“Chalk up another one for the Princess of Blood,” Han said, lifting a mug of something the bartender had called Corellian ale—and which was certainly anything but. “That’s what? Our fifth cargo?”
“Losing count already, Dad?” Jacen asked, sipping his own dubious concoction.
Around them, the cantina was color and sound, motion and emotion. Even without consciously using the Force, Jacen felt mired in swirling drunkenness, avarice, secret sorrows, and public appetites.
Harsh Tatooine light lanced into the cantina through two windows facing out into the street. Above, various species mingled on a second-story balcony that circumscribed the round central room. In the center of the dusty floor of yellowish tiles, a Dressellian slung drinks from within a circular, red-topped counter.
Near Han and Jacen, ten bovine Gran clad in matching umber jumpsuits clustered together around a table too small for them. They whispered in their sonorous tongue, casting occasional three-eyed glances at two rodentlike Chadra-Fan squinting across another table at a Dug and arguing in loud tones over a hand of sabacc.
“You aren’t going all meditative Jedi on me again, are you?” his father asked, with that little quirk in his mouth.
“No,” Jacen answered solemnly. “I’m all pirate. I pillage; therefore I am.”
“That’s the spirit.” Han cocked an eyebrow quizzically. “Really? No lectures for the old man?”
“None at all. It’s not like we’re keeping what we take. It’s being put to good use.”
Han sighed. Jacen thought it sounded a little mournful. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s true. Look, son, I’ve been thinking—after this war is over, we’re going to have bills to pay. The senate has had most of my assets seized, and who knows if we’ll ever see them again.” He put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “So—”
“Dad! No!” Jacen said. “If we’re aiding the resistance, that’s one thing. But if we keep more than operating expenses, we really are pirates.”
“Right, sure, but just a little off the top wouldn’t make much of a difference, would it? In the long run?”
Jacen stared, horrified at his father’s sincere gaze—until the elder Solo winked, and he got it.
“You were having me on.”
“Just checking, kid. Making sure you really were still my son Jacen.”
“I am that—whoever he is, that’s me.”
Han looked down at the table. “Yeah. And … uh, whoever he is, I’m, uh, very proud of him.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Jacen said. He wanted, suddenly, to give his father a hug, but the newest cantina at Mos Eisley spaceport probably wasn’t the best place to do that.
“Anyway,” Han said. His gaze shifted about uncomfortably, then needled out someplace past Jacen. “There we go,” he said. “The rest of our dinner party.”
Jacen didn’t turn. One thing he’d learned around his father—if there were only two of you in a place like this, it was best if you weren’t both looking in the same direction.
“Well, well,” a profound bass boomed behind them. “Han Solo. And if I make my guess, one of his spawn.”
“Hello, Shalo. How are things?”
“I don’t believe it. The great Han Solo actually knows my name. I told you I was sending Terya.”
“I have a good memory,” Han replied. “And Terya is a Rodian.” He glanced around the cantina. “Looking good. How’s business?”
Shalo finally moved into Jacen’s field of vision. He was human and surprisingly small to have such a deep voice. Bald, craggy-nosed, about his dad’s age.
“Not bad,” Shalo said. “The Yuuzhan Vong snubbed their flat noses at Tatooine, so we’re the center of commerce out here on the Rim, these days.”
“Uh-huh. That’s pretty convenient for you, I guess. I hear you’re giving even Chalmun’s some competition.”
“Yeah, well, times change. Business changes. My drinks are cheaper.”
Han jerked a thumb toward the man. “Last time I saw Shalo here he was a petty thug at the bottom of Durga the Hutt’s food chain.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Sure. And after that you worked for Hirth, out of Abregado-rae. That went sour, too, didn’t it? Then you got involved with the Hutts again, and they sent you here to manage one of their operations. Come to think of it, I guess the occupation of Nal Hutta is the best thing that ever happened to you, huh, Shalo? Now the operation’s all yours.”
“It ain’t been bad. Solo, you got a point? I’m a busy man. I’ve heard you’re back in business, so to speak. You have something you want moved?”
“Not exactly, Shalo. I need a little information.”
“So long as you’re willing to pay for it.”
“Sure,” Han said. “Like you said, I’m back in business now.” He passed a hundred credits across the table toward Shalo. “Gesture of good faith,” he said.
“Okay. What do you want to know?”
“There’s a certain shipping concern. I think you know the one I mean—has certain occupational interests?”
“I can’t say I know what you’re talking about. There are lots of shipping firms.”
Han leaned forward a little. “But this one—ah, c’mon, Shalo. Who do you sell all your slaves to?”
“Slaves? I’m not in that business, Solo.”
“You disappoint me, Shalo.”
Shalo smiled and shook his head. “No, you disappoint me, Solo. I guess everyone gets old. Now your son pays the price.”
Han looked at Jacen in mock surprise. “You’re picking up the tab, son?”
“My boss doesn’t pay me that well,” Jacen replied.
Han looked at Shalo. “I guess now we don’t know what you mean, Shalo.”
“I mean there’s no bounty in the galaxy higher than the one on your boy, here, and I’m collecting it.” He raised his hand and dropped it.
Nothing happened. Puzzled, he repeated the signal frantically.
A bright green shaft of light suddenly appeared, jutting out of the tabletop. It terminated a centimeter from Shalo’s throat.
“Urk,” Shalo said.
“Please don’t move,” Jacen requested sincerely.
“You get ’em all, Karrde?” Han called into the silence that now ruled the cantina. He kept his eyes focused on Shalo.
“Shada has it under control,” a cultured voice came back. “We’ll be right there. I’d like to make sure all of my people are in position.”
Jacen couldn’t glance around, but he felt a number of newcomers enter the cantina.
“Take your time,” Han called back. “I was just having a chat with my old buddy Shalo.”
“You’re crazy, Solo,” Shalo said.
“Now, is that polite? Listen, Shalo. I can wipe out you and your whole petty operation if I want—or you can cooperate. I …” Han smiled and shook a finger. “You know—I did know about your employees with the blaster rifles. So did my colleagues. One of them—do you know Shada D’ukal? She can be very disarming.”
“D’ukal is here?”
“I love the way you say my name,” a woman’s voice said from just behind Jacen. She stepped into view.
Shada D’ukal was a strikingly handsome woman in perhaps her late forties with long black hair streaked liberally with pure white. The man next to her was a good match to her with his silver-streaked hair and impeccable goatee.
“Captain Karrde,” Han said, standing. “I’m so glad you could make it. Shada, good to see you again. You’ve both met my son Jacen.”
Karrde stroked his goatee and studied the offered seat with mock suspicion. “Oh, well,” he said at last. “If I can’t trust a scoundrel and a pirate, who can I trust?”
“Hey, I trusted you.”
“A good thing, too,” Shada said. “Two of the sharpers were assassin droids.”
“Shalo, I’m impressed.”
The two newcomers sat down. “Hello, Jacen,” Shada said. “I’m a little surprised to see you here.”
“You’re not the only one,” Jacen replied.
“It’s the Solo blood,” Han opined. “It comes with the looks. So how’s things with you two?”
“Things are going well enough on our end,” Karrde said. “I think I can meet whatever needs you have. But first, I have a little present for you.”
“Hey?” Shalo said. “Could you please have your Jedi get that thing away from my throat?”
Han raised both brows skyward. “Oh, you mean this Jedi? My eldest son? The one you were going to turn in for the biggest bounty in the galaxy?”
“I wouldn’t have actually done it,” Shalo explained. “I was going to try to extort protection from you, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. You’re slime, Shalo. You give the Hutts a good name. And now you’re going to give me something.”
“Wh-what?”
“What I asked for, you vac-head.”
“Oh. The shipping company.”
Han nodded. “That’s right, the shipping company.”
“Berths fifteen through eighteen. It’s all I can tell you.”
Han leveled a finger. “Shalo …”
“Hey, it’s not like they have a name and a logo. They just come and pick ’em up.”
“The slaves?” Jacen asked. “What do you suppose happens to them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t ask questions.”
“You know where they go,” Jacen accused.
Jacen caught something then, in the Force.
“Hey, Dad?”
“In a minute, son.” Han jerked his chin toward Shalo. “Let him deny it,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll check out your story, Shalo, and if it turns out you’re lying to us—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll be back, I know.”
“No. Oh, no. You’re going with us. But for right now, I’m going to turn you over to this nice lady here, okay? I need to talk to my other friends.”
Shalo turned to see the “nice” lady and blanched when his eyes fell on a towering, white-furred, heavily fanged humanoid. The beast hissed and spat something that might have been a language.
“No, H’sishi,” Karrde said gently, apparently answering. “You can’t eat him. Yet.”
Shalo’s face was nearly as white as the Togorian’s fur as she led him off.
“Now,” Han said, “what’s my surprise?”
Karrde smiled. “I had my slicer look into those ships you’ve been hitting, the ones coming out of Kuat. It took some doing, even for him. The funds for the ships were washed so many times they ought to be random molecules by now. But in the end, it looks like the allocation can be traced back to the office of Kuat Photonics.”
“Kuat Photonics?” Jacen asked.
“A privately held corporation.” Karrde handed Han a data card. “A list of the owners.”
“Would Viqi Shesh be on that list?” Jacen asked.
Karrde studied him. “You expect her to be?”
“We had some trouble with her at Duro,” Jacen said. “It was just a feeling.”
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Karrde said. “Not under that name.”
“Maybe you could check the names?” Jacen asked. “See if they’re legitimate?”
Karrde laughed sardonically and looked at Han. “Is that the Solo sense of humor, or is he serious?”
“I take that to mean no,” Jacen said dryly.
“What he means is,” Han explained, “it would take a long time—a very long time—and probably get us nowhere. Meanwhile, we’d be there instead of here, where we can actually stop the ships. If Shesh is behind this, we’ll hurt her more out here than on Coruscant.”
“The old man has it right,” Karrde said. “The tracks my slicer found are faint to begin with. They could be easily erased.”
“But we might find proof,” Jacen argued. “Real proof.”
“Maybe,” Han said. “Maybe at berths fifteen through eighteen.”
“Are we going to hit them?” Shada asked.
“Hit them? No. They’ll be easier pickings in space.”
“Shouldn’t we at least check them out?” Jacen said.
Shada nodded. “I’ll have look.”
Jacen straightened. “Mind if I tag along?”
“I do,” Han said. “Or didn’t you get that part about the bounty on your head?”
“Jealous, Solo?” Karrde asked Han.
“How’s that?”
“Well, your son is pulling down easily three times what you were ever worth.”
“Inflation. In Imperial credits it works out about the same. And don’t distract me—Jacen goes back to the Falcon.”
“Oh, no. You aren’t my captain on the ground, Dad.”
“Where did you pick up that nonsense?” Han growled.
“You wanted me to help with this business—I’m helping. If Shada will have me, I’m going with her.”
“A lady never minds the escort of a handsome gentleman. Especially one with Jedi powers.”
Han threw up his hands. “Fine. I give up. But you can make that two handsome escorts, because I’m not letting my son out of my sight. I know this slagheap too well.”
Karrde’s eyes narrowed, suddenly, and he drew his blaster. “This is, for the moment, an academic conversation, my friends.”
“Why?” Jacen asked.
His answer came as blasterfire.