It was obvious that something had occurred between Leia and Padmé last night that brought a great amount of silence and stiff politeness to their behavior. Leia had barely spoken all day, and whenever Han had attempted to soften her enough to consult him, she left for another room and engaged in inquiry of some tedious detail that would make a difference in the near future.

Thus, the mood between the five of them was awkward as they approached the meeting place. The three Skywalkers were having communication troubles, and even Han and Chewie felt affected by this internal quarrel. Their new destination was somewhere at the edge of the main city; slightly higher up than their previous sampling of establishments. It looked to be a sort of club for criminals, a posh version of Chulman's Cantina, in other words.

When they reached the door, Leia supplied the guard the password. They filed in, eyes flickering around the room cautiously. Another two hours, and their business here would have to be over, whether they got the supplies, or not.

Time waned as more and more of the pub's customers left, seemingly in a hurry. Eventually, about ten minutes to the hour, the five Rebels and bartender were the only ones left in the entire room. Minutes before the chrono turned, the two Rodians pulled up and entered, alone. As soon as the bartender set eyes on them, he ducked out of the room and left like the 501st was on his tail.

This apparent fact caused the Rebels' caution levels to go up considerably, along with their eyebrows.

"Where is Mr. Bes?"

Without reply, the Rodians glanced off in another direction. Han's danger sense kicking in, his hand was to his blaster just as the first shot came their way. The trouble was, he couldn't see the shooter anywhere. Searching frantically, he saw a flicker of movement and began shooting. At the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw Luke pulling out his lightsaber to deflect more bolts and Leia next to him, her blaster firing off at marksman speed.

Chewie howled furiously against the din of blaster fire. They had been set up! And after all the precautions they had taken - the High Command, everything.

Dirt rose from the ground as their assailants rained down on them in a brilliant ambush. Whipping around, Han managed to defeat a couple of the helmeted humanoids before his weapon was jolted out of his hand - he ground his teeth in pain, feeling a searing heat shoot up his arm. The sensation spread through his nervous system, and soon things began to fade. A green burst of light later, and he was unconscious.

At the moment, Han Solo had no idea who or where he was. All he knew was the throbbing in his joints and the sore ache of his muscles. As he blinked awake, he could vaguely sense the extra weight around his arm and leg. Groaning with eyes shut tightly against the pain in his legs, Han felt things coming back to him.

It had all started when they had gone to meet Larrad Bes for the second time. They had waited in tense boredom until the arrival of Bes' Rodian employees, whom had tricked them into a trap. Ambushed by a number of creatures who were probably bounty hunters, the last thing Han remembered was Luke's lightsaber flying through the air, deactivated. He wondered how long he had been out, and what had happened to the others. He was almost absolutely sure that he was in one of Rotta the Hutt's dungeons. The reek of burnt flesh and body odor permeated his small cell, while numerous stains soiled the stone ground.

"Anybody there?" He called out, hoping his companions might be near. The dim light of the compound made it hard to see past the cell's bars. He could barely discern another cell some four meters across his own. The prisoner inside was motionless and looked to be asleep.

"Shaddup!" Several sentients called out simultaneously, including the being across the floor, a Weequayan.

Quickly realizing that the next best thing to do would be to form a plan of escape, Han assessed his condition briefly. Nothing was broken, and other than some bruises and aches, he was all right. The more important thing to worry about were binders around his wrists connected by chains to the duracrete wall behind him. When he pulled, he could tell from the feel that they were inlaid deep into the wall and would not be easy to get out.

Just as he was estimating the required amount of space to slip his hands through the rusty metal ovals, a dour Trandoshan guard appeared next to the bars at the entrance of Han's cell. He inserted something into the lock and told Han gruffly, "His Majesty requests you now."

The Corellian was quick to reply, "Great. Ain't nothin' better to do around this place anyway."

The guard ignored him, roughly shoving him aside to disconnect the chains from the binders. With his wrists tied painfully behind his back, Han was led forward by the Trandoshan, a vibroaxe centimeters from his back. After a couple of staircases and long halls, Han found himself in a throneroom similar to that of Jabba the Hutt's.

Han was forced to push his way through the crowd of bounty hunters, dancers, and various other denizens. He wasn't entirely surprised when he saw Padme and Leia already being brought to the front; Luke followed shortly as Han remarked, "I see we're doin' as good as usual."

Mother and daughter both gave him stern looks that indicated they weren't in the mood for his antics. The four humans turned their attention forward as a Rotta, somewhat smaller than his father, came forward and began to speak in his native language, which they fully understood. Nonetheless, a protocol droid translated for them in Basic.

"The mighty Rotta the Hutt has commanded your immediate execution as punishment for your cold-blooded murder of his late father, the magnificent Jabba Desilijic Tiure. Thus you shall be taken and unbound to His Exaltedness' Grand Arena, met by the new acquisition, a biologically re-engineered Acklay. There it will feed on you with its eight claws, three pincers, and razor-sharp teeth. Your demise shall occur as soon as an audience is set forth to witness your pitiful demise."

"Wouldn't wanna go without a crowd, would I?" Han said, dripping with sarcasm. Noting that his Wookiee co-pilot was not present at this little gathering, the Corellian demanded, "Where's Chewie? What've ya done with him?"

Rotta smiled maliciously - or at least, whatever the Hutt equivalent of a smile could be called. *Your overgrown pet? I'm afraid he became so violent we had to put him down. But don't fret; after he wakes up you will die together as conspirators against the Hutt clan. Take them away!*

Scowling, Han fought angrily against the hold of the Trandoshan trying to force him back to his cell. All of this came down to that traitor who sold them out and now, unless Luke came up with some amazingly laser-brained plan, it looked like they were going to end up as puree in some lizard's ugly mug, with the possibility that Chewbacca could really be on his way to a slave drive or the Kessel Mines. Han's boot collided sharply with the Trandoshan's foot as the former smuggler continued to resist captivity.

"Quit it Solo, or you'll go to the arena without an arm," the guard hissed.

Leia, who was being drawn in the opposite direction, gave him a significant look. She had something up her sleeve. She and Luke would figure it out. Han stopped writhing - he would trust the brother and sister team. He only hoped that their extraordinary luck would be enough to get them out of the mess this time.