Star Wars: Scoundrels (7 page)

Which meant he hadn’t noticed the gunman behind them. “You sure he’s the one who did whatever it was that happened to your ship?” Han asked, listening carefully.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask too many questions,” the man advised. “If I get even a hint you’re working with him, you might not walk away from this.”

“Yeah, got it,” Han growled. He’d been right: the voice was definitely coming from his left and a couple of centimeters above his ear. Which meant the man was too tall to be hiding behind him.

Which meant he was hiding behind Chewbacca.

“And go easy on the threats, okay?” he continued. “The Wookiee here has a bad heart, and excitement isn’t good for him. Too much of it and he might have an attack.”

“Yeah, right,” the man said sarcastically. “I hear about Wookiees with heart trouble
all
the time.”

“I’m not kidding,” Han insisted. “He had seumadic fever when he was a kid.” He reached up and touched Chewbacca’s arm. “You okay?”

Chewbacca gave a plaintive trill and rocked a little on his feet. Good—he was on to the plan. “Hang on, buddy, hang on,” Han urged. “Can I at least get him his medicine?” Without waiting for an answer he dug into his side vest pocket.

And froze as the blaster again jabbed into his back. “Hands at your sides,” the man snapped. “You—Wookiee—stand still. Blast it, stand
still
!”

“He can’t help it,” Han said, gripping Chewbacca’s arm tightly. The Wookiee was really getting into his role, weaving back and forth like a tent in a hurricane. If Han hadn’t known better, he would have sworn his partner was on the verge of collapsing in a heap.

Their assailant thought so, too. Han could hear him swearing in anxious frustration as his walking shield threatened to move far enough to one side or the other that he would be exposed to Dozer’s view. Han could hear the faint scuffling of boots on duracrete as he tried to match Chewbacca’s movements.

And with the gunman’s full attention focused on keeping himself hidden, Han half turned, swept his left arm backward to knock the blaster out of line, and rammed his right fist into the man’s gut.

With an agonized cough, the gunman folded up and dropped to his knees. Chewbacca spun around and grabbed their assailant’s other arm, steadying and pinning him while Han twisted the blaster out of his limp grip. He was a lot younger than Han had guessed, despite his height. Not much older than Luke, with a lot of the same air of wide-eyed gullibility. “You want to explain this?” Han asked mildly, hefting the blaster in front of the kid’s eyes.

The kid glared but remained silent.

“Let’s try it again,” Han suggested, shifting his grip on the blaster to point the weapon at the kid’s face. “You just pulled a blaster on two total strangers. I want to know why.”

“Well, well.” The bemused voice came from behind Han. He turned, tensing, then relaxed as he saw it was only Dozer, strolling almost casually toward them. The big man’s hand was resting on the grip of his blaster, but he was making no move to draw. “What have we here?”

“We have someone who isn’t very happy with you,” Han told him. “He’s too choked up to explain. You want to give it a shot?”

Dozer shook his head sadly. “Jephster, Jephster,” he admonished the kid. “I already told you: your ship’s over in the North Quadrant.”

“I looked,” the kid ground out, the words coming out with obvious effort. “Bay two-fifty, just like you said.”

“
Two-fifty
?” Dozer sighed theatrically. “Jephster, I said two-fifteen. Two-fifteen.”

The kid looked up, a stricken look on his face. “Two-fifteen?” he repeated weakly.

“Two-fifteen,” Dozer said firmly. “I’m sorry—I really thought you’d heard it correctly. But no harm done, eh?” He pulled out his comlink. “Tell you what. I’ll call over to the gate supervisor, tell him you got confused, and have him confirm it for you. All right?”

“No,” the kid said hastily, struggling back to his feet. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just go over and … I can find it myself.” He looked at Han. “Sorry,” he added.

“Next time make sure you know what you’re doing before you start waving your blaster around,” Han warned as he reversed the weapon and dropped it back into the kid’s holster. “Other people don’t bother asking questions before they start shooting.”

“Yeah,” the kid wheezed. “Sorry.” Nodding weakly, he turned and limped away.

Dozer waited until the kid was out of earshot. “Nice job,” he murmured. “That could have been messy. It’s Solo, right?”

“That’s me,” Han confirmed. “Forgotten us already?”

“Oh, I never forget a face,” Dozer assured him. “I just have trouble matching them up with their proper names. What brings you to this corner of the galaxy?”

“I’ve got a job,” Han said. “Not smuggling this time. More along the lines of a vault robbery.”

“Really,” Dozer said. “And what, you need a ship or two for the scheme?” He waved a hand at the field all around them. “Anything you see here, I can lift it for you.”

“I was more thinking of having you play front man,” Han said. “You’ve got the presence and smooth talk we need.”

“Ah—so there’s some con work involved, too?” Dozer said. “Interesting. I’m in.”

Han frowned. “Don’t you want to hear the take first?”

“You wouldn’t have come all this way if it wasn’t decent,” Dozer pointed out. His eyes flicked to the kid. “Besides, getting off this rock for a while would probably be a good idea.”

“Probably,” Han agreed. “I take it you’ve already sold his ship?”

“Actually, it was never his in the first place,” Dozer admitted. “I find my profit margins are so much more satisfactory when I can sell the same merchandise twice.”

“Easier to do in your line than mine,” Han said. “Just out of curiosity, what would you have done if he’d let you talk to the gate supervisor?”

“And have people know he’d been stupid enough to draw on total strangers after he’d misheard a number?” Dozer shook his head. “Not a chance. Young men of his age will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid being embarrassed.”

“Lucky for you.”

Dozer shrugged. “You
did
already have his blaster,” he pointed out. “Still, as I believe a great poet once said, discretion is the foundation of continued existence. Ready whenever you are.”

“Good,” Han said, gesturing toward another part of the field. “The
Falcon
’s this way. Unless you’d rather bring your own ship.”

“Never actually owned a ship of my own,” Dozer said. “Maintenance costs are
way
too high.”

“You said it,” Han said ruefully. “Come on, let’s get out of the sun before the kid comes back.”

E
anjer was waiting in the Iltarr City Spaceport docking bay as Han, Chewie, Zerba, and Dozer filed out of the
Falcon
. Han handled the introductions, and while Eanjer was polite enough, Han had the distinct feeling that he was a bit startled at the size of the group. Possibly he was starting to wonder how many times his pile of credits was going to be split before he got a piece of it for himself.

Fortunately, whether he’d expected a crowd or not, he’d come prepared. Instead of a standard four-seat landspeeder, he’d brought a ten-passenger speeder truck.

“Is everyone else here?” Han asked, wincing a little as Eanjer maneuvered them out of the parking area and onto the crowded street. He still didn’t know how well Eanjer could see out of that prosthetic eye, and driving in city traffic with a single hand was tricky at the best of times. But he’d made a beeline straight for the driver’s seat the moment they reached the vehicle, and Han hadn’t yet figured out a diplomatic way to get him out of it.

“No idea,” Eanjer said, “since I don’t know who else you might have coming. So far we have three: Rachele, plus the young man and woman Mazzic sent. Oh, and the twins—Bink and somebody? They arrived just as I was leaving to pick you up.”

“Bink’s sister’s named Tavia,” Han said.

“Right—Tavia,” Eanjer said, nodding. “So is that it?”

“That’s it,” Han assured him, looking around at all the traffic. Rachele had warned him that, with the city filling up ahead of the Festival of Four Honorings, she might have trouble finding them accommodations. “So was Rachele able to get us a room?”

“Yes.” Eanjer smiled slyly. “And no.”

Sure enough, she hadn’t gotten them a room.

She’d gotten them a huge, two-floor suite.

“I’m impressed,” Dozer commented, looking back and forth at the various furnishings as Rachele gave them the grand tour. One of the rooms was all shades of brown, with a hardwood floor and adjustable recline chairs around a glass-topped and holo-equipped table. Another room was done up in light blue, with a round game table, a stand-up bar, and floor-to-ceiling artwork. “And Han can tell you that’s not easy to do. I can boost ships all day long. How in the Empire do you boost
real estate
?”

Rachele shrugged. “It’s not hard when you know how.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” Dozer said.

“It wasn’t intended to,” Rachele assured him.

Dozer inclined his head. “Fair enough.”

“Bink and Tavia arrived about two hours ago,” Rachele said as she led them to a wide spiral stairway leading to the floor above. “They’re unpacking and setting up their gear in one of the bedrooms. Mazzic’s people have been here since yesterday.”

“Did Mazzic bring them himself?” Han asked.

“Actually, no one brought them—they flew in commercial.” She smiled faintly. “We can throw chance cubes to see which of us gives them a ride when it’s time to leave. Come on—they’re in the upstairs conversation room. I’ll introduce you.”

She started up the stairs. Han followed, mentally shaking his head. Not only a suite, but even a suite with a view of Villachor’s Marblewood Estate.

The really crazy thing was that this was just a hobby for Rachele, something she did as favors for friends or to amuse herself. If she ever decided to quit her regular life and turn to a career of crime, the Empire would never be the same.

Given the type of person Mazzic typically hired, the man and woman conversing quietly over a datapad were something of a surprise. For one thing, they were younger than Han had expected, no older than their early twenties and possibly younger. For another, neither had hardened, suspicious eyes and expressions, like the majority of the criminals Han had run into over the years. However it was they’d entered Mazzic’s service, they probably hadn’t been born or indentured into it.

“You must be Han,” the woman said as the group filed up the stairway behind him and Rachele. Despite her youth, her hair was an almost shimmering pure white, and Han wondered briefly whether it was natural or some strange affectation. “My name is Winter.”

“Winter what?” Zerba asked.

The woman flicked him a look. “Just Winter,” she said.

“She’s right,” Han agreed before anyone else could speak. “We stick with first names from now on. Safer that way. This is Chewie and Rachele, Zerba, and Dozer. Rachele says you’ve already met Bink and Tavia.”

“The ghost burglar and her sister,” Winter said, nodding. “Yes, we have. An amazingly close set of identicals.”

“They’ve also met our employer,” Rachele added.

“Good.” Han gestured to the kid sitting next to Winter. “And you?”

The kid had been staring at the rest of the group with fascination or revulsion, Han couldn’t tell which. Now, thrust suddenly into the center of attention, he seemed to snap himself back to reality. “I’m Kell,” he said.

“And you do …?” Dozer asked.

Kell frowned. “Do?” he echoed.

“What’s your specialty?” Dozer said. “What do you do that makes you worthy to sit here among all this greatness?” He waved a hand around the room.

“Oh,” Kell said, his face clearing. Easily bewildered, Han decided, but just as quick to get on track again. “I’m pretty good with explosives—make ’em, plant ’em, set ’em off. I know a lot about droids, too.”

“Of course,” Dozer said dryly. “A knowledge of droids is essential to any good caper.”

“Actually, in this case, it is,” Rachele told him. “Villachor’s vault security includes a set of guard droids.”

“Oh,” Dozer said, sounding a bit off-stride. But like Kell, he recovered quickly. “Well, that’s good to know. What about you, Winter?”

“I know a fair amount about security systems,” Winter said. “I also have an eye for detail.”

Kell snorted gently. “An eye, and a brain,” he said. “She remembers everything she sees or hears.
Everything
.”

“That could come in handy,” Han commented, eyeing Winter. He’d heard of people with that kind of memory, but they were few and far between.

“It already has,” Rachele said. “We’ve been watching Villachor’s mansion—” She broke off as a pleasant chime came from across the room. “Oh, good, he’s here,” she said, hurrying toward the door.

Han frowned, doing a mental count. Him and Chewbacca, Zerba and Dozer, Kell and Winter and Rachele, with Bink, Tavia, and Eanjer elsewhere in the suite. That was everyone he’d invited.

So who was Rachele expecting?

He turned, dropping his hand to his blaster. Rachele reached the door and opened it.