. .”
Han stopped in his tracks and looked over to find a Duros male beckoning to him. He glanced from side to side, but the Devaronian street scene was quiet and peaceful. This section near the town square was reserved for pedestrian traffic. “Yeah?” he replied, in a low voice.
The blue-skinned Duros motioned for Han to follow him into a nearby alley.
The Corellian walked to the mouth, turned the corner, then stood with his back against the wall, hand on the grip of his blaster. “Okay, this is as far as I go without knowing what you want.”
The Duro’s mournful expression lengthened even farther. “You are not a trusting sentient, Pilot Solo. I was referred to you by a mutual friend, Truthful Toryl. He said you are an excellent pilot.”
Han relaxed slightly, but didn’t take his hand off his gun. “I’m good, all right,” he said. “If Truthful Toryl sent you … prove it.”
The Duros gazed straight at him with calm, moonstone-colored eyes. “He said I was to tell you that the Talisman you brought him is no more.”
Han relaxed and took his hand off his weapon. “Okay, you’ve convinced me he sent you,” he said. “State your business.”
“I need a ship delivered to Nar Hekka, in the Hutt system,” the Duros said.
“I am willing to pay well … but, Pilot Solo, you must not allow Imperials to board her should you run into any patrols.”
Han sighed. More intrigues. But the Duros’s offer interested him.
He’d been planning all along to eventually make his way to Nar Shaddaa, the “Smuggler’s Moon” that orbited Nal Hutta. Now would be as good a time as any. From Nar Hekka, he could easily catch a ship to Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa.
“Tell me more,” he said.
“Only if you can raise ship within two hours,” the Duros said. “If not, tell me, and I will look elsewhere for a pilot.”
Han considered for a moment. “Well … I could maybe change my plans . .
. for the right price.”
The Duros named a figure, then added, “And the same sum upon delivery.”
Han snorted, then shook his head, though inwardly he was surprised at how high the initial bid was. “C’mon, Chewie,” he said, “we’ve got places to go, people to see.”
Too quickly, the Duros named another, higher sum.
This guy must really be desperate, Han thought as he pretended to hesitate for a beat. He shook his head. “I dunno … it’s not worth my butt if the Imperials are lookin’ for this ship of yours.
What’s she carrying?”
The Duros’s expression did not change. “That I cannot tell you. But I will tell you that if you deliver the ship and its contents safely to Tagta the Hutt, he will be pleased, and pleasing a Hutt Lord is generally considered to be a good thing for one’s financial well-being. Tagta is Jiliac the Hutt’s highest-ranking subordinate on Nar Hekka.”
Han’s ears pricked up. Jiliac the Hutt was a very highranking Hutt Lord indeed. Maybe this Tagta would give him a recommendation to the boss …
“Hmmmmmmmm …” Han scratched his head, then named a sum. “And all in advance,” he added.
The Duros’s pale blue skin seemed to grow even paler, but then he nodded.
“Very well as to the sum, but half up front. You will receive the rest from Tagta, Pilot Solo.”
Han considered, then nodded. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.
Chewie”—he turned to address the Wookiee, who was hovering nearby, listening intently—”go on back to that lockbox where we left our stuff and get it, will you, while I conclude my business with our friend here?” The Wookiee rumbled a soft assent.
“Thanks. I’ll meet you on the north side of the town square in an hour, okay?”
Chewbacca nodded and moved off down the street.
Han walked closer to the Duros, and said, “Okay, you’ve got yourself a pilot. We’ll raise ship within two hours. Fill me in on the rest of it.
Where do I find this Tagta the Hutt?”
Within minutes Han had all the details. The Duros handed over a sheaf of credit vouchers, gave him the ship’s security code, and the location of the vessel. Then the blue-skinned alien melted away into the dimness of the alley.
Han had a couple of minutes to kill, so he grabbed a quick bite at the cafe next door. He had to argue with the Devish female chef to get her to cook his meat. But it was worth it. The food drowned the last of the ale-induced muzziness. Clearheaded, his energy renewed, Han felt considerably cheered.
On his way to the town square, he stopped off at a secondhand shop that catered to spacers of all species. There he bought a beat-up black lizard-hide jacket to replace the one the Barabel had shredded.