Star Wars - [Han Solo Adventures 03] - Han Solo and the Lost Legacy (by Brian Daley)

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The Han Solo Adventures

Episode 3

Han Solo and The Lost Legacy

The Han Solo Adventures1

Episode 31

Han Solo and The Lost Legacy1

Part 12

Part 310

Part 414

Part 518

Part 623

Part 729

Part 833

Part 938

Part 1041

Part 1145

Part 1252

Part 1359

Part 1466

Part 1572

Part 1676

About the Author83

Part 1

HAN Solo nearly had the control-stem leads hooked up, a sweaty job that had him stuck under the

low-slung airspeeder for almost an hour, when there was a kick at his foot. "What's holding things up?"

The leads, now gathered together in precise order, sprang free of his fingers, going every which way.

With a scalding Corellian malediction, Han shoved against the machine's undercarriage, and his

repulsor-lift mechanic's creeper slid out from under the airspeeder.

Han leaped up instantly to confront Grigmin, his temporary employer, the color on his face changing from

the red of frustration to a darker and more dangerous hue. Han was lean, of medium height, and

appeared younger than his actual age. His eyes were guarded, intense.

Grigmin, tall, broad shouldered, handsomely blond, and some years younger than Han, either didn't

notice his pitcrewman's anger or chose not to acknowledge it. "Well? What about it? That airspeeder's

an important part of my show. "

Han attempted not to lose his scant temper. Working as pit-crewman to Grigmin's one-man airshow on a

circuit of fifth-rate worlds had been the only job he and his partner, Chewbacca, had been able to get

when they found they needed work, but Grigmin's unrelenting arrogance made the task of keeping his

outmoded aircraft running nearly unbearable.

"Grigmin," Han said, "I've warned you before. You put too much strain on your hardware. You could

stay well within performance tolerances and still complete every maneuver in your routines. But instead

you showboat, with junk heaps that were obsolete when the Clone Wars were news." Grigmin's grin

grew even wider. "Save the excuses, Solo. Will my airspeeder be ready for my afternoon show, or have

you and your Wookiee sidekick decided you don't like working for me? "

Masterpiece of understatement! Han, thought to himself, but mumbled, "She'll be in the air again if

Fadoop gets here with the replacement parts. "

Now Grigmin frowned. "You should have gone for them yourself. I never trust these useless locals; it's a

rule I have. " "If you want me to use a starship for a crummy surface to-surface skip, you'll have to pay

the expenses-up front." Han would sooner trust a local like the amiable, gregarious Fadoop than a shifty

deadbeat like Grigmin.

Grigmin ignored the invitation to part with some cash. "I want my airspeeder ready, " he concluded and

left to prepare for the next part of his performance, an exhibition of maneuvers with a one-man jetpack.

Maneuvers any academy greenie could do, Han thought. These backwater worlds are the only place

anyone would pay to see a feeble act like Grigmin's.

Still; if it hadn't been for Grigmin's needing a pitcrew, Han Solo and the Wookiee, Chewbacca, freelance

smugglers, would have been on the Hurt Vector. He adjusted his sweatband, toed the mechanic's

creeper over to him, settled onto it, and pulled himself back under the airspeeder. Groping half-heartedly

for the control leads, Han wondered just what it was that made his luck so erratic. He had had strokes of

good fortune that rivaled anything he had ever heard of, but at other times....

He barked his knuckles, swore a mighty oath, and mulled over the fact that only a short time ago he and

his Wookiee partner had held the galaxy by the tail. They had defied a slavery ring in the Corporate

Sector, held the Authority's dreaded Security Police at bay with a Territorial Manager as hostage, and

come out of the deal ten thousand credits richer.

But since then there had been needed repairs for their starship, the Millennium Falcon, and monumental

celebrations on a dozen worlds as they put the Corporate Sector behind them Then there had been

ill-fated smuggling ventures; a ruinous try at clotheslegging in the Cron Drift; a failed Military

Script-exchange plot in the Lesser Plooriod Cluster; and more, each adventure bringing a little closer that

day when they would find themselves among the needy.

So they had ended up here in the Tion Hegemony, so far out among the lesser star systems of the vast

Empire that the Imperials didn't even bother to exert direct control over it. In the Tion tended to

congregate the petty grifters, unsuccessful con-artists, and unprosperous crooks of the galaxy. They ran

Chak-root, picked up Walla mineral water for the smuggling run to Rampa, swiped, ambushed,

connived, and attempted in a thousand ways to fuel careers temporarily at a standstill. Han considered all

this as he carefully gathered the leads, once again separating them delicately. At least with Grigmin, Han

and Chewbacca were paid, once in a while. But that didn't make it any easier to take Grigmin's

highhandedness. What particularly irritated Han was that Grigmin considered himself the hottest stunt

pilot in space. Han had entertained the idea of taking a swing at the younger man, but Grigmin was a

former heavyweight unarmed combat champion.. . .

His musings were interrupted by another kick that jolted his boot. The control leads sprang from his

hands again. Furious, he pushed off against the airspeeder's undercarriage, jumped off the mechanic's

creeper, and, combat champion or no, launched himself at his tormentor . .

. . . and was caught up instantly against a wide shaggy chest in a frightfully strong but restrained hug and

held a half-meter or so off the ground.

"Chewie! Let go, you big ... all right; I'm sorry. " Thick arms muscled like loops of steel released him.

The Wookiee Chewbacca glared down from his towering` height, growling a denunciation of Han's

manners, his reddish-brown brows lowered, his fangs showing. He shook a long, hairy finger at his

partner for emphasis and tried straightening the Authority Security Police admiral's hat perched rakishly

on his head, his lush mane escaping from beneath it. The admiral's hat was just about the only thing the

two still had from their adventures in the Corporate Sector. Chewbacca had taken a fancy to its bright

braid, snowywhite material, glossy black brim, and ornate insignia during an exchange of hostages just

before their hasty departure from that region of space. In his people's tradition of counting coup on their

enemies, the Wookiee had demanded the hat as part of the ransom. Han, pressed by events, had

indulged him.

Now the pilot threw up his hands. "Enough! I said I was sorry. I thought you were that vapor-brain

Grigmin again. Now what?"

Han's giant copilot informed him that Fadoop had arrived. Fadoop stood-nearby on her feet and

knuckles, an unusually fat and outgoing native of the planet Saheeiindeel. A short, bandy-legged, and

densely green-furred primate, she was a local wheeler-dealer who flew an aircraft of sorts, an informal

assemblage of parts and components from various scrapped fliers, a craft which she called Skybarge.

Pulling off his sweatband, Han walked toward Fadoop. "You scrounged the parts? Good gal!"

Fadoop, scratching behind one ear with a big toe, removed a malodorous black cigar from her mouth

and blew a smoke ring. "Anything for Solo-my-friend. Are we not soulsealed buddies, you, me, and the

Big One here, this Wookiee? But, ahh, there is a matter-"

Fadoop looked away somewhat embarrassed. Working the quid of Chak-root that swelled her cheek,

she spat a stream of red liquid into the dust. "I trust Solo-my-friend, but not Grigmin-the-blowhard. I hate

to bring up money."

"No apologies; you earned it. Han dug into a coverall pocket for the cash he had gotten in advance for

the airspeeder parts. Fadoop tucked the money away swiftly into her belly pouch, then brightened; a

twinkle sparkled in her close-set, golden eyes.

"And there's a surprise, Solo-my-friend. At the spaceport, when I picked up the parts, two new arrivals

were looking for you and the Big One. I had room in my ship, and so brought them with me. They wait."

Han reached back under the airspeeder and drew out his coiled gunbelt, which he always kept at arm's

length. "Who . are they? Imperials? Did they look like skip-tracers or Guild muscle?" He buckled the

custom-model blaster around his hips, fastening the tiedown at his right thigh, and snapped open his

holster's retaining strap.

Fadoop objected. "Negatron! Nice, peaceful fellows, a little nervous." She scratched her verdant, bulging

midsection, making a sandpaper sound. "They want to hire you. No weapons on them, at least. " That

sounded reassuring. "What do you think?" Han asked Chewbacca.

The Wookiee resettled his admiral's hat, pulling the gleaming brim down low over his eyes, and stared

across the airfield. After a few seconds, he barked a syllable of affirmation, and the three started off for

Fadoop's ship. .

It was high festival on Saheelindeel, formerly a time of tribal reunions and hunting rituals, then of fertility

and harvest ceremonies. Now it incorporated elements of an airshow and industrial fair. Saheelindeel, like

so many other planets in the Tion Hegemony, was struggling to thrust itself into an age of modern

technology and prosperity in emulation of the galaxy at large. Farming machinery was on display as well

as factory robotry. Vehicles new to the wide-eyed Saheelindeeli but obsolete on more advanced worlds

were in evidence, along with communications and holo apparatuses that delighted the touring crowd. In

an exhibition game of shock ball, the charged orb sizzled between players wearing insulated mitts; the

winning team was using a zoned offense. Off in the distance, Grigmin was looping and diving in jetpack

harness. Just seeing him again put Han in a more receptive frame of mind to meet Fadoop's passengers.

Passing by the reviewing stand, he saw the Saheelindeeli's grizzled matriarch holding the elaborate trophy

she was to present that afternoon for the best thematic float or exhibit. The fair's theme was Fertility of

the Soil, Challenge of the Sky. Favored heavily to win was the opulent float entered by the Regional

Fork-Pitchers' Local."

At last Han and his companions arrived at Fadoop's slapdash cargo ship. Despite her reassurances, Han

was relieved to see the new arrivals were not Imperial stormtroopers"snowmen" or "white-hats," as they

were called in slangtalk-but an unassuming pair, human and humanoid. The humanoid-a tall, reedy,

purple-skinned type whose eyes, protruding from an elongated skull, held tiny red pinpoints of

pupil-nodded at Han. "Ah, Captain Solo? A pleasure to meet you, sir! " He stuck out a thin arm. Han

clasped the long, slender hand, trying to ignore its greasy skin secretions.

"Yes, I'm Solo. What can I do for you?"

The human, an emaciated albino wearing a sunproof robe, explained. "We represent the Committee for

Interinstitutional Assistance of the University of Rudrig. You've heard of our school?

"I think so." He vaguely remembered that it was the only decent advanced school in the Tion Hegemony.

"The university has concluded an Agreement of Aid for a fledgling college on Brigia," the albino

continued. The humanoid took up the conversation. "I am Hissal, and Brigia is my homeworld. The

university has promised us guidance, materials, and teaching aids."

"So you should be contacting Tion Starfreight or Interstellar Shipping," Han noted. "But you came

looking for us. Why?"

"The shipment is completely legal," the gaunt Hissal hastened to add, "but there is opposition from my

planetary government. Though they can't contravene Imperial trade agreements, of course, we still fear

there might be trouble in making delivery and - you want someone who can look out for your stuff. "

"Your name had come to us as a capable fellow's," Hissal admitted. "Chewie and I try to avoid trouble-"

"The job pays rather well," interposed the albino. "One thousand credits."

"-unless there's some profit in it. Two thousand," Han finished, doubling the price automatically even

though the offer had been more than fair. There ensued a few moments of haggling. But when Han

pressed the university representatives too sharply and their enthusiasm began to waver, Chewbacca

issued a howl that made them all jump. He didn't much like crewing for Grigmin either.

"Uh, my copilot's an idealist," Han improvised, scowling up at the Wookiee. "Luckily for you. Fifteen

hundred." The albino and the Brigian agreed, adding that half would be paid on consignment, half on

delivery. Chewbacca pushed his gaudy admiral's hat back on his head and beamed at his partner,

overjoyed to be lifting off again.

So, said Fadoop, slapping her belly merrily with both hands- and one foot, "that only leaves telling that

fool Grigmin good riddance. "

"It does, doesn't it?" Han agreed. "He'll be doing his big stunt display any time now." He rubbed his jaw

and studied the ungainly, stubby-winged vessel that stood nearby. "Fadoop, can I borrow old Skybarge

for a few minutes?"

"No questions asked. But she's got cargo onboard, several cubic meters of enriched fertilizer for the

agricultural pavilion." Fadoop relit her cigar.

"No problem," Han told her. "Warm up your ship. I'll be right back."

Having already amazed the unsophisticated Saheelindeeli with his hover-sled, jetpack, and repulsorlift

swoops, Grigmin began his grand finale, an exhibition of stunt flying with an obsolete X-222 high-altitude

fighter. The triple-deuce looped, climbed, dove, and banked through textbook maneuvers, releasing

clouds of colorful aerosols at certain points to the delight of the crowd. Grigmin came into his final

approach, putting the limber and lean ship through a fancy aerobatic display before coming in toward a

precise landing. He didn't realize, however, that a second ship had come in after him on the same

approach his fighter had taken. It was Fadoop's cumbersome Skybarge with Han Solo at the controls.

To show what he thought of Grigmin's flying ability, Han took the tubby ship through the same display the

exhibition flier was just completing. But, coming into his first loop, Han feathered his portside engine. The

green-furred Saheelindeeli gasped collectively and pointed the second ship out to one another with a

great commotion, forgetting to watch Grigmin's landing entirely. They expected to see Skybarge plummet

from the air. But Han completed the roll, deftly working with the nearly empty craft's stubby wings,

control surfaces, and chugging engine. On the second roll, he feathered the starboard engine, too, and

went into a third with zero thrust. Shrieks of fright from the crowd and their tentative race for cover

abated as they saw that the unwieldy aircraft was still under control. Jumping up and down, pointing with

fingers and toes, they sent up a ragged cheer for the mad pilot, then a more forceful one, reflecting the

Saheelindeeli affection for grand gestures, even insane ones.

Grigmin, who had exited from his ship virtually unnoticed, threw down his flight helmet and watched

Skybarge in mounting fury. Han coaxed the third roll out of his homely vessel and waggled her down

toward the strip. But only one landing wheel emerged from its bay. Grigmin grinned at the prospect of a

crash; but unexpectedly the ship bounced off the single wheel, trimmed handily, and settled a second time

as another landing wheel lowered. She bore on the reviewing stand with surprising grace and rebounded

from two wheels.

As Skybarge neared the reviewing stand, the crowd parted before her, clapping their hands and feet in

high approbation. The ship waggled her tail in midair, extended her third and last landing wheel, and

rolled cleanly for the reviewing stand. By that time Grigmin was so distracted that he didn't notice the

cargo ship heading directly for his precious triple-deuce fighter. Too late! Slam! He could only dodge out

of the way as Skybarge rolled by. Han threw a wicked grin at him from the cockpit. Skybarge's high,

heavy-duty landing gear permitted her to pass directly over the low, sleek fighter. With consummate skill,

Han flipped open her cargo-bay doors and suddenly an avalanche of enriched fertilizer dumped directly

into the fighter through the open cockpit canopy.

The Saheelindeeli began applauding madly. Skybarge's overhead cockpit hatch popped open, and Han's

happy face appeared. He inclined his head graciously to acknowledge the ovation as Grigmin was being

elbowed farther and farther away by the press of the crowd. From the reviewing stand the matriarch's

voice wheezed through the crackling public address system. "First prize! Trophy to Skybarge for best

exhibit, Fertility of the Soil, Challenge of the Sky. " She waved the tall loving cup as her advisers whistled

and stomped their feet in glee.

Part 2

THE Millennium Falcon rested on Brigia's single spaceport landing field. She looked very much like the

battered, much-repaired, and worn-out stock freighter she was, but there were incongruities. The

irregular docking tackle, oversized thruster ports, heavy-weapons turrets, and late-model sensor-suite

dish betrayed something about her real line of work.

"That's the last of the tapes," Han announced. He checked the offloading on his hand-held readout screen

as Bollux, the labor 'droid, stumped past, guiding a repulsorlift hand truck. The automaton's green finish

looked eerie in the glow of the irradiators with which the ship was now rigged. Brigia was flagged in all

the standard. directories, thus requiring phaseone decontam procedures. The ship's environmental

systems circulated broad-spectrum anticontamination aerosols along with air. Han's and Chewbacca's

immunization treatments would protect them against local maladies, but they were nonetheless eager to

be away. Han watched Bollux head for the steam-powered freight truck parked near the ship. The glare

of the landing field's illumigrids showed him the Brigian workers, all volunteers from the budding college,

arranging crates, packing canisters and carry-cases that the Falcon had delivered. They conversed

animatedly among themselves, thrilled with the new broadcasting equipment and especially with the

library of tapes. Han turned to Hissal, who had accompanied him on the flight and who was to be the

college's first president. "The only thing left to get outboard is your duplicator."

"Ah, yes, the duplicator, our most-awaited item," commented Hissal, "and the most expensive. It will

print and collate material at speeds our own presses cannot match and synthesize any paper or other

material from the raw constituents it contains. This, from a device that fits into a few crates. Amazing!"

Han made a noncommittal sound. Bollux was returning, and Han called down the curve of the

passageway, "Chewie! Secure the main hold and crack open the number two; I want to get that

duplicator off and raise ship." From aft echoed the Wookiee's answering growl.

"Captain, there's one more thing," Hissal went on, drawing a pouch from beneath his lateral folds. Han's

right hand dropped immediately to his blaster. Hissal, sensing his breach of decorum, held up a thin hand

in denial.

"Be of tranquil mind. I know that among your kind it is customary to offer a gratuity for a task well done."

Hissal plucked a curl of bills out of his pouch and extended it to the pilot.

Han examined the bills. They had a strange texture, more like textile than like paper. "What is this stuff?"

"A new innovation," admitted Hissal. "Several Progressions ago the New Regime replaced bartering and

local coinages with a planet-wide monetary system. "

Han slapped the sheaf of minutely inscribed bills against the palm of his flying glove. "Which gives them a

hammerlock on trade, of course. Well, thanks anyway, but this stuff isn't worth much off planet. Hissal's

elongated face grew even longer. "Unfortunately, only the New Regime may hold off-world currency;

thus, all equipment and materials for our school had to come by donation. The first thing the New Regime

did when it accumulated enough credits was bring in a developmental consulting firm. Aside from the

currency system, the firm's main accomplishment was to profit from a major purchase of military

equipment, which included that warship you saw." Han had noticed the ship, a pocket-cruiser of the

outmoded Marauder class surrounded by worklights and armed guards.

"Her main control stacks blew on her shakedown cruise," Hissal explained. "Naturally, there are no

Brigian techs capable of repairing her, and so she remains inert until the Regime can muster enough

credits to import techs and parts. That money could have brought us commercial technology, or medical

advancements." Han nodded. "First thing most of these boondock worlds do - no offense, Hissal is pick

up some toys, to build their image. Then their neighbors run out and do the same."

"We are a poor planet," the Brigian told him solemnly, "and have more important priorities. "

Han declined further comment on that subject. Bollux had returned and was waiting for Han's next order,

when suddenly there was a distant screeching of steam sirens. Han walked down to the ramp's hinged

foot. Closing in from all sides were rows of lumbering metal power wagons, petro-engines chugging,

sirens ripping the night, high wheels making the landing field tremble. Arc-spotlights swung to converge

on the Millennium Falcon and the freight truck. Han shouldered past Hissal and dashed to the ramp head.

"Chewie! We've got problems; get into the cockpit and charge up the main guns!" He rejoined Hissal

halfway down the ramp. The college volunteers stood surprised and unmoving on the bed of their truck,

unsure of what to do. In moments the cordon of power wagons had been drawn tightly. Doors flew open

and squads of figures came leaping from the vehicles. They were obviously government troops, carrying

oldfashioned solid-projectile firearms. But something about their uniforms seemed odd. The troops wore

human-style military regalia ill-suited to the gawkish Brigian anatomy. Han surmised that remnants and

leftovers had been foisted off on the unsuspecting New Regime as part of their overall military purchase.

The soldiers marched in badly fitting battle harness, fartoo-loose helmets perched precariously on their

heads, filigreed epaulets sagging forlornly from their narrow shoulders, embroidered dispatch cases

flopping against their skinny posteriors. Their legs and feet were too narrow for combat boots, so the

warriors of Brigia wore natty pink spats with glittering buttons over bare feet. Among what Han assumed

to be their officer corps were an abundance of medals and citations, one or two ceremonial swords, and

several drooping cummerbunds. A number of troopers with no detectable talent were blowing bugles. In

moments, the soldiers had taken the shocked college volunteers captive at bayonet point. Other units

advanced on the starship.

Han had already grasped Hissal's thin arm and was dragging him up the ramp. "But; this is an atrocity!

We have done nothing wrong!" Han released him and plunged through the main hatch. "You want to

debate that with a bullet? Make up your mind; I'm sealing up." Hissal hurried up the ramp. The main

hatch rolled down just as the troops reached the ramp's foot; Han heard a salvo of bullets ricocheting off

it. In the cockpit, Chewbacca had already activated defensive shields and had begun warming up the

engines. Hissal, trailing Han, was still protesting. Han couldn't take the time to reply; he was completely

absorbed in readying the ship for takeoff. The volunteers were being dragged, pushed, and thrown into

confinement in the waiting wagons. The few who protested were summarily struck down and towed off

by their slender, strangely boned ankles. Han noticed that the Brigians' war-bannered personnel carriers

were, in fact, garbage trucks of an outdated model. Chewbacca made a grating sound through clenched

teeth.

"I'm mad about our money, too," Han replied. "How do we get the other half if we can't get a delivery

receipt?" The troops were taking up firing positions in ranks around the starship. "They couldn't have

waited another ten minutes?" Han muttered. A Brigian stepped out in front of the firing lines. Because of

the glare of the spotlights, Han had to shield his eyes with his hand to see that the Brigian held a loudhailer

in one hand and an official-looking scroll in the other. Han donned his headset and flipped on an external

audio pickup in time to hear "-no harm will come to you, good friends from space! The peace-loving

New Regime requires only that you surrender the fugitive now onboard your vessel. The Brigian

government will trouble you no further. Han keyed his headset mike over to external-speaker mode.

"What about our pay?" He avoided looking at Hissal, but kept one hand close to his side arm.

"Agreements can be reached, honored offworlder," the Brigian below answered. "Allow me to come

onboard and parley." Han keyed his mike again. "Pull the soldiers back and turn those spotlights off Meet

me at the ramp, no weapons, no stunts!" The Brigian passed his loudhailer to a subordinate and motioned

with the scroll. The ranks fell back and the spotlights flickered out; the martial garbage trucks withdrew.

"Keep an eye on things," Han instructed his first mate. "If anyone moves wrong, let me know." Hissal was

outraged. "Is it your plan to treat with these hoodlums? Legally speaking, they haven't got a receptacle to

skloob in, I assure you. The courts-"

"-don't concern us now," Han interrupted, motioning him aside. "Go find a seat in the forward

compartment and don't worry; we won't hand you over to them." With great dignity Hissal corrected him.

"My concern -is for my friends." Bollux, the labor 'droid, was waiting in the passageway, the crated

duplicator components loaded on his handtruck. In his measured drawl the automaton asked, "What are

your instructions, Captain?" Han-sighed. "I don't know. Why is it I never get the easy jobs? Go up

forward, Bollux. If I need you, I'll holler." The machine's heavy feet clattered on the deckplates.

Chewbacca yeowled that the area was clear. Han pulled his blaster. The main hatch rolled up, and at the

ramp's foot waited the Brigian. He was taller than Hissal, broadly built for his species, his color a little

darker than average. He wore a chrome-studded battle harness, rhinestone shoulderboards with dangling

brushes at the ends, several colorful aiguillettes, a salad of decorations, and impressive, red-sequined

spats. A plume bobbed from his tilting helmet. Han beckoned warily. The creature marched up the ramp,

the scroll tucked under one arm. Han stopped him at the head of the ramp. "Shuck the harness and the

tin lid and toss them back down. "

The creature complied. "Welcome to our fair planet, fellow biped," he said with an effort at heartiness. "I

am Inspector Keek, Chief of the Internal Security Police of the very progress-minded New Regime of

Brigia. " He cast his harness and helmet away with a racket of clanking metal. "I figured you weren't the

Boosters' Club," Han said wryly, making the inspector raise long, skinny arms high. He cautiously poked

at the security chief's lateral folds to make sure he had no hidden weapons there. Keek wriggled. This

close, Han could read Keek's medals. Either these, too, had been obtained secondhand, he thought, or

the inspector was also spelling champ of the planet Oor VII.

"All right, into the forward compartment there. Best behavior now; I've had all the games I'm going to

play today." Entering the forward compartment, Keek gazed without comment at Hissal, who was seated

in an acceleration chair near the bolo-gameboard. The inspector found his own seat by the tech station.

Bollux had seated himself on the curved acceleration couch behind the gameboard. Han rested one hip

on the gleaming gameboard. "Now, what's the hitch? I've got my clearances. The Imperials aren't going

to be too happy about you local enforcers trying to hijack an authorized shipment."

Keek spoke with forced jocularity, "Ah, you scaredy-norg human. Nothing's wrong! The benevolent

Inner Council held an emergency session when word of this transaction reached them and placed all

teaching materials and off world literature on the restricted list. " He waved the beribboned scroll. "I have

here the Edict, which I am to present to you."

"And just who's the flaming Inner Council? Listen, slim, no little slowpoke world alters Imperial trade

agreements. " That he himself had often broken Imperial laws-shattered them to fragments would be

more accurate-was something he chose not to mention.

"We are merely here, my troops and I," Keek replied evenly, "to take temporary custody of the cargo in

question, until a Tion representative and an Imperial adjudicator can be summoned. The arrests were

strictly an internal matter. "

And the Tion representative and the Imperial adjudicator would undoubtedly come with price tags

attached, Han reflected. "So who pays me?"

Keek attempted to smile; he looked preposterous. "Our supply of Imperial currency is depleted just

now, due to repairs to our spacefleet. But our Treasury's note, or our planetary currency-"

"No play money!" Han exploded. "I want my cargo back. And besides, one run-down gunboat is no

spacefleet." "Impossible. The cargo is evidence for the trial of certain

seditionists, one of whom you've been deceived into sheltering. Come, Captain; cooperate, and you'll be

well received here." Keek winked, with effort. "Come! We'll pass intoxicating liquids through our bodies

and boast of our sporting abilities! Let us be jolly and clumsy, as humans love to be!" Han, who hated

being played for a sucker worse than any thing, gritted his teeth. "I told you already, I don't want any of

your homemade cash-"

A sudden thought struck him, and he jumped up. "You want part of my cargo? Keep it! But I'm going to

come across to Hissal with what's left." The security chief seemed amused. "You seek to extort me with

educational materials? Come, Captain; we're both worldly chaps. "

Han ignored Keek's attempt at flattery. Carrying a power prybar, he began breaking packing straps from

a crate on the hand truck. "This is a duplicator, just the thing to set up a college press with. But it's a

top-of-the-line model, and it's versatile. Hissal, I'll take that tip after all."

Confused, Hissal handed over the Brigian currency. Han showed them one of the duplicator's

components. "This is the prototyper; you can program it for what you want or feed it as a sample. Like

this. " He inserted a Brigian bill and punched several buttons. The prototyper whirred, lights blinked, and

the original bill reappeared together with an identical copy. Han held it up to the light, eyeing the duplicate

critically. Keek made choking sounds, comprehending now that the pilot was holding his planet's entire

monetary system hostage.

"Hmm. Not perfect," Han noted, "but if you supplied the machine with local materials, it would work.

And for different serial numbers on each bill you just program that into the machine. That consulting firm

must've been a cutrate operation; they didn't even bother to set up a secure currency." The New Regime

had obviously been the victim of aggressive salesmanship. "Well, Keek, what do you-" Keek had

snapped the end off his scroll's wooden core and pointed it directly at Han, who didn't doubt for a

second that he was looking down the barrel of a gun. "Lay, your pistol on that table, alien primate,"

hissed Keek. "You will now have your automaton take the hand truck and he, you, and the traitor Hissal

will precede me down the ramp." Han gave Bollux the order as he carefully put his blaster on the

gameboard, knowing Keek would shoot him if he tried to warn Chewbacca. But as Keek reached to

take possession of the blaster, Han inconspicuously touched the gameboard's master control. I Miniature

holo-monsters leaped into existence, weird creatures of a dozen worlds, spitting and striking, roaring and

hopping. Keek jumped back in surprise, firing his scrollweapon by reflex. A beam of orange energy

crashed into the board, and the monsters evaporated into nothingness. At the same instant Han, with a

star-pilot's reflexes, threw himself onto the security chief, catching hold of the hand holding the scroll-gun.

He groped for his blaster with his free hand, but Keek's shot had knocked it from the gameboard.

The security chief possessed incredible strength. Not stopped by the pilot's desperate punches, Keek

hurled him halfway across the compartment and brought his weapon around. Just then Hissal landed on

his shoulders, making Keek stagger against the edge of the acceleration couch. The two Brigians

struggled, their arms and legs intertwining like a confusion of snakes. But Keek was stronger than the

smaller Hissal. Bit by bit he brought his weapon around for a shot. Han got back into the fight with a

side-on kick that knocked the scroll aside so that the charge meant for Hissal burned a deep hole in one

of the safety cushions. The scroll-gun was apparently spent, and Keek began to club Hissal with it. Han

tried to clock him, but Keek knocked the pilot to the deck with stunning force, then turned to grapple

with the other Brigian, their feet shuffling and kicking around the downed human. Unable to get around

them and recover his blaster, Han tripped Keek. The inspector sank, taking Hissal with him. Suddenly

the scroll, which Keek had dropped, rolled into Han's palm. As Keek was kneeling over the fallen

Hissal, Han swung the scroll, connecting solidly with the security chief's skull. Keek's lank body shook

with spasms and stiffened. Hissal merely pushed him, and the security chief toppled to the deck. A roar

came from behind them. Chewbacca, seeing his partner unharmed, was visibly relieved. "Where were

you?" Han cried. "He just about put out my running lights!" Rubbing the bruises he had received, Han

recovered his pistol. Hissal, collapsed in an acceleration chair, tried to catch his breath. "This isn't my

usual line of endeavor, Captain. Thank you."

"We're sort of even," Han replied with a laugh. Keek began to stir, and Chewbacca the Wookiee

snatched him to his feet with one hand. Keek, strong as he was, had better sense than to resist an

enraged Wookiee. Han covered Keek's small bud of a nose with the muzzle of his blaster. The security

chief's bulging eyes crossed, watching the weapon. "That little trick of yours wasn't nice, Keek; I hate

sneaks even more than hijackers. I want Hissal's people and my cargo back onboard this ship in five

minutes or else you're going to have the wind whistling through your ears." When Hissal's freed

colleagues and the controversial cargo were back onboard, Han brought Keek to the ramp's head. "The

Empire will hear of this," the Brigian vowed. "It's the death sentence for you. "

"I'll try not to lose sleep over it," Han replied dryly. With the ship's forged papers he had used this trip, he

doubted any law agency would be able to trace him. Moreover this would be, by the preoccupied

Empire's lights, a very minor incident. "And do yourself a favor don't try anything funny when you get

clear. There's nothing on this planet with enough fire power to, take this ship, but you might make me

mad." Keek looked at the other Brigians. "What of them?" Han sounded casual. "Oh, I'll drop them off

somewhere away from the noise and the crowds. It's legal; a spacer can contract for a surface-to-surface

hop if he wants. We're going to take a long orbit, so Hissal can try out his broadcasting rig, hook it into

ship's power systems." Keek was no fool. "With that much altitude and power, he'll be reaching every

receiver on the planet!"

"And what do you think he'll say?" Han asked innocently. "Something about what the New Regime's

pulling? It's nothing to me, of course, but I told you pulling a gun on me would be a mistake. I'd be

thinking about early retirement if I were you." Chewbacca gave the security chief a shove to start him on

his way. Han closed the hatch. "By the way, " he called over to Bollux, "thanks for handing me that scroll

during the fight." The 'droid replied with characteristic modesty "After all, sir, the inspector had said it

was for you. I can only hope there'll be no repercussions, Captain."

"What for?"

"For destabilizing a planetary government to get even for having your ship shot up, sir. "

"Serves them right for cheating!" Han Solo declared.

Part 3

HAN stepped into the sunlight of Rudrig's brief afternoon with the balance of his pay safe in his pocket.

Around him the spires, domes, towers, and other buildings that housed this part of the university stood in

harmony with the lacy flowers, thick-boled trees, and purple lawns. The university made use, in one

fashion or another, of the entire planet. Its vast campuses and housing, recreation, and field training

sectors were scattered over the globe. Students from all over the Tion Hegemony were compelled to

come here or else leave the Tion entirely if they wanted advanced education -of top quality.

Centralization wasn't the best method of offering schooling, Han supposed, but was symptomatic of the

languid, inept Hegemony. He idly studied passers-by for a moment, noting many species flocking

between classes, holding conversations, or playing assorted sports and various instruments. Stepping

gingerly across a broad boulevard between rolling service automata, quiet mass-transit vehicles, and

small groundeffect cargo transporters, he ascended a low access platform and boarded a local passenger

beltway. It zipped him along between huge lecture halls and auditoriums, theaters, administrative

buildings, a clinic, and a variety of classroom configurations. Reading the glowing route markers and

recalling the coordinates he had memorized from a holo-map, he stepped off the beltway again at that

sector's spa, an annex of its sprawling recreation center. He had, just started for the spa when he heard a

voice. "Hey there, Slick!" Han hadn't gone by that nickname in many years. Still, as he turned he kept his

right hand high and near his left lapel. Though the carrying of weapons was prohibited on this quiet r

world, having one, Han's pragmatic philosophy ran, was a risk he was willing to take. His blaster was

suspended slantwise, grip lowermost, under his left armpit and was concealed by his vest.

"Badure! " His right hand moved away from his blaster and closed in a grip on that of the old man who

had called him. He used Badure's own nickname, "Trooper! What are you doing here? " The other was a

big man with a full head of hair going white, a sly squint, and a belly that had come to overlap his belt in

recent years. He stood half a head taller than Han, and his grip made the younger man wince.

Looking for you, son," Badure responded in the gravelly voice Han recalled so well. "You're showing up

good, Han, real good. It must be a Wookiee's age since I've seen you. Which reminds me, how is

Chewie? I was trying to find you two, and they said at the spaceport that the Wook rented a

groundcoach and left word for it to be dropped off here. "Badure -Trooper - was a friend of long

standing, and he seemed to have come on hard times. Han tried not to take notice of his faded, patched

laborer's tunic and trousers or the scuffed and torn work boots. Still, Badure had held on to his old flight

jacket, covered with its unit insignia and theater patches, and his jaunty, sweat-stained beret with its

fighterwing flash. "But how'd you know we were here?"

Badure laughed, his belly rolling. "I keep track of landings and departures, Slick. But in this case I knew

you were coming." Much as he liked this old man, Han was suspicious. "Maybe you'd better tell me

more, Badure." He looked pleased with himself. "How do you think those university types got your

name, son? Not that it doesn't get around as is; I heard about that stunt at the Saheelindeeli airshow - and

some rumors from out in the Corporate Sector, and something about water smuggled down the Rampa

Rapids. I was here tracking down a few things on my own and heard someone was asking about capable

skippers and fast ships. I passed your name along. But before we go into that, shouldn't you be saying

hello to my business partner here?" Han had been so preoccupied that he had ignored the person

standing beside Badure. Chiding himself silently for this unusual lapse in caution, he looked her over. The

girl was short and slender, not long into womanhood, with a pale face and disorderly red hair that hung

limply. Her brows and lashes were so light that they scarcely showed. She wore a drab, baggy brown

outfit of pullover and pants, and her shoes appeared to be a size too large. Her hands had seen hard

work. Han had met many men and women just like her, each bearing the stamp of the factory drone or

mining-camp worker, lowest-echelon tech or other toiler. She in turn studied him with no approval

whatsoever. "This is Hasti," Badure said. "She already knows your name." Indicating the flow of beings

moving around them to and from the busy spa, he gestured that they continue toward the entrance. Han

acceded, moving slowly, but a sideways slide of the older man's eyes confirmed something. "What do I

watch for?" he inquired simply. Badure laughed and said, more to himself than to Han or Hasti, "Same

old Han Solo, a one-man sensor suite. " Han's thoughts were on Badure. The man had been his friend

many years before and his partner on various enterprises a number of times since. Once, in an

uncomfortable situation stemming from an abortive Kessel spice run, Badure, had saved both Han's and

Chewbacca's lives. That he should have sought them out here could mean only one thing.

"I won't waste your time, kid," Badure said. "There are some that would like to see my hide hung out to

dry. I need a ship with punch, and gait to spare, and a skipper I can trust." Han realized that Badure

wasn't going to be first to mention the life-debt the two partners owed him. "You want us to put our

necks in the slot for you, is that it? Trooper, saving someone's life doesn't give you the right to risk it

again. We're finally ahead of the game; do we owe it all out again this soon?" Badure countered in neutral

tones. "You're answering for the Wook, too, Han?"

"Chewie'll see it my way." If I have to reason with him with a wrench! Hasti joined the conversation for

the first time. "Now are you satisfied, Badure?" she asked bitterly. The old man hushed her gently. To

Han he went on, "I'm not asking you two to work for nothing. There'd be a cut-"

"The thing is, we're flush. Uh, in fact, we can cut some loose to see you through for a while."

He felt he had gone too far and thought for a moment that Badure was going to swing at him. The old

man had made and spent a number of fortunes and had always been openhanded to his friends; but the

offer of charity to himself had the ring of an insult. Favoring Han with a venomous look, Hasti put a hand

on Badure's arm. "We're wasting time; our luggage is still at the district hostelry. "

"Clear skies, Han," Badure said in a quiet voice, "and to the Wook as well. "

Han gazed after the two long after they had disappeared on a passenger beltway.

Determined to put the incident out of his mind, he entered the spa. It offered specific creature comforts to

a huge variety of human, humanoid, and nonhumanoid species. There were zero-gee massagers, ozone

chambers, effluvial rinses, and many other options for humans; mud tanks for visiting Draflago; dermal

autostrippers to service a Lisst'n or Pui-Ui; gillflushes for any of a number of piscine or amphibian life

forms; and as many other ablutive and restorative amenities as could be packed into the huge complex.

Inquiring at the central information area, Han discovered that Chewbacca was still enjoying the pleasures

of a fullservice grooming. Han himself had meant to take a leisurely cycle of soaking, sauna, massage, and

pore cleansing, followed by a visit to the tonsorial center. But his encounter with Badure and Hasti left

him feeling in need of a more active and distracting program. He undressed in a private booth, storing gun

and other valuables in a lockbox and feeding his pleated dress shirt, clothes, and boots to an autovalet.

Then he dropped several coins into the slot of an omniron and stepped inside, keying s it for maximum

treatment. In fifteen-second cycles icy water sprayed at him, sonics vibrated his skin and flesh, waves of

heat lashed and nearly seared him, needle-streams of biodetergents lathered him, walls of swirling foam

broke and surged through the cubicle, air nozzles hosed their blasts, and emollients were rubbed on him

by vigorous autoapplicators. He withstood the brunt of these processes and took on more cycles, finding

he couldn't shake the image of Badure. Telling himself he had done the shrewd thing did no more to

improve his state of mind than did the elaborate bubble bath he was taking, he concluded. So he

terminated the omniron's program short of its allotted time, recovered his cleaned clothing and shined

boots from the autovalet, donned his blaster, and resettled his vest. Then he set off to find his partner.

Chewbacca was in the portion of the spa reserved for its more hirsute clientele. Following the light-strip

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Star Wars - [Han Solo Adventures 03] - Han Solo and the Lost Legacy (by Brian Daley)

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