This time around, the snooty administrative aide waved Han into Admiral Greelanx’s private sanctum without question. It was obvious to Han that his arrival was eagerly awaited. The Corellian smiled grimly as he walked in. He supposed he’d be glad to see someone who was going to give him a fortune, too …

The admiral was standing by the viewport, staring out moodily. He turned as Han came in, nodded, but did not smile. “Did you bring them?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, they’re all here, exactly as specified,” Han said. Carefully he pushed items away from the center of Greelanx’s desk and then emptied the small pouch he carried into the cleared spot.

Greelanx stared down at the sparkling fortune in assorted untraceable gems, and his eyes lit up. “The Hutts are true to their word,” he said. “But you won’t mind if I—” He gestured with a magnifier.

“Go right ahead,” Han said.

The admiral spent the next few minutes examining several of the largest, most beautiful gems—Gallinorean rainbow gems, corusca stones, and Krayt dragon pearls of various sizes and hues. “I assume you found your shuttle at the rendezvous point,” the admiral said, “since you are here exactly on time.”

“Yes, sir, everything was just like you said it would be, Admiral.”

Greelanx glanced up, still holding the magnifier up to his face. His right eye was enormous, as seen through the lens. “How are you planning to get off my ship?” he asked, as if only mildly curious.

Han shrugged. “I have a partner who will pick me up.”

“Very well. Young man, these stones are exactly as specified. Please tell your Hutt masters that I am satisfied.”

Han nodded, but said, “They aren’t my masters. I just work for them.”

“Whatever,” Greelanx said. He hesitated, then said, “I didn’t believe you could do it, you know. Even with the battle plan.”

“I know,” Han said. “But it was that or die. We were fighting for our lives. You were fighting for credits. Makes a big difference.”

“That holo-illusion was a brilliant tactical stroke.”

Han smiled and executed a slight bow. “Thank you.”

Greelanx seemed taken aback. “You did it?”

“No, I had an expert do it. But it was my idea.”

“Ah.” The admiral seemed to consider for a moment, then said, with a trace of wistfulness, “You despise me, don’t you, young man?”

Han stared at him in surprise. “Not at all. I do lots of things I’m not tickled about for credits.”

“But there are some things you will not do.”

Han considered. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“Well, I—”

Greelanx broke off as the door suddenly opened, and his aide stood there, eyes wide and frightened. “Admiral! Sir!”

“What is it?” Greelanx was annoyed.

“Sir, I was just advised by the docking-bay crew … he has just landed. An unscheduled inspection, apparently. He is on his way to speak with you at this moment!”

Greelanx took a deep breath, then waved the man out. “I suppose I should have anticipated this, under the circumstances,” he muttered, racing over to the wall. Behind a Certificate of Merit, there was a wall lockup unit. Greelanx stood for a moment, letting the unit scan his retinas. The door swung open. The admiral grabbed a double handful of jewels, raced over, dumped them in, then came back and brushed the last of the gems into his palm, dumped them, too.

While all this was going on, Han was standing there, totally bemused by the admiral’s actions.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“No time,” Greelanx said, shutting the lockup. “Here, you’ll have to wait in here. You can’t let him see you. If he did—” The admiral bit his lip, yanked open the other door, the one leading to his secretary’s office. The room was vacant, dark. “In here. Don’t make a sound. Not a sound, understand?”

“No,” Han said, totally confused. “I don’t.”

Greelanx did not bother to reply. Grabbing Han’s arm, he shoved him into the office, then shut the door.

Han stood there in the dark office, wondering what in blazes was going on. Who was he? It sounded like Greelanx was expecting some kind of monster out of a kid’s adventure tri-dee!

Half-tempted to storm back out and just say “good riddance,” Han tiptoed over to the door. The doorseal, he discovered, hadn’t quite caught. He was able to hear Greelanx moving around, and then came some small thumps and rustles.

Putting his desk back to rights, Han realized.

Then came a squeak, as Greelanx sat back down in his luxurious lizard-hide chair. Han could almost picture him, being elaborately casual.

The doorseal to the outer office hissed. Han heard a heavy, measured tread and the whisper of something that might have been fabric. Was the newcomer wearing long robes? A cloak?

Then came another sound that the Corellian recognized—loud, stentorian breathing, respirations that were artificially stimulated because the wearer was unable to breathe on his own. A respirator mask … the visitor was wearing a respirator mask.

Somehow the sounds of those loud, hissing breaths was ominous. Han swallowed and didn’t make a sound.

Greelanx said, in a deliberately bright, pleasant tone that was supposed to sound casual, but instead sounded terrified, “Lord, what an unexpected pleasure! The Outer Rim is honored by your presence. I gather you wish to conduct an inspection. You must understand that we have just recently been engaged in battle, so—”

“Greelanx,” said a deep, mechanically enhanced voice that made Han’s skin crawl, “you are as stupid as you are greedy. Did you imagine that the High Command would remain unaware of your treachery?”

Now Greelanx made no attempt to hide his fear. “Lord, please! You don’t understand, I was ord—” His voice broke off in a choked cry. Han’s eyes widened, and he wouldn’t have opened that door into Greelanx’s office for all the dragon pearls in the galaxy.

Silence, except for that loud, harsh breathing. Silence, for many seconds. Then … a heavy thump as something landed on the thick carpet. The voice said, “Ah, but I understand perfectly, Admiral.”

The heavy footsteps came again, passed the door where Han was hiding, did not pause. Then came the sound of the doorseal activating.

Silence.

Han waited a good five minutes before he dared to unseal the door and peer out. He wasn’t particularly surprised to find Greelanx sprawled on the carpet. He checked for a pulse, found none, which also wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising was that there wasn’t a mark on the body. When Han hadn’t heard a blaster, he’d assumed the visitor had used a vibroblade. An expert assassin could use one to kill with little blood, and no struggle.

But Greelanx didn’t have a mark on him …

Han stood there, looking down at the admiral’s dead features, which were frozen in a look of utter terror. He shivered. Who was that guy?

Han walked over to the wall, took a cursory glance at the lockup, but it was as he’d expected—a good unit, retinally activated. And even if he were to dig Greelanx’s eyeball out of its socket—a grisly task, all right—the admiral had already been dead too long. The retinal patterns wouldn’t work right.

I’m gettin’ outta here … Han decided. He walked back, stepped over Greelanx’s outflung hand, and then stopped when something his toe had kicked rolled across the carpet.

Han stooped, grabbed it exultantly. A Krayt dragon pearl! Small, but it seemed, to the naked eye, flawless. Opalescent black. A valuable color.

Sealing the jewel in an inside pocket, Han hurried out.

Ten minutes later he’d finished making his preparations for his escape. He stood by the hatch on the lifepod deck, hastily finishing a rewiring job on the pod-ejection controls. Then he pressed a button, and the lifepod hatch hissed open softly.

He froze as he heard a step, then a familiar voice. “Stop right there, Han. Turn around … slowly.”

Han did so, and found, as he’d expected from the voice, his old friend Tedris Bjalin.

The man stood there, holding a blaster aimed at Han. “What are you doing here? I saw you in the corridor, saw you go into the admiral’s office. Why were you talking to the admiral? What’s going on?”

They’re going to think I murdered Greelanx, Han realized. They’ll shoot me first and ask questions later!

“Hey, Tedris, take it easy,” he said, smiling crookedly. He took a slow, careful step forward. “You know you couldn’t shoot your old pal.”

“Stop it right there, Solo,” Bjalin said, but his hand wasn’t quite steady on the blaster’s grip. They had, after all, been close friends. “What are you doing wearing that uniform? Who are you—”

“Hey, pal, you got questions, let’s go somewhere and talk about this,” Han said. “I can answer every—”

Breaking off in midword, Han flung himself at Tedris, using a very dirty Corellian street-fighting trick. Bjalin went down, then lay on the deck, wheezing for breath, his eyes accusing. Han stooped down, appropriated his old friend’s blaster.

He went down on one knee beside his friend. “Listen to me, Tedris,” he said softly. “You’re not gonna die, though you won’t be real comfy for a while. I want you to know something. I didn’t do it. Okay? Just remember that, later on. And you know something, Tedris? You’re too nice a guy to stay in this lousy, massacre-happy Imperial Navy. Take my advice and get out while you can.”

With that, Han stunned Tedris, then stepped over his friend’s unconscious form. Hastily he dragged Bjalin into one of the other lifepods, making sure the hatch wasn’t fastened, so there was no way he could accidentally be ejected.

Then he ducked through the hatch of the lifepod he’d rewired. Moments later he was ejected into space. He’d rigged the lifepod so it would look like an accidental ejection. Not surprising, under the circumstances. After all, the Destiny had just been through a battle …

He worried for a while that the Imps might retrieve his pod, but they did not. Han figured that Greelanx’s murder was occupying everyone’s attention.

Chewie picked him up an hour later, as he drifted, still puzzling over what had happened to Greelanx.

The Wookiee scooped Han’s stolen lifepod into the Bria’s cargo bay, whining and growling that they had to get out of here, fast, there were recon TIE fighters prowling around.

Han agreed. Hastily he and Chewie headed for the bridge. They were halfway there when they heard the WHUMP! Seconds later another followed, this one so strong it knocked both of them to the deck.

“Chewie, we’re under fire!” Han yelled. “Get to the gun mount!”

Han hastily slipped into the pilot’s seat, saw two recon TIEs circling back for a second pass—and then he saw the blinking red light on his control board. “Chewie! Reactor overload! They hit us right in that weak shield! We’ve gotta abandon ship!”

Leaping up, he ran to the gun turret, then grabbed the Wookiee and began dragging him out. Chewbacca shook his head, arguing, but Han screamed, “Run, you big oaf! This ship is gonna blow!”

When they reached the cargo deck again, the Wookiee was hesitant about crawling into the Imperial lifepod, but Han insisted. “Don’t you get it, Chewie? The Bria is finished! This is our only chance! Now get inside and put on this respirator mask!”

Once Chewie was safely inside, Han hastily donned a spacesuit, then opened the cargo-bay doors wide.

WHUMP! WHUMP-WHUMP!

Give up, Han thought at the TIEs as he attached an anti-grav unit to the lifepod, then floated it over to the cargo door. We’re doomed anyhow … Tapping on the viewport, he gestured out what he planned. Chewie, now wearing the respirator, nodded.

Then, in one smooth motion, Han slid the pod toward the opening, just as Chewie popped the hatch and yanked him inside.

The entire sequence took maybe six seconds. Not enough time for explosive decompression to rupture tough Wookiee hide. A second later the hatch was closed and dogged, and atmosphere was again filling the pod.

The pod had barely cleared the cargo-bay doors when the Bria blew up.

The concussion knocked the little lifepod spinning. Han braced himself, half expecting one of the TIEs to attack them, but as he’d hoped, their escape was covered by the explosion.

The lifepod was very, very cramped. Han managed to get his helmet off, then he and Chewie just crouched there, almost in each other’s arms, and stared at each other, then back at the flaming debris that had been their ship.

“Lando isn’t gonna like this,” Han said ruefully. The Bria had been a cranky, temperamental ship, but he’d kind of gotten used to her.

Chewie growled softly in Wookiee. Han looked at him and shrugged. “What do we do now? Your guess is as good as mine, pal. This is an inhabited system, so the lifepod controls ought to soft-land us somewhere near where we can get a transport …”

Chewie whined. “Oh, you mean what will we do for a ship?” Han sighed. “That’s a real good question, pal …”

He’s dead, Teroenza thought in disbelief, looking at the message from Nal Hutta. It worked. I can’t believe Aruk’s really gone!

For just a moment he felt a tiny prickle of guilt, but it was swiftly drowned in excitement. With Aruk out of the way, and Desilijic’s credits pouring in, nothing could stop him from taking over complete control of the entire Ylesian operation. Durga was back on Nal Hutta, with his hands full trying to control Besadii. Kibbick was, as everyone knew, an idiot.

Teroenza pictured his collection, and then pictured it as it would be soon. He would build a separate building to house it!

And he would bring his mate here. No more lonely days and nights. They would slosh in the mud wallows together, rich beyond their wildest dreams …

Teroenza spent several minutes putting on a suitably lugubrious expression, then the t’landa Til went off to find Kibbick, and inform him that his uncle was dead …

Moff Sarn Shild sat alone in his palatial home on Teth, wondering just what had gone wrong. The attack on Nal Hutta had obviously been a huge mistake. Greelanx—Greelanx had failed, and now the admiral was dead under suspicious circumstances.

Shild was alone in his house, save for the droids. All his living servants were gone, he knew not where. Bria … she was gone, too, had disappeared days ago.

She hadn’t even said good-bye …

Yesterday, the Emperor had summoned Shild back to Imperial Center, to face a board of inquiry about the ill-fated attack on the Y’Toub system. Palpatine’s message had made it clear that the Emperor was most displeased.

Shild sat alone, struggling to comprehend it all. Scant days ago, he’d been on top of the galaxy. Now he couldn’t even remember why he’d done the things he’d done. It was almost as though he’d been possessed by an alien entity.

Shild stared down at his ornate desk. Before him lay a blaster, side by side with a vial of poison. Shild took a deep breath. He had no illusions anymore. Traveling to Imperial Center would only prolong the inevitable.

Anything would be better than facing Palpatine’s wrath.

But which should he use, the blaster or the poison?

Shild considered for a while, but couldn’t make up his mind. Finally, in desperation, he fell back on a childhood memory. Moving his finger from one means of death (and escape) to the other, he began to chant aloud: “Wonga, winga, cingee wooze … which of these do I choose?”