“And then we do it all over again,” Lando growled. “And again, and again. It’s a waste of time.”
“You got any other ideas?”
“Matter of fact, I do,” Lando said as they swung wide to get around a large Herglic balanced precariously across two of the seats and headed down the bar toward the exit. “Instead of just wandering around like we have for the past six hours, we should plant ourselves at a sabacc table somewhere and start dropping some serious money. Word’ll get around that there are a couple of pikers ripe for plucking; and if this guy loses money as fast as Sena says, he’ll be plenty interested in trying to make some of it back.”
Han looked at his friend in mild surprise. He’d had the same idea a couple of hours ago, but hadn’t figured on Lando going for it. “You think your professional gambler’s pride can take that kind of beating?”
Lando looked him straight in the eye. “If it’ll get me out of here and back to my mining operation, my pride can take anything.”
Han grimaced. He sometimes forgot that he’d kind of dragged Lando into all of this. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. Okay, tell you what. We’ll give the Saffkin Room one last look. If he’s not there, we’ll come back here and—”
He broke off. There on the bar, in front of an empty seat, was a tray with a still-smoldering cigarra sitting in it. A cigarra with an unusual but very familiar aroma to it …
“Uh-oh,” Lando said quietly at his shoulder.
“I don’t believe it,” Han said, dropping his hand to his blaster as he threw a quick look around the crowded room.
“Believe it, buddy,” Lando said. He touched the cushion of the vacant seat. “It’s still warm. He must be—there he is.”
It was Niles Ferrier, all right, standing beneath the ornate shimmerglass exit archway, another of his ever-present cigarras gripped between his teeth. He grinned at them, made a sort of mock salute, and disappeared out the door.
“Well, that’s just great,” Lando said. “Now what?”
“He wants us to follow him,” Han said, throwing a quick glance around them. He didn’t see anyone he recognized, but that didn’t mean anything. Ferrier’s people were probably all around them. “Let’s go see what he’s up to.”
“It could be a trap,” Lando warned.
“Or he could be ready to deal,” Han countered. “Keep your blaster ready.”
“No kidding.”
They were halfway to the archway when they heard it: a short, deep-toned thud like a distant crack of thunder. It was followed by another, louder one, and then a third. The conversational din of the casino faltered as others paused to listen; and as they did so, the Coral Vanda seemed to tremble a little.
Han looked at Lando. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” he muttered.
“Turbolaser bursts hitting the water,” Lando murmured grimly. “Ferrier’s dealing, all right. Only not with us.”
Han nodded, feeling a hard knot settle into his stomach. Ferrier had gone ahead and made a deal with the Empire … and if the Imperials got their hands on the Katana fleet, the balance of power in the ongoing war would suddenly be skewed back in their favor.
And under the command of a Grand Admiral …
“We’ve got to find that ship dealer, and fast,” he said, hurrying toward the exit. “Maybe we can get him out in an escape pod or something before we’re boarded.”
“Hopefully, before the rest of the passengers start panicking,” Lando added. “Let’s go.”
They’d made it to the archway when their time ran out. There was a sudden thunderclap, not distant this time but seemingly right on top of them, and for a second the coral reef outside the transparent hull lit up with an angry green light. The Coral Vanda lurched like a wounded animal, and Han grabbed at the edge of the archway for balance—
Something caught his arm and pulled hard, yanking him out of the archway to his right. He grabbed reflexively for his blaster, but before he could draw it strong furry arms wrapped around his chest and face, pinning his gun hand to his side and blotting out all view of the sudden panic in the corridor. He tried to shout, but the arm was blocking his mouth as well as his eyes. Struggling uselessly, swearing under what breath he could get, he was hauled backwards down the corridor. Two more thunderclaps came, the second nearly throwing both him and his attacker off their feet. A change of direction sideways—his elbow banged against the side of a doorway—
A hard shove and he was free again, gasping for breath. He was in a small drinks storage room, with crates of bottles lining three of the walls almost to the ceiling. Several had already been knocked to the floor by the Coral Vanda’s lurching, and out of one of them a dark red liquid was oozing.
Lounging beside the door, grinning again, was Ferrier. “Hello, Solo,” he said. “Nice of you to drop in.”
“It was too kind an invitation to turn down,” Han said sourly, looking around. His blaster was hovering in front of a stack of crates two meters away, right in the middle of a thick and strangely solid shadow.
“You remember my wraith, of course,” Ferrier said blandly, gesturing at the shadow. “He’s the one who sneaked up onto the Lady Luck’s ramp to plant our backup homing beacon. The one inside the ship.”
So that was how Ferrier had managed to get here so fast. Another thunderclap shook the Coral Vanda, and another crate tottered too far and crashed to the floor. Han jumped back out of the way and took a closer look at the shadow. This time he was able to pick out the eyes and a glint of white fangs. He’d always thought wraiths were just space legend. Apparently not. “It’s not too late to make a deal,” he told Ferrier.
The other gave him a look of surprise. “This is your deal, Solo,” he said. “Why else do you think you’re in here instead of out where shooting’s about to start? We’re just going to keep you here, nice and safe, until things settle down again.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Calrissian, now—he’s another story.”
Han frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m tired of him getting in my way,” Ferrier said softly. “So when the Coral Vanda finally gives up and surfaces, I’m going to make sure he’s right up there in front, trying valiantly to protect poor Captain Hoffner from the evil stormtroopers. With any luck …” He spread his hands and smiled.
“Hoffner’s the guy’s name, huh?” Han said, fighting his anger down. Getting mad wasn’t going to help Lando any. “Suppose he’s not on board? The Imperials won’t be happy about that.”
“Oh, he’s aboard,” Ferrier assured him. “Getting a little stircrazy, though. He’s been sort of locked in our suite since about an hour after we sailed.”
“You sure you got the right guy?”
Ferrier shrugged. “If not, the Grand Admiral has only himself to blame. He’s the one who supplied me with the name.”
Another blast rocked the ship. “Well, nice talking to you, Solo, but I’ve got a deal to close,” Ferrier said, regaining his balance and hitting the door release. “See you around.”
“We’ll pay you twice what the Empire’s offering,” Han said, trying one last time.
Ferrier didn’t even bother to answer. Smiling one last time, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.
Han looked at the shadow that was the wraith. “How about you?” he asked. “You want to be rich?”
The wraith showed its teeth, but made no other reply. There was another thunderclap, and they were jerked hard to the side. The Coral Vanda was a well-built ship, but Han knew it couldn’t stand up to this kind of pounding for long. Sooner or later, it would have to give up and surface … and then the stormtroopers would come.
He had just that long to find a way out of here.
The Chimaera’s turbolaser batteries fired again, and on the bridge holo display a short red line dug briefly into the sea near the tapered black cylinder that marked the Coral Vanda’s position. For an instant the red line was sheathed in the pale green of seawater suddenly flashed into superheated steam; and then the pale green spread outward in all directions, and the Coral Vanda rocked visibly as the shock wave passed it. “They’re stubborn, I’ll give them that,” Pellaeon commented.
“They have a great many wealthy patrons aboard,” Thrawn reminded him. “Many of whom would rather drown than give up their money under threat of force.”
Pellaeon glanced at his readouts. “It won’t be long until they’re at that choice. Main propulsion’s been knocked out, and they’re developing microfractures in their hull seams. Computer projects that if they don’t surface in ten minutes, they won’t be able to.”
“They’re a shipful of gamblers, Captain,” Thrawn said. “They’ll gamble on the strength of their ship while they seek an alternative.”