“You know how this is going to go,” Baasen said. “Shoot it out here and now, and you take a couple down with, but you’re still a dead man. Play nice, you maybe find a way out later.”
“It happened last time,” Han said.
“And maybe that’s part of what this is about. History and all that,” Baasen said with a grin. “So best you give us your weapons now, and no one dies for a time, eh?”
Chewbacca growled, looking from Han to Baasen and back again. Han weighed the chances. Baasen would die. And at least one of the others. Maybe two.
“Do as he says, Chewie,” Han said, raising his hands.
“Good man. Live to fight another day.”
“You used to be better than this, Baasen. Working for the Empire is low even for you.”
“Oh, that’s not me. Hand you over to them, and they’ll likely shoot me for my troubles. No. I got nothing against the Rebellion. It’s just the Hutt’s money’s too good, and times are hard.”
“Says something when Jabba is more trustworthy than the Empire.”
“Does, doesn’t it?” Baasen said as the hired gun he’d called Simm took Han’s blaster.
“What happened to Hark?”
“Nothing I know of. Imagine she’ll be disappointed that her ride never showed, but word is she’s a resourceful one. She’ll land on her feet.”
Chewbacca stared at Simm and bared his teeth in a silent promise of violence. The man swallowed, but he still took Chewie’s bowcaster and bandolier. The transport hit a patch of turbulent air, the car shifting a little and the drives whining to compensate. Simm handed the weapons to Garet and pulled two pairs of cuffs out of a blue plastoid toolbox.
“What about the message at the dead drop?” Han asked as the cold, heavy restraints clicked around his wrists, cycling tighter until the pressure was just on the edge of pain.
“Put it in the recycler, didn’t I?” Baasen said. “Likely it’s halfway to being paper for some sad Imperial toilet.”
“Then there was one? She did leave a message?” Han said. “Written instructions on how to find her just out in public after all?”
“Of course she did,” Baasen said. “It was that or trust the locals. Woman’s not an idiot.”
THE WAREHOUSE WAS TUCKED OFF the flight hangar. Brushed-durasteel walls and impact-resistant ceramic crates were stacked as high as the ceiling in some places, dropped down and rearranged to serve as seats and tables in others. It was cold as a refrigerator, and the air was sharp with the stink of coolant and volatiles. Han sat on the floor. The wrist cuffs glowed blue, and the magnetic fields of the clamps made his joints ache. Chewbacca squatted a couple of meters to his left, scraping idly at one of the crates and ignoring Han, Baasen, and the two thugs entirely.
“Don’t,” Garet said, holding up his palm to Baasen. “I told you this before we left. I could stay and prep the ship, or I could go to the drop. You said come to the drop, so I did. Now I’m prepping the ship. Can’t do everything at once.”
“Hurry is all,” Baasen said, brushing the back of his hand across the tattoos on his chin.
“I’ve put in for clearance to go. Sunnim’s heating up the engines. We’ll get out when we get out,” Garet said. “You can try rushing the Empire if you want. I’ll wait here.”
Baasen shot a sour glance at Garet but didn’t say more. He seemed to have a pretty small crew: the three human toughs from the back of the transport and a brown-furred Bothan pilot with a face like a sad goat—Sunnim, apparently—who’d been driving it. Han twisted the cuffs. They didn’t even flex.
Garet walked away, the wide loading dock door hissing up to let him pass. Han caught a glimpse of the hangar. An ancient Sienar NM-600 squatted on the pad, the little freighter looking like a dirt clod against the shining backdrop of the dock. The pilot was standing beside it, speaking to a gray-clad Imperial functionary. Han wondered what would happen if he shouted for help. Nothing good. The loading dock door hissed down again. The other tough, Simm, yawned.
“Hoy, Chewbacca,” Baasen said. “Leave that crate be.”
Chewbacca looked up, answering with a complex howl.
“What’d he say?” Baasen asked.
“He thanked you for your kind suggestion,” Han said, not even pretending it was the truth. If Sunnim the Bothan was halfway competent, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to get the ship ready, even if it was dead cold. And once they were on that ship and out of the dock, Han didn’t have much hope that they’d ever make it back.
So whatever he was going to do, it had to be done in the next few minutes. He looked over at Chewbacca, who was running his claws over the crate’s hinge. If the Wookiee could pull the hinge bolt, he might—might—be able to short the magnetic coils in his cuffs. It wouldn’t unlock them, but it might reduce the fields to the point that Chewbacca could bend them open by brute strength.
If there was just some way to tell him without the others figuring out what they were doing …
Han craned his neck. Chewbacca’s blue eyes met his. Han glanced down at the crate, willing the Wookiee to follow his gaze. To understand. Chewbacca’s sigh was so soft, it was nearly silence. He lifted a brown, hair-draped arm to show Han the hinge bolt hidden at his side.
Ah, Han thought. Right. He’ll need a distraction.
He stood up. Simm and Baasen both raised their blasters.
“Obliged if you had a seat,” Baasen said.
“I’m stretching my legs,” Han said. “And you’re not going to shoot me. This is the Core. You start firing blasters in here, and there’ll be a hundred stormtroopers drawing down on all of us in about three minutes.”
Baasen grinned ruefully, lowering his blaster but not returning it to his holster. Han walked to the far wall, turned, and sat on a crate, his body loose and comfortable. He shook his head.
“How did we get to this, Baasen? Used to be we were the guys who prided ourselves on ignoring the authorities. Now we’re hunting each other down. And for what?”
“Money,” Baasen said.
“Pretty much the money, yeah,” Simm said, nodding. “It’s good money.”
The high screaming roar of an engine rose and fell as a ship left the hangar. Not theirs, but one fewer in the line that blocked their departure. Chewbacca sat forward, his expression disconsolate. His wrists vanished between his knees. Baasen sighed.