Five months and six bounty hunters later, Han and Chewbacca had settled down into life on Nar Shaddaa. Han found them a little apartment in the Corellian sector, a megablock or so from Mako’s place, and only one level below it. The little flat was set up like a small suite, with two tiny bedrooms with foldout beds, a minuscule kitchen/living area, and refresher unit. But they didn’t spend much time at home. As soon as Mako had introduced Han to his associates, the young Corellian found steady work. Good pilots were always valued on Nar Shaddaa.

During his first month, Han filled in as a shift pilot on the Nar Shaddaa to Nal Hutta shuttle, ferrying Hutts and their underlings back and forth from the Smuggler’s Moon to the Hutt homeworld. Han had hoped to meet either Jabba or Jiliac that way, but the two top Hutt Lords of the Desilijic clan had their own private shuttles and didn’t need to take public ones. Han hung on to the referral Tagta had given him, but decided he’d better learn his way around before he applied for jobs piloting for the Hutts. They were tough masters to please.

Just about the time Han’s temporary job ended, the young Corellian went out with Mako on several runs, hauling loads of spice from the Twi’lek homeworld, Ryloth, to a staging area on Roon. There Han met up with an old acquaintance of Mako’s, a craggy-faced, aging smuggler named Zeen Afit. Zeen was heading off to Smuggler’s Run with a shipment of food, and when he mentioned that he’d like company, Han and Chewbacca offered to ride along.

Smuggler’s Run was a hideout for sentients on the lam who were even “hotter” than the denizens of Nar Shaddaa. Smuggler’s Run was a series of hideouts—actually, artificial environments whittled out of several large asteroids located in the middle of a huge asteroid field. The main one was a smelly hole bored into a large asteroid that was known as Skip 1.

Zeen Afit showed Han the way into the Run, through the treacherous, constantly changing asteroid field, though he wouldn’t let him pilot his clunky old freighter, the Corona. “Next time, kid,” he promised, in his breathless, wheezy voice, as his fingers flew over the controls. “I promise you. This time, just watch old Uncle Zeen and enjoy the ride.”

Han gulped as Corona narrowly missed colliding with a jagged, hurtling rock that would have reduced them and their ship to molecules. “If I’m still alive when the next time comes,” he pointed out, involuntarily ducking as another asteroid nearly grazed their viewscreen. “Blast it, Zeen, slow down! Are you crazy?”

“Only way to fly an asteroid field is fast and by the seat of your pants, kid,” Zeen Afit said, never taking his eyes from his instruments. “If you try and tiptoe in, chances are you’ll get smashed before you can wipe your nose. I always just fly right in, keepin’ my eyes open, and I’m still here.”

When they reached the fabled Smuggler’s Run, Han and Chewbacca warily followed Zeen Afit into Skip 1, to meet “the gang,” as he called his friends. Han was introduced to a sallow, thin man with scars on his face named Jarril, and another, older man with a receding hairline who incongruously went by the name “Kid DXo’ln.”

Skip 1 was a regular warren of rooms, dining halls, gambling dens, bars, and drug hideaways. Han was frankly nervous, as he realized that here, even more than on Nar Shaddaa, there was no law. None.

He could die here, and no one but Chewie (presuming the Wookiee was still alive himself, an unlikely assumption) would ever know or care. Han was careful not to let any of his nervousness show. He had grown up with lawless people, had seen plenty of degenerate spirits by the time he was ten. He’d just never encountered quite so many bloodthirsty, desperate lost beings in one place before.

As he and Zeen headed for the bar, Han noticed the runnel of greenish-yellow gooey liquid oozing along a channel cut into the middle of the stone floor. Chewbacca snuffled, then growled in protest. “Yeah, that really stinks,” Han said, his nostrils twitching. “What the heck is that stuff, Zeen? It’s on the walls, too …”

“Oh, it’s just the ooze we gotta put up with, kid,” the smuggler told him. “Stinks, don’t it? Every so often we get to thinkin’ we ought to find out where it comes from and dam it up. It’s some kinda proto-organic compound, they say, mixed with sulfur.”

Han’s nose wrinkled. The ooze smelled like rancid meat mixed with rotting vegetation, laden with a liberal dose of sulfur. He’d smelled worse, but not recently.

As they stepped over the ooze channel and headed over to the bar, Han’s attention was caught and held by a beautiful woman with long black hair who definitely stood out in the mix of unsavory smuggler types. She wore a short skirt that showed off magnificent legs, and a top that was little more than a cropped shirt tied tightly to show off her bosom and midriff. Han stared at her, thinking that she was one of the most striking women he’d ever seen. Suddenly he realized she was looking back at him. Han quickly essayed his most charming smile.

She walked toward them. Han’s pulse skipped a beat, but then he realized she was regarding him with a marked lack of enthusiasm, as though he were a side of traladon meat that had gone green around the edges. Han’s smile stiffened on his lips. Guess the attraction isn’t mutual …

“Han, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Zeen said, indicating the woman. “Sinewy Ana Blue, one of the top smugglers around. She also runs a wicked sabacc table. Blue, meet Han Solo, a new kid I brought along for the ride. And this is his pal, Chewie.”

Han nodded cordially. “Pleasure to meet you—”

Noting his hesitation over what to call her, she smiled, revealing a shining blue crystal tooth in the front of her mouth. “Call me Blue,” she said, in a voice that couldn’t help being sultry. “Han Solo, you said? And”—she turned to Han’s companion—“Chewie?”

“Chewbacca,” Han supplied.

“Pleased to meet you, Chewbacca,” she said. “Have you met Wynni yet?”

Chewie cocked his head and whined a soft question.

Sinewy Ana Blue smiled at him. “You’ll know her when you meet her,” she promised cryptically.

“So,” Han said, “may I buy you a drink … Blue?”

She glanced at him, seemed to consider, then smiled faintly. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re cute, but not my type, Solo. I like them a bit more … seasoned.”

Zeen snickered. “She’s particular, our Blue,” he said, noting Han’s chagrin at the open rebuff. “You young, single types don’t offer enough … sport. She likes the lure of the chase, especially when it’s part of the thrill that comes from stealin’ what don’t belong to you.”

Sinewy Ana Blue gave Zeen a long, up and down stare. “You like to live dangerously these days, don’t you?” she drawled. Then she turned back to Han. “Do you play sabacc, Han Solo?”

Han nodded. “I’ve tried it,” he said cautiously.

She gave him a slow, alluring smile. “Come around, then. I’d love to have some fresh blood in my game.”

With a final nod to Chewbacca, she turned and walked away. Han watched her go with an admiring headshake. “Minions of Xendor … that is one fine-looking woman,” he muttered.

“Pure sabacc,” Zeen agreed. “Prime grade ore.”

“And she only goes after married guys?”

“Let’s just say she prefers the thrill of the hunt,” Zeen said. “Anyone that’s too available, too eager to get caught, isn’t challenging enough prey.”

“You make her sound like a Devaronian fur-spider,” Han said, watching Sinewy Ana Blue’s eminently watchable backside vanish amid the crowd of talking, laughing, drinking smugglers.

“Not too far off, kid,” Zeen said with a chuckle and a wink. “Our Blue is one of a kind. She—”

He broke off and whirled as a loud roar reverberated through the bar. Han spun on his heel to find a Wookiee standing in the doorway. She was big for a Wookiee female, as tall and muscular as Chewie. Her blue eyes were fixed unblinkingly upon Han’s companion, who was busily looking anywhere but at the newcomer.

“Who’s that?” Han asked Zeen.

“Wynni,” the senior smuggler replied with a wink and a leer.

Han and Chewbacca watched as the Wookiee came over to them. She growled a throaty greeting at Chewie, totally ignoring his human companion. Then she reached out one hairy paw and ran it admiringly down Chewbacca’s long arm.

Han turned to Zeen. “I think she likes him,” he said dryly, in Basic.

“Looks like,” Zeen agreed. “I think your buddy there is bein’ offered what you weren’t, pal. ’Cept he don’t look any too happy about it.”

The craggy-faced smuggler was correct. Chewbacca looked around wildly as the female Wookiee pressed up close to him, growling suggestively.

Catching Han’s eye, Chewie shook his head in a slight but emphatic movement. Han took pity on his friend. “Hey, Chewie,” he said loudly, “we gotta go.”

Wynni turned around and snarled at him. Clearly, she didn’t like having her seduction attempt interfered with. Han looked at her and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “We’ve got somewhere we have to be. A previous engagement.”

Wynni plainly didn’t believe him. She growled low in her throat.

Han realized that they were drawing a crowd. Kid DXo’ln, Zeen’s balding friend, stepped forward. “It ain’t polite to accuse people of lyin’, Wynni,” he told the Wookiee. “Han here is tellin’ the truth. I just signed him and his Wookiee pal on to ride as copilot and gunner to Kessel aboard the Starfire. Matter of fact, my droids should be finished loadin’ our cargo by now, Solo. Let’s go.”

Han smiled sweetly at Wynni and shrugged, with a “What can you do?” expression. Chewbacca didn’t bother trying to hide how glad he was to get away from the predatory female.

As they headed up the corridor toward Skip 1’s landing bay, Han gave Kid a grateful smile. “Thanks,” he said. “For a while it looked like I wasn’t going to be able to get Chewie out of there without making her mad.”

Kid DXo’ln grinned. “Yeah, and upsettin’ a lovestruck Wookiee ain’t exactly a smart thing to do. So, what do you want to do now? You actually up for going on to Kessel with me?”

“Sure,” Han said. “I’ve always wanted to go to Kessel. Are you going on the Run after you off-load your cargo there?”

“I don’t know,” Kid replied. “Maybe, if there’s a cargo waitin’ for me to pick up. But there’s bound to be somebody you can catch up with who’ll take you on the Run.”

Han had heard of the Kessel Run, that ultimate test of a smuggler pilot’s expertise. Traveling the Kessel Run allowed a pilot to shortcut across a large, uninhabited area of space that would otherwise have taken a vessel two days or more to skirt. But the direct route from Kessel back to the standard trade routes lay perilously close to the Maw, a massive collection of black holes that distorted both space and time. Many a ship had been lost to the Maw, lost with all hands.

Once they were safely aboard the Starfire, Kid waved a hand at the controls. “I hear you’re pretty good, Solo. Want to try takin’ her through the field?”

Han nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. Remembering Zeen’s advice, he forced himself to head confidently into the field, instead of holding back. He remembered stories told by the pilots who’d been aboard Trader’s Luck that indicated Zeen had been right—most asteroid fields could be navigated by someone with steely nerves and quick reflexes. Holding his breath, Han sent the beat-up little freighter skittering from side to side, not slacking off on their speed.

Kid sat back in the pilot’s seat and just watched. Only once did he interfere, and that was to increase the ship’s acceleration a notch, to avoid a smaller asteroid that was orbiting a larger one. The bigger asteroid had hidden its small companion. The Starfire zipped by so close that the deflector shields activated and the ship shuddered in protest. But they avoided the impact.

Han bit his lip when the chunk of rock, half the size of the ship, tumbled away behind him. “Sorry, Kid. I should’ve seen it.”

“No way you could’ve seen it, Solo,” the older man said. “I just been flying into and out of the Run for so many years that I practically got all these rocks memorized. I knew that one had a baby taggin’ behind, ’cause I’ve seen it before.”

When they finally emerged into clear space, Han felt as though he’d been piloting for a day instead of half an hour. He wanted to slump back into his seat, but a glance at Kid DXo’ln showed Kid, head tilted back, eyes closed, apparently asleep.

Han looked at Chewie, shrugged, and said, “Take over a second while I plot us a course to Kessel, pal.”

Minutes later Han retrieved the final coordinates from the navicomputer, and then finalized his course. He looked over at Kid DXo’ln. One watery blue eye opened. “Punch it, Solo,” the raspy voice told him.

Han grinned. “Sure.”

Moments later the bright pinpoints of realspace elongated before them, and the Starfire shot down a seeming tunnel of starlines. Han realized he was grinning like a kid. It had been a long time since he’d done any real piloting that wasn’t just drills.

When he’d been in the Navy, he’d served shifts as a helmsman on the big Imperial ships, but his favorite duty had been flying TIE fighters. Small, nimble, and deadly, they required pinpoint control to maneuver and fire, but they had no shielding at all, which made them very vulnerable. Few TIE pilots lived to grow old.

When the Starfire emerged into realspace, Han took one look at the Maw and drew a quick breath. Kid DXo’ln, who had finally awakened from his nap, stretched and grinned. “Impressive, ain’t it, Solo?”

“I’ll say,” Han muttered.

The Maw stretched before them, a collection of black holes that were sucking the life from the nearby stars. Long streamers of gas threaded their way into the monstrous whirlpools of gas and dust that marked the location of the black holes. The holes themselves were invisible, of course. The reason they were called “black” holes was that their gravity was so strong that nothing, not even light, could escape their pull.

But the gas and dust marked their location. There were quite a few of them. So far as Han knew, the Maw was unique in the galaxy.

“Kessel’s right on the edge, Solo,” Kid said. “Here, I’ll show you the coordinates on the screen.”

Han studied readouts on the lumpy, misshapen little planet that orbited a small, fierce, blue-white star. Kessel was orbited by its small, solitary moon. “The planet isn’t even spherical,” he muttered. “It doesn’t mass enough to hold onto an atmosphere.”

“Yeah, I know. You gotta wear a breath mask there, but they keep a couple of atmosphere-generating plants runnin’, so we won’t have to put on vacuum gear,” Kid told him.

Han frowned down at the readouts. “I didn’t know Kessel had a moon.”

“Yeah, there’s rumors that the Imps have been scouting it, that they might actually build something there. Crazy, if you ask me.”

“There are Imperial ships around here?” Kid’s revelation worried Han. Chewie was still an escaped slave, after all. They’d just love to recapture him.

“Yeah, I ran into a guy who works for Imp security as a snitch, and he told me the Imps are considering putting some kind of big hush-hush installation right smack in the middle of the Maw,” Kid said thoughtfully.

Han stared at the whirling vortices of dust and gas that marked the black holes and shook his head. “A base? In there? They’re crazy, all right!”

Kid shrugged. “There’s more space than you’d guess between those black holes. Some smugglers say that you can actually shorten your Kessel Run by skimming close to the Maw.”

Han frowned as he studied his readouts. “You mean make the Run in less time.”

Kid chuckled, a creaky sound. “Well, that, too. But they say that both time and space get warped, distorted so close to the Maw. So you can not only make your run faster, but actually shave off part of the distance.”

“What’s the record?” Han asked curiously.

“Dunno,” Kid DXo’ln said. “I think it’s down below ten hours these days, but I never been crazy enough to try for it. Take my advice, and don’t play games with the Maw, Solo.”

Han tended to think Kid’s advice was good. Skimming the Maw seemed like the act of an idiot—a suicidal idiot.

Han set the Starfire down on Kessel, and the three smugglers donned breath masks and got out. There was a small cantina that served as a recreation area where pilots and crews could get something to eat and drink while waiting for the loading droids to fill their cargo bays.

Kid DXo’ln stayed behind to oversee the loading, leaving Han and Chewie to grab a quick bite. Ten minutes later Han was halfway through a hasty meal and a glass of Polanis ale. Privately, he wondered what to do now. Kid DXo’ln had made it clear that he was bound for parts he preferred to remain unknown—at least to Han—when the Starfire was finished loading. The older man had commented that he was sure Han could catch a ride back to Smuggler’s Run, or back to Nar Shaddaa, probably via the Kessel Run, from here.

Kessel boasted no facilities for overnight guests. Han glanced around when the cantina door opened, and then his eyes widened as he beheld a familiar face.

“Roa!” he exclaimed, waving at the older man who’d just entered and was removing his breathing mask. “Hey, Roa! C’mon over and I’ll buy you a drink!”

Roa—if he had another name, Han had never heard it—was a big, stocky man with graying hair and a charming smile. He had a roguish twinkle in his blue eyes, and a sense of humor that made him friends easily. It seemed that everyone on Nar Shaddaa knew Roa, and he knew them.

Roa and Mako were old friends, and Roa had been one of the first pals Mako had introduced Han to when he’d arrived on Nar Shaddaa.

Roa had been in the smuggling business for more than twenty years, which made him the grand old man of the trade. He enjoyed playing the role of “shepherd” to some of the younger smugglers, and was generous about sharing what he’d learned during his career.

Unlike many of the smugglers, who were little better than pirates, Roa had his own private “code” that he taught the young smugglers who rode shotgun with him on his old but meticulously maintained speedy freighter, the Wayfarer. Roa had taught Han, as he’d taught so many others: never ignore a call for help … never take from those who are poorer than yourself … never play sabacc unless you’re prepared to lose, always be prepared to make a quick getaway … never pilot a ship under the influence.

Roa’s Rules, the smugglers called them.

Now, seeing his young friend, Roa’s friendly, open face broke into a wide grin. “Han, what’re you doing here?”

Han gestured to the seat beside him. “It’s a long story, Roa. Mostly we wound up here because a female Wookiee took too much of a liking to Chewie, here.”

Roa chuckled as he threw a leg across the bar stool. “Chewbacca, don’t tell me you got to meet Wynni!”

Chewie moaned aloud, rolling his blue eyes expressively. Roa guffawed. “Oh, c’mon, Chewie, how bad could it be, entertaining an amorous lady Wookiee?”

Chewbacca snorted, then launched into a vivid explanation of how strenuous—and, at times, hazardous—Wookiee romance could be. Han could understand him, of course, but it was obvious that Roa was barely getting the gist of it.

The older smuggler’s eyebrows went up, then he shook his head when Chewie finished. “All right, sounds like you did the right thing by beating a hasty retreat, Chewbacca! Remind me never to attract Wynni’s attention.”

Han grinned. “Me neither,” he said, then sobered. “Problem is, we’re stranded here now. Kid DXo’ln brought us, but he’s heading out of here on some private business, and he doesn’t need a crew. So I’m lookin’ for a ride back to Nar Shaddaa. Any chance we can catch one with you, Roa?”

The older man smiled. “Sure, Han. Only trouble is, we’re not going directly back. I’ve got a load of spice to take on to Myrkr. How does Nar Shaddaa by way of the Kessel Run strike you?”

Han’s eyes lit up. “That would be great! I can’t really get the top piloting assignments until I’ve got a Run or two under my belt. Roa … any chance you’d let me pilot, and coach me through it?”

The older man grinned. “Depends, Solo.”

“On what?”

“How many drinks you buy me.”

Han chuckled, and waved to the bar droid for fresh ammunition. “Tell me about the Run,” he said. “I think I’m ready.”

As Roa explained it, the Kessel Run took ships traveling in realspace from the Kessel sector past and around the Maw, then through a rough, uninhabited sector of space known as “the Pit.” The Pit wasn’t as hard to navigate as the Maw, but more ships had actually been lost there than near the Maw, because after successfully making it past the black-hole cluster, pilots tended to be tired, their reflexes slowed. And just when they needed to rest, the Pit was waiting for them.

The Pit contained a scattered asteroid field that wasn’t nearly as concentrated as the one surrounding Smuggler’s Run, but it was encased inside a wispy arm of a nebula. The gas and dust from the nebula tended to make most ships’ sensors imprecise, and the pilot’s line-of-sight was seriously compromised. Zigging in and out of the gauzy tendrils of the nebula was a confusing, chancy business, and there was always the chance that when a pilot zigged to avoid one asteroid, he’d zag right into another.

Roa explained all of this to Han, then took him back to the Wayfarer and showed him a complete schematic of their course from the navicomputer. Han studied it all intently, then nodded. “Okay. I think I can handle it, Roa.”

The Wayfarer’s captain gave him a long, measuring glance, then nodded. “Okay, son. Go ahead. Take us out.”

Han nodded, then his world narrowed into the viewscreen, his coordinates, his controls, and his hands and eyes. He felt almost like a bio droid, someone who could link his nervous system into the ship. It was as though Han had become the ship—as though they were one entity.

Flying past the center of the Maw, Han was acutely conscious that the slightest mistake on his part could result in disaster for the Wayfarer. He felt sweat break out on his forehead as he manipulated the controls, avoiding gravitational eddies and anomalies. Beside him, in the copilot’s seat, he could sense Roa’s tension, though the stocky older man made no sound. Behind him, Chewbacca whined softly, a thin thread of sound in the otherwise silent control cabin.

The Maw was all around them now as they skirted the dangerous black-hole clusters. Han knew that it would be possible to make the Run by looping wide around this entire perilous sector, but the cost—in fuel, in time, and in the extra distance that had to be traveled—made negotiating the obstacle course of the Maw worthwhile.

Barely.

So far, Roa had not spoken as Han took the Wayfarer along the twisting, tricky course that was the shortest safe way through the Maw. Han figured that must mean he was doing all right. He tried to take a deep breath as they sped past a whorl of bluish gas and dust, but it was as though a durasteel band was tightening around his chest.

When Roa spoke softly in the silent cabin, the sound made Han jump. “Past the halfway point. Good job, lad. Watch this one coming up. It’s a bit tricky.”

Han nodded, and felt a greasy drop of sweat slide past his eyebrow. He flipped Wayfarer up on her side as they hurtled past the whirlpool of cosmic dust that had once been a star.

Nearly an hour later, when Han felt as though he hadn’t drawn a deep breath for the whole trip, they were out of the Maw and entering the Pit.

An asteroid whizzed by. Han throttled back a bit as he tried to watch every direction at once, wishing for eyes in the back of his head like a Moloskian.

Roa’s voice was sharp. “Hard to port!”

Han caught barely a glimpse of the onrushing asteroid, the size of a mountain. His sweaty hand found the control to implement Roa’s order—and slipped!

Panic erupted in Han’s chest as he clamped slick fingers onto the controls, overcompensating and causing them to nearly skid into the path of yet another asteroid!

Chewbacca howled, and Roa cursed. Han managed to miss the chunk of rock by the skin of his teeth.

“Sorry,” he said tightly. “Fingers slipped.”

Without another word, Roa reached into a storage bin and pulled something out. “Here. My present for making it past the Maw. I’ll take over while you put ’em on.”

Han grabbed the pair of pilot’s gloves with their nonslip finger pads and tugged them on, snapping them securely into place. He flexed his fingers. “Thanks, Roa.”

“Don’t mention it,” the older smuggler said. “I always wear ’em, and I suggest you do, too.”

Han nodded. “I will.”

Several hours later, when Han had finished his first Kessel Run, and they were relaxing in the relative safety of hyperspace, Roa leaned back in the copilot’s seat. “So,” he said, “I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone fly the Run any smoother on his first try, Han. You’re a natural, son.”

Han grinned at his friend. “You’re a good coach.”

Chewbacca commented sourly that he wouldn’t have objected to a bit more coaching from Roa—Han had frightened him so badly it was a wonder his hair hadn’t fallen out.

Han turned around and glared at his furry friend. “Hey, just keep it up, and I’ll give Wynni our home address the next time I see her.”

Chewie subsided into glaring silence.

“So, what are you going to do now, Han?” Roa asked. “Not every smuggler can brag that he’s flown the Kessel Run, and you made it in excellent time. What’s your next move?”

Han had been thinking about that. “I want a ship of our own for me and Chewie,” he told Roa. “First I’ll have to lease one, of course, but then maybe someday I’ll find one I can buy. But I’ll need a pile of credits, Roa. So when I get back to Nar Shaddaa, I’m going where the credits are.”

Roa’s eyebrows went up. “The Hutts,” he said.

Han checked his stabilizers. “Yeah, the Hutts.”

Roa shook his head, frowning. “Working for the Hutts has its dangers, Han. Hutts make risky employers. Displease them, and you can end up swimming through vacuum without a suit.”

Han nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed bleakly. “I’ve worked for them before. But to make the big money, you’ve got to be willing to take those risks …”

Two weeks and yet another bounty hunter later, Han and Chewbacca walked up to the largest building in the Hutt section of Nar Shaddaa. Once a luxury hotel, The Jewel was now headquarters to the Desilijic kajidic.

When The Jewel had been a hotel, the management had boasted that it could provide quarters for over half the known sentient races in the galaxy. Aquatic beings, methane breathers, and beings who could only be comfortable in low gravity—The Jewel had accommodated them all, and more.

As he approached the old building, Han could see that it had been vastly remodeled to suit its new tenants. The giant lobby area was now festooned with glide ramps leading to higher levels. The carpeting had been pulled up, and the stone floors were polished to a brilliant shine to ease a Hutt’s passage when gliding along.

Han checked, for the fourth time, that he had Tagta’s message cube safely in his pocket. He glanced over at Chewbacca. “You don’t have to come in, pal. I can probably handle this interview myself.”

Chewie’s only response was a firm shake of his head. Han shrugged. “Okay, then, but let me do the talking.”

Jiliac’s majordomo on Nar Shaddaa proved to be a human woman, a striking redhead who was approaching middle years. She wore a simple green gown, modest in cut. Han was impressed by her dignity and presence as she introduced herself. “I am Dielo, Lord Jiliac’s assistant. You said that you had a letter of recommendation, sir?”

Han nodded, feeling rather shabby by comparison, even though he’d worn his best pants, shirt, and jacket. Inside he felt defensive, but he’d learned long ago never to show discomfort or nerves. So his insouciant smile never wavered, and not the slightest crack showed in his air of casual bravado. “Yes, I do.”

“May I see it?”

“Sure, long as you don’t leave with it.” Han produced the small holocube, handed it to her. She glanced quickly at the greenish smear on the side, scanned the message, then nodded. “Very well,” she said, handing the holocube back. “Please wait here. I will call you in presently.”

Forty-five minutes later, she reappeared and ushered Han into Lord Jiliac’s audience chamber.

Han was a little nervous, wondering whether Jiliac the Hutt would recognize him as one of the messengers who, five years ago, had delivered a message to him in his palace on Nal Hutta. The message had come from Jiliac’s archrival, Zavval. The Ylesian overlord had challenged Jiliac and threatened him with dire consequences. When he’d heard it, Jiliac had flown into a rage and wrecked a large portion of his audience hall.

Han hoped the Hutt Lord wouldn’t recognize him. He’d never told Jiliac his name, after all. Besides, he was no longer nineteen … he looked different. His face was thinner, older, and he’d put on weight and muscle from his time in the Academy. Not to mention that in all probability most humans looked pretty much alike—to a Hutt.

Still, Han’s mouth was dry as he stepped through the door into the innermost chamber.

Han was surprised to see two Hutts in the room. One was nearly twice the size of the other, which Han knew meant that it was older. Hutts grew throughout their life spans, and some of them reached impressive proportions indeed. The average Hutt underwent several growth spurts after reaching adulthood. Han had heard that some of them could more than double in size in a matter of a few years.

Han squinted at the Hutts. He was pretty sure that Jiliac was the larger of the two.

The room was huge and ornate; this audience chamber had evidently been the hotel’s main ballroom. Mirrors lined the walls, and Han caught sight of himself on both sides.

When Han finally stood before the two Hutts, he bowed deeply. Dielo waved a hand at him and spoke in passable Huttese. “Lord Jiliac, this is the Corellian pilot your cousin Lord Tagta recommended to you. His name is Han Solo. The Wookiee is named Chewbacca.”

Han bowed again. “Lord Jiliac,” he said, in Basic, “it is a privilege to meet you, Your Excellency. Your cousin Lord Tagta says that you are always in need of good pilots.”

“Pilot Solo”—Jiliac turned bulbous eyes layered in fat upon Han, and peered down at him with faint curiosity—“do you speak and understand Huttese?”

“I understand it, Your Excellency. I do not speak it well enough to convey the beauty of the language, therefore it is not proper for me to attempt to utter it,” Han said earnestly.

Fortunately, Hutts were easy to flatter, and this one bought it. “Ah, a human that understands the beauty of our language,” Jiliac said, turning to the smaller Hutt. “Truly an insightful and sensitive member of his species.”

“That isn’t saying much,” the other Hutt replied with a deep chuckle. “I wonder if Captain Solo can pilot as well as he dissembles?”

Han glanced over at the younger, smaller Hutt. Sharp intelligence shone in his narrow-pupiled eyes. He was about Han’s height, and only about four or five meters long. Jiliac noticed Han looking at his companion.

“Captain Solo, this is my nephew, Jabba. He has become indispensable to me in running the Desilijic kajidic.”

Han bowed to the younger Hutt. “Greetings, Your Excellency.”

“Greetings, Captain Solo,” Jabba replied with a gracious wave of his small hand. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Jiliac held out his own hand. “Enough chitchat. The holocube, Captain?”

“Certainly, Your Excellency.” Han produced it, handed it to Jiliac.

The Hutt Lord examined the holocube for several minutes, then passed a small scanning device over the green smear. Finally satisfied, he looked at Han. “You come highly recommended, Captain. We can always use expert pilots.”

Han nodded. “I’d like to work for you and your nephew, Your Excellency.”

“Very well, then you are hired, Captain. But what about your companion here?” Jiliac indicated Chewbacca.

“We’re a team, Your Excellency. Chewie is my copilot.”

“Indeed?” said Jabba. “He looks more like a bodyguard to me.”

Han could feel Chewie stiffen next to him, and he felt, more than heard, the soft rumble of anger emanating from his furred chest. “Chewie’s a good pilot,” Han insisted.

“These are perilous times for honest business persons,” Jiliac pointed out. “Is one of you trained in weapons systems?”

“I’m the gunner, Your Excellency,” Han said. “Chewie is a pretty fair shot, I admit, but I’m better.”

“Ah!” Jabba sounded delighted. “Finally, a human who does not deluge us with his silly notion of ‘modesty.’ ”

“Glad you approve,” Han said dryly.

“Kessel,” Jiliac said thoughtfully. “Our sources say you have been to Kessel.”

Han nodded. “Yes, Your Excellency. And I did the Run in nearly record time, my first time through.”

“Excellent!” boomed Jabba, who had a voice nearly as deep as his far larger uncle. He chuckled, a low “ho-ho-ho” sound. “Then you are willing to tackle the Kessel Run while hauling cargo for us?”

“Depends on the cargo, Your Excellency,” Han said.

“We have no way to determine, at this time, what the cargo will be,” Jiliac said. “Obviously, you will leave Kessel carrying a cargo of spice, probably glitterstim, for Kessel is where that spice is mined. But as to what you will be carrying when you land on Kessel, that is bound to vary a great deal. Food, luxuries, a shipment of slaves, or—”

“No slaves,” Han interrupted curtly. He had to make this clear. If they dumped him over it, he’d keep on looking for work. “I’ll haul most anything for you, Your Excellency. But not slaves.”

Both Hutts stared at Han, obviously taken aback by his temerity. Finally Jabba spoke.

“Why not, Captain Solo?”

“Personal reasons, Your Excellency,” Han said. “I’ve seen slavery up close—and I didn’t like it.”

“Oho!” Jabba chuckled again. “Our brave captain has scruples … morals, even, perhaps!”

Han refused to be baited. He just stood his ground.

Jiliac made a curt gesture to Han to stay where he was, then he and the younger Hutt wriggled toward each other. Watching them move, Han couldn’t decide whether they reminded him more of a snake or a slug. They undulated along, using muscular contractions to move.

The two Hutts put their heads together and conferred. After a couple of minutes, they broke apart and turned back to Han and Chewie. “Very well, Captain Solo,” Jiliac boomed, “we will not assign you to transport slaves.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency,” Han said, feeling a wash of relief.

“Slaving is not a large part of our business,” Jabba said, with a touch of scorn in his voice. “We leave most of that trade to the Besadii kajidic that operates out of Ylesia.”

“Have you ever heard of Ylesia, Captain Solo?” Jiliac asked.

Han tensed, but kept it from showing. “Yes, I’ve heard of it, Your Excellency.”

“Our main shipment these days is ryll, Captain,” Jabba said. “We have just discovered a new source to trade with on Ryloth, the Twi’lek world. Have you been there?”

“Yes, Your Excellency, I have. I know the spacelanes in that area.”

“Good,” Jabba said. He studied Han closely with his huge, rarely blinking eyes. “Tell me, Captain, have you ever piloted a space yacht?”

Han had to stifle an ironic grin. The reason all these bounty hunters were after him was that in addition to swiping the cream of Teroenza’s treasure, he’d stolen Zavval and Teroenza’s personal space yacht.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Han said. “I have.”

Jabba regarded Han thoughtfully. “I shall keep that in mind.”

Jiliac made a dismissive gesture. “We shall be in touch, Captain. At the moment, you have our leave to depart.”

Han bowed to the Hutts, and as he did so, he surreptitiously gave his Wookiee friend a poke. Chewbacca growled softly, but he, too, bobbed his upper body forward.

Han left the audience, feeling sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. Slowly, carefully, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

This had better be worth it …

During the next three months, Han worked for Roa on and off, but he also flew many missions for the Hutts. He developed a reputation for being able to coax top speeds out of even inferior vessels, and for being willing to do whatever it took to get his smuggled cargo through to its destination.

He flew the Kessel Run so many times he lost count.

There were times when the Hutts didn’t need him for days or weeks at a time, and he took assignments from Mako, Roa, or other employers. But Jiliac and Jabba provided him with fairly steady work, and most of his income.

Both Jiliac and Jabba had personal space yachts. Han discovered that each of them had sizable holdings on other worlds than Nal Hutta—matter of fact, Jiliac was the de facto ruler of Dilbana, and Jabba was the top crime lord on a backwater world called Tatooine.

One day Han and Chewie were called upon to pilot Jabba’s personal yacht, the Star Jewel, to Tatooine. Han would’ve rather hauled spice, frankly. Jabba was temperamental and used to getting his own way, and made a demanding, irascible passenger. Han was glad that the Hutt had brought several of his personal servants along to tend to him, so that all he, Han, had to do was pilot the ship.

Foremost among Jabba’s entourage was a Twi’lek valet named Lobb Gerido. Jabba treated Gerido terribly, ordering him around, snapping at him, and insulting him. Han was just glad that he didn’t have to put up with that sort of thing. Jabba’s entourage also included several humanoid dancing girls, a nalargon player nicknamed “Whizz-Bang” and Jabba’s and Jiliac’s chef from their residence on Nar Shaddaa, an Ishi Tib named Totoplat.

The purpose of Jabba’s voyage was to transport a “pet” he’d recently acquired to his palace on Tatooine. The thing was a nightmare—slashing claws, a huge suckerlike mouth, and an insatiable appetite. Han discovered it was called an Oskan blood eater. Han’s stomach turned over the one time he watched its keeper feed it. The entire hold area stank from the creature’s occupation. It was a messy eater, and its effluvia was enough to gag a Corellian corpse-grub.

The yacht was a big ship, a Ubrikkian cruiser. It was fast, powered by a pair of Ubrikkian N2 ion engines, with auxiliary power provided by three smaller Kuat T-c40 ion engines. It was also well shielded and heavily armed with six turbolasers. In its docking bay was space for six Z-95 Headhunter fighters, as well as two small landing shuttles.

This trip, as happened frequently, Star Jewel was down to two Headhunters, with two pilots to crew them. The little fighters were tough, but they had no hyperdrive, and Jabba was known to order them deployed as a rear guard while he took off into hyperspace. Jabba was tough on Headhunters and their pilots.

Tatooine was a remote world, back of beyond, and Han had to make several hyperspace jumps to reach it. His next-to-last jump put him into a little-traveled spacelane, but it was the most direct route to Tatooine.

That’s where the pirate ships were waiting for them. Four Drell teardrop-shaped vessels, sleek and shining, small but deadly. Han had faced their like before, when he’d been piloting for the Ylesians. The moment he saw them his mental alarm bells went off. Pirates!?! They could be! Better to be safe than sorry …

“Chewie, shields on maximum!” Han snapped, sending the yacht into an evasive maneuvering pattern while his copilot adjusted their deflectors to maximum strength. Han flipped on the comm unit. “Attention! Gunnery crew, stand ready! We may be seeing some action!” He switched frequencies. “Headhunter pilots, report to your snubs! This is not a drill!”

Even as the words left his mouth, the closest ship spat a salvo of quad laser fire at them. I was right! Han mentally congratulated himself. Thanks to his caution, the Drell ship’s fire went wide.

The ships were only a third the size of Jabba’s massive space yacht, but their quad laser cannons spat deadly bursts at the bigger ship as they rushed in at top speed. They were so small they were going to be difficult to hit. Han banked the Star Jewel around and yelled, “Gunnery crew … fire at will!”

Even as the crews manning the yacht’s six heavy turbolasers began returning fire, Han switched to another comm frequency. “Attention, passengers and crew—we are under attack! Prepare for evasive maneuvers. Activate your restraint systems.”

Beside him Chewie was performing his job ably, leaving the piloting mostly to Han, but busy balancing and distributing power to their shields, monitoring the ship’s status, checking on how much power they could channel to the weapons. The Hutt yacht’s turbolasers, mounted discreetly beneath the ridge of the yacht’s superstructure, actually tapped directly into the ship’s power core, thus giving them far more destructive capability than any opponent would expect.

Han dodged an incoming Drell ship, saw the turbolasers fire a vicious burst at the oncoming vessel, but at the last moment it dodged the fire. Blasted little ships are too fast!

His comm unit crackled. “Headhunters here. Ready for launch.”

Chewie opened the cargo-bay doors, and dropped one shield amidships so the two fighters could launch.

Han activated the comm. “Pilots … launch on my order! Three … two … one … NOW!”

Jabba was hollering over the comm, demanding an explanation. Han could hear wails and curses from the Twi’lek and the dancing girls. Totoplat, the cook, was fussing that Jabba’s dinner was ruined, just ruined!

With a muttered curse, Han spared half a second to close the comm channel from the passenger section. When he looked back up, he paled.

“Incoming amidships, Chewie!” he yelled, knowing this time he couldn’t evade fast enough. The Star Jewel shuddered violently, then shuddered again. Han realized the first ship had swung around and was now firing on their stern! He cursed when he saw that his rear deflectors were nearly gone. “Chewie! I’m coming about! Compensate for that shield!”

Activating the comm, Han shouted, “I’m coming about, hard to port! You guys get that blasted pirate off my rear!”

The Wookiee snarled as he worked frantically on the shields. Han sent the Star Jewel into a hard port turn, then a second later he felt the faint jolts as the gunners fired.

Another miss!

Han cursed and activated the comm. “Listen up, you guys! I want portside gunner one to target the following coordinates, and fire on my order!”

Glancing at his sensors, Han located the position of the first Drell ship, saw that it had swung far out, then turned and was coming back for another run. Han checked his X-Y coordinate grids and made a rapid calculation. He spat out a string of coordinates.

“Coordinates acknowledged, sir!” the portside gunnery chief said.

“Gunner two, target the following coordinates and fire your burst five seconds after gunner one! Got that?” Han reeled off another string of coordinates.

“We copy, Captain!”

“Gunner three, target the following coordinates and fire your weapon five seconds after gunner one.” Again, Han gave the prescribed coordinates.

“Yes, Captain! Ready!”

“Okay … gunner one … prepare to fire!”

What Han was attempting was a military technique called a limited barrage pattern. It was designed to make a ship dodge a burst of fire, only to run right into another blast. Tricky, but if they could get the timing right …

Han counted seconds in his head as he angled his stern slightly toward the Drell, offering the most tempting target he could. Three … two … one!

“Portside gunner one—fire!”

The deadly beam shot out, but as Han had figured, the agile Drell vessel evaded the blast.

Four … three … two … one … Han counted, watching the portside viewscreen. “Yes!” he shouted as the evading ship ran straight into the blast from portside gun two!

Incandescent white fire blossomed against the blackness.

“You got him!”

Cheers erupted from the comm unit.

The Headhunters were zeroing in on another of the Drell ships. Stuttering bursts from their lasers shone red against the star-speckled blackness.

Han could only spare a glance for the snubfighters and their battle. He sent the Star Jewel hurtling toward the two remaining Drell ships, then spoke into the comm. “Starboard gunners, prepare to fire continuous bursts on my order. Coordinates are …” Glancing at his board, he gave them a string of numbers.

He watched as the two Drell ships came about for another attack run, then began hurtling toward the yacht at full speed. “Starboard gunners, fire at maximum … now!”

The three powerful turbolasers blasted away into empty space. Those captains are gonna think I’ve lost my mind, Han thought as he counted the bursts from his starboard battery, mentally timing their pounding rhythm. What he was planning required pinpoint timing.

As the Drells reached firing range, Han wrenched his controls, rolling the big ship to port, turning it up on its side.

Seeing that Han hadn’t lost his mind after all, the Drell pirates scattered wildly, trying to evade the bursts from the turbolasers that were now aiming directly at them!

One Drell pirate managed to evade, but the other one was trapped in the middle of the full barrage pattern. The blast from starboard gun two caught it dead center.

This time, the Star Jewel was close enough to the explosion to lose a starboard deflector when it was repeatedly pummeled by wreckage. Han watched the indicators on his instruments leap as the Hutt yacht sheered through the zone of destruction, then out the other side.

He glanced at the port viewscreen. The other Drell ship was slowly spinning, a huge hole blown in its side. Only one of the Headhunters was visible. The fourth Drell ship, the one that had escaped the barrage pattern, was hightailing it.

Han considered giving chase, but he knew the pirate had too much of a headstart. Instead he turned the yacht and headed back to pick up the remaining Headhunter.

By the time he remembered to flick the comm unit back on, Jabba’s threats and imprecations had died away. Han cleared his throat. “We’re okay, Your Excellency. Hope I didn’t jounce you around too much back there.”

“My precious cargo is upset!” Jabba grumbled. “I may have to sacrifice one of my dancers to appease his appetite. Blood eaters are sensitive creatures, Solo!”

“Uh … yessir. Sorry about that, sir. But I had to fight. Otherwise we’d have been blown out of space. Those pirates weren’t just looking for loot and salvage, Your Excellency. They knew we were coming. They were waiting at exactly the right spot to intercept a ship making the last leg of a trip to Tatooine.”

“Really?” Jabba’s petulant tones suddenly hardened. Now the crime lord was all business. “What do you think they were attempting to do, Captain?”

“Disable or destroy us, Your Excellency,” Han said, opening the landing-bay doors so the one remaining Headhunter could limp in. “I believe they were after you, sir.”

“Another assassination attempt …” Jabba sounded very thoughtful. Han knew that devious mind was working at lightspeed.

“I think so, sir.”

“Interesting,” Jabba grunted. “Captain, may I ask where you learned those … unorthodox … maneuvers?”

“At the Imperial Academy, Your Excellency.”

“I see. They proved most useful, I must admit. You are to be doubly commended for foiling this cowardly attempt to murder me, Captain Solo. Remind me of that when we return to Nar Shaddaa.”

“You bet,” Han promised.

“Solo knows something,” Jabba the Hutt said to his Uncle Jiliac two weeks later as they shared a light repast in the small lounge that adjoined Jiliac’s audience chamber on Nar Shaddaa.

Jiliac reached into his elegant combination snackquarium and water pipe—a gift from the long-dead Zavval—and extracted a wriggling morsel. Holding the frantic creature in midair, he regarded it absently. “Really?” he said after a moment’s silent consideration. “Knows what?”

Jabba wriggled closer to the snackquarium and, at a wave from his clan lord, reached in for a choice little snack. Green slime gathered at the corners of his mouth as he anticipated the delicious rubbery warmth of the little amphibian sliding down his gullet. Even with this distraction, he was still able to focus on Jiliac’s question. Jabba was nothing if not practical.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I suspect the only way to find out is to ask him.”

“Ask him what?” demanded Jiliac as Jabba popped the treat into his mouth.

Glunk … Jabba swallowed noisily before answering, “Ask him how he knew to react so quickly with those Drell ships. Ship’s log showed he was tracking with his weapons systems and taking evasive maneuvers even before they fired on us. How did Solo know those Drell ships meant trouble?”

“We have hired Drell pirates ourselves, in the past,” Jiliac reminded him. “The question we must ask is, was this attack one from within our clan, or from outside?” He folded his small hands together on the swell of his belly-folds. “Make no mistake, nephew. There are those within Desilijic who would wrest the leadership of the kajidic from me …”

“True,” Jabba agreed. “But I do not think this was an attack from within the kajidic. My informants assure me that the entire clan was pleased with our profit ratio last quarter.”

“Then who do you think was behind the attack?” Jiliac asked.

“Besadii,” Jabba replied flatly.

Jiliac cursed. “Naturally. They are the only ones who have sufficient funds to hire the Drell pirates. Blast them!” The Hutt Lord’s massive tail whipped back and forth on the polished floor. “Nephew, Aruk grows above himself. Ylesian trade is making Besadii so wealthy they are becoming a personal danger, not simply an economic threat. We must act … and soon. This threat to Desilijic must not go unpunished.”

“Agreed, Uncle,” Jabba said, after swallowing another Serendina wriggler. “But what should we do?”

“We need more information,” Jiliac decided. “Then we can plan our retaliation.” Flicking on the comm unit, he said, “Dielo!”

Immediately the response came back. “I am here, Your Magnificence. What do you wish?”

“Summon Solo to us,” Jiliac ordered. “We wish to speak with him.”

“Immediately, Lord Jiliac,” Dielo replied.

It was several hours before Solo appeared, and Jabba and Jiliac were growing increasingly annoyed at having to wait by the time the Corellian entered the audience chamber. He was accompanied, as always, by his tall, hairy companion.

Both Hutts looked him over in silence for several minutes. Solo shifted a little, and Jabba sensed that he was uneasy, though, for a human, he hid anxiety well.

“Greetings, Solo,” Jiliac finally intoned in his deepest, most intimidating voice.

The Corellian Captain bowed. “Greetings, Your Excellency. What can I do for you?”

“We want the truth,” Jabba said, not waiting for Jiliac to mince around the subject. Jabba enjoyed being direct, and putting other sentients on the spot. “You can give us the truth.”

Jabba’s eyesight was sharp, and Hutts could see farther into the infrared than humans could. He watched the blood ebb from Solo’s face as he paled, though his expression did not change. The Wookiee shifted uneasily and whined softly.

“Uh, Your Impressiveness …” Solo wet his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. The truth about what?”

Jabba didn’t mince words. “I’ve reviewed the Star Jewel’s log. Captain, how did you know the Drell pirates were waiting to attack us?”

Solo hesitated, then drew a deep breath. “I’ve run into an ambush from pirates in Drell-built cruisers before,” he said. “And I know that you, Jiliac, and you, Jabba, have enemies that are wealthy enough to hire assassins.”

Jiliac was staring hard at the young Corellian. “When did you encounter such an ambush, Captain?” he asked slowly.

“Five years ago, Your Excellency.”

Jabba leaned forward. “And who were you working for when you encountered them, Solo?”

The Corellian smuggler hesitated, then said quietly, “I was working for Zavval, sir. On Ylesia.”

Jiliac’s eyes widened. “Yes … my memory is stirring. Was it you that brought me my snackquarium? I remember the Sullustan, but humans look so much alike …”

“Yes, sir, that was me,” Han said. Jabba could tell that it cost him something to admit the truth.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Jiliac asked, his voice as cold as a Hothan glacier. “What are you hiding, Captain?”

“Nothing!” Solo protested, shaking his head. “Listen, this is the truth, Your Excellency! I wanted to work for you, but I thought you wouldn’t like it if you knew I’d worked for Besadii clan—even just piloting spice freighters. So I didn’t mention it, that’s all!” His brown eyes blazed, and he waved his arms to emphasize his point. “Truth is, I actually worked for Teroenza. I barely knew Zavval. I’m sorry if you thought any different, Your Excellency.”

Jiliac gazed down at the Corellian from his dais. “You are correct, Solo. I would not have hired you had I known this.”

Silence. Solo had no answer save a shrug.

Jiliac considered for a moment. “Are you still working for them?”

“No, Your Excellency,” Solo said. “I’m willing to testify to that under truth drug. Or you can take glitterstim and scan me. I left Ylesia five years ago, and I never want to go back.”

Jabba turned to his uncle. “Uncle, it occurs to me that Solo is probably telling the truth. If he were still working for Besadii at present, he hardly would have fought so valiantly to save the Star Jewel and me, would he? Instead our brave captain would have heaved my ship to and allowed it to be boarded—and me killed.” The smaller Hutt gazed at the Corellian solemnly. “Therefore, unless Besadii is far more subtle and clever than I believe them to be, our captain is telling the truth.”

Solo nodded. “I am, Your Excellency! Matter of fact, I got no use for Ylesia and those who run it. You know what I think of slavers and the slave trade—and Besadii’s the biggest exporter of slaves in the galaxy.”

“True,” Jabba said. “Captain Solo, now that my uncle has identified you as one of the messengers from Zavval, my own memory has been refreshed. Very soon after that threat from Zavval, we received reports that there had been an uprising on Ylesia. The glitterstim factory was destroyed, Zavval was killed in an armed attack, and several slaves were rescued. Two ships were stolen.”

Jabba watched Solo’s face intently for his reaction, but the Corellian smuggler revealed nothing. “Captain,” Jiliac said, “we were told that a human … one ‘Vykk Draygo,’ was single-handedly responsible for the conflict on Ylesia. We were also told that Vykk Draygo was reported killed by bounty hunters soon afterward. What do you know of all this?”

Solo shifted, and now Jabba could tell he was struggling to make a decision. Finally, he nodded. “I know a lot about it,” he admitted. “I’m ‘Vykk Draygo.’ ”

Jabba and Jiliac exchanged a long look. “Did you kill Zavval?” Jabba said, in his deepest, most intimidating voice.

“Not really …” Solo wet his lips. “I just … it was an accident, sort of. Hey … it wasn’t my fault!”

Both Hutts looked at each other again, then burst out into booming roars of laughter. “Ho-ho-HO!” Jabba shouted. “Solo, for a human you are a rare sentient!”

The Corellian seemed taken aback. “You’re not mad ’cause I caused a Hutt to die?”

“Zavval threatened me,” Jiliac reminded the Corellian. “He and his clan caused Desilijic many problems, and cost us some lives. Hutts prefer to ruin enemies by stripping them of their wealth, Captain, but we are not above assassination as a means to rid ourselves of a problem.”

Jabba watched as Solo visibly relaxed. “Oh. Well, humans do that, too, sometimes.”

“Really?” Jiliac seemed surprised. “Then perhaps there is hope for your species after all, Captain Solo.”

The Corellian smiled wryly. Jabba recognized the expression because he was so used to having humans attend him.

“However,” Jabba said, waving a cautionary finger, “it would not do for it to become generally known that a human killed a Hutt and remained unmolested, Captain. If you ever divulge the truth to anyone else … we will have to see that you are silenced. Permanently. Do we understand each other?”

Solo nodded silently, obviously impressed by Jabba’s threat.

“So …” Jiliac was all business once more. “You worked for Besadii, Captain Solo. What can you tell us about them?”

“Well, I was there about five years ago,” Solo cautioned. “But living on Ylesia is something I could hardly forget.”

“Who gave you your orders, Solo?” Jabba asked.

“Teroenza,” the human replied. “He really runs the place, being High Priest and all.”

“Teroenza? Tell us about him,” Jabba instructed.

“Well, he’s a t’landa Til,” the Corellian said. “You know what they are, right?”

Both Hutts indicated that they did. “Well, Teroenza reports to his Hutt overlord, the way he did to Zavval when I was there,” Solo said. “But he’s the one who makes the decisions, and who oversees the day-to-day administration of the Ylesian colonies. Teroenza’s pretty smart, and he’s an efficient administrator. I gather profits were pretty good—though I’m sure they had a bad year after I destroyed the glitterstim factory.”

At the thought of the destruction of so much valuable property and spice, both Hutts winced. Solo shrugged again. “Yeah, it bothered me, too. But I needed a diversion.”

“How did Zavval really die?”

“The ceiling collapsed on him,” Solo said. “While we were raiding Teroenza’s treasure room we got caught, and—”

Jabba’s eyes narrowed. “Treasure room? What treasure?”

“That’s what we called it,” Solo explained. “Teroenza’s a really single-minded collector of rare things—art, antiquities, weapons, musical instruments, furniture, jewelry. You name it, and he’s got some. He’s built a big room to house his collection down in the bowels of the Administration Building on Ylesia. He lives for his collection, ’cause there’s not much to do on Ylesia. It’s mostly jungle.”

“I see …” Jiliac said thoughtfully, with a sideways glance at Jabba. The younger Hutt could tell that his uncle’s mind was busily churning out a plot based on the information Solo had just given them.

Jiliac continued to question Solo about the spice factories on Ylesia, how the operation was set up, how many guards there were, etc. Jabba listened with interest. His uncle was an experienced and devious leader of the kajidic. What did he have in mind now?

Finally, Jiliac dismissed the Corellian, and Solo and the Wookiee turned and left the audience chamber.

“So, Uncle,” Jabba said, “what are you thinking?”

Jiliac slowly took his hookah out of the bottom of the snackquarium and began puffing on it. Jabba smelled the sweetish odor of marcan herbs, a mild euphoric drug. It was several minutes before the kajidic leader spoke. “Jabba, my nephew, I am thinking that all this enmity between Besadii and Desilijic must cease. Sooner or later one of their attempts against us will succeed, and that would be a tragedy.”

“I agree,” Jabba said, feeling his hide prickle as he imagined what an assassin’s vibroblade would do to him. Or perhaps they’d just dump him into vacuum without a suit … he shuddered at the thought. “But what can we do?”

“I believe we should call for an inter-clan meeting, to be held on neutral ground,” Jiliac said slowly, between puffs. “And that we should offer a nonviolence pact to Besadii.”

“Will they accept it?” Jabba couldn’t see why they should.

“Aruk is no fool. He will at least appear to accept it, Nephew.”

Jabba knew there had to be more to it than that. “What is behind this request?” he asked slowly. Jabba knew he himself was a clever Hutt, but sometimes Jiliac could be downright devious.

“My agenda for this meeting will include a request for up-to-date profit disclosure on both sides,” Jiliac said. “And a request for income equalization.”

“Besadii will never agree to that!”

“I know. But it is a valid reason for requesting profit disclosure, and Besadii will recognize that.”

“And you think Besadii will share their information with us?”

“I believe they will, Nephew. Aruk will enjoy the chance to flaunt their profit margins before Desilijic.”

Jabba nodded. “He will, you are correct.”

“I believe that he will take this chance to bring in the leadership of Ylesia in order to validate their figures, so Aruk can boast about their profits.”

“Who is the current overseer?”

“Kibbick is in charge of the Ylesian operation.”

“But Kibbick is an idiot,” Jabba pointed out. He’d met the younger Hutt before, at an inter-kajidic conference.

“True,” Jiliac said. “My guess is that the true leader of Ylesia will also be summoned to report.”

Jabba’s eyes widened, then narrowed, at the thought. He chuckled aloud. “I begin to see your drift, Uncle …”

Jiliac puffed serenely on his hookah. The corners of his wide, lipless mouth turned up.

Teroenza was relaxing in his sling when the most famous bounty hunter in the Empire arrived to see him. Ganar Tos came hurrying into the t’landa Til’s inner sanctum, twisting his warty green hands anxiously. “Sir! Your Excellency! Boba Fett is here, and says you are paying him to come for a personal interview! Is that true, sir?”

“Yesssss …” the High Priest of Ylesia said, his breath puffing out in a long hiss as he struggled up out of his sling to stand upon all four pillarlike feet. Anticipation pounded like a drumroll in his two hearts and three stomachs.

The sentient who entered the room wore battered, greenish Mandalorian battle armor. Two braided Wookiee scalps, one black and one white, hung from his right shoulder. His features were completely masked by his helmet. Behind the eye slit, Teroenza thought he could make out the glint of his eyes.

“Greetings, Master Fett!” Teroenza boomed, wondering whether to offer his hand. He had a feeling that if he did, Fett would ignore it, so he didn’t. “I would like to thank you for coming so promptly! I trust you had no problems with our treacherous Ylesian air currents and storms on your way through our atmosphere.”

“Let’s not waste time,” Fett said, his voice flat and inhuman as it came through the helmet’s speaker. “You mentioned Mandalorian wrist-darts in your collection as my fee for coming here for a personal interview. Take me to see them. Now.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly, Master Fett, sir,” Teroenza cried. He had a sudden cold certainty that if Fett were to decide for some reason to kill him, there would be little he could do to prevent it. Despite Teroenza’s massive bulk, easily five times that of the human, he felt naked and vulnerable in the presence of the notorious bounty hunter.

Quickly he ushered Fett through the door in his private apartment that led into his treasure room. “They’re right here,” he said, having to forcibly stop himself from talking too quickly, almost babbling. Fett moved beside him, his progress as silent and deadly as a poison dart.

Opening a case, the Ylesian High Priest seized the wristlets. Each contained a spring mechanism that would shoot a profusion of tiny, deadly darts when the wearer moved his fingers in a certain way. “A matched set,” Teroenza gabbled. “I was assured they’re in perfect working order.”

“I’ll determine that for myself,” Fett said, his voice, as always, flat and emotionless. Sealing the wristlets on, he turned in one smooth, lithe motion, and fired both of them into a thick tapestry that adorned the wall. Teroenza squeaked in protest, but dared not say more.

Only after Fett had collected the darts from the tapestry did he turn to face the High Priest. “Very well. I am paid for my time, Priest. What is it you wish?”

Teroenza pulled himself together. Fett was about to become his employee, after all … in a manner of speaking. He summoned as much dignity as he could, despite the racing of his pulses. “There is a smuggler, Han Solo by name. You may have seen WANTED posters for him.”

Fett nodded once.

“Solo travels with a Wookiee, they say, these days. He’s been reported seen on Nar Shaddaa. They say that nine or ten bounty hunters have tried for him, but he’s been too quick for all of them.”

Fett nodded again. Teroenza found his silence unnerving, but he continued doggedly, “I want him. Alive, and relatively unharmed. No disintegrations.”

“That makes it harder,” Fett said. “For seventy-five hundred credits, it’s not worth my time.”

Teroenza had been afraid of this. Inwardly, he quailed at the thought of what Aruk would have to say about this. Aruk liked to call himself “frugal.” Teroenza thought of him as a cheap old miser. But … he had to have Solo. Should he try raising the bounty credits himself? He didn’t want to sell part of his collection …

“Ylesia will increase the bounty on Solo to twenty thousand credits,” Teroenza said firmly. He resolved to talk Kibbick and Aruk into approving the increase. He’d manage … somehow. After all, it was Aruk’s responsibility, as head of Besadii.

Fett remained motionless, then, finally, just when Teroenza thought he’d say no, he nodded again. “All right.”

The High Priest had to resist the urge to babble thanks at the bounty hunter. “When do you think you can have him?” Teroenza asked eagerly.

“That’s not enough of a bounty to make me put aside my other commitments,” Fett said. “You’ll have him when I get to him, Priest.”

Teroenza fought his disappointment. “But …”

“Make it a hundred thousand, and I’ll put Solo as my first priority,” Fett offered.

A hundred thousand credits! Teroenza’s mind reeled. His entire collection wasn’t worth much more than that! Aruk would have him drowned in Ylesia’s oceans if he promised such a bounty. He shook his head. “No. Just put him on your list. We’ll wait.”

“And you’ll have Solo,” Fett promised.

As Teroenza stood watching, Boba Fett turned and walked away. Teroenza strained his excellent hearing, but he could hear nothing. Soundlessly, Fett vanished through the door. The High Priest knew he wouldn’t see him again, until the day he brought Han Solo back to Ylesia, to face a terrible fate.

Just wait, Solo, he thought. You are a dead man. You just don’t know it … yet.