All in all, it was not turning out to be a good night.
“You’ll be needing to call our friend Chewbacca,” Baasen said. “Let him know about the change of plan. And he’ll be wanting to get the Falcon ready to take off. And you can tell him there’s no hard feelings about Cioran. I’d have done the same as him.”
“Your plan is to take the Falcon?” Han said.
“Not my first choice,” Baasen said. “But we make do with what the universe gives us, don’t we? It’s a ship, and we’re in need of one.”
The hallway reached an intersection, and Sunnim held up a hand for them to stop before he sauntered out into it, looked in all directions, feigning innocence poorly, and then waved them forward.
“You don’t have a ship?” Han said. “Did you walk here?”
Baasen’s chuckle was low and rueful. “I’m afraid my old boat’s seen her last days. Truth is I’m doing you a favor, my boy. Putting you back in the frying pan, it’s truth, but I’m hauling you off the fire to do it. I dropped into Kiamurr system hot and came in a borrat’s whisker from sliding into the side of an Imperial Destroyer. They’ve ten of them out there. Well, Sunnim and I put all the power to our shields and lit out for the territories, didn’t we? Still sucked down enough plasma to melt our power couplings. Sad end to a good ship. I’d stay and fix the poor dear, but I’m fairly sure this planet and everything on it’ll be slag by morning.”
Han’s throat went tight. The fleet was here, then. They were out of time. He had to warn Leia. And Scarlet. And Chewbacca.
Sunnim opened the service door at the hallway’s end and peeked out, his ears shifting forward. A pair of protocol droids were walking together in the distance, their plating made from a clear polymer, and their circuits glowing blue and yellow in the darkness. Sunnim watched them pass, then grunted and waved Han forward.
“Step quick, old friend,” Baasen said, his tone less friendly than it had been. “I’ve got no time or inclination for your cleverness just now.”
“Baasen, you’re playing this wrong,” Han said, not stepping forward. “This thing with Jabba? It’s the smallest game on the board.”
“For you, p’raps,” Baasen said. “Looms rather large for me. Now walk.”
Out of the hall, the conclave hive’s windows were showing a slightly paler darkness—charcoal instead of black. A tiny bird no larger than Han’s thumb darted up into the air of the great dome above them. Sunnim scowled furiously and waved them forward.
“Look, Baasen. I understand where you are. Honestly, I’ve got no hard feeling about any of it, either. So before we go out there and can’t take any of this back, let me tell you what you’re walking out on.”
“There’s not enough honey in the galaxy to sweet-talk your way out of this, old friend,” Baasen said. “And don’t dream that I’m above shooting you, eh? Now move.”
“You’re on the losing side of this. I understand being afraid of Jabba. He’s made me nervous a couple of times, and I don’t scare as easy as you.” Baasen laughed. That was a good sign. Han talked faster. “What’s going on here is bigger than that. Big enough to shut down all the Hutts. Right now, you and I are maybe a hundred meters from information that will decide who runs the galaxy.”
“You’re old for fairy tales,” Baasen said.
Han lifted his hands to his sides, palms out, and started turning around. His skin tingled where he imagined the blaster bolt would strike.
“Don’t you do that, boy, or I’ll end your sad life in this hallway!” Baasen hissed, but Han kept turning. Baasen stood in the corridor, blaster leveled at Han’s head. His missing hand hadn’t been replaced; it was capped with a steel fitting. Baasen’s face was dark with anger, and the trembling in the blaster’s barrel wasn’t fear.
Han gave his best charming smile. “You know this is big,” he said. “I’m not asking you to trust me on that. All you have to do is look. Scarlet Hark shut down operations on Cioran. The Imperials sent ten Star Destroyers. And when I got here, Leia Organa didn’t just pull up stakes and go. So you know whatever’s going on, it’s huge. Right?”
“Stop trying to talk your way out of this,” Baasen said, but there was less certainty in his voice.
“A tool that can shut down hyperspace jumps. That’s what’s at stake here,” Han said. “Lets you determine who gets to move from one system to another.”
Baasen shrugged, but Han could see the calculations going on behind the man’s eyes. Baasen’s gaze softened for a moment, turning inward. Part of Han waned to leap forward, grab the blaster. He restrained himself.
“Everyone stuck on whatever system they’re in unless you say they can move. Everyone everywhere asking permission to travel. Paying whatever tolls you ask, or just rotting wherever they are if you want.”
“You’re lying.”
“Did I get the Imperial fleet to help me fool you? Because ten Star Destroyers sounds pretty sincere.”
Baasen’s tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. He lifted the stump of his wrist, scratching at his nose. The Bothan whined, “Boss. We got to go.”
“Patience, Sunnim. Cultivate a bit of patience, eh?” Baasen said. And then to Han, “This magic thing. It’s here? On Kiamurr?”
“No, but the map to it is. That’s what the Imperials are after. They’ve known where it is for a while now, but they want to make sure no one else does. Man named Hunter Maas has a copy of their surveys. Hark and I are here to steal it from him.”
“Pity that’s about to fail,” Baasen said.
“It’s a big pie, Baasen. Biggest one there’s ever been. If you want in on it, it’ll be worth more than everything Jabba’s got.”
“Hark’s here? On this planet?”
“In a room three corridors from here. I can take you to her right now if you want.”
Baasen still wavered. Outside, the windows were half a shade lighter. The Bothan shifted his weight from one foot to the other as if he needed to use the toilet and made a small keening sound under his breath. Han waited.
“Let’s go speak with our dear friend Hark,” Baasen said. “Maybe there’s a bit of room to negotiate.”
“You’re smarter than you look, old pal,” Han said.