The High Priest took a deep breath, realizing he was shaking with anger.
“An example must be made, an example that will be remembered down through the ages by anyone of an inferior species who even contemplates harming a Hutt! Solo must die, die in agony, die screaming for mercy!”
Teroenza halted in the middle of his room, panting with fury, little hands balled into fists. “Ask Ganar Tos!” he cried passionately, knowing he was making a spectacle of himself in front of Kibbick, but unable to stop.
“Ask him about Solo’s audacity, his arrogance! He deserves to die, doesn’t he?”
The High Priest’s voice scaled up toward hysteria. The old Zisian majordomo bowed humbly, but his eyes were also glittering in their rheumy sockets. “My master, you speak the truth. Han Solo deserves only death, as painful and long-lasting a death as you can contrive.
He has injured many sentients, including myself. He stole my mate, my bride, my beautiful Bria! I look forward to the day that a bounty hunter drags him into your presence, alive and awaiting your pleasure!
I shall dance for joy while he screams!”
Kibbick was reared back, upright, staring at the vehemence his companions had displayed with some consternation. “I . . see . .”
he said, finally.
“I shall do my best to convince Uncle Aruk.”
Teroenza nodded, and for once, his gratitude was not feigned.
“Convince him, please,” he said, his voice low and harsh with feeling.
“I have worked hard for the Besadii clan and their kajidic for almost a decade now. You know, only too well, about the privations of living on this world, Your Excellency. I ask little … but Han Solo—Han Solo, I must have.
He will die at my hands, for a long, long time.”
Kibbick inclined his massive head. “I’ll explain it to Aruk,” he promised.
“Han Solo will be yours, High Priest …”
3
Nar Shaddaa
Before Han bought passage for himself and Chewbacca to Nar Shaddaa, he spent some time in a seamy section of the Nar Hekka spaceport, busily muddying their trail. A few judicious conversations in a couple of sleazy taverns gave him the name of the best ID forger on the planet.
The forger proved to be a Tsylden from Tsyk, a round, hairless being with taut, pale skin. She was admirably suited for her chosen profession, having large eyes that provided exceptional vision, and seven fingers so slender and delicate that they resembled tentacles.
With two opposing thumbs per hand, she could actually manipulate two holo-scribers at once!
Han watched in fascination as she produced an ID naming him as Garris Kyll, and Chewbacca as Arrikabukk. Han had no idea whether Teroenza knew anything about Chewie, but he was taking no chances.
With the forged IDs in their possession, and their store of credits considerably lighter, the two boarded the Stellar Princess for Nar Shaddaa.
The trip was an uneventful one, though Han couldn’t shake his hyperalertness. Being a hunted man again was something he hadn’t wanted to deal with this soon in his new career as a smuggler. The trip took a little more than a standard day, even though Nar Hekka lay barely beyond the edge of the Y’Toub system, because the trip had to be accomplished at sublight speeds. The Princess was an old vessel, and its antique navicomputer wasn’t up to calculating hyperspace jumps so close to the gravity wells produced by Y’Toub’s star and six planets.
Gravity wells, as any pilot knew, made plotting hyperspace jump calculations tricky.
That night, asleep in his narrow bunk aboard the transport, Han dreamed he was a cadet again, back in the Academy on Carida. In his dream, he was hurrying to finish polishing his boots, then he was assembling in formation on the parade ground, his uniform impeccable, every hair in place, boots shining until he could see his face in them.
He stood there, shoulder to shoulder with the other cadets, just as he had in real life, looking up at the nighttime sky, seeing the Academy’s small mascot moon shining amid the stars. He was looking up at it, as he’d once done in reality, when suddenly, in eerie silence, it blew apart in a fireball that lit up the night sky. A great cry of amazement and consternation went up from the assembled ranks of cadets.
Han stared into the yellow-white fireball, seeing an expanding donut ring of incandescent gas that was accompanied by chunks of debris flung before it. The cataclysm looked like a miniature exploding star . .
As Cadet Han stared into the fireball, with the sudden unpredictability of dreams, he was somewhere else—facing a military tribunal of highranking Imperial officers. One of them, Admiral Ozzel, was reading aloud in flat, monotonous tones, while a young lieutenant methodically ripped every bit of military rank and insignia off Han’s dress uniform, leaving him standing in a tattered tunic that hung on him in rags.