“I said I’m gonna build some fake compartments under the decking, kid,” Han said, throwing an arm around the youth’s shoulders. He grinned up at Chewbacca. “And guess who gets to help me?”
Jarik grinned back at him. “Great! What’s your first cargo going to be?”
Han thought for a moment. “Our first port of call is gonna be Kashyyyk.
I’d say a nice load of bowcaster explosive quarrels would probably do well, there, what do you think, Chewie?”
Chewbacca voiced his agreement, long and loud. Now that the Wookiee knew that he’d be going home, he was more excited at the prospect than Han had ever seen him before.
Two days later, with the Falcon’s new belowdecks compartments crammed with contraband, Han Solo flew his ship out of Shug Ninx’s spacebarn and headed straight up, exulting in the Millennium Falcon’s quick acceleration.
Chewie was in the copilot’s seat, and Jarik was riding along as gunner. Han hoped to avoid Imperial patrols, but he intended to be prepared for a fight if one erupted.
Kashyyyk was an Imperial “protectorate” (translation: slave) world.
The Imperials had managed to pacify the inhabitants, though they kept their forays into Wookiee cities and homes to a minimum, and they always went heavily armed, and in numbers. Wookiees were known to have quick tempers and to act impulsively.
Han managed to dodge the Imp patrols and to stay out of range of any sensor satellites as he approached the verdant sphere that was Kashyyyk.
The Wookiee homeworld was mostly forest, covered with monstrous wroshyr trees, with four continents divided by bands of ocean. Archipelagoes of islands dotted the gleaming coastal seas like emeralds scattered across blue satin. There were only a few desert regions, mostly on the rain-shadow side of the equatorial mountain ranges.
When they were within communication range, Chewbacca took over the comm station, setting a coded frequency, then speaking into the comm in a series of grunts, growls, hours, barks, and hrnnn’s that, to the untrained human ear, sounded exactly like his usual speech—but wasn’t.
Han frowned, realizing that, although many of the words sounded familiar, he basically hadn’t understood a word that his friend had said. When Chewie stopped speaking into the comm, a voice came back, giving a series of what were obviously directives.
Han, who had been watching the sensors sharply, made a quick course correction. There was an Imperial ship taking off, just past the limb of the planet.
“Jarik, look sharp, kid,” he said, keying the ship’s intercom. “I don’t think we’ve been spotted, but let’s be ready.”
Several tense seconds later, Han heaved a sigh of relief as the instruments indicated that the Imp vessel was proceeding serenely on its way, unaware of them.
When Han turned back to Chewie, the Wookiee launched into a series of directives and coordinates that his contact had given him. Han was to fly low, actually within the boundaries of the tallest wroshyr treetops, and to be prepared to make precise course changes the instant Chewbacca told him to.
“Okay, pal,” the Corellian said. “It’s your world, and you’re the boss.
But … what was that lingo you were talkin’? Some kinda Wook code?”
Chewbacca chuckled, then explained to his human friend that the Imperials were so stupid that most of them didn’t even realize that all Wookiees were not the same. There were several related, but somewhat different, Wookiee sub-species. Han already knew that Chewbacca was a rwook; and bore the typical brown, red and chestnut hair of that people.
He also knew that the language that he had learned to understand, but not speak, was called Shyriiwook; which, loosely translated, meant, “tongue of the tree-people.”
Chewie went on to explain that the language Han had just heard him speak, xaczik; was a traditional tribal language spoken by the Wookiees indigenous to the Wartaki island and several outlying coastal regions.
It was seldom heard, since Shyriiwook was the common language of trade and travel. So, when the Imperials had taken over Kashyyyk, the Wookiee underground had adopted xaczik as their “code” language. They used it whenever they had to give directives or pass along information that they didn’t want the Imperials finding out about.
Han nodded. “Okay, pal. You just tell me how to fly, and where, and I’ll take us where your buddies in the underground tell me.”
Flying low, skimming barely above, and, at times, between the tiptop branches of the wroshyr trees, Han sent the Falcon blasting along in the precise course and speed Chewie specified. Every minute or so, the Wookiee conferred with his underground contact.
Finally, as they neared Chewie’s hometown, Rwookrrorro, a kilometer-wide city set on platforms made by crisscrossing branches of the wroshyrs, Han’s copilot made him shear off in a dangerous swoop and take them straight down between the branches for a thirty-second plunge. Han’s heart was in his mouth as the Falcon dived like its namesake into the green forest, but Chewie’s coordinates were right on the credits.