Twenty-four hours after Han and Chewie had brought the Bria safely back to Nar Shaddaa, undamaged save for the gun mount and a weakened stern shield over her engine housing, Han and Xaverri stood together on the windswept landing platform beside The Phantasm’s landing ramp. Salla and Chewie had accompanied them most of the way, but had discreetly fallen back, to allow them to say a private farewell.

Now Han looked at Xaverri, who had once more assumed her colorful, stylish clothes, and shook his head. “I hate good-byes,” he said miserably. “I can never think of anything to say, and this is worse than usual. How can I find words to thank you, Xaverri? Your illusion saved us. Without you, we wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

She smiled at him, her dark eyes full of affection. “Hey, Solo … I wouldn’t have missed it for all the credits in the galaxy. I just wish I’d been on the bridge of a few of those Imperial ships to see their reaction.”

Han laughed. “They had to have been surprised, that’s for sure.” Impulsively he reached out and took her hands, then found himself hugging her fiercely. “I’m gonna miss you,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair. “Just when I thought I’d gotten used to living without you, here I have to do it all over again. It ain’t fair, Xaverri.”

When he pulled back a bit, she reached up and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile, “Salla won’t mind. She’s a classy lady.”

“She is,” he agreed. “We think a lot alike.”

Xaverri nodded. “I hope you two are happy, Solo. You take care of each other, okay?”

Han nodded. “You, too.”

“I will, Solo. Don’t forget me …”

“Never,” he said, his throat tight. “I could never forget you, Xaverri.”

Xaverri pulled away, and he let her go. She ran up the ramp, into her ship, and did not look back …

Three days after the Battle of Nar Shaddaa (as it was coming to be known), Han, Chewie, Salla, and Lando attended Roa’s wedding. The aging smuggler was nearly healed, thanks to a prolonged dunk in a bacta tank, and Lwyll looked radiant in an elegant gown.

It was generally known that the four smugglers had been instrumental in turning the tide of battle in Nar Shaddaa’s favor. Han and his friends were the toast of the party. They wandered around, sipping drinks, scarfing appetizers, shaking hands, and being congratulated by all and sundry.

Lando came up to Roa, threw an arm around the smuggler’s shoulders, and said, “I understand that getting out of the smuggling business is one of the conditions to this wedding, Roa.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, you’re going to need honest employment, then. Would you like to work for me?”

“Doing what?”

Lando laughed. “Don’t look so suspicious! Managing my used spaceship lot. I’m going on an extended trip back to the Centrality, and I need someone reliable to look after the business.”

Roa looked very thoughtful. “Well … sure! I think I’d like that. Thanks, Lando. So … why are you heading out? Got something planned?”

“Vuffi Raa and I are heading back to the Centrality because I’ve got a hunch I could make a quick fortune running cargo to those backward planets. And”—Lando smiled and stroked his fledgling mustache—“if that doesn’t work, there are always the casinos in the Oseon system. It’ll do me good to polish up my sabacc game. When you don’t play, you get rusty. The games here on Nar Shaddaa are pretty small, credit-ante. I need some real high-stakes action to get ready for the real action.”

Han, who had been wandering past, stopped when he heard Lando’s speech. “Sabacc game? Real action? What’s going on? Whose sabacc game needs polish?”

Lando laughed. “Mine does. If I can raise the stake, I’m going to get myself into the big sabacc game that’s being held on Bespin in six months. Ante’s ten thousand credits.”

“Ten thousand credits!” Han whistled softly. “That’s a big game, all right.”

Lando smiled at his friend. “Hey, you’re a pretty decent sabacc player, Han. You ought to consider getting together your own stake.”

Han shook his head. “No way!”

“Why not?”

“Too rich for my blood!” Han said. “If I could manage to scrounge up ten thousand credits, I’d put it toward a ship of my own.”

“Yeah, but you might win enough to buy one,” Lando pointed out.

“I’m not that lucky,” Han said.

“Oh, c’mon, Han,” Lando urged, “you could raise the credits.” He looked over at Chewbacca. “Chewie would loan ’em to you, wouldn’t you, Chewbacca? He’s your best friend, right?”

Chewbacca gave an eloquent growl, then shook his head emphatically.

Han laughed. “Not a good enough friend to risk ten thousand credits, Lando!”

Durga the Hutt crouched beside his parent’s repulsor sled, grief-stricken, watching the med droids and Grodo, the Hutt physician, work desperately to save Aruk. But even he could tell that their efforts were doomed to failure.

Aruk had collapsed minutes ago, gasping in pain, retching, moaning, then jerking in frenzied spasms. Durga had never felt so helpless as he watched his parent struggle for life and breath.

Aruk the Hutt had always been strong, strong and stubborn. It took him four hours to die, four agonizing, pain-filled hours. Durga crouched by him the entire time, hoping that his parent would regain consciousness, but Aruk never did.

It was a relief when the Besadii Lord’s straining heart finally gave up the struggle, but even though he was glad that his parent was free of the terrible pain, Durga was devastated. He had lost his best friend, as well as his parent.

He clutched Aruk’s limp hand, seeing the rivulets of green slobber running out the slack, dead mouth, and knew, without knowing how he knew, that this death was murder.

Who had done this?

Who else but Desilijic stood to profit by Aruk’s death?

For days Durga was too devastated to function, barely eating, dragging himself around like a lost spirit. He refused to let his parent’s body be interred. Even though the physician’s tests on the contents of Aruk’s stomach indicated that there was no poison, that the Hutt Lord had died of natural causes, Durga was convinced that there had been foul play. He had Aruk’s massive corpse frozen, and resolved to hire a team of forensic specialists from Imperial Center to perform a thorough autopsy as soon as things settled down.

The Besadii kajidic was in an uproar. Two factions emerged, the pro-Durga and the anti-Durga faction. Durga took steps to consolidate his power. He contacted an infamous crime syndicate, Black Sun, that was owned and commanded by the powerful prince Xizor, and explained to the prince how their organizations might prove beneficial to each other …

Over the next three weeks, three powerful Besadii Lords died—two in shuttle crashes, one by drowning when his river barge struck an uncharted rock and sank.

After that, the anti-Durga faction became far less vocal.

While he waited for the forensic specialists to arrive from Imperial Center, Durga made a list of possible suspects. Surely there would be some clue, somewhere, as to who had done this—and how.

Durga resolved to start with the financial records. As a Hutt, he understood finances, and profit. He would check the finances of every member of Desilijic, then go on to Besadii, then the other clans. He would look for a pattern. There was always a pattern to finances, if one knew how to see it …

Slowly, day by day, the young Hutt Lord found the strength to carry on without his parent.

Someone is going to pay for this, he vowed every morning when he looked at Aruk’s holo hanging on the wall in his chamber. And they will pay dearly …