Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars...I merely try to carve my own niche. Is that so wrong?

A/N: Finally, an update to something other than "Master, May I?"! I'm so happy...

Chapter II: A Hutt's Idea of Fun

To Han's increasing relief, he was noticing more...uh, non-bounty-hunter types entering the throne room. Those same non-bounty-hunter types seemed to be smugglers, but he couldn't be sure just by looking at them.

Of course, he was responsible enough to know of his competition, but these were guys that he had never seen before. After all, Han ran some pricey cargo, and these guys looked like the only spice-running they had seen was the running from their supplier's hands to their own mouths.

But then, Han could be incredibly judgmental.

"Would you look at some of these characters?" he asked Chewie in a low tone.

The Wookiee rolled his expressive blue eyes in response.

Han looked around the throne room once more. Yeah, he decided, the place was definitely filling up. Scowling, his eyes again passed over Boba Fett. The hunter had now taken up residence at the front of the throne room, standing at Jabba's side on the slug's dais. Brown-noser, Han seethed, making no attempt to disguise his glare at the other.

"Of course Fett set himself up with the best view in the house," he muttered. From on top of the dais, the hunter could see everything – and everyone, too.

Chewie sniffed scornfully.

The smuggler laughed outright at that particular response. "Yeah, I guess looking at Jabba's slimy hide isn't the best view," he conceded, his gaze skimming over the room again.

He just couldn't keep himself from casing the joint. As the degenerates moved about the central floor, Han followed the traffic flow of the beings there, calculating quick escapes and the best way through the room without attracting too much attention. Even if they weren't bounty-hunters, that didn't mean that they could be trusted.

To say that he was uneasy was putting it lightly.

& & & &

Han fidgeted in his seat, fingering his empty mug on the table. How the hell long were they going to have to wait?

An unexpected diversion presented itself, however, when a young man with reddish-gold hair invited himself to sit with the smuggler. Wearing more armor than Han would be caught in, the young man had seemingly appeared out of thin air, gripping the available chair suddenly and spinning it abruptly so that he could sit in it backward. He ran a hand through his perfect hair, a smile developing on his stubble-studded face. "Solo!" he cried in a conspicuously loud voice. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

"Rendar?" Han asked, his jaw slack with surprise. He tightened his features quickly though. One could never let Dash Rendar know that he had gotten the drop on him. If he found out, nothing would stop his ego from inflating and suffocating the entire room. Which Jabba does well enough on his own, Han thought, inhaling a long breath of the acrid air laced with the odor of Hutt's – and about a hundred other different species' – sweat. Stifling a cough, he extended his hand. "How's life been treating you since you were kicked out?"

"I was about to ask you the same question," the other replied, a hint of wariness flickering through his gaze as he gripped the proffered hand. His features soon adapted the former cheeriness though, and he offered a charming smile. "It seems you've made quite a reputation for yourself that even your Imperial records can't touch."

Han smiled cautiously in return. "Believe me, I'd much rather be where I'm at." Being kicked out of Imperial service with dishonorable discharge had hardly been the most celebrated moment of his lifetime, but he made it a point to remember the disgrace with a hint of pride. The reason for his discharge had been because he had saved Chewbacca, after all. And though the Wookiee had been an undisputed pain-in-the-ass when Han first had been kicked out, Chewie had proven himself invaluable as a friend and a partner so many times since then.

That didn't stop Han from wondering what might have been, however. He expected the ranks would have opened up easily for him – he had been an especially adept pilot. But the past was the past, and nothing more.

Besides...as it was, life wasn't treating him too badly.

Han shook himself from his reverie. "What about you, Dash? Why are you here?"

A smirk that was somewhere between scornful and amused tugged at the other's mouth. Dash answered, "Isn't it obvious? I'm here because I was offered a job." Turning away briefly, he waved his hand, beckoning a server. "Why does anyone come here?"

"Good point."

"I know." Dash smiled that same smug smile that was entirely familiar to Han.

Han scowled. Rendar could just be so full of himself. "I just hope Jabba gets down to business soon. I don't like hanging around with all of these lowlifes."

Dash's eyes widened in amusement. "That's some big talk, Solo. Since when don't you like running around with your esteemed peers?"

"Esteemed?"

Dash shrugged, his mouth opening in a reply that was quickly stifled. His eyes darting around the room in quick, furtive movements, the young man began looking around.

Han had also noticed the change in atmosphere. It was growing quiet, and quiet typically meant trouble. Dropping a hand casually to his side, he made no other motion. Steadily, he flipped the snap on his blast holster. His eyes flicked once to where Boba Fett was standing, the bounty hunter appearing to be his ever-collected self, a hand draped oh so ready over grip of his blast rifle.

Jerk. The thought manifested itself almost instantly in his mind.

Berating Fett, though, became a minuscule occupation when Jabba began to speak. His booming voice reverberated through the throne room. The vibrations of his voice shook his employees to from what passed for head to what passed for toes. Han gritted his teeth. The slug's voice was enough to put anyone on edge.

In his baritone Huttese, Jabba was saying that now that the last of his employees had arrived, he could begin a briefing of the job's description.

Han glared at Dash, who smiled back. Dash had been the last new face that had entered the throne room. Han would know, because he had been studying the degenerates that had been floating in and out of the palace for the last twenty-four Standard hours.

He turned his attention to the Hutt once more.

(This will be the Ultimate Test of Resourcefulness,) Jabba announced, his eyes razor-thin slits. (You will hunt a most sought after and prized possession.)

Han leaned close to Chewie. "If he means spice," he murmured, "I think I might have to shoot him for being a moron."

Chewie nodded his agreement.

(The protection that this object is afforded is the best that the Empire has to offer. It is guarded with no less than human life – although that does not amount to much.)

The aliens in the group tittered with laughter that almost all non-humans shared at their "oppressor's" expense. Ignoring that, Han could feel his eyes widen with surprise at the mention of the Empire. A quick glance at Dash revealed that he too was wondering about Jabba's sanity. To go against the Empire in such an up-front sort of way was akin to committing suicide. No one wanted the Empire's attention...ever.

The Hutt continued, (To test the loyalty and resourcefulness of my employees, however, you will be pursuing this object in teams of three – of my choosing.)

A dull roar of unhappy mutterings rose up from the main floor. Teams? Han thought, feeling his lip twist in disgust. The only team he needed was himself and Chewbacca. There was no need to add anyone else. He and Chewie were fully capable of retrieving...well, whatever it was that the slug wanted.

(The first of the three names announced will be the captain of the team. He will receive the briefing and specs of the object to be returned to me.) The Hutt smiled a most gooey smile, dribble flowing from one corner of his wide mouth. (To garner your reward, all team members must be present when presenting the object. Your payment is forfeit if one of your team members dies in the process of the hunt.)

"Well, I'll be damned," Dash muttered, fidgeting in his seat. "At least he's giving us all of the rules up-front."

Bib Fortuna, Jabba's Twi'lek majordomo, stepped up to the dais and snarled the first of the teams. Han flashed a quick and worried look to Chewbacca. Jabba was matching up the most combustible people he could. Smugglers and bounty hunters working together? It was unheard of. And highly dangerous, too.

Han tapped his finger on the tabletop uncomfortably, listening for his name to be called. He sighed with relief when both Bossk and Dengar, the cyborg hunter with a very serious vendetta against him, were both teamed up with some other name he couldn't hear. He didn't want to be stuck with bounty hunters. He hoped Jabba had a little more common sense than that.

The list of names was long, and the uproar that was caused by the recognition of startled, newly dubbed teammates was more and more evident. And just when Han was beginning to think that, perhaps, he was exempt from all of this team-work idiocy, he heard his name being called.

"Team captain," Bib said, his raspy voice growing hoarse with all the names he had been calling. "Han Solo."

Han grinned boldly, though his heart was pounding. Who would he be paired with? The thought made him anxious, but he disguised the feeling with what he hoped was self-consumed bravado. "Jabba didn't make a mistake about that," he said loudly, looking at Chewie.

Chewie's indifferent curiosity made Han think that the Wookiee was probably just as concerned as he was about the nature of their possible teammates.

"Dash Rendar."

The young man's mouth fell open. "What?" He looked to Han, questioning obstinately, "You rigged this, didn't you?"

Han laughed. "No way! What makes you think Jabba'd listen to me?"

Dash seemed to be skeptical, but he smiled, "I suppose I could be stuck with worse." He offered Han a mock salute, saying, "O Captain, my Captain! I'll be a proud First Mate!"

"Second Mate," the smuggler corrected. Thrusting a thumb at Chewie, he mischievously reminded the other, "The Wookiee here's my First Mate."

Dash finished his sketch of a sloppy salute.

"And Boba Fett."

The room grew as silent as vacuum.

"Wh-what? What'd he say?" Han's voice seemed unnaturally loud. He quickly turned to Chewie. The furball's eyes were wide, the blue tinged with terror. He then snapped his gaze to the hunter, who stood at Jabba's side. Fett hadn't moved. He was still standing silently, but Han could recognize the tension that now laced his stance.

Bib moved on to the last of the dwindling names, speaking loudly to be heard over the rumbling that now consumed the throne room.

Han could already hear the bets being made, as to who would survive the temporary partnership.

Oh hell.

A/N: So were you surprised? Huh? No? Well, humor me anyway. I love both Han Solo and Boba Fett – and their subsequent rivalry – so I had to put them on the same team. You understand, right? At any rate, reviews are welcome and hopefully the next chapter will follow more quickly.