At The Smuggler’s Rest, Han asked again for Mako Spince, and naturally, nobody had ever heard of him. They did the same thing at The Lucky Star, the tattered remains of what had once been an elegant casino, and then at two or three more bars. Han was getting used to the word “no.” He sighed and trudged onward. The Smuggler’s Hideaway. The Corellian Cafe. The Golden Orb.
The Exotic Exhibit (LIVE Dancers! LIVE Shows!).
The Comet Casino.
The Drunken Drummer.
By now Han’s feet were beginning to hurt from pounding the permacrete, going up and down ramps. Places on Nar Shaddaa were often frustrating to reach unless one had wings, or a jet pak. You could stand on a balcony and look over at your destination, only ten meters away, and yet have to walk for fifteen minutes, up and down rampways, to reach it.
Some of the buildings had ropes or wires strung between them, but Han wasn’t desperate or foolhardy enough to trust himself to swing hand over hand across a twenty-or forty-or hundred-story abyss.
The walkways between buildings were frequently in poor repair, and after an assessing look, Han often decided to take the long way around.
Some of them might have held him, but he doubted they’d stand up to the Wookiee’s weight.
He was beginning to wonder whether they should just give up their search and try to find a flophouse that would be a safe place to grab a few hours’ sleep. Thinking back, Han realized that it had been nearly twelve hours since he’d awakened on the Princess.
He turned his head as they walked by the mouth of a smelly alley to suggest this to Chewbacca when a hand reached out of the alley and grabbed him by the throat. Half a second later, Han was dragged up against a hard humanoid body. He felt the muzzle of a blaster press his temple.
“Not one step,” a deep, congenial voice said over his shoulder, addressing Chewbacca, “or I’ll scramble his brains till they run out his ears.”
The Wookiee halted, snarling, showing teeth, but obviously unwilling to attack in the face of that threat.
Han knew that voice. He gasped, but couldn’t get any breath to speak with. The iron hand tightened on his throat. “Mako!” he tried to say.
“Maa—” was all he managed to get out.
“Don’t cry to your mama to me, kid,” the voice said. “Now who in the Name of Xendor are you, and why were you askin’ about me?”
Han gulped, gagged, but still couldn’t speak.
Chewbacca growled, then pointed at Mako’s quivering captive.
“Haaaaannnn,” the Wookiee said, twisting his mouth around the human name with great difficulty. “Haaaannnn …”
“Huh?” the voice said, sounding stunned. “Han?”
Abruptly Han was released, then swung around. As he gasped, hands to his throat, his captor, who was indeed Mako Spince, grabbed him in a hug so enthusiastic that it deprived him of breath yet again. “Han!
Kid, it’s great to see you! How ARE you, you old sonofagun?” A hard fist thumped the younger Corellian between the shoulder blades.
Han gasped and wheezed, only to lose his breath again. Mako helpfully slapped him on the back, which didn’t improve matters.
“Mako …” he managed, finally. “It’s been a long time. You’ve changed.”
“So have you,” his friend said.
They stood there studying each other. Mako’s hair was long enough to brush his shoulders now, and there were more gray threads amid the black. He wore a fierce, bristling mustache, and had gained some weight, mostly in his shoulders. A narrow scar ran down the line of his jaw. Han decided he was glad Mako was on his side. He didn’t look like anyone Han wanted to have as an enemy. He wore a scarred jumpsuit of spacer’s leather, hide so thin and flexible, and yet so tough, that it was said it could maintain internal pressure even in vacuum.
The two friends stared at each other, sizing each other up, then both burst out with questions. They stopped, laughing. “One at a time!”
Mako said.
“Okay,” Han said. “You go first …” Minutes later, they were all seated in a tavern, drinking, talking, and spouting questions. Han told Mako his story, and found that his old friend wasn’t surprised to learn that he’d left the service. “I knew you’d never be able to go along with the slaving, Han,” Mako said. “I remember how it used to set your teeth on edge to even see an Imperial slaving detail.
Made you crazy, boy. I knew the first time they tried to get you to boss slaves, that would be the end of your brilliant career.” Han looked sheepish as he raised his second tankard of Alderaanian ale to his lips. “You know me too well,” he admitted. “But what could I do, Mako?