[Han Solo] - 03(40)
Gunrunners had to be increasingly wary and fast, in order to deliver their cargoes. When Han had first begun making the Kessel Run, it was unusual to even pick up an Imp craft on ship’s sensors. Now it was unusual to not spot one. To support his fleets and armies, Emperor Palpatine levied taxes that had citizens of the Empire groaning beneath the financial burden.
These days, the average citizen of the Empire struggled just to put decent food on the table.
(Han and his friends, naturally, did not pay taxes. No tax collectors came to the Smuggler’s Moon—collecting taxes from the motley denizens of Nar Shaddaa was such a daunting task that the moon was simply “overlooked” each tax time.) In the past, Han had paid little attention to news-vids about the struggle between the Imperials and the underground Rebel groups. But now, knowing that Bria might be involved in those actions, he found himself listening to the news-vids with undivided attention. Palpatine must be crazy, Han found himself thinking, on more than one occasion. He’s askin’ for a wholesale rebellion with these tactics … massacres, murders, citizens hauled ou of their homes in the middle of the night, and never seen again You mess over people bad enough, long enough, you’re askin’ for revolt….
Dissent in the Imperial Senate was growing by leaps and bounds. One of the more prominent Senators, Mon Mothma, had been forced to flee not long ago, after the Emperor ordered her arrest on charges of treason.
Mon Mothma had been a prestigious member of the Senate, and the Emperor’s high-handed move caused demonstrations on Chandrilla, her home planet—demonstrations that resulted in yet another ruthless massacre of Imperial citizens.
The Emperor’s attacks on financial well-being and personal freedom had another effect, one that Han found particularly disturbing. More and more downtrodden, poverty-stricken people were chucking their old lives and heading for Ylesia to become Pilgrims—or, as Han knew, slaves.
Many of the new Pilgrims came from Sullust, Bothuwui, and Corellia, worlds that had recently suffered reprisals for civil unrest and anti-taxation demonstrations. Han arrived home one day from a smuggling run to discover that, for the first time, the t’landa Til had held a revival on Nar Shaddaa. As a result, a number of Corellians from the Corellian sector of Nar Shaddaa had packed up and were waiting to board a ship bound for, among other places, Ylesia.
When he heard this, Han grabbed a tube over to the disembarkation point, and raced up to the line of hollow-eyed, weary looking Corellians waiting to board the transport. “What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
“Ylesia is a trap! Haven’t you heard the stories about it? They lure you there, then turn you into slaves! You’ll wind up dyin’ in the mines of Kessel! Don’t go!”
One old woman looked at him suspiciously. “Shut up, youngster,” she said.
“We’re going to a better place. The Ylesian priests say they’ll take care of us, and we’ll have a better life … a blessed life. I’m sick of scratchin’ here. The cursed Empire is making it too hard these days to earn a dishonest living.”
The others muttered similar imprecations at him as he moved up and down the line, expostulating with the Pilgrim-candidates. Han finally stopped and stood there, wanting to howl aloud with rage, like a Wookiee. Chewie did howl in frustration.
“Chewie, short of setting my blaster on stun and shooting them all, there ain’t no way of stoppin’ them,” the Corellian observed, bitterly.
“Hrrrrrrrnnnnnnnn,” Chewie agreed, sadly.
In a last ditch effort, Han tried talking to some of the younger people, even going so far as to offer one or two a job. None would listen to him.
He soon gave up in disgust. This had happened to him once before, on Aefao, a remote world at the opposite side of the galaxy from Nar Shaddaa.
There had been an Ylesian revival, and Han had tried to warn those who were heading for the ships, but he found he couldn’t compete with the Pilgrim-candidates’ wide-eyed memories of the Exultation. Only a few of the small, orange-skinned, humanoid Aefans had listened to him.
Over a hundred had boarded the Ylesian missionary ship.
Han watched the line of Corellians shuffling into the waiting transport, and shook his head. “Some people are just too dumb to live, Chewie,” he said.
Or too desperate, the Wookiee rejoined.
“Yeah, well, just another reminder to me that stickin’ your neck out is a good way to get your head chopped off,” Han said, disgustedly, as he turned his back on the doomed Corellians and began walking away. “Next time I think about doin’ that, pal, I want you to give me a Wookiee lovetap that will put me on my butt. You’d think after all these years I’d learn …. ” Chewie promised, and, together, they walked away.