“Last I saw, he was on Level Four heading west,” Lando said, digging out his comlink. “He told me not to call him, but I think this qualifies as an unforeseen circumstance.”
“Wait a minute,” Luke stopped him. “If he’s anywhere near this aide of Fey’lya’s—and if Fey’lya is working some land of deal with the Empire …?”
“You’re right.” Lando swore under his breath as he put the comlink away. “So what do we do?”
They’d reached the ramp now and stepped onto the section spiraling upward. “I’ll go find Han,” Luke said. “You get up to the landing area and see what’s happening. If the Imperials haven’t actually landed yet, you might be able to get into the air control computer and erase us from the list. Artoo can help if you can get him out of my X-wing and over to a terminal without being caught.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
“Okay.” A stray memory flicked through Luke’s mind—“I don’t suppose the Lady Luck’s equipped with one of those full-rig slave circuits you talked about back on Nkllon, is it?”
Lando shook his head. “It’s rigged, but only with a simple homing setup. Nothing much more than straight-line motion and a little maneuvering. It’d never be able to get to me through the middle of an enclosed city like this.”
And even if it could, Luke had to admit, it wouldn’t do them much good. Short of blasting a huge hole through the outer wall, the only way out of Ilic for anything the size of a spaceship was through the exit ducts above the landing area. “It was just a thought,” he said.
“Here’s where Han got off,” Lando said, pointing. “He headed that way.”
“Right.” Luke stepped off the ramp. “See you soon. Be careful.”
“You, too.”
CHAPTER
8
The graying woman took Han to a small office-type room in the Amethyst building, turned him over to a couple of other guard types there, and disappeared with his blaster, comlink, and ID in hand. Han tried once or twice to strike up a conversation with the guards, got no response from either of them, and had just about resigned himself to sitting quietly, listening to the sirens outside, when the woman returned.
Accompanied by another, taller woman with the unmistakable air of authority about her. “Good day to you,” the tall woman said, nodding at Han. “Captain Han Solo, I believe?”
With his ID in her hand, there didn’t seem much point in denying it. “That’s right,” he said.
“We’re honored by your visit,” she said, her tone putting a slightly sardonic edge to the polite words. “Though a bit surprised by it.”
“I don’t know why—the visit was your idea,” Han countered. “You always pick people up off the street like this?”
“Just special ones.” The tall woman’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “You want to tell me who you are and who sent you?”
Han frowned. “What do you mean, who am I? You’ve got my ID right there.”
“Yes, I do,” the woman nodded, turning the card over in her hand. “But there’s some difference of opinion as to whether or not it’s genuine.” She looked out the door and beckoned—
And Tav Breil’lya stepped past her into the room. “I was right,” the Bothan said, his cream-colored fur rippling in an unfamiliar pattern. “As I told you when I first saw his ID. He is an impostor. Almost certainly an Imperial spy.”
“What?” Han stared at him, the whole situation tilting slightly off vertical. He looked at the alien’s neckpiece—it was Tav Breil’lya, all right. “What did you call me?”
“You’re an Imperial spy,” Breil’lya repeated, his fur rippling again. “Come to destroy our friendship, or even to kill us all. But you’ll never live to report back to your masters.” He turned to the tall woman. “You must destroy him at once, Sena,” he urged. “Before he has the chance to summon your enemies here.”
“Let’s not do anything rash, Council-Aide Breil’lya,” Sena soothed. “Irenez has a good picket screen in position.” She looked at Han. “Would you care to respond to the Council-Aide’s accusations?”
“We have no interest in the ravings of an Imperial spy,” Breil’lya insisted before Han could speak.
“On the contrary, Council-Aide,” Sena countered. “Around here, we have an interest in a great many things.” She turned back to Han, lifted his ID. “Do you have any proof other than this that you’re who you claim to be?”
“It doesn’t matter who he is,” Breil’lya jumped in again, his voice starting to sound a little strained. “He’s seen you, and he must certainly know that we have some kind of arrangement. Whether he’s from the Empire or the New Republic is irrelevant—both are your enemies, and both would use such information against you.”
Sena’s eyebrows lifted again. “So now his identity doesn’t matter,” she said coolly. “Does that mean you’re no longer certain he’s an impostor?”
Breil’lya’s fur rippled again. Clearly, he wasn’t as quick on his verbal feet as his boss. “He’s a very close likeness,” the other muttered. “Though a proper dissection would quickly establish for certain who he is.”
Sena smiled slightly. But it was a smile of understanding, not of humor … and suddenly Han realized that the confrontation had been as much a test of Breil’lya as it had been of him. And if Sena’s expression was anything to go by, the Bothan had just flunked it. “I’ll keep that recommendation in mind,” she told him dryly.
There was a soft beep, and the gray-haired woman pulled out a comlink and spoke quietly into it. She listened, spoke again, and looked up at Sena. “Picket line reports another man approaching,” she said. “Medium build, dark blond hair, dressed in black”—she threw a glance at Breil’lya—“and carrying what appears to be a lightsaber.”
Sena looked at Breil’lya, too. “I believe that ends the discussion,” she said. “Have one of the pickets meet him, Irenez, and ask him if he’ll join us. Make it clear that’s a request, not an order. Then return Captain Solo’s weapon and equipment to him.” She turned to Han, nodded gravely to him as she returned his ID. “My apologies, Captain. You understand we have to be cautious. Particularly given the coincidence of this.” She gestured toward the outside wall.
Han frowned, wondering what she meant. Then he got it: she was indicating the sirens still wailing outside. “No problem,” he assured her. “What are the sirens for, anyway?”
“It’s an Imperial raid,” Irenez said, handing him his blaster and comlink.
Han froze. “A raid?”
“It’s no big deal,” Sena assured him. “They come by every few months and take a percentage of the refined biomolecules that have been packaged for export. It’s a covert form of taxation the city governments have worked out with them. Don’t worry, they never come any farther in than the landing level.”
“Yeah, well, they may change the routine a little this time,” Han growled, flicking on his comlink. He half expected someone to try to stop him, but no one even twitched. “Luke?”
“I’m here, Han,” the younger man’s voice came back. “My escort tells me I’m being brought to where you are. You all right?”
“Just a little misunderstanding. Better get in here fast—we got company.”
“Right.”
Han shut off the comlink. Sena and Irenez, he saw, had meanwhile been having a quiet conversation of their own. “If you’re as touchy about Imperials as Breil’lya implied, you might want to find a hole to disappear into,” he advised.
“Our escape route’s ready,” Sena assured him as Irenez left the room. “The question is what to do with you and your friend.”
“You can’t just turn them loose,” Breil’lya insisted, trying one last time. “You know full well that if the New Republic learns about you—”
“The Commander is being notified,” Sena cut him off. “He’ll decide.”
“But—”
“That’s all, Council-Aide,” she cut him off again, her voice suddenly hard. “Join the others at the lift shaft. You’ll accompany me on my ship.”
Breil’lya threw one last unreadable look at Han, then silently left the room.
“Who’s this Commander of yours?” Han asked.
“I can’t tell you that.” Sena studied him a moment. “Don’t worry, though. Despite what Breil’lya said, we’re not enemies of the New Republic. At least, not at the moment.”
“Oh,” Han said. “Great.”
There was the sound of footsteps from the hallway outside. A few seconds later, accompanied by two young men with holstered blasters, Luke stepped into the room.
“Han,” Luke greeted his friend, giving Sena a quick once-over. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” Han assured him. “Like I said, a little misunderstanding. The lady here—Sena—” He paused expectantly.
“Let’s just leave it at Sena for now,” she said.
“Ah,” Han said. He’d hoped to get her last name, but clearly she wasn’t in the habit of giving it out. “Anyway, Sena thought I was an Imperial spy. And speaking of Imperials—”
“I know,” Luke nodded. “Lando’s gone up to see if he can clear our ships from the landing record.”
“He won’t be able to,” Han shook his head. “Not in time. And they’re bound to pull the landing list.”