Bria!
At first he told himself he was seeing things, that it was just a chance resemblance, then he heard her speak in that low, slightly husky voice he remembered. “Just some Vishay water, please, Mich.”
It’s her. Bria. It’s really her.
Slowly she turned her head, and their gazes locked. Han’s heart was hammering, though he was pretty sure his face was under control. All those sabacc games had taught him something.
She hesitated, then said, “Hi, Han.”
He wet his lips. “Hi, Bria.” He stared at her, then a sudden movement from Chewie made him remember his partner. “And this is Chewbacca, my partner.”
“Greetings, Chewbacca,” she said carefully, speaking in almost passable Wookiee–obviously she’d been coached by Ralrracheen. “I am honored to meet you.”
The Wookiee voiced an uncertain greeting, obviously wondering what was going on. “Uh,” Han said, “long time no see.”
She nodded gravely at the ridiculous understatement. “I came to see you,” she said. “Could we sit down and talk for a minute?”
Han’s emotions were mixed, to say the least. Part of him wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, another part wanted to shake her while screaming curses and accusations at her.
Still another part wanted to just turn around and walk away, prove to her that she meant nothing to him—nothing!
But he found himself nodding. “Sure.” As he moved to pick up his mug, Chewie laid a hand on his arm, and growled softly at him.
Han gazed up at his partner, grateful for Chewbacca’s sensitivity. He would rather talk to Bria by himself. “Okay, pal. I’ll see you at home, later on.”
Chewie gave Bria a nod, then left the Blue Light. Picking up his mug of ale, Han led the way to a booth in the rear of the dimly lit, nearly empty bar.
Watching Bria approach and then slide in opposite him, he got a good look at her for the first time. She was wearing tan fatigues, military in style, though they bore no insignia or indications of rank. Her hair was pulled up and slicked back in a severe style. Han couldn’t decide whether it was cropped short, or just worn in a tight bun.
She wore no jewelry. A well-worn BlasTech DL-18 (Han’s own weapon of choice was the heavier BlasTech DLo44) in a tie-down holster rode her right thigh, low down, the way he liked to wear his own. Her gunbelt was studded with extra power paks and bore a vibroblade in a sheath.
From the slight bulge in the top of her boot, Han was willing to bet she had an auxiliary weapon cached thereˇ As she sat there, regarding him, Han struggled to find words, but all he could do was look at her, hardly able to believe she was actually there, that this wasn’t some dream—or nightmare.
She was staring at him, too, her eyes searching his features. Bria started to speak, stammered, and then took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For startling you. I should have said something, but my mind went blank. There didn’t seem to be anything I could say.”
“You came here looking for me?” Han askedˇ “Yes. When I saw your friend last month, he said this was one of your favorite hangoutsˇ I .
. . I took a chance you’d be here tonight.” “You’re here on Nar Shaddaa on business?”
“Yes. Staying in those rooms above the Smuggler’s Restˇ” She smiled wryly.
“It’s even sleazier than that place we stayed that night on Coruscant.”
Han’s dazed brain was slowly beginning to function again, and his anger was building. He remembered that sleazy little hotel on Coruscant.
That had been their last night together. He remembered falling asleep ˇ . . and he remembered waking up alone, abandoned.
Suddenly his hand shot out, and he grabbed her wrist tightly, feeling the shock of touching her flesh throughout his body. Her slender bones felt so delicate in his hand … as though he could just snap them.
And he was almost angry enough to try. “Why?” he said. “Why, Bria?
You think you can just walk back up to me a decade later? You gotta lot of nerve!”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Han, let go of me.”
“No,” he gritted. “I’m not lettin’ you go running off and leaving me with no answers this time!”
Han wasn’t sure exactly what she did—some unarmed combat trick, but there was a sudden twist, a jab in a nerve, and abruptly her hand was free, and his own was throbbing. He looked down at it, feeling his eyes widen, and then back up at her. “You’ve changed,” he said. “You have really changed.” He wasn’t sure whether it was a compliment or an accusation.