Star Wars_ The Jedi Academy Trilogy 02_ Dark Apprentice - Kevin J. Anderson [18]
Lando stared at low-demonination numeric cards, nothing at all spectacular, while Han got the best deal he had seen throughout the entire game. All face cards, Demise, Endurance, The Star, and The Queen of Air and Darkness, along with the Balance card he had kept. His score handily passed the goal, leaving Lando in the dust.
He cheered at the same instant Threepio declared another “Change of rules!” Han glared at the golden droid, waiting.
“This hand will be scored under the Ecclessis Figg Variation,” Threepio said.
Han and Lando looked at each other, mouthing the words. “What is the Figg Variation?”
“In the final round the scores of all odd-numbered face cards are subtracted instead of added to the final score. This means, Master Solo, that while you gain ten points for Endurance and The Queen of Air and Darkness, you forfeit a total of forty-one for Balance, The Star, and Demise.”
Threepio paused. “I’m afraid you lose, sir. General Calrissian gains sixteen points for a total score of one hundred three, while you are left with a final score of sixty-two.”
Han blinked in shock at his half-empty glass of spiced ale as Lando pounded the tabletop in triumph. “Good game, Han. Now go on off to fetch Leia. Want me to come with you?”
Han kept staring at the table, at his ale, at anything but Lando. He felt hollow inside. Not only had he learned of Leia’s tragedy today, but he had also lost the ship he had owned for more than a decade.
“Take her, she’s yours,” Han mumbled. He finally looked up to meet Lando’s eyes.
“Come on, Han. You’re distraught. You never should have made the bet in the first place. Just—”
“No, the Falcon is yours, Lando. I’m not a cheat, and I made the deal going into the game.” Han stood, turning his back on Lando, leaving the rest of his ale untouched. “Threepio, authorize a change of registration for the Falcon. And you’d better get in touch with central transportation control. Arrange a diplomatic transport for Leia. I won’t be picking her up after all.”
Lando shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, I’ll take good care of her, Han. Not a scratch.”
Without another word Han went to the door of the lounge, unsealed it, and walked out into the echoing halls.
4
With black-gloved hands clasped behind her back, Admiral Daala stood at attention on the bridge of the Imperial Star Destroyer Gorgon.
In front of the bridge viewport, brilliant gases illuminated by a knot of blue-giant stars turned the Cauldron Nebula into a spectacular light show. Beside her in parking formation hung the Basilisk and the Manticore. The ionized gases played havoc with ships’ sensors, making the nebula a perfect hiding place for her three fully armed battleships.
Daala heard a tentative bootstep behind her and turned to face Commander Kratas. “Yes, Commander?” As she moved, her olive-gray uniform clung like a second skin, while her mane of coppery hair trailed behind her like the tail of a comet.
Kratas snapped off a perfect salute and remained standing one step below her observation platform. “Admiral,” he said, “as of oh-nine-hundred hours we have completed our assessment of the losses suffered during our battle at Kessel.”
Daala formed her lips into a tight, emotionless line. Kratas was a short man, recruited into the Imperial Navy from an occupation force on one of the conscripted planets. He had dark hair trimmed to regulation length, wide watery eyes set under beetling brows, and a jutting chin that hung below almost nonexistent lips. The best part of Kratas, though, Daala thought, was that he always followed orders. He had been trained well in the Imperial Military Academy on Carida.
“Give me the breakdown, Commander,” Daala said.
Kratas did not blink as he rattled off the numbers from memory. “Together, we lost a total of three TIE squadrons, and of course all hands and resources on board the Hydra.”
Daala felt a cold stab of anger at the mention of her wrecked