[Han Solo] - 03(126)

“Kryss P’teska, sir.”

“And you like to go fast, eh?” “Yeah!” “Okay …”

Han threaded his way into the Pit, zipping along, and avoiding the hurtling asteroids by the seat of his pants. He realized that he was gaining on the Imp. The customs ship was barely visible now ….

If I can get just a little farther ahead …

Sweat gathered on Han’s forehead and ran down to sting his eyes, but he never eased up on his speed. The Imperial ship was far behind him now.

Han ducked and dodged asteroids, and realized he was nearing the edge of the Pit.

“Great,” he grunted. “All we gotta do is get outta here, and then make the jump to lightspeed …. ” Chewie suddenly started whining and gesturing frantically at the board. Han looked at his instruments and groaned aloud. “Oh, blast! Three Imps out there on the perimeter of the Pit! What else could they be doin’ but waitin’ for us! And one of ‘em is a big sucker!” Han’s mind raced.

“Chewie, we ain’t gonna be able to outrun these Imps,” Han said. “And we’re outgunned. But we’ve lost that guy on our tail, at least for the moment. I think if we can get far enough ahead, we should go ahead and dump the load just inside the Pit—the way you did that time with Colonel Quirt on that other Run. After they’ve searched the Falcon to their hearts content, we come back and retrieve the cargo.

Whaddaya say?”

Chewie was in full agreement. “Okay, take over. We gotta do this real fast,” Han said. “Here’s the coordinates.”

“Hrrrrrrnnnnnnhh!”

Leaving the Wookiee to head for the coordinates he’d selected, Han raced back to the passageway with the secret compartments, with Kryss in hot pursuit. “You kids, give me a hand here,” he said, getting out coils of wire. Several of the children assembled and stood there, staring at him.

“What’re your names?” Han said.

“Cathea, sir,” said a young girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen, with a long blond braid of hair. “I’ll help.”

“I’m Tym,” said a small boy.

“I’m Aeron,” said a dark-haired child. “I’ll help!”

“Good,” Han grunted, heaving up the deckplates. “Help me get these barrels carried into the starboard airlock, and we’ll wire ‘em together.”

Within two minutes, the spice was ready to be jettisoned. Han shooed the kids out of the airlock, then closed it firmly behind them. He ignored the standard depressurization procedures, and, using the manual override, forced the outer doors to slide wide apart—blowing the spice barrels out into the void.

“Chewie!” he yelled. “Jettisoned! Log these coordinates!”

With luck, Han should be able to track the spice’s progress and find it again after a little searching. The barrels themselves were made of an alloy that would show up on his sensors if he got close enough.

It was the best he could do, under the circumstances.

Han ran back up to the cockpit, and raced back along his course, so he’d emerge from the Pit approximately where they’d be expecting him to. As he headed out of the Pit, the Imp customs ship came hurtling up from behind him. Han looked at Chewie. “That was close.”

Han’s comm unit began signaling, and he activated it. “Unidentified ship, prepare to be boarded,” an angry voice said, just as Han felt the Falcon seized by a tractor beam. “This is the Imperial light cruiser Assessor.

Offer no resistance and you will not be harmed.”

Han sat there, with the kids clustering around him in the cockpit, watching as the Falcon was drawn toward the big Imperial ship. “Kids, let me do the talkin’,” he said.

Moments after docking, the Imperials were at the Falcon’s airlock, demanding to be admitted. Han sighed and got up to let them in, with a trail of children tagging along behind him.

The Imperial captain himself was part of the heavily armed boarding party. “Captain Tybert Capucot,” the balding man with the supercilious air said, looking at Han as though he were a particularly unappetizing sight.

“Captain Solo, you stand in suspicion of smuggling spice from Kessel.

I am authorized to search your ship.”

Han waved at the interior. “Search away,” he said. “I got nothin’ to hide.”

Capucot sniffed and managed to stare down his nose at Han—even though the Imperial officer was several centimeters shorter than the Corellian.

The captain beckoned a scanning crew into the ship. “Search every millimeter, “he ordered. “I want that spice.”

Han shrugged and stepped aside.