Reunion (2 page)

“Read ’em and weep,” Han said, leaning back into his chair. “Or whatever it is you guys do around here.”

“A cubic sabacc?” The Ruurian’s red eyes glittered dangerously in the bar’s dim and smoky light as it glared at Han. “That’s not possible!”

“It’s not impossible,” the Givin snarled. “Just extremely unlikely.”

“Solo, if you’re taking us for a ride, I swear—” the Yarkora began.

“Hey!” Han exclaimed, standing up and stabbing a finger at Talien’s enormous nose. “You scanned me on the way in. If I’d had a skifter on me, you’d’ve known about it.”

The Givin’s bony mouthplates ground together in frustration. “Skifter or no skifter, Solo, I still say it’s safer to believe in human nature than the kind of luck you’re claiming.”

“Come off it, Ren. You’re saying I cheated in a game I didn’t even know existed until I docked here a couple of days ago?” He snorted derisively. “You’re giving me a lot more credit than I deserve.”

“That’s
all
the credit you’ll be getting,” the Ruurian muttered, reaching forward with one of its many arms to scoop up the chips.

Han grabbed the junction between the alien’s two uppermost
body parts and twisted sharply—not enough to do any damage, but certainly enough to make the Ruurian think twice. “You touch my winnings, and then you’ll see just how much of my edge I’ve lost.”

Chairs scraped across the stony floor as the other two players backed away from the sabacc table. Shouts sounded in a dozen different tongues around the room. The Thorny Toe maintained a strict no-weapons policy, but that didn’t mean that fights couldn’t be lethal. And as far as the patrons of the Thorny Toe were concerned, the more violent the altercation, the better the entertainment value.

“Overrated muck hauler!” the Ruurian grunted, wriggling its lengthy body in an attempt get free. Han struggled to hang on, while at the same time trying to keep the alien at arm’s length. Each of the Ruurian’s body segments possessed a set of limbs that clutched at him with hostile intent.

“Who you calling overrated?” Han muttered, tightening his grip. Although low in mass, the alien could bend in places Han couldn’t, making it difficult to maintain the upper hand. The Ruurian hitched its back end under the table and managed to tip him off balance. As he went down, a dozen sharp-tipped digits swarmed up his legs and chest, looking for soft spots. Tiny, razor-sharp mandibles snapped at his nose. The audience cheered, goading the antagonists on.

Just as he was beginning to think he’d taken on more than he could handle, two rough, three-fingered hands grabbed both him and the Ruurian, hauling them off the ground and separating them in midair.

“Enough!”

Han recognized the guttural accent of a Whiphid and instantly ceased trying to kick his way out of the creature’s grasp. He knew better than to fight a Whiphid. Their claw and tusks were as mean as their temperament.

“He’s a cheat!” the Ruurian whined, snapping at Han with its nether mandibles.

The Whiphid shook the alien so hard Han swore he heard its exoskeleton rattle. “This bar isn’t crooked!”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them,” Han said, offering a self-satisfied smirk. “I beat them fair and square!”

The Whiphid dropped them both roughly to the floor, then pointed one of its claws accusingly at Han. “The boss wants to see you.”

A flash of uncertainty cooled any joy he might have taken from the victory.

“Not before I collect my winnings,” he said, climbing to his feet. He stepped resolutely to the table.

“You have five standard seconds,” the bouncer said.

Han needed only two. Using his shirt as a catchall, he scooped the credits off the table. The Ruurian looked on balefully, emitting a soft growl that only those in its immediate vicinity would have heard.

“You know, Talien, folks like you give sabacc players a bad name.” Han couldn’t resist taking the opportunity to gloat as he packed his winnings safely in his pockets. “Back in my day—”

“Spare us the glory speech.” Talien made no attempt to stop Han from walking off with the winnings, but glared at him menacingly. “Save it for your kids. Maybe they’ll be impressed by the once-great Han Solo.”

“Why, you—” Unreasoning anger rose in him, but before he could react, the bouncer caught him by the back of his jacket and tugged him away.

“Enough, I said!” The Whiphid lifted Han into the air again as though he were a child. Suspended, helpless, Han could only force his anger down and ignore the jeers of the other patrons as he was unceremoniously “escorted” from the bar.

“You humans are always causing trouble,” the Whiphid
grumbled once they’d passed through a door to the back of the Thorny Toe and Han had been lowered to the ground once more. “If I had a credit for every time I’ve bounced one of you out of here, I’d have made it back to Toola years ago.”

“You see many strangers through here, then?” Han asked, straightening his jacket.

The Whiphid looked at him suspiciously. “Why? You looking for someone?”

“No; just curious.” He shut up, then, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself than he already had.

The alien took him up a flight of stairs and deposited him in an empty room containing little more than a padded green couch and a water dispenser. Han assumed it was an antechamber adjoining the bar owner’s office. He sat himself down on the couch and was startled when a voice issued into the room from unseen speakers.

“Han Solo, eh?” The voice’s sex, species, and accent were heavily disguised, but the speaker seemed amused underneath the camouflage. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Well, you know me,” Han bluffed. “Never been one to sit on my hands.”

A strange noise issued from the hidden speakers. It might have been a laugh. “But you’ve always been one for gambling,” the voice returned, more soberly. “It’s good to see that nothing’s changed.”

Han frowned at the familiarity. He desperately tried to think whom he had known in the past who might have ended up owning a bar on Onadax, one of the dingiest worlds the Minos Cluster had to offer, and whether he—or she—might hold a grudge against him.

“You get your thrills where you can,” he said, stalling again.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.”

Han shrugged, giving in but feigning nonchalance all the same. “Fire away.”

“Who sent you?”

“No one sent me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’m just passing through. Is that a crime in these parts?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Nelfrus, in the Elrood sector.”

“You must be going the long way around, then.”

“You can’t be too careful these days. The Vong—”

“Are everywhere,” the voice interrupted. “Yes, I know. But they’re not here.”

“Which is why I thought I’d come this way.”

After a slight pause, the voice continued: “Are you here alone?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Perhaps none.
Millennium Falcon
has been on Onadax two standard days, one day longer than a Galactic Alliance frigate that docked here yesterday. Am I to assume that there is no relation between this craft and your own?”

“You can assume what you like,” Han said. “But that frigate doesn’t have anything to do with me. What did you say its name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s
Pride of Selonia.
”

He made a show of thinking about the name. “Sounds familiar. You think it might be someone looking for me?”

“Or perhaps the other way around.”

“I’m just here for the scenery,” Han lied. He jingled the credits in his pocket. “And whatever else I can pick up on the way.”

At this, the faceless bar owner did laugh. Onadax was a sooty, inhospitable world, not dense enough to harbor metals of any value, poorly placed even with respect to
other worlds in the sector, and too small and ancient to possess any noteworthy geography. Its only saving graces were its lack of a policing authority and a relaxed attitude toward documentation of all kinds.

Just because the government turned a blind eye to who passed through, though, didn’t mean that the locals were stupid.

“Okay,” Han said, scanning the blank walls and ceiling, wishing there were some reference point on which he could focus his attention. “Let’s stop playing games. You’re right. I
am
looking for someone. Maybe you can help me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I’m asking nicely. Do you get many Ryn through here?”

“No more than usual,” the voice said. “Lift up any dirty rock in the galaxy and you’ll find a family living under it. Your taste in friends must have gone downhill if that’s who you’re after.”

“Not just any Ryn.” Han fumbled, not for the first time, for the right way to describe the Ryn he was seeking. “Just one that was supposed to meet me here on Onadax. He hasn’t shown, so I’m looking for him.”

“In a bar?”

“It’s not as if Onadax has much else to offer.”

The voice chuckled again. “You’re looking in the wrong place, Solo.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a brush-off. I swear, it’s nothing underhanded.”

“From you, those words take on a whole new meaning.”

“I’ll even pay, if that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what you think I want, then I fear you’re definitely in the wrong place—and at the wrong time.”

The Whiphid guarding the door stirred.

“So it would seem,” Han said. “Look, I’m racking my brain here trying to work out where we’ve met before. Can’t you give me a name to help me out a little?”

There was no reply.

“What’ve you got to lose?” Han said. “You obviously know me—”

He stopped when the Whiphid’s clawed hand came down on his back and began to drag him away. “At least give me a clue!”

The Whiphid hauled him out of the audience chamber and back down to the barroom. Clearly, the interview was over, and no protest from Han was about to be considered.

“Is he always this friendly?” he asked the bouncer. He amended that to a hopeful “She?” when the question wasn’t answered.

The Whiphid collected Han in its powerful grasp once again and hoisted his feet from the floor.

The bouncer forced its way through the crowd. Laughter and applause followed them, turning to cries of annoyance as Han’s head rammed into something’s foul-smelling midriff and sent a jug of ale splashing across the floor. Recriminations flew, which the bouncer ignored.

“I think you’ll find my seat was over that way,” Han said, pointing hopefully in the direction of the sabacc table where he’d been playing.

The Whiphid ignored him as well, propping him upright none too gently at the door. There was no question that Han was being told—not asked—to leave the premises.

He smiled, taking a hundred-credit chip from his pocket and slipping it to the alien bouncer.

“For your trouble,” he said.

“For yours,” was the response as he was forcibly ejected into the street.

“What sort of dive is this, anyway?” Han protested to the closed door as he picked himself up and dusted himself
down once more. His shoulder was tender where he’d hit the ground, and the bouncer’s claws had left a few tears in his jacket. Still, it could have been worse. At least he’d made it out with his winnings.

His comlink buzzed as he limped down the seedy back alley that housed the Thorny Toe. He pulled the comlink out of his pocket, knowing before he’d answered the call that it was Leia on the other end.

“You’re out?” Her voice was faint, but her concern was obvious.

“And in one piece. The bar staff aren’t as tough as their jamming fields suggested they might be.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing useful, although I’m guessing there’s more going on here than meets the eye.”

“There always is.” Leia hesitated. “Is that fighting I hear?”

Han glanced behind him. The ruckus inside the bar was getting nastier by the second.

“My exit was none too subtle,” he said, picking up the pace.

“Start making your way back, then. It’s not safe out there, Han.”

“On my way now.”

“I’d advise against stopping somewhere else en route, even if it does allay suspicions.”

Han smiled to himself. In the old days, he would’ve been tempted. But the choice between Leia and a seedy dive was getting easier every year. “Will do.”

The secure channel closed with a soft click. Han’s smile ebbed as behind him the fight spilled noisily out into the street. He hurriedly rejoined the stream of barhoppers cruising the settlement’s main thoroughfare, the grilling he’d received at the Thorny Toe still nagging at him. That the owner of the bar had known him didn’t bother
him so much; after all, the Solo name had spread across the galaxy and back again, especially in the quasi-legal circles to which he’d once belonged. But the complete stonewalling regarding the Ryn
did
bother him. His other sources hadn’t known anything, but at least they had been up front about it. Dumb ignorance was totally different to silence.

Han rubbed his shoulder and hurried back to the
Falcon
, hoping Jaina had had better luck on the other side of town.

Luke Skywalker gripped the sides of his seat as
Jade Shadow
emerged roughly from hyperspace. The bulkheads groaned under the strain, while containers of stored goods in the passenger bay could be heard crashing to the floor. Deeper into the ship could be heard the beeping and tweetling of an anxious R2-D2.

“What was that?” he asked his wife beside him in the pilot’s seat, when the disturbance had passed.

Mara was already flicking switches and checking monitors, giving her ship a quick once-over. “A hole the size of a Star Destroyer just opened up in front of us.”

Every hyperspace jump they’d made in the last couple of weeks had been fraught with danger and uncertainty. Not even with the detailed maps of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet to guide them could they account for every hyperspatial anomaly. But if anyone could find a way through the rips and reefs on the other side of known space, it was Mara. He had nothing but confidence in his wife to get them to their destination.