The first touch of uncertainty cracked through Kampl’s scowl. “Try it again.”
The other did so. “Still nothing. He’s got a blaster, comlink, and ID, and that’s it.”
For a long moment Kampl continued staring at Han. Then, reluctantly, he turned to the sabacc dealer. “I protest!” the dealer sputtered, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m a Class Double-A citizen—you have no right to put me through this sort of totally unfounded accusation.”
“You do it here or down at the station,” Kampl snarled. “Your choice.”
The dealer threw a look at Han that was pure venom, but he stood in stiff silence while the security tech scanned him down. “He’s clean, too,” the other reported, a slight frown on his face.
“Scan around the floor,” Kampl ordered. “See if someone ditched it.”
“And count the cards still in the deck,” the Reverend spoke up.
Kampl spun to face him. “For the last time—”
“Because if all we have here are the requisite seventy-six cards,” the Reverend cut him off, his voice heavy with suspicion, “perhaps what we’re really looking at is a fixed deck.”
Kampl jerked as if he’d been stung. “We don’t fix decks in here,” he insisted.
“No?” the Reverend glared. “Not even when special people are sitting in on the game? People who might know to look for a special card when it comes up?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Kampl snarled, taking a step toward him. “The LoBue is a respectable and perfectly legal establishment. None of these players has any connection with—”
“Hey!” the pudgy dealer said suddenly. “The guy who was sitting next to me—where’d he go?”
The Reverend snorted. “So. None of them has any connection with you, do they?”
Someone swore violently and started pushing his way through the crowd—one of the three planetary security types who’d been watching the table. Kampl watched him go, took a deep breath, and turned to glare at Han. “You want to tell me your partner’s name?”
“He wasn’t my partner,” Han said. “And I was not cheating. You want to make a formal accusation, take me down to the station and do it there. If you don’t”—he got to his feet, scooping up his remaining chips in the process—“then I’m leaving.”
For a long moment he thought Kampl was going to call his bluff. But the other had no real evidence, and he knew it; and apparently he had better things to do than indulge in what would be really nothing more than petty harassment. “Sure—get out of here,” the other snarled. “Don’t ever come back.”
“Don’t worry,” Han told him.
The crowd was starting to dissolve, and he had no trouble making his way back to his table. Lando, not surprisingly, was long gone. What was surprising was that he’d settled the bill before he had left.
“That was quick,” Lando greeted him from the top of the Falcon’s entry ramp. “I wasn’t expecting them to turn you loose for at least an hour.”
“They didn’t have much of a case,” Han said, climbing up the ramp and slapping the hatch button. “I hope Torve didn’t give you the slip.”
Lando shook his head. “He’s waiting in the lounge.” He raised his eyebrows. “And considers himself in our debt.”
“That could be useful,” Han agreed, heading down the curved corridor.
Torve was seated at the lounge holo board, three small datapads spread out in front of him. “Good to see you again, Torve,” Han said as he stepped in.
“You, too, Solo,” the other said gravely, getting to his feet and offering Han his hand. “I’ve thanked Calrissian already, but I wanted to thank you, too. Both for the warning and for helping me get out of there. I’m in your debt.”
“No problem,” Han waved the thanks away. “I take it that is your ship in pit sixty-three?”
“My employer’s ship, yes,” Torve said, grimacing. “Fortunately, there’s nothing contraband in it at the moment—I’ve already off-loaded. They obviously suspect me, though.”
“What kind of contraband were you running?” Lando asked, coming up behind Han. “If it’s not a secret, that is?”
Torve cocked an eyebrow. “No secret, but you’re not going to believe it. I was running food.”
“You’re right,” Lando said. “I don’t believe it.”
Torve nodded vaguely off to one side. “I didn’t either, at first. Seems there’s a clan of people living off in the southern hills who don’t find much about the new government to appreciate.”
“Rebels?”
“No, and that’s what’s strange about it,” Torve said. “They’re not rebelling or making trouble or even sitting on vital resources. They’re simple people, and all they want is to be left alone to continue living that way. The government’s apparently decided to make an example of them, and among other things has cut off all food and medical supplies going that way until they agree to fall into step like everyone else.”
“That sounds like this government,” Lando agreed heavily. “Not much into regional autonomy of any kind.”
“Hence, we smuggle in food,”9 Torve concluded. “Crazy business. Anyway, it’s nice to see you two again. Nice to see you’re still working together, too. So many teams have broken up over the past few years, especially since Jabba bought the really heavy end of the hammer.”
Han exchanged glances with Lando. “Well, it’s actually more like we’re back together,” he corrected Torve. “We sort of wound up on the same side during the war. Up till then …”
“Up till then I wanted to kill him,” Lando explained helpfully. “No big deal, really.”
“Sure,” Torve said guardedly, looking back and forth between them. “Let me guess: the Falcon, right? I remember hearing rumors that you stole it.”
Han looked at Lando, eyebrows raised. “Stole it?”
“Like I said, I was mad.” Lando shrugged. “It wasn’t an out-and-out theft, actually, though it came pretty close. I had a little semilegit clearinghouse for used ships at the time, and I ran short of money in a sabacc game Han and I were playing. I offered him his pick of any of my ships if he won.” He threw Han a mock glare. “He was supposed to go for one of the flashy chrome-plate yachts that had been collecting dust on the front row, not the freighter I’d been quietly upgrading on the side for myself.”
“You did a good job, too,” Han said. “Though Chewie and I wound up pulling a lot of the stuff out and redoing it ourselves.”
“Nice,” Lando growled. “Another crack like that and I may just take it back.”
“Chewie would probably take great exception to that,” Han said. He fixed Torve with a hard look. “Of course, you knew all this already, didn’t you.”
Torve grinned. “No offense, Solo. I like to feel out my customers before we do business—get an idea of whether I can expect ’em to play straight with me. People who lie about their history usually lie about the job, too.”
“I trust we passed?”
“Like babes in the tall grass.” Torve nodded, still grinning. “So. What can Talon Karrde do for you?”
Han took a careful breath. Finally. Now all he had to worry about was fouling this up. “I want to offer Karrde a deaclass="underline" the chance to work directly with the New Republic.”
Torve nodded. “I’d heard that you were going around trying to push that scheme with other smuggling groups. The general feeling is that you’re trying to set them up for Ackbar to take down.”
“I’m not,” Han assured him. “Ackbar’s not exactly thrilled at the idea, but he’s accepted it. We need to get more shipping capacity from somewhere, and smugglers are the logical supply to tap.”
Torve pursed his lips. “From what I’ve heard it sounds like an interesting offer. ’Course, I’m not the one who makes decisions like that.”