Two months and three bounty hunters later, Han and Chewbacca were well on their way to saving the credits they’d need to lease a ship of their own. Jabba and Jiliac were sticklers when it came to keeping schedules, but they paid well if their orders were followed to the letter.

There were no further attacks on the Hutt yachts. But it was obvious to Han that a confrontation was brewing between Desilijic and Besadii … he knew that Jiliac’s messengers had made some kind of proposal to Aruk the Hutt’s representatives. Aruk had come back with a request for a face-to-face conference. Han gathered that such conferences were highly unusual in Hutt society. He kept his eyes and ears open, wondering if he’d be ordered to fly Jabba and Jiliac to attend the meeting.

Han and Chewie worked long hours, but sometimes days went by between missions. During their off-hours, they hung out with the other smugglers in the Corellian sector, playing sabacc and other games of chance.

Always ready for entertainment, and intrigued by novelty, Han was attracted one day by a huge holosign on one of the ancient, though still maintained, hotel-casinos. Headlining at The Chance Castle was a stage magician who was, by all reports, one of the best illusionists in the galaxy.

Her name was Xaverri. Han checked out the admission price, and when he discovered they could afford it, he suggested to Chewbacca that they attend a magic show that night.

Han didn’t believe in magic any more than he believed in religion. But he’d had some experience at sleight of hand in learning pickpocketing and card tricks, and he enjoyed trying to figure out how each trick was done.

Chewbacca proved strangely reluctant to go. He whined and shook his head, telling Han that they should go out with Mako that night, or over to see Roa, who had bought a small, one-man snubfighter that pirates had salvaged, and was working on it. Several times Han and Chewie had given him a hand fixing it up.

Han pointed out that they could help Roa any night, but that Xaverri was only scheduled to appear for a week’s run.

Chewie shook his head, silent, but obviously unhappy. Han stared at the Wookiee, wondering just what in the name of blazes was wrong with him. “Hey, pal, what’s the matter? This would be fun!”

Chewie just grunted and shook his head, not answering. Han regarded him, puzzled, when suddenly he had a flash of insight. Wookiees were still a primal people. They’d incorporated and adapted advanced technology so it fit into their society, but they weren’t naturally technological. Wookiees were a very intelligent species who had learned to pilot spaceships through hyperspace, but they’d never built any of their own. Wookiees who left Kashyyyk—though that was rare now that the Empire had declared Kashyyyk a slave-labor world—did so on ships built by other sentients than themselves.

Wookiee society still contained rites and customs that many citizens of the Empire would consider primitive. Chewie had his own beliefs, and they included a certain amount of what Han regarded as superstition. Wookiee legends contained frightening tales of supernatural beings that prowled, hungered, and thirsted by night, as well as stories of evil magicians and sorcerers who could work their will on others for nefarious purposes.

Han stared at his hairy partner for a long moment. “Hey, Chewie,” he said, finally, “you know as well as I do that what they’re calling ‘magic’ in Xaverri’s act ain’t nothin’ but a bunch of simple tricks and nonsense, right?”

Chewbacca hrrrrnnnned, but he didn’t sound too positive about it.

Han reached up and ruffled the hair on the top of the Wookiee’s head. Dewlanna had often caressed him in just that way. It was the Wookiee equivalent of a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Believe me, Chewie,” he continued, “these stage magicians don’t actually do real magic. Not the kind in Wookiee legends. What this Xaverri does is all sleight of hand, like what I can do with card-chips. Either that or it’s done with holo-projections or mirrors or something like that. No real magic. Nothing supernatural.”

Chewie whined, but he was beginning to look reassured. “I’ll bet you that if you come with me tonight, I can spot how this Xaverri does all of her tricks,” Han said. “How ’bout it, pal, is it a deal?”

The Wookiee wanted to know what Han was willing to bet. The Corellian thought for a moment. “I’ll fix breakfast and clean up for a month if I can’t figure out how she does ’em,” he promised. “And if I do manage to do it, you pay me back for your own ticket, how’s that?”

Chewbacca decided that was fair.

The two smugglers got to the performance early enough to get seats close to the stage. They waited restlessly until there came a blare of fanfare, and the holo-curtain vanished, to reveal the stage and its sole occupant.

Xaverri proved to be a voluptuous, attractive woman several years older than Han. She had long, heavy black hair that she wore in an elaborate coiffure. Her eyes flashed silver from the iris-enhancers she wore. The magician wore a costume of violet silk, slashed in strategic places to permit occasional tantalizing glimpses of the golden skin beneath it.

She was an exciting, exotic-looking woman. Han wondered what planet she came from. He’d never seen anyone who looked like her before.

After she was introduced, she went straight into her act. With a minimum of stage patter, she performed increasingly difficult tricks. Both Han and Chewbacca were captivated as they watched her illusions. Several times Han thought he might be able to guess how a trick had been engineered, but he was never able to spot any flaws in her routine. He knew he’d lost his bet with Chewie.

Xaverri performed all the traditional illusions—and then improved on them. She lasered a volunteer from the audience in half, then lasered herself in two. She “teleported” not only herself but a small flock of Rodian batwings from one glassine cage to another one across the stage—all in one burst of smoke and flame. Her illusions were stylish and imaginative—and so well done it appeared she really possessed supernatural powers.

When she seemingly released a flock of Kayven whistlers to attack the audience, even Han flinched, and Chewie had to be restrained from trying to attack the illusionary beasts, so real did they appear.

For the grand finale of her act, Xaverri made the entire wall of the hotel ballroom disappear, replaced with a star-flecked blackness of space. As the audience oohed and ahhhed, suddenly the emptiness of space was filled with a terrifying vision of a rogue dwarf star rushing headlong at them. Even Han couldn’t stop himself from crying out and ducking as the enormous illusion dominated the room; Chewie howled in terror and nearly crawled under his seat. It was all Han could do to drag him back upright when the illusion abruptly vanished, and there, replacing it, was a huge image of Xaverri, bowing and smiling.

Han clapped until his hands were sore, yelling and whistling. What a show!

After all the applause had died away, Han made sure that he found his way backstage. He wanted to meet the lovely illusionist, wanted to tell her that she was extraordinarily talented.

Xaverri was the first woman he’d found himself really attracted to in a very long time. Since Bria had left, matter of fact.

After a long wait amid the stage-door crowd, Han saw Xaverri emerge from her dressing room. The silver iris-enhancers were gone, and her eyes were now their natural dark brown. She wore a stylish street outfit instead of the silk costume. Smiling warmly, she scribed her signature and personalized messages to her fans, then thumbprinted them onto tiny holocubes as a memento. She was gracious and pleasant to her admirers.

Han deliberately hung back until everyone except her assistant, a surly Rodian, was gone.

Finally, he stepped forward, smiling his best, most charming smile. “Hi,” he said, looking her in the eye. Xaverri was nearly as tall as he was, and her high-heeled, elaborately decorated boots made them the same height. “Han Solo, Lady Xaverri. And my partner, Chewbacca. I wanted to tell you that I thought that was the most original and exciting magic act I’ve ever seen.”

Xaverri looked him and Chewbacca up and down assessingly, then smiled—a very different sort of smile, cold and cynical. “Greetings, Solo. Let me guess,” she said. “You’re selling something?”

Han shook his head. Very perceptive of her. But it’s been a long time since I’ve been a con man. These days I’m just a pilot … “Not at all, lady. I’m just a fan who admires stage magic. Also, I wanted to give Chewie a chance to see you and smell you so he’ll know you’re as human as I am. I’m afraid you more than impressed him. When you filled the air with those Kayven whistlers, it was like something out of a Wookiee night-flyer legend. He didn’t know whether to dig a hole in the floor or fight for his life.”

She glanced up at Chewbacca, then, slowly, slowly, her cynical smile faded, to be replaced by the real thing. “Pleased to meet you, Chewbacca. Sorry if I scared you,” she said, holding out her hand.

Chewie engulfed her hand in his two hairy paws and spouted Wookiee at her, which she seemed to understand perfectly. He told her that her show had amazed and terrified him, but that now it was over, he found that he’d really enjoyed himself.

“Why, thank you!” she exclaimed. “That’s the reaction a magician hopes to get!” Han was almost jealous to see how she and the Wookiee seemed to hit it off. Xaverri responded to Chewie’s open admiration with genuine warmth.

Before the moment could be lost, Han stepped forward and invited the illusionist to go out with them for a post-performance snack.

She eyed him, the caution back in her eyes. Han studied her, and suddenly realized that this was a human who had suffered a terrible loss in the past. It had made her cautious, protective. She’ll say no, he thought, disappointed. But, to his surprise, after a moment’s consideration, Xaverri agreed to accompany them.

Han took her to a little bistro in the Corellian sector where the food and drink were good and cheap, and a woman with a lute-pipe alternately strummed and sang softly.

It took a while, but Xaverri slowly relaxed, and even smiled at Han as well as Chewie. After they walked her back to her hotel, the magician took Han’s hand in both of hers and gazed at him earnestly. “Solo … thank you. I’ve really enjoyed meeting you and Chewbacca.” She looked over at the Wookiee, who gave her a pleased whine. “I find I’m sorry to have to say good-bye, and it’s been a long time since I could say that to anyone.”

Han smiled at her. “Then don’t say good-bye, Xaverri. Say, ‘I’ll be seeing you,’ because it’s true.”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Solo …”

“I do,” Han said. “Trust me.”

Han was back at the stage door the next night, and the next. He and Xaverri got to know each other, little by cautious little. She was uncommunicative about her past, even more reticent than Han himself. By listening and asking roundabout questions, Han managed to discover a few things about her: she hated the Empire and Imperial officials with a single-minded quiet ferocity that he found disturbing, she was proud of her skills as a magician and couldn’t resist a challenge, and … she was lonely.

It was a hard life, traveling from planet to planet, playing to cheering crowds, but always winding up alone in some hotel room. Han got the impression that it had been a long time, perhaps years, since Xaverri had spent time with a man. She had many opportunities, but her natural reserve and suspicion made her resist involvements.

For the first time in his life, Han found that he was the person who had to open up, to try to get past barriers that made his own considerable emotional defenses seem puny. It was hard to do—several times he was tempted to quit, to give up his pursuit as hopeless.

But Xaverri intrigued and excited him. He wanted to get to know her, and he wanted her to trust him … even a little.

The third night he spent time with her, Xaverri gave him a quick kiss at the door to her room, before vanishing inside. Han went home smiling.

When he got ready to go out late the next night, Chewbacca rose to accompany him. Han held up a warning hand to the Wookiee. “Chewie, old buddy, you don’t have to come with me tonight.”

Chewbacca made a derisive sound. Han would get into trouble without him, he just knew it.

Han smiled, a slow, irresistible smile. “Yep. That’s what I’m hopin’, pal. I’m goin’ alone tonight. See you later. Much later—I hope.”

Smiling and whistling the beginning notes from Xaverri’s opening number, Han left his apartment and headed for The Chance Castle.

When he waited outside the door this night, Xaverri emerged, wearing a simple black and scarlet jumpsuit that set off her hair and skin. She looked pleased to see him, but glanced around, obviously searching for Chewbacca. “Where’s Chewie?”

Han took her arm. “He stayed home tonight. Tonight it’s just you and me, babe. If that’s okay.”

She looked at him, trying to look stern, then suddenly she smiled at him knowingly. “Solo, you’re a rogue, you know that?”

He smiled back. “I’m glad you noticed. That means I’m your kind of guy, right?”

She shook her head. “You never know.”

They went to one of the Hutt-owned casinos, and thanks to Han’s privileged status as Jabba and Jiliac’s pilot, they were given special treatment—free drinks, admission to special high-stakes games, plus good seats at the shows.

It was late before they left, and true night still reigned over this section of Nar Shaddaa. Han walked Xaverri back to her hotel. She asked him how he’d become partners with Chewie, and he found himself telling her about his time as an officer in the Imperial Navy.

“And so, after they threw me out,” he finished, “I found that I couldn’t get honest work as a pilot. I was blacklisted. I didn’t know where my next meal was coming from. But even though I got mad and ordered Chewie to go, he wouldn’t. Said a life debt is the most serious obligation a Wookiee can have. Even takes precedence over family ties.” He glanced at Xaverri. “Does that bother you that I was an Imperial officer? I know you hate the Empire.”

She shook her head. “No, it doesn’t bother me. You didn’t stay in long enough to get corrupted. For that, you should give thanks to whatever gods you believe in.”

Han shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s a real short list. Not even one entry,” he said, keeping it light. “What about you?”

She glanced at him, and her eyes were haunted. “Revenge is my religion, Solo. Revenge against the Empire for what they did to me … and mine.”

Han reached over and took her hand, gripped it strongly. “Tell me … if you can.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. I will never talk about it. If I did … I think it might kill me. I really do, Solo.”

“The Empire …” Han was guessing, “they killed your family?”

She drew a long breath, nodded, lips tightly pressed together. “Husband. Children,” she said flatly. “Yes. They killed them.”

“I’m sorry,” Han said. “I never knew my family. I’m not sure I had one. Sometimes, like now, I think that might not be such a bad thing.”

Xaverri shook her head. “I don’t know. You may be right, Solo. All I do know is that I never miss an opportunity to hurt them. My work takes me through the galaxy, and, believe me, this is the first engagement I’ve had in a long time where I haven’t spent every free moment figuring out a way to hurt the Empire.”

Han smiled wryly. “That’s because there are no Imperials here on Nar Shaddaa.” Which wasn’t quite true, but it might as well be. There was an Imperial Customs office on the Smuggler’s Moon. The office was staffed by an old man named Dedro Needalb, who basically worked for the Hutts. He bore the title of “Imperial Customs Inspector,” though. He transmitted data about ships and their cargoes to the local Sector Moff, Sarn Shild, when he felt like it. No one ever verified whether the data he transmitted were accurate.

Basically, the Hutts had their own arrangements with Sarn Shild. They made “political contributions” and “personal gifts” to Shild as “gratitude” for being such a good Imperial rep. Shild, in turn, left the Hutts and their holdings pretty much alone.

Each prospered from the arrangement. Like a symbiotic organism, Han thought.

“Exactly,” she said. “There’s no point in harming old Dedro Needalb. Hutting him would hurt the Hutts and Nar Shaddaa, and it might actually benefit the Empire. That’s the last thing I want.”

“So how do you hurt them?” Han asked, wondering whether she was an assassin. She was an accomplished gymnast and contortionist, and some of her tricks involved weapons such as daggers, sabers, and vibroblades. But he had trouble imagining her in the role of an assassin. Xaverri was smart, very smart. Probably smarter, Han had to concede, than he was. She’d be more likely to use brains rather than weapons in her one-woman vendetta against the Empire.

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “That would be telling.”

Han shrugged. “Hey, I got no love for the Empire myself. They’re slavers these days, and I hate slavery. Maybe I could give you a hand sometime. I’m pretty good in a fight.”

Xaverri regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ll consider it. I’ve been thinking about replacing old Glarret soon. He’s not quick enough anymore to be a good assistant in the act, and he can’t pilot. It’s hard on me to do all the piloting myself.”

“Well, lady, let me tell you, I’m a first-class pilot,” Han said with a grin. “Matter of fact, I’m good at a lot of things.”

She rolled her eyes. “And modest, too.”

By now they had reached the door to Xaverri’s room. The illusionist looked at Han for a long level second. “It’s pretty late, Solo.”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

She pressed the doorlock with her forefinger and thumb, and it opened silently. Xaverri hesitated for a second, then walked into her room.

Leaving the door open.

Han smiled, and followed her in.

Han awoke after a few hours, and decided to leave Xaverri, who was still deeply asleep, to finish her rest. Quietly, he dressed and let himself out of the room, after leaving a message on her comlink that he’d see her later that day.

It was just after sunrise on Nar Shaddaa, though the activity on the Smuggler’s Moon had little to do with the unnaturally (to most sentients) long days and nights. Nar Shaddaa was always awake, always active. Han walked toward home through crowded streets, hearing the cries of the street vendors selling their myriad wares.

Han whistled a few bars of an old Corellian folk song as he walked. He felt great. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been for female companionship. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman he really cared for, and Xaverri obviously found him as attractive as he found her. The memory of her kisses still had the power to stir him.

Han found himself counting the hours until he could see her again, and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Get hold of yourself Solo. You’re no moony-eyed kid anymore, you’re—

Without warning, something jabbed him in the right buttock. At first Han thought he’d staggered and bumped his rear against a sharp piece of glassine protruding from the half-ruined building beside him.

Then a rush of strange, tingling warmth engulfed him. His steps faltered, and his vision blurred, then cleared.

What’s happening?

Steely fingers clamped on to his arm and dragged him into the alley. Han realized, with horror, that he couldn’t fight back. His hands wouldn’t obey the commands of his brain.

Drugged? Oh, no!

A flat, inhuman voice spoke to him from just behind his right shoulder. “Stand still, Solo.”

Han discovered that he could do nothing else than stand perfectly still. Inwardly he was raging, his anger as hot and explosive as star-plasma, but outwardly his body was completely obedient to that artificially amplified voice.

Who’s got me? What does he want?

Han concentrated every muscle, every sinew, every neuron of his being into moving his hands, his arms, his legs. Sweat gathered on his forehead, trickled down into his eyes. But he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger.

The hand left his arm, went down to his thigh to unfasten the leather strap that held his blaster secure in its holster. Han could feel the weight against his thigh lighten as his attacker disarmed him. Raging, he tried again to move, but he might as well have tried to push a ship into hyperspace using his own muscle power.

He tried to speak, tried to say, “Who are you?” but that proved beyond him, too. All he could do was to breathe, in and out, blink his eyes, and obey.

If Han had been a Wookiee, he’d have howled, long and loud.

After relieving Han of his blaster, his captor walked around him. Finally, Han got a look at him. Bounty hunter! his mind screamed.

Beat-up greenish-gray Mandalorian armor, a helmet that completely hid his features, and armed to the teeth. He even had black and white braided scalps of some kind hanging from his right shoulder. Han wondered what the man’s name was. He must be one of the elite—a bounty hunter who only went after “tough” cases.

The Corellian supposed that he ought to be flattered, but it seemed a dubious honor at best.

The bounty hunter went on to pat Han down, looking for more weaponry. He found Han’s multitool in his pocket, and confiscated that. The Corellian tried again to move, but he could do absolutely nothing but inhale and exhale. His breathing was loud and harsh in his own ears.

The figure in the Mandalorian armor glanced up at him. “Don’t waste your energy, Solo. I jabbed you with a dose of a handy little potion they’ve come up with on Ryloth. Expensive, but for the bounty they’re paying, you’re worth it. You won’t be able to move, except at my command, for several hours. It varies from subject to subject. By the time you can move under your own power, we’ll be aboard my ship and halfway to Ylesia.”

Han stared at the bounty hunter, suddenly realizing he’d seen that figure in Mandalorian armor before, a long time ago. Where? He concentrated, but the memory wouldn’t surface.

Having finished his search, the bounty hunter straightened. “All right. Turn around.”

Han found himself turning.

“Now walk. Turn right at the mouth of the alley.”

The Corellian raged helplessly as his body obeyed every command. Right-left, right-left. He was walking, and the bounty hunter was right behind him. Han could catch occasional glimpses of him with his peripheral vision.

They walked down the street of Nar Shaddaa, and for a moment Han hoped that they might encounter one of his friends, even, possibly, Chewie. Surely someone would notice what was happening to him!.

But although many of the denizens of Nar Shaddaa watched bounty hunter and prize walk past, nobody even spoke to them. Han didn’t really blame them. This bounty hunter, whoever he was, was a different sort than the ones he’d dealt with before. This guy was skilled, clever, and extremely dangerous. Anyone who interfered with him would undoubtedly suffer dire consequences.

Right-left, right-left, right-left.

The bounty hunter turned right at the intersection leading to the nearest transport tube. Han knew where they must be heading—the closest public landing platform. The bounty hunter must have a ship waiting there.

Obediently, Han stepped into the transport tube. He tried again to move. Just let him wiggle even a finger or a toe! But it was hopeless. The public transport system consisted of small capsules that would hold four or five individuals, all strung together in a line like beads on a string.

Han’s captor did not sit down, but he ordered Han to do so. The Corellian sat there, fuming, imagining all the things he would do to this bounty hunter if only he could move.

The man did not speak. Han could not. It was a short, silent ride.

When they debarked from the tube capsule, Han found himself, as he’d suspected, at one of the public rooftop landing fields. The field was huge, broken only by several airshafts that gave light to the buildings beneath the platform. The airshafts yawned, with no railings to protect a careless walker from plunging to his, her, or its death hundreds or thousands of stories below.

Han had a sudden vivid memory of the night Garris Shrike had chased him across the topmost platforms on Coruscant. He’d barely escaped with his life then. The Corellian had a bad feeling that this time he wasn’t going to be so lucky.

Han found himself wondering what fate held in store for him back on Ylesia. Teroenza didn’t have a molecule of kindness or mercy in his entire enormous body. He’d see that his prisoner met a slow and agonizing end.

For a moment Han wished he could get control of his body just long enough to make a running dive down one of those airshafts. But no matter how he struggled to move, he could do nothing except obey orders.

Han and his captor strode between the grounded ships, heading Han knew not where.

Right-left, right-left, right-left …

The bounty hunter pointed, his arm coming into Han’s view. “Head for that ship. The modified Firespray class.”

Han could see it now. The bounty hunter wasn’t kidding when he said “modified.” The patrol and attack ship was very unusual, obviously heavily modified. Unlike other vessels, it landed with its Kuat Engineering Systems F-31 drive engines down against the permacrete. Roughly egg-shaped, when those powerful engines were engaged, the ship would “stand up” on end to fly. Han had never seen anything quite like it, but the vessel reminded him of its owner—powerful and deadly.

For a moment, forgetting his predicament in his interest in the ship, Han found himself wishing he could get a look at the interior—only to catch himself in disgust. He was going to get a look at the interior, all right. He’d spend several days aboard that modified Firespray as it took him to certain torture and inevitable death.

They were walking down the ragged “aisle” between two huge Durosian-built freighters now. In just a few steps, they’d be at the bounty hunter’s ship, and that would be it. Han knew better than to imagine he’d be able to somehow overpower this guy, seize control of the Firespray, and save himself.

He wished he could swallow. His throat was so dry it ached.

Right-left, right-left, right-left …

This is it, Han thought. This is really it …