Queen of Empire, and her sister ship, Star of Empire, were two of Lando’s favorite ways to get around the galaxy. They weren’t as fast as some of the newer ships, but there was no doubt that Haj Shipping Lines knew how to build a luxury vessel. And the Queen and the Star were big, a major advantage these days, with all the pirate activity going on.
This time, he’d chosen the Queen for his trip back home. From Nar Hekka, he could easily catch a system shuttle back to Nar Shaddaa.
This particular evening, Lando was wearing his newest stylish outfit—red shirt embroidered with black, narrow black trousers, and a red and black short cape that swung from his shoulders with a rakish flare. His dark hair and mustache were impeccably groomed, thanks to a trip to the ship’s barber that day. His black softboots shone with the subdued glow of real Numatra snakehide. Calrissian was looking good, and he didn’t miss the admiring glances cast at him by some of the female patrons in the club.
Lando was sitting in the Queen’s swankiest nightclub, the Star Winds Lounge, following a highly successful session at the sabacc tables.
His credit pouch was carefully stashed in a secret compartment close to his skin, and was satisfyingly heavy. This trip, he’d make roughly four times what his expensive ticket had set him back. Not a bad profit margin.
While he was gambling—serious business!—Lando was abstemious, rarely partaking of anything alcoholic. But at the moment he was relaxing, sipping a Tarkenian Nightflower, and munching on a handful of dried, salted jer-weevils. The band in the Star Winds was quite good, doing selections of older hits as well as the modern jizz-tunes, and many patrons were dancing. Lando eyed the unescorted ladies in the lounge, wondering whether he was interested enough in any of them to ask for a dance.
His eyes kept returning to one woman who was sitting at a table with not one, but two male escorts. Human, yes, and stunning. Long reddish hair swept up with jeweled sapphire combs, and a face and figure that just wouldn’t quit. Lando couldn’t decide whether she was romantically attached to either of her escorts. She sat close beside them, smiling and bending forward to listen as first one, then the other, spoke into her ear. But the more Lando watched her, the more he became convinced that neither of the men was her date. Her smiles were more …
comradely ˇ . . than romantic. There was no suggestion of a lingering intimacy in the brief contacts of their shoulders as they brushed hers.
Lando finished his drink, and was almost ready to go over and ask the lovely stranger if she’d like to dance, when the excellent Rughja orchestra-band, Umjing Baab and his Swinging Trio, finished their current selection. There were only three members in the band, but, since each Rughja had fifteen flexible limbs, and played at least ten instruments apiece, they sounded like a genuine orchestra. In fact, looking at Umjing Baab and his two band members, it was difficult to discern anything but limbs ending in assorted instruments, though occasionally one of the being’s multiple eyes would be visible through the tangle.
The band was very versatile, playing everything from swing-bop to modern jizz selections. The gambler clapped politely as they finished a mellow version of “Mood and Moons,” then settled back in his seat as the bandleader, Umjing Baab, put down his Kloo horn, disengaged from the nalargon, and writhed his way up to the public address system. The Rughja’s voice had a mechanical timbre … understandable, because it was artificially generated. Rughja were a species whose natural communication was not audible to humanoids. Umjing Baab “spoke,” as the spotlight reflected off his glossy, mauve, upper-limbs. “Good evening, gentles. Tonight we have an honored guest with us, a celebrity whom I am hoping we can prevail upon to favor us with a number! Join me in welcoming Lady Bria Lavval!”
Lando clapped politely, but his applause soon became genuine when he realized that the bandmaster was referring to his attractive stranger.
Blushing, smiling, she half-rose from her seat to take a bow, but then, urged on by the applause, she picked up the skirts of her long, electricblue sheath (a color that set off her hair) and walked up the steps to the bandstand.
After conferring briefly with Umjing Baab, she stepped up to the microphone, tapped her jeweled, slippered toe as the percussion started up, and then the band broke into a slowed down version of last year’s hit, “Smoky Dreams.”
Bria Lavval began to sing. Lando had heard a lot of singers in his time, and she was far from being the best. Her breath control was uneven, and she cut short some of the high notes because of it. But her voice was strong and in key, and her contralto was pleasantly husky. With her figure, face and smile, Lando was willing to forgive her lack of professional technique. Within moments of starting her song, she had all the humanoid males in the palm of her hand.