Mergers and Acquisitions

by suezahn

Disclaimer: All characters depicted herein are the property of Lucasfilm, Disney, etc. My only profit is in the form of readers' feedback. Please be generous!

Note: This story was originally written in 2000 and has now be revised and updated for consistency with the rest of the Kismet series. Please note that the OC name Kristin Aldritch = Keris Aldric now. I decided the old name was too "Earthy."

The original story was awarded STAR aWARdS Best Long Story 2000.

A very special thank-you to my lovely proofreaders: Erin Darroch and Marjorie Joyce.

Chapter 10

Han watched the princess stroll across the pedestrian walkway and enter the park. He was relieved to see she was practicing some good techniques in observing her surroundings, including briefly sitting alone on a bench, as if enjoying the scenery, before heading for a small copse of trees that sheltered a set of benches already occupied by two humans. Without seeming to acknowledge the others, she settled on the end of one of the benches. It was another few minutes before she appeared to strike up a conversation with one of them.

He surveyed the area for a long while, assuming the negotiations were now in progress. Things did seem to be on the level and nothing felt out of the ordinary. If this had been a trap, it would have been sprung already. He debated what to do. Part of him wanted to just stay there and keep an eye on things, but the idea of a couple of hours of mind-numbing waiting held no appeal. Going back and hanging around the hotel alone didn't seem an attractive option, either.

He hadn't anticipated her decision to dump him, but neither was he surprised. He had a knack for choosing friends with independent streaks a parsec wide, and she had that same certifiable urge as Skywalker when it came to single-handedly saving the galaxy. And while he wasn't thrilled with the idea of leaving her alone like this, he understood her determination to show everyone that she could handle things on her own. Like it or not, he had to admire that streak of independence.

He finally made up his mind and directed the cab back onto the commuter path. For once, he found himself with access to more wealth than he'd imagined and some time to burn. There was no excuse for him to be bored.

On a whim, Han steered the cab onto one of the traffic arteries that dissected the resort and headed for the heart of Ord Mantell.

Years might have passed since he'd last set foot on the resort space station, but it didn't take long for him to see that little had changed on the inner levels. Some shops had switched owners, names, or even specialties—such were the fortunes of business and war—but otherwise, the exotics shopping district was just as he'd remembered it: crowded, gaudy, and expensive.

Back in the days when Han had run legal freight into the space station, he'd had little opportunity or credits to do more than browse. Now, however, as he walked along the busy pathways, passing the open doors of stores, casinos, and restaurants, he felt the temptation to wreak a seriously destructive shopping spree with the unlimited credit chip in his pocket. It was a heady feeling.

He could also imagine Leia's reaction if he returned with an armload of luxuries, or better yet, some astronomically expensive and useless knickknack. He felt a sappy grin spread across his face at the thought. That'd certainly get a rise out of her, at any rate. There was something very stimulating about that flash in her dark eyes—that inherent passion for whatever or whomever was the focus of her attention—and he liked being that focal point. It was a shame that the only reliable way he seemed able to ignite that spark was to aggravate her to the point of detonation.

Han found himself in front of one shop. Short rows of exquisite jewelry sparkled under the flattering light within the showcase window. As long as he'd known Leia, he'd rarely seen her in anything but miliary fatigues or the occasional outdated casual wear she'd borrowed or been given by other base residents. Aside from her utilitarian multifunctional wrist chrono, jewelry was nonexistent—in fact, he still wondered where she'd gotten the nice pieces she'd put on while they were back on the Falcon. He tried imagining her drenched in the sort of resplendent wealth one would normally associate with royalty, but for some reason, the idea didn't appeal to him as much as he'd expected. The Leia he knew was used to wearing coveralls and grease stains. The Leia he'd come to appreciate seemed more natural and tangible sitting on a cargo box in the hold of his ship than on any throne in a palace.

Still, a part of him wondered if making a gift out of one these expensive baubles would change her mind about letting her guard down with him. He'd bought gifts for her in the past, trinkets and little luxuries picked up during his various missions for the rebellion. She always seemed pleased and would lighten up with him for a while, but all too soon, the wariness would return as she questioned his motives. That's a no-brainer, he answered his own question as he looked at his reflection in the glass of the jewelry case. He didn't need the Force or omniscient Wookiee Wisdom to know what kept her from allowing to happen what they both clearly wanted to happen. He saw the conflict and questions whenever he looked into her eyes.

He knew, perhaps better than anyone, that Leia was incapable of doing anything halfheartedly. If she chose to direct her passion toward him, it would be with complete enthusiasm and without reserve, just as she did everything else in her life. The very thought of trying to match that sort of selfless devotion was outside his experience. And what she probably wanted most he couldn't easily give or guarantee—permanence. She needed reassurance that he wouldn't run when things got dicey or inconvenient; that his goals were more than just sexual conquest; that he accepted all of her, including her faults and her dedication to the rebellion. She wanted to know that her emotions wouldn't be wasted on someone who wouldn't or couldn't return them.

And despite everything he'd already done to prove himself, he knew it hadn't been enough.

Resuming his slow stroll through the surrounding pedestrian traffic, he wondered what it'd be like being the focus of Leia's uninhibited love. He suspected it'd be pretty damned good.

That's what we're dealing with here, isn't it? Love?

Han shook his head, aware of just how entangled he'd become. Buddy, you are one royal mess.

Han nearly passed the storefront without a second glance. The name, done up in twinkling lights of brilliant blue, made connections in his brain at the last moment and he slammed to a halt, causing the human couple walking arm-in-arm behind him to let out a shout of protest as they separated and passed around him. Ignoring their dirty looks, Han stared at the sign above the pathway.

Saltanos had been the name of one of his Ord Mantellian contacts years ago. Although he hadn't thought much about it, he'd assumed many of those beings he'd done business with had either moved onto bigger and better things, or they'd just passed on. Then again, if this was the same Saltanos he'd run supplies for, his old contact had indeed moved up—by at least two shopping levels. Han debated whether or not to relieve his curiosity. Sal had been an excellent contact, a generous employer, and a friendly face in a galaxy full of ugly ones.

Against his better judgment, Han straightened his shoulders and headed for the doorway to Saltanos' Emporium. The sound of tinkling bells announced his entrance as he stepped inside the relative quiet of the shop. Soft music full of stringed instruments and chimes replaced the noise of crowds and other distractions outside. This was definitely the same Saltanos he remembered. Rich and elaborate handcrafted rugs and tapestries covered the floor, walls, and even the low ceiling. The potent and exotic scents of spices and incense from around the galaxy tickled his nose, a pleasant sensation that stirred memories of full cargo holds and better times.

Although the room was empty of other people, the bells caused some activity behind the curtain of strung beads that effectively hid the entrance to the back room. A man, whom Han guessed to be even younger than his friend Luke, emerged and headed toward him. He displayed a smile, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. He looked inconvenienced. "Can I help you?"

"Sure. I'm wondering if this is the same operation that Miko Saltanos owned about ten standard years ago."

The youth's shrug was noncommittal. "Yeah, I guess. He owns it now, anyway. You know him?"

Han nodded. "I did. Is he around?"

"Yeah." Without another begrudged word, he turned and headed back to disappear behind the curtain.

A moment later, the beads parted once again with a soft clatter. A tall, thin, and considerably older man than Han remembered stepped through. Although his greyed hair was cropped short where it hadn't disappeared altogether and his hollowed cheeks seemed a touch more pronounced, Han recognized him instantly.

Miko Saltanos seemed to take a moment longer to realize that the tall man standing in the middle of his showroom floor wasn't just another rich customer with some complaint. His ice-blue eyes widened in shock. "I'll be a Hutt's uncle!"

Han shifted his stance, instantly relaxing, a broad smile lighting his face. "You'd have to be a hell of a lot uglier to be a Hutt's uncle, Sal."

Letting out a booming laugh that sounded incongruous coming from someone so frail-looking, the shopkeeper moved forward to grasp Solo's hand in a strong grip of welcome. "It's good to see you, Han. You're looking well. I almost didn't recognize you. Last time we met, you were just beginning to shave."

Laughing, Han waved a dismissing hand at the gibe. "Ah, come on—I wasn't that young. It's been long enough, though."

"That's right. Tell me what brings you back. A little pleasure this time, perhaps?"

We can only hope, Han mused to himself. Before he could answer, though, they were interrupted by the sound of the motion-sensing bells that heralded another customer. Sal held up a hand, indicating that Han should wait, then spoke to the new arrival. "Someone will be with you in a moment." He poked his head behind the beaded curtain and spoke in a low tone. Then he turned back and smiled again at Han. "Listen, son, if you have a few minutes, why don't you come back here with me and we can talk in private. You have to tell me what you've been up to all these years."

"Thanks, Sal. Sure, I'm not in any particular hurry." He began to follow the old man but paused as the youth emerged once again from behind the beads. That same mirthless smile was back again, although it had noticeably chilled as he brushed by. A little peeved this time by the unprovoked standoffish attitude, Han forced himself to ignore the boy as he passed. Looks like somebody's forgotten he's in the retail business. He trailed behind Saltanos as they moved through the door and into the back room. It was a huge storage room full of tall shelving units that stood in long rows filled with rolled-up rugs and sealed storage crates. Han and Saltanos stood in a corner that contained a kitchenette and mismatched collection of chairs set around a small table.

The store owner waved a hand at the chairs. "Have a seat and tell me what you've been up to."

Nodding, Han pulled out one of the chairs and sat. "I've been keeping myself busy. Pickings got slim for a while, before I started doing some runs for Jabba."

"The Hutt. I remember hearing about you hooking up with that gangster and thinking it a pity. I still wish you'd chosen to stay legit—good workers are getting harder to find. They're so eager to get jobs here so they can say they've been on Ord Mantell, but once they're here, they think they should be treated like guests. The attitudes are atrocious."

"I've noticed," Han grunted in agreement. "But I'm just a small-time spacer—Chewie and I don't have the kind of credits or cargo space needed to clear a profit anymore. By the time we're finished paying all the dues and taxes, plus the usual bribes and repairs, there's nothing left worth mentioning. Running illegally's the only way we can make a profit, and even that's getting tougher."

"I know," Sal nodded gravely. "The Empire's grip here has tightened more, but even so, I'm not afraid to admit that more than half of my goods come through the black market. In fact, most of the shop owners here cushion their legal supplies."

"I can believe that." Han relaxed back in his chair. "I miss running legally—at least I didn't have to worry about a fight every time I turned a corner or came out of hyperspace. I also didn't have to watch my back or worry about my own employers taking me out because they're having a bad day."

"Jabba," Saltanos mused aloud, getting Han's insinuation, then he shook his head. "He does have that reputation, doesn't he? I've been hearing more and more from the underground, even a little about you."

"About me?" Frowning, Han leaned forward, feeling his sixth sense tingle in alarm. "Like what?"

"The Hutt isn't pleased with you at the moment. Force knows, I've heard different rumors for why he's upset, but they all agree that Jabba's offering a hefty reward for your head."

"Yeah, there's that," Han sighed, settling back into his chair. This was old news. "He's been offering money for some time now. Twenty or twenty-five thousand credits, last time I heard. I've got the money to pay off my debt. I just haven't figured out yet how to get it to him."

"No." The older man leaned forward and tapped a finger on the tabletop to stress his point. "No, it's much more than that. He's posted one hundred thousand credits if you're brought to him alive, or seventy-five dead."

Han stared at his old friend, his mind boggled by the astounding sum. He shook his head hard and waved a dismissing hand. "Nah, that can't be right. That load of spice I was forced to dump on the way back from Kessel wasn't worth more than twenty."

Saltanos shrugged, but his expression was adamant. "Seventy-five thousand, dead," he reiterated. "I suppose I could get confirmation on the exact amount, but that's what I heard from several sources. I'm surprised you're out in public." His concern for Han was clear in his blue eyes. "That's one hell of a Death Mark, son. Jabba's serious."

Still unable to believe this news, Han stared down at the scarred tabletop. "I don't get it. I know he's pissed at me—I've been dodging his collectors for years, but nobody's worth that much. That's crazy."

"We're talking about Jabba the Hutt," the shopkeeper reminded Solo, his tone heavy with irony. "He's not the most stable mind in the galaxy. And you managed to touch a nerve."

"Kreth!" Han leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table and rubbed his face, waiting for this information to soak in. "Even if I wanted to pay him back now, I wouldn't have that kind of money. He's not going to take less than what he's offering."

"Hold on, son. You can't go anywhere near Jabba now."

"I know," Han groaned, not needing any elaboration. If it was true that the price on his head was that high, everyone from bounty hunters to the Hutt's own palace slaves would be gunning for him. He'd never even get close.

Looks like you've finally made the big time. It was fun while it lasted.

"I think you need to go into hiding."

Han turned back to Sal and let out a mirthless laugh. "For all practical purposes I've been in hiding. That's why I didn't know about this."

"Well then, you'd better go back where you came from and get used to it. All you can do at this point is hope to outlive Jabba. Eventually one of his underlings will take him out. It's inevitable. Then they'll forget all about you. His replacement isn't going to care about some old personal vendetta, and he certainly isn't going to pay that kind of money even if he did."

Han nodded as the implications of this new situation sank in. He needed to outlast Jabba—that was the only way now. Attempting to pay the crime lord back at this point would amount to suicide. And he was going to have to avoid the main space trade lanes—every member of the underground would be keeping one eye open for him. One hundred thousand credits was enough to blot out even the strongest of friendships. "Kreth," he breathed again, the oath sounding impotent in comparison to this unbelievable development.

"Listen, son." Saltanos leaned closer, his voice dropping. "You go back to wherever you just came from, and you stay hidden. I can tell you weren't taking this very seriously before, but it's no joke anymore. Jabba wants this old score settled and price isn't a deterrent." The old man paused. "You can go back, can't you? You'renot on the run from there too, are you?"

Han glanced up at the question, then shook his head. "No, I'm just here to help a friend."

Ironic that the one place I've been trying to leave is the only place that'd probably welcome me back.

There was a soft clatter of beads from the doorway. Han turned but no one came through. Now feeling jittery, he turned back to his old friend. "See, now you've got me jumping at drafts and shadows."

Sal laughed, but his expression grew serious again. "I'd just hate to hear about something bad happening to you, Han. I'm still hoping you'll get things straightened so you'll start hauling for me again."

"Thanks, Sal. I couldn't agree more." He drew a deep breath, then slapped his hands on his knees. "I should probably head back. But don't worry, I'll follow your advice."

"Good. I'm glad you stopped by. It's been too long. Look me up when all this blows over, won't you?"

Han nodded, then they both rose to their feet and shook hands. "I will."

They walked through the curtain and back into the main showroom of the shop. The younger shop attendant wasn't alone. He was standing off to the side and having a rather animated conversation with what appeared to be a uniformed security guard. The guard stopped to study them before waving with a smile. "Hi, Sal. Just makin' the rounds."

"Hi, Dess," Sal answered before he turned back to Han. He offered his hand once again for a last handshake. "Hope you have a nice time while you're here."

"I'm sure I will." Han smiled, then turned and headed for the door, his mind full of thoughts about his existing relationship with the rebellion, and the personal alliances he'd formed over the past year and a half.

Princess, it looks like you're about to get what you've been wishing for.