Star Wars - Han Solo's Revenge Read online

  "Tell me about it. And watch your language, Max. Just because I talk that way is no sign you should. All right, boys, just leave things the way they are. This trip should make us enough to have all those waterworks replaced with good old shielded circuitry. Bollux, I want you to close up your fruit stand; we've got cargo to pick up and I don't want you making the clients jumpy. Sorry, Max, but you do that to people sometimes."

  "No problem, Captain," Blue Max replied as the halves of Bollux's chest swung shut to the hum of servomotors. Han reflected that, while he still didn't care much for automata, Bollux and Max weren't too bad. He decided, though, that he would never understand how the pseudo-personalities of an ancient labor 'droid and a precocious computer module could hit it off so well.

  Han opened the bundle he had brought from the cockpit-a bulky thermosuit - and began pulling it on over his ship's clothes. Before fitting his hands into the thermosuit's at-tached gloves, he adjusted his gun-belt, rebuckling it over the suit, then removing the weapon's trigger guard so that he'd be able to fire it with his thermoglove on. He wouldn't have dreamed of going out unarmed; he was always wary when the Millennium Falcon was grounded in unfamiliar sur-roundings, but especially so when he was doing business on the shady side of the street.

  He donned protective headgear, a transparent facebowl with insulated ear cups. Touching a button on the control unit set in his thermosuit's sleeve, he brought its heating unit to life.

  "Stand by," he ordered Bollux, "in case I need a hand with the cargo. "

  "May I inquire what it is we're to carry, Captain?" Bollux asked as he drew aside the covers of the special compart-ments hidden under the deckplates.

  "You may guess, Bollux; that's about all I can do right now myself. " Han prodded at the hatch control with a gloved finger. "Nobody, mentioned what it's going to be, and I was in no position to ask. Couldn't be anything too massive, I guess."

  The hatch rolled up and a blast of frigid wind invaded the ' passageway. Han shouted over the wail of the storm. "Doesn't look like it's going to be heat rash salve though, does it?"

  He started down the ramp, leaning into the force of the gale. The cold in his lungs was sharp enough to make him think about going back for a respirator, but he judged that he wouldn't be outside long enough to need one. His facebowl polarized somewhat against the ice glare as snow hissed against it. Specific gravity here on Lur was slightly over Stan-dard, but not enough to cause any inconvenience.

  At the foot of the ramp he found that the wind was moving a light dusting of snow across the blue-white glacier. Minia-ture drifts were already accumulating against the Falcon's landing gear. He spied the beacon, a cluster of blinking cau-tion lights atop a globular transponder package, anchored to glacial ice by a tripod. There was no one to be seen, but visibility was so low that Han couldn't have made out much beyond the landing marker.

  He walked over to it, inspecting it and finding it to be nothing snore than a standard model, designed for use in places lacking sophisticated navigational and tracking equip-ment.

  Suddenly a muffled voice behind him called out. "Solo?" He spun, right hand dropping automatically to the grip of his blaster. A man stepped out of the swirl of the storm. He, too, wore a thermosuit and a facebowl that had muted his voice, but the thermosuit was white and the facebowl reflec-tive, making him nearly invisible there on the glacier.

  He moved forward with hands empty and held high. Han, squinting past him; saw the vague outlines of other figures moving just at the edge of his range of vision.

  "I'm him," Han responded, his own words muffled some-what by his facebowl. "You're, uh, Zlarb?"

  The other nodded. Zlarb was a tall, broadly built man with extremely fair skin, white-blond beard and clear gray eyes with creases at their corners that gave him an intense, threat-ening look. But he showed his teeth in a wide smile. "That's right, Captain. And I'm ready to go, too. We can load up right away. "

  Han tried to peer through the curtain of snow behind Zlarb. "Are there enough of you to bring up the cargo? I brought along a repulsorlift handtruck in case you need it to haul your load. Want me to run it out for you? "

  Zlarb gave him a look Han couldn't quite read, then smiled again. "No. I think we can get our shipment onboard without any problems. "

  Something about the man's behavior, the hint of a private joke or the sardonic tone to his reply, made Han suspicious. He had long since learned to listen to inner alarms. He looked back at the blurry outline of the Falcon and hoped Chew-bacca was alert and that the Wookiee had the starship's main batteries primed and aimed. The two seldom encountered trouble from their pickup contacts. Usually at the other end, the drop-off and payment end of things, trouble tended to occur. But this just might be the exception.

  Han backed away a step, eyes meeting Zlarb's. "All right -z then, I'll go get ready to raise ship." He had more questions s to ask this man, but wanted to move the proceedings to a.,._ more auspicious spot, say, next to the freighter's belly turret. "You drag your shipment to the ramp head and we'll take it from there. "

  Zlarb's grin was wider now. "No, Solo. I think we'll both go onboard your ship. Right now. "

  Han was about to tell Zlarb that it was against his and Chewbacca's policy to let smuggling contacts onboard when he noticed that the man had turned his hand over. In it he held a tiny weapon, a short-range palmgun that, like a con-juror, he must have held hidden between gloved fingers. Han thought about going for his blaster but realized that at best he could probably manage no more than a tie, in which case both of them would die.

  The blinking lights of the landing beacon, gleaming off Zlarb's facebowl, gave the man's smirk an even more sinister look. "Hand the blaster over butt-first, Solo, and keep your back to the ship so your partner can't see. Carefully now; I've been warned about you and that speeddraw, and I'd rather shoot than take a chance."

  He tucked Han's sidearm into his belt. "Now let's get aboard. Keep both hands at your sides and don't try to warn the Wookiee. "

  He turned for a moment and motioned to unseen compan-ions, then indicated the Falcon with the palmgun. From a distance, Han thought, it probably looked like a polite you-first gesture.

  As they walked Han tried to sort through the situation, his mind roiling. These people knew exactly what they were doing; the whole job had been a setup. Zlarb's frank willing-ness to use his weapon was proof that he and his accomplices were playing for very high stakes. The question of being cheated of payment or even of having his vessel hijacked suddenly bothered Han less than the thought of not surviving the encounter.

  The bulk of. the Millennium Falcon became more distinct as they approached her. "No bright stunts now, Solo, " Zlarb Warned. "Don't even twitch your nose at the Wookiee or you'll die for it."

  Han had to admit that Zlarb thought in advance, but he hadn't covered everything. Han and Chewbacca had a signal system for pickups and dropoffs, whereby Han didn't need to communicate that something was wrong; all he had to do was approach the ship and fail to give the subtle all's-well.

  Over the moan of the gale they heard the whine of servo-motors. The quad-guns in the Falcon's belly turret traversed, elevated, and came to bear on them.

  But Zlarb had already stepped behind Han, pulling the captured gun from his belt and holding its muzzle up close to Han's temple. They could see Chewbacca now, his hairy face pressed close to the canopy, gazing down apprehen-sively. The Wookiee's left arm was stretched behind him, down near the console. Han knew his friend's fingers would be only millimeters from the fire controls. He wanted to yell Get out! Raise ship! But Zlarb anticipated that. "Not a word to him, Solo! Not a sound, or you're canceled. " Han didn't doubt him a bit.

  Zlarb had the Wookiee's attention and was motioning him to come down out of the ship, indicating with the blaster's muzzle just what would happen to Han if Chewbacca failed to obey. Han, familiar with his shaggy first mate's expres-sions, read indecision then resignation, on his face. Then the Wookiee disappeare
d from the cockpit.

  Han muttered something, and Zlarb poked him with the blaster. "Save it; it's lucky for you he paid attention. Just play along and both of you will come through this alive. "

  Two of Zlarb's underlings had come up and stopped near their boss. One was a human, a squat, tough looking ugly who could have come from any of 100,000 worlds. The other was a humanoid, a giant, burly creature nearly Chewbacca's size, with tiny eyes beneath jutting, boney brows. The hu-manoid's skin was a glossy brown, like some exotic, polished wood, and vestigial horns curled at his forehead. He seemed to feel the need for neither thermosuit nor facebowl. But it was what the other man, the squat one, had brought that surprised Han most. He had a control leash fastened to his wrist; at the end of the leash was a nashtah, one of the storied hunting beasts of Dra III. The nashtah's six powerful legs, each armed with long, curving, diamond-hard claws, shifted restlessly on the ice. It strained at its leash; tongue arcing, its steamy breath rasping between triple rows of jag-ged white teeth, its long barbed tail lashing. Its muscles, tensing and untensing, sent ripples along its green, sleek hide.

  What in the name of the profit-motive system can they be doing with a nashtah? Han asked himself. The creatures were bloodthirsty, tireless and impossible to shake once they scented their prey, and were among the most vicious of all attack animals. That seemed to indicate poaching of some kind, but why would a gang of poachers go to all this trouble? Han disliked moving pelts or hides and, given a choice, would not have carried them. But that surely didn't call for this kind of extreme action on Zlarb's part; there were plenty of smug-glers who would have taken the job.

  Chewbacca appeared at the ramp head. The nashtah, sighting him, gave throat to a piercing scream and lunged, dragging its handler until he dug in his heels and pressed a stud on the control leash handle. The nashtah gave a yeowl of displeasure at the mild shock that stopped its advance for the moment. Chewbacca watched impassively, his bowcaster held ready, eyes sweeping the scene below.

  Zlarb started Han off with a shove, staying close behind, and the two climbed the ramp. When they were near the top, Zlarb addressed Chewbacca. "Put down the weapon. Do it now and step back or your friend here gets fried. " There was the nudge of the blaster between Han's shoulder blades.

  Chewbacca debated the variables involved, then complied, seeing no other way to save his friend's life. Meanwhile, Han evaluated his chances for a fast move. He knew he might stand a chance of neutralizing Zlarb, but the other two gang members were backing their boss up and each had a handgun out now. And then there was the nashtah. Han elected to postpone his most desperate option for the time being.

  When they reached the top of the ramp, Zlarb pushed Han hard, then stooped to take up Chewbacca's bowcaster. The Wookiee caught his friend as Han stumbled from the shove and kept him from falling. Han removed his facebowl and threw it aside. Taking a quick look around, he noticed Bollux still standing where Han had left him. The 'droid seemed to be rooted to the spot, immobile with surprise, his circuitry struggling to absorb the bewildering rush of events.

  Zlarb's men had come in behind him along with the nash-tah, whose claws scraped the deckplates. Again it had to be curbed from leaping at the Wookiee, and Han wondered for a moment what it was about Chewbacca that antagonized it so. Something about his first mate's scent, or perhaps a re-semblance to one of the beast's natural enemies?

  Zlarb turned to the hulking humanoid who had been eye-ing Chewbacca with nearly as much hostility as the nashtah. "Go tell the others to start moving. We'll get things ready here." Then he turned to Han. "Open up your main hold; we're going to start loading. " And finally, to the handler who still restrained the spitting nashtah, Zlarb indicated the Wookiee. "If he moves, burn him down:"

  They set off aft, Zlarb being careful to stay well back from Han, watchful for any surprise move the pilot might make: Following the curve of the passageway, they came to the hatchway of the Falcon's main cargo hold. Han tapped the release, and the hatch slid back to reveal a compartment of modest size, ribbed by the ship's structural members, fea-tureless except for air ducts, safety equipment, and the heating-refrigeration unit. A stack of panels and disassem-bled support posts lay there, to be erected as shelving or retaining bins if they were needed. Dunnage and padding were heaped in a pile to one side near coils of strapping and fastening tackle.

  Zlarb, looking around, nodded in approval. "This'll do fine, Solo. Leave the hatch open and let's get back to the others. "

  Another of Zlarb's men had arrived and was standing at the top of the ramp, a disruptor rifle leveled at Chewbacca. The nashtah handler had dragged his beast back farther to-ward the. cockpit. The big humanoid had returned, too, car-rying a small shoulder pack. Zlarb pointed to it. "You've got your equipment there, Wadda? "

  Wadda inclined his head. Zlarb pointed to Bollux. "First I want you to Stick a restraining bolt on the 'droid. We don't want him wandering around; he might give us trouble. "

  Bollux started to protest but weapons moved to cover him and Wadda closed in on him, looming over him and unlim-bering the ominous pack from his shoulder. The labor 'droid's red photoreceptors went to Han in what seemed to be an entreaty. "Captain Solo, what shall I-"

  "Keep still," Han instructed, not wanting to see Bollux destroyed and knowing Zlarb's people would do just that if the 'droid resisted them. "It'll only be for a while."

  Bollux looked from Han to Chewbacca, then to Wadda and back to Han again. Wadda closed in on him, fitting a restraining bolt into a hand-held applicator. The big human-oid pressed the applicator against Bollux's chest and the 'droid gave a split-second bleep. There was a wisp of smoke as bolt fused to metal skin. Just as Bollux shuffled, resettling his changing feet as if some new posture would be of help to him, his photoreceptors went dark, the restraining bolt de-activating his control matrices.

  Satisfied that the Falcon was his, Zlarb began issuing com-mands. "Let's get busy." Han was directed to Chewbacca's side. The nashtah handler and the man with the disruptor rifle continued to watch them while Wadda hurried down the,., ramp, making it tremble under his great weight.

  "Zlarb; " Han began, "don't you think its time you told us what's so flaming... "

  He was distracted by the ramp's vibrations and the sound of many light footfalls. A moment later he understood just what had happened to him and in how dangerous a situation he and Chewbacca had become involved. A file of small figures trooped aboard, heads hung in fa-tigue and despair. These were obviously inhabitants of Lur. The tallest of them was scarcely waist-high to Han. They were erect bipeds, covered with fine white fur, their feet protected by thick pads of calluslike tissue. Their eyes were large, and ran toward green and blue; they stared around the Falcon's interior in dull amazement.

  Each neck was encircled by a collar of metal, the collars joined together by a thin black cable. It was a slaver's line. Chewbacca bellowed an enraged roar and ignored the an-

  swering scream from the nashtah. Han glared at Zlarb, who was directing the loading of slaves. One of his men held a director unit, its circuitry linked to the collars. The director, a banned device, had an unfinished, homemade look to it. Any defiance from the captives would earn them excruciating pain.

  Han fixed Zlarb with his eye. "Not in my ship," he stated, emphasizing each word.

  But Zlarb only laughed. "You're not in much of a position to object, are you, Solo?"

  "Not in my ship, " Han repeated stubbornly. "Not slaves. Never. "

  Zlarb aligned Han's own blaster at him, sighting down the barrel. "You just think again, pilot. If you give me any trou-ble, you'll end up locked in a necklace yourself. Now, you and the Wookiee go forward and get ready to lift. "

  A second line of slaves was being led aboard and ushered aft to the hold. Han scowled at Zlarb for a moment, then turned toward the cockpit. Chewbacca hesitated, bared his fangs at the slavers once more, and followed his friend.

  Han lowered himself unwillingly into the pilot's seat,
and Chewbacca took the copilot's. Zlarb stood behind them watching their every move carefully. He mistrusted the two, of course, but knew that they could get more speed and better performance out of the Falcon than he or any of his men could. And that might well mean survival in the perilous business of slave-running.

  "Solo, I want you and your partner to be smart about this. You take us to our point of delivery and you'll both be taken care of. But if we're halted and boarded, it's the death sen-tence for all of us, you included."

  "Where are we going?" Han asked, tight-lipped.

  "I'll tell you that when the time comes. For now, you just prepare to raise ship."

  Han brought the Falcon's engines to full power, warming up her shields and preparing to lift. "What are they paying you? Even I can't think of enough money to get me mixed up in slaving:"

  Zlarb chuckled derisively. "They told me you were a hard case, Solo. I see they were wrong. Those little beauties back there are worth four, five, maybe even six thousand apiece on the Invisible Market. They're natural-born experts at ge-netic manipulation, and in great demand, my friend. Not everyone is happy with the rigid restrictions that were im-posed after the Clone Wars. It seems these creatures like their own world too much, though, and wouldn't sign out on con-tract labor for anything. So my associates and I rounded up a bunch. A few of them are sick or wounded, but we'll de-liver at least fifty of them. I'll make enough off this run to keep me happy and lazy for a long time. "