Reluctantly, Drang slunk out from behind the desk, cackle/purring forlornly to himself as he padded toward the door. “Don’t give me that poor-little-me act,” Karrde chided, picking a piece of braised bruallki from the serving dish. “Here—this should cheer you up.”
He tossed the food in the general direction of the doorway. Drang’s lethargy vanished in a single coiled-spring leap as he snagged the mouthful in midair. “There,” Karrde called after him. “Now go and enjoy your supper.”
The vornskr trotted out.2 “All right,” Karrde said, shifting his attention back to Mara. “Where were we?”
“You were telling me this was a business meal,” she said, her voice still a little cool as she slid into the seat across from his and surveyed the table. “It’s certainly the nicest business meal I’ve had in quite a while.”
“Well, that’s the point, really,” Karrde told her, sitting down and reaching over to the serving tray. “I think it’s occasionally good for us to remember that being a smuggler doesn’t necessarily require one to be a barbarian, too.”
“Ah.” She nodded, sipping at her wine. “And I’m sure most of your people are so very grateful for that reminder.”
Karrde smiled. So much, he thought, for the unusual setting and scenario throwing her off balance. He should have known that particular gambit wouldn’t work on someone like Mara. “It does often make for an interesting evening,” he agreed. “Particularly”—he eyed her—“when discussing a promotion.”
A flicker of surprise, almost too fast to see, crossed her face. “A promotion?” she echoed carefully.
“Yes,” he said, scooping a serving of bruallki onto her plate and setting it in front of her. “Yours, to be precise.”
The wary look was back in her eyes. “I’ve only been with the group for six months, you know.”
“Five and a half, actually,” he corrected her. “But time has never been as important to the universe as ability and results … and your ability and results have been quite impressive.”
She shrugged, her red-gold hair shimmering with the movement. “I’ve been lucky,” she said.
“Luck is certainly part of it,” he agreed. “On the other hand, I’ve found that what most people call luck is often little more than raw talent combined with the ability to make the most of opportunities.”
He turned back to the bruallki, dished some onto his own plate. “Then there’s your talent for starship piloting, your ability to both give and accept orders”—he smiled slightly, gesturing to the table—“and your ability to adapt to unusual and unexpected situations. All highly useful talents for a smuggler.”
He paused, but she remained silent. Evidently, somewhere in her past she’d also learned when not to ask questions. Another useful talent. “The bottom line, Mara, is that you’re simply too valuable to waste as a backup or even as a line operator,” he concluded. “What I’d like to do is to start grooming you toward eventually becoming my second in command.”
There was no chance of mistaking her surprise this time. The green eyes went momentarily wide, and then narrowed. “What exactly would my new duties consist of?” she asked.
“Traveling with me, mostly,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “Watching me set up new business, meeting with some of our long-term customers so that they can get to know you—that sort of thing.”
She was still suspicious—he could tell that from her eyes. Suspicious that the offer was a smoke screen to mask some more personal request or demand on his part. “You don’t have to answer now,” he told her. “Think about it, or talk to some of the others who’ve been with the organization longer.” He looked her straight in the eye. “They’ll tell you that I don’t lie to my people.”3
Her lip twisted. “So I’ve heard,” she said, her voice going noncommittal again. “But bear in mind that if you give me that kind of authority, I am going to use it. There’s some revamping of the whole organizational structure—”
She broke off as the intercom on his desk warbled. “Yes?” Karrde called toward it.
“It’s Aves,” a voice said. “Thought you’d like to know we’ve got company: an Imperial Star Destroyer just made orbit.”
Karrde glanced at Mara as he got to his feet. “Any make on it yet?” he asked, dropping his napkin beside his plate and stepping around the desk to where he could see the screen.
“They’re not exactly broadcasting ID sigs these days.” Aves shook his head. “The lettering on the side is hard to read at this distance, but Torve’s best guess is that it’s the Chimaera.”4
“Interesting,” Karrde murmured. Grand Admiral Thrawn himself. “Have they made any transmissions?”
“None that we’ve picked up—wait a minute. Looks like … yes—they’re launching a shuttle. Make that two shuttles. Projected landing point …” Aves frowned at something offscreen for a moment. “Projected landing point somewhere here in the forest.”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Karrde saw Mara stiffen a bit. “Not in any of the cities around the edge?” he asked Aves.
“No, it’s definitely the forest. No more than fifty kilometers from here, either.”
Karrde rubbed his forefinger gently across his lower lip, considering the possibilities. “Still only two shuttles?”
“That’s all so far.” Aves was starting to look a little nervous. “Should I call an alert?”
“On the contrary. Let’s see if they need any help. Give me a hailing channel.”
Aves opened his mouth; closed it again. “Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath and tapping something offscreen. “You have hailing.”
“Thank you. Imperial Star Destroyer Chimaera, this is Talon Karrde. May I be of any assistance to you?”
“No response,” Aves muttered. “You think maybe they didn’t want to be noticed?”
“If you don’t want to be noticed, you don’t use a Star Destroyer,” Karrde pointed out. “No, they’re most likely busy running my name through ship’s records. Be interesting to see someday just what they have on me. If anything.” He cleared his throat. “Star Destroyer Chimaera, this is—”
Abruptly, Aves’s face was replaced by that of a middle-aged man wearing a captain’s insignia. “This is Captain Pellaeon of the Chimaera,” he said brusquely. “What is it you want?”
“Merely to be neighborly,” Karrde told him evenly. “We track two of your shuttles coming down, and wondered if you or Grand Admiral Thrawn might require any assistance.”
The skin around Pellaeon’s eyes tightened, just a bit. “Who?”
“Ah.” Karrde nodded, allowing a slight smile. “Of course. I haven’t heard of Grand Admiral Thrawn, either. Certainly not in connection with the Chimaera. Or with some intriguing information raids on several systems in the Paonnid/Obroa-skai region, either.”
The eyes tightened a little more. “You’re very well informed, Mr. Karrde,”5 Pellaeon said, his voice silky but with menace lurking beneath it. “One might wonder how a lowly smuggler would come by such information.”
Karrde shrugged. “My people hear stories and rumors; I take the pieces and put them together. Much the same way your own intelligence units operate, I imagine. Incidentally, if your shuttles are planning to put down in the forest, you need to warn the crews to be careful. There are several dangerous predator species living here, and the high metal content of the vegetation makes sensor readings unreliable at best.”
“Thank you for the advice,” Pellaeon said, his voice still frosty. “But they won’t be staying long.”
“Ah.” Karrde nodded, running the possibilities through his mind. There were, fortunately, not all that many of them. “Doing a little hunting, are they?”