Star Wars - The Han Solo Trilogy - Hutt Gambit Read online

  Han Solo Book 2

  The Hutt Gambit

  Han Solo, former Imperial officer, sat despondently at a sticky table in a dingy bar on Devaron, sipping an infe-rior Alderaanian ale and wishing he were alone. Not that he minded the other denizens of the bar horned Devish males and furry Devish females, plus a smattering of nonhumans from other worlds. Han was used to aliens; hed grown up with them aboard Trader Luck, a large trading ship that wandered the spacelanes of the galaxy. By the time he was ten, Han had been able to speak and un-derstand half a dozen nonhuman languages.

  No, it wasnt the aliens around him. It was the alien beside him. Han took a swig of his ale, grimaced at the sour taste, then glanced sidelong at the cause of all his troubles. The huge, hairy being gazed back at him with concerned blue eyes. Han sighed heavily. If onhj hed go home! But the Wookiee---Chew-something-utterly refused to go home to Kashyyyk, despite Hans repeated urging. The alien claimed he owed something called a life debt to former Imperial Lieutenant Han Solo.

  Life debt . . . great. Just what I need, Han thought bit-terly. A big furry nursemaid trailing after me, giving me advice, fussing over me if I drink too much, telling me he gonna take care of me. Great. Just great.

  Han scowled into his ale, and the pale, watery brew reflected his countenance back at him, distorting his fea-tures until he appeared nearly as alien as the Wookiee. What was his name? Chew-something. The Wookiee had told him, but Han wasnt good at pronouncing Wookiee, even though he understood it perfectly.

  Besides, he didnt want to learn this particular Wookiees name. If he learned his name, hed likely never get rid of his hairy shadow.

  Hah rubbed a hand over his face blearily, feeling several days stubble. Ever since hed been kicked out of the ser-vice, he kept forgetting to shave. When hed been a cadet, then a junior lieutenant, then a full lieutenant, hed been meticulous with his grooming, the way an officer and a gentleman should be . . . but now . . . what difference did it make?

  Han raised his glass in a slightly unsteady hand and gulped the sour ale. He put the empty tankard down, and glanced around the bar for the server. Need another drink. One more, and Ill feel much better. Just one more . . .

  The Wookiee moaned quietly. Hans scowl deepened. Keep your opinions to yourself, hairball, he snarled. Ill know when Ive had enough. Th las thing I need is a Wookiee playin nursemaid for me.

  The Wookiee-Chewbacca, that was it-growled softly, his blue eyes shadowed with concern. Hans lip curled. Im perfectly capable of lookin after myself, and dont you forget it. Just cause I saved your furry butt from being vaporized doesnt mean you owe me a thing. I tol you before-I owed a Wookiee, long ago. Owed her my life, coupla times over. So I saved you, cause I owed her.

  Chewbacca made a sound halfway between a moan and a snarl. Han shook his head. No, that means you dont owe me a thing, dont you get it? I owed her, but I couldnt repay her. So I helped you out, which makes us even . . . square. So will you please take those credits I gave you, and go back to Kashyyyk? You aint doin me any favors staying here, hairball. I need you like I need a blaster burn on my butt.

  Affronted, Chewbacca drew himself up to his full Wookiee height. He growled low in his throat.

  Yeah, I know I tossed away my career and my livin that day on Coruscant when I stopped Commander Nyklas from shootin you. I hate slavery, and watchin Nyklas use a force whip aint a particularly appetizing sight. I know Wookiees, you see. When I was growin up, a Wookiee was my best friend. I knew you were gonna turn on Nyklas before you did it-just like I knew Nyklas would go for his blaster. I couldnt just stand there and watch him blast you. But dont go tryin to make me out as some kinda hero, Chewie. I dont need a partner, and I dont want a friend. My name says it all, pal. Solo.

  Han jerked a thumb at his chest. Solo. In my language, that means me, alone, by myself. Get it? Thats the way it is, and thats the way I like it. So . . . no offense, Chewie, but why dont you just scram. As in, go away. Perma-nently.

  Chewie stared at Han for a long moment, then he snorted disdainfully, turned, and strode out of the bar. Hah wondered disinterestedly if hed actually managed to convince the big hairy oaf to leave for good. If he had, that was reason for celebration. For another drink . . .

  As he glanced around the bar, he saw that over in the corner several patrons were gathering around a table. A sabacx game was forming. Han wondered whether he ought to try to get in on it. Mentally he reviewed the con-tents of his credit pouch, and decided that might not be a bad idea. He usually had very good luck at sabace, and every credit counted, these days. These days . . .

  Han sighed. How long had it been since that fateful day when hed been sent to assist Commander Nyklas with the crew of Wookiee laborers assigned to complete a new wing on the Imperial Hall of Heroes? He counted, grimacing as he realized that hed lost days on end in there . . . days probably spent in a dark haze of ale and bitter recrimina-tion. In two days it would be two months.

  Hans mouth tightened and he ran an unsteady hand through his unruly brown hair. For the past five years hed kept it cut short in approved military fashion, but now it was growing out, getting almost shaggy. He had a sudden, sharp mental image of himself as hed been then-immacu-lately groomed, insignia polished, boots shining-and glanced down at himself.

  What a contrast between then and now. He was wearing a stained, grayish shirt that had Once been white, a stained, gray neo-leather jacket hed purchased secondhand, and dark blue military-style trousers with his Corellian blood-stripe running down the outside seam. Only the boots were the same. They were custom-fitted when each cadet was commissioned, so the Empire hadnt wanted them back. Han had been commissioned just a little over eight months ago, and no junior lieutenant had ever been prouder of his rank-or of those shining boots.

  The boots were scuffed now, and worn. Hans lip curled as he regarded them. Scuffed and worn by life, all the spit and polish gone . . . that about described him these days, tOO.

  In a moment of painful honesty, Han admitted that he probably wouldnt have been able to stay in the Imperial Navy even if he hadnt gotten himself cashiered for rescu-ing and freeing Chewbacca. Hed started his career with high hopes, but disillusionment had quickly set in. The prejudice against nonhumans had been hard to take for someone raised the way Han had been, but hed bitten his tongue and remained silent. But the endless, silly bureau-cratic regs, the blind stupidity of so many of the officers-

  Hah had already begun to wonder how long hed be able to take it.

  But hed never figured on a dishonorable discharge, loss of pension and back pay, and worst of all-being black-listed as a pilot. They hadnt taken his license, but Han had quickly discovered that no legitimate company would hire him. Hed tramped the permacrete of Coruscant for weeks, in between alcoholic binges, looking for work and found all respectable doors closed to him.

  Then, one night, as hed taveru-hopped in a section of the planet-wide city near the alien ghetto, a huge, furred shadow had flowed out of the deeper shadows of an alley and confronted Han.

  For long moments Hans ale-fogged brain hadnt even recognized the Wookiee as the one hed saved. It was only when Chewbacca began speaking, thanking Han for saving his life and freeing him from slavery, that Han had realized who he was. Chewie had been quite direct his people didnt mince words. He, Chewbacca, had sworn a life debt to Han Solo. Where Han went, from that day forward, he would go, too.

  And he had.

  When Han had finally gotten them passage off Corus-cant, piloting a ship with a load of contraband to Tralus (the cargo had been magnetically sealed into the hold-Han hadnt had the equipment or the energy to break in and find out exact
ly what it was he was smuggling), Chewbacca had gone with him. On the week-long voyage, Han began teaching the Wookiee the rudiments of piloting. Space travel was boring, and at least that gave him something to do besides brood over lost futures . . .

  Once on Tralus, he turned over his ship and cargo, then went looking for another assignment. He wound up at Truthful Toryls Used Spaceship lt, asking the Duros for work. Toryl was an old acquaintance, and he knew Hah was a reliable and expert pilot.

  The Empire was tightening its grip all the time, taking away the rights of its worlds as well as its citizens. Duro had a shipbuilding industry nearly equal to that of CoreIlia, but they had recently been prohibited by Imperial direetive from placing weapons systems in their ships. Hans clandes-tine cargo proved to be a shipment of components useful in outfitting ships with weapons.

  By the time they reached Duro, Chewie was becoming a fair copilot and gunner. Han hoped that teaching the Wookiee these skills would make it easier to get rid of him on some world. If he knew the Wookiee could hire on as a skilled pilot or copilot, he wouldnt hesitate to dump him in some port and then lift ship-or so Han told himself.

  Once on Duro, Han drank up some of the profits from his mission, while waiting to be contacted for another pilot-ing job. His patience was rewarded one day when a Sullus-tan approached him and offered him good pay to take a ship from Duro, avoiding any Imperial ports of call, a third of the way across the galaxy to Kothlis, a Bothan colony wodd.

  Of course the sleek, swift little craft was hot-stolen from some wealthy owners landing pad. Han had to re-mind himself that he was no longer in the business of keep-ing the law he was in the busine ss of breaking it.

  So he set his jaw and piloted the stolen vessel to her new home on Kothlis. Then he went looking for another assign-ment, and eventually found one. On the surface, this job seemed legit. Hah was to ferry a large halargon from Koth-lis to Devaron.

  Han had never heard of a nalargon before, which wasnt surprising, as his exposure to music had been limited. A nalargon proved to be a very large instrument that was operated by a keyboard and foot pedals. Pipes and sub-harmonic resonance generators produced sound on many wave bands. The instruments were in demand for the jizz craze that was sweeping the galaxy.

  Accordingly, the huge instrument was brought aboard the ship Han had been assigned, bolted to the deck, then left sealed in the cargo compartment.

  Han investigated the instrument once he and Chewie were safely in hyperspace. He tapped it, poked and nudged it, turned it on, then tried pressing the keys and pedals. No sound, except the sound he made trying to make it work.

  But his tappings proved it wasnt hollow. Han sat back on his heels, gazing at the huge instrument. The thing was obviously a dummy-a shell, with something inside. What?

  Han knew from his stint in the Imperial Navy that Devaron was a world in turmoil. Not long ago a group of rebels had risen against the Imperial governor, demanding independence from the Empire. Hans lip curled disdain-fully. Stupid fools, thinking they had a chance against the Empire. Seven hundred of the rebels had been captured when the ancient holy city of Montellian Serat had been overrun by Imperial troops a few months ago. Theyd been summarily executed without trial, killed without mercy. The remaining rebels were still hiding out in the hills, hold-ing out, attacking commando fashion, but Han knew it was only a matter of time before they, too, would be ground beneath Palpatines heel, their world rigidly controlled by the Empire, as so many other worlds had been.

  Eyeing the nalargon, Hah made some mental calcula-tions based on the instrument being hollow. Yeah . . . a short-bore mobile laser cannon would just about fit inside that shell. The weapon could be mounted on the back of a landskimmer, and was capable of blowing small targets-a building, or a short-range Imperial fighter-into very small pieces.

  It could also be blast rifles, of course. Ten or fifteen would fit inside there, if they were cleverly packed.

  Whatever was inside the nalargon, Han had a bad feel-ing about the assignment hed taken on. He resolved to land the ship, then walk away from it and not go back. He had fake landing codes, provided by the Bothans. Hed use them, and then get away as quickly as he could . . .

  Hed landed yesterday, and for all Han knew, the ship was still sitting on the field with the nalargon in her cargo hold. But he had a hunch that the rebels on Devaron hadnt wasted any time . . .

  Han shook his head a little blearily, half wishing he hadnt had that last ale. The sour taste was still in his mouth, and his head bused. Han looked from side to side, testingly, and the room stayed still. Good. He wasnt too drunk to play sabacc and win. Let get on with it, Solo. Every little credit helps . . .

  The smuggler rose to his feet and strolled quite steadily across the room to the table. Greetings, gentles, he said, in Basic. Got room for another player?

  The dealer, a Devaronian male, turned his head with its waxed, polished horus to regard Hah questioningly. He must have decided that the newcomer looked okay, be-cause he shrugged and gestured at the vacant seat. Wel-come, Pilot. As long as your credits hold out, so does your welcome. He grinned, showing sharp, feral teeth. Han nodded, then slid into the seat.

  Hed first learned to play sabacc when he was about fourteen. Han anted credits into the high-stakes pot, the sabacc pot, then picked up the two cards hed been dealt and scanned them, all the while covertly studying his oppo-nents. When the bet for the hand pot came round to him, he tossed the requisite number of credit disks into that pot, too.

  Han had the six of staves and the Queen of Air and Darkness, but at any moment the dealer could push a but-ton, and all the card-values would change. Han eyed his opponents a tiny Sullustan, a furry Devaronian female, the Devaronian male dealer, and a huge female Barabel, a rep-tiloid being from Barab One. This was the first time Han had seen a Barabel up close, and she was an impressive sight. Over two meters tall, covered with tough black scales that would repel even a stun blast, the Barabel had a mouthful of daggedike teeth and a clublike tail that report-edly made them nasty customers in a fight. This one, who had introduced herself as Shallamar, seemed peaceful enough, though. She picked up the newest card-chip shed been dealt and studied her hand intently through narrowed slit-pupiled eyes.

  The object of sabacc was to get cards to equal, but not exceed, the number twenty-three-either positive or nega-tive. In case of a tie, positive totals beat negatives.

  At the moment the cards in Hans hand had a numerical value of positive four. The Queen of Air and Darkness had a value of minus two. Han could throw that card into the interference field, which would freeze its value, then hope to get the Idiot and a card with the face value of three. Since the Idiot had a value of zero, this would give him an Idiots Array, which would beat even a pure sabacc . . . that is, cards whose value added up to either positive or negative twenty-three.

  As Han hesitated, gazing at his Queen, the card-chips rippled and altered. His Queen was now the Master of sabers. The six of sabers had become the eight of flasks. His total was . . . positive twenty-two. He waited while the other players examined their card-chips. The Barabel, the female Devaronian, and the dealer threw in their hands disgustedly-theyd bombed out by exceeding twenty-three.

  The Sullustan raised the bet, which Han matched and raised. I call, the little alien said, laying down his card-chips with a flourish. Twenty, he announced.

  Han grinned and put down his own. Twenty-two, he announced casually, laying down his own hand. Afraid that hand pots mine, pal.

  The other players grumbled a bit as he scooped up their money. The Barabel female hissed and gave him a look that could have melted titanium, but said nothing.

  The Sullustan took the next hand, and the Devaronian dealer the one that followed. Hah eyed the growing sabacc pot, and decided to try to go for the bigger payoff.

  They continued to play for several more hands. Han won the hand pot again, but nobody had gotten the sabacc pot. Han tossed the three of coins and the Idiot into the inter
-ference field, and his luck held the very next change of cards left him holding the two of flasks.

  Idiots Array . . . Han said casually, tossing the two down next to the other two cards in the interference field. The sabacc pot is mine, ladies and gentlemen . . .

  He bent forward to scoop up the pot, and the Barabel female let out a roar. Cheater! Hes got a skifter, he must have! No one can be so lucky!

  Hah sat back and stared at her, outraged. He had cheated at sabacc plenty of times, using skifters-cards that would assume different values when their edges were tapped and in other ways. But this time hed won fair and square!

  You can take your accusations and stick em in your ear! the Corellian burst out indignantly. Of course the Barabel didnt have any visible ears, but his meaning wasnt lost on her. Dropping his right hand down to his thigh, he silently unsnapped the strap on the top of his holster. Shak-ing his head vehemently, he added, I wasnt cheating! You were just outplayed, sister!

  Left-handed, Han reached across the table, grabbed a fistful of credits, and stuffed them into his pocket. Nobody moved or spoke, so he reached for the remaining handful. In a blur of reddish fur, the Devaronian females hand shot out, grabbed his wrist, and pinned it to the table. Maybe Shallamar is right, she said, in strongly accented Basic. We should search him to make sure.

  Han glared at her. Take your hands off me, he said very quietly. Or Ill make you really sorry.

  Something in his eyes and voice must have impressed her, because she let go of him and stepped back.

  Coward! Shallamar snarled at the Devaronian. Hes just a puny human!

  The Devaronian shook her head and backed away, indi-cating that she wanted no further part in the conflict.

  Han smiled smugly as he reached for the last of the card-chips. Seeing that smile, the Barabel roared again. One armored, sharp-taloned hand came sweeping down in a mighty blow that smashed the table in two, sending board, credits, and card-chips flying. Shading, she ad-vanced on Han. No! Im going to bite your head off, cheater! Well see how good you are then !