“Only way to fly an asteroid field is fast and by the seat of your pants, kid,” Zeen Alit said, never taking his eyes from his instruments. “If you try and tiptoe in, chances are you’ll get smashed before you can wipe your nose. I always just fly right in, keepin’ my eyes open, and I’m still here.”
When they reached the fabled Smuggler’s Run, Han and Chewbacca warily followed Zeen Alit into Skip 1, to meet “the gang,” as he called his friends. Han was introduced to a sallow, thin man with scars on his face named Jarril, and another, older man with a receding hairline who incongruously went by the name “Kid DXo’ln.”
Skip 1 was a regular warren of rooms, dining halls, gambling dens, bars, and drug hideaways. Han was frankly nervous, as he realized that here, even more than on Nar Shaddaa, there was no law. None.
He could die here, and no one but Chewie (presuming the Wookiee was still alive himself, an unlikely assumption) would ever know or care.
Han was careful not to let any of his nervousness show. He had grown up with lawless people, had seen plenty of degenerate spirits by the time he was ten. He’d just never encountered quite so many bloodthirsty, desperate lost beings in one place before.
As he and Zeen headed for the bar, Han noticed the runnel of greenish-yellow gooey liquid oozing along a channel cut into the middle of the stone floor. Chewbacca snuffled, then growled in protest. “Yeah, that really stinks,” Han said, his nostrils twitching.
“What the heck is that stuff, Zeen? It’s on the walls, too …”
“Oh, it’s just the ooze we gotta put up with, kid,” the smuggler told him.
“Stinks, don’t it? Every so often we get to thinkin’ we ought to find out where it comes from and dam it up. It’s some kinda protoorganic compound, they say, mixed with sulfur.”
Han’s nose wrinkled. The ooze smelled like rancid meat mixed with rotting vegetation, laden with a liberal dose of sulfur. He’d smelled worse, but not recently.
As they stepped over the ooze channel and headed over to the bar, Han’s attention was caught and held by a beautiful woman with long black hair who definitely stood out in the mix of unsavory smuggler types. She wore a short skirt that showed off magnificent legs, and a top that was little more than a cropped shirt tied tightly to show off her bosom and midriff.
Han stared at her, thinking that she was one of the most striking women he’d ever seen. Suddenly he realized she was looking back at him. Han quickly essayed his most charming smile.
She walked toward them. Han’s pulse skipped a beat, but then he realized she was regarding him with a marked lack of enthusiasm, as though he were a side of traladon meat that had gone green around the edges. Han’s smile stiffened on his lips. Guess the attraction isn’t mutual…
“Han, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine,” Zeen said, indicating the woman. “Sinewy Ana Blue, one of the top smugglers around. She also runs a wicked sabacc table. Blue, meet Han Solo, a new kid I brought along for the ride. And this is his pal, Chewie.”
Han nodded cordially. “Pleasure to meet you—” Noting his hesitation over what to call her, she smiled, revealing a shining blue crystal tooth in the front of her mouth. “Call me Blue,” she said, in a voice that couldn’t help being sultry. “Han Solo, you said?
And”—she turned to Han’s companion—”Chewie?”
“Chewbacca,” Han supplied.
“Pleased to meet you, Chewbacca,” she said. “Have you met Wynni yet?”
Chewie cocked his head and whined a soft question.
Sinewy Ana Blue smiled at him. “You’ll know her when you meet her,” she promised cryptically.
“So,” Han said, “may I buy you a drink … Blue?”
She glanced at him, seemed to consider, then smiled faintly. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “You’re cute, but not my type, Solo. I like them a bit more … seasoned.”
Zeen snickered. “She’s particular, our Blue,” he said, noting Han’s chagrin at the open rebuff. “You young, single types don’t offer enough ˇ . . sport. She likes the lure of the chase, especially when it’s part of the thrill that comes from stealin’ what don’t belong to you.”
Sinewy Ana Blue gave Zeen a long, up and down stare. “You like to live dangerously these days, don’t you?” she drawled. Then she turned back to Han. “Do you play sabacc, Han Solo?”
Han nodded. “I’ve tried it,” he said cautiously.
She gave him a slow, alluring smile. “Come around, then. I’d love to have some fresh blood in my game.”