The main building, Han had noted on the way in, seemed to be composed of three or four circular zones centering on the greatroom with the strange tree growing through it. The room Karrde took them to now was in the layer just outside the greatroom, taking perhaps a quarter of that circle. A number of round tables were set up, with several of them already occupied. “We don’t stand on protocol regarding meals here,” Karrde said, leading the way to a table in the center of the room. Four people were already sitting there: three men and a woman.
Karrde steered them to three vacant seats. “Good evening, all.” He nodded to the others at the table. “May I present Calrissian and Solo, who’ll be dining with us tonight.” He gestured to each of the men in turn. “Three of my associates: Wadewarn,4 Chin, and Ghent. Ghent is the slicer I mentioned; possibly the best in the business.” He waved to the woman. “And of course you’ve already met Mara Jade.”
“Yes,” Han agreed, nodding to her and sitting down, a small shiver running up his back. Mara had been with Karrde when he’d first welcomed them into that makeshift throne room of his. She hadn’t stayed long; but for the whole of that brief time she’d glowered darkly at Lando and him with those incredible green eyes of hers.
Almost exactly the same way she was glowering at them right now.
“So you’re Han Solo,” the slicer, Ghent, said brightly. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Always wanted to meet you.”
Han shifted his attention away from Mara to Ghent. He wasn’t much more than a kid, really, barely out of his teens. “It’s nice to be famous,” Han told him. “Just remember that whatever you’ve heard has been hearsay. And that hearsay stories grow an extra leg every time they’re told.”
“You’re too modest,” Karrde said, signaling to the side. In response, a squat droid rolled toward them from around the room’s curve, a tray of what looked like rolled leaves perched on top of it. “It would be difficult to embellish that Zygerrian slaver incident, for example.”
Lando looked up from the droid’s tray. “Zygerrian slavers?” he echoed. “You never told me that one.”
“It wasn’t anything important,” Han said, warning Lando with a look to drop the subject.
Unfortunately, Ghent5 either missed the look or was too young to know what it meant. “He and Chewbacca attacked a Zygerrian slaver ship,” the kid explained eagerly. “Just the two of them. The Zygerrians were so scared they abandoned ship.”
“They were more pirates than slavers,” Han said, giving up. “And they weren’t afraid of me—they abandoned ship because I told them I had twenty stormtroopers with me and was coming aboard to check their shipping licenses.”
Lando raised his eyebrows. “And they bought that?”
Han shrugged. “I was broadcasting a borrowed Imperial ID at the time.”
“But then you know what he did?” Ghent put in. “He gave the ship over to the slaves they found locked up in the hold. Gave it to them—just like that! Including all the cargo, too.”
“Why, you old softie.” Lando grinned, taking a bite from one of the rolled leaves. “No wonder you never told me that one.”
With an effort, Han held on to his patience. “The cargo was pirate plunder,” he growled. “Some of it extremely traceable. We were off Janodral Mizar—they had a strange local law at the time that pirate or slaver victims got to split up the proceeds if the pirates were taken or killed.”6
“That law’s still in force, as far as I know,” Karrde murmured.
“Probably. Anyway, Chewie was with me … and you know Chewie’s opinion of slavers.”
“Yeah,” Lando said dryly. “They’d have had a better chance with the twenty stormtroopers.”
“And if I hadn’t just given away the ship—” Han broke off as a quiet beep sounded.
“Excuse me,” Karrde said, pulling a comlink from his belt. “—Karrde here.”
Han couldn’t hear what was being said … but abruptly Karrde’s face seemed to tighten. “I’ll be right there.”
He got to his feet and slipped the comlink back onto his belt. “Excuse me again,” he said. “A small matter needs my attention.”
“Trouble?” Han asked.
“I hope not.” Karrde glanced across the table, and Han turned in time to see Mara stand up. “Hopefully, this will only take a few minutes. Please enjoy your meal.”
They left the table, and Han looked back at Lando. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.
Lando nodded, his eyes still following Mara and Karrde, a strange expression on his face. “I’ve seen her before, Han,” he murmured back. “I don’t know where, but I know I’ve seen her … and I don’t think she was a smuggler at the time.”
Han looked around the table at the others, at the wariness in their eyes and the guarded murmuring back and forth between them. Even Ghent had noticed the sudden tension and was studiously eating away at his appetizers. “Well, figure it out fast, buddy,” he told Lando quietly. “We might be about to wear out our welcome.”
“I’m working on it. What do we do until then?”
Another droid was trundling up, his tray laden with filled soup bowls. “Until then,” Han said, “I guess we enjoy our meal.”
“He came in from lightspeed about ten minutes ago,” Aves said tightly, tapping the mark on the sensor display. “Captain Pellaeon signaled two minutes later. Asking for you personally.”
Karrde rubbed a finger gently across his lower lip. “Any signs of landing craft or fighters?” he asked.
“Not yet.” Aves shook his head. “But from his insertion angle, I’d guess he’ll be dropping some soon—downpoint probably somewhere in this part of the forest.”
Karrde nodded thoughtfully. Such propitious timing … for someone. “Where did we wind up putting the Millennium Falcon?”
“It’s over on pad eight,” Aves said.
Back in under the edge of the forest, then. That was good—the high metal content of Myrkr’s trees would help shield it from the Chimaera’s sensors. “Take two men and go throw a camo net over it,” he told the other. “There’s no point in taking chances. And do it quietly—we don’t want to alarm our guests.”
“Right.” Aves pulled off his headset and headed out of the room at a brisk trot.
Karrde looked at Mara. “Interesting timing, this visit.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “If that’s a subtle way of asking whether or not I called them, don’t bother. I didn’t.”
He cocked his head. “Really. I’m a little surprised.”
“So am I,” she countered. “I should have thought of it days ago.” She nodded toward the headset. “You going to talk to him or not?”
“I don’t suppose I have much choice.” Mentally bracing himself, Karrde sat down in the seat Aves had just vacated and touched a switch. “Captain Pellaeon, this is Talon Karrde,” he said. “My apologies for the delay. What can I do for you?”
The distant image of the Chimaera disappeared, but it wasn’t Pellaeon’s face that replaced it. This face was a nightmare image: long and lean, with pale blue skin and eyes that glittered like two bits of red-hot metal. “Good afternoon, Captain Karrde,” the other said, his voice clear and smooth and very civilized. “I’m Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
“Good afternoon, Admiral.” Karrde nodded in greeting, taking it in stride. “This is an unexpected honor. May I ask the purpose of your call?”
“Part of it I’m sure you’ve already guessed,” Thrawn told him. “We find ourselves in need of more ysalamiri, and would like your permission to harvest some more of them.”
“Certainly,” Karrde said, a funny feeling starting to tug at the back of his mind. There was something strange about Thrawn’s posture … and the Imperials hardly needed his permission to come pull ysalamiri off their trees. “If I may say so, you seem to be running through them rather quickly. Are you having trouble keeping them alive?”