But why? To bluff me? Scare me into folding? Or am I imagining things? Han looked back up at his opponent. Lando was holding two cards in his hand now. The professional gambler smiled at his friend, then, quickly punching a notation onto a datacard, he pushed it and his few remaining credit-chips toward Han. “My marker,” he said, in his smoothest, most mellow tones. “Good for any ship on my lot. Your choice of my stock.” The Bith turned to Han. “Is that acceptable to you, Solo?” Han’s mouth was so dry he didn’t dare speak, but he nodded. The Bith turned back to Lando.
“Your marker is good.”
Lando was holding two cards plus the Idiot, which was safely in the interference field. Han fought the impulse to wipe his hand across his eyes. Could Lando see him sweating? Have to stay calm, think, Han ordered himself. Does he have the Idiot’s Array … or… is he bluffing? There was only one way to find out.
Hold, hold, he ordered his hand, and slowly, deliberately, he pushed forward his last stack of chips. “I call,” he said. His voice emerged as a strained croak.
Lando stared at him across the table for an endless second, then the gambler smiled slightly. “Very well.” Slowly, he reached over and turned up the card in the Interference field.
The Idiot stared up at Han.
Moving deliberately, Lando took his next card-chip, and laid it down beside the Idiot, face up. The Two of Staves.
Han couldn’t breathe. I’m dead … I’ve lost everything…. Lando turned over the last of his cards. The Seven of Flasks.
Han stared unbelievingly at the losing hand, then, slowly, he raised his eyes to regard his friend. Lando smiled wryly and shrugged.
“Gotta hand it to you, buddy,” the gambler said. “I thought I could bluff you.”
Lando was bluffing! The Corellian’s head whirled as it sank in. I won! I can’t believe it, but I won!
Slowly, deliberately, he laid down his card-chips. “Pure sabacc,” he said.
“The sabacc pot is mine, too.”
The Bith nodded. “Captain Solo is our tournament winner, gentlebeings,” he said, speaking into the tiny amplifier attached to his collar.
“Congratulations, Captain Solo!”
Dizzily, Han nodded at the Bith, then he noticed that Lando was leaning across the table, his hand out. Excitedly, Han reached over and wrung his friend’s hand. “I can’t believe it,” he said. “What a game!”
“You’re a better player than I ever gave you credit for being, old man,” Lando said genially. Han wondered how Lando could be so composed when he’d just lost so much, then he reflected that the gambler had probably won and lost fortunes before.
Han picked up the datacard that was Lando’s marker, and studied it.
“So, what ship are you going to claim?” Lando asked. “I’ve got an almost new YT-2400 Corelli-systems light stock freighter that would be your best bet.
Wait’ll you—” “I’m taking the Falcon,” Han said, in a rush.
Lando’s eyebrows went up. “The Millennium Falcon?” he said, obviously dismayed. “Oh, no. Han, that’s my own personal vessel. That was never part of the deal.”
“You said any ship on your lot,” Han reminded him, levelly. Their eyes locked. “You said any of your stock. The Falcon’s sitting on your lot. I claim her.”
“But—” Lando’s mouth tightened, and his eyes flashed.
“Yeah, buddy?” Han said, letting an edge creep into his voice. “You gonna honor this marker, or what?”
Slowly, deliberately, Lando nodded. “Nobody can say I don’t honor my markers.” He drew a long breath, then let it out in an angry hiss.
“All right then … the Falcon’s yours.”
Han grinned, then threw both arms up into the air and whirled around in an impromptu dance, giddy with joy. Wait’ll I tell Chewie! The Millennium Falcon’s mine! At last! A ship of our own!
2
Promises to Keep
Bria Tharen stood alone in the deserted holo-lounge, watching Han Solo as he rejoiced in his victory, wishing she could be there to hug him, kiss him, celebrate with him. This is wonderful—she thought exultantly. Oh, Han, you deserved to win—You played like a champion!
She wondered what the dark-skinned gambler had given the Corellian as a marker. Something valuable, obviously. Han was clutching the datacard as though it were the key to the most wonderful treasure in the universe.
It was late on the night of the fourth day, and the Corellian Commander’s meetings with the Duros, the Sullustan and the Alderaanians would be concluded tomorrow morning. They’d made progress in reaching some agreements, and all of them had learned a great deal about each other’s culture, but nothing major had been decided. None of the three other Rebel groups had been willing to commit to Corellia’s proposed Rebel alliance.