But he didn’t want Jabba or Jiliac owning the Falcon. They wouldn’t appreciate this beauty, this work of art.
Han quickly checked out the weaponry. Her legs are good, but she could use more muscle … Only one light laser cannon, in a top gun turret. Not enough, Han thought.
As though Lando were reading Han’s thoughts, the gambler said, “The pilot that brought me here said it might need some more weaponry to be a really good smuggler. What do you think?”
“I think if this were my ship, I’d install another gun turret and some quad lasers, as well as a repeating blaster in the belly, to cover quick getaways,” Han said. Maybe some concussion missiles, too . .
.
“Huh,” Lando said. “I’ll have to think about that. But it is a fast ship, isn’t it?”
Han nodded grudgingly. “Yeah, she’s got a pretty good set of legs on her, Lando.” He surreptitiously patted the pilot’s console. Oh, you sweetheart…
A few minutes later Lando cleared his throat. “I thought the object of taking it out was that you were going to start teaching me to pilot, Han.”
“Oh … oh, yeah,” Han said. “I was just … checking her out.
So I could teach you all her little quirks and stuff.”
“You sound like this thing is alive,” Lando said.
“Well, pilots get to think of their ships sort of like that,” Han admitted.
“They become like a … friend. You’ll see.”
“Don’t forget, the Falcon is my ship,” Lando said, with a slight edge in his voice.
“Of course,” Han said, carefully casual. “Now, listen here. We’re going to start at sublight speeds. That’s where most of the maneuvering expertise comes. See that lever? Pull that lever and we’ll go into hyperdrive, and that’s not something you want to do less you’ve got a course laid in. So .
. . don’t touch that lever. Got it?”
Lando leaned forward intently. “Got it …”
Thousands of light-years away, Teroenza, High Priest of Ylesia, stood in the middle of Colony Three, surveying the damage from a dawn terrorist raid. Nearly a dozen bodies were sprawled around, most of them his own security guards. Blaster marks scored the factory buildings. The door to the mess hall was slagged. A crew was finishing putting out a fire in the Administration Building. The smell of burning fought with the hothouse odor of the wet, steaming jungle.
The High Priest snorted nervously. All this from a slave raid. Not a raid to gain slaves, a raid to rescue them.
The troops had been human, most of them. Teroenza had seen their images on his communications monitors from his headquarters at Colony One. Two ships had spiraled down through Ylesia’s treacherous air currents, but only one had managed to land safely. The other vessel had gotten caught in a wind shear, and was destroyed.
Which was only justice, Teroenza thought grumpily as he surveyed the damage the remaining ship had caused. Meddlers! The group had landed, then armed troops dressed in green and khaki uniforms had leaped out and attacked the Ylesian guards. A firefight had ensued, and more than a dozen guards had been killed.
Then the attackers had stormed the refectory where the pilgrims were having breakfast. They’d entreated them to come with them, saying they were here to rescue them from slavery.
Teroenza made a soft whuffling sound that was his species’ equivalent of a chuckle. Stupid raiders! Stupid to think the pilgrims would renounce the Exultation for freedom. Only two pilgrims out of the two hundred in the mess hall had run to join the invaders.
And then—Teroenza’s expression darkened—she had stepped forward to address the assembled pilgrims. The High Priest had thought her dead long since. He remembered her very well. Pilgrim 921, birth name Bria Tharen. A Corellian … and a traitor.
Bria had argued with the pilgrims, telling them the truth about the Exultation. She’d told the group that someday they’d thank her—and then she’d given the order for her troops to turn stun beams on the crowd.
Pilgrims had fallen in their tracks.
The group of Corellians had gotten away with nearly a hundred prime slaves. Teroenza cursed softly. Bria Tharen! He couldn’t decide which Corellian he hated more, Bria or that accursed Han Solo.
Teroenza was worried about this raid. There was money behind this group.
Ships and weapons cost money. They were well organized and efficient, like a real military cadre. Who were they?
Teroenza had heard of various rebel groups rising against the Empire.
Could the squadron of soldiers that attacked Colony Three today have been part of such a group?
The High Priest experienced a flicker of satisfaction, though, when he imagined how miserable the rescuers would be when the stunned pilgrims awakened. The t’landa Til knew only too well how addicted most humanoids quickly became when exposed to the Exultation on a daily basis.