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The Hutt leader was as good as her word. By the next morning, Han had received excellent faked IDs, identifying him as one Jobekk Jonn, official Hutt diplomatic envoy. The ship was a speedy little Corellian courier vessel named Quicksilver. Han was given a suit of clothing better than anything he’d ever even touched before—a tomuon-wool jacket and trousers, cut in the very latest style.

At Chewie’s suggestion, Han cultivated a short beard during the time it took them to fly to Coruscant. When they docked at one of Coruscant’s many spacedocks, he slicked his hair straight back from his brow, and was amazed at how different he looked. The spiffy gray suit made him look like a bureaucrat, completely erasing all traces of the smuggler.

“I feel naked without my blaster,” Han grumbled. “But they restrict weapons here on Coruscant … I mean, Imperial Center. Besides … I guess diplomatic envoys don’t wear guns.”

Chewie commented sadly that Han no longer looked scruffy, in approved Wookiee fashion. Instead he appeared as sleek and polished as lapi-stone.

“Trust me, pal, I can’t wait till I can turn back into myself,” Han said.

Then, picking up his package of gifts, and the holocube message from Jiliac and the Grand Council of Nal Hutta, Han left Quicksilver and took a shuttle down to Imperial Center.

Being back in the Imperial capital city brought back a lot of memories, most of them unpleasant ones. Bria had left him on Coruscant. Here he’d been hunted across the rooftops by Garris Shrike. His court-martial had taken place in the headquarters of the Imperial Navy …

Han already had the address for the Moff. Shild maintained several residences on different worlds, but at the moment, he was in Imperial Center, attending conferences on law and order in the Empire.

Han reached the Moff’s residence, a luxurious penthouse in one of the city’s most elegant buildings. After going through multiple security checks, he handed his credentials to the majordomo, an elderly human male, and then sat down in the antechamber. Only a strong effort of will kept him from fidgeting.

After waiting for nearly forty-five minutes, the majordomo appeared. “My master can give you only a few minutes,” he said. “He is departing this evening for Velga Prime.”

Nice, Han thought. Velga Prime was the most opulent gambling planetoid in the known galaxy.

He followed the majordomo down a succession of carpeted hallways. Automatically, Han memorized the way, just in case things went sour and he had to make a quick escape.

Finally, the majordomo ushered him into an office bigger than Han’s apartment back on Nar Shaddaa. “Master Jobekk Jonn, of Nal Hutta, Your Excellency,” the old man intoned.

Moff Sarn Shild was a tall, pale, ascetic-seeming man with oiled black hair and a thin, pointy mustache. Slender to the point of emaciation, he had pale, cold-looking hands with elongated fingers.

He wore no jewelry except a black krayt dragon pearl in one earlobe. His suit was the same opalescent black as the jewel.

He gestured brusquely to a seat. “I’m afraid I must be brief, Jonn. I realize that the Hutts have been … generous to my administration in the past, but the Emperor has made his wishes clear. My hands are tied.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Your Excellency,” Han said, watching his diction and grammar. Unconsciously, he slipped back into his speech patterns from when he’d been an Imperial officer. “I believe you will find the Hutt offerings and message I’ve brought to be of interest. May I?”

Shild nodded shortly. Han carefully placed the package on the table. “Please open it,” he said.

“Very well,” the Moff said. Carefully he opened the package, and from the way his eyes lit up, Han could tell that the Hutt Lords knew his tastes well.

A small silver pipe, encrusted with semiprecious gems. A miniaturized holo-projector so small it would fit into a human palm. A necklace made of gold and platinum wire, encrusted with golden corusca gems. “For your lady, sir,” Han said smoothly.

“Yes, she will like this …” muttered the Moff. A line appeared between his brows