'Things finally quieted down just before daylight,' Bel Iblis said.
'We were out of there by the next evening. Ah.' The bartender had arrived with the next round of drinks. Twistlers, Bel Iblis had called them: a blend of Corellian brandy with some unidentified but very tart fruit extract. Not the sort of drink Han would have expected to find in a military camp, but not bad either. The Senator took two of the drinks off the tray and handed them across to Han and Sena; took the other two off 'I'm still good, thanks,' Lando said before Bel Iblis could offer him one.
Han frowned across the table at his friend. Lando was sitting stiffly in his lounge chair, his face impassive, his glass still half full. His first glass, Han realized suddenly-Lando hadn't had a refill in the hour and a half since Bel Iblis had brought them here. He caught Lando's eye, raised his eyebrows fractionally. Lando looked back, his expression still stony, then dropped his gaze and took a small sip of his drink.
'It was about a month after Tangrene,' Bel Iblis went on, 'that we first met Borsk Fey'lya.'
Han turned back to him, feeling a twitch of guilt. He'd gotten so wrapped up in Bel Iblis's storytelling that he'd completely forgotten why he and Lando had set off on this mission in the first place. Probably that was what had Lando glaring crushed ice in his direction. 'Yeah-Fey'lya,' he said.
'What's your deal with him?'
'Considerably less of a deal than he'd like, I assure you,' Bel Iblis said. 'Fey'lya did us some favors during the height of the war years, and he seems to think we should be more grateful for them.'
'What sort of favors?' Lando asked.
'Small ones,' Bel Iblis told him. 'Early on he helped us set up a supply line through New Cov, and he whistled up some Star Cruisers once when the Imperials started nosing around the system at an awkward moment. He and some of the other Bothans also shifted various funds to us, which enabled us to buy equipment sooner than we otherwise would have. That sort of thing.'
'So how grateful are you?' Lando persisted. Bel Iblis smiled slightly. 'Or in other words, what exactly does Fey'lya want from me?'
Lando didn't smile back. 'That'll do for starters,' he agreed.
'Lando,' Han said warningly.
'No, that's all right,' Bel Iblis said, his own smile fading. 'Before I answer, though, I'd like you to tell me a little about the New Republic hierarchy. Mon Mothma's position in the new government, Fey'lya's relationship to her-that sort of thing.'
Han shrugged. 'That's pretty much public record.'
'That's the official version,' Bel Iblis said. 'I'm asking what things are really like.'
Han glanced over at Lando. 'I don't understand,' he said. Bel Iblis took a swallow of his Twistler. 'Well, then, let me be more direct,' he said, studying the liquid in his glass. 'What's Mon Mothma really up to?'
Han felt a trickle of anger in his throat. 'Is that what Breil'lya told you?' he demanded. 'That she's up to something?' Bel Iblis raised his eyes over the rim of his glass. 'This has nothing to do with the Bothans,' he said quietly. 'It's about Mon Mothma. Period.'
Han looked back at him, forcing down his confusion as he tried to collect his thoughts. There were things he didn't like about Mon Mothma-a lot of things, when you came right down to it. Starting with the way she kept running Leia off her feet doing diplomacy stuff instead of letting her concentrate on her Jedi training. And there were other things, too, that drove him crazy. But when you came right down to it ... 'As far as I know,' he told Bel Iblis evenly, 'the only thing she's trying to do is put together a new government.'
'With herself at its head?'
'Shouldn't she be?'
A shadow of something seemed to cross Bel Iblis's face, and he dropped his eyes to his glass again. 'I suppose it was inevitable,' he murmured. For a moment he was silent. Then he looked up again, seeming to shake himself out of the mood. 'So you'd say that you're becoming a republic in fact as well as in name?'
'I'd say that, yes,' Han nodded. 'What does this have to do with Fey'lya?'
Bel Iblis shrugged. 'It's Fey'lya's belief that Mon Mothma wields altogether too much power,' he said. 'I presume you'd disagree with that assessment?'
Han hesitated. 'I don't know,' he conceded. 'But she sure isn't running the whole show, like she did during the war.
