[Thrawn Trilogy] - 01(12)

“No, it’s not what you’re thinking,” Karrde assured her, motioning her to the chair opposite his. “This is a business meal-no more, no less.”

From behind his desk came a sound halfway between a cackle and a purr. “That’s right, Drang-a business meal,” Karrde said, turning toward the sound. “Come on, out with you.”

The vornskr peered out from around the edge of the desk, its front paws gripping the carpet, its muzzle close to the floor as if on the hunt. “I said out with you,” Karrde repeated firmly, pointing toward the open door behind Mara. “Come on, your dish has been set up in the kitchen. Sturm’s already there-chances are he’s eaten half your supper by now.”

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. “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 himself 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.”