” came the voice of the traffic controller. The controller’s voice took on a more informal note. “Nerf steaks, eh? I’ll have to take my wife out this week. She’s been wanting something fancy, and that’s a treat we don’t get too often.”
“These are prime cuts, traffic control,” Veloz said. “Hope the chef at the Yarith Bespin appreciates them.”
“Oh, he’s good,” the voice said, then the controller reverted to his official tones. “Wayward Girl, I have you slotted in at Level 65, Docking Bay 7A. Repeat. Level 65, 7A. Do you copy?”
“We copy, Cloud City Controller.”
“And your assigned landing vector is …” the voice hesitated, then gave them more coordinates.
Han punched them into the navicomputer, then they settled back to enjoy the ride. He found himself looking forward to seeing the fabled Cloud City. Bespin itself had already been famous, even before the resort was built. They mined tibanna gas here, which was used in starship engines, and in powering blasters.
Han wasn’t sure how they actually mined the gas, but he knew that tibanna gas was very valuable, so the miners must be doing well. Before it was discovered in Bespin’s atmosphere, tibanna gas had usually been found in stellar chromospheres and nebular clusters—which made harvesting it hazardous, to say the least. Then somebody had stumbled across the fact that Bespin’s atmosphere was loaded with it.
Picking up a sudden burst of electrical activity on his sensors, Han hastily changed course. “Hey—what’s that?” He pointed at the viewscreen. To their right now, was a monstrous, half-seen shape, drifting amid those incredible aurulent clouds. The thing was so large that it would have dwarfed many small Corellian cities.
Jadonna leaned forward. “That’s a beldon!” she exclaimed. “They’re really rare. In all the years I’ve been flying through these clouds, I’ve never seen one.”
Han squinted at the mammoth creature as the Girl streaked by it. The beldon resembled some of the gelatinous ocean creatures he’d seen on some worlds, with a huge, dome-like top, and many small feeding tentacles hanging down beneath it.
Han checked his landing vector. “Right on the credits, Captain,” he said. Behind them, the leviathan faded into the distance. Han saw another, smaller shape ahead of them that almost resembled an upside-down beldon, and realized it was Cloud City.
It hung in the clouds like some kind of exotic wineglass, topped with a jeweled crown of rounded towers, domed buildings, communication spires, and refinery stacks. In the last wash of sunset, it glowed like a corusca gem.
Staying on their approach vector, Han sent them skimming over the domed buildings of the cityscape in the clouds. Moments later, he brought the Girl down in a perfect landing on their assigned spot.
After receiving his pay, and saying farewell to Captain Veloz, Han went looking for a robo-hack to take him to the posh Yarith Bespin hotel, where the sabacc tournament was being held.
Moments later he was punching in his destination on a keypad, sending the little robo-hack zipping through the city streets, up and down levels, traveling at a pace that would have made most humans dizzy—especially when the little vehicle “hopped” low-lying buildings, giving Han a glimpse of the clouds surrounding them and the yawning depths below them. It was almost full night now, and the city sparkled like a lady’s open jewel box.
Minutes later the robo-hack pulled up before the Yarith Bespin. Han waved the luggage droid aside and walked through the massive entrance. He’d been in posh hotels before, while touring with his magician friend, Xaverri, so the opulent interior with its spidery, crisscrossing glidewalks that spanned the stories-high atrium didn’t phase him. He saw a sign reading “Tournament Registration” in at least 20 languages, and followed the arrow up the glide-lift to the mezzanine.
When he stepped off the floating walkway, he headed purposefully toward the large tables. The place was thronged with gamblers of all species, sizes and descriptions. Han registered, checked his blaster (all weapons had to be checked), received an ID badge, and a voucher that he’d cash in as he needed betting chips. The first game would start tomorrow at midday.
Just as he turned away from the registration area, chip voucher tucked securely into a pocket inside his shirt, next to his skin, Han heard a familiar voice.
“Han! Hey, Han! Over here!”
He turned and saw Lando Calrissian waving to him from across the mezzanine. Waving to show he’d heard, Han jogged over to the glidewalk and hopped aboard, even as Lando leaped aboard the one coming toward Han’s side of the enormous room.
When he’d last seen Lando, the gambler was heading off for action in the Oseon system. But he’d been talking about this tournament for months, so Han had been expecting to run into him here.
“Hey, Han!” Lando’s dark features broke into a wide grin as their respective glidewalks brought them face-to-face. “Long time no see, you old rascal!”
Han leaped nimbly across open air from his glidewalk to the one Lando was standing on. He’d barely landed before Calrissian grabbed him in a hug that would have done Chewbacca credit. “Good to see you, Lando!” he gasped, as Calrissian thumped him on the back one final time.
The friends stepped off the glidewalk back at the registration area, and stood there a moment, eyeing each other. Han studied his friend, realizing that Lando looked very prosperous—the gambling tables out in the Oseon must be loaded with easy marks. The gambler was wearing an expensive outfit made from Askajian fabric, the best in the galaxy. A new black and silver cape swung behind him, draped in the latest fashion.
Han smiled. The last time he’d seen Lando, the gambler had barely begun growing a mustache. Now his facial adornment was mature, though trimmed. It lent his features a rather piratical air. Han pointed at it. “I see you decided to keep the lip-fur.”
Lando stroked the mustache proudly. “Every woman I’ve met has been most complimentary,” he said. “I should have done it long ago.”
“Some people need all the help they can get,” Han teased. “It’s a shame you don’t have my way with the ladies, old pal.”
Lando snorted derisively.
Han looked around. “So … where’s your little red-eyed droid buddy? Don’t tell me you went and lost Vuffi Raa in a sabacc game?”
Lando shook his head. “Han, it’s a long story. To tell it properly, I need a tall glass of something refreshing in front of me.”
“Well, what’s the short version, then?” Han asked. “Don’t tell me the little guy got tired of calling you ‘Master’ and decided he could do better selling his Class Two abilities somewhere else?”
Lando shook his head, his expression suddenly serious. “Han, you’re not going to believe this, but Vuffi Raa decided to go back to his people and grow up. Fulfill his destiny.”
Han grimaced. “Huh? He’s a droid. What do you mean, destiny?”
“Vuffi Raa is … was … a baby starship. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. He comes from a … unique … species. Gigantic droid-ships that roam the stars. Sentient, but not biological, life-forms.”
Han stared at his friend. “Lando, you been sniffing ryll? You sound like you spent the whole day in the bar.”
Lando held up a hand. “It’s the truth, Han. You see, there was this evil sorcerer named Rokur Gepta, who turned out to be a Croke, and these vacuumbreathers, and a big fight in this huge Star Cave, and—”
“Cheater!” A deep, raspy voice shouted, startling the friends. “Get him! Don’t let him play! That’s Han Solo, and he cheats at sabacc!”
Han wheeled around to find an enraged Barabel female bearing down on him. The alien limped slightly from a stiff knee, but she was closing at a respectable clip, massive teeth bared. Barabels were huge, black reptiloids, and Han had only met a few of them in his travels. And only one female.
This female, as a matter of fact.
Han gulped and his hand went down to his blaster, only to slap impotently against his thigh. Damnation! He began backing up, holding up his hands placatingly. “Now, Shallamar …” he began.
Lando, always quick on the uptake, made sure he was nowhere near the Barabel’s approach vector. “Security!” he shouted. “We need security here! Somebody call security!”
The Barabel sputtered and hissed with rage. “He uses skifters! Cheats! Arrest him!”
Han backed up until he bumped into one of the registration tables, then, one-handed, he vaulted it. The Barabel’s teeth flashed. “Coward! Come out from behind there! Arrest him!”
“Now, Shallamar,” Han said. “I beat you fair and square that time. Holding grudges isn’t very sports-manlike.…”
With a bellow, she rushed him—
—only to stop and fall heavily to the floor as a tangle-field encased her feet. Shallamar thrashed, slapping the carpet with her tail, cursing and bellowing.
Han looked over at the hotel security forces, and drew a long breath of relief.
Ten minutes later, with the Barabel still under restraints, Han, Lando and Shallamar were in the security offices, facing the security chief. Shallamar was sulking, because the chief had sensor-scanned Han from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and the Corellian had proved to be absolutely free of any cheating devices.
Now the Barabel hunkered uncomfortably, her feet still restrained in the tangle-field, as the security chief warned her that any further displays would get her ejected from the competition. “… and I think you owe Solo here an apology,” the chief concluded.
Shallamar snarled … but softly. “I will not molest him further. You have my honor-word.”
“But—” the security chief started.
Han waved a hand at him. “Let’s not push it, sir. If Shallamar leaves me alone, that’s fine with me. I’m just glad to prove that I’m an honest player.”
The chief shrugged. “Whatever you say, Solo. Okay, you two are free to go.” He glanced at Han and Lando. “I’ll release the tangle-field and turn her loose in a couple of minutes.” He turned back to the Barabel. “And you, my lady, will be under surveillance. Please keep that in mind. We’re running a tournament here, not a free-for-all. Is that clear?”
“Clear,” she rasped.
Han and Lando left the office. Han didn’t say anything, but he knew Lando too well to think that his friend would let this pass. Sure enough, when they stepped onto the glidewalk leading to the cafe, Lando grinned broadly. “Han, Han … yet another old flame, eh? You’re so right … you certainly have a way with the ladies, you old rogue!”
Han bared his teeth in a snarl nearly as fearsome as Shallamar’s. “Shut up, Lando. Just … shut up.”
By then, Lando was laughing too hard to speak anyway …
It took the two friends several hours to catch up on events. Han heard the whole story of Lando’s adventures in the Oseon system. He discovered that since he’d last seen his friend, Lando had won and lost several fortunes, most recently a cargo of gemstones. “You should have seen them, Han,” Lando said, mournfully. “They were gorgeous. Filled half the Falcon’s cargo bay. If only I’d hung onto them, instead of using most of them to buy half of that dratted berubian mine!”
Han looked at his friend with mingled sympathy and exasperation. “Salted, right? Proved to be worthless.”
“You got it. How did you know?”
“I knew somebody once who ran that scam. Only it was a duralloy asteroid.” Han neglected to mention that he’d once lost out on a half-million-credit uranium mine that he’d won in a sabacc game. The mine had been genuine, but the books had been so cooked that he’d been lucky to escape prosecution when the stockholders began their investigation.…
But all that was in the past, and Han Solo made it a policy never to indulge in regrets over failed ventures.
“Speaking of the Falcon,” he said, “where’ve you got her docked?”
“Oh, she’s not here,” Lando said. “I left her back at the lot on Nar Shaddaa. Half the trick to winning big at the tables is being able to psych your opponents out, presenting yourself as someone who can afford to play big, win big and lose big. Makes bluffing much more effective.…”
“I’ll remember that,” Han said, filing away the advice. “So, how’d you get here?”
“I came in on one of those big luxury liners, the Queen of Empire,” Lando said. “Arrived in style. Not to mention that the ship’s casino is one of the finest I’ve encountered. The Queen and I go way back.”
Han smiled slyly. “I ran into Blue a few weeks ago, and she told me that you were traveling in style aboard that new ship of Drea Renthal’s. Renthal’s Vigilance, that Carrack-class picket ship she salvaged after the Battle of Nar Shaddaa.”
Lando cleared his throat. “Drea’s a great lady,” he said. “For a pirate, she’s surprisingly … refined.”
Han snickered. “Whoa, Lando! Isn’t she a little old for you? She’s gotta be at least forty! How’d you like bein’ a pirate queen’s favorite plaything?”
Lando bristled. “I wasn’t … She’s not …”
Han laughed. “Almost old enough to be your mother, huh?”
Lando’s teeth flashed beneath his mustache. “Hardly. And Han … my mother was nothing like Drea. Trust me.”
“So why’d you break up?” Han wanted to know.
“Life aboard a pirate vessel is … interesting,” Lando said. “But a little too … coarse … for my taste.”
Han, eyeing his friend’s dandified clothes, nodded. “I’ll bet.”
Lando sobered. “But, hey … Drea and I parted friends,” he added. “These last few months I needed … I was …” he shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, Drea came along at a good time. I was … Well, it was nice having the company.”
Han eyed his friend. “You mean you missed Vuffi Raa?”
“Well … how can you miss a droid? But … you know, Han, he was really a companion. There were times I didn’t even think of him as mechanical. I’d gotten used to having the little guy around, you know? So when the little vacuum cleaner went off with his kinfolk, I did find myself actually … missing him.”
Han thought about what it would be like to lose Chewie, and could only nod in silent agreement.
The two sat quietly for a moment, sipping their drinks, enjoying the companionship. Finally Han fought back a yawn, and stood up. “Gotta get some sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.”
“See you at the tables,” Lando said, and they parted.
Sabacc is an ancient game, dating back to the early days of the Old Republic. Of all the games of chance, sabacc is the most complex, the most unpredictable, the most thrilling—and the most heartbreaking.
The game is played with a deck of seventy-six card-chips. The value of any card-chip can alter throughout the game at random intervals, via electronic impulses transmitted by the “randomizer.” In less than a second, a winning hand can change to a “bomb out.”
There are four suits in the deck: sabers, staves, flasks and coins. Numbered cards range from positive one to positive eleven, and there are four cards of “rank:” the Commander, the Mistress, the Master and the Ace, with numerical values of positive twelve to fifteen.
Sixteen face cards complete the deck, two of each type, with assorted zero or negative values: the Idiot, the Queen of Air and Darkness, Endurance, Balance, Demise, Moderation, the Evil One and the Star.
There are two different pots. The first, the hand pot, is awarded to the winner of each hand. In order to win the hand pot, a player must have the highest card total that is less than or equal to twenty-three—either positive or negative. In case of a tie, positive card value beat negative card value.
The other pot, the sabacc pot, is the “game” pot, and can only be won in two ways—with a pure sabacc—that is, card-chips totaling exactly twenty-three, or an idiots array, consisting of one of the Idiot face cards, plus a two, and a three—literally, 23—of any suit.
In the center of the table is an interference field. As the rounds of bluffing and betting proceed, sabacc players can “freeze” the value of a card by placing it into the interference field.
The Cloud City Sabacc Tournament had attracted over one hundred high-rollers from worlds all over the galaxy. Rodians, Twi’leks, Sullustans, Bothans, Devaronians, humans … all these and more were represented at the gaming tables. The tournament would last for four intensive days of play. Each day, roughly half of the players would be eliminated. The number of tables would dwindle, until only one table remained, where the best of the best would compete during that last hand.
Stakes were high. Winners stood a good chance of walking away with two or three times the ten-thousand-credit buy-in—or even more.
Sabacc was not traditionally a spectator sport the way mag-ball or null-gee polo was, but, since only players were allowed in the tournament hall, the hotel had arranged a huge holo-projection lounge for those who wished to watch the tournament. Companions of players, hangers-on, eliminated players and other interested sentients wandered in and out of the lounge, keeping an eye on the tournament, silently rooting for his, her or its favorite to win.
There was a ranking list displayed beside the holo, IDing the players, and showing the progress of the play. On this, the second day of the tournament, about fifty players clustered around ten tables. The ranking beside their names showed that Han Solo had made it through the first day of play on luck and by the skin of his teeth. He’d lost the sabacc pot, but had won enough hand pots so that he was still a contender.
One of the onlookers in the lounge was rooting for Han to win, though the Corellian had no idea she was anywhere within parsecs of Bespin—and, if Bria Tharen had anything to say about it, he wouldn’t find out. In her years of working with the Corellian resistance, Bria had become an expert at disguise. Now her long, red-gold hair was hidden beneath a short black wig, her blue-green eyes covered by bio-lenses that turned them as dark as her hair. Carefully inserted padding in her elegant business outfit made her look voluptuous and muscled instead of slender and wiry. The only thing she couldn’t disguise was her height—and there were many tall human women.
She stood at the back of the lounge, watching the holo intently, hoping for another close-up of Han. Silently, she rejoiced that he’d made it this far. If only he’d win, she thought. Han deserves a big break. If he had a lot of credits, he wouldn’t have to risk his life as a smuggler.…
For a moment, the holo showed a close-up of Han’s table. Bria saw that his opponents today were a Sullustan, a Twi’lek, a Bothan and two humans, one male and one female. The woman was evidently from a heavy-gee planet, judging from the thick, corded muscles in her neck, and her short, stocky build.
Bria knew little about sabacc, but she knew Han Solo—even after being separated from him for seven years now, she knew him. She knew every line of his face, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, or narrowed when he was angry or suspicious. The shaggy tufts of his hair, perennially overdue for a haircut. She could still recall the shape of his hands, the fine hairs on the backs of them.…
Bria knew Han Solo so well that she realized she could still tell when he was bluffing … as he was at the moment.
Smiling confidently, Han leaned across the table to push another heap of chips into the center. Seeing the size of his bet, the Sullustan hesitated, then threw in her hand. The two humans also folded, but the Bothan was made of sterner stuff. He met Han’s bet, and then, ostentatiously, raised it by a goodly amount.
Bria’s expression didn’t change, but her hands curled into fists at her sides. Will he fold, or play the hand through and hope his bluff will work?
The Twi’lek pushed another card-chip into the interference field, and matched the bet.
All eyes turned to Han.
The Corellian grinned as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Bria could see his lips move as he issued some verbal challenge or wisecrack, then he pushed forward another stack of credit-chips … such a huge bet that Bria bit her lip. If he lost his hand, he’d bomb out. There was no way he could cover it!
The Bothan glanced from side to side, for the first time seeming uncertain. Finally, he tossed in his hand. The Twi’lek’s head-tails twitched with frustration and nerves.
Finally, slowly, the Twi’lek laid his hand down. Han’s grin broadened, and he reached forward to scoop up yet another hand pot. Did he genuinely have a winning hand, Bria wondered, or was I right? Was it all a bluff?
The Sullustan, her droopy jowls working, made a sudden grab for Han’s card-chips, but the dealer spoke up, clearly warning her against such an action. By now the dealer would have signaled for a change in the card-chip values, anyway.
Bria nodded emphatically at the holo. Great! Keep it up, Han! Beat them! Win!
Beside her, someone snarled, then spoke in raspy, hissing tones, “May all the Blights of Barabel curse that villain Solo! He wins again! He must be cheating!”
Bria glanced out of the corner of her eye and saw a huge Barabel female, obviously a very irritated Barabel. The corners of her mouth twitched. Han has such a way with people … what do you suppose he did to make her so mad?
Something rustled on Bria’s other side, and she turned to find her aide, a Corellian named Jace Paol, beside her. The man lowered his voice until even Bria could barely hear him, though his mouth was barely a handspan from her ear. “Commander, the representatives from Alderaan have arrived. They are on their way to the meeting site.”
Bria nodded. “I’ll be right up, Jace.”
As her aide left the lounge, Bria checked her expensive datapad (a dummy, she committed as little as possible of her real business to any readable form), smiled vaguely at the Barabel, and left the lounge. Time to get on with her mission here in Cloud City.
When she’d discovered that Cloud City would be hosting the big sabacc tournament, Bria had realized that this was the ideal location for a top-secret meeting between representatives of several of the rebellions. Resistance groups were growing by leaps and bounds on many Imperial worlds, and it was essential to establish links between them. But such meetings had to be kept clandestine. The Imps had spies everywhere.
Any intelligence operative knew that the easiest place to hide was in a crowd. And Cloud City was pretty far from the Imperial Core, so the Imps didn’t pay it much attention. A big tournament provided perfect cover. With so many ships coming and going, both alien and human, a few humans, a Sullustan and a Duros meeting in a hotel conference room on Cloud City would arouse little interest from anyone.
Bria wouldn’t admit even to herself that part of her reason for selecting Cloud City during the tournament was that she’d hoped to catch a glimpse of Han Solo. She couldn’t be sure he’d attend, of course, but knowing Han, when there was the chance of winning big, he was there, ready and eager.
As she rode the glidewalk to the nearest turbolift, Bria imagined removing her disguise, then going to Han’s room late that night. He would still have vivid memories of the last time he’d seen her, when she’d been posing as Moff Sarn Shild’s mistress, but surely he’d believe her when she explained—that she’d been spying for the Corellian resistance, and that there had been nothing between her and Shild.
So after she’d told him the truth about their last encounter, they would talk. Perhaps they’d sip some wine. After a while, they’d hold hands. And then …
The Rebel operative closed her eyes as the turbolift swept her upward amid the crystalline and pastel splendor of the Yarith Bespin’s fifty-story atrium. Perhaps, when she’d explained everything, Han would want to join the resistance, help his fellow Corellians as they plotted to free their planet from that tyrant Emperor who held so many worlds in a death-grip.
Perhaps.… Bria envisioned the two of them, doing battle shoulder to shoulder on land or in space, fighting bravely, covering each other’s backs during the battles, winning victories over the Imperial forces … then holding each other close when the day’s fighting was over.…
Bria couldn’t imagine anything better than that.
Feeling the turbolift decelerate, she sighed and opened her eyes. Fantasies were all very well … sometimes they were all that kept her going. But she couldn’t allow them to interfere with her mission.
As the turbolift doors slid open, she was ready. Moving with confident strides, she exited the lift and headed down the carpeted corridor.
When she reached the meeting room, she tapped out her coded signal, and was admitted. She glanced at Jace, and his nod confirmed that he’d checked the room for surveillance devices and found it safe. Only then did Bria turn to greet the other members of the conference.
The first representative to step forward was a typically mournful-faced, blue-skinned Duros, Jennsar So-Billes. He had come alone, as had Sian Tevv from Sullust. Bria greeted the two aliens warmly, thanking them and their respective groups for allowing them to make the dangerous journey—and it was dangerous. Just last month one of the high-ranking Rebel leaders from Tibrin had been captured while on his way to such a conference. The Ishi Tib was forced to suicide in order to avoid the Imp mind-probes.
Alderaan had sent three representatives, two human and one Caamasi. The senior member of the delegation was a middle-aged man with grizzled hair and beard, one Hric Dalhney, Deputy Minister of Security, and a trusted member of Viceroy Bail Organa’s cabinet. Accompanying him was a young girl, not even out of her teens, with long, crystal-white hair. Dalhney introduced her as “Winter,” commenting that they were posing as father and daughter as their “cover” during this trip. The non-human member of the delegation was a Caamasi. Bria was intrigued by him, never having met one before. Their species was now somewhat rare in the galaxy.
Caamas had been essentially destroyed after the Clone Wars, thanks to the efforts of the Emperors minion, Darth Vader, but it was a little-known fact that many of its people had managed to flee to Alderaan and lived there, mostly in seclusion.
The Caamasi’s name was Ylenic It’kla, and he introduced himself as an advisor to the Viceroy of Alderaan. Tall, even taller than Bria, the Caamasi wore a single kilt-like garment and jewelry. Generally humanoid in appearance, Ylenic was covered in golden down, with purple stripes marking his face. His eyes were large, dark and held a faint air of calm sadness that touched Bria, knowing what sufferings this being must have witnessed.
Ylenic said little as the delegates exchanged greetings, but something about him impressed Bria. She resolved to seek out his opinions if he did not offer them. The Caamasi had an air of quiet power, of confidence, that told the Rebel Commander that this was a being to be reckoned with.
After a few minutes of chitchat, Bria seated herself at the long table, and formally brought the meeting to order. “Fellow Rebels,” she said, speaking with the quiet authority of someone who had done this many times before, “I thank you for risking your lives in our cause. We of the Corellian Rebel movement are contacting other underground groups like our own, urging all the various Rebel groups to unite. Only as a strong, cohesive group can we have any hope of confronting the Empire that is strangling our worlds, and killing the spirit of our peoples.”
Bria took a deep breath. “I know what a daunting and dangerous proposal this is, believe me. But only if we can unite, form an alliance, can the Rebel groups have any hope of eventual victory. As long as we remain fragmented, planet-bound groups, we are doomed to failure.”
She paused. “The Corellian movement has long considered this proposal. We are fully aware what a radical change this would entail—and how difficult such an alliance would be. As long as we are individual groups, the Empire cannot wipe us all at one blow. If we were to unite, they might conceivably be able to destroy all of us in one battle. We also know how taxing it can be for different species to work together. Disparate ethical and moral systems, ideologies, religions—not to mention equipment and weapon design differences—all of these things can present problems.”
Bria faced her onlookers steadily. “But, my friends, unite we must. Somehow we must find ways to work around our differences. Surely we can do that … and that’s the subject of this conference.”
The Duros representative tapped his fingers on the table. “Your words are stirring, Commander. In spirit, I agree with them. But let us face facts here. In asking the non-human worlds to ally with you, you are asking us to put ourselves at far greater risk. Everyone knows the Emperor’s disdain for non-humans. If an alliance challenged Palpatine’s forces, and lost, the Emperor’s wrath would be mostly directed at the non-human worlds. He might well destroy us as a lesson to the human Rebels.”
Bria nodded. “Your point is well taken, Jennsar.” She glanced around the table. “Minister Dalhney, what are your thoughts?”
“We of Alderaan have supported the Rebel movement from the beginning,” the man said. “We have provided intelligence, funding, and technical expertise. But this talk of battles is anathema to us. Alderaanian culture is built on the absence of weapons and violence. We are a peaceful world, and the way of the warrior is abhorrent to us. Count on us to support your efforts—but I cannot imagine that we would ever be able to join you as combatants.”
Bria gazed at Dahlney somberly. “It is possible, Minister,” she said, “that Alderaan may not have the option to refrain from violence.” She turned to the little Sullustan. “Sian Tevv, what are your initial thoughts?”
“Commander, my people are so crushed beneath the heel of the Empire that few of them have the wherewithal to plot any kind of rebellion.” The little alien’s jowls quivered, and his dark, liquid eyes were sorrowful. “Though many complain about the Imperial troops under their breaths, only a handful of my people have ever dared to openly resist. Our caves are places of fear. The Soro Suub Corporation essentially controls my world, and their biggest client is the Empire. If we were to join a Rebel Alliance, it would cause civil war!”
Bria sighed. It’s going to be a long conference, she thought bleakly. “I recognize that all of you have valid concerns,” she said, keeping her voice level and neutral. “But it won’t hurt anything, or commit you to anything, simply to discuss these issues, right?”
After a moment, the delegates from the three worlds agreed to talk. Taking a deep breath, Bria started in.…
I can’t believe I’ve made it this far, Han thought wearily, as he eased himself into the seat at the one remaining sabacc table. It was night on the fourth day of the tournament, and only the finalists were left. If only my luck holds out a little longer …
Slowly he stretched the kinks out of his back, wishing he could sleep for about twenty hours. The past few days had been grueling … hours of unending play, with only a few breaks for meals or sleep.
The other finalists had also taken their places around the table. A diminutive Chadra-Fan, a Bothan male, and a Rodian female. Han wasn’t sure whether the Chadra-Fan was a male or a female. Both sexes wore the same long robes.
As Han glanced around at his fellow players, the last player, another human, sat down opposite Han in the last empty chair. Han groaned inwardly. Somehow I knew this would happen. What chance can I have against a professional like Lando?
Han was very conscious of the fact that he was probably the only “amateur” player at the table. It was a fair bet that the others, like Lando, made their primary living by winning at sabacc.
For a moment he was tempted to just call it quits, walk away. To lose now, after all these days of play …
Lando nodded tightly to his friend. Han nodded back.
The dealer approached. In most games of sabacc, the dealer actually played for credits, but in tournament games, the dealer only dealt the card-chips and monitored the game … he or she was prohibited from playing.
The dealer was a Bith. The alien’s large, five fingered hands featured both an opposable thumb and little finger, giving the dealer considerable dexterity as he dealt. The lights of the monstrous chandelier in the ballroom gleamed on the alien’s large, bare, cranium.
The dealer ostentatiously opened a fresh pack of card-chips and riffled them, then triggered the randomizer several times, thus demonstrating that nobody could predict the order the card-chips would be dealt. After this initial demonstration, the randomizer itself altered the values of the card-chips at random intervals.
Han looked over at Lando, and was cheered to note that his friend was showing signs of strain. Lando’s natty outfit was creased, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. His hair looked as though it hadn’t been combed all day.
Han knew he was no prize himself. He rubbed his hand blearily across his face, and only then realized he’d forgotten to shave. Stubble rasped his fingernails.
Forcing himself to sit up straight, Han picked up his first hand of card-chips.…
Three and a half hours later, the Bothan and the Rodian had been eliminated. They’d left without a backward glance. The Bothan male had “bombed out”—bet his entire trove of credit-chips on the game. When Lando took that hand, the alien had stalked away without a farewell. The Rodian female had folded, but she hadn’t bombed. Han figured that she’d decided to cut her losses and get out while she still had a profit. The stakes were getting very high. The sabacc pot alone contained nearly twenty thousand credits.
Han’s luck had held. He had enough credit-chips to cover any of the bets he’d seen tonight. Mentally, he added them up. If he folded now, he’d leave Bespin with twenty thousand credits, give or take a couple hundred. His eyesight was getting blurry, and the card-chips were hard to count when they were in stacks.
The Corellian considered. Twenty thousand was a lot of money. Almost enough to buy a ship of his own. Should he fold? Or should he stay in?
The Chadra-Fan raised the bet another five thousand. Han covered it. So did Lando, but it took nearly all his credit-chips.
Han assessed his hand. He had the card-chip for Endurance, which had the value of negative eight. Appropriate, Han thought. This battle is becoming one of endurance.… He also had the Ace of Staves, with a value of positive fifteen. And the six of flasks. Value, positive six.
Thirteen. He needed to take another card, and hope that he didn’t get a ranked card, which would put him out of the game. “I’ll take a card,” Han said.
The dealer tossed one down on the table. Han picked it up, saw with a sinking feeling that it was Demise, which was negative thirteen. Great! I’m farther away than ever!
And then the cards rippled and changed before his eyes.…
Han now had the Queen of Air and Darkness, with a value of negative two, plus the five of coins, the six of staves, and the Master of coins, with a value of fourteen. Total value … twenty-three. His heart leaped. Pure sabacc!
With this hand, he could take both the hand pot and the sabacc pot … to win the tournament.
There was only one hand that could beat him, and that was an idiot’s array.
Han took a deep breath, then pushed forward all but one of his stacks of credit-chips. For a moment he considered tossing all his cards into the interference field, but then his opponents would know for sure he wasn’t bluffing. He needed them to cover his bet if he was going to clean up.
Hold steady, he thought to his card-chips, willing the randomizer not to change the patterns. Honest randomizers truly were random. Sometimes they changed card-chip patterns multiple times per game. Other times, they did so only once or twice. Han figured the odds for his card-chips changing within the next three minutes—the average time for a round of betting with this many players—were about 50-50.
Han kept his features composed, his body relaxed, with an effort of will that was nearly painful. He had to make them think he might be bluffing!
On Hans right, the little Chadra-Fan’s huge ears flickered rapidly back and forth, then he (Han had learned that he was male during the hours of play) uttered the faintest of squeaks. Deliberately, precisely, the alien folded his card-chips and placed them on the table, then got up and walked away.
Han stared at his card-chips. Hold … hold! His pulse was hammering, and he hoped Lando couldn’t see it.
The professional gambler hesitated for a long second, then requested a card. Han’s blood rushed in his ears as, slowly and deliberately, Calrissian extended a hand, and placed a card-chip facedown into the interference field.
Han stiffened. He’d caught just a glimpse of the primary color of the card-chip reflected against the faint ionization of the field. Violet. If Han’s bleary eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, that meant the card-chip was the Idiot. The most vital card in the Idiot’s Array.
Han tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Lando is an expert at this, he thought. He could have put that card down in just that manner, knowing I’d see its telltale color, and guess that he’s holding the Idiot. But why? To bluff me? Scare me into folding? Or am I imagining things?
Han looked back up at his opponent. Lando was holding two cards in his hand now. The professional gambler smiled at his friend, then, quickly punching a notation onto a data-card, he pushed it and his few remaining credit-chips toward Han. “My marker,” he said, in his smoothest, most mellow tones. “Good for any ship on my lot. Your choice of my stock.”
The Bith turned to Han. “Is that acceptable to you, Solo?”
Han’s mouth was so dry he didn’t dare speak, but he nodded.
The Bith turned back to Lando. “Your marker is good.”
Lando was holding two cards plus the Idiot, which was safely in the interference field. Han fought the impulse to wipe his hand across his eyes. Could Lando see him sweating? Have to stay calm, think, Han ordered himself. Does he have the Idiot’s Array … or … is he bluffing?
There was only one way to find out.
Hold, hold, he ordered his hand, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed forward his last stack of chips. “I call,” he said. His voice emerged as a strained croak.
Lando stared at him across the table for an endless second, then the gambler smiled slightly. “Very well.” Slowly, he reached over and turned up the card in the Interference field.
The Idiot stared up at Han.
Moving deliberately, Lando took his next card-chip, and laid it down beside the Idiot, face up. The Two of Staves.
Han couldn’t breathe. I’m dead … I’ve lost everything.…
Lando turned over the last of his cards.
The Seven of Flasks.
Han stared unbelievingly at the losing hand, then, slowly, he raised his eyes to regard his friend. Lando smiled wryly and shrugged. “Gotta hand it to you, buddy,” the gambler said. “I thought I could bluff you.”
Lando was bluffing! The Corellian’s head whirled as it sank in. I won! I can’t believe it, but I won!
Slowly, deliberately, he laid down his card-chips. “Pure sabacc,” he said. “The sabacc pot is mine, too.”
The Bith nodded. “Captain Solo is our tournament winner, gentlebeings,” he said, speaking into the tiny amplifier attached to his collar. “Congratulations, Captain Solo!”
Dizzily, Han nodded at the Bith, then he noticed that Lando was leaning across the table, his hand out. Excitedly, Han reached over and wrung his friend’s hand. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “What a game!”
“You’re a better player than I ever gave you credit for being, old man,” Lando said genially. Han wondered how Lando could be so composed when he’d just lost so much, then he reflected that the gambler had probably won and lost fortunes before.
Han picked up the data-card that was Lando’s marker, and studied it. “So, what ship are you going to claim?” Lando asked. “I’ve got an almost new YT-2400 Corelli-systems light stock freighter that would be your best bet. Wait’ll you—”
“I’m taking the Falcon,” Han said, in a rush.
Lando’s eyebrows went up. “The Millennium Falcon?” he said, obviously dismayed. “Oh, no. Han, that’s my own personal vessel. That was never part of the deal.”
“You said any ship on your lot,” Han reminded him, levelly. Their eyes locked. “You said any of your stock. The Falcon’s sitting on your lot. I claim her.”
“But—” Lando’s mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed.
“Yeah, buddy?” Han said, letting an edge creep into his voice. “You gonna honor this marker, or what?”
Slowly, deliberately, Lando nodded. “Nobody can say I don’t honor my markers.” He drew a long breath, then let it out in an angry hiss. “All right then … the Falcon’s yours.”
Han grinned, then threw both arms up into the air and whirled around in an impromptu dance, giddy with joy. Wait’ll I tell Chewie! The Millennium Falcon is mine! At last! A ship of our own!