Sena shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay,” Han said, feeling some sympathetic ache of his own. She could have all the good intentions and logic in the galaxy on her side, but this probably still looked and felt to her like betrayal. A stray memory clicked: the expression on Luke’s face, just before the battle off Yavin with the first Death Star. When he’d thought Han was going to run off and abandon them …
“Han,” Lando said quietly.
Han looked over at his friend, shaking off the memory. Lando raised his eyebrows slightly in reminder … “We’ll make you a deal, Sena,” Han said, turning back to her. “We’ll talk to Mon Mothma about the Senator. You talk to us about the Katana fleet.”
Sena’s face went rigid. “The Katana fleet?”
“Where your six Dreadnaughts came from,” Lando said. “Don’t bother denying it—I got a good look at that repeater display you’ve got up over the bar in the headquarters lounge.”
Sena took a deep breath. “No. I can’t tell you anything about that.”
“Why not?” Lando asked. “We’re all about to be allies again, remember?”
An unpleasant tingle ran up Han’s back. “Unless you’ve already promised the fleet to Fey’lya.”
“We’ve promised Fey’lya nothing,” Sena said flatly. “Not that he hasn’t asked for it.”
Han grimaced. “So he is trying for a coup.”
“Not at all,” Sena shook her head. “Fey’lya wouldn’t know what to do with a military coup if you gift wrapped it and handed it to him on a drinks tray. You have to understand that Bothans think in terms of political and persuasive influence, not military power. The typical Bothan’s goal is to go through life getting more and more people to listen to what he has to say. Fey’lya thinks that being the one to bring the Senator back into the New Republic will be a large step in that direction.”
“Especially if Ackbar isn’t around to oppose him?” Han asked.
Sena nodded. “Yes, that’s unfortunately another typical Bothan move. A Bothan leader who stumbles is invariably jumped on by all those who want to take over his position. In the distant past the attacks were literal—knives and usually death. Now, it’s been modified to more of a verbal assassination. Progress, I suppose.”
“Ackbar’s not a Bothan,” Lando pointed out.
“The technique is easily adapted to other races.”
Han grunted. “What a great group to have as allies. So do they just stab, or do they also help with the tripping?”
“You mean the bank transfer?” Sena shook her head. “No, I doubt that was Fey’lya’s doing. As a rule Bothans don’t stick their necks out far enough to concoct plots on their own. They much prefer to take advantage of other people’s.”
“More like scavengers than hunters,” Han said sourly. Probably explained why he’d always disliked Fey’lya and his crowd. “So what do we do about him?”
Sena shrugged. “All you really need to do is get Ackbar cleared. As soon as he’s not vulnerable to attack anymore, Fey’lya should back off.”
“Great,” Han growled. “Problem is, with a Grand Admiral in charge of the Empire, we might not have that much time.”
“And if we don’t, neither do you,” Lando added. “Wounded dignity aside, Sena, the Senator had better start facing reality. You’re a small, isolated group with a line on the Katana fleet, and there’s an Empire out there hungry for new warships. The minute the Grand Admiral tumbles to what you’ve got, he’ll have the whole Imperial Fleet on you before you can blink twice. Bring the Katana fleet over to the New Republic and you get to be heroes. Wait too long, and you’ll lose everything.”
“I know that,” Sena said, her voice almost too low to hear. Han waited, mentally crossing his fingers … “We don’t actually know where the fleet is,” she said. “Our Dreadnaughts came from a man who says he stumbled on them about fifteen years ago. He’s thin, below-average height, with a sort of weasely look about him. He has short white hair and a heavily lined face, though I suspect much of that appearance is due more to some past disease or injury than actual age.”
“What’s his name?” Han asked.
“I don’t know. He’s never told us that.” She hesitated again, then plunged ahead. “He loves to gamble, though. All our meetings with him have been aboard the Coral Vanda, usually across gaming tables. The staff there seemed to know him quite well, though the way he was throwing money around, that may not mean anything. Croupiers always get to know the losers quickly.”
“The Coral Vanda?” Han asked.
“It’s a subocean luxury casino on Pantolomin,” Lando told him. “Does three-and seven-day runs through the big network of reefs lying off the northern continent. I’ve always wanted to go there, but never had the chance.”
“Well, you’ve got it now,” Han said. He looked at Sena. “I suppose the next question is how we’re going to get out of here.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said, her voice sounding strained. Already having second thoughts, probably. “I can get the Harrier to take you back to New Cov. When do you want to leave?”
“Right now,” Han said. He saw Sena’s expression—“Look, no matter when we go, you’re going to have some explaining to do to the Senator. We’re in a race with the Empire here—even a few hours might make a difference.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said with a reluctant nod. “Irenez, take us to their ship. I’ll make the arrangements from there.”
It turned out there was no need to make arrangements from the Lady Luck. Standing outside the ship’s ramp as they arrived, clearly waiting for them, was Senator Bel Iblis.
“Hello, Solo; Calrissian,” he smiled as Han and Lando stepped out of the speeder. “You weren’t at your quarters, and I thought you might be here. I see I guessed right.”
His eyes flicked over Han’s shoulder as Sena emerged from the speeder. Looked again into Han’s face … and abruptly the easy smile vanished. “Sena? What’s going on?”
“They know about the Katana fleet, Commander,” she said quietly, coming up beside Han. “And … I told them about our contact.”
“I see,” Bel Iblis said evenly. “And so you’re leaving. To see if you can persuade him to turn the Dark Force over to the New Republic.”
“That’s right, sir,” Han said, matching his tone. “We need the ships—need them pretty badly. But not as much as we need good fighters. And good commanders.”
For a long moment Bel Iblis gazed at him. “I won’t go to Mon Mothma like a beggar pleading to be let in,” he said at last.
“You left for good reasons,” Han persisted. “You can come back the same way.”
Again, Bel Iblis’s eyes flicked to Sena. “No,” he said. “Too many people know what happened between us. I would look like an old fool. Or like a beggar.”
He looked past Han, his eyes sweeping slowly across the buildings of Peregrine’s Nest. “I don’t have anything to bring, Solo,” he said, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret. “Once I’d dreamed of having a fleet that would rival the best in the New Republic. A fleet, and a string of decisive and pivotal victories over the Empire. With that, perhaps I could have returned with dignity and respect.” He shook his head. “But what we have here barely qualifies as a strike force.”
“Maybe so, but six Dreadnaughts aren’t anything to sneer at,” Lando put in. “And neither is your combat record. Forget Mon Mothma for a minúte—every military person in the New Republic would be delighted to have you in.”
Bel Iblis cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps. I suppose it’s worth thinking about.”
“Especially with a Grand Admiral in charge of the Empire,” Han pointed out. “If he catches you here alone, you’ll have had it.”
Bel Iblis smiled tightly. “That thought has occurred to me, Solo. Several times a day.” He straightened up. “The Harrier is leaving in half an hour to take Breil’lya back to New Cov. I’ll instruct them to take you and the Lady Luck along.”
Han and Lando exchanged glances. “You think it’ll be safe to go back to New Cov, sir?” Han asked. “There might still be Imperials hanging around.”
“There won’t be.” Bel Iblis was positive. “I’ve studied the Imperials and their tactics a long time. Aside from not expecting us to show up again so soon, they really can’t afford to hang around any one place for long. Besides, we have to go there—Breil’lya will need to pick up his ship.”
Han nodded, wondering what kind of report Breil’lya would be giving to his boss when he got back to Coruscant. “All right. Well … I guess we’d better get the ship prepped.”
“Yes.” Bel Iblis hesitated, then held out his hand. “It was good to see you, Solo. I hope we’ll meet again.”
“I’m sure we will, sir,” Han assured him, grasping the outstretched hand.
The Senator nodded to Lando. “Calrissian,” he said. Releasing Han’s hand, he turned and walked away across the landing field.