Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [95]
Face drew a hand across his brow, an exaggerated demonstration of relief. “Well, that’s cause for us to celebrate. I have no qualms about preying on ground-pounders like the people of Halmad, but—and it costs me no honor to say it—I would avoid earning the prolonged enmity of Zsinj.”
The warlord’s smile became broader. “It was already obvious that you were an intelligent pirate—else you would not have enjoyed the success you did. But before we get to our main subject of conversation for the evening, let us dine.”
“Please.” Face knew he’d kept all tension from his voice and manner, but it was still there, and the meal was one more opportunity for Zsinj to visit some new difficulty upon them—such as poison. If they’d read the man correctly, there would be no such subterfuge here. But they could always have made a mistake in their evaluation.
Lara drew to a stop a dozen steps from the house. She surreptitiously touched the butt of her blaster, reassurance that it was still at hand. “Hail the camp,” she called out, a standard Aldivian greeting from arriving visitors—even when arriving at a vast government building or a rich villa, tradition insisted it be called a camp. “Tavin, are you there?”
The front door slid open and he was there, the human complication from her mail message, dark and good-looking, the sort of man who knew his handsomeness was a tool and used it at every opportunity. He beamed. “Lara.” He approached her, arms up for an embrace.
She put her palm against his chest and kept him at bay. “Nothing like that. I don’t feel that close to you right now.”
His face fell. “I’m sorry. Maybe you will later. Come inside?”
“No. I spend too much time cooped up as it is. I like the breeze out here.”
He shrugged. “Well, let’s have some light.” He returned to his door and switched something just inside it. A floodlight mounted above the door illuminated the charred blackness before his house. “I have someone to introduce you to.”
“I imagine so.”
He beckoned, and a moment later was joined in the doorway by another man. This one was rail lean, dressed in a brown Aldivian farmer’s garments … but the fineness of his blond hair, the fact that there were no calluses on his hands, the autocratic expression on his face, and—not least of all—the blaster on his belt made it clear to Lara that this was no Aldivian farmer.
“Lara, let me introduce you to Captain Rossik. He has been most anxious to speak to you.”
The blond man smiled, an expression that was both beautiful and manifestly insincere, and advanced to shake Lara’s hand. “I have indeed. Lieutenant Petothel, allow me to congratulate you on all you’ve accomplished.”
She took the compliment with a frosty little smile and nod. That was why she had declined to have her comlink broadcast back to Donos; she couldn’t have her fellow Wraith hear her being addressed by a different name. “I’m so happy you were at last able to reach me,” she said.
“Tavin, go fetch us some chairs and drinks.” Rossik returned his attention to Lara. “How long can you stay without eliciting suspicion?”
“A couple of days. I received special leave because of Tavin’s sudden reappearance, but it’s only for a few days.”
“Well, your record demonstrates that you’re a smart one. It shouldn’t take you too long to learn to use the equipment we’re going to give you.”
“Equipment?”
“A special transmitter. It sends very small information packets via the old Imperial HoloNet. Yet it’s only about thirty kilos. Costs more than a TIE interceptor. We can use it to track Mon Remonda and put an end to her.”
“With me aboard.”
“No, certainly not. You’ll plant it, then on your next mission just vanish and come to us. Then, and only then, do we wipe out that ship.”
Lara appeared to think about it, long enough for a surly-looking Tavin to reemerge from the house with chairs for them all. He plopped them down in a semicircle and went back in.
At Rossik’s gesture of invitation, Lara sat. “I’m sorry, that won