Han Solo stood before Jiliac’s dais, eyes wide. His mouth dropped open. “You want me to what?”

“Careful, Captain Solo,” Jabba cautioned. “You must address the Lady Jiliac with respect.”

Han ignored the Hutt Lord. “But … but …” he sputtered, “that’s crazy! That’s like asking me to point a gun at my own head and pull the trigger! We all heard Shild, how he was cracking down on smugglers. In case it’s escaped your notice, Your Ladyship, I’m a smuggler”—he jerked his thumb at his own chest—“and if I walk into Sarn Shild’s place to give him your gifts and your message, that’ll be the last free walk I ever take! No! I ain’t doing it!”

Inwardly he was a little surprised at his own temerity in speaking to the powerful Hutt leaders in such a manner, but Jiliac’s calm request had roused his temper. Just who did the Hutts think they were, anyhow?

“Captain Solo.” Jiliac did not take umbrage at Han’s words or tone. “Calm yourself. We will provide you with new clothing, the best of faked IDs, and one of our own courier vessels. No one will know you are Han Solo, smuggler. All they will know is that you are a diplomatic envoy from Nal Hutta, duly authorized and designated to deliver our message and our gifts.”

Han took a deep breath. Under those circumstances, maybe …

“What is it worth to you, to get your message delivered?” he asked, finally.

“Ten thousand credits,” Jiliac said, without batting an eye.

Han gasped. That much! For just flying to Coruscant and back!

He stared at the Hutt leaders for a moment, then turned to Chewbacca. “What do you think, pal?”

Chewie was plainly as torn as he was. The big Wookiee grumbled and rumbled, then finally commented that with that kind of money, they could start saving for a ship they could buy. But it was Han who’d be risking his skin, he added, so the final decision should be Han’s.

The Corellian thought for another moment, then turned back to Jiliac and Jabba. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it for ten thousand. All of it in advance.”

Jabba began to protest, but Jiliac shushed him with a gesture. “Very well, Captain. Ten thousand in advance. When can you leave?”

“If you can get me the IDs and vessel today,” Han said grimly, “we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

“It shall be done,” Jiliac said.

The Hutt leader was as good as her word. By the next morning, Han had received excellent faked IDs, identifying him as one Jobekk Jonn, official Hutt diplomatic envoy. The ship was a speedy little Corellian courier vessel named Quicksilver. Han was given a suit of clothing better than anything he’d ever even touched before—a tomuon-wool jacket and trousers, cut in the very latest style.

At Chewie’s suggestion, Han cultivated a short beard during the time it took them to fly to Coruscant. When they docked at one of Coruscant’s many spacedocks, he slicked his hair straight back from his brow, and was amazed at how different he looked. The spiffy gray suit made him look like a bureaucrat, completely erasing all traces of the smuggler.

“I feel naked without my blaster,” Han grumbled. “But they restrict weapons here on Coruscant … I mean, Imperial Center. Besides … I guess diplomatic envoys don’t wear guns.”

Chewie commented sadly that Han no longer looked scruffy, in approved Wookiee fashion. Instead he appeared as sleek and polished as lapi-stone.

“Trust me, pal, I can’t wait till I can turn back into myself,” Han said.

Then, picking up his package of gifts, and the holocube message from Jiliac and the Grand Council of Nal Hutta, Han left Quicksilver and took a shuttle down to Imperial Center.

Being back in the Imperial capital city brought back a lot of memories, most of them unpleasant ones. Bria had left him on Coruscant. Here he’d been hunted across the rooftops by Garris Shrike. His court-martial had taken place in the headquarters of the Imperial Navy …

Han already had the address for the Moff. Shild maintained several residences on different worlds, but at the moment, he was in Imperial Center, attending conferences on law and order in the Empire.

Han reached the Moff’s residence, a luxurious penthouse in one of the city’s most elegant buildings. After going through multiple security checks, he handed his credentials to the majordomo, an elderly human male, and then sat down in the antechamber. Only a strong effort of will kept him from fidgeting.

After waiting for nearly forty-five minutes, the majordomo appeared. “My master can give you only a few minutes,” he said. “He is departing this evening for Velga Prime.”

Nice, Han thought. Velga Prime was the most opulent gambling planetoid in the known galaxy.

He followed the majordomo down a succession of carpeted hallways. Automatically, Han memorized the way, just in case things went sour and he had to make a quick escape.

Finally, the majordomo ushered him into an office bigger than Han’s apartment back on Nar Shaddaa. “Master Jobekk Jonn, of Nal Hutta, Your Excellency,” the old man intoned.

Moff Sarn Shild was a tall, pale, ascetic-seeming man with oiled black hair and a thin, pointy mustache. Slender to the point of emaciation, he had pale, cold-looking hands with elongated fingers.

He wore no jewelry except a black krayt dragon pearl in one earlobe. His suit was the same opalescent black as the jewel.

He gestured brusquely to a seat. “I’m afraid I must be brief, Jonn. I realize that the Hutts have been … generous to my administration in the past, but the Emperor has made his wishes clear. My hands are tied.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Your Excellency,” Han said, watching his diction and grammar. Unconsciously, he slipped back into his speech patterns from when he’d been an Imperial officer. “I believe you will find the Hutt offerings and message I’ve brought to be of interest. May I?”

Shild nodded shortly. Han carefully placed the package on the table. “Please open it,” he said.

“Very well,” the Moff said. Carefully he opened the package, and from the way his eyes lit up, Han could tell that the Hutt Lords knew his tastes well.

A small silver pipe, encrusted with semiprecious gems. A miniaturized holo-projector so small it would fit into a human palm. A necklace made of gold and platinum wire, encrusted with golden corusca gems. “For your lady, sir,” Han said smoothly.

“Yes, she will like this …” muttered the Moff. A line appeared between his brows as he quickly scanned the holocube’s message, which he trigged to display by means of his retinal pattern.

“Look here, Jonn,” he said when he’d finished reading it, “I wish that I could offer Nal Hutta more assurances, but as I told you before, I have no choice. The Emperor has called upon all Imperial worlds to tighten down on smuggling, gunrunning, and other illegal activities. My sector contains Hutt space, and unfortunately the Hutt reputation for dishonesty is so well known that I cannot possibly cover for them. I will, however, promise Nal Hutta no armed reprisals if they cooperate.”

“Cooperate in what way?”

“Do their best to become loyal, law-abiding citizens of the Empire.”

That’ll be the day, Han thought. “What about Nar Shaddaa?” he asked, unable to help himself. Fear for himself and his friends made his mouth dry.

“I shall have to make an example of Nar Shaddaa,” Shild said. “By the time I am finished with the Smuggler’s Moon, it will no longer support the smuggling industry. Its inhabitants will be lucky if it can still support sentient life.”

Han tried to conceal his shock. What are we going to do?

Shild shook his head. “And now, I’m afraid, I must depart. I regret that you had to travel so far for only a short interview, but I did warn your Hutt masters that I would be unable to … bend … over this issue.”

Shild stood up, and automatically Han did also.

“Sarn?” came a voice from behind the door leading into the next room. Caught in the act of turning, Han froze. That voice!

“My dear, I am in here,” called Shild. “I was just about to show the diplomatic envoy from Nal Hutta out.”

The door opened, and a woman stood there, smiling. “Sarn, darling,” she said, “we must hurry. The shuttle is waiting on the rooftop. Will you be much longer?”

Han turned his head, and their eyes met—for the first time in six years.

Bria Tharen. This time, there was no mistake. Bria stood there, dressed in a flowing silken gown that made her seem just as much of an ornament as anything else in Shild’s palatial home. The low-cut gown was turquoise, the color of her eyes. She was stunningly beautiful.

As she stared back at Han, she blinked, and went a little pale. Her smile did not waver, though.

She’s good, Han thought. He knew he’d betrayed his shock, but fortunately Shild wasn’t looking at him. Han hastily pulled himself back together, composing his features into a polite, neutral mask.

Shild gestured at Bria. “Master Jobekk Jonn of Nal Hutta, my … niece … Bria.”

Only Han’s years of playing sabacc saved him. As Bria composedly held out her hand with a throaty, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Master Jonn,” Han was able to take it and bow over it with a suave smile.

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said. “Shild, you are a very lucky man, to have such a lovely … niece.”

He saw a faint wave of color brighten her cheeks at his gibe. “You look familiar, sir,” she said. “Haven’t I seen you before?” Her voice was cool and disinterested.

Han knew she was baiting him. “Perhaps on WANTED posters,” Han murmured, so quietly Shild couldn’t hear.

Then bowing coldly over her hand once more, he let go of her—though all he wanted to do was grab her and bring her with him!—and bowed formally to Shild.

“Thank you for your time, Your Excellency.”

Then, turning away, Han strode resolutely from the room.

Later that same night, much later, Bria Tharen lay in her small bunk aboard the Moff’s yacht, muffling her sobs in her pillow. Every time she recalled the look in Han’s eyes, she wanted to wail aloud.

It was only too obvious that he’d thought the worst—that she was Shild’s concubine. Sobs shook her. That was what he was supposed to think, after all. That was what Sarn Shild wanted everyone to think.

In truth, the Moff’s sexual preferences did not run to human females. Bria traveled with him as a lovely show object, to be displayed to Imperial officials, just as Shild would display any trophy.

She kept his home running smoothly, listened to him when he wanted someone to talk to, oversaw his household staff and office, and generally kept Moff Sarn Shild’s life running smoothly.

But she had never shared his bed, which was the only thing that made this current assignment bearable.

And now … now Han had seen her, and thought the worst. Even all the information Bria had been able to funnel to the rebel movement back on Corellia couldn’t ease the grief and shame she felt.

Her pillow was wet. Bria turned it over, and then lay there, staring into the darkness, as the Moff’s yacht streaked through hyperspace.

“Han …” she whispered brokenly. “Han …”