THE HUTT GAMBI(10)

2


The Smuggler’s Road


Han Solo shuffled into the tiny control room of the Durosian ship, cradling a mug of stimtea. He glanced at the viewscreen, which showed the comforting starline patterns of hyperspace, then blinked blearily over at the big Wookiee who lounged in the copilot’s seat. “I overslept,” he said accusingly. “You didn’t call me.”

Chewbacca made a short comment. “Well, yeah, I probably did need the rest,” Han admitted. “But you’re the one who got wounded. How’s 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 pilot’s seat.

“Good. Let me tell you, pal, it’s fortunate that you showed up when you did, yesterday. That Barabel wasn’t messing around. Things could have gotten sticky.”

Chewie pointed out, truthfully, that things had gotten sticky. Han shrugged. “You’re right. And that reminds me of something.” Getting up from his seat, he went over to the toolbox that was standard issue on every ship, and came back with a tiny lasertorch and a microfile.

Taking his blaster out of the holster, he carefully sliced off the sight at the end of the barrel, then began smoothing the spot.

Chewbacca wondered aloud what Han was doing. “Fixing my weapon so it won’t ever hang up in my holster again,” the Corellian explained.

“That was a bad couple of seconds in that tavern, there, when I couldn’t draw. I’m a good shot—losing the sight won’t affect my aim.”

Chewie watched as Han worked. After a moment the human spoke again.

“Bad enough that I couldn’t draw. If it had been a blaster shootout, instead of a slugfest, I don’t think either of us would have made it out of there alive. But I guess it could have been worse. We were actually in more danger at that Ylesian revival. If Veratil’s security people had grabbed us … believe me, pal, those t’landa Til don’t mess around. If they’d caught us, we’d be in deep humbaba manure, my friend.”

Chewie made an interrogatory sound. “Yeah, I guess I do owe you an explanation about that,” Han said with a sigh. “Y’see, about five years ago I needed experience piloting big ships, ‘cause I was hoping to get into the Academy. So I took a job piloting for the t’landa Til on Ylesia. Ever hear of it before?”

Chewie whined, low in his throat. “You got it. The pilgrim colony.

‘Cept that it ain’t, pal. It’s nothin’ but a big scam, a major trap.

The Hutts control the place. Pilgrims travel there hoping to join with the cosmic All, or some such, but they turn ‘em into slaves and make them work in the spice factories. Most of the poor fools don’t last long. They had three colonies on Ylesia when I was there, but I heard they’ve expanded to five or six, now.”

Chewbacca shook his head sadly.

Han grimaced as he sighted down the barrel of his blaster. “Somebody ought to go in there and shut those creeps down, Chewie. I’ve been a thief, a smuggler, a con man, a gambler, and some other things I ain’t particularly proud of, pal … but slavery—I can’t stand it. Or slavers, either.

Scum of the universe. For two credits, I’d blast ‘em all into oblivion . .

.”

Chewbacca, naturally, voiced vehement support for Han’s opinion. The Corellian grinned crookedly as he ran his thumb over the now-smooth barrel tip. Satisfied, he replaced the weapon in his holster. “Yeah, well, I kinda forgot who I was talkin’ to. But anyhow, it’s a long story. The end result was, I decided I had to get outta there, so I stole a bunch of stuff from the High Priest. He had a great collection of art objects, jeweled weapons, stuff like that. Only trouble was, Teroenza and his Hutt boss, Zawal, showed up at a real inopportune time. The shooting started, and Zawal died.”

Chewbacca made an interrogatory sound.

Han sighed. “No, I didn’t shoot him. But you could sorta say it was my fault that he bought it.”

Chewie commented that from what he knew of Hutts, the fewer the better.

“Yeah, I’ve thought that myself,” Han said. “But we may wind up workin’ for a Hutt, so you’d better keep your opinion to yourself, pal.” He sipped his stimtea and looked out at the racing star patterns for a long second, lost in memories. “So, anyhow, I got away. But I wish Veratil hadn’t gotten a look at me yesterday. I got a bad feelin’ about that. The t’landa Til can be pretty nasty …”

Chewie asked a question. Han looked down and cleared his throat.

“Why’d I go back into the crowd and give Veratil the chance to see me?