Bria hadn’t had to feign her inarticulate response—which had only charmed him further!—because she’d been too angry to speak clearly.
The old lecher! she thought disgustedly, resolving not to forget to strap her dainty little vibroblade to her upper thigh … just in case.
But usually, men of his age were more talk than action. What they mostly wanted, as the admiral had frankly admitted, was for other men to admire them—and any attractive young woman they’d managed to snare with their power and wealth.
Admiral Trefaren might be our key to learn more about these new Imperial weapons and ships we’ve heard rumors of, Bria thought.
So, when the evening of the reception came, she’d don a lovely, elegant gown (she’d grown up the daughter of a rich man, and knew how to dress for maximum effect), style her hair, tastefully paint her face, and spend the evening smiling warmly at Admiral Trefaren. She’d dance with him, give him admiring glances, and keep her ears open for every scrap of information.
And, just in case she needed help in fending off his advances, Bria already had a tiny drop of a substance she planned to wear beneath one manicured fingernail. All she had to do was touch the tip of her fingernail to the surface of his drink of choice, toward the end of the evening, and the old welt would swiftly become so pleasantly tired, sleepy, and drunk that she’d have no trouble dealing with him.
Bria could use that vibroblade, and use it well, but she had no intention of doing so. Vibroblades were for amateurs. She was an expert at not needing them.
For a moment she missed her battle fatigues, the weight of her blaster strapped to her thigh. She’d much prefer leading another armed raid against the Ylesian Hutts, or the Imperial slavers (who were even worse than the Hutts), than she did the prospect of playing tabaga-and-vrelt all evening with Admiral Trefaren and his Imperial cronies.
She’d turned over her blaster to Rion when she’d taken on this assignment.
It wasn’t improbable that Admiral Trefaren would have her apartment searched as part of the background check he’d get his minions to perform, to ensure that she was “safe” for him to be seen with. Bria always kept the vibroblade with her, so she wasn’t worried about searchers finding it.
At least she knew her IDs would stand up to most security checks. Six years ago she’d learned all about establishing new identities from an expert. Han Solo had taught her much more than just how to fire a blaster effectively.
Her lips curved in a soft smile as she indulged herself in a moment of nostalgia for those days. She and Han had been on the run together, living on the edge, never knowing what would happen next.
Those had been the happiest days of her life, she realized now. It had been worth every tense moment, every jolt of fear, every mad chase, every terrified escape, every blaster bolt she’d had to duck to be with him …
to be free to love him.
And she loved him still.
Seeing him on Devaron a year ago had brought it all back to her so vividly. After years of denial, Bria had had to admit the truth to herself.
Han Solo was the man she loved, would always love.
But they couldn’t be together. She’d had to accept that. Han was a con man, a rogue, an outlaw who was out for himself. Bria knew he’d loved her deeply—he’d even asked her to marry him—but Han wasn’t the kind of man to forsake everything for a philosophical ideal.
During the months they’d spent together, Bria had sensed that someday he might have the potential to embrace a cause, give himself to a goal.
But it would have to be a cause that he’d chosen for himself, in his own time.
Bria knew she couldn’t expect him to adopt her cause.
She wondered what he was doing right now. Was he happy? Was he with somebody? Did he have friends? When she’d seen him on Devaron, he’d been wearing typically scruffy spacefarer’s garb—not an Imperial uniform.
But she’d heard he’d graduated from the Academy with honors. What could have happened to end his career?
On one hand, Bria was sorry that the dream he’d pursued so singlemindedly had obviously come to a crashing end, but on the other, she was glad to discover that Han was no longer an Imperial officer.
It had tortured her to think that someday they might come face-to-face in battle, or, even worse, that she might give the order to fire on an Imperial ship and cause his death, all unknowing. At least she didn’t have to worry about that possibility anymore.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again … she thought. Maybe …
maybe when this is all over, when the Empire is no more …
Bria gave herself a mental shake, and told herself to get back to business.