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Han shook his head. “It better not be, Okanor. I need at least five thousand more than that.”

Okanor clutched his chest and watched with anguished eyes as Han continued to stow items away in the backpack. Finally, as Han reached for the last, the tiny sculpture carved from living ice, he squeaked, “No! Don’t! You are killing me! Impoverishing me! I shall be naked in the streets, Jenos, lad! Would you do that to an old man?”

Han gave him a feral grin. “In a heartbeat, Okanor. I know what I need to get out of this deal, I have a pretty good idea what it’s worth, and I ain’t taking less.” He gave the old man an intent stare. “Frankly, Okanor, I can’t afford to take less. I’ve got something important to spend these credits on. If what I’ve got in mind works, you won’t see me again. I’ll be outta all this for good.”

Okanor nodded. “All right. You’ve broken me, Idanian. I’ll meet your price.”

“Good,” Han said, and began taking the items out of the backpack again.

He left the store with a satisfied smile, and carefully stowed his “Jenos Idanian” IDs and the bank record into his credit pouch. He’d travel under different IDs and leave “Jenos Idanian” “clean,” only using him for the bank withdrawal. He planned to store the golden paledor in a safe place he knew about. It never hurt to keep a little something in reserve for emergencies …

Knowing that Okanor’s credits would be waiting for him on the capital world of the Empire, Han headed down the street toward the shuttle station, whistling.

When Han walked up to and through the gates of the Tharen estate, he noticed a small, very sporty landspeeder hovering in the paved courtyard. He approached the door and found a young man standing inside, in the parlor. Pavik Tharen and his mother were there, talking to him. When Sera Tharen saw Han, her face fell. She was hoping I’d cut and run, Han thought sourly.

“Hi, Lady Tharen,” Han said. “Is Bria around?”

The young man turned to regard Han. He was a good-looking fellow, perhaps a year or so older than Han himself, and he was tastefully but fashionably dressed for an afternoon of net-ball.

“Hello,” the young man said pleasantly, holding out his hand. “I’m Dael Levare, and you are—” His gaze sharpened, and before Han could speak up, he exclaimed, “Wait a minute! I thought you looked familiar! Tallus Bryne, right?”

Han could think of no curse profound enough. He smiled weakly and shook hands. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Tallus Bryne?” Pavik Tharen said sharply.

“But he’s—” Sera Tharen stopped abruptly when her son nudged her, none too gently.

Dael Levare was oblivious to the byplay as he wrung Han’s hand. “What an honor this is! I still remember the day you set that record, and you did it by flying through the tunnel on Tabletop Mesa rather than over it! Everyone thought you were a goner, but you pulled it off!” He turned to Pavik. “You mean you didn’t recognize him? Is this Bria’s new suitor? The swoop racing champion of all Corellia! Your record still stands, Bryne. Or may I call you Tallus?”

“Tallus is fine,” Han said with a mental shrug. The vrelt’s in the kitchen for sure, this time …

Bria’s entrance was a welcome interruption. Han tried to catch her eye and give her a “look sharp” high-sign, but all her attention was for the newcomer. “Dael! What are you doing here?”

“Your mother invited me over,” Dael said. “You’re looking wonderful, Bria. I’m so glad to see you back safely—and with such a distinguished escort! I’ve wanted to shake this man’s hand ever since he won the swoop racing championship, last year!”

She looked at her mother. “You invited him over, Mother? How nice …” Han didn’t miss the edge in her voice, and the flash of guilt in Sera Tharen’s eyes. I get it, Han thought angrily. Mama here wanted Bria to see me next to her rich-guy ex-fiancé, figuring I’d come out looking like some kind of low-life jerk.

“Well, yes, dear … I knew Dael would be able to catch you up on all the news with the young crowd … much better than I could …” Sera Tharen