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  "Shut up, Threepio," Han said without glancing in the droid's direction.

  "Looks like you've got an attitude problem, Han," Lando said with a grin

  he knew would annoy his friend. But Han had stepped over the bounds of

  common

  courtesy with his snappish accusations, and Lando had no intention of

  letting

  him get away with it.

  Han looked ready to explode. Lando couldn't figure out what was bothering

  him. "My problem is you've been sabotaging my ship. I don't ever want you

  touching her again, do you understand? Get your own ship. Seems to me that

  with the million-credit reward you got at the blob races on Umgul, you could

  buy just about any ship you want and stop messing around with mine."

  "An excellent idea, sir," Threepio added helpfully. "With that amount of

  money, General Calrissian, you could indeed buy a fine ship."

  "Be quiet, Threepio," Lando said, putting his hands on his hips. "I don't

  want to buy another ship, old buddy." He stressed the last two words with

  thick sarcasm. "If I can't have the Lady Luck, I want the Falcon. Your wife

  is

  the Minister of State, Han. You can have the government provide you with any

  sort of transport you want--whichyou not get yourself a new fighter right

  from

  the Calamarian shipyards?"

  "I'm certain that could be arranged, sir," Threepio agreed.

  "Shut up, Threepio," Han said again, keeping his eyes on Lando. "I don't

  want any old ship. The Falcon is mine."

  Lando glowered at Han. "You won her from me in a sabacc game, and to tell

  you the truth--old buddy--I've always suspected you cheated in that game."

  Han became livid, backing away. "You're accusing me of cheating? I've

  been called a scoundrel before, but never a cheat! In fact, it seems to me,"

  he said in a low, threatening voice, "that you won the Falcon yourself in a

  sabacc game before I came along. Didn't you also win the Cloud City Tibanna

  gas mines from the former Baron Administrator in a sabacc game? What could

  you

  possibly have used as collateral for a bet like that? You're a dirty no-good

  swindler, Lando. Admit it."

  "And you're a pirate!" Lando said, stalking forward, his fists bunched at

  his side. He had made his reputation as an expert gambler.

  Chewbacca growled from within the Falcon, making loud clangs and thumps

  as he extricated himself from the cramped passage. He stumbled down the

  entry

  ramp and stood gripping the piston supports.

  As Han and Lando closed to within striking distance, Threepio wriggled in

  between them. "Excuse me, sirs, but might I make a suggestion? If indeed you

  both won the ship in a sabacc game, and if you are contesting the results,

  could you perhaps simply play another game of sabacc to settle this issue

  once

  and for all?" Threepio turned his glowing optical sensors first at Lando,

  then

  at Han.

  "I just came down here to get my ship," Han said, "but now you've made it

  into a point of honor."

  Lando glared at Han without flinching. "I can beat you any day of the

  week, Han Solo."

  "Not this day," Han said, lowering his voice even further. "But not just

  sabacc. We'll make it random sabacc."

  Lando raised his eyebrows, but met Han's gaze stare for stare. "Who's

  going to keep track of the plays?"

  Han jerked his chin to the side. "We'll use Threepio as our modulator.

  Goldenrod doesn't have enough brains to cheat."

  "But, sir, I really don't have the programming to--was Threepio said.

  Han and Lando snapped in unison, "Shut up, Threepio!"

  "All right, Han," Lando said, "let's do it before you lose your nerve."

  "You're going to lose more than nerve before this game is over," Han

  said.

  As Lando set up the cards and the sabacc table, Han Solo ushered the last

  of the off-duty bureaucrats toward the door of the small lounge. "Ou. Come

  on!

  We need to use this place for a while."

  They grumbled and objected in a variety of languages, but Han assisted

  them through the entryway with gentle shoves. "File a complaint with the New

  Republic." Then he closed and sealed the door, turning to Lando. "You ready

  yet?"

  This was far different from the stuffy, smoke-filled parlors where he

  used to play sabacc, such as the underground game where he had once won a

  planet for Leia in an attempt to buy her affections.

  At the sabacc table Lando spread out a handful of rectangular cards with

  crystalline screens sandwiched between metal layers. "Ready when you are,

  buddy." But he looked uneasy. "Han, we don't really have to do this--was

  Han sniffed the air, frowning at the cloying smells of deodorizing mists

  and ambassadorial perfumes. "Yes, I do. Leia's been in an accident on one of

  her diplomatic missions, and I want to escort her back home, not some

  hospital

  ship."

  "Leia's hurt?" Lando said, standing up in surprise. "So that's what has

  been bothering you. Forget it, take the ship. I was just kidding anyway.

  We'll

  do this some other time."

  "No! We do it now, or you'll never be off my case. Threepio, get in here.

  What's taking so long?" Han said.

  The golden droid scooted in from the back-room computer station, looking

  flustered, as usual. "I'm here, Master Solo. I was just reviewing the

  sabacc-

  rules programming."

  Han punched his selections into the console of the bartender droid,

  smiling as he selected a fruity, prissy drink for Lando--complete with a

  blue

  tropical flower as a garnish--and a spiced ale for himself. He sat down,

  slid

  the drink across the surface to Lando, and sipped his ale.

  Lando took a swallow of the mixture, winced, and forced a smile. "Thanks,

  Han. Should I deal?" He held the sabacc cards in his hand, leaning over the

  table's projecting field.

  "Not yet." Han held up a hand. "Threepio, double-check to make sure those

  card surfaces are completely randomized."

  "But, sir' surely--was

  "Just do it. We want to make sure nobody gets an unfair advantage--don't

  we, old buddy?"

  Lando managed to retain his forced smile as he handed the deck to

  Threepio, who ran the cards through a scrambler at the side of the table.

  "They are completely mixed, sir."

  Threepio meticulously dealt five of the flat metallic cards each to Lando

  and to Han. "As you know, this is random sabacc, a combination of variant

  forms of the game," Threepio said, as if reciting the programming he had

  just

  uploaded. "There are five different sets of rules, shifted by chance, and

  changed at random time intervals as determined by the computer's random

  generator--that's me!"

  "We know the rules!" Han growled, but he wasn't so certain. "And we also

  know the stakes."

  Lando's deep, flinty eyes met his across the table. "Winner takes the

  Falcon. Loser takes Coruscant public transit from now on."

  "Very well, sirs," Threepio said, "activate your cards. The first player

  to reach a score of one hun
dred points will be declared the winner. Our

  first

  round will be played according to..." He paused briefly as his randomizing

  function made a selection from the scrambled list of rules. his-comCloud

  City

  Casino alternate rules."

  Han stared at the images appearing on his cards as his mind raced to

  remember how Cloud City Casino rules differed from the Bespin Standard form

  of

  the game. He stared at a mixed-up assortment of the four suits in sabacc--

  sabres, coins, flasks, and staves, with various positive and negative scores

  on each.

  "Each player may select one and only one of his cards for a spin-change,

  and then we tally to see who comes closest to a score of positive or

  negative

  twenty-three, or zero."

  Han scanned his cards, concentrating, but found no set that would add up

  to an appropriate tally. Lando wore a broad smile--but Lando always carried

  such an expression when he gambled. Han took a sip of his bitter spiced ale,

  swallowed hard, and chose a card. "Ready?" He raised his eyes to look at

  Lando.

  Lando pushed the small scrambler button on the bottom left corner of a

  card. Han did the same, watching the image of the eight of coins flicker and

  reform into a twelve of flasks. Together with a nine of flasks in his hand,

  he

  added to twenty-one. Not great. But when he saw Lando scowl at his own new

  card, he hoped it would be good enough.

  "Twenty-one," Han said, slapping his cards on the table.

  "Eighteen," Lando answered with a scowl. "You get the difference."

  "Change of rules! Time has elapsed!" Threepio said. "Three points in

  favor of Master Solo. Next round is by... Empress Teta Preferred system."

  Han looked at his new hand of cards, delighted to see a firm straight--

  but, if he remembered right, under Empress Teta rules the players swapped

  one

  card at random, and when Lando reached over to pluck a card from the right

  side, Han hoped to replace it with a Commander of Sabers--but the hand

  failed.

  Lando won the round and came out with a small lead, but before they could

  tally the scores, Threepio chimed in with another "Change of rules!" This

  time, scored under the Bespin Standard system, Lando's lead doubled.

  Han cursed to himself as he stared at a chaotic mess in the next hand,

  not knowing what to bid, what to throw away. Before he made his decision,

  though, the random clock in Threepio's electronic brain forced him to call

  another rules change. "Corellian Gambit this time, sirs."

  Han whooped in delight, for under the new rules the suits fit together

  with a completely different pattern. "Gotcha!" he cried, laying down his

  hand.

  Lando grumbled, showing a wild card that, while valuable only moments

  before, now cost him fourteen points under the new scoring system.

  Han crept ahead over the next several hands, then lost ground when rules

  changed back to Cloud City Casino style, which deemed all wild cards

  forfeit.

  Han reached forward to snatch one of Lando's cards, just as Lando selected

  one

  of his cards to change at random. They both froze. "Threepio, tell us again

  which rules we're playing under."

  "New time interval anyway," the golden droid said. "Change to Bespin

  Standard. No, wait--notew time interval again! Back to Empress Teta

  Preferred.

  "

  Han and Lando looked at their new cards again, minds whirling in

  confusion. Han took another sip of his spiced ale, and Lando drained his

  fruity concoction with a grimace. At the bottom the bright-colored flower

  had

  begun to sprout writhing roots that crawled on the bottom of his glass.

  "Threepio, tell us the scores one more time," Lando said.

  "Calculating for the last rules change, sirs, the total is ninety-three

  points for Master Solo and eighty-seven for General Calrissian."

  Han and Lando glared at each other. "Last hand, buddy," Han said.

  "Enjoy your remaining few seconds of ownership, Han," Lando said.

  "Corellian Gambit rules, last-hand special case," Threepio announced.

  Han felt his head pounding, trying to remember what happened in the last

  hand of the Corellian Gambit. Then he saw Lando locking in the denomination

  of

  only one of his cards, making ready to place his hand into the flux field in

  the center of the sabacc table.

  Han studied his high-ranking face cards, Balance and Moderation, either

  of which would nudge him over the total score of a hundred. He pushed the

  retainer button on Balance, for eleven points, then thrust the rest of his

  hand into the flux field.

  Han and Lando leaned over, staring in suspense as the images on the cards

  swirled and changed, flickering from one value to another in a blur until

  they

  stabilized, one by one.

  Lando stared at low-demonination numeric cards, nothing at all

  spectacular, while Han got the best deal he had seen throughout the entire

  game. All face cards, Demise, Endurance, The Star, and The Queen of Air and

  Darkness, along with the Balance card he had kept. His score handily passed

  the goal, leaving Lando in the dust.

  He cheered at the same instant Threepio declared another "Change of

  rules!" Han glared at the golden droid, waiting.

  "This hand will be scored under the Ecclessis Figg Variation," Threepio

  said.

  Han and Lando looked at each other, mouthing the words. "What is the Figg

  Variation?"

  "In the final round the scores of all odd-numbered face cards are

  subtracted instead of added to the final score. This means, Master Solo,

  that

  while you gain ten points for Endurance and The Queen of Air and Darkness,

  you

  forfeit a total of forty-one for Balance, The Star, and Demise."

  Threepio paused. "I'm afraid you lose, sir. General Calrissian gains

  sixteen points for a total score of one hundred three, while you are left

  with

  a f inal score of sixty-two."

  Han blinked in shock at his half-empty glass of spiced ale as Lando

  pounded the tabletop in triumph. "Good game, Han. Now go on off to fetch

  Leia.

  Want me to come with you?"

  Han kept staring at the table, at his ale, at anything but Lando. He felt

  hollow inside. Not only had he learned of Leia's tragedy today, but he had

  also lost the ship he had owned for more than a decade.

  "Take her, she's yours," Han mumbled. He finally looked up to meet

  Lando's eyes.

  "Come on, Han. You're distraught. You never should have made the bet in

  the first place. Just--was

  "No, the Falcon is yours, Lando. I'm not a cheat, and I made the deal

  going into the game." Han stood, turning his back on Lando, leaving the rest

  of his ale untouched. "Threepio, authorize a change of registration for the

  Falcon. And you'd better get in touch with central transportation control.

  Arrange a diplomatic transport for Leia. I won't be picking her up after

  all."

  Lando shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, I'll take good care of her, Han. Not a

  scratc
h."

  Without another word Han went to the door of the lounge, unsealed it, and

  walked out into the echoing halls.

  With black-gloved hands clasped behind her back, Admiral Daala stood at

  attention on the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Gorgon.

  In front of the bridge viewport, brilliant gases illuminated by a knot of

  blue-giant stars turned the Cauldron Nebula into a spectacular light show.

  Beside her in parking formation hung the Basilisk and the Manticore. The

  ionized gases played havoc with ships' sensors, making the nebula a perfect

  hiding place for her three fully armed battleships.

  Daala heard a tentative bootstep behind her and turned to face Commander

  Kratas. "Yes, Commander?" As she moved, her olive-gray uniform clung like a

  second skin, while her mane of coppery hair trailed behind her like the tail

  of a comet.

  Kratas snapped off a perfect salute and remained standing one step below

  her observation platform. "Admiral," he said, "as of oh-nine-hundred hours

  we

  have completed our assessment of the losses suffered during our battle at

  Kessel."

  Daala formed her lips into a tight, emotionless line. Kratas was a short

  man, recruited into the Imperial Navy from an occupation force on one of the

  conscripted planets. He had dark hair trimmed to regulation length, wide

  watery eyes set under beetling brows, and a jutting chin that hung below

  almost nonexistent lips. The best part of Kratas, though, Daala thought, was

  that he always followed orders. He had been trained well in the Imperial

  Military Academy on Carida.

  "Give me the breakdown, Commander," Daala said.

  Kratas did not blink as he rattled off the numbers from memory.

  "Together, we lost a total of three TIE squadrons, and of course all hands

  and

  resources on board the Hydra."

  Daala felt a cold stab of anger at the mention of her wrecked battleship.

  Kratas must have seen something in her expression, because he flinched,

  though

  he did not move aside.

  The Hydra, Daala's fourth Star Destroyer, had been torn apart in one of

  the Maw cluster's black holes. It had been Daala's first significant loss in

  combat, one fourth of her destructive capability wiped out by Han Solo and

  the

  traitorous scientist Qwi Xux, who had stolen the Sun Crusher superweapon and

  fled the Empire's closely guarded Maw Installation.

  "However," Kratas continued. His voice quavered the smallest bit, then he