is that clear?”
“It is, my prince. It shall be as you wish.”
“Good.” Xizor looked pleased. “Let Durga play detective if he wishes for a few months … even a year. Let him chase his own slimy tail.
The frustration will build, until he is only too happy to throw in his lot—and a goodly percentage of Ylesia—with Black Sun.”
Han Solo arrived back at his shabby flat on Nar Shaddaa in the early hours of the morning to find the assorted denizens of his motley household still fast asleep. That didn’t last long, though. “Hey, everyone!” the Corellian bellowed. “Chewie! Jarik! Wake up! I won!
Lookit this!” He ran through the apartment, yelling and waving a stack of credit vouchers thick enough to choke a bantha.
Han and Chewie shared their dilapidated flat with his young friend Jarik and an ancient droid named ZeeZee Han had “won” off Mako Spince in a recent friendly game of sabacc. After spending a month or two in ZeeZee’s company, however, Han was pretty sure that Mako, an experienced card sharp, had “cooked” that deck to make sure he lost.
As a house-droid, ZeeZee had proved a twittery, stammering nuisance rather than a help. Han had gotten so annoyed with the droid’s efforts to clean up the place that several times he’d considered junking the blasted antique, but somehow he’d never gotten around to it. Finally, in disgust, Han had ordered ZeeZee to “leave everything the way it is!”
Jarik “Solo” was a street kid from the depths of Nar Shaddaa. About a year ago he’d introduced himself to Han as a distant relative. He’d obviously been in awe of Han, who was known far and wide as one of the hottest pilots around. Jarik was a brash, good-looking kid, and he reminded Han a little of himself when he’d been in his late teens. The Corellian had had Jarik’s claim investigated, and turned up the truth—Jarik had no more right to the name “Solo” than Chewie did. But by the time Han knew for sure they weren’t related, that Jarik was lying, he’d gotten kind of attached to the boy. So he’d let him hang around, even fly with them, and Jarik had turned into a pretty fair gunner.
Despite the youth’s fears, he’d proven himself at the Battle of Nar Shaddaa, shooting down several TIE fighters, and helping Han, Lando and Salla Zend turn the tide of the engagement. So Han had never told the youth that he knew the truth. It was important for Jarik to have a sense of identity, even if it was a false one. And Han was willing to let the kid “borrow” his last name.
Now, as he raced around his apartment, Han was bouncing off the walls with excitement as his groggy friends gathered around. “C’mon, wake up!” Han shouted. “I won, guys! And I won the Falcon from Lando!”
Hearing the exciting news, Chewbacca roared, Jarik cheered, and poor ZeeZee was so confused by the excitement that the elderly droid short-circuited and had to be reset. After a round of back-slapping and congratulations, Han, Chewie and Jarik headed immediately for Lando’s used-spaceship lot, with Lando’s marker in hand.
After the formalities of ownership exchange had been processed, Han stood back, just looking at the Millennium Falcon. “Mine …” he said, and grinned until his face hurt.
The Corellian’s mind filled with plans for fixing up the Falcon. There were so many things he wanted to do, to modify her into being the ship of his dreams. And, thanks to the sabacc tournament … he had the credits to do them!
For one thing, he intended to get Shug and Salla to help him salvage the military armor plating off the Imperial derelict Liquidator, a bulk cruiser that had become a casualty of the Battle of Nar Shaddaa. The airless hulk was still drifting amidst the space junk orbiting the Smuggler’s Moon.
Better armor plating would be a priority. Han didn’t want what had happened to the Bria happening to the Falcon.
Another thing, he wanted a getaway blaster he could lower from the ship’s belly. Smuggling could get risky, sometimes, and a quick exit was required. A quick exit with cover fire was even better ….
Yes, and he was going to overhaul the Falcon’s hyperdrive, and install a light blaster cannon under the nose. Concussion missile launchers, definitely. And maybe he’d move the quad laser turrets so they’d be one on top of the other, instead of on top and on the ship’s right side. Perhaps stronger shielding, too?
Han stood there with his friends, contemplating his ship, dreaming of what he could do to her and with her … modifying the YT-1300 into the perfect ship. His ultimate smuggling ship.
“Fake compartments,” he muttered.
“What?” Jarik turned to him. “What did you say, Han?”