When Han flew Jabba back to Nar Shaddaa following the big Hutt conference (Jiliac had decided to stay on Nal Hutta for the length of her confinement) he immediately sought out Lando Calrissian.

During his trip to Nal Hutta, Chewbacca had been continuing the young gambler’s piloting lessons, and Han was encouraged at his new friend’s progress. “You’re coming right along, old buddy,” he said as Lando, his mouth tight with concentration, executed a perfect landing. The ship settled into the Millennium Falcon’s assigned berth with nary a wobble. “Another week, and you’ll be ready to solo.”

Lando glanced up at Han, his dark eyes very serious. “I think I’m ready now, Han. Fact is, I’ve got to be ready now. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’ve heard there’s some good gambling and pleasure worlds out in the Oseonian system, and I’m heading out to see for myself. Or maybe I’ll hit the Corporate Sector.”

“Lando, that’s clean out of Imperial space!” Han exclaimed. “You’re not ready to navigate this ship that far! Especially flying alone!”

“Want to come with me?” Lando offered.

Han thought about it, and for a moment was tempted. But he’d given his word to Xaverri, and … he shook his head. “Can’t, Lando. I’m signing on with Xaverri to work for her during this next tour. I promised her, and she’s counting on me.”

“Not to mention that she’s a lot prettier than I am,” Lando added dryly.

Han grinned. “Well … there is that.” He sobered. “Just wait a couple more days, Lando. Trust me, pal, you’re not ready yet to go that far, especially with no copilot.” Inwardly he was thinking, I’m losing the Falcon … what if I never see her again?

“Chewbacca here has been giving me good lessons,” the gambler insisted. “He’s barely had to touch the controls the last couple of times I’ve taken us out.”

“But—” Han began.

“No buts,” Lando said. “I’m living on borrowed time here on Nar Shaddaa, Han—and so are you. Boba Fett isn’t one to forgive and forget. I’m making myself scarce for at least six months. When does Xaverri leave?”

“Next week,” Han said. “Her engagement was held over another week. By popular demand.”

“Have you told Jabba that you’re leaving?”

“Yeah, I did. He wasn’t happy about it.”

Chewie interjected a comment.

“Hey, Jabba was born cranky,” Han said defensively. “He’s one of the orneriest Hutts I’ve met—and that’s sayin’ something.”

“Did you tell him why you’ve got to leave?”

“Yeah, I did. That was the only thing that calmed him down. I think even Jabba might be a little nervous if he knew Boba Fett was gunning for him.”

“Well … if I were you, I’d get out of here as soon as you can,” Lando said. “And until you’re off Nar Shaddaa, you’d better watch your back.”

Nothing Han said could change Lando’s decision. It was with a heavy heart that he stood on the landing platform the next morning and watched the Falcon take off. The freighter wobbled slightly as she went soaring into the sky. Han shook his head. “Use your stabilizers!” he said, aloud.

He’s not ready, he thought dejectedly. I’ll probably never see the Falcon—or Lando—again.

Bria Tharen sat at her desk at the largest Imperial military base on Corellia, watching the screen of her datapad as she updated the food requisition lists for all troops stationed in the Corellian system. Her reddish-gold hair, which had grown into a long, curly mane during the past five years, was swept up in a smart, businesslike style, and she wore a crisp civilian support staff uniform—black jacket and skirt, with black boots. The unrelieved black set off her pale skin and exquisite bone structure.

Her blue-green eyes narrowed as she studied the screens of data. The Empire was definitely building up strength in this sector. Did that mean the Imperial commanders were anticipating some kind of rebellion here in the Corellian system?

She found herself wondering how long her group could manage to hold off the Empire if it attacked in force. Two days? A week?

In the end, they’d all be slaughtered, she knew that. Their small group of rebels was growing every month, as the people of her world grew restive at being ground beneath Palpatine’s relentless heel. But there was no way they were ready yet to take on the Imperial forces.

From a very small beginning, though, they’d made good progress over the past three years. Their movement had started with barely a score of unhappy dissidents gathering for clandestine meetings in cellars, and had grown by leaps and bounds, until they now had cells in most of the major cities on the planet. Bria had no idea how many rebels there were on Corellia, but it had to be several thousand.

The reason she had no idea how many rebels were on Corellia was that it was not necessary for her to know. Even though she was fairly high-ranking in the rebel hierarchy, she was not part of personnel or recruitment. Information about the rebel groups on her world was doled out sparingly. Only one or two commanders knew the whole picture. Individual members were informed strictly on a “need to know” basis. The less they knew, the less they could be forced to reveal under torture.

Bria’s current assignment was in intelligence. She didn’t particularly like spying, but she was good at it. She preferred her old job, though, that of making contact with rebel groups on other worlds. It was obvious to her that if the rebels were to really oppose the Empire, they’d have to unite.

But, so far, they’d barely begun reaching out to other groups. Communication was monitored, travel was restricted—it was so difficult to maintain links between groups on different planets. As fast as their rebel group devised codes, the Imperials broke them.

Just last month one cell of rebels had been raided during a meeting on the eastern continent. They’d disappeared as completely as though a krayt dragon had opened its mouth and swallowed them whole. Bria thought that she’d much prefer to be gobbled alive by a monster than caught by the Emperor’s security forces …

Her friend Lanah had been one of those taken. Bria knew she’d never see her again.

Bria was worried that her entire homeworld would wind up as a police state. Corellia had always been an independent world, a proud world that governed itself. So far, the Emperor had not appointed an Imperial governor to usurp all power on Corellia. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t someday. The Empire did not allow pride or independence in the worlds it claimed.

One of the reasons for Palpatine’s not overtly taking over the Corellian government was that Corellia had such a large human population. The Empire made no secret of the fact that it regarded nonhuman species as inferior, incapable of governing themselves.

Two alien species shared the Corellian system worlds with their human inhabitants, the Selonians and the Drall. If Corellia had been inhabited solely by those nonhuman sentients, they’d have been a much more inviting target for repression—possibly even being declared a slave-labor planet. Look at what had happened to Kashyyyk. The proud Wookiees captured and led away in binders and shackles …

Bria’s fingers tightened on the edge of her desk. She hated the Empire, but even more than the Empire, she hated slavery. Having been a slave on Ylesia (though at the time she’d called herself a “pilgrim”), Bria was determined to do everything she could to destroy the Empire that allowed slavery, that used and owned beings.

When that task was done, she would devote whatever remained of her life to freeing every slave in the galaxy.

Her lovely mouth turned down at the corners as she thought about the raid six months ago that she’d led on Ylesia. She and her rebel friends had managed to rescue ninety-seven slaves, mostly Corellians, and bring them back to their homeworlds and their families.

Within the next month, fifty-three of those freed slaves had run away and boarded ships to return to Ylesia.

In a way, Bria couldn’t blame them. Living without the Exultation was difficult. It had taken her years to overcome her craving for the feel-good rush of euphoria the t’landa Til priests could project.

But forty-four of the freed slaves are still free, Bria reminded herself fiercely. And just yesterday Rion told me that one of the women had sent him a message, thanking him for returning her to her husband and children …

Rion was Bria’s main link to rebel command now that she’d taken this new position at Imperial headquarters. It was Rion to whom she reported every scrap of information she could glean. He took the information that Bria could gather or construe, then relayed it to the leaders of the Corellian underground rebel group.

Bria hoped that soon she’d have more than bureaucratic lists of supply requisition orders to relay to her group. Ever since she’d taken this job last month, she’d been careful to wear the most flattering hairstyles and makeup, hoping that her looks would bring her to the attention of a high-ranking Imperial officer.

Her efforts were paying off, too. Just yesterday Admiral Trefaren had stopped by her desk to ask her if she would accompany him to a reception that was being held by the Corellian government for the high-ranking Imperial officers. Several Sector Moffs were supposed to attend. It would be quite a gala evening, he’d assured her.

Bria had lowered her eyelids coyly, blushed attractively, and breathed a halting, girlish “yes.” The Admiral had beamed at her, the deep lines that ran vertically down his sallow cheeks appearing even more like canyons in the desert, and told her he’d pick her up in his chauffeured speeder. Then he’d reached out and touched one of her curls, letting it wind around his finger. “And, my dear,” he’d added, “wear something that will set off your beauty. I want the other officers to be jealous of the golden treasure I’ve discovered.”

Bria hadn’t had to feign her inarticulate response—which had only charmed him further!—because she’d been too angry to speak clearly. The old lecher! she thought disgustedly, resolving not to forget to strap her dainty little vibroblade to her upper thigh … just in case.

But usually, men of his age were more talk than action. What they mostly wanted, as the admiral had frankly admitted, was for other men to admire them—and any attractive young woman they’d managed to snare with their power and wealth.

Admiral Trefaren might be our key to learn more about these new Imperial weapons and ships we’ve heard rumors of, Bria thought.

So, when the evening of the reception came, she’d don a lovely, elegant gown (she’d grown up the daughter of a rich man, and knew how to dress for maximum effect), style her hair, tastefully paint her face, and spend the evening smiling warmly at Admiral Trefaren. She’d dance with him, give him admiring glances, and keep her ears open for every scrap of information.

And, just in case she needed help in fending off his advances, Bria already had a tiny drop of a substance she planned to wear beneath one manicured fingernail. All she had to do was touch the tip of her fingernail to the surface of his drink of choice, toward the end of the evening, and the old vrelt would swiftly become so pleasantly tired, sleepy, and drunk that she’d have no trouble dealing with him.

Bria could use that vibroblade, and use it well, but she had no intention of doing so. Vibroblades were for amateurs. She was an expert at not needing them.

For a moment she missed her battle fatigues, the weight of her blaster strapped to her thigh. She’d much prefer leading another armed raid against the Ylesian Hutts, or the Imperial slavers (who were even worse than the Hutts), than she did the prospect of playing tabaga-and-vrelt all evening with Admiral Trefaren and his Imperial cronies.

She’d turned over her blaster to Rion when she’d taken on this assignment. It wasn’t improbable that Admiral Trefaren would have her apartment searched as part of the background check he’d get his minions to perform, to ensure that she was “safe” for him to be seen with. Bria always kept the vibroblade with her, so she wasn’t worried about searchers finding it.

At least she knew her IDs would stand up to most security checks. Six years ago she’d learned all about establishing new identities from an expert. Han Solo had taught her much more than just how to fire a blaster effectively.

Her lips curved in a soft smile as she indulged herself in a moment of nostalgia for those days. She and Han had been on the run together, living on the edge, never knowing what would happen next.

Those had been the happiest days of her life, she realized now. It had been worth every tense moment, every jolt of fear, every mad chase, every terrified escape, every blaster bolt she’d had to duck to be with him … to be free to love him.

And she loved him still.

Seeing him on Devaron a year ago had brought it all back to her so vividly. After years of denial, Bria had had to admit the truth to herself. Han Solo was the man she loved, would always love.

But they couldn’t be together. She’d had to accept that. Han was a con man, a rogue, an outlaw who was out for himself. Bria knew he’d loved her deeply—he’d even asked her to marry him—but Han wasn’t the kind of man to forsake everything for a philosophical ideal.

During the months they’d spent together, Bria had sensed that someday he might have the potential to embrace a cause, give himself to a goal. But it would have to be a cause that he’d chosen for himself, in his own time. Bria knew she couldn’t expect him to adopt her cause.

She wondered what he was doing right now. Was he happy? Was he with somebody? Did he have friends? When she’d seen him on Devaron, he’d been wearing typically scruffy spacefarer’s garb—not an Imperial uniform.

But she’d heard he’d graduated from the Academy with honors. What could have happened to end his career?

On one hand, Bria was sorry that the dream he’d pursued so single-mindedly had obviously come to a crashing end, but on the other, she was glad to discover that Han was no longer an Imperial officer. It had tortured her to think that someday they might come face-to-face in battle, or, even worse, that she might give the order to fire on an Imperial ship and cause his death, all unknowing. At least she didn’t have to worry about that possibility anymore.

I wonder if I’ll ever see him again … she thought. Maybe … maybe when this is all over, when the Empire is no more …

Bria gave herself a mental shake, and told herself to get back to business. The Empire was firmly entrenched. Rooting it out would require many years, and the sacrifice of countless lives. She couldn’t let herself think about what might happen in the dim, distant future. She had to concentrate on the here and now.

Resolutely, she activated her datapad again, and went back to work.

At the same moment as Bria Tharen was wondering about him, Han Solo was not thinking about her. He was, however, feeling more wounded by a woman than he had at any time since Bria Tharen had left him.

He sat on the edge of the bed in a hotel room on Velga, a luxury moon where the wealthy came to be entertained and play games of chance, scowling and reading Xaverri’s message on his datapad. It said:

Blast! Han thought, not sure whether what he was feeling was anger or profound regret—some mixture of both, he guessed. Why does this always happen to me?

For a moment he remembered the anguish that had engulfed him when Bria had left him with just a good-bye note, then he wrenched his mind away from that memory. That was a long time ago. I’m not a kid anymore …

He realized that he’d have to book commercial flights back to Nar Shaddaa for himself and Chewie. But that wouldn’t eat into his savings too much, especially in light of Xaverri’s bonus. She paid well, though she had high expectations.

During the past six months, they’d been more like business partners than employee and employer. Every time they’d pulled a successful scam on some puffed-up Imperial officer, or some smug, complacent Imperial bureaucrat, Xaverri had shared the proceeds equally with Han and Chewie.

Han’s mouth curved into a reminiscent smile. They’d had some exciting times. With all the experience he’d had conning civilians while part of Garris Shrike’s “family,” Han had thought he had little to learn about the art of scamming people. But a month with Xaverri had convinced him that compared to her, Garris Shrike had been a clumsy, mendacious amateur.

Xaverri’s schemes had ranged from elegantly simple to fiendishly complex. She seldom pulled exactly the same scam twice. Instead she tailored each caper to the mark, frequently using her skills as an illusionist to trick the pompous Imperials she preyed upon.

There had been that time they’d conned the Assistant Secretary to the D’Aelgoth Sector Moff out of most of his life savings—and put him under suspicion of committing treason to the Empire. Han’s smile broadened into a grin. The guy was a venal jerk—sooner or later he would’ve betrayed the Empire anyhow.

Not that all their scams had been successful. Two had fizzled out, and one had blown up in their faces, forcing them to run from the planetary officials until Chewbacca had been able to locate them and pick them up.

Han would never forget that escape—running, dodging, pursued through the countryside by tracer droids and the local version of canoid-hounds. The only way they’d been able to hide their scent was to spend the night up to their necks in a swamp.

He’d also enjoyed his work as Xaverri’s stage assistant. It had been fun, helping to create the illusions, finding out how it was really done, and taking a bow before cheering crowds, night after night. Even Chewbacca had gotten to enjoy the public attention, and Xaverri had worked up several tricks that gave Chewie a chance to show off his Wookiee strength.

The hardest thing for Han had been getting used to the skintight, spangled stage costume he’d had to wear. He’d felt horribly self-conscious the first few times he’d gone onstage wearing it. But eventually he’d gotten used to it, and even learned to enjoy the hoots and whistles from some of the female audience members when he’d make his entrance.

Xaverri had teased him about that, especially the time a girl had dashed up onstage and kissed him full on the mouth, making him blush. Han had teased her back about her costumes, which were often daring.

Han sighed. If only I’d known she was planning this. I could have talked to her … Already he missed her, missed her presence, her smile, her affection. Her warmth, her kisses …

She was a special woman, and Han knew now that he’d loved her. Would it have made any difference if he’d told her? He decided that it wouldn’t. As her letter said, Xaverri was not someone who wanted love. She didn’t want to love, or to be loved. Love, she’d discovered, made you too vulnerable.

“Love makes you love life,” she’d told him once. “And once you love life, you’re in real danger. You want to hold on to it, and that wanting clouds your thinking.”

“You want to hold on to which?” Han had asked her. “Love, or life?”

“Both,” she said. “Love is the riskiest thing in the universe.”

Xaverri had risked herself more than anyone he’d ever known in everything except love. If she hadn’t been so coolly deliberate, he’d have called her reckless. But she wasn’t. Danger meant nothing to her, because she didn’t worry about dying. Han had seen her stare death in the face without turning a hair.

One time he’d complimented her on her courage. She’d shaken her head. “No, Solo,” she said. “I’m not brave. You’re brave. You have courage. I just don’t care. They aren’t the same thing.”

He sighed again, then rose from the bed. Xaverri was gone. By now her ship, The Phantasm, was long gone from Velga.

Okay, he thought, reaching for his clothes, show’s over. Time to go back to the real world …

At least he and Chewie now had plenty of money to lease their own ship. For the first time in a long while, Han wondered how things were going back on Nar Shaddaa.

When they got back to the Smuggler’s Moon, Han was surprised to realize that it felt like coming home. He and Chewie went to see Mako first. They found him and Roa having a companionable drink together at one of the taverns. Han entered the place, grinned, and waved. “Mako! Roa!”

Both men turned at the hail and grinned broadly. “Han! Chewbacca!”

“Hey, Roa! Hey, Mako,” Han said. “How’s business?”

“Not bad,” Mako said. “Jabba misses you, kid.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” Han said with a chuckle. “Did Jiliac have her baby Hutt?”

“Don’t know,” Roa said. “She ain’t been around, though. So maybe not. How’re you doin’, kid? You’ve been gone so long, we thought Boba Fett had got you!”

Han grinned back. “Not yet,” he said. “He been around much?”

Mako glanced around reflexively, “Well, they said he was here on Nar Shaddaa lookin’ for you, several months ago. But nobody’s seen him lately.”

“Good. Keep me informed,” Han said. “So … anyone seen Lando?” He tried to seem casual. “He still got that old clunker of his, the Millennium Falcon?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s still got it,” Roa said. “And, Han, you’re not gonna believe this. Calrissian made a killing out there in the Oseon system. Picked up a load of life-crystals, and sold ’em for a bundle. Guess what he’s into now?”

Han made a ribald guess. Both Roa and Mako cracked up.

Chewie roared an interrogatory.

“He’s bought himself a used spaceship lot!” Mako said. “Got it lock, stock, and barrel from a Duros who’d decided to go back to Duro and tend the family farm.”

“Well, I’m in the market for a ship to lease,” Han said. “Guess I’ll pay Lando a visit, see what he’s got.”

“Better see Jabba first,” Mako advised. “He’s put the word out that as soon as you came back to send you on.”

Han nodded. “Okay. I’ll do that. Where can I find Lando’s place?”

They gave him the coordinates.

With a cheerful wave, Han headed out of the tavern. He found that it was good to be back. The interval with Xaverri had been pleasant, and profitable, but his real calling was smuggling, and he was eager to get back to it.

Jabba was so pleased to see Han that he actually wriggled down off his dais and undulated toward the Corellian. “Han, my boy! You’ve returned!”

Han nodded, and decided not to bow. Jabba had obviously missed him. “Hello, Jabba … Your Excellency. How’s business?”

Jabba sighed theatrically. “Business would be much better if only Besadii would learn that they are not the only rightful destination for the credits in the galaxy. Han … I must admit that I have missed you. We lost a ship in the Maw, and it cost Desilijic dearly. We need you, Han.”

“Well, this time you’re going to have to pay me more, Jabba,” Han said resolutely. “Chewie and me are about to lease our own ship. That’ll be better for both of us—you won’t risk your ships, and I won’t have to take less ’cause I’m flyin’ your ship.”

“Fine, fine,” Jabba said. “That is fine, Han.”

“But, Jabba, I gotta tell you,” Han said. “There’s still a bounty on my head. Teroenza’s got to have talked Besadii into a pretty big one. Most of these bounty hunters I can deal with, no problem. But if I get any hints that Boba Fett is back on my trail, I ain’t hanging around here. I’m gone. I’ll operate out of Smuggler’s Run. Even Fett isn’t dedicated enough to head into the Run.”

“Han, lad!” Jabba looked pained. “We need you! Desilijic needs you! You’re one of the best!”

Han grinned, liking the feeling of being on more equal footing with the Hutt Lord. “Hey, Jabba, I’m the best,” he said. “And I’m gonna be provin’ it.”

Chewie roared. Jabba waved at the Wookiee. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘We’re the best,’ ” Han replied. “He’s right. Soon everyone is gonna know it.”

Han’s next stop, as promised, was Lando’s used shipyard. He and Chewie went straight to the office, where they found a small, multi-armed droid with a single ruby-red eye in charge. “Where’s Lando?” Han demanded.

“My master is not here at the moment, sir,” the little droid replied. “May I be of service? I am Vuffi Raa, his assistant.”

Han looked at Chewbacca, who rolled his blue eyes.

“I want to speak to Lando,” Han said. “Where is he?”

“Out in the shipyard,” Vuffi Raa replied. “But … sir! Wait! Admittance to the shipyard is not permitted unless Master Calrissian has authorized it! Sir! Come back! Sir!”

Han kept on walking. Chewbacca, however, did stop. As the little droid approached him, arms flailing, he let loose with a snarl that swiftly built to a full-throated roar. Vuffi Raa stopped in his tracks so fast that he nearly fell over backward, then went scuttling off, calling “Master! Master!” in a plaintive voice.

Han found Lando out back, with the Falcon. He didn’t know which one of them he was gladder to see. The Falcon was all in one piece, he was pleased to note.

For once, the gambler wasn’t his usual dapper self. Han was surprised to see that he was wearing greasy mechanic’s coveralls, and his hands were filthy as he gripped a hydrospanner.

“Lando!” Han shouted.

His friend turned around, and his handsome features lit up. “Han, you old pirate! How long have you been back?”

“Just got home,” Han said, shaking Lando’s hand. They grabbed each other, thumping each other on the back, then stood back, grinning. “Hey, Han, it’s good to see you, man!”

“You, too!”

Before the end of the day, Han and Chewie had leased their new ship from Lando. It was a small SoroSuub freighter, Starmite-class, heavily modified. The ship was about two-thirds the size of the Millennium Falcon, and had a blunt, rounded bow, thick, stubby wings, and a rounded, thick body that narrowed back to a flattened tail section. The ship resembled a coarse, unstreamlined teardrop and, as one of Han’s Quarren acquaintances later told him, looked like “something we raise for snacks.” Each of the wings ended in a gun turret that held two fixed laser cannons, and the pilot also controlled a set of laser cannons mounted on the bow.

Han christened her the Bria.

“Lord Aruk wishes to see you, Your Excellency,” Ganar Tos, Teroenza’s majordomo, said. “He is waiting in your office.”

The High Priest tensed. I don’t think I can take any more of his criticism! he thought, hoisting himself out of his resting sling resentfully.

Lord Aruk and his offspring Durga had come for a special inspection tour of the Ylesian operation two days ago. Teroenza had been proud to show them the progress they’d made, the new factories, the productive pilgrims, the steadily growing supply of valuable spice that they’d ship off-world. He’d even been able to show them the new cleared plot of land for the new colony—Colony Eight.

But the more Teroenza had shown the Hutt Lord, the more Aruk had nitpicked. The High Priest was beginning to feel a little desperate.

Now, as he lumbered down the hallway of the Administration Building in Colony One, Teroenza’s mind was busy composing replies to any of the charges Aruk might fling at him. Production was up. The workers were efficient. They were exploring new exports … those nala-tree frogs, for example.

Aruk had developed quite a taste for them during his visit. Kibbick had introduced them to his uncle, insisting that Aruk had to try them. Durga had sampled them also, and had pronounced himself unimpressed, but Aruk had loved the ugly amphibians, and had commanded Teroenza to make sure he received a supply of live ones on every ship shuttling between Ylesia and Nal Hutta.

Teroenza entered his office, trying not to let his nervousness show. “I am here, Your Excellency,” he said to Aruk.

The Hutt Lord was accompanied only by his offspring, Durga. He looked up at Teroenza. “We need to have a talk, High Priest,” he said gruffly.

Oh, no. This is worse than I feared, Teroenza thought.

“Yes, Your Excellency?”

“I am canceling your vacation, High Priest,” Aruk said. “I want you to stay here and bring Kibbick up to speed on all Ylesian operations. His level of ignorance is shameful, and it is your fault! Teroenza, you have forgotten who are the true lords of Ylesia. You have grown arrogant, and think yourself in command. This is not permissible. You must learn your place, High Priest. When you have learned to serve, to take the subservient role in governing this world, you will be rewarded. Only then can you return to Nal Hutta.”

Teroenza remained silent during Aruk’s tirade. When the Hutt Lord finally ran down, he found himself wanting to quit, to just walk away from the entire ridiculous operation. Kibbick was an idiot, and no amount of coaching from his overseer was going to make the young Hutt into anything but an idiot!

And he hadn’t seen his mate, Tilenna, in a year. What if she decided to mate with someone else because he had been gone so long? How could he expect her to remain faithful under these circumstances?

Resentment boiled up inside the t’landa Til, but with a great effort of will, he managed to conceal his reaction.

“It shall be as you say, Your Excellency,” he murmured. “I shall do my best.”

“See that you do,” Aruk rumbled, in his deepest, most threatening tone. “You are dismissed, High Priest.”

Teroenza’s hot rage boiled and bubbled as he walked back to his quarters, but by the time he reached them, he was calm again. Strangely, coldly calm. He lowered himself into his resting sling and dismissed his majordomo.

If his thoughts could have been expressed in one word, it would have been: Enough.

After a few more minutes of consideration, the High Priest reached for his comlink. The code he’d memorized all those months ago came readily to his fingers as he tapped it out. And then, he keyed in the following message: “I am willing to talk. What do you have to offer?”

With a triumphant, savage stab of his dainty finger, he keyed the message to SEND.

Teroenza leaned back in his resting sling and, for the first time in six months, felt at peace with the universe.