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It was Gallandro, the gunman.

XIII

GALLANDRO approached the Falcon at a sedate pace. When he stopped, looking up at the cockpit, his hand moved to his belt and brought something up. A moment later the gunman’s voice came over the commo board, obviously channeled through the Espo warship.

“Solo, can you hear me?” Rather than answer, Han flashed the ship’s running lights once. “Oh, come now, Solo! How can you be surly to the man who saved your skin?”

Easily, Han reflected, when he’s so slick and so fast with a blaster. But he opened his headset mike. “It’s your play, Gallandro.”

There was satisfaction in the other’s tone. “That’s better; isn’t cordiality more pleasant? I’m sure that even you can grasp the realities here, Solo. If nothing else, you’re a pragmatist. Kindly open your main hatch and come down, if you’d be so good, and we’ll sort out this entire affair.”

Han considered suggesting that Gallandro go sit in a converter, but one glance up at the great underbelly of the destroyer changed his mind. Turbolaser emplacements, twin and quad batteries, missile tubes, and tractor beam projectors were all aimed at the freighter. One wrong move and we’ll all be random energy. He sighed and unbuckled his seat belt. Perhaps something outside would change the situation, but he knew nothing he could do there in the cockpit would help.

He turned to find that Spray had been standing at the rear of the cockpit, watching him. A moment later Fiolla appeared next to the Tynnan. It occurred to him that she might have some use as a hostage, but in view of the number of times her life had been in real danger already, he doubted that threatening her would deter Gallandro; the man seemed to know what real ruthlessness was. Besides, Han wasn’t sure Gallandro would believe Han could kill her in cold blood, even now.

“Your friends have shown up,” Han told her bitterly. “The Authority has things well in hand. There ought to be that big promo in this one, Fiolla.”

She moved away toward the main hatch. Spray gave Han an odd look, then followed after. Encountering Bollux in the passageway, Han nodded at him. “Step into the cockpit and keep a photoreceptor on things, old-timer. If we don’t come back the ship is yours, unless Interstellar Collections grabs it. Good luck; business has been lousy lately.”

When Han got the hatch open he found Gallandro waiting at the ramp’s foot. The gunman met his stare with a polite inclination of the head. “I mentioned earlier today, Captain, that there would perhaps be another occasion.”

The invitation was obvious. Han thought about hooking for his blaster but, recalling Gallandro’s incredible speed, set it aside as an option he could take later. Han was prepared to believe that the man confronting him was his equal or better with a sidearm.

Gallandro saw that in his expression and evinced a certain disappointment. “Very well then, Solo. You may keep your blaster for now, in case you change your mind. I don’t suppose I need to tell you how many weapons are trained on you right now; please don’t do anything abrupt without letting me clear it beforehand.”

Han and Chewbacca stepped off to opposite sides of the ramp’s foot, but Gallandro stayed far enough back to keep them both in view. The Wookiee, as aware of the situation as Han, kept his bowcaster slung at his shoulder.

Han was expecting to see a profuse greeting or at least a cordial welcome for Fiolla. But Gallandro accorded her only a suave smile and sketchy bow, and waited expectantly.

Spray was last down, coming at his slightly uneven dryland gait, the tip of his tail brushing the ramp, some moisture from his recent swim still gleaming in his pelt. Gallandro bowed to him deferentially, although the gunman never lost sight of Han.

“Odumin,” Gallandro said, “welcome, sir. You’ve brought yet another project to a successful conclusion. You haven’t lost your touch for field work, I see.”

Spray made a depreciating gesture, squinting up at the tall, aristocratic gunfighter. “I was fortunate, old friend. I must confess, I find I much prefer