All Bets Are Off - Chapter Three
The sound of Han Solo's boot heels rapped across the hangar floor, long legs striding with intent, straight toward an unaware Luke Skywalker.
"What the hells, Kid?" he cried, arms spread out in exasperation.
Luke and his Rogue compatriots peered up from their makeshift card table as Han launched into a tirade.
"You were supposed to make sure she didn't pull one of her half-assed stunts while I was gone!"
Luke sighed deeply. "What was I supposed to do, huh? Tie her to her office chair?"
"Yes! She's kriffin' little. How hard would that have been?" He wasn't quite shouting, but his loud tone rang with displeasure.
"Oh, like you could stop her from doing what she sets her mind to do?" Luke said. "Ha!"
"You could at least have gotten assigned to go with her!" Solo argued.
"Pargaux's leadership is matriarchal, Han. She's with the women pilots from Green Squadron and that new female security chief…." He looked for help from his fellow Rogues.
"Mactil," Hobbie filled in the blank. "She's a total bad-ass. The princess'll be fine."
"Mactil," Luke repeated, aiming a smile of thanks at Hobbie. "It's a diplomatic mission. Leia wanted to show them that the Rebellion has a lot of women in positions of authority, to help gain their support."
"Oh, so now you're an expert on diplomacy," Han groused at Luke. "She should have waited for me to get back to fly her there. Those Pargauxians can be vicious, Kid."
Wedge stifled a laugh. He knew Han was searching for anything to support his argument that he should accompany the princess on all her missions.
"I'm sure the presence of a crazy Corellian male acting all macho would have moved diplomatic relations forward…." Luke arched a wry eyebrow.
"Hey! I can be diplomatic," the indignant Corellian countered.
"Sure you can, Han," Antilles stated with an ironic lilt, popping the top off a beer and handing it to the quarrelsome captain. "We've all seen your stellar work in that area..."
"How far's your brand of diplomacy got you with the princess, Solo?" Wes Janson teased.
The color was rising from Han's neck and he sputtered, "How far…I'm not…she's…hey, somebody has to look out for...here's your damned holo, Janson," Han growled, as he tossed Wes the disk he had brought with him. Slamming the bottle of beer onto the card table, Solo swiveled on his heel and stormed back to his ship.
"Aaaand there he goes, gentlemen," Wedge tipping his beer at the exiting spacer, "the esteemed Ambassador from Corellia, Captain of the Fastest Hunk of Junk in the Galaxy, Self-Appointed Protector of the Princess of Alderaan and totally in denial….Haaaaan Sooooolo."
"Ten credits says their first run-in ends in a shouting match," Wes snorted.
"I'm in," Hobbie chirped. "Sounds like a sure thing, as riled as Solo seemed."
Janson nudged Wedge. "You in?"
The Corellian was stroking his chin as he continued watching the Falcon's captain stomp back to his ship. "Nah, count me out. Not feelin' it." While not compelled to wager, Wedge did feel like something was up between the princess and the mercenary pilot. He'd save his credits for what he thought was a far more certain bet, one that had nothing to do with verbal blows.