by Alex Wheeler
The Balosar had contacted the Falcon shortly after the ship jumped away from Yavin 4. He was looking for someone with "very particular skills" to acquire a "very particular package"—and he'd been told Han was the man to do it.
That was it. No details about the potential job or the potential fee. Just a name, Griggs Pe'et, and a time and location. Fourteen hundred hours, in a small gambling joint on Tythe, take it or leave it.
Han wasn't in the habit of taking jobs from just anyone.
Just anyone who could pay.
So he and Chewbacca had jumped to the Arkanis sector, and here he was. Ready for something new.
Kislov's Gambling Palace was a dead end club on a dead end planet, filled with dead-eyed spacers looking to make a quick buck. The room was claustrophobic and musty, the muttering quiet punctuated by the occasional shout of protest about a cheating sabacc dealer. (In Han's experience, all sabacc dealers cheated—it was your own fault if you played without knowing the rules of the game.) A dour Ychthytonian sloshed drinks behind the bar, juggling mugs of grog and caf in each of his four hands. The club looked like a gundark nest and smelled like wet bantha fur.
Han felt right at home.
"As we speak, an Imperial transport is ferrying a valuable shipment to the Imperial satellite station in the Zorna system," the Balosar said in a hushed tone.
"Shipment of what?" Han asked.
"That is not your concern yet," Griggs Pe'et said. "Your only concern is that I want the shipment—and I'm willing to pay for it."
"Oh yeah? How much?" Han asked.
"Ten thousand," Pe'et offered.
Han laughed. "You want me to infiltrate an Imperial station for ten thousand? You some kind of comedian?"
Chewbacca growled.
"Don't worry, buddy, I'm sure he was just kidding around," Han said. "No need to tear his arms off." He leaned toward the Balosar, "That's the thing about Wookiees. They can't take a joke. So how about we talk about the real price."
"What did you have in mind?" Pe'et hissed.
Han named a price that was double his usual—just enough to pay back Jabba, with a little leftover for a new exhaust port on the Falcon.
The alien's antennapalps began to vibrate, shuddering so hard Han half-expected his head to split in two. Pe'et frowned. "You drive a hard bargain, Solo. I could get ten men to do it for half that."
Han shrugged. "You want the best, you pay for the best." He jerked his head at Chewbacca, and they stood up together. "But if you'd rather find someone else—"
"Wait," the Balosar barked. "I'll pay. When I get the shipment."
"You'll pay half up front," Han said. "Or no deal."
Pe'et nodded. "Then we have an agreement?"
"We have an offer," Han said, enjoying himself. It felt good to be back in his element, doing what he did best. "My partner and I will have to discuss it."
The alien nodded again, then stared at them, as if waiting.
"Alone," Han said.
Griggs Pe'et stood up, muttering something about why he hated dealing with humans. He tossed a datacard down on the table. "This will tell you how to reach me. I'll need a decision by tonight."
Once they were alone, Han kicked back in his chair, propping his legs on the table. "Looks like we got ourselves a job, buddy," he said contentedly.
Chewbacca barked a question.
"What's to discuss?" Han asked. "He's got credits, we've got a ship."
Chewbacca growled.
"All we need to know about him is that he's willing to pay us forty thousand," Han said.
Chewbacca growled again, and Han rolled his eyes.
"No, it's got nothing to do with the fact that it's an Imperial station," Han said. "I told you, I don't care what Leia and the rest of them think of me."
Chewbacca issued a low moan.
"Well of course we'll let them know if we find out something that can help," Han said irritably. "But that's not why I'm doing it. This is just a job, that's it."
"And Han Solo never lies down on the job," a familiar voice growled from behind him. "Ain't that right?"
Han reached for his weapon—then froze as he felt the cold muzzle of a blaster press against the back of his neck.
The Balosar crept into the dim alley behind the gambling club, his palm extended. The man in the tattered gray robe was waiting, his face still shrouded by a heavy hood.
"He says he needs to think it over," Griggs Pe'et said. "But if I know Solo, he'll take the job. You got my payment?"
The man slipped a credit chip out of his utility belt. "You'll find an additional ten thousand, to cover your silence," he said. "You'll get the rest when Captain Solo accepts the job. And, as agreed, if Solo is successful, you can keep the shipment."
The Balosar shoved the chip into a fold in his loose-fitting robe. "I still don't get it. You hire me to hire Solo, to steal a shipment that you don't even want? Doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't have to make sense. Not to you," the man said. "You just have to give Solo the coordinates of the Imperial station and then forget you ever met me."
"Met who?" the Balosar asked, and slipped away into the darkness.
The man waited a moment, tipping his face up, as if breathing in the night. Only once he'd assured himself that he was truly alone, did he speak. "It is done."
CHAPTER SIX
Jaxson slammed his glass down on the table. He narrowed his eyes and leaned across the table toward Luke. "I said, the Rebellion is full of traitors," he repeated. "So if Biggs was a Rebel, then he was a traitor, too."
Luke stood up. "That's enough!"
"Oh yeah?" Jaxson asked, rising to his feet. He stood several centimeters taller than Luke, and his arms were broad and muscled from long days working on his family's moisture farm. "You gonna stop me, Wormie?"
"Maybe I am," Luke said, balling his fists.
"Guys, take it easy," Windy said.
"Luke, just let it go," Leia advised.
"Yeah, Luke," Jaxson simpered, in a parody of Leia's voice. "Be a good little boy and let it go."
Luke knew he should listen to Leia.
But.
Han wouldn't let it go, he thought to himself. And after all, he'd told all his friends he was a pilot now, a smuggler, a tough and dangerous guy. Shouldn't he act the part?
Shouldn't he defend Biggs's honor, the only way a tough and dangerous smuggler would know how?
"Biggs was a hero," Luke said. And then he punched Jaxson in the stomach.
"Oooof!" Jaxson wheezed, doubling over. But in an instant, he was upright again, fists swinging wildly. He lunged at Luke. Windy jumped into the fight, trying to separate the two. Jaxson swung, Luke ducked, and Windy took the blow on his chin. He wheeled backward, slamming into Fixer, who toppled over in his chair.
"Watch it!" Fixer shouted, climbing to his feet and lashing out at Windy.
The station was still mostly empty, but there were a few stragglers loitering around the table who'd been waiting too long for a good fight. In Anchorhead, not much else ever broke the monotony of the day. Soon they were all on their feet, cheering and stomping and throwing punches and kicks at random.
A slim, rat-faced Ranat went sailing through the air and crashed through a window, spraying the station with a shower of transparisteel, There were a few cries of "traitor!" and "Imperial slime!" but it was obvious that most people didn't know what the fight was about nor did they care. Tosche Station was filling up, as passersby heard the commotion and hurried in to join the fun. A stocky, muscled woman slung a punch at a bedraggled Ryn, who broke a chair over the head of a scruffy human with a patch across his left eye. Leia pressed herself into a corner, rolling her eyes at a trio of Dugs, who were taking turns stomping on each others' heads.
But in the center of the chaos, Luke hadn't forgotten what was at stake. Jaxson wrapped an arm around his neck and twisted him into a choke hold. Luke gasped for breath. "This is what we do to traitors!" Jaxson growled.
&nb
sp; Luke stomped down hard on Jaxson's instep, then dug an elbow sharply into his stomach. Jaxson flinched and his grip loosened, only for a moment, enough time for Luke to wriggle out of his grasp. Jaxson swung his fists, but Luke darted out of the way, and none of the blows landed. Luke ducked behind Jaxson and wrapped his arms around the larger man's waist, twisting him off balance and kicking his legs out from under him. Jaxson toppled to the ground with a thump and clatter. With a roar, he snatched Luke's ankle and yanked with all his strength. Luke went flying.
The thunderous crack of laserfire hitting the ceiling made everyone pause and look up: A large man emerged from the back room, hoisting a blaster. The first shot had gone straight up. But now he had the muzzle aimed out at the crowd. Merl Tosche spent as little time at the power station as he could afford to do. But when he was at work, he hated to be disturbed. "Enough!" he roared.
With a shrug and a grin, the fighters dusted themselves off, shook hands, and slunk out of the station. That was the thing about most fights on Tatooine—it didn't take much to get them started, but it took even less to end them.
Most, but not all. Luke wasn't ready to give up. Neither was Jaxson.
Windy grabbed Luke by the shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Jaxson lunged forward, but Deak grabbed his shirt and dragged him backward. The two glared at each other.
"You children done playing?" Leia asked dryly, gazing at the debris strewn across the station. A rickety JR-8 maintenance droid was already sweeping away the worst of it, sucking shattered fuel cells and puddles of spilled ruby bliel into its hollow durasteel belly.
"This isn't a game," Luke said.
"No, it's not," Jaxson agreed.
Windy forced a grin and slapped Luke awkwardly on the back. "Let's forget the whole thing," he suggested. "Empire, Rebellion, who cares? What's that got to do with us?"
"Yeah," Fixer agreed. "Whoever's running the galaxy, the suns will keep rising and the vaporators will keep sucking moisture. Vader can't bring water to the desert, any more than the Rebels can tame a krayt dragon. Tatooine will always be Tatooine."
"Fixer's right," Camie said, slipping her arms around her fiancé and nestling her head on his shoulder. "It's not our problem."
Luke shook his head. "You don't understand. If you knew what was really going on out there—"
"Like you know?" Jaxson scoffed. "You think you're so much smarter than us because you left and we stayed? You walk away from your responsibilities to run around the galaxy playing space pilot, and you want to come back here and tell us we don't understand?"
"That's not what I meant," Luke protested.
"You think you're so special, just because you can pilot a ship," Jaxson jeered. "But I'm a better pilot than you any day."
Luke scowled. "I've seen you fly," he retorted. "You couldn't drive a skyhopper twenty meters without trashing into a dune."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah!"
"You think you're so much better? How about you prove it!" Jaxson challenged.
"Anytime, any place," Luke said.
"Tomorrow. Race in Beggar's Canyon. We'll thread the Needle. At least, one of us will."
Luke hesitated.
"Scared?" Jaxson jeered.
"Scared for you, maybe." Only two people had ever successfully threaded the Needle. Luke was one of them; Jaxson wasn't the other.
"Jaxson, don't be crazy!" Camie squealed.
"Yeah, you got nothing to prove," Windy added. He'd been in the cockpit the first time Luke had threaded the Needle, and he still looked traumatized by the memory.
Jaxson ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on Luke. "You in?"
"Tomorrow at sunset," Luke said. "If you're crazy enough to go through with it." He stalked out of the station without waiting for a response. A moment later, Leia came up behind him and gently rested a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her off.
"I'm fine," he said, and turned around. There was nothing gentle in her expression.
"I wasn't going to ask if you were fine," she snapped. "I was going to ask if you were crazy. We came here to keep you safe, and what's the first thing you do? Start a stupid fight over nothing!"
"It's not nothing," Luke protested. "You heard him."
Leia shook her head in disgust. "I thought you knew better than that," she chided him. "You were acting like a child in there. No, worse, you were acting like Han."
Luke brightened. "You think so?"
"That's not a compliment." Leia rubbed her hands across her eyes in exhaustion. "This isn't like you."
"Maybe that's the point," Luke said. "Han never runs away from danger. But here I am, hiding out here like a scared profrogg."
"Han ran away from us!" Leia pointed out. "Or are you forgetting?"
"He had his reasons," Luke said, wishing he knew what they were. "And that's not the point. The point is, I'm not running away again. Especially not from the Needle. That doesn't scare me."
"Why do I get the feeling that it should?" Leia asked. "What is it?"
Luke told her about the canyon, a long, jagged gash in the desert that had once been a part of the old Boonta Eve Classic Pod race circuit. With its alarmingly sharp twists and turns, it made the perfect training ground for aspiring pilots. Luke had spent plenty of hours out there, practicing his maneuvers and using womp rats for target practice.
Then there was the Needle.
"The Stone Needle's nearly twenty meters high," Luke explained, "and most racers go around it. But if you can manage to slip through the eye of the Needle, you can shave four, maybe five seconds off your time." Not to mention, prove that you were the boldest and best pilot around.
"So why doesn't everyone go through the Needle?" Leia asked, like she already knew the answer.
"Well…lots of people try," Luke admitted. "But it's risky. If you're off by even a meter…"
As he spoke, Leia's lips pressed tighter and tighter together. Her cheeks blazed red.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No. That's too risky."
"Aw, it's no risk for me," Luke said. "I've done it before. It's a piece of pika cake. After what I've done? The Podrace on Muunilinst? The Death—"
Leia silenced him with a look, and cast a meaningful glance over her shoulder. Luke tensed, as the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. He was suddenly convinced that someone was watching them. But the streets of Anchorhead were deserted.
"Anyway, that was different," Leia said impatiently. "You were risking your life for something important. Not to show off."
"This is important," Luke insisted. "It's not about whether I'm a better pilot. It's not even about me. You know who was the first person to ever thread the Needle? Biggs. This is for him. Maybe I can't tell anyone how he died—I can't prove that he died a hero. But I can do this. I can do this for him."
"This Jaxson guy…" Leia shook her head. "That's some friend you've got there."
Luke bristled. "He's not my friend. We never used to hang around with him, but…I guess a lot's changed since I left."
"Not that much," Leia said, offering a half smile. "He's still not your friend."
Luke laughed hesitantly, not sure if that meant she wasn't angry anymore.
"You're telling me that you really believe if you beat Jaxson in a skyhopper race, you'll be proving that Biggs is a hero?" she asked, dead serious again.
Luke nodded.
"And that if you don't race, or if you lose, it will mean to all of your friends that Jaxson's right about the Alliance and about Biggs?"
Luke nodded again.
"You do realize that makes no sense, right?" she asked.
"Not to you, maybe," Luke said quietly.
"But it does to you?"
Luke nodded a third time, and when he raised his head, he held her gaze steadily.
Leia breathed out a sigh, then grinned. "In that case…I guess you'd better win."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Far across the Western Dune Sea stood a fortress, whos
e population of guards, chefs, dancers, thieves, and slaves was several times that of Anchorhead. In the bowels of the palace, spider-like creatures skittered through the murky depths, each one's mechanical arms powered by a brain in a jar. These were all that remained of the B'omarr monks, who had erected the great fortress centuries before. Now they clung to the shadows, while another usurped the seat of their power.
The usurper required a very large seat.
"Who's next?" Jabba the Hutt roared in Huttese from his massive throne. The groveling courtiers who packed his throne room shrank away from the slug's booming voice. He slapped his tail impatiently against the dais, so hard that the floor beneath him vibrated. Jabba was the sector's biggest crime lord, the shadowy force behind every dirty deal in the sector. His power was such that with a word, he could bring down governments, torpedo corporations, and, if he chose to do so, perhaps destroy a small city.
But the obese Hutt's favorite games were those he could play from home; his favorite toys were the ones who cowered before his throne, begging for mercy. Too stupid to know it would never be granted.
A thin, stooped human shivered under his glare. Jabba smiled, his mouth widening enough so that he could have swallowed up the man whole. He was always glad to see a human; they tended to be the stupidest of all. And the most fun.
A thick scar crawled from beneath the collar of the human's ragged brown tunic. It traversed the length of his neck and split his weathered face down the middle.
"You dare interrupt my dessert?" Jabba asked. One of Jabba's servants dangled a wriggling gorg over the Hutt's open mouth. Jabba's massive tongue tickled the gorg. At Jabba's command, the servant let the creature drop. It disappeared, squealing and keening, into Jabba's gaping maw. He swallowed it with a loud gulp. "Speak!" he commanded.
The human mumbled something, but his words were drowned out by the chattering and chuckling of Jabba's court.
"Louder!" Jabba said. "Rancor got your tongue? Because that can be arranged. HO! HO! HO!" There was a brief pause, and then the room burst into laughter. Jabba raised his twig-like arm, and the sound stopped abruptly.
"Honorable Jabba," the man muttered in Huttese, only a bit louder than the first time. "Thank you for this audience. I've come to report that Luke Skywalker has returned to Tatooine. He's in Anchorhead!"