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“In the transmission, sir, Lord Shadowspawn claims to have captured the entire task force—and he says he will kill them all in three Standard days unless the Republic agrees to an immediate cease-fire … and acknowledges his claim on the Imperial Throne.”

“Really. Hm. Well, well again.”

“But like I said—” The ensign licked nervous sweat from his upper lip. “We don’t know if—ComOps hasn’t verified its authenticity—even if it really is from Shadowspawn, we have no way of knowing if any of it is true—”

“Sure we do. It’s all true,” Lando said. “Luke’s already there. Han and Leia are on their way. Not to mention Rogue Squadron.”

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you’re new around here, son.”

“Sir?”

“Forward your personnel file to my exec. I can use a man like you.”

The ensign’s mouth dropped open. “Sir—? I don’t—I mean, I failed—”

“When you submit your file, put a note in there that I’m promoting you to lieutenant j.g.”

The ensign’s eyes went as wide and slack as his mouth “Sir—?”

“You’ve just saved a general from being bored to death. If I thought I could get away with it, I’d give you a medal, too.” He left the ensign gaping in the hallway.

Inside the conference room, Lando nodded a grin at Shysa and kicked his empty chair out of the way. “Let me handle this.”

He slipped around the corner of the table, to the mercenaries’ side. He sat on the edge and grinned down at the astonished commander. “Okay. Negotiation’s over. You win.”

Shysa frowned. “They do?”

The commander blinked. “We do?”

“Sure. I’ll put it in writing. No Republic forces will land on, permanently orbit, or otherwise occupy this world or this system while you live to serve the Empire. Satisfied?”

“Well, I—ah, I suppose, I mean—well, yes.”

“Great!” Lando’s grin got wider. “Now what?”

“Now?” The commander blinked again. He was still so astonished he entirely forgot he was supposedly refusing to speak Basic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve won. Your victory is complete. What now?”

“Well, we—I suppose, I mean—”

“How are you planning to get paid?”

“Paid?”

“I have to tell you, our sensors aren’t picking up any sign of Imperial ships dropping out of hyperspace to, y’know, jettison bags of cash or anything.”

The commander’s face clouded over. “I see what you mean.”

“Strikes me,” Lando said carelessly, examining his flawless manicure, “that failure to deliver payment qualifies as a breach of contract, doesn’t it? Not to mention scampering off and leaving you all here to die. Forget that part. I guess they figured that with you all dead, they’d never have to pay. And if you live, well, you’re trapped on a planet deep in Republic space. How are you supposed to collect?”

The commander scowled. “You’re trying to trick me.”

“Not at all.” Lando winked at him. “I’m trying to hire you.”

The commander looked thoughtful.

“Might you and your men be interested in, ah, a new position? Working for people who give a damn whether you live or die? Who will actually—believe it or not—pay you?”

The commander’s scowl got deeper and deeper the longer he thought it over; after what seemed like a long, long time, he turned that scowl on Lando.

The commander said, “In advance?”

CHAPTER 6

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, LUKE SKYWALKER IS DEAD?”

Lord Shadowspawn’s holoprojected image was only a half meter tall, but something in his posture, or his inhumanly corpse-pale face, or the glittering malice that dripped from every word, made the nervous wing commander, Norris Prang, feel even smaller than that. He felt roughly the size of a Kashyyyk mouse-spider, and he had a feeling that Lord Shadowspawn was about to come down on him like a Wookiee’s heel.

He swallowed hard and snugged his gleaming black flight-trooper helmet more tightly into his uncomfortably damp armpit. One good thing about this black armor—the sweat didn’t show much, even when it leaked through the wicking fabric joints and trickled down his chestpiece, which it had started to do right about the same time Lord Shadowspawn had started to