Star Wars - [Han Solo 02] - Hutt Gambit (by A C Crispin)

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Han Solo Book 2

The Hutt Gambit

Han Solo, former Imperial officer, sat despondently at a sticky table in a dingy bar on Devaron, sipping

an infe-rior Alderaanian ale and wishing he were alone. Not that he minded the other denizens of the bar

horned Devish males and furry Devish females, plus a smattering of nonhumans from other worlds. Han

was used to aliens; hed grown up with them aboard Trader Luck, a large trading ship that wandered the

spacelanes of the galaxy. By the time he was ten, Han had been able to speak and un-derstand half a

dozen nonhuman languages.

No, it wasnt the aliens around him. It was the alien beside him. Han took a swig of his ale, grimaced at

the sour taste, then glanced sidelong at the cause of all his troubles. The huge, hairy being gazed back at

him with concerned blue eyes. Han sighed heavily. If onhj hed go home! But the

Wookiee---Chew-something-utterly refused to go home to Kashyyyk, despite Hans repeated urging.

The alien claimed he owed something called a life debt to former Imperial Lieutenant Han Solo.

Life debt . . . great. Just what I need, Han thought bit-terly. A big furry nursemaid trailing after me, giving

me advice, fussing over me if I drink too much, telling me he gonna take care of me. Great. Just great.

Han scowled into his ale, and the pale, watery brew reflected his countenance back at him, distorting his

fea-tures until he appeared nearly as alien as the Wookiee. What was his name? Chew-something. The

Wookiee had told him, but Han wasnt good at pronouncing Wookiee, even though he understood it

perfectly.

Besides, he didnt want to learn this particular Wookiees name. If he learned his name, hed likely never

get rid of his hairy shadow.

Hah rubbed a hand over his face blearily, feeling several days stubble. Ever since hed been kicked out of

the ser-vice, he kept forgetting to shave. When hed been a cadet, then a junior lieutenant, then a full

lieutenant, hed been meticulous with his grooming, the way an officer and a gentleman should be . . . but

now . . . what difference did it make?

Han raised his glass in a slightly unsteady hand and gulped the sour ale. He put the empty tankard down,

and glanced around the bar for the server. Need another drink. One more, and Ill feel much better. Just

one more . . .

The Wookiee moaned quietly. Hans scowl deepened. Keep your opinions to yourself, hairball, he

snarled. Ill know when Ive had enough. Th las thing I need is a Wookiee playin nursemaid for me.

The Wookiee-Chewbacca, that was it-growled softly, his blue eyes shadowed with concern. Hans lip

curled. Im perfectly capable of lookin after myself, and dont you forget it. Just cause I saved your furry

butt from being vaporized doesnt mean you owe me a thing. I tol you before-I owed a Wookiee, long

ago. Owed her my life, coupla times over. So I saved you, cause I owed her.

Chewbacca made a sound halfway between a moan and a snarl. Han shook his head. No, that means

you dont owe me a thing, dont you get it? I owed her, but I couldnt repay her. So I helped you out,

which makes us even . . . square. So will you please take those credits I gave you, and go back to

Kashyyyk? You aint doin me any favors staying here, hairball. I need you like I need a blaster burn on

my butt.

Affronted, Chewbacca drew himself up to his full Wookiee height. He growled low in his throat.

Yeah, I know I tossed away my career and my livin that day on Coruscant when I stopped Commander

Nyklas from shootin you. I hate slavery, and watchin Nyklas use a force whip aint a particularly

appetizing sight. I know Wookiees, you see. When I was growin up, a Wookiee was my best friend. I

knew you were gonna turn on Nyklas before you did it-just like I knew Nyklas would go for his blaster.

I couldnt just stand there and watch him blast you. But dont go tryin to make me out as some kinda hero,

Chewie. I dont need a partner, and I dont want a friend. My name says it all, pal. Solo.

Han jerked a thumb at his chest. Solo. In my language, that means me, alone, by myself. Get it? Thats the

way it is, and thats the way I like it. So . . . no offense, Chewie, but why dont you just scram. As in, go

away. Perma-nently.

Chewie stared at Han for a long moment, then he snorted disdainfully, turned, and strode out of the bar.

Hah wondered disinterestedly if hed actually managed to convince the big hairy oaf to leave for good. If

he had, that was reason for celebration. For another drink . . .

As he glanced around the bar, he saw that over in the corner several patrons were gathering around a

table. A sabacx game was forming. Han wondered whether he ought to try to get in on it. Mentally he

reviewed the con-tents of his credit pouch, and decided that might not be a bad idea. He usually had very

good luck at sabace, and every credit counted, these days. These days . . .

Han sighed. How long had it been since that fateful day when hed been sent to assist Commander Nyklas

with the crew of Wookiee laborers assigned to complete a new wing on the Imperial Hall of Heroes? He

counted, grimacing as he realized that hed lost days on end in there . . . days probably spent in a dark

haze of ale and bitter recrimina-tion. In two days it would be two months.

Hans mouth tightened and he ran an unsteady hand through his unruly brown hair. For the past five years

hed kept it cut short in approved military fashion, but now it was growing out, getting almost shaggy. He

had a sudden, sharp mental image of himself as hed been then-immacu-lately groomed, insignia polished,

boots shining-and glanced down at himself.

What a contrast between then and now. He was wearing a stained, grayish shirt that had Once been

white, a stained, gray neo-leather jacket hed purchased secondhand, and dark blue military-style trousers

with his Corellian blood-stripe running down the outside seam. Only the boots were the same. They were

custom-fitted when each cadet was commissioned, so the Empire hadnt wanted them back. Han had

been commissioned just a little over eight months ago, and no junior lieutenant had ever been prouder of

his rank-or of those shining boots.

The boots were scuffed now, and worn. Hans lip curled as he regarded them. Scuffed and worn by life,

all the spit and polish gone . . . that about described him these days, tOO.

In a moment of painful honesty, Han admitted that he probably wouldnt have been able to stay in the

Imperial Navy even if he hadnt gotten himself cashiered for rescu-ing and freeing Chewbacca. Hed

started his career with high hopes, but disillusionment had quickly set in. The prejudice against

nonhumans had been hard to take for someone raised the way Han had been, but hed bitten his tongue

and remained silent. But the endless, silly bureau-cratic regs, the blind stupidity of so many of the

officers-

Hah had already begun to wonder how long hed be able to take it.

But hed never figured on a dishonorable discharge, loss of pension and back pay, and worst of all-being

black-listed as a pilot. They hadnt taken his license, but Han had quickly discovered that no legitimate

company would hire him. Hed tramped the permacrete of Coruscant for weeks, in between alcoholic

binges, looking for work and found all respectable doors closed to him.

Then, one night, as hed taveru-hopped in a section of the planet-wide city near the alien ghetto, a huge,

furred shadow had flowed out of the deeper shadows of an alley and confronted Han.

For long moments Hans ale-fogged brain hadnt even recognized the Wookiee as the one hed saved. It

was only when Chewbacca began speaking, thanking Han for saving his life and freeing him from slavery,

that Han had realized who he was. Chewie had been quite direct his people didnt mince words. He,

Chewbacca, had sworn a life debt to Han Solo. Where Han went, from that day forward, he would go,

too.

And he had.

When Han had finally gotten them passage off Corus-cant, piloting a ship with a load of contraband to

Tralus (the cargo had been magnetically sealed into the hold-Han hadnt had the equipment or the energy

to break in and find out exactly what it was he was smuggling), Chewbacca had gone with him. On the

week-long voyage, Han began teaching the Wookiee the rudiments of piloting. Space travel was boring,

and at least that gave him something to do besides brood over lost futures . . .

Once on Tralus, he turned over his ship and cargo, then went looking for another assignment. He wound

up at Truthful Toryls Used Spaceship lt, asking the Duros for work. Toryl was an old acquaintance, and

he knew Hah was a reliable and expert pilot.

The Empire was tightening its grip all the time, taking away the rights of its worlds as well as its citizens.

Duro had a shipbuilding industry nearly equal to that of CoreIlia, but they had recently been prohibited by

Imperial direetive from placing weapons systems in their ships. Hans clandes-tine cargo proved to be a

shipment of components useful in outfitting ships with weapons.

By the time they reached Duro, Chewie was becoming a fair copilot and gunner. Han hoped that teaching

the Wookiee these skills would make it easier to get rid of him on some world. If he knew the Wookiee

could hire on as a skilled pilot or copilot, he wouldnt hesitate to dump him in some port and then lift

ship-or so Han told himself.

Once on Duro, Han drank up some of the profits from his mission, while waiting to be contacted for

another pilot-ing job. His patience was rewarded one day when a Sullus-tan approached him and offered

him good pay to take a ship from Duro, avoiding any Imperial ports of call, a third of the way across the

galaxy to Kothlis, a Bothan colony wodd.

Of course the sleek, swift little craft was hot-stolen from some wealthy owners landing pad. Han had to

re-mind himself that he was no longer in the business of keep-ing the law he was in the busine ss of

breaking it.

So he set his jaw and piloted the stolen vessel to her new home on Kothlis. Then he went looking for

another assign-ment, and eventually found one. On the surface, this job seemed legit. Hah was to ferry a

large halargon from Koth-lis to Devaron.

Han had never heard of a nalargon before, which wasnt surprising, as his exposure to music had been

limited. A nalargon proved to be a very large instrument that was operated by a keyboard and foot

pedals. Pipes and sub-harmonic resonance generators produced sound on many wave bands. The

instruments were in demand for the jizz craze that was sweeping the galaxy.

Accordingly, the huge instrument was brought aboard the ship Han had been assigned, bolted to the

deck, then left sealed in the cargo compartment.

Han investigated the instrument once he and Chewie were safely in hyperspace. He tapped it, poked and

nudged it, turned it on, then tried pressing the keys and pedals. No sound, except the sound he made

trying to make it work.

But his tappings proved it wasnt hollow. Han sat back on his heels, gazing at the huge instrument. The

thing was obviously a dummy-a shell, with something inside. What?

Han knew from his stint in the Imperial Navy that Devaron was a world in turmoil. Not long ago a group

of rebels had risen against the Imperial governor, demanding independence from the Empire. Hans lip

curled disdain-fully. Stupid fools, thinking they had a chance against the Empire. Seven hundred of the

rebels had been captured when the ancient holy city of Montellian Serat had been overrun by Imperial

troops a few months ago. Theyd been summarily executed without trial, killed without mercy. The

remaining rebels were still hiding out in the hills, hold-ing out, attacking commando fashion, but Han knew

it was only a matter of time before they, too, would be ground beneath Palpatines heel, their world rigidly

controlled by the Empire, as so many other worlds had been.

Eyeing the nalargon, Hah made some mental calcula-tions based on the instrument being hollow. Yeah . .

. a short-bore mobile laser cannon would just about fit inside that shell. The weapon could be mounted

on the back of a landskimmer, and was capable of blowing small targets-a building, or a short-range

Imperial fighter-into very small pieces.

It could also be blast rifles, of course. Ten or fifteen would fit inside there, if they were cleverly packed.

Whatever was inside the nalargon, Han had a bad feel-ing about the assignment hed taken on. He

resolved to land the ship, then walk away from it and not go back. He had fake landing codes, provided

by the Bothans. Hed use them, and then get away as quickly as he could . . .

Hed landed yesterday, and for all Han knew, the ship was still sitting on the field with the nalargon in her

cargo hold. But he had a hunch that the rebels on Devaron hadnt wasted any time . . .

Han shook his head a little blearily, half wishing he hadnt had that last ale. The sour taste was still in his

mouth, and his head bused. Han looked from side to side, testingly, and the room stayed still. Good. He

wasnt too drunk to play sabacc and win. Let get on with it, Solo. Every little credit helps . . .

The smuggler rose to his feet and strolled quite steadily across the room to the table. Greetings, gentles,

he said, in Basic. Got room for another player?

The dealer, a Devaronian male, turned his head with its waxed, polished horus to regard Hah

questioningly. He must have decided that the newcomer looked okay, be-cause he shrugged and

gestured at the vacant seat. Wel-come, Pilot. As long as your credits hold out, so does your welcome.

He grinned, showing sharp, feral teeth. Han nodded, then slid into the seat.

Hed first learned to play sabacc when he was about fourteen. Han anted credits into the high-stakes pot,

the sabacc pot, then picked up the two cards hed been dealt and scanned them, all the while covertly

studying his oppo-nents. When the bet for the hand pot came round to him, he tossed the requisite

number of credit disks into that pot, too.

Han had the six of staves and the Queen of Air and Darkness, but at any moment the dealer could push a

but-ton, and all the card-values would change. Han eyed his opponents a tiny Sullustan, a furry

Devaronian female, the Devaronian male dealer, and a huge female Barabel, a rep-tiloid being from

Barab One. This was the first time Han had seen a Barabel up close, and she was an impressive sight.

Over two meters tall, covered with tough black scales that would repel even a stun blast, the Barabel had

a mouthful of daggedike teeth and a clublike tail that report-edly made them nasty customers in a fight.

This one, who had introduced herself as Shallamar, seemed peaceful enough, though. She picked up the

newest card-chip shed been dealt and studied her hand intently through narrowed slit-pupiled eyes.

The object of sabacc was to get cards to equal, but not exceed, the number twenty-three-either positive

or nega-tive. In case of a tie, positive totals beat negatives.

At the moment the cards in Hans hand had a numerical value of positive four. The Queen of Air and

Darkness had a value of minus two. Han could throw that card into the interference field, which would

freeze its value, then hope to get the Idiot and a card with the face value of three. Since the Idiot had a

value of zero, this would give him an Idiots Array, which would beat even a pure sabacc . . . that is,

cards whose value added up to either positive or negative twenty-three.

As Han hesitated, gazing at his Queen, the card-chips rippled and altered. His Queen was now the

Master of sabers. The six of sabers had become the eight of flasks. His total was . . . positive

twenty-two. He waited while the other players examined their card-chips. The Barabel, the female

Devaronian, and the dealer threw in their hands disgustedly-theyd bombed out by exceeding

twenty-three.

The Sullustan raised the bet, which Han matched and raised. I call, the little alien said, laying down his

card-chips with a flourish. Twenty, he announced.

Han grinned and put down his own. Twenty-two, he announced casually, laying down his own hand.

Afraid that hand pots mine, pal.

The other players grumbled a bit as he scooped up their money. The Barabel female hissed and gave him

a look that could have melted titanium, but said nothing.

The Sullustan took the next hand, and the Devaronian dealer the one that followed. Hah eyed the

growing sabacc pot, and decided to try to go for the bigger payoff.

They continued to play for several more hands. Han won the hand pot again, but nobody had gotten the

sabacc pot. Han tossed the three of coins and the Idiot into the inter-ference field, and his luck held the

very next change of cards left him holding the two of flasks.

Idiots Array . . . Han said casually, tossing the two down next to the other two cards in the interference

field. The sabacc pot is mine, ladies and gentlemen . . .

He bent forward to scoop up the pot, and the Barabel female let out a roar. Cheater! Hes got a skifter,

he must have! No one can be so lucky!

Hah sat back and stared at her, outraged. He had cheated at sabacc plenty of times, using skifters-cards

that would assume different values when their edges were tapped and in other ways. But this time hed

won fair and square!

You can take your accusations and stick em in your ear! the Corellian burst out indignantly. Of course

the Barabel didnt have any visible ears, but his meaning wasnt lost on her. Dropping his right hand down

to his thigh, he silently unsnapped the strap on the top of his holster. Shak-ing his head vehemently, he

added, I wasnt cheating! You were just outplayed, sister!

Left-handed, Han reached across the table, grabbed a fistful of credits, and stuffed them into his pocket.

Nobody moved or spoke, so he reached for the remaining handful. In a blur of reddish fur, the

Devaronian females hand shot out, grabbed his wrist, and pinned it to the table. Maybe Shallamar is right,

she said, in strongly accented Basic. We should search him to make sure.

Han glared at her. Take your hands off me, he said very quietly. Or Ill make you really sorry.

Something in his eyes and voice must have impressed her, because she let go of him and stepped back.

Coward! Shallamar snarled at the Devaronian. Hes just a puny human!

The Devaronian shook her head and backed away, indi-cating that she wanted no further part in the

conflict.

Han smiled smugly as he reached for the last of the card-chips. Seeing that smile, the Barabel roared

again. One armored, sharp-taloned hand came sweeping down in a mighty blow that smashed the table in

two, sending board, credits, and card-chips flying. Shading, she ad-vanced on Han. No! Im going to bite

your head off, cheater! Well see how good you are then !

Han took one look at her gaping maw, realizing that she was big enough to make good on her threat, and

went for his blaster. His right hand dropped to his thigh with blur-ring speed, then the well-worn grip was

there, nestled against his palm.

His hand, still moving with extraordinary speed, started back up as he began his draw-

----only to stop short when the blaster hung up in the holster!

Han had barely a second to realize that the blasters front sight, mounted on the end of the barrel, was

caught at the bottom of his holster. He tugged, trying to free his weapon.

The Barabel leaped for him. Han jumped back, but not

far enough. Shallamars huge, sharp talons grabbed the

front of his jacket, slashing the tough material as though it

were tissue. Still yanking at his trapped blaster, Han was

hauled toward the Barabels wide-open mouth so fast his

vision blurred. He let out a choked gasp as a blast of hot,

reeking reptiloid breath engulfed him.

Suddenly Han glimpsed a blur of brownish tan at the comer of his vision, just as a huge roar nearly

deafened him. A long, furred arm snaked around Shallamars neck, jerking her back, away from Han.

Chewie! Hah yelled. Hed never been so glad to see someone in his life.

The Barabel roared hack at the Wookiee, dropping the Corellian as she swung around to grapple with

her attacker.

Hold her for a second, Chewie! Han yelled, yanking at the bottom of his holster as he twisted the grip of

his blaster. At last! He pulled it up and sighted at the Barabel as she wrestled with the Wookiee, but he

couldnt get a dear shot.

The two huge beings, snarling and hissing, rampaged across the room, knocking over tables and chairs.

The other sabacc players and denizens of the bar scattered before the fray, screaming advice and curses

in multiple languages. The Sullustan sabacc player dropped his hand to his own blaster, but when he saw

that Han was now armed, he turned and flung himself behind the bar.

Shallamar and Chewbacca swayed back and forth, locked in a grim parody of a loving embrace, each

testing the others strength, trying to get each other off balance. Chewie, cmon! Hah yelled. Lets get outta

here!

Chewbacca and Shallamar whirled in a blur of brown fur and black scales, then Shallamar lowered her

head and snapped at the Wookiees arm. Her needle-sharp teeth sheared off a chunk of fur and meat.

The Wookiee roared in agony and, with a burst of strength, grabbed the Barabels arm and slung her

around with dizzying speed, so fast that her feet slid out from under her. As she went down, Chewie also

grabbed her tail, swinging her so hard she was airborne.

With a final howl of triumph, CheWbaca released his grip and sent the huge reptiloid flying across the

room, while sentients scattered to avoid her trajectory. Shallamar landed on her back amid a ruin of

chairs, tables, and sabacc card-chips.

Stun wont work, dont want to kiU-a jumble of thoughts raced through Hans mind as he thumbed the

setting on the blaster, aimed, and fired at the dazed Shal-lamar, hitting her at half force just below one

huge knee joint. She hissed in pain and sagged back, black scales smoking and steaming.

Chewie, cmon! Han yelled, snapping off a stun shot at the sabacc dealer, who was aiming a blaster at the

Wookiee. The Devaronian went down without a sound. Chewie, drip-ping blood, was right behind Han

as they raced for the exit, knocking over chairs and tables.

The tavems owner, a Devaronian female, blocked his way, screaming curses and threats, but Hah

slapped her aside with the barrel of his blaster and kept running. He slammed the door with his shoulder,

then bounced off. Locked!

Swearing in six nonhuman languages, Hall thumbed the indicator on his weapon up to its highest power,

and blasted the door. The proprietor howled in protest, but tile Corellian and the Wookiee were already

gone.

Hah and Chewbacca pelted down the squalid alley, then swung out onto the street with its rustic-looking

buildings made of blue native wood and stuccoed permacrete. A chilly breeze made the Corellian shiver.

It was early spring here on Devarons souill polar continent.

Hah quickly holstered his blaster as he dropped his pace to a fast walk. Hows the arm, pal?

Chewie groaned, ending in a shad. Han glanced down at the damage. Well, it was your choice to come

back, he pointed out. Not that Im sorry you did, mind you. I . . . I want to say . . . uh . . . thanks for

saving my rear.

The Wookiee made an interrogatory sound. Han shrugged. Well, sure, I guess . . . he mumbled. Ive

never had a partner before, but . . . yeah, why not? It can get kinda boring on long space flights without

someone to talk to, I guess.

Chewie rumbled with satisfaction, despite his pain. Dont push your luck, Han said dryly. Listen, we got

to get that arm seen to. Theres a med droids clinic across the street. Lets go.

An hour later the two were back on the street. Chewies arm, after a bacta treatment, was sheathed in a

protective bandage, but the med droid had assured them that Wookiees were quick healers.

The Wookiee had just finished commenting that he was hungry, when Hah heard a soft call from the

shelter of a nearby doorway. Pilot Solo . . .

Han stopped in his tracks and looked over to find a Duros male beckoning to him. He glanced from side

to side, but the Devaronian street scene was quiet and peace-ful. This section near the town square was

reserved for pedestrian traffic. Yeah? he replied, in a low voice.

The blue-skinned Duros motioned for Han to follow him into a nearby alley. The Corellian walked to the

mouth, turned the corner, then stood with his back against the wall, hand on the grip of his blaster. Okay,

this is as far as I go without knowing what you want.

The Duros mournful expression lengthened even far-ther. You are not a trusting sentient, Pilot Solo. I

was referred to you by a mutual friend, Truthful Tory[ He said you are an excellent pilot.

Han relaxed slightly, but didnt take his hand off his gun. Im good, all right, he said. If Truthful Toryl sent

you . . . prove it.

The Duros gazed straight at him with calm, moonstone-colored eyes. He said I was to tell you that the

Talisman you brought him is no more.

Han relaxed and took his hand off his weapon. Okay, youve convinced me he sent you, he said. State

your business.

I need a ship delivered to Nar Hekka, in the Hutt sys-tem, the Duros said. I am willing to pay well . . .

but, Pilot Solo, you must not allow Imperials to board her should you run into any patrols.

Han sighed. More intrigues. But the Duross offer inter-ested him. Hed been planning all along to

eventually make his way to Nar Shaddaa, the Smugglers Moon that or-bited Nal Hutta. Now would be

as good a time as any. From Nar Hekka, he could easily catch a ship to Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa.

Tell me more, he said.

Only if you can raise ship within two hours, the Duros said. If not, tell me, and I will look elsewhere for a

pilot.

Han considered for a moment. Well... I could maybe change my plans . . . for the right price.

The Duros named a figure, then added, And the same sum upon delivery.

Hah snorted, then shook his head, though inwardly he was surprised at how high the initial bid was.

Cmon, Chewie, he said, weve got places to go, people to see. Too quickly, the Duros named another,

higher sum. This guy must really be desperate, Han thought as he pretended to hesitate for a beat. He

shook his head. I dunno . . . its not worth my butt if the Imperials are lookin for this ship of yours. Whats

she carrying?

The Duross expression did not change. That I cannot tell you. But I will tell you that if you deliver the ship

and its contents safely to Tagta the Hutt, he will be pleased, and pleasing a Hutt Lord is generally

considered to he a good thing for ones financial well-being. Tagta is Jiliac the Hutts highest-ranking

subordinate on Nar Hekka.

Hans ears pricked up. Jiliac the Hutt was a very high-ranking Hutt Lord indeed. Maybe this Tagta would

give him a recommendation to the boss . . .

Hmmmmmmmm . . . Han scratched his head, then named a sum. And all in advance, he added.

The Duross pale blue skin seemed to grow even paler, but then he nodded. Very well as to tile sum, but

half up front. You will receive the rest from Tagta, Pilot Solo.

Hah considered, then nodded. Okay, youve got your-self a deal. Chewie-he turned to address the

Wookiee, who was hovering nearby, listening intently-go on back to that lockbox where we left our stuff

and get it, will you, while I conclude my business with our friend here? The Wookiee rumbled a soft

assent.

Thanks. Ill meet you on the north side of the town square in an hour, okay?

Chewbacca nodded and moved off down the street.

Han walked closer to the Duros, and said, Okay, youve got yourself a pilot. Well raise ship within two

hours. Fill me in on the rest of it. Where do I find this Tagta the Hutt?

Within minutes Han had all the details. The Duros handed over a sheaf of credit vouchers, gave him the

ships security code, and the location of the vessel. Then the blue-skinned alien melted away into the

dimness of the alley.

Han had a couple of minutes to kill, so he grabbed a quick bite at the cafe next door. He had to argue

with the Devish female chef to get her to cook his meat. But it was worth it. The food drowned the last of

the ale-induced muzziness. Clearheaded, his energy renewed, Hah felt con-siderably cheered.

On his way to the town square, he stopped off at a secondhand shop that catered to spacers of all

species. There he bought a beat-up black lizard-hide jacket to re-place the one the Barabel had

shredded. Respectably clothed again, he started up the street toward his rendez-vous with Chewbacca.

Hah knew something was up long before he reached the town square. The sound of a huge crowd was

unmistakable. They seemed to be shouting in unison. The skin at the back of Hans neck prickled

suddenly as he realized that there was something familiar about those words. They werent in Basic, but

hed heard those simple, repetitious phrases be-fore.

But where?

Ive got a bad feeling about this . . . he thought, turn-ing the corner and seeing the crowd. They were

chanting. Chanting, swaying, rocking with religious fervor. Mostly Devaronians, of course, but there were

a smattering of hu-mans and other sentients. Hans gaze raked the crowd, fol-lowing it to the front. A

hastily erected dais stood there, and atop it, leading the revival, stood a figure out of Hans past.

Oh, no.t he thought. This is a Ylesian revival, and that missionary is Veratil! I cant let him see me!

Five years ago, Han had spent almost six months on the steaming, fungus-infested wodd of Ylesia. Hed

been work-ing as a pilot before taking the examinations to get into the Academy, practicing and honing

his piloting skills. Ylesia was a world at the edge of Hutt space, whe re a race of beings called the tlanda

Til-distant cousins of the Hutts- offered pilgrims supposed religious sanctuary.

The tlanda Til sent missionaries to many worlds to preach about the One and the All. Han had known

that for years, but hed never been unlucky enough to run into a Ylesian revival before now.

For a wild moment the Corellian wanted to draw his blaster, shoot Veratil down, and yell to the

assembled crowd of potential pilgrims, Go home! Its all a big fake! They just want you so they can

enslave you, you fools! Get out of here!

But how could he make them believe him? To most sentients in the galaxy, Ylesia was perceived as a

place of religious retreat, where the faithful gathered, and those wishing to hide from their pasts could find

sanctuary.

The fact that the Ylesian sanctuary would turn out to be a trap was known only to the lucky few like

Han- whod managed to escape. No doubt Veratil had a transport standing by to load the pilgrims on

board. Unfortunate sen-tients who followed him would have no idea that their voy-age to Ylesia would

lead only to slavery in the spice factories, then, when they grew too weak or sick to work, theyd face

death in the spice mines of Kessel. Ylesia was a golden dream for the faithful, but the reality was a world

of bondage and unending toil.

Teroenza, Veratils boss, was the High Priest of Ylesia. Before fleeing the colony, Han had robbed the

tlanda Til leader of the most valuable pieces in a rare and extensive collection. Hed left Teroenza

wounded, but alive.

Han had escaped Ylesia in Teroenzas personal yacht, the Talisman. Soon after his getaway, Han

discovered that the tlanda Til and their Hutt overlords had placed a fat bounty on the head of Vykk

Draygo-Hans alias. Han had to change his identity, even his retina/patterns, to es-cape detection and

capture.

Now, seeing Veratil, Han ducked his head and turned away, wishing he had a hood he could pull up to

hide his face. If the Sacredot saw him and recognized him, Hah knew that he was in for it.

The chanting surrounding him intensified. Han began to sweat, despite the chill of the Devaronian

weather, because he knew what was coming.

Across the town square, he saw a tall, furred shape standing on the edge of the crowd, watching the

ceremony curiously. Chewie! Cant let him get drawn into this/The Exultation is going to come in just a

couple of minutes!

Han plunged into the crowd, keeping his head ducked, fighting his way through the throng as he would

have clawed his way through a heavy surf. He was breathing hard and his elbows and ribs ached by the

time he reached the Wookiee. Chewie! he yelled, grabbing the big sen-tient by the arm. Lets get outta

here! This is gonna turn into a mob scene any second now!

The Wookiee whined inquiringly. Never mind how I knowF Han yelled above the chanting. I just know!

Trust me!

Chewbacca nodded and turned away, using his huge size to part the crowd before him. Han started to

follow him, then something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head. A gleam . . . a gleam of

reddish gold on a stray curl.

Hah caught just a glimpse of her, but his whole mind and body jolted to a stop as though hed slammed

into a stone wall while running at top speed. Bria? Bria!

He caught only that one brief glimpse of a pale, perfect profile and a stray reddish-blond curl, but it was

enough. She was standing there, wearing a black cloak and hood, in this crowd.

Memories came surging back, so strong that they scared him . . .

Bria, a pale ghost of a slave in the spice factories of Ylesia. Bria, scared but determined as they robbed

Ter-oenza of his treamtres. Bria, sitting beside him on a golden sand beach on Togoria, her mouth soft

and red and just begging to be kissed Bria, lying in his arms late at night . . .

Bria, who had left him behind, saying she needed to fight her addiction w the tlanda Til Exultation by

herself...

Han had spent the past five years convincing himself that hed forgotten her. After four years in the

Imperial Academy, plus nearly a year of commissioned service, hed been convinced that he no longer

cared. But now, in a single searing blaze of insight, Hah Solo knew hed been lying to himself.

Without hesitating, he turned and plunged back into the crowd, heading for the woman in the black

cloak. He was halfway there when the Exultation hit the crowd, and the throng of sentients collapsed

onto the cobblestones of the town square as though theyd been stun-blasted.

Han had forgotten how strong the Exultation was. Waves of intense pleasure rolled through his mind as

well as his body. No wonder the Ylesian pilgrims thought the tlanda Til were Divinely Gifted! Even

knowing, as Han did, that the Exultation was caused by an empathic trans-mission coupled with a

subsonic vibration that caused a wave of pleasure that acted on the brains of most bipedal sentients, Han

had to brace himself to resist it.

He knew without seeing it that the pouch beneath Vera-tils chin had swelled, and that the Sacredot was

hum-ming those vibrations as he concentrated on warm, positive emotions. To anyone unprepared for the

force of the Exultation, the effect was as intoxicating as any pleasure drug. The ability to produce the

Exultation was one that all tlanda Til males shared-it was actually a sex-linked bio-logical ability they

possessed that, in their natural habitat, was used to attract tlanda Til females.

All around Han the crowd had fallen prone, and most of the sentients were writhing in pleasure. The sight

sickened Han. Hed shaken off the effects of the Exultation now, and he concentrated on not stepping on

bodies as he plunged toward the woman in the black cloak and hood. He could no longer see her face or

that betraying tendril of hair.

His fingers remembered the soft silkiness of that hair . . he used to play with Brias curls, watching them

cap-ture the light, bringing the reddish gold to vibrant life . . .

The woman in the black cloak and hood disappeared behind a stone bench as the crowd heaved in a

wave of ecstasy from the Exultation. Han swallowed hard. Bria had left him because she was addicted to

the Exultation. Was that where shed been for the past five years? A willing slave on Ylesia, bound to her

tlanda Til masters because she needed her daily dose of pleasure? Funny . . . hed thought Bria had more

strength than that . . .

Han reached the stone bench, then stopped, staring around him. The woman in the black cloak was

nowhere in sight. Whered she go? Bria/ Han thought, staring around him wildly. Froin all sides he could

hear the gasps and moans of the crowd filling the air.

He jumped up on the bench, straining his eyes, trying to pick up and, trace of the woman in the black

cloak. Han only realized what a terrible mistake hed made when he found himself staring across the

crowd, straight into the eyes of Veratil.

The huge, four-legged creature with the tiny arms and the broad, single-horned head was staring back at

him, his small, reddish eyes wide with surprise.

The Corellian had no doubt that Veratil had just recog-nized him as Vykk Draygo, the man whod

wrecked the glitterstim factory, stolen Teroenzas treasure, and caused the death of the Ylesian Hutt

overlord, Zavval.

All around Hah the moans of pleasure suddenly altered into cries of dismay and loss Veratils attention

had been diverted, and the Exultation had come to an abrupt, jarring halt.

Some of the throng wailed aloud, others jerked convul-sively. Still others dragged themselves to their feet

with cries of distress and anger. Han ducked his head and bolted forward, determined to lose himself in

the crowd And then, ahead of him, he caught a glimpse of black. Bria!

Forgetting Veratil, forgetting the danger he was in, Han plunged forward, slamming into would-be

pilgrims, trip-ping over feet, elbowing his fellow sentients aside. Bria! he yelled. Stop!

Putting on a burst of speed, Han reached the edge of the crowd. The woman was running now, but Han

was moving at top speed and he caught her in a dozen swift strides.

Reaching out, he managed to grab the black fabric, yank her to a halt, then he grabbed her elbow and

spun her around to face him-

only to find that the woman hed chased was a tota] stranger

How could he have mistaken her for Bria? This woman wasnt homely, she was even pretty in a rather

worn way . . but Bria-Bria had been one of the loveliest women Hah had ever seen. This womans hair

was dark blond, not gold with warm reddish highlights.

Bria had been tall. This woman was short.

She was also angry. What do you think youre doing? she demanded in Basic. Leave me alone or Ill

summon security!

I . . . Im sorry . . . Hah mumbled, stepped back, holding up both hands in as nonthreatening a manner as

he could manage. I thought you were someone else.

Well, I feel sorry for her, the woman said huffily.

With an ill-mannered, scruffy tout like ycm in her life!

Look . . . Han continued to back away, hands up. I said I was sorry, sister. Im going, okay?

I think youd better, she said pointedly. That priest has summoned security, I think.

Hah looked over his shoulder, cursed, then took to his heels, heading away from the crowd. He could

see Chewbacca waiting for him, and waved to the Wookiee.

He lengthened his stride, and a glance back at his pursu-ers reassured him that he was losing them.

Been drinking too much . . . he decided as he ran. Thats gotta be it. Im gonna be rrure careful from now

on . . a lot more carefid . . .

Did Han get away? Bria Tharen asked her friend as Lanah Malo walked into the room, carrying Brias

black cloak under her arm. Bria was seated on the single human-styled chair in the cheap room theyd

rented for their short stay on Devaron.

I think so, Lanah Malo replied, tossing the cloak to her friend, then picking up her travel bag and

dumping it o n the bed. The last I saw, he and that big Wookiee he was traveling with jumped into a

public skimmer. Security was still on foot. My guess is, he made it.

Hes probably off-world by now, Bria said softly, wist-fully. Rising, she walked over to the window, then

stood for a moment gazing up into Devarons c)ral-tinted sky. Tears gathered in her blue-green eyes. I

never thought Id ever see him again. I never thought it would hurt so much . . .

The pain she felt completely eclipsed the triumph she should have been experiencing. Today shed faced

the Ex-ultation and successfully resisted it. After years of fighting her addiction to it, now she finally knew

for certain that she was a free woman. Shed looked forward to this day for a long time-but any joy she

felt was drowned in her grief at seeing Hah again, and knowing she couldnt be with him.

Couldnt you have talked to him? the shorter woman asked, almost echoing Brias own thoughts. Bria

turned from the window and watched her friend and comrade-in-arms pulling on her battered,

khaki-colored jacket. Quickly Lanah stuffed the last of her personal belongings into the small travel bag.

What harm could it do? she asked, giv-ing Bria a sharp, quizzical glance.

Bria shivered, then pulled the cloak around her shoul-ders. It was chilly, now that the sun was low on the

horizon. No, she said in a low voice. I couldnt talk to him.

Why not? Lanah asked. Dont you trust him? Moving as methodically and carefully as a droid, Bria

checked the charge in the blaster she wore strapped to her thigh-low-down the way Han had taught her,

five years ago when theyd been partners, companions . . . lovers. Yes, she said, after a moment. I trust

him. I trust him with anything thats mine. But what were trying to accom-plish thats not mine. Thats all of

us. Betrayal at this point could mean the end of the entire movement. I couldnt risk it.

Lanah nodded. Solo showing up when he did sure messed up our plans, she said. No telling when well

get a clear shot at Veratil again. My guess is that hell hightail it back to Ylesia to tell Teroenza he spotted

your ex-boy-friend.

Bria nodded tiredly as she ran her hands through her hair. Hah loved to do that, she thought with a

sudden surge of memorY so vivid that it felt like a blow. Oh, Hah . . .

Lanah Malo gave her an assessing glance that was half sympathetic, half cynical. You can fall apart later,

Bria. Right now weve got to catch the transport back to CoreIlia. The Commanders going to expect a

full report. Even if we failed to take out Veratil, we still succeeded in making con-tact with the

Devaronian group . . . so the trip wasnt a total waste.

Im not going to fall apart, Bria said dully, holstering her blaster without looking at it-the way Hah had

taught her. I got over Han long ago.

Sure you did, Lanah agreed, not unkindly, as the two women picked up their bags and headed for the

door. Sure you did . . .

Han Solo shuffled into the tiny control room of the Duro-sian ship, cradling a mug of stim-tea. He glanced

at the viewscreen, which showed the comforting starline pat-terns of hyperspace, then blinked blearily

over at the big Wookiee who lounged in the copilots seat. I overslept, he said accusingly. You didnt call

me.

Chewbacea made a short comment Well, yeah, I prob-ably did need the rest, Han admitted. But youre

the one who got wounded. Hows the arm?

The Wookiee reassured Han that it was healing just fine. The Corellian glanced at the wound, and

nodded, then he sank into the pilots seat. Good. Let me tell you, pal, its fortunate that you showed up

when you did, yesterday. That Barabel wasnt messing around. Things could have gotten sticky.

Chewie pointed out, truthfully, that things had gotten sticky. Hah shrugged. Youre right. And that reminds

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Star Wars - [Han Solo 02] - Hutt Gambit (by A C Crispin)

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