So many other stories on my To-Do List, and what do I do? Throw one more on.

Sol had his back turned for one second. He heard a blaster shot and froze, his whiskey glass inches from his mouth. The cantina band stopped their playing mid-note. Slowly, Sol swiveled around in his chair and looked towards the corner booth. Watto sat slumped over on the table, his pistol dangling from a limp hand. Han Solo stood, brushing off his vest, and dumped a handful of coins beside the dead Rodian's face. He looked up and caught sight of Sol.

This time, Han was too slow. Sol drew and fired from the hip. A passing waiter had the misfortune to get in the line of fire and fell with a crash of cups and plates, giving the smuggler enough time to run towards the cantina door. Sol swore, gulped down his whiskey, and took off, but not before divesting his former partner of his pistol and wallet.

He dashed into the stark glare of a sunny Mos Eisley morning and spotted Solo running towards the spaceport. Sol pushed his wrist pad and shot into the air. Good thing Boba Fett was bad at Sabaac, Sol thought as he lifted into the air.

Sol had the speed advantage, but Han knew all the shortcuts through the city's labyrinth of streets and casbahs. They both reached the spaceport at the same time. Sol dropped to the ground in front of Han and raised his pistols. Han skidded his heels across the sand and raised his hands. "Fallon," he said, grinning. "I didn't know you were on-planet."

"Greedo offered me half your bounty," Sol replied. "He's a better shot than a tracker."

"Didn't seem like that good a shot."

"Well, he wasn't a good bounty hunter. How about you be a dear and go quietly. I get paid double if I take you to the Hutt alive."

"I don't have time in my schedule for a meeting."

"We'll have to clear your calendar, then."

Just then, Han looked over Sol's shoulder and gestured with his left hand. Sol spun, but a shot from a bowcaster clipped his jetpack. With a sputtering belch, Sol found himself flung twenty feet into the air, arms flailing, and landed in the middle of a fruit-peddler's stall. "Thanks, Chewie." The Wookie gurgled and motioned for the port.

"What took you so long?" Luke asked as the smuggler appeared by the Falcon's gangway.

"Met two old friends." Han said. A shot bounced off the landing strut beside his head. "Oh, look, he's still alive."

Sol strode forward with both guns firing, his face and jacket stained with fruit pulp. His fire was soon joined by a half-dozen other guns. Sol turned as the Falcon lifted off and froze at the sight of a platoon of Stormtroopers gathered behind him. As Han's ship flew through the hangar doors, the troopers redirected their attention to him. Sol dropped his pistols and smiled. "Damn, nice try, fellas, we almost had them. Better luck next time. If I could just get past you, my ship's in the next hangar–" a stun bolt hit him square in the chest, and he dropped to the ground. "–over."

"Who is he?"

"Sol Fallon, one of Jabba's hired retrievers. Not the most incompetent one out there. Bottom fifty, at best."

"He human?"

"Close. He's a Tighe."

"Typical. A race of thugs and thieves."

"That's offensive." Sol blinked his eyes and tried to sit up, only to find he'd been strapped to a vertically-mounted hospital gurney. Two Imperial officers appraised him with distaste. Sol looked around the room. Black metal walls, analog control panels, antiseptic smell...with hints of urine and fear. Imperial star destroyer…"Eradicator?"

The superior officer cocked an eye. "Correct. I take it you've been here before?"

"Unfortunately. You are..."

"Lt. Kolby," the man replied. "Imperial Intelligence. This is my partner Lt. Roos."

"Charmed," Sol said, giving his best smolder under the circumstances. The blond-haired beauty scowled back. "So, what can I do for you?"

Roos scoffed. "What makes you think you have anything to offer?"

"Well, you didn't just shoot me in the hangar, so there's some reason you've got me strapped in here."

Lt. Kolby nodded. "We're interested in your relationship with Han Solo."

"Han? There's a bounty out for him. I was trying to claim it. Money makes the wheels go round, and all that."

"Is that all you have to offer?"

"Are you going to let me go if I do?"

"No."

"Well, fuck off then."

Roos smiled. "We have ways of making you talk."

"I'm sure you do." Sol lay back and laughed. "Amateurs. Look at you two, barely out of the academy, playing good-cop, bad-cop." Roos drew her pistol. "Oh, put it away. You're only embarrassing yourself. You want answers? My lips are only unzipped by credits, so unless you have a few chips on you, we're done here."

Lt. Kolby's communicator gave a small chirp. He looked down at the message. "We're done here," he said. "Someone's come to take you off our hands."

Sol was about to ask who when the cell door slid open.

*Kuuhh-Kerrr* *Kuuhh-Kerr*

Sol tensed up as a seven-foot-tall metal monster stepped through the doorway. He couldn't see the man's face through the black mask, but he knew those eyes were boring into him. He looked back at the monster, his face as calm as he could manage on such short notice. "Oh, Lord Vader. Great."