“Hunter Maas,” Han said, after turning the headset back on. “This is Captain Solo call—”
“You fired torpedoes at Hunter Maas!” the man shouted back. “The Cosmodium could have been destroyed!”
“The Cosmodium? Is that your ship?”
“Hunter Maas carries precious cargo in fragile data storage devices! The pulse from exploding torpedoes can do irreparable damage to such things!”
“Those were concussion warheads, they don’t make a—”
“And pieces of the exploding ship have pierced the Cosmodium’s hull! Hunter Maas will require extensive repairs to his ship!”
“Hunter Maas,” Han said pleasantly.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
There was a long silence, though it was impossible to tell if this was obedience or shock.
“Thank you,” Han said. “Please follow my course to Kiamurr. We’ll make sure you get there safely. We have a secure dock picked out for your landing.”
“Hunter Maas selects his own dock,” the pirate was saying. “Thank you for your offer, but your work is now complete. Take the compliments and salutations of Hunter Maas to whoever your master is. Good-bye.”
“Hold on there, pal,” Han said. The guy on the other end of the line was finally starting to get on his nerves. “You’re going to follow me back to my dock, end of story.”
“And why would Hunter Maas agree to these terms?”
“Because,” Han said, making sure Maas could hear the smile in his voice, “I saved you.” When Maas started to interrupt, he talked over him. “And I’m sitting behind you right now with six more concussion missiles. So you can fly to Kiamurr, land at my private dock, and meet with my friends. Or I can tow the crippled remains of your ship to that same dock.”
The pause was shorter than Han had expected.
“Hunter Maas likes the sound of this private dock! Lead the way, my friend.”
Han nodded to himself and stripped off the headset.
“How’s that for persuasive?” he said to no one.
True to her word, Scarlet had a dock assignment waiting for them at a small freight-forwarding warehouse just outside the main city. The warehouse was closed when they arrived, so the dock was empty of ships and employees. She was waiting for them, lounging on a nearby flight of stairs.
Han trotted down the ramp from the Falcon, hand on the butt of his blaster. They didn’t really have any idea how many people Maas had with him on his ship, or if they’d be angry about Han forcing them to land. If Scarlet was worried, it didn’t show. She stretched out on the steps, head cocked to one side so that her black hair fell away from her eyes. She gave Han a grin.
“Good job, Captain.”
“He had an Imperial scout ship chasing him,” Han said. “The clock’s ticking. The invasion has to be on its way.”
“We saw,” she said, then jumped lightly to her feet and started walking toward Maas’s freighter. “Thanks for handling that, Han. But it’s possible the scout that was chasing Maas was working on its own. We can’t be sure it was an advance ship of an Imperial fleet.”
“Are we waiting to find out? Because that seems like a bad hand to bet all our chips on.”
“Let’s just get this negotiation out of the way,” Scarlet said. “That’s our priority. Then we’ll decide what to do.”
“Why do I feel like the ‘we’ in that statement doesn’t include me?”
“Because it doesn’t?”
Before Han could formulate a good reply, the ramp to Maas’s ship began to open. A thick trickle of smoke and the smell of burned metal drifted out. The Cosmodium had taken a beating, no doubt about that.
“Chewie,” Han said into his headset, “get your furry backside out here.” The Wookiee growled back. “I know I told you to fix it, but get out here anyway. Bring your bowcaster.” Chewbacca chuffed in agreement and closed the line.
Hunter Maas appeared at the top of the ramp, bursting out of the smoky ship’s interior like an actor taking the stage. He was a small man, physically speaking, but he managed to take up all the space in the large and mostly empty dock. He didn’t walk down the ramp, he swaggered. He didn’t smile at them, he grinned a mouthful of sparkling white teeth. He was shirtless, wearing his small middle-aged potbelly with a pride it didn’t deserve. His pants were tight black leather. Over his shoulders flowed a floor-length red cape with elaborate gold piping. A meek R3 droid followed after him like a supplicant, and a thin ratlike bird perched on his left shoulder, chittering random words in a dozen different languages.
“Greetings!” Maas boomed at them, throwing his long cape away from his right hip to expose a holstered blaster. Han worked to keep a grin off his face. The blaster was an ancient model so large that he was pretty sure he could draw and fire three shots in the time it would take that aged monstrosity to clear its holster. If the point of all the cape twirling was to be threatening, it wasn’t working.
“Hunter Maas,” Scarlet said, giving him a hint of a bow. “We’re very happy you agreed to join us.”
“Agreed?” Maas said, eyebrows crawling up his face. “All of the posturing from this one”—he pointed at Han—“would have been unnecessary had only Hunter Maas been told of your loveliness.”
The gunrunner and thief sauntered down the ramp to Scarlet, swept her hand up in a dramatic flourish, and laid a long, wet kiss on it. “Hunter Maas is your servant, my lady. Command him!”
With a smile, Scarlet managed to pull her hand out of his. “I ask only that you join me for a drink and a conversation.”
“Ah, my sweetling,” Maas replied, grabbing Scarlet’s hand again and putting it on his arm, “we are meant to be together. You have read Hunter Maas’s innermost thoughts and discerned his own desires. Lead on, lady. Drink and converse we shall.”
Scarlet left her hand on his arm and began guiding him out of the dock, the R3 scooting along behind like an attendant at a wedding. Han followed once Chewbacca had caught up to them. The Wookiee carried his bowcaster in both hands and frowned a question. Han nodded toward Maas and shrugged.
As he and Chewbacca followed Scarlet to the meeting place, Maas ignored them completely. He couldn’t blame the man. Scarlet definitely had the air of someone in charge. Whenever she was in the room, he and Chewbacca probably looked like hired thugs—the unspoken threat paired to her polite civility. It was a role Han had played before, but it galled him how quickly he fell into it when he was around her.