Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [154]
“Believe me, Chief, I understand tradition. My family tree is full of it. But there ought to be room for a little enterprise and innovation, shouldn’t there? As long as it doesn’t jeopardize the mission, and is conducted through the proper channels?”
“Errhem!” The sector chief cleared his throat, inhaled from one of Lando’s expensive cigars. The gambler’s case lay on the floor beside his chair, as thoroughly inspected for weapons and instruments of sabotage as himself, and considerably lighter in weight than when he’d brought it aboard the cruiser. At each level of inspection, from the guard sergeant to the warrant officer, it had become slightly more empty, in proportion to the rank of the emptier.
“My precise sentiments, Chief. Now, about our arrangements. I suggest we route our marketing around the Ship’s Exchange. In the first place, my overhead won’t allow me to offer what I have at wholesale. In the second, I suspect buying from an itinerant peddler such as myself might provide an agreeable diversion for your troops. In the third—well, do you think there might be any interest aboard in games of chance?”
The warrant officer blinked. He fancied himself a sharp gambler and regarded all civilians everywhere as easy pickings, having spent decades taking things from them at large-bore gunpoint. He wasn’t able to distinguish between this and situations where civilians had an even chance; could not, in fact, conceive of such circumstances.
“Games of chance? Such as …?”
“Such as sabacc.” Lando smiled. “I’m something of an enthusiast, and it would offer you and yours a small opportunity to get your money back for whatever you happen to buy—‘you’ being a figurative expression in this instance, on account of your commission.”
“Commission?” The sector chief looked confusedly at the stripes on his sleeve, then suddenly at the cigar he was smoking. “Oh, commission! I get it! Actually, it’s a warrant. But no matter! Very funny!”
Lando hadn’t intended it to be, but he laughed heartily along until the creature subsided. Then the sector chief adopted an expression that he imagined was shrewd, having practiced it before a mirror since he was a rating.
“I’m sure a few games might be arranged, for a suitable commission!” He broke into guffaws again, and Lando stifled a self-destructive urge to strangle the uniformed baboon with his own hash marks.
“Very well. Now there’s one more thing I’d like to ask about. I hesitate, because I have some idea of the importance of your mission here—”
“You do?” The chief surged forward, leaning avidly across his desk. Only the artificial gravity of the floor-plates kept him planted on his swivel chair.
A wave of alarm swept through the gambler’s body. He’d said the wrong thing. This mission was supposed to be top secret, and, furthermore, was an unusually shameful one, even for the current government. His mind raced, trying to find a way to salvage something from the mess his careless tongue had created.
“Tell me,” the chief said before Lando could speak. “It’s the ranks that always know the least, and the folks back home who have a better picture of what’s going on.” He peered about the room, rose, slid a picture of the fleet commodore aside, seized a small plastic bulb hanging from a wire behind the picture, and closed his hand around it, covering it completely.
“Bugs,” the chief said. “We can speak freely now. What is so important about this mission?”
Lando almost wept with relief. Then he had to do some fast thinking. “I’ve heard they have more pirate ships bottled up inside the nebula than have ever been seen in one place before. Apparently Intelligence tricked them into some kind of rendezvous, and you’re keeping them trapped until they can be destroyed.”
The chief nodded sagely. “That makes some