"Turnabout"
by K. Wills Sterling

In a galaxy far, far away, at a time before any of us knew our heroes, Jabba 
the Hutt rules Tatooine and its environs. Inside the dusky husk of Jabba's 
palace, Bib Fortuna needs some ryll to satisfy an old hunger. Han Solo, his ship 
limping through the space around Ryloth, needs money for a new motivator 
circuit. He strikes a deal with a wealthy young Twi'lek who is seeking to buy 
freedom for his enslaved sister on Tatooine. Though Solo doesn't know it, what 
happens next will be the start of his troubles with Jabba. Originally published in 
"Imperium" #6.




Bib Fortuna sat at his desk, working to compose his features as he listened to
Garindan's report. "Long Snout," as he was known by many in Mos Eisley, often
spied for the Imperials, but he would work for anyone if the price was right. He was
here now, hoping for a token of appreciation -- or some new business, perhaps. The
dark gray, pachyderm-like Kubaz spoke in a low voice, his head bowed
deferentially to the Twi'lek.

One of Fortuna's muscular lekku twitched slightly, but the anger evident in the
action would have been apparent only to another Twi'lek. The most skilled linguists
in the galaxy could not read head-tail language accurately, and for that, Fortuna was
most grateful, especially at this moment. Had another Twi'lek been present, many of
Fortuna's thoughts would have been known.

Fortuna raised one needle-like fingernail, stopping Garindan in mid-sentence. "And
just how, my sharp-eyed one, did the Imperials know the freighter was carrying
ryll?" Fortuna asked the question in Basic. Though he could speak Kubazi, he
wanted to make Garindan think in Basic; he couldn't afford to let him get too
comfortable.

Long Snout blinked behind his thick goggles, almost imperceptible under his hood.
"That I do not know, my lord." He paused; it wasn't often that he had to give
reports without his autotranslate comlink. After thinking a moment, he continued. "I
know only that the Imperial commander has impounded the shipment for immediate
relocation to an unknown destination."

Fortuna laid one finger against his cheek, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing. This was
certainly not welcome news. He had managed to assuage Jabba's anger the first
time this had happened by blaming it on the bumbling ship captain, a virtual
unknown whom Jabba had hired to make the relatively easy run from nearby Ryloth
to Tatooine. But this time ... this was one of Jabba's most experienced men. 

Fortuna looked up. He had heard enough. Rising, he laid one arm familiarly across
the Kubaz's robed shoulders and slipped a credit chip into his pocket, all the while
guiding the spy toward the door of his cramped, dark office. "Your services are
greatly appreciated by the mighty Jabba," he intoned smoothly in Basic. "Should
you learn who is providing this information to the Imperials -- and supply proof of
the deed -- Jabba will reward you handsomely." He paused momentarily for effect
and then said, in Kubazi, "And if you find who did this, be sure to tell him to watch
his back. Jabba has many eyes in Mos Eisley, as well as elsewhere on Tatooine and
throughout the galaxy." This last he spoke in a low, threatening tone, for he
suspected that Garindan himself was the guilty party.

Garindan ducked his head in obeisance and quickly departed, all too glad to leave
Fortuna alone with his thoughts.

Fortuna palmed the door closed and keyed in the security lock. Gliding over to the
desk, he glanced reflexively over his shoulder before opening the hidden
compartment built into the underside of the desk top. A metal box dropped into his
open hand. Carefully he placed the box on top of his desk and sat in his chair,
contemplating it a moment. With both hands, he raised the lid. Inside, small packets
of ryll caught the light coming in through the barred window, the bright yellow
crystals reflecting their purity. Fortuna ran his long, bony fingers through the
packets, savoring their feel. He almost trembled with craving at the sight of them,
but his concern over their constantly dwindling number overwhelmed the initial
feeling. 

Leaning back, Fortuna allowed himself to savor the memory of how he had
advanced in life. It hadn't been all that many years since he had earned his living as
a ryll agent on his home planet of Ryloth. And a good living it was.
Biopharmaceutical corporations or underworld drug lords -- it mattered not who he
sold to. Some Twi'leks had criticized him for that, but Fortuna sniffed at the
thought. After all, that was how he met Jabba, a fortuitous break that gave him the
chance to leave the dark mists of Ryloth and come here, to Tattooine, to coordinate
Jabba's smuggling operation and, eventually, serve as his major-domo. As he
looked again at the packets in front of him, the two bulbous processes on his
forehead began to darken; Fortuna realized that his personal supply of ryll would
soon be gone, and with the Imperials patrolling the spaceway between Ryloth and
Tatooine, there was no guarantee of replacement. Addiction was often the price one
paid for dealing in ryll, and until now, Fortuna had never given it a second thought.

He sat at the desk for a long time as the twin suns of Tatooine sank lower in the sky
outside and the shadows in his already dark office lengthened into night. There were
two things to be done: replenish his supply of ryll and placate Jabba for the loss of
the second shipment. Fortuna was determined to do both.

                         *    *    *    *

Jerris Rudd lifted a grimy, threadbare shirt sleeve to order another drink, his third in
the past hour. Like most of the other smugglers, he'd been killing time on Ryloth,
hoping the Imperials would find something better to do than board all ships coming
out of that star system. He knew he was hedging his bets, but he'd missed the last
payment on his ship loan, and he needed high-margin work; besides, Ryloth was a
good place to hide from the impounders. He ran one hand through his black, oily
locks and downed half of his drink, congratulating himself on what he hoped would
be his good fortune. He was on the verge of a deal that just might change his luck.
All these months -- years, really -- making runs for peanuts had finally paid off. His
new ship was fast, and one of his contacts had just put him in touch with an agent
employed by Jabba the Hutt. He smiled momentarily at the hope of steady business
and good pay, but then the thought of the Hutt, and his reputation as a hard and
exacting businessman, made the slovenly human sweat; he lifted his drink uneasily
to his lips -- and then put it down. No. He had to have his wits about him if he were
going to make this deal. He fidgeted with the glass and peered around the mostly
empty bar. His eyesight was well adapted to the shadows, having been honed here
during his many business dealings on the dark side of Ryloth; that gave him a
distinct advantage over all but the native Twi'leks. 

Rudd leaned back in the booth, listening and watching intently for some sign of his
contact. At last he heard the slight rustle of footsteps approaching from the rear of
the bar. Rising, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see a Twi'lek wave him
somewhat condescendingly back in his seat. Rudd sat down, somewhat surprised;
he wasn't used to Twi'leks displaying such authority. This one had an air about him,
a smugness, that Rudd rarely saw.

"Jerris Rudd?" the Twi'lek almost demanded.

Rudd nodded curtly, turning his glass round and round in his dirty fingers. "And you
would be ... ?" he returned.

"Manager of operations for the mighty Jabba the Hutt," the Twi'lek inclined his
head almost imperceptibly. "I understand you have made many successful trading
runs."

The human nodded again. Eagerly he opened his mouth to brag of his most recent
exploits, but the Twi'lek raised one menacing forefinger. The smuggler stopped, at
once embarrassed and befuddled. He decided to let the Twi'lek carry the
conversation.

"Jabba has need of a skilled pilot," the Twi'lek continued in a low voice. His red
eyes searched the bar for any who might be listening, but there were few there at
this time of day. "The individual selected must have the utmost discretion and the
most assiduous devotion to Jabba. Any deviation would be grounds for a break in
relations" -- here the Twi'lek pulled back his thin red lips in what Rudd took for a
smile -- "and of course termination of the pilot's life." He paused for a moment to
give Rudd time to consider. "My sources tell me you have the necessary experience.
Are you interested in terms?" Though he did not say it, his sources also told him that
Rudd, though a better-than-able pilot and shrewd in a fight, was less skilled as a
businessman and would be likely to go along with his proposal.

Rudd leaned back. He cringed inwardly at the idea of working for the Hutt, but for
his entire smuggling life, he'd been dreaming of a setup like this. A few runs for
Jabba, and he could pay off the loan on his ship and be free and clear of any
entanglements. He lifted his glass, tossed the rest of the burning liquid down his
throat in a single motion, and then set the empty glass down, just a little too hard.
For an instant, he thought he saw a hint of amusement on the Twi'lek's face. He
leaned forward, motioning for the Twi'lek to continue.

"Jabba is willing to pay the standard fee for the first trading run. If you are
successful, subsequent runs will earn you a bonus commensurate with your
performance." The Twi'lek stopped, considering him. "Are you willing to sign a
contract to this effect?"

Rudd crossed his arms in front of his chest and thought for a few minutes, not
wanting to appear too eager. Shouldn't just sign without bargaining for something.
Finally he responded, "Only if the contract can be terminated by either party, at any
time."

"Of course, of course," the Twi'lek simpered. He unfolded the fingers of one hand
in a fan-like fashion, as if this were a given."Jabba's contracts can always be
discontinued." There it was again: the smile. 

"Alright, then," the smuggler agreed. He hoped the heavy feeling in his stomach was
merely too much drink, too fast.

Now it was the Twi'lek's turn to lean forward. One thick lek twitched in
earnestness. "Jabba also has need of ryll. Of course you can supply that?"

Rudd's eyes widened, but he tried to keep his tone even. "Don't you know about
the Imperial raids on all ships leaving this star system?"

The Twi'lek's expression darkened. "All too well, I'm afraid. But how does that
concern us? Is your ship not fast enough? Are you not an experienced pilot?"

Rudd spread his hands. "Makes no difference. The ryll agents formed a coalition to
stop sales. They're stockpiling the ryll to drive the price up, make up for their
losses."

The Twi'lek's face darkened noticeably. "I ask again: How does that concern us?"

The human was confused by the question and unsure how to answer; he didn't want
to blow the deal now. He decided to offer hope to the Twi'lek. "Look, before long
the pharmaceutical companies'll start pressuring the Empire to ease up, and that'll
force the Imps to look the other way. When that happens, my sources'll give me as
much as you want."

The Twi'lek's eyes narrowed, and the muscles of his face twitched. Evidently he
had not been clear. "Come now, my trading friend," he hissed in a threatening tone,
one lek snapping forward from its position behind his shoulder, "it is well known
that smugglers regularly raid such stockpiles."

Rudd drew himself up, facing the Twi'lek squarely; he didn't like this challenge to
his new commitment. He spoke firmly, emphasizing each word. "There is no
raiding going on. By anyone." Here he paused for effect. "The agents've all hired
extra guards, put in extra security precautions. Anyone tryin' to steal ryll is likely to
wind up dead."

The Twi'lek contemplated Rudd's words; he had heard this was so. Perhaps it
would change. Perhaps he could make it change. For the moment he decided to let
the matter go in favor of another issue. "Very well, then. As you say. Possibly you
would like to demonstrate your loyalty to Jabba in another way."

Rudd began to sweat again, and one dirty fingernail traced a line down the side of
his empty glass. He wished desperately he had another drink. For an instant he
considered walking out of the bar, but the thought of regular pay enticed him to stay.
He leaned forward and listened to the Twi'lek's plan.

                         *    *    *    *

The Ry's'ntar clan representative inclined his head respectfully as Bib Fortuna
quietly asked for the maiden Koi. Nearly everyone on Ryloth had heard of Fortuna's
success, both in his lucrative smuggling business there on Ryloth and in the employ
of the famous Jabba on Tatooine. His acumen was considered unequalled among a
people who lived and died by it. "Please tell her that a suitor awaits the pleasure of
her company," he smiled tightly, generously slipping a few credits into the folds of
the Twi'lek's robes.

"She will be most honored, I am sure, Master Fortuna," bowed the representative.
He clutched the credits to his chest and disappeared into the entrance of the
underground warren.

Fortuna waited patiently, fingering the vibroblade in his pocket. This one would give
him no trouble.

                         *    *    *    *

Not far away, Jerris Rudd squatted in the swirling mists. Another Ryloth night, just
like the Ryloth days -- dark and damp among the rocky cliffs and caves, the never-ending night seldom broken by the light of a moon, or even stars. The heavy mists
enshrouded the peaks here on the dark side of the planet, allowing little to grow
other than mushrooms, roots, molds, and fungi. Rudd spat onto a nearby rock and
readjusted the blaster in his hand. The two young Twi'lek females had scarcely
moved since he had thrown them there, bound and gagged, awaiting Fortuna's final
capture. One of them, Oola, glared at him contemptuously over the gag; she made it
a point to meet his glance whenever he looked her way. The other -- he hadn't
caught her name -- lay there submissively, her eyes closed, her breath shallow.
Standing, he holstered his blaster, slouched over to her, and ran the toe of his work
boot down her sensitive left lek, grinning maliciously as her eyes opened with a
start.

"You feel that, do you, Twi?" he jeered in a low voice. Squatting next to the wide-eyed, frightened girl, he repeated the action, this time with his hand, squeezing the
lek sensuously along its length. "I could make you feel a lot."

A vibroblade hissed to life beside his ear. Rudd was careful not to move his head
too quickly. Rising, he slowly turned around. Fortuna glared back at him, his
narrowed eyes barely visible in the darkness. For a tense moment the blade hummed
in the air between the two, Rudd's forefinger twitching on the handle of his blaster.
Fortuna gripped a slender young Twi'lek female firmly by the arm, his claws
digging into her bare flesh. Her large, dark eyes wept tears of fright, and perhaps
pain, above the gag tied tightly around her face. He held Rudd's gaze a moment and
thumbed the blade off. "You work for Jabba now," he growled, so low Rudd could
barely understand him. "You will not forget that." He slung the girl at Rudd so
forcefully that she stumbled and fell at his feet. In spite of himself, Jerris almost felt
sorry for her.

"Bind her," Fortuna ordered tersely, "and then we go."

Rudd obeyed, sullenly wondering what Jabba's standard fee was for abduction. He
prodded the girls to their feet with the barrel of his blaster, and the five figures
moved off through the whorling fog, the sharp rocks cutting through the thin soles of
Rudd's boots, the towering peaks silent save for the occasional mewl of a rycrit.

                         *    *    *    *

Four months later ...

Han Solo blew a grateful sigh of relief to the stars outside the viewport. It had taken
him 6 hours to get clearance for takeoff from the authorities on Piroket, followed by
12 hours of harrowing sublight flight through an ion storm and the rocky debris left
behind by the trail of a comet. When he finally found himself in clear space, he at
once reprogrammed the hyperdrive and engaged the autopilot, thankful for a
breather. Stripping off his flight gloves, he stood and stretched, looking around the
cockpit. This oughta do it, he thought. Chewie'll be up in a couple of hours; the
Falcon should be okay until then. He powered down the gauges in the cockpit and
ambled back toward his cabin, stopping first to check on Chewbacca, who lay
mewling softly in the oversize bunk behind the deceleration couch.

"Yeah? Who says you don't snore, you big furball?" he muttered to himself.
Reaching up, he lowered the light in the lounge to twilight level and then ducked
down the passageway to his quarters, looking forward to a little rest.

Han had been sleeping only a short time when a violent shudder went through the
ship, slinging his flight bag from an overhead locker, scattering a pile of data chips
on his desk, and waking him with a start. Before he could get his bearings, a sudden
lurch hurled him headlong onto the metal deck. Swearing, Han scrambled to his feet,
hopping on first one foot and then the other as he pulled on his boots, all the while
bellowing, "Chewie! What's goin' on?! Chewie?!" 

He dashed into the passageway, then stopped short. Silence. The engines were out;
the ship had slammed out of hyperspace. Damn. Han took off for the main engine
compartment. Chewie was there when he arrived, pulling the cover plates off. 

"What the hell's goin' on?" he shouted accusingly. "I thought you just ran the
diagnostics!"

Chewie shrugged and reached for the tool case. Han threw himself onto his stomach
and peered down into the compartment: nothing wrong that he could see. Pushing
himself up with a grunt, he punched a code into the main engine computer and
scrolled down through the diagnostic readout. Chewie watched, his head cocked,
still holding the power prybar he had used to lift the flooring.

The readout stopped scrolling, Han's finger poised in midair above the button. A
shadow crossed his face, and he began to swear fiercely in a low voice. This was
not a good sign, Chewbacca thought. He much preferred for Han to yell. He barked
a question, pumping the prybar in one strong fist for emphasis.

Han's response was long in coming. It was almost as if speaking it would make it
true, and he desperately wanted not to believe what the on-board diagnostics were
telling him. When he did answer, his voice had a choking sound. "Hyperdrive
motivator's out. And the astrogation computer. I'll have to switch over to manual
navigation and start the sublight engines."

Then his temper kicked in, and he whirled on Chewbacca. "Why the hell didn't you
see this when you checked out the hyperdrive?! Am I gonna have to fly the ship and
run diagnostics, too?" He threw his hands up in disgust and glared at the Wookiee,
who bellowed in defense and pumped the prybar angrily.

"Alright, alright," Han muttered, striding over and lowering himself into the engine
well. So the ship computer said the hyperdrive was perfectly functional. So what?
He wanted somebody, or something, to blame. "Hand me the macrofuser, will ya?"
he called up to Chewie. " I'm gonna see if I can hot-wire enough pieces to jump-start this thing." He paused a minute. "And take a look at the astrogation matrix.
See if you can figure out why the computer blew." 

Two hours later Han lay in the engine well, fresh out of ideas. Without some new
parts, he'd never get the hyperdrive running. Damn. If this had happened back on
Piroket, I could've gotten the Bothans to fix it. His hands were cold; to save power,
he'd had to shut down the ship's environmental regulation system, except for the air
buffers. Aahh, but who am I kiddin'? he thought, whacking a power conduit angrily
with his hydrospanner. How would I have ever paid for it? Sitting up in the cramped
space, he reached overhead and gripped the edge of the deck to hoist himself up. A
massive furry arm grabbed his bicep and pulled him out of the well.

"Thanks, pal," he said gratefully, leaning against the bulkhead and chafing his hands
to warm them. Glancing up at Chewie, he asked, "Any luck with the astrogation
computer?"

Chewie shook his head and growled a response.

"Yeah," Han said resignedly. "From the looks of things we had some sort of plasma
pulse, maybe a residual from the ion storm. The motivator circuitry's fried. That's
probably what caused the short in the power coupling between the astrogation
computer and the hyperdrive." Rolling his eyes, he sighed and began making his
way toward the cockpit. "Any idea where we are?" he called back over his
shoulder.

Chewbacca, following him, barked sharply.

Han groaned. "Unless the star charts have changed, the nearest planet is either
Tatooine or Ryloth. Let's hope it's Tatooine." 

He had reached the cockpit by this time and dropped into the pilot's seat. Switching
over to manual navigation, he scrolled through the charts and checked his sensor
display. "Good thing we still have the sensor suite," he grumbled to himself.
"Otherwise I'd be using visual cues." He pursed his lips, studying the gauges to
determine their destination. Well, I see it's our usual good luck. "Chewie, engage
sublight engines. We're heading to Ryloth."

The Wookiee bared his teeth, bellowing indignantly.

Han spun in his chair to face his copilot. "I know we can't get parts there, but we
don't have enough power to make it to Tatooine. Maybe, just maybe, we can land a
job. If nothing else, I'll get up a sabacc game and earn us some spare cash." He
turned back to the job at hand and gritted his teeth. "Quit griping. I know what I'm
doin'."

                         *    *    *    *

Hours later, Han slapped at the viewport controls to dim the glare coming from the
bright side of Ryloth. At least Chewie hadn't said anything else. He scowled,
thinking of the Imps who had boarded the Falcon looking for illegal cargo. For once
in his life he wasn't carrying any, and for that he was grateful. He'd heard rumors
that they were patrolling Arkanis sector closely, but that was months ago. He was
surprised they had nothing better to do -- surprised, and more than a little peeved.
This meant no one would be shipping ryll. He'd have to gamble their way off
Ryloth. 

He caught Chewie's sideways glance out of the corner of his eye. "Look," he said,
annoyed, though the Wookiee had thus far refrained from making any sarcastic
remarks, "all I have to do is make us enough money to refuel so we can get to
Tatooine. That shouldn't be hard."

Chewie cocked his head and growled a reminder.

Han turned away and pretended to busy himself with the controls. "Yeah, well, I
was drunk that night," he muttered, uneasy with the memory. He cleared his throat
and changed the subject. "Cut sublight engines and engage repulsors; it's time we
landed on this rock."

It had been a long time since Han had been on Ryloth. As the Falcon entered the
twilight at the edge of light and darkness, the shadows moved across the
transparisteel viewport, plunging the ship into blackness. Han leaned back in the
pilot's chair, suddenly remembering all the reasons he disliked the place. With any
luck, they wouldn't be here long. Han rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Say, Chewie: we got any of that rhombin we used back on Ando?"

Chewbacca grunted and looked at him questioningly.

"I want you to sulfurize the Falcon as much as possible, keep the ophidians and
geckos out. Especially around the boarding ramp and the hatch. I don't want those
things crawlin' around in my ship." He shuddered slightly, remembering the saurian
that had once dropped on him from an overhead compartment.

Chewie barked an affirmative and turned back to monitoring subspace
transmissions. Han, one hand on the throttle, slowed the ship until she hung just
above the spaceport. Not enough technology on this pile of slag to even have a
flight control droid, he grumbled to himself, guiding the ship into the bay. He
nodded to Chewie, who ducked out of the cockpit in search of the rhombin packets,
and began shutting down the ship's systems. Clipping a hand-held glow light to his
belt and slipping his vibroblade into his boot, he prepared to leave the Falcon.

The entry ramp hissed open, and a blast of furnace-hot air hit Han in the face.
Great. A heat storm. Glad our luck is holding. He stopped a minute to get
accustomed to the darkness. Dim glow rods, powered by air turbines, illuminated
the small, deserted spaceport. Han grimly noted the lack of activity on a planet that
was normally teeming with smugglers. Dust rose in sworls and stung his cheek,
nearly blinding him in the near darkness. A suffocatingly torrid gust buffeted him,
whipping his shirt and urging him into activity. Sighing, he lowered his head in
protection from the storm and trudged over to the Flight Information Office.

Han had just finished putting out some discrete feelers at the FIO when Chewbacca
emerged from the Falcon and proceeded to secure the ship. Han waited at the
spaceport exit, glad for the cover provided by the recessed doorway. There was
only one bar above ground, and that was next to the spaceport. The Twi'leks
preferred the bars in their climate-controlled subterranean caverns, but it gave Han
the creeps to be below ground. He decided to try this one first.

Chewie arrived, crossbow in hand, grunting to Han the completion of his chores.
Wind-driven sand peppered his dark Wookiee fur.

"Thanks, pal," Han smiled with an optimism he did not feel and clapped him on the
arm. "Let's get something to eat. We'll both feel better."

Chewie yelped sarcastically.

Han frowned. "Yes, I have money, you big ape. Now get moving. The sooner we
eat, the sooner I can find a sabacc game." Han didn't mention the lack of
encouragement he'd received at the FIO. Without cargo, smugglers weren't likely to
be around; he might find himself playing sabacc with Chewie.

Setting his mouth in a grim line, he headed out of the security gate and turned
toward the bar, the Wookiee following close behind.

                         *    *    *    *


Bib Fortuna keyed in a new security code; he wasn't taking any chances with his
office these days. There were too many newcomers and hangers-on at the palace,
and one couldn't be too careful. The all-too-familiar cramping in his belly had begun
a little earlier. His pulse rate had risen, and his hands had begun shaking so badly
that he'd had to hide them in the folds of his robe. He finally had to make an excuse
to get away from Jabba. Now his hands were quaking erratically, betraying him in
his effort to get to the ryll hidden underneath the top of his desk. With a curse, he
broke the panel free and yanked out the box secreted within. Fumbling with one of
the packets, he at last was able to open it. He dipped one long claw into the small
packet and then touched the yellow powder to the underside of his tongue. He
waited, his eyes closed. In a few minutes he felt his heart slow and his anxiety
lessen. He began breathing more easily, and the tension in his muscles dissipated.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the small pile of packets before him. At one
time one of these would have been gone in two days; now each one had to last him a
week. Despite his best efforts, and all of his connections, he'd had no luck securing
any ryll when he was on Ryloth. The Imperial blockade had proven itself to be
virtually impenetrable. Rudd's ship had been boarded as soon as it was off-planet,
caught in a tractor beam before it could enter hyperspace. Fortunately, the young
Imperial lieutenant had merely smirked at the sight of the three girls; he knew slaves
when he saw them. 

Slaves. Fortuna grunted at the thought of the girls. The three of them, in true
Twi'lek tradition, were skilled dancers, and the professional training they had
received at Fortuna's hands had gone well. But there were other problems. Oola
was defiant, but her dancing was sensual and suggestive; she would make a good
gift to Jabba, and the Hutt might even appreciate her spunk. Sienn, on the other
hand, had adequate skill but was seemingly unable to dance with spirit or
improvisation, and Fortuna doubted he would be able to change that. The third girl,
Koi, was the most beautiful, and the most petite, of the three. Her dancing was
nearly as full of spark as Oola's, but her downcast eyes were tinged with a sadness
that Fortuna seldom saw. Most Twi'lek women adapted to their servanthood and
delighted in the freedom of movement afforded them through dance, but Koi, though
she tried to please, was unaccountably disheartened. All three girls needed work,
particularly in the comportment expected of them at Jabba's court, before Fortuna
could present his gift to the Hutt.

Fortuna sighed grimly. There were more pressing matters. He could hardly eat these
days, and his sleep was so rattled with nightmares that he dared not go to bed. He
could only hope the latest price he had offered for ryll -- the equivalent, per gram, of
two years' salary on Ryloth -- would entice one of the agents to betray the coalition. 

                         *    *    *    *

Han leaned close to the bartender, speaking in a low voice, all the while keeping an
eye on the sparse crowd filtering in and out of the dimly lit, dusty bar. When he
finished, he smiled in a friendly, open way and shook the bartender's hand. Turning,
the smile fading from his face, he picked his way through the empty tables back to
Chewbacca, who was making faces over what remained of the rycrit steak on his
plate.

"I don't know how that guy does it," he said, dropping into his seat and indicating
the bartender with a jerk of his head. "Why any human would stay on Ryloth is
beyond me."

Chewbacca cocked his head, bared his teeth, and growled.

Han looked annoyed. "I didn't find us a job yet. Have a little patience, will ya? The
barkeep said he'd look out for us." Yeah, us and all the other spacers trapped here
in the middle of nowhere. Han pushed his empty dinner plate away and glanced
around the bar again, assuming his most open expression. If there was any chance of
a sabacc game, he wanted to look inviting. So far, the prospects weren't good. Most
patrons seemed to be in search of dinner, not companionship or conversation. There
was precious little in the way of commerce, illegal or otherwise, going on at the
moment. Han absently thrummed his fingers on the tabletop, trying for Chewie's
sake to appear unconcerned. The Wookiee threw him a narrow glare, and in his
attempt not to show his aggravation, Han barely noticed the young Twi'lek who
entered the bar, hesitatingly at first, and then approached their table.

Han stopped thrumming his fingers and crossed his hands on the table in front of
him. The Twi'lek stood quietly, deferentially waiting to be addressed. Han looked
him over. He was well dressed, but very young. His robes were not made from the
usual domestic fabric, and a jeweled choker adorned his neck. His lekku were only
just now beginning to fatten with the muscle of adulthood, and his face was smooth
and as yet unmarked. 

Han raised an eyebrow at Chewie and turned to the young Twi'lek. "May I help
you?" he asked with overdrawn politeness.

The Twi'lek raised his eyes. "Are you Captain Solo? The clerk at the Flight
Information Office told me I would likely find you here."

Han threw Chewie another look, this one with a hint of triumph. "Yeah, I'm Han
Solo," he said. "What do you want?"

The Twi'lek met his gaze directly. "I have a business proposition." His eyes never
wavered from Han's.

Han stood, grabbed a chair from a nearby table, and slid it between him and
Chewbacca. Somewhat exaggeratedly, he gestured for the youth to take a seat and
then angled his own chair to listen to what the Twi'lek had to say. As he always did,
he kept one hand on his blaster in case everything was not as it appeared. He looked
meaningfully at Chewie: Keep your eyes open, pal.

"What's the deal, kid?" he asked easily, his usual confidence rising to the occasion.
He leaned back in the chair, one arm resting easily on the table, belying the ready
trigger finger on his blaster.

The Twi'lek hesitated a moment as if searching for just the right words. One lek
twitched noticeably, so much so that Han thought perhaps the youth was nervous. "I
need transportation to and from Tatooine," he said finally. "Specifically, Mos
Eisley. I am willing to pay handsomely."

Han risked a fleeting this-could-be-just-what-we're-looking-for glance at Chewie
and leaned forward. "What's the cargo?" he asked in a low voice.

"Myself," the Twi'lek answered unhesitatingly. His eyes met Han's.

"You?" Han asked suspiciously. "Just you? That's it?"

The Twi'lek nodded.

"What's the catch, kid? And what kind of money are we talking about?"

"There is no catch." One lek jerked markedly, something that did not escape Han's
notice. "I will pay you 6,000 credits, 1,000 in advance and 2,000 more when we
arrive on Tatooine. The rest you will receive when we return to Ryloth."

Han thought a moment. "What aren't you telling me? What happens on Tatooine?"

The Twi'lek's courage failed him momentarily, and he averted his eyes. When he
finally spoke, it was in a low, somewhat discouraged voice. "I am from the
Ry's'ntar clan, one of the largest on Ryloth. My father is a merchant," he stopped,
one hand fumbling with the hem of the opposite sleeve, "a rather prosperous
merchant. My sister was abducted and enslaved by a powerful lord on Tatooine --
so powerful, and so cunning, that it has taken me several months to discover where
she is. I hope to buy her freedom. If I am successful, she will be returning with us to
Ryloth. If I am not successful ... then I return alone." He raised his eyes and looked
first at Han and then at Chewbacca hopefully.

Chewie bellowed indignantly, raising one paw angrily and slamming it down on the
table, causing the few patrons who were present to turn their heads in his direction.
Han rolled his eyes. Great. Just great. Another slave liberation mission. The last
time I did this, it cost me my career, and almost my life. ... He studied the youth a
moment, the Twi'lek's nervousness and young age softening all of Han's better
instincts. Still, I can hardly afford to turn it down. Not that Chewie would ever let
me. 

Han pursed his lips, calculating the cost of the repairs to the Falcon. "It'll cost you
8,000 credits, and I need 2,000 in advance, and 2,000 when we get to Tatooine."

Chewie bellowed again, this time at Han, who gave him a pointed, shut-up-you-big-fuzzball glare.

The Twi'lek swallowed. "I will pay what you ask," he said, meeting Han's gaze
momentarily before averting his eyes again. Han noticed his fingers fidgeting with
the folds of his ornate robes. Something's goin' on. Despite his suspicions, Han
leaned forward and touched the youth on the arm. 

"What's your name, kid?"he asked in a soft voice.

The Twi'lek looked up, startled at the question. "I am called Ven Durra. My sister's
name is Koi."

Han scrutinized him closely. "You ever ridden in a space ship before?"

Ven shook his head, one lek falling forward over his shoulder. Hesitatingly he
admitted, "I am only just now of age and able to come above ground."

Inwardly Han thanked the gods. Good. Then you'll never notice that the hyperdrive
is out. He smiled reassuringly at the youth. "Don't worry. I'll make the flight as
smooth as I can." Clearing his throat, he said in a more authoritative tone, "Do you
have the advance with you? I'll need fuel for the trip."

Ven reached in the pocket of his robe. "I have 500 now. I will pay you 1,500 when
we are ready to depart."

Clever, even for a kid, Han thought to himself. He nodded and accepted the credits
from the youth. Standing, he stuffed the money inside his vest and reached to shake
Ven's hand. "Alright, kid, you've got yourself a deal. Meet me at the spaceport in
the morning. That'll give me time to refuel and prepare the ship for takeoff."

Ven returned his handshake uncertainly and hurried out of the bar. Han watched him
go and then turned to Chewie, who was already berating him. "Look, pal," he said,
guiding the Wookiee quickly into the street, "I had to raise the price. There's
something he isn't telling us, and I'm not stickin' my neck out for nothin'. Besides,
the repairs to the Falcon are gonna cost us plenty on Tatooine, even if we do the
work ourselves, and if we don't repair the ship, we might not get him or his sister
back here. So lighten up, will ya? The kid'll get his money's worth."

He let go of the Wookiee's muscular, furry arm and strode toward the spaceport, not
bothering to see whether Chewbacca was following him. "And to think," he
muttered complainingly to himself, "I coulda used a droid for a copilot -- but no, I
had to pick a big, loud-mouthed Wookiee."

                         *    *    *    *

Once again, Garindan stood before Fortuna, awaiting his attention. He shifted his
weight absent-mindedly and adjusted the goggles on his snout, squinting in the
dusky light of Jabba's palace. Fortuna frowned, studying the report before him.
Finally he looked up. 

"Is there any word from the Empire? Do they intend to decrease their presence in
the Arkanis sector?" he demanded of the Kubaz. One lek twitched menacingly.

Garindan shook his head slowly and thought carefully before replying. "I have not
heard word to that effect, no, most honorable sir." He paused, seeing the Twi'lek's
lips curl back and reveal his pointed teeth.

Fortuna struggled to keep his voice in an even tone. "And what of the Imperial
officers in this sector? Do you have any connections? Can any of them be bribed?"

Garindan again shook his head, his charcoal gray snout swaying. "They are all
young, and eager to prove their loyalty to the Emperor." He hesitated a moment and
then explained in a low voice, "It is difficult to shake the idealism of youth."

Fortuna's mouth was set in a thin line; his eyes were unusually bright but distant,
and his face was flushed, as if with fever. Garindan could not be sure, but the
Twi'lek seemed almost ill, though whether his anger or disappointment had made
him so, Long Snout could not determine. He decided to offer him the hope afforded
by a rumor he had just heard from a contact on Ryloth; perhaps it would prove
profitable. "One of my sources tells me, however, that a representative of one of the
larger clans will soon be arriving with a business proposition for the powerful
Fortuna." He cast his eyes down, awaiting Fortuna's response.

The Twi'lek sat back in his chair, and his red-rimmed eyes narrowed. He was
thoughtful a moment. "What kind of business proposition?"

"I do not know." Garindan kept his head down in deference to the Twi'lek.

"What is the name of this representative?" Fortuna's voice was barely controlled.
One clawed fist opened and closed restlessly.

"Again, I do not know." At that moment Garindan would have given all the credits
in his pocket to have more information to offer Fortuna. He feared the Twi'lek
would disregard his words -- and with them, him as well.

One of Fortuna's lekku shivered slightly, and the Kubaz thought he saw the
Twi'lek's hand tremble as he reached into his desk. "Do this," Fortuna said,
producing a bill of credit, his gnarled fingers curling around the paper. "Spread the
word that you are my agent in Mos Eisley. When this ... representative ... arrives, he
is to come to you first. Then you come to me. Do not bring him here until you have
spoken to me first. Do you understand?" Unfurling his hand, he passed the bill of
credit across the desk and looked up at the Kubaz, a strange glimmer in his eyes.

Long Snout glanced at the bill and was taken aback with this stroke of good fortune.
He had hardly expected this. "Yes, master," he answered quickly. "I understand. I
will speak with him and then come to you." He snatched the bill from Fortuna's
hand in a deft motion, and it disappeared somewhere in the folds of his dusty robes.
Bowing, he backed out of the Twi'lek's office, eager to depart for Mos Eisley.

Fortuna let out his breath. Once he was sure Garindan was gone, he shakingly
reached under the desk and fumbled with the hidden panel. He could not get more
ryll too soon. Greedily clutching an already-opened packet, he dipped his claw into
the powder and touched the underside of his tongue, anxious for relief. It seemed to
take longer and longer these days. Finally it came, washing over him, soothing him,
calming him. Fortuna took deep, measured breaths, his eyes closed. He fervently
hoped that this representative would bring him good news.

                         *    *    *    *

It was late in the Ryloth night when a young Twi'lek crept stealthily along the side
of a large warehouse. The heat storm had ended quickly, and now the mists choked
the low-lying areas near the trading district. He waited until the security lights were
obscured by fog before kneeling in front of a utility terminal. His work there
occupied him only a few minutes before the pale glow again played across his
unlined face. Looking up, he stood quickly and moved back into the building's
shadow, obscured by the impenetrable blackness.

In this corner of a low-technology world, with few sophisticated devices and still
fewer individuals trained in their use, no one detected that the security field had
been temporarily deactivated. There was no one to see the young Twi'lek slip
something to the guard and glide into the warehouse unimpeded. Inside the
unoccupied building, the Twi'lek pried open a storage crate with a pocketknife and
tipped up the lid to reveal the contents. No one saw him take a glow light from his
belt and pass it over the shimmering packets of ryll, and no one stopped him as he
plunged his arms up to the elbows, grasping large handfuls in his long, clawed
fingers, scooping them up and watching them fall like rain.
Some time later, a youthful Twi'lek form stepped briefly into the light outside the
warehouse, just long enough to touch the hand of the guard and move on. If anyone
had been watching, they would have seen him slink along the perimeter of the
building and again kneel at the utility terminal. As the mist sworled around the glow
lights, throwing vaguely moving shadows on the ground below, the youth stood and,
casting a glance in all directions, vanished into the fog, his silhouette lost in the
briefest of moments amid the darkening maelstrom.

                         *    *    *    *

Han scowled as he powered up the cockpit systems aboard the Falcon in
preparation for liftoff from Ryloth. He should have been in a better mood, now that
he had money -- or the promise of it -- and a chance to fix his ship. But he couldn't
shake it: something didn't feel right. He didn't quite trust young Ven Durra. ... Still, 
the kid was the only cargo, and barring anything unforeseen, this should be an easy
trip. That's the real trick, though, isn't it? Han frowned as he studied the readouts
from the sensor suite preflight scan. His eyes swept over the fuel and power gauges
for the third time, and choosing his switches carefully, he brought the weapons
systems online. One thing was certain: he would not be sorry to leave Ryloth and its
ever-present darkness. Han looked up, pausing momentarily in his routine. The view
out of the cockpit transparisteel looked like a moonless Corellian midnight, but the
shipboard chrono told him it was morning. Han hated this slightly off-balance
feeling; the sooner he was off this rock, the better.

Chewbacca, who was outside handling the exterior preflight checks, yawped at Han
to open the hatch. "Must be our passenger," Han grunted to himself as he swung out
of the cockpit toward the entrance hatch. He keyed open the hatch and leaned
casually against a bulkhead to greet Durra. 

Durra stood, somewhat uncertainly, at the foot of the boarding ramp. His eyes
followed the upslope of the ramp until they came to Solo's boots, then traveled up
the body of the smuggler until they stared into his slightly jaded face. Durra
uncomfortably shifted his gaze back to the boarding ramp.

"Well, c'mon, kid," Solo called. "We haven't got all day." Or all night, as the case
may be, on this planet. 

The young Twi'lek stood as if hammered to the ground. Suddenly the thought of his
first space flight didn't seem so thrilling. He looked again at the pilot, who was
leaning against the hatchway, arms crossed, a trace of a smirk on his face. 

"C'mon, kid," he repeated. "I won't bite. Much." He waved the youth up the ramp.

Chewbacca, mewling softly, touched the young Twi'lek on the arm and motioned
encouragingly up the ramp. The youth swallowed and ascended toward the pilot,
who remained in his position, effectively blocking Durra's entrance to the ship.

Durra stopped about a foot from Han, who, in spite of himself, chuckled at the look
of confusion on the youth's face. "Hey, kid," he said softly. "I told you I'd give you
a smooth ride. Chewie and me have been halfway across the galaxy and back, and
we're all in one piece, aren't we? Don't worry; I know what I'm doing." He
chucked Durra under the chin and then gave his cheek a playful smack.

Durra breathed a little easier listening to the pilot's logic. Yes, Solo was
experienced; the FIO clerk had told him so. Just then, Han righted himself in the
hatchway, and his expression grew business-like.

"But just one thing," he said, cocking his head, a flat tone in his voice. "The 1,500
credits. Remember? I gotta have it before I can let you on board." Glancing down at
the shirt sleeve that had been leaning against the bulkhead, he absently flicked away
some yellow powder and waited expectantly.

Durra's eyes followed his motion and grew wide at the sight of the powder. Han
stared a moment and then, realizing, laughed easily. "What's the matter? You look
like you've seen a ghost or something." He leaned closer to the Twi'lek and
lowered his voice. "I'm not smuggling ryll, if that's what you're thinking. From
what I hear, no one can get near the stuff." He straightened and waved one arm
toward the bulkhead. "Nah, this is just some rhombin we put out to keep vermin
away. It's harmless to humans, Wookiees, and Twi'leks."

Durra's eyes tracked around the hatchway opening and saw traces of the powder
outlining the bulkhead. He hesitated, as if deciding whether to accept the pilot's
explanation, and then dipped one hand into an inner pocket of his robe. He
presented the credits to Solo, who accepted the payment, stepped aside, and, with a
bow and a flourish, waved him onboard.

The youth entered the ship, a combination of anxiety and awe evident in his
marveling eyes. Uncertain where to go next, he stopped just inside the bulkhead,
peering cautiously left and right and trying hard not to stare. Han touched him on the
shoulder and pointed left.

"Cabin's this way. I'll show you." Stepping around Durra, he led the way aft,
moving with what seemed to the Twi'lek to be unspeakably admirable familiarity.
"It ain't fancy, kid, but it'll serve the purpose," he called back over his shoulder.

Durra stood for a moment, staring wonderingly at the maze of power cables and
hydraulic conduits overhead, and then, realizing Solo was already out of sight,
hurried to catch up with him. 

"Right here, kid," Solo called. He was standing in an alcove leading to two private
cabins. The access door to the one on the left was open, and he waved the Twi'lek
inside. Durra entered tentatively, his wide, red-rimmed eyes scanning floor to
ceiling. There was a bunk along the back wall with a storage locker at its foot, and a
small desk. It was cramped, but it would do.

"You got a bag?" Solo asked, motioning as if offering to put it in the locker for him.

"Yes," Durra answered, releasing a clasp on his belt and pulling a small haversack
from under his robe. He handed the bag to Han.

Han hefted the bag, but instead of placing it in the storage locker as Durra had
supposed, he laid it on the bunk and proceeded to open it. "Don't try anything, kid,"
he muttered tersely. "By the time you can think of it, I'll have my blaster out of this
holster, pointing right at your Twi'lek pith. And don't think for a minute that I don't
know where that is."

His search took only a few seconds. He turned the bag over in his hands, looking for
hidden pockets. "Well, no weapons. Just personal stuff, huh?" he said, looking up at
Durra's somewhat frightened eyes. "Okay. So for now you're on the level." He
tossed the bag into the locker and turned back to the young Twi'lek.

"Look, I don't mean to pry," he said, his voice softening. "This isn't usually
something I do. But we've got a date with an Imperial ship when we blast out of
here, and I need to know exactly what I've got onboard, so I can take precautions."
He studied Durra's face for a minute. "Is there anything else I need to know? Are
you carrying anything that could get us in trouble?"

Durra shook his head, one lek lopping over his shoulder.

Han cocked his head. "You're sure?  Cause if you are, I need to hide it now, not
while we're being boarded."

Durra cleared his throat. "No," he said, hoping his voice sounded convincing.

"Okay." Solo stood with his hands on his hips. "You'd better be telling me the
truth." He looked around the cabin. "Ah, okay then. You've got a few minutes to
get settled in. Chewie'll show you how to strap in for takeoff when the time comes."
He laid one hand on the bulkhead and started to swing out of the cabin, but then
stopped and turned back. His eyes searched Durra's for the briefest of moments and
seemed almost apologetic. "And, kid," he said, with a hint of compassion. "Don't
worry about the flight. I told you I'd get you there and back in one piece, and I bet
by the end of it, you'll even enjoy it."  He ducked into the corridor, not waiting for
an answer, leaving the young Twi'lek standing in the dimly lit cabin.

Durra waited until he was sure Solo was gone, and then he retrieved his haversack
from the locker. His courage had begun to fail him; he needed to remember why he
was here. Sitting on the bunk, he opened the bag and pulled a small holo from it. His
sister. He didn't have many holos, and it was the only one he had of her. In it, she
was younger, but smiling, happy. Durra gazed at it for a long time, thinking of the
life they had shared in their clan warren. Finally, he put it away, more hopeful than
ever that he could bring her home.

                         *    *    *    *

Han sat with Chewbacca and Durra on the acceleration couch in the rec lounge of
the Falcon. He was leaning back casually, one arm slung out along the back of the
couch, his face wearing his best innocent look as he tried to ignore the blaster rifle
pointed at his chest. The young lieutenant from the Victory-class Star Destroyer
Reliant reappeared from his search aft just as the smooth-faced ensign arrived with
his portable scan pack. It amazed Han, how callow they all looked.

The ensign saluted smartly. "Scan reveals the powder to be nonmetallic and bearing
a crystal structure identical to that seen in all allotropic orthorhombic forms," he
intoned.

"Which means?" the lieutenant asked impatiently.

"It's just as he said, Sir," said the ensign, inclining his head toward Han.
"Rhombin." 

A Navy tech appeared just then. "Hyperdrive's out, like he said, Lieutenant. If this
ship's smuggling anything, it won't go very far, very fast."

The fresh-faced lieutenant turned on his heel and looked at Han, who bowed from
where he sat and flourished one hand as if to say, "I told you." The lieutenant
frowned slightly. "Looks like you're all clear, Captain. Have a nice trip to
Tatooine." He turned away momentarily and then turned back. "And remember," he
warned, "your destination is being reported to Imperial authorities. Don't try to go
anywhere else." With that, he motioned for his men to follow him out.

Han waited until the boarding party had gone before letting out his breath. "Well,"
he said, standing and stretching. "Guess the hard part's over with."

Durra, who since takeoff had been even more pale than usual, looked up. "What did
that mean ...  the hyperdrive's out'?"

Han shrugged. "It means it'll take three days to get to Mos Eisley instead of one.
Why, kid? You in a hurry or something?"

Durra said, hesitatingly, appearing a little crestfallen, "You did not tell me your ship
was ... broken."

Han scowled. "It ain't broken, kid. It's just a little slower than normal. Besides,
we'll fix it on Tatooine and get you back here fast enough, don't worry about that." 

Durra watched Solo stride out of the lounge toward the cockpit. He hoped he was
right. 

                         *    *    *    *

Han sat alone in the cockpit, his bored slouch indicative of his displeasure. He
would be glad when he no longer had to enter these minute course changes by hand.
He hadn't had much sleep in the two days since liftoff from Ryloth; every hour or
two, it seemed, a slight course correction had to be entered into the ship's
navigation system. Fortunately, the max-range sensors that Han had acquired in the
Corporate Sector let him know well in advance of the presence of even the smallest 
bit of space debris.

Chewie's voice drifted into the open cockpit from the lounge, where he sat playing
holochess with Durra. Han rolled his eyes. They had been virtually inseparable since
liftoff. Durra couldn't really understand Wookiee speech, but he seemed to have an
innate ability to comprehend Chewbacca's meaning. The two had bonded in some
way that Han grudgingly refused to understand, with Durra deriving some comfort
from knowing that Chewie had once been a slave. The kid had been more talkative
today, though whether that was because he had grown to trust them or was merely
lonely, Han didn't know. 

Han finished punching in the latest coordinates and checked the shipboard chrono.
Less than a day until they made Mos Eisley. It couldn't be too soon for him. He
stood and ran a hand through his hair. Time to check the Falcon's hydraulic and
mechanical systems.

Ducking out of the cockpit, he ambled his way toward the rec lounge. Durra's voice
grew louder as he approached. The kid was telling Chewie -- again -- about his
sister, Koi. Han grimaced. Just what he wanted to listen to. Another tale of family
bliss.

The Twi'lek stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the sound of Han's bootsteps.
Han smiled mechanically, gave him a half-salute, and dropped noisily into the seat at
the engineering station. He immediately began to busy himself with hydraulic
diagnostics. 

"Koi was considered the most beautiful female in our clan," the boy sighed. His red
lips parted, showing two rows of sharply pointed teeth. "She had a suitor, Mihr, the
son of another merchant. Our fathers planned to merge the businesses when they
married; Mihr and I were to become partners." Chewbacca lowed sympathetically
and moved one of his chess pieces. Durra sat, staring straight ahead, his hands limp
in his lap.

Han glanced over his shoulder at the lull in the conversation, then did a double-take.
"Hey, kid," he said. "Looks like it's your move. I think the Wookiee's got you
beat." 

Durra blinked and looked at the board. Chewie barked encouragingly. Durra didn't
see the only move open to him, so the Wookiee pointed it out, one hairy paw resting
on the Twi'lek's arm. Durra moved the piece half-heartedly. 

Han, who'd been watching over his shoulder, spun his chair around and crossed the
deck in two strides. The kid seemed just a little too listless, even for a discouraged
Twi'lek. Propping himself against the bulkhead just to one side of Chewie, he
looked at the gameboard and then at Durra, whose naturally pale skin was slightly
flushed.

"Hey, kid," he said concernedly, "are you okay? You feel alright? The ship isn't too
cold for you, is it?"

Durra roused himself with effort. He looked up at Han. "I feel alright," he said, "just
tired, perhaps."

Han watched him a minute. Great. All I need is a sick passenger. "Okay, whatever
you say. Let me know if you need anything. Less than a day to Mos Eisley now," he
winked.

Durra rubbed one side of his face absent-mindedly and nodded. One lek fluttered
briefly. Han determined to watch the kid closely. The last thing he wanted was a
quarantine order when they landed. He caught Chewie's eye and jerked his head
almost imperceptibly toward the Twi'lek. Keep an eye out, will ya? Chewie lifted
his chin slightly and gave him an even look in response. Han returned to his
mechanical diagnostics.

The next morning Durra was late rising. Han was nearly ready to enter the cabin
himself to check on him when the young Twi'lek emerged. Han was no expert on
Twi'lek physiology, but he still looked flushed to him, and there was a strange look
in his eye that Han had never noticed before. 

"Morning, kid," he said in greeting. "Want some breakfast?"

Durra seemed repelled by the thought. "No, Captain," he said, "I think not." He sat
down on the acceleration couch and proceeded to pass the time with a data reader.

Han finished his work in the circuitry bay and watched Durra silently. The young
Twi'lek was just a little too quiet. His lekku moved nervously, seemingly
involuntarily. Han moved casually over and squatted in front of him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked.

Durra, slightly startled by his action, nodded. "I am ... merely excited, Captain," he
stammered. "Nothing more."

"Okay, then," Han stood, clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll be in Mos Eisley in
only a few hours. It'd be a good idea to stay strapped in from this point on."

Durra nodded again and reached for the restraining belt. Han waited to make sure
the Twi'lek had it properly around him before he turned toward the cockpit.

An irritated Chewbacca stopped him in the narrow corridor and snarled, one arm
gesturing angrily in the direction of the cockpit.

Han looked up, annoyed. "Good morning to you, too. For your information, I've
been just a little too busy manually navigating this thing to keep up with the log.
Anytime you want to stop playing holochess and help me with it, you can be my
guest." He brushed roughly past the Wookiee, ignoring the howl at his back.

"Besides," he muttered to himself, slipping indignantly into the pilot's chair. "I was
just on my way to do that very thing."

The next few hours passed quickly for Han as he busied himself with the ship's log,
manual navigation input, and predocking systems checks. The swirling orange and
tan of Tatooine was visible in his viewport, and growing larger. Han turned on the
ship transponder and contacted the Mos Eisley spaceport. He received clearance to
land almost immediately. He flipped the switch for the ship's comm, then thought
better of it; he'd talk to Chewie in person and check on his guest at the same time.
Those two had been awfully quiet for the past few hours.

He found Durra still strapped in on the acceleration couch, but with his head lying
back against the seat and his eyes closed. Clucking at Chewie, who apparently was
playing holochess with himself, Han nodded toward the Twi'lek and mouthed,
"What gives?"

Chewie shrugged and went back to studying the board in front of him.

Han slid onto the couch beside the Wookiee and said in a low voice, "How long has
he been like that?"

The Wookiee growled softly, gesturing with one hand.

"You think that's normal?" Han asked, his voice beginning to rise. "I mean, isn't he
supposed to be excited about rescuing his sister? What am I supposed to do, wake
him up so he can go meet her abductor?"

Durra opened his eyes and sat up somewhat groggily. He shook his head briefly, his
lekku swaying behind him. He moved the data reader off his lap, and Han thought
he noticed one hand tremble slightly. 

"What is it, kid?" Han asked, a little nervously. "Do you need something to eat?
When was the last time you ate anything, anyway?"

Durra visibly blanched at the suggestion, making Han believe his suspicion that the
youth looked flushed was indeed correct. "No, Captain," he answered. "Thank you,
but no. I do not need anything."

"We'll be landing at Mos Eisley in less than one-half standard hour," Han said
tersely. This adolescent Twi'lek was making him nervous. "Make sure you stay
strapped in." He rose to head for the cockpit. "And remember our agreement: 2,000
when we land. Got it?"

Durra nodded and laid his head against the seatback, closing his eyes wearily. Han
exchanged a worried glance with Chewie and waved for him to stay in the lounge
with Durra. Shaking his head apprehensively, he made his way to the cockpit and
prepared to land on Tatooine.

                         *    *    *    *

Han fired a short repulsor burst once, twice, and then a third time, and the Falcon
came softly to rest in Docking Bay 87. Han was thankful to get this bay, the most
modern of the 97 widely distributed bays in Mos Eisley. Light traffic has its
advantages, he reflected briefly as he prepared to shut down the ship's systems. He
cut power to life support and channeled emergency generator power over to
weapons; you just couldn't be too careful in a sleazeball spaceport like Mos Eisley. 

Swinging out of the cockpit, he found Chewie up and moving about, preparing to
disembark. Durra was unbuckling his restraining belt. Han leaned over him.

"Hey, need any help with that?" he asked in a friendly manner.

Durra moved the strap to one side and looked up, a sullen mood crossing his face.
Standing quickly, he shoved Han out of his way with both hands. The surprised
smuggler fell backward, off balance, and caught himself with a well-placed forearm
on the holoboard.

"I'm quite able to do it myself, Captain," he snapped, storming back toward his
cabin.

Han, righting himself, stared at the Twi'lek's receding form, too taken aback to
retort. Rubbing the wrist that had slammed against the holoboard, he turned
indignantly to Chewie. "What the hell was that all about?" he fumed. 

Chewie, his mouth half-open to reveal his fangs, gazed first at Han, then at the
corridor where Durra had disappeared, and finally back at Han. He cocked his head
in bewilderment.


"Well, he's not getting out of here without paying me," Han grumbled, one hand
sliding to rest on his blaster for reassurance. "Chewie, see if you can find a coupling
over at the power station or maybe at Lup's. I'm gonna look up Dom Antyll, see if
he's got a hyperdrive motivator and maybe some time on his hands to help me
install it."

Chewie protested loudly.

Han threw him an aggravated glare. "You're gonna have enough to do, getting the
astrogation computer back online." He paused, his voice growing sarcastic. "Or if
you want, I'll work on the astrogation computer, and you can lie in the engine well,
trading sweat with Dom." 

Chewie growled disconcertedly.

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say," Han muttered, turning away.

Just then, Durra reappeared. From his position near the boarding ramp, Han caught
a glimpse of the strap of Durra's haversack under his cloak. He held up his left hand
to stop the Twi'lek.

"Remember our agreement, Durra: 2,000 when we land in Mos Eisley. We've
landed, so I want my money." His right hand rested easily on the grip of his blaster,
thumbing the settings: stun, heavy stun, kill.

The subtle movement was not lost on the young Twi'lek. He tossed a credit chip
grudgingly to Han from an inner pocket and attempted to move past him.

Han laid a hand on Durra's arm. "Wait a minute. What're you gonna do, just walk
out there and start asking questions? You could get yourself killed, and a lot faster
than you might think."

Durra's eyes flashed, and his coloring rose red and then paled to a sickly mottled
gray. The hand on his belt was trembling. All of this Han noted in the time it took
his eyes to sweep over the youth.

"I have a plan, Captain, and it's really none of your business," he spat through
clenched teeth. He shoved roughly past Han, his lekku swinging wildly, and
stumbled down the boarding ramp and out of sight. 

Han watched him go, shaking his head. "Stupid kid," he growled. "He doesn't know
what he's walking into." Turning back to a puzzled Chewbacca, he said, "C'mon,
Chewie, forget about him. Let's see about getting the Falcon back together."

Chewie yowled and lumbered past him, the ramp vibrating with each heavy step. As
Han keyed in the security code and closed the hatch, he couldn't help mumbling, "I
never knew Twi'leks were so temperamental. Remind me to charge double next
time."

                         *    *    *    *

It was nearly nightfall on Tatooine when Han, his face lined with sweat and grime,
hoisted himself up out of the engine well. He sat on the edge, legs dangling, amid
snips of burned-out wire, a couple of glow rods, and various sizes of macrofusers
and hydrospanners, all scattered across the deck, as he wiped his hands with a rag.
Dom had left an hour or so earlier; his help, though expensive, had been invaluable
to Han. Dom knew his way around customized freighters, and the two of them had
been able to work quickly, even in the stuffy confines of the Falcon's belly. Chewie
had returned with a power coupling, and it wouldn't be long before he got the
astrogation computer back online. Han sighed with fatigue and wiped the back of
his neck. He'd used nearly all of his credits, but if Durra was right, he wouldn't be
on Tatooine for long. Swinging one boot up onto the deck, he pushed himself
upright and trudged toward the galley. Even a ration bar would taste good right
now; then maybe a quick turn in the refresher and a cold drink or two at the Cantina
to wash down the sand and sweat. He felt better just thinking about it.

Turning a corner, he nearly ran into Durra, who had just come up the ramp.
Instinctively, Han grabbed the youth's shoulders to keep him from losing his
balance.

"Take it easy, kid," he chided, relaxing his grip. Durra glanced up at him; his eyes
were glazed and distant, and his skin had taken on the mottled gray color Han had
seen briefly earlier. He was sweating profusely and trembling noticeably. Han's
eyes narrowed. "Hey, are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Durra broke free from his grasp and started down the corridor. Suddenly he lurched
to the deck as if thrown there by an unseen hand. As Han watched, horrified, the
Twi'lek convulsed uncontrollably, arms, legs, and lekku flailing wildly while he
gagged and gasped for air. For a moment Han felt frozen in place, unable to do
anything except stare at Durra as he writhed helplessly on the deck, wheezing
through his small, pointed teeth. Then all of his energy burst out in one long bellow.

"Chewie! Chewie, get up here, NOW!" Han roared.

With two strides he was in the rec lounge, fumbling with the latch for an overhead
bin. Grabbing a blanket, he dashed back to where the Twi'lek lay, thrashing
violently, his lekku whipping spasmodically. Han could hear Durra's head
periodically resound against the unforgiving metal with a sickening echo. Moving
carefully around the Twi'lek to avoid stepping on his continually moving arms and
legs, Han knelt behind Durra's head and placed the folded blanket under it to
cushion any further impact. Just then Chewie appeared, braying demandingly.

"I don't know, pal. I don't know what's goin' on," Han looked up, feeling
powerless. He tried to hold Durra's head to minimize the convulsion. "Hey, Durra,"
he said softly, bending over the youth. "Ven, it's okay. You'll be alright." He
looked up at Chewie again, begging wordlessly for some aid, some knowledge of
what to do.

The Wookiee dropped to one knee at Durra's feet and began mewling softly to calm
the youth. Han, punctuating his actions with low words of encouragement, did what
he could to make sure the Twi'lek didn't unwittingly injure himself. Finally the
convulsions slowed to intermittent violent spasms. Han began to breathe a little
easier; Durra's eyes were beginning to focus, though his respirations were still rapid
and shallow. Gradually the Twi'lek's body relaxed. 

"You're gonna be okay," Han repeated to him. "It's gonna be alright." Looking up
at the Wookiee, he said, "Chewie, let's get him back to the mediscan unit, see if we
can figure out something to do."

Lifting up the Twi'lek's head, Han unrolled the blanket and gathered Durra's head,
arms, and lekku within its folds. He nodded to Chewie, who was holding the youth's
legs, and the two stood up on cue, hoisting the Twi'lek and shuffling their way aft to
the medical bunk, nestled lengthwise against the bulkhead between Han's cabin and
the berth where Durra had been staying.

Once the Twi'lek was safely in the bunk, Han slid the blanket from underneath him
and strapped him in.

"Sorry, Durra, but this is for your own protection," he said apologetically as he
tightened a strap around the Twi'lek's arm.

The youth lay quiet and unmoving, making no acknowledgment of Han's words.
Han applied the mediscan sensors and keyed some data into the computer,
periodically glancing worriedly at Durra, who had again begun to shake as if with
cold, though the interior temperature of the Falcon was warmer than Han liked it.
The air circulators had been offline during their work on the electrical system. He
wrapped the blanket around Durra and waited for the mediscan report.

Instead, the computer began asking questions. "PATIENT'S SKIN COLOR?" it
queried. Han frowned at the screen and punched in a response. There was a pause.
"PATIENT'S SENSORIUM?" it asked, and then gave a range of possibilities:
"ALERT, LETHARGIC, CONFUSED, STUPOR, COMA?" Han gazed a long
moment at Durra. Finally he leaned down and touched him lightly on the arm. "Hey,
Durra. Can you hear me?" 

The Twi'lek stirred, opened his eyes briefly, and murmured a response before his
eyes fluttered closed again.

Han keyed in "LETHARGIC" and prayed it was the correct response to the
question.

There was another pause as the mediscan unit analyzed the data. Finally the result
appeared on the screen:

"DIAGNOSIS:   SPICE OVERDOSE."
"TREATMENT:   COMFORT MEASURES ONLY. NO KNOWN ANTIDOTE.
DETOXIFICATION MAY OR MAY NOT LEAD TO SURVIVAL."

Han wanted to sink into the deck. He blinked at the screen, reading and re-reading
the diagnosis. He'd checked Durra's bag himself; there had been no sign of any ryll,
and the Twi'lek was so inexperienced, Han doubted he could have hidden anything
on his person for long. Neither he nor Chewie had ever seen Durra show the
slightest symptom of withdrawal; he didn't act like a user. He turned to Chewie,
who was leaning quietly against a side bulkhead, and gestured toward the mediscan
screen.

"Can this -- can this be right?" Han ran both hands through his hair at once, not
knowing whether to be surprised or angry. He looked blankly at Chewbacca, who
nodded toward the bunk behind Han and whuffled softly.

Han turned around. Durra was motioning weakly for him to come closer. With the
suddenness of an explosion, Han knew the answer. He leaned over the Twi'lek.

"Are you body packing, kid?" he asked, trying with all his might not to let the anger
seep through. "Is that what this is? I have to know," he said, his voice rising. "Ven,
I have to know."  Chewbacca touched his shoulder in light remonstrance. Han
swallowed and realized his hands were shaking.

Durra opened his eyes and met Han's gaze. He nodded. Clearing his throat, he said
weakly, "It was the only way. There was nothing else I could bargain with." He
paused momentarily as a chill swept over him.

Chewie yowled, urging Han to do something. Han sank to his knees beside the
bunk, wondering how many of the ryll packets had burst inside the young Twi'lek,
what his chances of survival were. "Kid -- Ven -- who were you meeting? Where's
your sister, anyway?"

Durra opened his eyes again. "My contact is a Kubaz named Garindan. He is an
agent for Bib Fortuna, who works for Jabba the Hutt." He paused again, closing his
eyes, then gathered strength and continued. "You can find him at the Mos Eisley
Cantina. Or ask at the FIO."

Han barely grasped his meaning. "I can find him? Me? What do you want me to do?
I don't know anything about this." He hated feeling this helpless. More than that, he
hated the dread that was beginning to fill his gut like a stone, growing larger and
heavier as he watched the young Twi'lek.

Chewie yowled again, impatiently berating him.

For once, Han didn't respond to the Wookiee's taunt. His mind was whirling, trying
to think what to do. "Look, kid," he said, desperation in his voice, "you're gonna
come through this. You're gonna to be alright." He looked back at the Wookiee.
"Chewie, tell him he's gonna be alright."

Durra smiled thinly, showing neat rows of pointed teeth. "No, Captain. This was the
risk I ran -- knowingly, willingly." He swallowed and paused. Han eyed him
anxiously. "I'm asking you. Go to Garindan, find Fortuna, and take my sister back
to Ryloth. Back to her family, to Mihr."

"But kid, I -- " Han threw up his hands, "I don't have anything to bargain with.
How am I supposed to get your sister back?"

Durra moved one hand, gesturing for Han to remove the blanket. "There is a vial in
my pocket, Captain."

Han blinked, unsure.

"Please," the Twi'lek urged.

Han tentatively pulled back the blanket and reached one hand inside the Twi'lek's
cloak. He quickly found the inner pocket and pulled out the small cruet.

Durra gestured for him to release the restraints. Han did so quickly, hoping that
whatever was in the vial might be an antidote discovered by the Twi'leks and kept
secret for their own use. Helping Durra to an upright position, he laid one hand on
the Twi'lek's bicep to steady him and passed him the vial. 

Durra drained the contents of the vial and sat back against the bulkhead, his eyes
closed. "You might wish to get an empty container, Captain," he said softly,
stoically.

Han realized then that Durra had not taken an antidote. He waved to Chewie, who
bolted for the cargo hold and returned with a small sealed canister. Han pushed the
blade of his boot knife under the lid and pried open the top. He was none too soon,
for at that moment the Twi'lek wretched and leaned forward, spitting and coughing.
Packets of ryll, coated with mucus and ichor, dropped into the container. Han had to
turn his head briefly, but he steadfastly held the container in Durra's lap. Durra
continued to wretch, drawing up more and more of the small clear packets. Han was
distressed at the large amount of ichor the Twi'lek was passing in the process, but
there was nothing he could do but hold the container and wait.

Finally Durra sat back against the bulkhead, frighteningly pale and clearly
exhausted. Han steadied him and then turned to Chewie, handing him the container
full of ryll. "Run this through the Steri-Chem unit. Now,." he said grimly. Turning
back to the Twi'lek, he lowered him into a reclining position and wrapped the
blanket around him. Han stood beside the bunk, arguing silently with himself. All of
his instincts told him not to get involved -- Twi'lek girls were bought and sold as
slaves all over the galaxy -- but try as he might, he couldn't forget Durra's devotion
to his sister. Still ... he didn't have to save the galaxy, did he? He watched the
Twi'lek, wracked with tremors, mumbling restlessly. And then there was the
Wookiee. Han rolled his eyes; he doubted he could persuade Chewie to stay out of
it. Sighing, he programmed the mediscan to beep him if Durra's vital signs changed,
and then he started toward the refresher. After a decon cycle, he'd work on the
astrogation computer. Might as well get it online; he'd need it if he had to leave
Tatooine in a hurry. 

                         *    *    *    *

Han sat alone in the cockpit, slumped in his pilot's chair and staring out at the dark
docking bay. Absently he rubbed his chin and looked at the ship chrono. Nearly
midnight. The astrogation computer was up and running, at least as much as they
could test it on the ground. There was nothing more to do but wait and see if the kid
got better. Han frowned out at the night, wishing he were tired enough for bed.
Right now he'd rather do anything than stand beside the medical bunk, helplessly
watching Durra alternately sweat and shake with chills. 

The ship's comm came on, the click resonating in the dark, cramped, cockpit.
Chewie moaned for Han to come aft.

"Okay, pal, be right there." Han stood, setting his face grimly as he did so. This
wasn't likely to be fun.

He found Chewie pacing back and forth in the small alcove used for the mediscan
unit. He was nervous and upset, and Han suspected he knew why.

Han checked the readout on Durra's vital signs. His pulse was weak and thready,
and his breathing was extremely shallow. He'd become even grayer than before, if
possible, but when Han bent over him and called his name, Durra roused himself
with effort.

"Captain," he murmured, attempting a smile. "I need to know. You'll free my
sister?" 

The directness of the question made Han feel desperate, panicked. "Look, kid,
you'll be okay," he assured him, trying at the same time to assure himself. "You'll
be alright. Just give it some time."

"No," the Twi'lek shook his head slightly. "No, it is too late for me. But I need to
know my sister will be freed."

Han was silent, unable to make a promise he wasn't sure he could keep. For once
Chewbacca was quiet, listening to the exchange.

Durra touched Han's wrist. "My bag, Captain," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Please -- get my bag."

Han forced himself to do as the dying youth requested. Pulling back the blanket,
now damp with the Twi'lek's sweat, he reached under the youth's robe and released
the buckle holding the haversack. Pulling it out, he held it up for Durra to see and
raised an eyebrow.

Durra gestured for him to open it. Han did so, and again looked at the Twi'lek
questioningly.

"You will see," Durra said slowly, as if out of breath. "I have many credits there.
The rest of your payment, and more. It is all yours. Just please -- do as I ask."

Han, not bothering to check the truth of the Twi'lek's words, let the bag slip from
his grasp to the deck. Kneeling beside Durra, he said, "It doesn't matter, kid -- Ven
-- I'll do the best I can. I'll try -- " Han felt his words strangle in his throat. He
didn't know what else to say. 

Durra nodded and closed his eyes. Han looked over his shoulder at Chewie,
imploring him. Chewie met his gaze blankly. Just then a convulsion wracked the
Twi'lek's body, nearly throwing him from the bunk. Han caught him and held him,
saying soothingly, "It's okay, kid. Don't worry -- it'll be alright."

Just as suddenly the convulsion passed and the Twi'lek sank, limp and ashen, into
the bunk. Han stared disbelievingly. For an instant the entire ship was silent. Then
the mediscan alarm sounded, its high-pitched wail piercing the tiny compartment,
stabbing into Han's consciousness. He didn't have to look up to know what it
meant.

Stumbling numbly into the corridor, he leaned against a bulkhead, taking deep
breaths to steady himself. Chewie howled, his head back, one arm raised in anguish.
Han waited until the Wookiee's initial grief had passed and then said, in as strong a
voice as he could muster, "Chewie, go get a Bio-bag. We'll have to keep him in the
cargo hold until we get to Ryloth."

                         *    *    *    *

Han's gaze scanned the dimly lit, smoky interior of the Mos Eisley Cantina, and he
took another sip of Corellian ale. Despite the fact that it was only mid-morning, with
everything he'd been through, he wanted to drain the mug; instead he watched the
door for the short, dark gray Kubaz he'd been told was Garindan. Chewie leaned
against the bar, his crossbow slung over one shoulder, effectively watching Han's
back. Glancing over his shoulder at Han, he met his gaze briefly and turned back to
the drink in front of him.

Han leaned against the booth's cushioned backrest, thumbing his blaster restlessly.
He had a plan, if the Kubaz would only show up. Idly he watched the other patrons,
most of whom were species alien to Tatooine; not many were humanoids. Rodians,
Aqualish, Quarren -- all found some sort of occupation in the backwaters of Mos
Eisley, and most, if not all, were here doing business in one form or another. Han
started as his eyes flicked over to the doorway to find a Kubaz standing there
uncertainly, his thick goggles eyeing the crowd for what Han was sure was a young,
somewhat vulnerable Twi'lek.

Han slid quietly out of his booth and sidled up alongside the Kubaz. "Garindan?" he
asked tersely. The Kubaz's snout fluttered slightly in surprise, revealing the truth to
Han's quick eyes. Long Snout turned away, pretending not to hear.

Han twisted his wrist and shook his sleeve slightly, allowing a hold-out blaster to
slip into his ready palm. Clapping the Kubaz on the shoulder and pressing the
blaster surreptitiously into Garindan's side, he smiled, purporting to greet an old
friend. "Buddy!" he feigned, nodding and grinning, his grip hard around the Kubaz's
arm, "I've got a table for us right over here." Guiding the unwilling Garindan
toward the booth, he whispered through clenched teeth, his smile never fading,
"And don't try anything, Garindan. My partner's watching from the bar, and you
don't want to make him mad."

The Kubaz bleeped in confused dismay and allowed himself to be pushed into a seat
in the booth. Han sat down opposite him, nodding an okay to Chewie, who was
observing them closely from across the room. "Keep your hands where I can see
 em," he advised, putting his right hand palm-down over the blaster, which lay on its
side on the table, pointed at Garindan.

Garindan spouted a long string of Kubazi expletives, but Han waved them off. 

"No, no, now, none of that," he smiled. His expression grew serious. "My name's
Solo, and we have business to take care of. Business you started with a Twi'lek
boy." He leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "Business you'll end with me."

He leaned back, throwing a glance in Chewie's direction, and continued. "For
starters, I don't speak Kubazi, and I know for a fact you can speak Basic, so let's
cut the act. I also know you work for Bib Fortuna." He paused, letting his words
take effect on Garindan. "I want to see him. Now." He repositioned the hidden
blaster, moving it closer to Long Snout. 

Han would have bet Garindan was blinking behind his thick, dark goggles. It was
several moments before the Kubaz spoke; when he did, his words were measured
and slow. "It is not possible. Fortuna is expecting to see Durra. I will only take
Durra to see him."

Han cocked his head. "Well, I'm afraid you're outta luck, because our friend Durra
has met with an accident and couldn't be here. You see, I'm his agent, just like
you're Fortuna's. You'll deal with me. Or you'll deal with nobody." He reached
inside his vest and pulled out a ryll packet, displaying it briefly for Garindan and
then returning it to his pocket. "Your boss wants this, right?" He waited, watching
the Kubaz through narrowed eyes. "Well, I know for a fact he's not gettin' it
anywhere else. I'm offering a fair trade. All I want is the girl Koi. For that, he can
have all the ryll I've got." He shifted slightly in his seat, the blaster still lying on the
table under his palm, still pointed at Garindan. "It really couldn't be easier, now,
could it?" He smiled humorlessly at the Kubaz.

Garindan sat quietly for a moment, his head tilting slightly as if looking toward the
bar. Finally he spoke. "You leave me no choice, Solo. You shall see Fortuna."

"Good," Han stood up, grinning. "Glad you see things my way." He nodded at
Chewie, who crossed the murky bar and hauled Garindan to his feet. The three left
the Cantina and, climbing into a rented speeder, headed for Jabba's palace.

                         *    *    *    *

Not long after they left the outskirts of Tosche Station behind them, Han realized
that even though he had never explored this part of the Jundland Wastes, he hadn't
missed much. Garindan sat next to him in the front passenger seat of the open
speeder, staring stonily ahead, his thick goggles and hooded cloak revealing little of
what he was thinking, though Han suspected the Kubaz was more than a tad
unhappy with his current predicament. Chewbacca sat behind them, his tall
Wookiee form splayed across the rear seat and his bowcaster trained on Garindan;
his long mane, peppered with sand, whipped about in the wind. Han, squinting
through the strands of hair swirling around his eyes, licked his lips and scowled at
the grit that stuck to his tongue and lay plastered to his skin. There was a reason he
had never been out this far; a damn good reason.

The intense heat was mitigated somewhat by the speeder's tinted duraplex
windshield and the gusts generated by the craft as it whisked across the Jundland
Wastes. Scattered moisture farms, most of them deserted, dotted the landscape. To
the east stretched nothing but sand, hammered flat by the prevailing winds of
Tatooine; to the west lay a rough, spare, rocky ridge punctuated with crooked,
narrow canyons carved by the waters that had once covered the planet. The wind
and sand whorling around the speeder and the noise of the open cockpit made it
impossible for the three to converse, so each was left to the privacy of his own
thoughts, with Garindan occasionally pointing out a directional marker to Han.

As they approached the small settlement of Wayfar, where the rocky heights melted
into the desert, the southernmost reaches of the Western Dune Sea became
apparent. Here the prevailing winds had whipped the coarse, silt-like sand into
great, billowy dunes, which glared almost like quartz in the white light of Tatooine's
two suns. Han had seen no sign of the region's infamous Sand People -- which was
not surprising, given their clandestine nature -- or of the filthy little scavengers
known as jawas. Here and there a small movement in the corner of his eye revealed
a dingy group of banthas picking their way along the shady edge of sandy knoll.
Yep, just as I thought, Han frowned. Even less here than I could imagine. And I
could imagine nothing at all.  

Just as Han's legs had begun to cramp from sitting in the close confines of the
speeder, he thought he noticed a structure ahead on the horizon. As the speeder
drew closer, the sandrock and ditanium fortress -- for that was certainly what it was
-- came into clearer view. A massive main tower, quite large in diameter, served as
a nucleus for several other smaller diameter towers of various heights. The two suns
overhead flashed off the metal roofs of the towers as Han maneuvered the speeder
closer. The cluster of buildings lay quiet, sinister and foreboding, even in the bright
desert light. There was no sign of activity outside.

Garindan motioned for Han to slow the speeder and directed him down a flat-bottomed sandrock depression that led to the main entrance -- in fact, the only
entrance Han could see -- of the palace. There was no guard at the massive
automated door, which was scarred and pock-marked with blaster fire and other,
unknown insults. Han stopped the speeder at Garindan's direction and then turned
to the Kubaz.

"No tricks, Garindan," he warned in a low voice. "We're all going in together." He
emphasized the point by placing one hand on his blaster as a reminder.

The Kubaz nodded. "Of course," he said, climbing out of the speeder. Han gestured
to Chewie, and the two followed the cloaked, gray-snouted alien as he cautiously
approached the automated door.

An electric eye attached to a long metal arm popped out of a recess in the center of
the door. It bobbed and swayed, closely surveying the three of them and gibbering
in an unknown dialect. 

Garindan cleared his throat. "I wish to see Bib Fortuna," he said slowly and as
clearly as he could muster. "I have a proposition that will be of great interest to
him." He folded his hands submissively.

The robotic eye blinked its metal shutters abruptly and disappeared. A lull ensued
for several minutes, during which the three stood looking blankly at the
impenetrable door before them.

Finally Han broke the silence. "Now what?" he fumed. "So help me, Garindan, if
you're trying to pull a fast one ... "

Garindan backed away slightly, shaking his head rapidly, his snout fluttering back
and forth. He spread his hands to indicate his innocence.

Just then they heard the whirr of a motor swelling to a high-pitched whine. The door
creaked, lurched, and began to rise upward. Han felt the rush of cool air escaping
the musty palace, stirring the sand at his feet and rustling his hair. An armored
Gamorrean stood there, vibro-axe and force pike in hand, his pig-like jowls oozing a
slow drool. He grunted in acknowledgment of Garindan and waved them inside,
forcing Han to reholster the blaster that he'd half-drawn. He nodded coolly at the
guard as he passed, one eye on the entry hall in front of him. 

The massive walls of the hall towered above Han as he paused to allow his eyes to
become accustomed to the dimly lit, murky interior of the palace. As the dust raised
by the door's movement settled and his vision adjusted, he realized a Twi'lek was
standing before them. His hands, with their long, needle-like fingernails, were
crossed in front of him, and his face wore a condescending, self-satisfied smirk.
Though he was not gaudily, or even richly, adorned, his demeanor belied both
wealth and power. So this was Bib Fortuna. Han knew right away he wouldn't like
him.

Fortuna motioned for them to follow him, and they proceeded straight down a long
hallway broken at regular intervals by doorways. Servants' quarters, Han guessed,
or maybe offices, though there seemed to be little activity. The blinding sunlight
outside was not much help this deep in the palace; only an occasional dingy shaft of
light punctuated the dusky blackness of the main tower. The small group passed no
one as they filed along the hallway, and Han heard nothing other than the single
heavy clang of a metal door echoing down the corridor. At the end of the hallway,
Fortuna keyed in a security code and bowed contemptuously, waving them into his
office.

Han caught Chewie's eye. Look out, pal, he winked, and entered warily. Chewie
chortled softly and followed, his claws slowly unfurling around his bowcaster. 

Fortuna turned and faced them, his face stony and business-like, the tips of his
pointed teeth visible through parted lips. "State the nature of your proposition," he
said tersely, his countenance registering no change of expression. 

Garindan's arm made a sweeping motion encompassing Han and Chewie. "These
gentlemen are acting as agents for Ven Durra," he said. 

A flash of anger crossed Fortuna's features. "I will deal only with Durra," he
growled, his eyes narrowing.

Han stepped forward, one hand up in a half-salute. "The name's Solo," he said,
careful to maintain an open expression but declining to proffer his hand to the
Twi'lek. "Durra hired us to finish the deal." He spread his palms in answer to the
Twi'lek's hard look. "Don't worry, Fortuna. The terms are the same. You give us
Koi, we give you the ryll. No questions asked." He placed his hands on his hips and
cocked his head, waiting for the Twi'lek's response. Chewbacca looked first at Han
and then at Fortuna, braying in a low voice.

At the mention of ryll, a light flared in Fortuna's eye, which he promptly quashed.
Ah, Han thought. Hungry, are you? 

"Where is the ryll?" Fortuna demanded skeptically. "I want to see it."

Han slipped the small packet from his inner vest pocket. "Here," he passed it to
Fortuna. "Check it out for yourself."

Fortuna tore open the packet and dipped one long fingernail into the powder.
Touching the underside of his tongue, he waited briefly, then inclined his head
almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment. "Very well," he said. "Where is the rest
of it?"

"You don't think I'm stupid, do you?" Han sneered. "It's in my ship, which just
happens to be securely locked at the moment. You show me the girl, and then you
and the girl follow me back to the ship. We'll make the exchange there." He hooked
his right thumb through his gunbelt, the tips of his fingers trailing along the butt of
his blaster.

One muscular lek snapped forward, its abrupt movement betraying Fortuna's anger.
Han arched an eyebrow. Fortuna stepped closer, his red-rimmed eyes mere slits in
his pale, bulbous face. His nose just inches from Han's, he said in a low, threatening
voice, "No, Solo. I want the ryll brought here. Then we make the exchange."

Han, refusing to be intimidated, didn't blink his eyes or move his head a single
millimeter. His even tone matched the Twi'lek's. "That's too bad, Fortuna," he
smirked, " cause I'm not making a second trip." His eyes bore into the Twi'lek's.
"There are plenty of people in Mos Eisley who'll give me a good price for it."

It was Fortuna's turn to sneer. "But then you won't get the girl," he taunted, his red
tongue visible through his tiny pointed teeth.

Han's gaze never left Fortuna's face. "It doesn't matter," he said with feigned
unconcern, his voice flat. His eyes bore into the Twi'lek. "Durra's dead." He
paused, regarding Fortuna with steely precision, inwardly satisfied at the fleeting
look of surprise in the Twi'lek's gaze. "I thought I might do him one last favor for
old friendships' sake, but if I can't," he shrugged, "who cares?"

One of Fortuna's hands opened and closed spasmodically. The room was so quiet
that for what seemed like several minutes, Han could hear the Twi'lek's shallow,
regular breathing; clearly he was not used to his authority being ignored. Chewbacca
and Garindan stood frozen, watching as Han and Fortuna squared off, the single
beam of sunlight that managed to pierce the narrow office angling across their faces.

Finally the Twi'lek relaxed. "Alright, Solo. You shall see the girl," he smiled thinly.

Turning on one heel, he proceeded, without a word or a glance, out of the office and
back down the hallway toward the main entrance. Han, raising one eyebrow at
Chewbacca, followed silently, with Garindan falling in behind them.

They clambered down a wide but dimly lit staircase, their footsteps reverberating in
the large, empty space, the towering ditanium walls seeming to mock their passage
with skittering echoes. The staircase, though not steep, was long, and the damp
coolness told Han they were well below ground level. They emerged into a low-ceilinged cluster of rooms -- cells, actually -- built around a main chamber, in which
they were standing. A grating in the ceiling provided the only light, and the filtered
quality of that light told Han that the grating opened into another room upstairs.
Water -- where it came from, on this desert planet, Han couldn't guess -- pooled in
low-lying areas in the rocky floor, and the dank, tangy odor that prevailed made him
wrinkle his nose in disgust. Several armored Gamorreans stood guard at intervals
along the cluster of rooms.

Fortuna paused only briefly before gliding to one of the cells. Security here was by
proprietary palm code only; Fortuna palmed the entry panel and motioned for them
to follow him. Han held up one hand, cautiously indicating to Chewie to hang back a
little, in case this was some sort of trap. Chewie complied, blocking most of the
doorway with his Wookiee bulk, bowcaster drawn.

Han was not prepared to find three Twi'lek girls in the cell, which was larger than
he might have imagined. He had little time to do anything other than glance at the
three before Fortuna advanced to one of the girls, who was crouched on the
sandrock floor, knees drawn up, her eyes averted.

"Koi," Fortuna called.

The girl did not respond or even show that she had heard. Though Han was no
expert, she appeared to be younger than the other two. Her features were more
delicate, and she was wearing a jeweled choker similar to the one Durra had worn
the night Han first met him. Her lekku were decorated with small jewels and a
cascading chain of pure gold; obviously she had been enslaved as a pleasure dancer.
She did not appear to have been beaten or starved, but she was clearly disheartened. 

Fortuna, throwing a menacing glare at the other two Twi'lek girls that made them
back away, strode over to Koi. Leaning down, he cradled her chin in his long,
gnarly fingers and turned her face to look at him. He ran his forefinger the length of
her face, trailing its long fingernail down her jawbone, and twitched one lek almost
imperceptibly. His uttered sounds were so low as to be barely audible. Han guessed
Fortuna was telling her that she was to go with him.

The numb look in her large, dark eyes faded and was replaced by fear. Her gaze
flitted frightenedly from Han, to Chewbacca, and back to Han. 

Han glanced worriedly at Chewbacca and took a step toward the girl. "It's alright,"
he gestured. "We won't hurt you."

The girl seemed unappeased, her lekku jerking nervously as she cowered before
Fortuna.

Han took another step forward. "It's okay," he tried again. "Ven sent us." He
looked back at Chewbacca, unsure how to proceed further or what more to tell the
girl.

The girl's fear gave way to uncertainty; she looked to Fortuna for confirmation.

In response, Fortuna stood and held out one hand to her. His grim face told her she
had no choice. She rose without his help, glanced once or twice at her two
companions, then bowed her head submissively as Fortuna gripped her arm, his long
claw-like nails making deep depressions in her flesh. 

Fortuna raised his eyes to Han. "Now, Solo, we follow you to your ship."

                         *    *    *    *

Tatooine's twin suns had begun to sink lower in the sky, casting long shadows
across the sandy roadways of Mos Eisley as Han, Chewbacca, and Garindan slowed
the rented SoroSuub XP-19 to a crawl and halted in front of Spaceport Speeders.
Leaving Garindan under Chewie's watchful eye, Han quickly paid for the rental, and
the three hastily wound their way through the cross streets to Docking Bay 87. Han
kept one hand on his blaster. "Don't try anything, Garindan," he muttered. "You're
not gettin' any chances to double-cross us."

Hustling, they made it to the docking bay just as Fortuna and Koi arrived in a
newer-model, closed-cockpit landspeeder. Fortuna roughly hauled the girl out, his
grip still tight on her arm. Her eyes grew wide as they descended into the bay and
she saw the Falcon looming before her, but Fortuna hushed her quiet protests with a
stern glare. The bay was deserted, the technicians long since departed for home, or
the nearest cantina. Han led the way to the ship, Fortuna and Koi behind him.

Han keyed in the entry code. The boarding ramp whirred and let out an hydraulic
whine, settling to the ground with a thud. Above his head the hatch shrieked open.
He turned to find Fortuna holding a vibroblade to Koi's throat.

"The ryll, Solo," he spat. Koi's eyes pleaded with Han to comply.

Han, incredulous, folded his arms over his chest and glared at Fortuna. Now he was
sure he didn't like this Twi'lek.

"Not yet," he said stubbornly, sticking his jaw out. "This is my deal, and I want the
girl first."

Turning to Chewbacca, he motioned for him to move toward Koi. Fortuna tightened
his grip on her arm, his red-rimmed eyes mere slits as he scowled at Han. "Don't try
it, Solo." Chewbacca stopped uncertainly and lifted his chin, questioning Han.

Han snorted, spread his hands, palms up, and bowed mockingly. "Alright. Just to
show you I'm a man of good faith, I'm gonna wait here while my partner gets the
ryll." He paused and looked hard into Fortuna's eyes. "After he escorts the girl
inside."

For one brief, tense moment, Han didn't know whether Fortuna would accept his
terms. Then, with a snarl, the Twi'lek hurled Koi at Han, who caught her and
motioned to Chewie to take her up the boarding ramp. 

As the two disappeared into the Falcon, Han held up both hands, a wide-eyed,
innocent expression on his face. Looking first at Fortuna, who was still holding the
vibroblade, and then at Garindan, who remained at a slight distance, he smiled
disarmingly. "Calm down, Fortuna. You'll get your ryll."

A rumble in the belly of the Falcon made Fortuna turn just in time as, with a clang
and a click, an auto-firing blaster cannon dropped out of a concealed gun pod under
the ship. The cannon swiveled to point directly at the Twi'lek.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Han grinned. "You might want to put away the knife; it
could be dangerous for your health."

A gargled noise escaped the Twi'lek, his face twisted in rage, but Han raised one
forefinger. "Hold on," he protested. "I told you, I'm an honest businessman." A
small canvas bag fluttered through the hatch opening and landed at Han's feet.
Keeping his eyes on Fortuna, Han bent down cautiously, picked up the bag, and
tossed it at the Twi'lek. Traces of yellow powder were visible near the clasp.

Fortuna fell hungrily on the bag and began fumbling with the latch.

"Hey, Fortuna, tell Jabba if he ever needs my services, I'm available," Han said,
moving first slowly, and then faster, backward up the ramp. With a mock salute, he
disappeared, the hatch hissing behind him. The ramp lifted with a creak and a whirr.

Fortuna looked up briefly as the Falcon's engines revved and a burst of ion vapor
exploded from  the repulsor jets; then he returned to the business at hand.

Inside the ship, Han dashed to the cockpit. 

"Is the girl strapped in?" he asked Chewie, who barked a response and then howled
at Han, arms waving.

"Yeah, well, I'm not waitin' for clearance. We'll take our chances," he growled,
pushing buttons and flipping switches with both hands.

Outside in the docking bay, Fortuna tore at the clasp of the bag, the trail of yellow
powder whetting his appetite. As the bag sagged open, he paused confusedly and
glanced up questioningly at Garindan. The bag was full of yellow powder packed in
steri-sealed bags, not the small packets he was accustomed to seeing. Frantically he
tore open one of the bags, dipped a spine-like nail into the powder, and touched it to
his tongue. Immediately he spat, the sulphurous taste curling his lip. 

At that moment the whine of the Falcon's engines accelerated to a roar, and the
stream of ion vapor from the repulsor jets indicated liftoff was imminent. Garindan
dragged Fortuna, thrashing in anger, away from the ship in time to avoid injury.

The Twi'lek's lekku were whipping furiously. "This is not ryll!" he roared, shaking
his fist as the Falcon spun out of sight. "This ... " he dipped one hand into the bag
and brought it up, allowing the powder to sift through his fingers to the ground, "this
is rhombin!"

                         *    *    *    *

As soon as they were free of Tatooine's gravitational pull, Han calculated the jump
to lightspeed and held his breath. On cue the starlines flashed before him in the
viewport. Letting out a sigh of relief, he released his restraining strap and made his
way back to the lounge, where Chewbacca was attempting to soothe Koi's
nervousness with soft mewls.

"How ya doin'?" he asked, sliding onto the acceleration couch next to Chewbacca.
Leaning forward, he propped his forearms on the holoboard.

The girl shrank back, unsure of his intentions. Her large, dark eyes were
apprehensive, and Han noticed she was trembling, even though Chewbacca had
given her a blanket to cover her scantily clad form. 

"Look," Han cleared his throat. "We're not slavers. We're taking you back to
Ryloth, like we said."

Koi's gaze shifted from him to Chewbacca, who brayed softly.

Han stared down at the holoboard, wishing he could be spared this duty. How could
he tell her about Ven? Slowly he traced the outline of the squares with one finger,
thinking. There was really only one way.

Standing, he reached into an overhead compartment and pulled down a worn
haversack. Koi recognized it even before he handed it to her, and tears filled her
eyes as she realized the implication.

"Yeah," Han said, averting his eyes, unable to meet her gaze. "Ven is dead." After a
few moments, he looked up again, searching her pain-filled face. His voice was soft.
"He died to save you, to get you back to Ryloth. To Mihr." 

At the mention of her betrothed, the girl's head snapped as if she'd been slapped.
For the first time, she looked at Han with a hint of trust in her eyes.

"Look inside," Han gestured toward the haversack.

Koi stared wonderingly at him for a moment and then slowly released the clasp. She
gasped at the credits she found inside, running her fingers through them and
murmuring with surprise. She gaped at Han, speechless.

In spite of himself, Han couldn't help grinning. Chewbacca began chuckling and
slapped him on the back, nearly sending him onto the deck with his enthusiasm.

"Hey, watch it, pal!" Han sputtered. Turning to Koi with a lopsided smile, he said,
"I sold the ryll your brother brought from Ryloth. Got a handsome price for it, too,
even if I do say so myself." He smirked conceitedly, arching an eyebrow at
Chewbacca.

Koi looked at him, astonished, and then spoke for the first time. "But the ryll," she
hesitated. "That was to have been Fortuna's. He told me so."

Han leaned back, savoring his trick. "Aaahh, I figured it was the least he owed you
for four months of enslavement." He cocked his head and crossed his arms over his
chest. "Consider this a downpayment on a new life."

He watched Koi another moment and then stood, the smile fading from his face.
"C'mon, Chewie," he said, touching the Wookiee on the arm and heading for the
cockpit. "We've got some flying to do."

                         *    *    *    *

Back in Docking Bay 87, Bib Fortuna stood with Garindan, watching the point in
the sky where the Millennium Falcon had vanished from view. After several
minutes, he turned to the hooded Kubaz. Garindan saw that the Twi'lek's wild,
thrashing anger had deepened to a determined, unspeakable wrath.

"Someday Solo will need work," he said evenly, his eyes narrowing, "work that
Jabba will supply. When that day comes, you and I, my friend, will make sure he
meets with misfortune. Misfortune to match our own this day." His needle-clawed
hands were shaking as he looked up at the stars.

The spy nodded, his gray snout swaying.

Turning, the two climbed out of the deserted docking bay; crossed the narrow, dark
street; and disappeared into the Tatooine night.