Han listened with half his attention as the man—King somebody or other, did they say?—continued with the vid-message. “As many of our visitors are already aware, Alderaan is a peaceful world, a world where we have eschewed weapons and their use. While you are our guest, we ask that you respect our traditions and our laws, by leaving your weapons with the Port Authority during your stay here.

“You will find that Alderaan has much to offer a visitor. We have almost no crime …”

Right, Han thought. I’ll just bet …

“And no pollution. Our lakes are clear, our air is pure, and our people are happy. We have wonderful museums, and we invite you to visit them. Be sure not to miss our grass paintings as you fly over them on your landing approach. Our grass painters are among the greatest artists in the galaxy. We welcome visitors to our beautiful world, and we ask only that you come in peace, and that you obey our—”

With a muttered curse, Han leaned over and snapped the audio portion of the broadcast off. He made a rude gesture at the screen. A whole planet full of honest citizens? I’ll believe it when I see it …

Minutes later, Bail Organa’s canned message was replaced by a live traffic controller from the Port Authority. Han snapped the audio back on. “Captain Draygo, piloting the Ylesian Dream,” he said crisply. “Request permission to land. I was attacked by pirates, my ship is damaged, and I’ve got an injured gunner. Can you arrange for med-lift to meet my ship as soon as I land?”

“Certainly, Captain Draygo. I’ve assigned you a priority approach vector. We’re slotting you in at Docking Bay 422. Just follow the landing beacon to your site. We’ll have a transport and med droid standing by.”

“Thanks.”

Han’s approach vector did indeed take him over the grass paintings, and distracted as he was, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The huge plain of windblown, flowing grass boasted a kilometers-wide abstract design picked out in multicolored wildflowers. Neat trick, he thought. Wonder how they do it? And why they bother? It’s not like you could sell art like that and make money off it …

The capital city of Alderaan, Aldera, was located on an island in the middle of a lake. The site of the lake was actually a meteor crater that had filled with water from underground springs. The remains of the huge, relatively “recent” (in geological terms, at least) crater surrounded the lake in a series of low, jagged foothills whose sides were splashed with green fields and forests. The water filling the millennia-old crater sparkled brilliant ice-blue in the early morning rays of the sun.

The spaceport was on the far side of the island, and Han swooped low over the city on his assigned approach vector. In just minutes he was bringing the Ylesian Dream down for a perfect landing. He’d now had so much experience landing despite massive storms and vicious air currents that landing a ship on a normal planet seemed like child’s play.

The medical unit was waiting, as promised. Han quickly unbuckled Muuurgh’s blaster and stowed it away, then he brought the med droid with the anti-grav stretcher on board, and helped load Muuurgh onto it. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” he asked the attending droid.

“My preliminary scan indicates that there is no life-threatening trauma as a result of the head injury,” the droid replied. “However, we will need to run further tests. I would anticipate that your crew member will require an overnight stay in our facility.”

“Okay,” Han said. I’ve got to figure out some way to pay for Muuurgh’s treatment, he thought as he watched the stretcher bearing the Togorian vanish inside the transport, which promptly lifted off and headed south.

Seeing a technician going by, Han waved the woman over. “Listen, I’ve sustained some damage,” he said. “Can I get a repair crew in here right away?”

“Let me see how bad it is,” she said. Han guided her into the gunner’s mount, then into the engine room to check out the hyperdrive. “Both jobs will require at least six hours work to fix,” she told him. “But we can start on it today.”

“Good,” Han said. He had done minor swoop and speeder repairs while he was a racer, but he’d never tackled anything as big as this, and he wanted to make sure the job was done right.

As the repair crew came aboard the Dream, Han wondered what he should do next. Call Ylesia, he decided. The priests were going to have to arrange for payment for the repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.

Han headed for the control cabin, intending to place the call immediately. His hand was actually on the switch when he suddenly froze.

Waaaaiiittt a minute … he thought. What am I doing? I’m sitting here with a load of glitterstim, the most valuable spice of all, and I’m just going to take it back to Ylesia so they can sell it again?

Han checked back in his automatic log recordings, listened to what he’d said during his transmission. He grinned to himself. This is a piece of cake. All I have to do is tell the priests that I was boarded and the pirates took the glitterstim. Muuurgh was out cold, he doesn’t know what happened. I can sell this spice here on Alderaan, stash the money in an account here, then send for it later. They’ll never know …

But if he wanted to keep his job as a pilot for the Ylesian priests, he’d have to make the deal fast. He’d reported himself at the rendezvous coordinates, and the priests weren’t stupid. They could check on how long it would take a ship to get from where he’d been attacked to Alderaan. He could account for a few extra hours by pointing to the damage the Dream had sustained and pleading the slowness of the journey, the need to nurse the ship along …

Okay, Han thought. I’ve got about five hours I can fudge here … no more. By that time I’ve got to call in and let them know I’m alive, that their ship is damaged, and that they have to arrange for payment. Any more time than that, and they’ll get suspicious …

Pulling his battered brown lizard-hide jacket out of his locker, Han straightened his worn pilot’s coverall as best he could. Then he combed his hair. Don’t want to look scruffy, he thought wryly, thinking of Dewlanna and how the Wookiee had always told him he looked good with his hair standing straight up, like one of her own people.

Pulling on the jacket over the gray uniform, he stared regretfully at Muuurgh’s blaster, wishing he could strap it on. Stupid planet. Whoever heard of a world with no weapons allowed? With a sigh and a shake of his head, Han left the Ylesian Dream to the repair crews.

He walked quickly to the entrance to the spaceport, then caught one of the free shuttles that led into the capital city of Aldera. The metropolis glittered white in the sunshine, as clean and luxurious as a city in a dream. Han stared out the windows of the shuttle, taking in the ultra-modern towers, domes, and layered buildings, their white shapes interspersed with green terraces. The island was hilly, and the city architects had followed the natural lines of the place rather than leveling it. The result was pleasant and varied to the eyes … beautiful and modern, without seeming harsh or artificial.

The automated shuttle’s canned program indicated points of interest as they passed. Han saw museums, gigantic enclosed gallerias, office and government buildings, and finally, as they approached the heart of the city, he saw the tall, sharp spires and shallow domes of the royal palace gleaming white and gold in the sun. Han smiled wryly, wondering if the child princess he’d seen was somewhere on those grounds, living her rich, perfect life. With any luck, I’ll soon be rich, too …

Han stayed aboard the transport as it glided along its route, and he continued scoping out the city. They were out of the big buildings, now, and heading through the residential suburbs.

Han had to admit that it looked like a nice place to live, as he gazed at the many fountained plazas and courtyards, the affluent homes, clean streets, and the well-dressed people they passed. But this isn’t the area I want … I’d better do some exploring on my own. They don’t want tourists to see the places I want to go …

After the shuttle let him off, Han walked around the central part of the city, checking out the lay of the land. Instinctively, he headed for an area where the houses were smaller and not as well maintained. Finally, in a neighborhood that was definitely lower-income, and boasted more than one tavern and hock shop, he realized he’d come to the right place.

Han scanned the streets as he walked, looking for a particular type of individual. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for. A boy dressed in clothes that were borderline too small, ragged, and not very clean was sauntering along the street, glancing oh-so-casually at each passerby. Han recognized the child, though he’d never seen him before.

A pickpocket. Ten years ago, he’d been that child.

Han increased the length of his strides until he caught up with the boy. As expected, the lad shifted his weight and altered stride to brush against Han as the Corellian walked past him. Also expected were the lightning-fast fingers that delved deep into the pilot’s jacket pocket. The fingers came away empty; Han’s ID and the few credits he was carrying were sealed into the inside pocket of his coverall.

Han lengthened his strides until he was ahead of the boy, then, without warning, he spun on his heel and confronted the child. “Hey, there,” he said, smiling pleasantly and holding up the boy’s identdisk and money. “Lose something?”

The boy’s mouth dropped open in amazement, then he recovered himself and glared at Han, his black eyes smoldering.

Han leaned casually against a storefront. “Careless of you to lose these things …”

The boy swelled up like a poisoned mrelfa lizard, then launched into a furious and detailed description of Han’s ancestry, personal habits, and probable destination. Han listened patiently until the urchin began to sputter and repeat himself, then he waved for silence. “I’ll give ’em back,” he said genially, “in exchange for some information.”

The boy glared sullenly, tossing his overlong hair back out of his eyes. “What kind of information, you son of a diseased pervert?”

Han tossed one of the credit coins into the air, caught it effortlessly, without looking. “Watch your mouth, junior. I just want to know where in this town people go to make deals.”

“What kind of deals?”

“You know what kind of deals. Deals they don’t want the law to know about. Deals for substances you can’t buy legally.”

“Spice?” the boy frowned. “What kind?”

“Glitterstim.”

The boy’s brow creased even farther. “What’s that?”

Just my luck, Han thought. I run into the only dumb pickpocket in Aldera. Great.

“Glitterstim,” Han said. “It’s … well, it’s really valuable. Even more so than carsunum or andris.”

The boy shook his head again. “Never heard of them, either.”

I don’t believe this! “What about andris? You got andris here? Used to flavor food, preserve it?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah. Andris. We got that. Expensive stuff.”

“Right,” Han said. “When you buy andris, who do you buy it from?”

“I don’t buy it, creep,” the boy said. “Now gimmee back my money and ID.”

“Just a second, be patient,” Han said, holding the items up, safely out of the boy’s reach. “So, okay, you don’t buy andris personally. But if you or your friends wanted some, how would they get it? Buy it in a store? Or a government agency?”

The boy’s expression was eloquent as he shook his head. “No, man. We’d buy it from Darak Lyll.”

At last! A name! “That’s what I wanted. Darak Lyll. What’s he look like?”

“Taller than you. Long hair, beard. Fat around his middle.”

“Old or young?”

“Old. Gray hair.”

“Where’s he hang out?” Han asked.

“Do I look like his keeper?” the pickpocket demanded scornfully.

Han took a deep breath. “Just tell me the names of any places where he might go on a typical day. Don’t lie, or I’ll swear out a complaint that you tried to rob me.”

The boy named six taverns, telling Han that they were all within a five-minute walk. Han straightened up and flipped the boy his ID and money. “Next time keep it inside your clothes, junior,” he said. “Next to your skin.” He patted his own money and gave the lad a smug smile.

The lad snarled at Han and walked away, cursing.

Alderaanian taverns were much too clean and well lit, Han decided, an hour later. He’d been to three of the six so far, and none of them appeared seamy enough for his purposes. No sign of Darak Lyll, either.

At one place he’d glimpsed a man in the back slide something to another under cover of his arm, and then receive a credit disk slipped to him just as clandestinely. Han had waited until the first man had gotten up to use the refresher unit, then he’d followed him. When the man came out, Han was waiting for him in the dim hallway.

“Like a word with you, pal,” he said.

The dealer, a small, sharp-faced man who reminded Han of a ranat, eyed the Corellian suspiciously, then evidently decided Han offered no threat. “Yeah? What about?”

“You deal in spice?”

The man hesitated for a long moment. “How much you want?”

“No, pal, I’m selling, not buying. You interested?”

“What you got?”

“Glitterstim. A hundred vials.”

“Glitterstim!” The man’s voice scaled up, then he hastily lowered it and stepped closer. “Where’d you get that, son?”

“I’m not your son, and it’s none of your business where I got it. You interested?”

“On any other world than this one, better believe I’d be interested, but …” The man shook his head. “No. No channels to unload it. I’d have to try and smuggle it off-world, and that’s too risky. They’d send me to the mines on Kessel to dig out the infernal stuff. Glitterstim can be dangerous, y’know. Make you blind, if you take too much. Drives Biths mad, y’know.”

“I know all that,” Han said impatiently. “Thanks for nothing, pal.”

Scowling, he stalked out of the tavern.

He finally ran down Darak Lyll in the fifth tavern he visited. Han recognized the man from the pickpocket’s description. Lyll was playing sabacc, and when he saw Han standing there, watching the game, he cordially waved the young Corellian over. “Care to sit in for a hand?”

Han had played sabacc before, but that wasn’t what he’d come here for. He stared directly at Darak Lyll and raised his eyebrows. “All depends on what you’ll accept for a stake, Lyll.”

The man’s expression didn’t change a whit as he glanced casually up. “You got something good, Pilot?”

“Might.”

“Well, the ante is twenty credits.”

Han shook his head. “Changed my mind. Going out to get some fresh air.”

He stood outside, leaning against the alley wall, for about five minutes. When he heard someone approaching, Han said, without looking, “Took you long enough. Must’ve been winning.”

“Idiot’s array,” Lyll said, using the sabacc player’s term for a top-notch winning hand. “So, what’ve you got?”

Han turned to look at the man. “Glitterstim. One hundred vials.”

“Whooo!” Darak Lyll whistled in amazement. “Where’d you come by that?”

“None of your business,” Han said. “Want it? Give you a good price …”

“Wish I could, young fellow, wish I could,” Lyll said, sounding regretful. “But I’d be a fool to take it. Just no market here on Alderaan.”

Han cursed under his breath and turned away. What am I going to do? he wondered. His time was definitely running out. Maybe he should hop an intercontinental shuttle to some other city. Maybe it was only Aldera that was so preternaturally clean on this world …

Han sighed. I don’t have time. I either sell that stuff in an hour, or I—

A hand fell on his shoulder. It took every bit of self-control Han possessed not to yell and bolt, he was so keyed up. Instead he just turned and glared at the middle-aged, dark-skinned man who’d fallen into step with him. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he said evenly.

“I don’t think so, Vykk,” the man said. “Pilot Vykk Draygo, out of Ylesia, right?”

“So what?” Han said. “I don’t know you.”

“Marsden Latham,” the man said, flashing a holo-ID badge under Han’s nose. “Alderaanian internal security force.”

Oh, no …

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Pilot Draygo, ever since you limped in here this morning. We’re happy we can help you out with repairs and fix up your partner. You saw that message when you first came within frequency range of Alderaan?”

“I saw it.”

“Well, it’s meant to be taken seriously. We don’t like trouble here.” The man smiled suddenly, showing very even, very white teeth. “You wouldn’t be out to cause us any trouble, would you, Pilot?”

Han strove to keep his face impassive. They know that I’ve been trying to cut a deal … must’ve been watching me all morning … Silently, he cursed the official. Aloud, he said, “Course not, sir. I’m a peace-loving kinda guy.”

“I told my chief that, and I’m glad to have my impression confirmed. Nice talking to you, Pilot Draygo. Enjoy your stay on Alderaan.”

The man’s strides came faster and longer, then, and he walked away from Han, up the street.

The Corellian forced himself to keep walking slowly, forced himself not to glance behind him. They were there, no doubt, shadowing him. The game was over, and he was busted. Scowling, Han shook his head, half in disgust, half in admiration. Those security operatives must be good. He’d had no idea they’d been tailing him.

Obviously, the man’s “talk” had been a not-so-veiled warning to stop trying to sell his cargo. He’d have to take it back to Ylesia. There weren’t any other planets close enough to reach so he could make the sale.

He checked the time, discovered he just had time to get out to check on Muuurgh before he’d have to call back to Ylesia. Han’s strides came faster as he headed for the nearest public transport station.

The University medical facility where the Togorian had been taken was attached to the University of Alderaan campus. Han swung down from the repulsorlift public transport and stood looking around for a moment. Nice … he thought, real nice … For a moment he wondered if the Academy would look anything like this. Probably not, he concluded. It’s a military establishment. It’ll look more like a base, I’ll bet … but this … this is real classy …

Green and blue lawns stretched across the central quadrangle. Flower beds made bright splashes of color and surrounded the huge central fountain. At the center of the fountain was a massive sculpture carved from living ice of a young Alderaanian man and woman standing with linked hands, reaching for the skies. Hey, that’s got to be worth a barrel of credits, Han thought, eyeing the sculpture and realizing it must be a priceless work of art.

Definitely a classy joint, Han decided as he walked past the huge fountain and continued up the impressive white-stone stairs to the medical facility.

The info-droid at the front desk gave him the number of the Togorian’s room. Han hurried down the corridors, then, outside, paused to speak to the medical droid. “Your friend sustained a severe blow to the cranium,” the droid said. “It would probably have killed a humanoid. Fortunately, Togorians have very dense bone matter, and so he is relatively uninjured. We have been quick-healing him since he came here, and he should be ready to leave by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks,” Han said, opening the door and going in.

Muuurgh lay curled on a large, round pallet. The Togorian was covered with tiny sensor units that reported on his condition. As Han entered, the blue eyes opened. Muuurgh raised himself partly up. “Pilot!”

“Hey, how’re you doing, pal?” Han was surprised to feel a huge wash of relief when he saw the Togorian conscious and lucid again. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so fond of the big felinoid. “They treating you all right?”

“Pilot …” Muuurgh seemed utterly amazed to find Han here.

“You look surprised to see me,” Han said. That was a huge understatement. Muuurgh didn’t look surprised—he looked flabbergasted.

“Muuurgh is …” The big alien shook his furry head a little dizzily. “I mean, I am. I never thought I would see you again.”

Han drew himself up. “Why not? Did you think I’d just dump you here and swipe the cargo?”

“Yes,” replied Muuurgh simply.

“Well, I’m here, ain’t I? If it wasn’t for me hauling us into Alderaanian space by the skin of our noses, you’d be dead meat by now. I suggest you remember that, pal. You owe me.”

Muuurgh nodded dazedly. “Yes, Pilot … I owe you.”

Han scowled at him and sat down on the edge of the pallet. “And skip that ‘pilot’ formality. I’m Vykk from now on, okay?”

Muuurgh put out a paw, laid it gently over Han’s arm, the huge clawed fingers with their now-retracted claws dwarfing the human’s limb. “Okay, Vykk …”

   After Han left Muuurgh to the tender ministrations of the medical droids, he went back to the Dream and called Ylesia. Teroenza was not available, so he asked to speak to Veratil. When the Ylesian’s horned, bloated visage appeared on the screen, Han gave him an abbreviated account of their adventures, promising to start back to Ylesia the following day. Veratil, in his turn, promised to arrange payment for the ship repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.

When he’d finished with his call, Han found that he was hungry, so after checking his small hoard of credits, he headed over to a combination tavern and eatery on the campus of the University of Alderaan. It was set into a secluded courtyard, and a rainbow-colored fountain sent showers of crystal drops into the air before the entrance.

Han pulled the door open and went in.

The tavern was filled with fashionably dressed young people … talking, laughing, drinking, and eating. Han hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but his natural bravado came to his rescue. I’m just as good as they are, he thought defiantly, following the serving droid to a small table. Despite his brave front, the young Corellian was uncomfortably conscious of the way his sweat-stained coverall and battered jacket contrasted with the elegant, trendy garb of the students who chattered and laughed at the tables.

Once seated, Han ordered an Alderaanian ale. Studying the menu, he noticed that the place featured “nerf cubes and tubers in wine sauce” for a special. It was a little pricey, but he ordered it anyway, knowing that nerf was said to be a delicacy. The stew came with a plate of flatbread, which made him think of Pilgrim 921. Wish she were here, he thought. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to … Dipping a square of flatbread into the dish, he tasted, chewed, then smiled. This is really good! It had been a long, long time since he’d had really good food … denizens of Trader’s Luck frequently existed on space rations during their voyages. The only times Han had really eaten well was when he’d been playing his part in one of Garris Shrike’s scams. He remembered one barbecue he’d gone to on Corellia. Traladon ribs with special sauce …

But even barbecued traladon ribs couldn’t equal nerf, he decided. Hungrily, Han dug into his meal. When he was about halfway through, a pretty girl with long, curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes walked up onto the tiny stage, carrying a mandoviol. Seating herself on a stool, she began to strum it, then, a moment later, her voice rang out, clear and true, in what was evidently a traditional Alderaanian ballad.

It was the usual stuff, about a girl who lost her lover to the lure of the space lanes, and how she waited but he never came home—but the singer’s voice was so pure, so unaffected, that she lent the clichéd words true emotion and dignity.

When she’d finished, Han, along with the other patrons, clapped enthusiastically. The girl sang another song, then stepped down off the stage and walked straight toward Han. For a moment he thought—hoped!—that she was coming over to sit with him, but no such luck. She slid into a seat at the next table.

Since the tavern was evidently a popular hangout, the tables were crowded close together; the girl wound up sitting within arm’s length of Han. The other person at the table was a round-faced young man a year or two older than the pilot. Probably her boyfriend, Han thought, covertly eyeing the young man. He had light brown hair and pale, hazel-green eyes. Unlike the girl, who wore a simple, ankle-length blue dress and sandals, her escort was a tribute to modern fashion.

His purple tunic was belted with a wide, orange belt that clashed with his knee-high red boots. His yellow britches clung to his legs like a second skin. Han, in his worn, gray coverall, felt like a house-warbler next to a paradise bird.

As the singer shook back her hair and smiled triumphantly, Han managed to catch her eye. He mimed clapping, and she grinned and bowed. “You were great!” he told her.

“Thank you!” she said. “That was the first time I’ve gotten up my nerve to sing in front of a crowd!” The girl was flushed, breathless, and very charming. Han smiled back at her. I wouldn’t mind spending the evening—and the night—with her …

Aloud, he said, “We’re a very lucky audience, then. Witnessing the beginning of a great career.”

“Thank you!” She held out her hand. “I’m Aryn Dro, and this is Bornan Thul.”

Han took her hand and, instead of shaking it, bowed over it, as though she were Corellian nobility. His lips didn’t touch the back of her hand, but he came close enough so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I’m honored, Aryn,” he said. “Vykk Draygo.”

When he released her hand and turned to greet her escort, Han could tell the young man was irked, and making no effort to hide it. “Greetings …” Han said, since he wasn’t sure what honorific, if any, was proper on Alderaan.

“Greetings,” Thul said. “Aryn, you were magnificent. Would you care to go somewhere else to celebrate your triumph?”

Can’t stand competition … Han thought, smothering a mischievous grin. He, too, had seen Aryn’s blue eyes light up when he’d introduced himself.

“Listen, I won’t intrude,” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the singer. “I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed your singing. But I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Thul looked as though he’d have liked to say “Good!” but didn’t quite dare.

Aryn shook her head and put a reassuring hand on Han’s arm. “Oh, no! Of course you’re not intruding … Vykk.” She eyed his coverall. “I was going to ask you if you went to school here, but you don’t, do you?”

Han shook his head. “No, I’m only here for tonight. Flew in this morning for repairs. Got in a fight with some pirates and damaged my ship.”

The wide blue eyes grew even wider. “Flew? Pirates? Are you a star pilot?”

Han shrugged modestly. “Yeah.”

Bornan Thul was getting hot under the collar, the Corellian noted. Doesn’t like the idea of his girl talking to a working-class guy like me, the stuck-up so-and-so … well, tough, brother Bornan …

“Oh, my …” Aryn breathed. “That’s so … exciting. Real pirates? What happened?”

Han shrugged again. “Came out of hyperspace, and they were on me quicker than stink on a Skeeg. Two of ’em. Blasted one, but between them, they damaged my hyperdrive. So I came on to Alderaan for repairs.”

“You blasted one?” Bornan demanded sharply, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “With what?”

“With an Arakyd missile, pal,” Han said evenly. “I blew his butt into little bitty pieces.”

Aryn shivered, half with excitement, half with distress. “That sounds … really scary.”

Han took a swallow of ale. “All in a day’s work,” he said, deliberately laconic.

By this time Bornan had had just about enough. His face reddened, and he grabbed Aryn’s arm. “Sweetheart, let’s go. I’m taking you out to the best place in town. If you’ll excuse us … Pilot Draygo.”

The girl hesitated for long moment. I could get her, Han thought. I know I could. That’d really stick in this upper-class jerk’s craw, too, to have me walk out of here with his girl …

For a moment Han was tempted, then he made himself relax and relinquish the contest. He sensed that Aryn was a really nice girl, someone who didn’t deserve to be treated like a gaming piece so he could score points off her snotty boyfriend. One of the reasons he found her attractive, Han realized, was that she reminded him a little of 921, with her wide blue eyes and sweet smile.

Besides, he thought, those security guys are probably still tailing me. Old Bornan here might just be man enough to pick a fight, and if they’re still around, that could get messy …

So Han stood, respectfully, and gave Aryn a formal bow. “Been a real pleasure,” he said. “Enjoy your celebration.”

“Thank you …” she said, and gave him a last, quick smile before she allowed Bornan to lead her out.

Han sat back down to his cooling food, reflecting that this incident had reminded him of just how much he detested stuck-up rich people. He’d encountered lots of them on Corellia, while working Shrike’s scams, and the fact that most of them weren’t worth a blaster bolt to blow them to atoms was the only thing that had made him able to act his part during the swindles.

By the time Han returned to the Ylesian Dream, and the tiny bunk that had been installed in part of the cargo area for him, he was slightly the worse for the Alderaanian ale. Thoughts of 921 kept running through his mind, and he cursed aloud in the silence, wishing he could stop thinking about her. Han had never before encountered a woman that he’d spent time thinking about when she wasn’t with him …

The knowledge that 921 had wormed her way that deep into his mind unsettled Han, made him uncomfortable. She’s just a girl, Solo. You don’t even know her blasted name. Quit mooning around like this. You going soft in the head or something?

Han flung himself down on his bunk and groaned aloud, remembering the events of the day. What a world, he thought muzzily. So goody-goody that a guy can’t even sell a perfectly good cargo of spice …

   The trip back to Ylesia was uneventful. Han piloted the Dream down through the clouds without a single mishap, and hardly even shook the ship as he did it. Even Muuurgh, who was still nursing a headache, couldn’t complain. It was becoming second nature to Han to see, analyze, and avoid the paths of the planet’s massive storm systems.

The moment the ship was down on the landing pad, Han’s communicator came to life, summoning him to meet with Teroenza immediately. Han had been expecting this. He sent Muuurgh off to the infirmary to get some treatment for his headache, and walked up to the Administration Building alone.

This time he was met by Ganar Tos and escorted into the High Priest’s inner sanctum, where he’d been before. Teroenza was resting in a most unusual piece of furniture—a sort of sling or hammock that allowed the High Priest to lean back on his massive haunches and take his weight off his back legs. His thick forelegs were supported by a movable padded leg rest that could swing in and out to allow him to get into the contraption.

The minute the High Priest saw Han, his expression (which Han was beginning to be able to read) turned positively benevolent. “Pilot Draygo!” he boomed. “I understand you are a hero! Your bravery and courage are beyond price, but I have ordered a bonus to be placed in your account.”

Han blinked, then smiled. “Thanks, sir.”

“We have lost two ships that failed to return from their rendezvous points over the past year and a half,” Teroenza continued. “You are the first pilot to get a look at your attackers and return to tell us who they were. What did you see?”

Han shrugged. “Well, it all happened real fast, and I was kinda busy, sir. But I’m pretty sure that the ship I destroyed was a Drell-built ship. Looked like it. That chisel-shaped prow and stubby stern are pretty distinctive.”

“Did they communicate with you? Give you a chance to surrender before attacking?”

“No, they shot first, and just kept on shooting. They weren’t trying to destroy the Dream, because if they had been, they’d have done it. But they had no interest in the ship, which was strange—most pirates would try to disable the ship enough to take it, while leaving it easy to repair so they could use it or sell it. These guys were out to cripple the Dream, and kill me and Muuurgh.”

“How did they attack?”

“From behind. They could’ve nailed us before we even knew they were there. They had at least two clear shots, and the shielding on the Dream isn’t that good.” As he remembered the battle, Han took a deep breath. “I think we need to strengthen the shielding, sir.”

“I will order that to be done, Pilot,” Teroenza agreed. The huge t’landa Til folded his tiny arms, and his massive forehead wrinkled as he considered what Han had told him. “Interesting that they attacked first, without engaging a tractor beam and attempting to gain your surrender.”

“Yeah … that’s what I thought.”

Han had known several traders aboard the Luck that had spent time on pirate crews, and had listened to them bragging about their adventures. A straight-out attack wasn’t the usual pirate style; it would have been more typical for a deep-space pirate to fire a warning shot, then, after the pilot had surrendered, board the ship. “It’s funny, it’s like they planned to disable the Dream, probably killing me and Muuurgh in the process, and then board her when she was dead in space.”

“No communication or demand for surrender at all.”

“None,” Han affirmed.

Teroenza smoothed the loose folds of flesh beneath his chin thoughtfully. “Almost as though they were willing to risk destroying the Dream and her cargo rather than communicate with you …”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

“How close were you to the rendezvous point when you were attacked?”

“We’d come out of hyperspace less than five minutes before. No doubt, sir, they were waiting for us. They knew we were coming.”

“Had you made any transmissions referring to your course or coordinates, Pilot Draygo?”

“No, sir. As instructed, I maintained strict silence on all frequencies.”

Teroenza rumbled thoughtfully, deep in his chest, then nodded his massive horned head. “Again, I commend your bravery. How is Muuurgh?”

“He’ll be okay. Took a hard blow to the head, though.”

“I will want to speak to him when he is well enough. Very well, Pilot, you are dismissed.”

Han stood his ground. “Sir … I’d like to ask a favor.”

“Yes?”

“My blaster was taken from me when I arrived on Ylesia. I’d like it returned. If there’s any chance I might be boarded by pirates sometime in the future, I want to be able to shoot back.”

Teroenza considered for a moment, then nodded agreement. “I will order your weapon returned to you, Pilot. You have certainly demonstrated your loyalty and earned our trust by your actions these last few days.” The huge being waved a small hand. “Tell me, Pilot Draygo, did it never occur to you to attempt to sell your cargo and tell us it had been stolen by the pirates?”

Han shook his head. “Nossir, it didn’t,” he said earnestly.

“Very good. I am … impressed.” Teroenza’s wide, lipless mouth curved up in what was evidently meant as a smile of approval. “Most impressed …”

Han walked out of the Administration Building, thankful that he’d been able to lie convincingly since he was seven. He was especially proud of his ability to fabricate on a moment’s notice.

His footsteps took him down the path toward the infirmary. Time to check up on Muuurgh, see how the Togorian was doing. Also … it was time to meet Jalus Nebl, the Sullustan pilot who’d been placed on sick leave.

Han had a few questions to ask the Sullustan …