by Alex Wheeler
Luke had only known Leia and Han for a short time, but they were more than friends, they were family. And he trusted them both with his life.
He gazed steadily at the man who'd called himself Tobin Elad. "If Han says you're a threat, then you're a threat. All I need is his word."
Han broke into a surprised grin. "Then I guess you won't be wanting this?" he said, and tossed a datacard in Luke's direction. Luke snatched it out of the air and looked at it in confusion.
"Holorecording of the spy getting orders from his boss," Han explained. "Ask most people, and they'd tell you my word isn't worth two credits."
Elad looked disgusted. "You're all fools," he snapped. "And it's going to be my pleasure to kill you."
"Not today," Luke said, amazed by the transformation. In seconds, Elad had become a stranger—his voice, his posture, even his face seemed different. Harder. Crueler.
"No," Elad said. "But soon." And then, with lightning speed, he slashed an arm out, slamming into Han's windpipe. As Han gasped and lurched forward, Elad sprang to his feet and leapt off the edge of the roof.
Luke rushed forward in time to see Elad's falling body reverse motion in midair and rocket toward the sky. Smoky plumes billowed from his hidden jetpack as he sailed over the roofs of Mos Eisley.
"Can't believe I let him get away," Han muttered angrily as soon as he could breathe.
"Don't worry." Luke watched Elad's figure dwindle to a speck, disappearing on the horizon. "He'll be back."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"So, why'd you come back?" Leia said coolly, once enough time had passed that it was clear the escaped assassin wasn't returning. "Finally get bored playing your little space games?"
"Games?" Han repeated in disbelief. "Games? I risk my neck to come back here and save your lives—even after you accused me of trying to blow up Luke—and that's the thanks I get? Maybe I should have just stayed away."
"Maybe you should have," Leia snapped. "Then you wouldn't have to explain why you ran away in the first place."
"Listen, sweetheart, no one said anything about running away." Han jabbed his finger in the air toward her. "For all you know, I only busted out of there so I could find out who was after Luke."
Chewbacca interrupted with a nagging bark. Han waved him off.
"See, now you've hurt Chewie's feelings," he said. No need to translate what the Wookiee had actually said. "That's some thank you."
Luke cleared his throat. "Thank you, Han."
"You're welcome, kid," Han said, shooting a glare at Leia to make sure she knew she wasn't included in the sentiment.
"I still don't get how you knew Elad was a spy," Luke said. "Or how you knew we were here. Or—"
Han waved away the questions. "Long story."
Chewbacca let loose a long stream of growls and barks.
"What's he saying?" Leia asked.
Han shook his head. "Don't mind him; the fuzzball here's just hungry. Gets a little testy when he misses dinner."
C‑3PO cleared his throat. "If you'll pardon me, Princess, the Wookiee has explained that Captain Solo located the truth at grave risk to his own life!"
Leia quirked her lips into a half smile. "Is that true, Captain Solo?"
"It might be."
"Then I offer you my sincerest gratitude on behalf of the Rebellion," she said formally.
Han gave her a deep mock bow. "On behalf of myself, I accept."
"And Han—" The icy distance was gone from her voice, along with any trace of mockery. "Thank you. Han…I'm sorry about before. On Yavin 4. That should never have happened. We should have trusted you."
Han shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "You did what you had to do, Princess. Just like the rest of us."
Luke shook his head. "But we knew all along that you never would have—"
Leia put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "No. It was my call—it was my investigation. And…" She steeled herself again. "I'm just glad you came back. The Rebellion needs you."
"Well, if the Rebellion needs me," Han said, giving her a knowing grin. You need me, too, Your Worshipfulness, he thought. And one day you're going to admit it. "I guess I'll stick around a little longer. Give you plenty of time to make it up to me." He cast a sharp glance over the roof, where the fruit vendors had righted their stands and the Jawas had gotten back to work, peddling half-defective droids and bartering with locals for their credits. A couple of them were still staring up at the roof, looking far too interested in what they saw there. "How about if you do the rest of your groveling back on the Falcon—Jabba's going to hear I'm back in town, sooner or later. And by the time he does, I plan to be halfway across the galaxy."
"Not that you'd ever run away," Luke teased.
"Hey, kid, there's running away, and then there's being smart. You want to stay alive much longer? You'll figure out the difference."
"I think I'm beginning to understand," Luke grinned at his friend. "But before we go, let's attend the services for Biggs—that's why we came, right?"
Feeling as good as they had since the award ceremony following the destruction of the Death Star, Luke, Solo, Leia, Chewbacca, and the droids left the roof and melded into the crowds of Mos Eisley. They headed toward a cemetery in the desert where they would make it just in time to pay their last respects to Luke's childhood friend and a hero of the Rebellion.
"Another chance?" Jabba the Hutt reclined in his throne, gulping down a live, wriggling gorg coated in spicy mubasa sauce. "HO! HO! HO!" His massive body shook with each burst of gurgling laughter. "You want another chance to fail me?"
The Trandoshan bounty hunter strained in the grip of the Gamorrean guards who held him in place, still angry about the wasted deaths of their brothers-in-arms. Struggling was useless; the guards held him with a durasteel grip. "The human was setting a trap for you," Bossk told Jabba, "He wanted to be captured. You should be thanking me."
"HO! HO! You saved me from a human?" Jabba laughed again, and the rest of his court hastily joined him. "Then why did you try to sneak offplanet in the middle of the night like a Baldavian pocket hare? Why not come to me and claim your reward?"
"I will get Skywalker for you," Bossk hissed. "And Solo. And"—he pounded a clawed fist against his armored chest—"the Wookiee. They're mine."
"They're mine," Jabba roared. Alarmed by the sound, the Kowakian monkey-lizard who played court jester plunged his head into a nearby vat of boga noga. "Just like everything else on this planet," Jabba added. "Perhaps you need a reminder of that."
Bossk shook his head.
"What do you think?" Jabba asked the room. It erupted into hooting cheers. A storm of voices whirled around them, but one word became clear, chorused over and over again. Rancor.
Jabba nodded. "Step forward for your reward, bounty hunter."
The Trandoshan stayed rooted to the floor until the Gamorreans pushed him forward.
"Have no fear, bounty hunter," Jabba said. "I'm not going to kill you."
As Bossk released a nearly imperceptible sigh in relief, Jabba depressed a button on his pipe. "But he might," Jabba said, chuckling, as a trapdoor opened beneath the bounty hunter and he dropped to his fate. The rancor hadn't eaten for some days, and it howled in delight at the appearance of a new meal. If Bossk was as tough a warrior as he claimed to be, he would survive.
If not…Jabba smiled and dropped another squealing gorg into his maw. If not, no matter. There were plenty of other bounty hunters. Better bounty hunters, who would have no trouble dispensing with human scum like Luke Skywalker or Han Solo. Bounty hunters who would drag Solo to Tatooine and deposit him at Jabba's feet, so he could suffer the fate he deserved.
Torture. Humiliation.
And ultimately, death.
Yes, if Bossk couldn't handle it, there was someone else who could.
Solo had survived long enough; it was time to get the job done. And Jabba had exactly the man to do it. He glowered at his second-in-command. "Get me Boba Fett."
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