THE HUTT GAMBI(23)
Han was hungry, but he didn’t recognize any of the wares the street vendors were selling. “They say there’s a Corellian section,” he muttered to Chewie. “That’s probably where we should head.” He didn’t want to admit that he was lost, for fear of attracting thieves or worse, but a few minutes later Han saw a banner hanging from an awning (most booths and building fronts possessed awnings—they helped shield the inhabitants from noxious spatters falling from above) that read in six languages and Basic: NFORM^TON BROR.
Han stepped off the glidewalk and headed toward the booth, with Chewie trailing behind. The “Information Broker” proved to be an ancient Twi’lek woman, so old that her ropy headtails were shriveled and knotty with age.
She eyed Han sharply, then spoke in her own language. “What you wish to know, Pilot?”
Han took out a half-credit coin, and laid it on the edge of the booth, ostentatiously keeping his forefinger on it. “Two things,” he said, in his own language, knowing she must speak Basic. “Directions on how to get to the Corellian section, by the safest and most direct route”—he paused as she keyed some information onto the ancient datapad before her, and then when she looked up again—”and … where can I find a smuggler named Mako Spince?”
The old Twi’lek grinned, showing stained and broken teeth. “For the first,” she cried, “take this.” She shoved a flimsy into his hand.
Han squinted at it, saw that it was a section of a map. One blinking red dot indicated, “You Are Here.” Directions to the Corellian sector of Nar Shaddaa were clearly indicated.
Han nodded. “Okay. What about Mako?”
She gave him an amused glance. “Go there, Corellian sector, Pilot.
Ask in bars, brothels, gambling dens. You not find Mako, no. But he then find you, Pilot.”
Han grinned reluctantly. “Yeah, that sounds like Mako. Okay, I guess you earned it.” He lifted his forefinger off the credit piece, and she caused it to disappear so fast it was like a magic act.
She was watching him, her little orange-red eyes bright in her wrinkled countenance. “Pilot handsome,” she said, giving her best approximation of a coy smile. The effect, with her teeth, was hideous. “Oodonnaa old, but lots of life yet. Pilot interested?” The tip of one headtail lifted off her shriveled shoulder and twitched invitingly at the Corellian.
Han’s eyes widened. Minions of Xendor, she’s propositioning me! The tip of her headtail made a beckoning motion. Han backed away, shaking his head, feeling his cheeks grow warm. “Uh, no thanks, madam,” he said stiffly. “I’m honored, but, uh … I’ve taken a .
. . vow. Of abstinence.
Yeah. A vow.”
She seemed more amused at his discomfiture than angered by his refusal as she waved farewell. Han about-faced and marched away. Beside him, Chewbacca gave an unmistakable Wookiee guffaw. “Yuck it up,” Han snapped. “See if I stick my neck out for you again.”
Chewie just laughed harder.
Two hours later they reached the Corellian sector. The old Twi’lek’s map and directions proved accurate, but street signs were often missing, or had been turned around by pranksters. Han was relieved to walk into the Corellian sector and see architecture that was plainly patterned on that of his native world. Scents wafting from the sidewalk cafes tantalized him, familiar and reassuring. “Let’s get something to eat,” Han said, waving Chewie to one of the bistros that looked marginally cleaner than the others. Chairs and tables that had once been white were ranged beneath one of the omnipresent awnings, a green and red one, this time.
Han ordered traladon goulash, and was pleased to find that it was good, almost like eating back home. He dug into his plate with relish, while Chewbacca attacked a large salad and a plate of bloody-rare traladon ribs.
When Han had finished, he leaned back in his seat, sipping a local ale and trying to decide if he liked the taste. When the serving droid appeared to display his bill, Han asked, “Mako Spince. Does he ever come here? Medium height, broad shoulders, short dark hair, graying at the temples?”
The droid’s head swiveled side to side. “No, sir, I have not seen the person you describe.”
“Tell your boss I was askin’ about him, okay?” Han said. He finished the last of his ale, then he and Chewbacca headed down the street toward the most garish of the bars. Short night was rapidly falling now, as Y’Toub was eclipsed behind the bulk of Nal Hutta. The real night was still many hours away, and would last more than forty standard hours. As the artificial lights came up, Han wondered if he’d ever get used to such long nights. It probably didn’t matter, since the moon that was a city never really slept.