Galaxies Apart

Eleven

Luke's home planet was indeed a wasteland. Several settlers there had commented that the transport ship which had brought them to Tatooine had contained better arable land. Many moisture farmers were either exiles from the Empire or working solely to build up enough capital to afford the ferrying rates offworld.

Only in one place did Tatooine attract as many parasites as Dagobah.

"Jabba," Han Solo said, inclining his head in greeting.

The Hutt slobbered copiously by way of response. Jabba the Hutt, the most feared, despised, repulsive, scheming, untrustworthy, ruthless gangster this side of the Core was not a big fan of personal hygiene.

As Han watched, the monstrous fat slug reached one of his stubby arms into a nearby tank filled with viscous fluid, picked up a squealing little morsel and popped it whole into his mouth, tilting his head back and allowing the wretched creature to fall into his huge gullet.

"Uuuurp."

Han smiled a smile that wasn't exactly genuine. He'd come to learn from previous experience that when you stood on a trapdoor which led directly into a Rancor pit, a trapdoor released on a whim from the disgusting creature lounging on his throne, you tended to want to look on the bright side of things.

Han had stood here twice before and escaped with his life twice. He hoped fervently to add another notch to that tally.

"I have your money," he announced.

That surprised Jabba. The Hutt regarded Solo with sheer contempt and something bordering on disappointment. With a sinking heart, Han began to feel that Jabba had been looking forward to executing him for some time.

"You have the bounty?" Jabba rumbled disbelievingly in Huttese, a language as ugly as its native speakers.

"No," Han replied calmly. The resident crowd around him hooted, convinced the show was back on. "I wanted to apologise for being late, so I gotcha a little more."

The room fell silent again.

"How much more?" Jabba spat.

"Three hundred thousand."

A brief furore at this, followed by more silence.

Jabba closed his eyes, thinking it over. Han's heart leapt. If the Hutt was stopping to consider his options, he might actually be interested. "Three hundred thousand," he repeated.

"You have it here, with you?" Jabba said, tone incredulous at such stupidity.

Han shook his head and risked a scoundrel's grin. "C'mon Jabba. You know how it goes. I have half. The rest I'll wire to your Coruscant account when I'm clear of the planet, after I'm sure you've lifted the bounty."

Jabba pounded his own stomach with his weak hands. "Do not presume to dictate terms to me, Solo."

Han bowed low. "Just making a suggestion, big guy."

The muttering from the assembled scum grew. Han was aware he wasn't making a lot of friends here. He was also aware that every single entrepreneur behind him would want to know how a terminally out-of-work smuggler like Han Solo got his hands on three hundred thousand credits.

He wasn't out of danger even if Jabba did let him go and lift the bounty. Not by a long way.

"You cost me, Solo," Jabba reminded him, dangerously. "Dumping spice? Not the way to do business."

"Did I cost you three hundred thousand credits?" Han retorted, growing uneasy with this game.

"More, Solo. You cost me honour. Reputation. That can never be replaced with credits, no matter how many you spit at me to beg for your miserable life. You know what I think, Solo?"

Han shifted his weight on the trapdoor, ready to spring should the need arise. He measured distances.

"I think you're missing your little friends in the Rebellion. Is that it, Solo?" Jabba said savagely, over the derisive laughter of his minions. "Did it break your heart when you had to watch them die? Did you hear them scream?"

Han gritted his teeth. He hadn't expected Jabba to get personal. Kill him, maybe - not get personal.

"Take it or leave it, Jabba," he shrugged.

The Hutt gestured to his guards. They stepped back out of sight at his command. Around Han the crowd, who until that moment had been closing in, melted away from the grille where he stood.

Han realised this was it. Even if he were to move at the right time and escape the trapdoor, he'd be cut down in seconds by one of the guards. He hoped that Chewie would do what he told him to do and get the Falcon the hell out of Mos Eisley. Han had to stop just short of tying the Wookiee to the ship to stop him from coming.

But if he was to die, here, now, he wanted the ship to go on. He wanted his friend to go on.

Jabba's hand reached for the control.

"Solo," he said, "I have enough credits."

"Stop," a sharp voice commanded. To Han's astonishment the Hutt's hand obeyed, freezing in place.

A movement of air told Han the speaker had stepped forward to stand alongside him. He didn't dare move his head even to identify his would-be saviour.

"What is the meaning of this?" Jabba demanded. His hand remained where it was. "Guards!"

Five hulking Gamorreans lurched forward to seize this interloper. Han saw, out of the corner of his eye, the mysterious figure raise a hand. The reptilian beasts staggered back, clutching their throats.

Jabba rumbled in anger at this new outrage. "Destroy him!" he boomed.

Blaster bolts homed in on them from all sides. Han prided himself that he was quick enough to drop to a crouch, but that was nothing compared to what the stranger was capable of.

The blue glow of a lightsaber now illuminated Jabba's throne room. The same lightsaber that had just carved a precise, life-saving path across the blaster bolts, deflecting them from their targets.

A moment later, and with barely a flicker of effort, seven blaster rifles were plucked from the hands of their owners and crushed in mid-air, before being dropped to the ground. The rain of fire stopped.

Han's heartbeat was now, by far, the loudest noise in the room.

"I wish to buy Han Solo's life," the stranger said, calmly. "Now, do we negotiate, or do you want to resume where we left off?"

Jabba's stubby fingers retreated a little from the release button. Han breathed again.

"State your price," the Jedi said boldly.

Jabba didn't hesitate. "One million credits."

The crowd gasped.

Han finally found the energy to glance at his new-found friend. It was a man, human by the look of him. Young, younger than Han anyway. There was something about him that Han recognised. Maybe not his face, the way he carried himself…

"Don't have it."

Jabba considered his options. "Nine hundred thousand," he conceded generously. "My final offer."

The stranger paused, and shook his head again. "Sorry." Han saw him sigh. "I never was much of a haggler. How about this…you give me Han, drop all the bounty on him and his friends on your honour as a Hutt…"

He held up his left hand. Han heard a tiny bleeping noise as the stranger slowly uncurled his fist.

Nestling in his palm was a thermal detonator.

"…and I'll let you live."

The crowd finished their retreat from the action area rather faster than they'd expected. Han felt his body go numb. He hadn't been this scared in...oh, the last eight seconds. The detonator bleeped ominously.

"You dare to enter my Palace and threaten me?" Jabba pounded his useless fists in rage.

"I do."

"You're willing to die here? Death by flash incineration on some backwater planet, among criminals and scum, holds no fears for you? Just to save the life of a worthless smuggler? Not such a fitting end for a Jedi Knight, wouldn't you say?"

A Jedi, Han thought. Is that why he seems familiar? What in hell does a Jedi Knight want with me?

"I'll say this once, Jabba. Hand over Solo and give me your word you'll drop the bounty or I release the kill-switch and we die. Fitting end or not."

Those who double-crossed Jabba the Hutt never survived very long to boast about their success. Jabba made an example of every one of them. Took them apart piece by piece in public view.

He had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't be seen to have been made a fool of in his own domain. The only way to cover it up would be to kill everyone in the room - possible, though it would cost him a fortune in fees. His huge eyes narrowed. Jedi could not read Hutt minds. He would need that trait now.

"I accept," Jabba said. "Leave with Solo, and never return. I give you my word, when you leave, the bounty shall be lifted and never reinstated."

All the young Jedi had to decide now was whether to accept the offer.

"I'll keep this on me, if you don't mind," Han's new friend nodded to Jabba, hefting the thermal detonator, "It has quite an effective lethal range."

Jabba held up his hands for all to see. "You have my word," he repeated. "I can give you no more."

With a twist of the Jedi's hand the thermal detonator's glow sputtered and died.

Dimly, Han felt his arm being tugged. "Come on, Solo," his saviour growled. "Don't faint on me now."

And Han raised his head to meet Jabba's gaze. Saw the expression there, the intent in his eyes.

He wrapped his arms around the Jedi's waist and charged.

Too late.

Jabba's prehensile tail flicked the backup control switch hidden behind the duracrete throne. "Silly Jedi! Silly Jedi!" he choked, laughing uproariously. He had given his word from the moment they left the palace. They would never leave.

Screaming, Han and the Jedi fell into the Rancor pit.