It was just after sunrise on Nar Shaddaa, though the activity on the Smuggler’s Moon had little to do with the unnaturally (to most sentients) long days and nights. Nar Shaddaa was always awake, always active. Han walked toward home through crowded streets, hearing the cries of the street vendors selling their myriad wares.
Han whistled a few bars of an old Corellian folk song as he walked. He felt great. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been for female companionship.
It had been a long time since he’d met a woman he really cared for, and Xaverri obviously found him as attractive as he found her. The memory of her kisses still had the power to stir him.
Han found himself counting the hours until he could see her again, and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Get hold of yourself, Solo.
You’re no moony-eyed kid anymore, you’re-Without warning, something jabbed him in the right buttock. At first Han thought he’d staggered and bumped his rear against a sharp piece of glassine protruding from the half-ruined building beside him.
Then a rush of strange, tingling warmth engulfed him. His steps faltered, and his vision blurred, then cleared.
What’s happening?
Steely fingers clamped on to his arm and dragged him into the alley.
Han realized, with horror, that he couldn’t fight back. His hands wouldn’t obey the commands of his brain.
Drugged? Oh, no!
A flat, inhuman voice spoke to him from just behind his right shoulder.
“Stand still, Solo.”
Han discovered that he could do nothing else than stand perfectly still.
Inwardly he was raging, his anger as hot and explosive as starplasma, but outwardly his body was completely obedient to that artificially amplified voice.
Who’s got me? What does he want?
Han concentrated every muscle, every sinew, every neuron of his being into moving his hands, his arms, his legs. Sweat gathered on his forehead, trickled down into his eyes. But he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger.
The hand left his arm, went down to his thigh to unfasten the leather strap that held his blaster secure in its holster. Han could feel the weight against his thigh lighten as his attacker disarmed him. Raging, he tried again to move, but he might as well have tried to push a ship into hyperspace using his own muscle power.
He tried to speak, tried to say, “Who are you?” but that proved beyond him, too. All he could do was to breathe, in and out, blink his eyes, and obey.
If Han had been a Wookiee, he’d have howled, long and loud.
After relieving Han of his blaster, his captor walked around him.
Finally, Han got a look at him. Bounty hunter! his mind screamed.
Beat-up greenish-gray Mandalorian armor, a helmet that completely hid his features, and armed to the teeth. He even had black and white braided scalps of some kind hanging from his right shoulder. Han wondered what the man’s name was. He must be one of the elite—a bounty hunter who only went after “tough” cases.
The Corellian supposed that he ought to be flattered, but it seemed a dubious honor at best.
The bounty hunter went on to pat Han down, looking for more weaponry.
He found Han’s multitool in his pocket, and confiscated that. The Corellian tried again to move, but he could do absolutely nothing but inhale and exhale. His breathing was loud and harsh in his own ears.
The figure in the Mandalorian armor glanced up at him. “Don’t waste your energy, Solo. I jabbed you with a dose of a handy little potion they’ve come up with on Ryloth. Expensive, but for the bounty they’re paying, you’re worth it. You won’t be able to move, except at my command, for several hours. It varies from subject to subject. By the time you can move under your own power, we’ll be aboard my ship and halfway to Ylesia.”
Han stared at the bounty hunter, suddenly realizing he’d seen that figure in Mandalorian armor before, a long time ago. Where? He concentrated, but the memory wouldn’t surface.
Having finished his search, the bounty hunter straightened. “All right.
Turn around.”
Han found himself turning.
“Now walk. Turn right at the mouth of the alley.”
The Corellian raged helplessly as his body obeyed every command.
Right-left, right-left. He was walking, and the bounty hunter was right behind him. Han could catch occasional glimpses of him with his peripheral vision.
They walked down the street of Nar Shaddaa, and for a moment Han hoped that they might encounter one of his friends, even, possibly, Chewie.
Surely someone would notice what was happening to him!
But although many of the denizens of Nar Shaddaa watched bounty hunter and prize walk past, nobody even spoke to them. Han didn’t really blame them.
This bounty hunter, whoever he was, was a different sort than the ones he’d dealt with before. This guy was skilled, clever, and extremely dangerous. Anyone who interfered with him would undoubtedly suffer dire consequences.