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“Don’t let it come looking for me!” he ordered the monks. He did not want Nat stumbling around, saying things he shouldn’t amongst people who thought the rancor had eaten all of him.

But one day, when the monks were too busy with Spring Equinox ceremonies to watch Nat as closely as Fortuna ordered, Nat did come up to the throne room. His brain walker stumbled down the steps and scraped itself against the stone wall. No one paid it any attention. But it suddenly lurched out toward the center of the room, perilously close to the grille in the floor. Fortuna realized that if two or three of its legs fell through and it couldn’t extricate itself, the guards would have to lift it up. Jabba might decide to send it down to the rancor instead. He had never sent a brain walker to the rancor, and Fortuna did not want Jabba to get the idea now.

Jabba had a new protocol droid, a certain C-3PO—a gift from some human egotist who claimed to be a Jedi Knight. Fortuna quickly motioned the golden droid to his side. “Keep that brain walker away from the grille,” he said. “Guide it around the perimeter of the room and back down to the monks as soon as possible.”

“At once, Master Fortuna,” C-3PO said.

But C-3PO soon tapped Fortuna on the shoulder. “The enlightened one wishes to speak with you,” he said. “He absolutely refused to return to the monks until he had. I can’t imagine what could be so important that he—”

“That’s enough,” Fortuna said. “I will speak with it. Leave us.”

The droid arched its back and walked stiffly away.

“What is it?” Fortuna asked Nat.

“I have found a body—a holding body. You said I could have a body—”

“Yes, yes. Whose is it?”

“I don’t remember its name, but it looks like a strong body, and I need a strong body—”

“Where is it, then? Is it in this room?”

Fortuna did not like carrying on this conversation in Jabba’s throne room. He did not want anyone to overhear. Two or three were already looking at them. “Tell me now,” Fortuna demanded. “Then you must return to the monks.”

“The body in the carbonite—it’s doing no one any good. Give me the body in the carbonite!”

Fortuna had to smile. “Han Solo?” he said. The idea was delicious to him. Fortuna had many reasons to hate Corellians—Bidlo Kwerve, his rival for the post of majordomo, had been a Corellian. Using Han’s body in this way would be a fine revenge on Corellians in general. He looked at the body of Han Solo, frozen in carbonite, hibernating perfectly. Han’s head looked roughly the same size as Nat’s had been.

“Of course,” he told Nat. “You shall have that body. Soon.” He did not have to add: when I am in control here. Such an experiment would probably have amused Jabba, but Fortuna could not have explained Nat’s—or his own—part in it.

Business took Fortuna into Mos Eisley. He was glad to get away from the palace for the afternoon, but it would be a busy time—arranging for new purveyors to ship the still awaited effrikim to the palace; checking the progress of the reconstruction of Jabba’s town house after the fire. Perhaps the most interesting of his duties, however, would be meeting with the human, Luke Skywalker, who claimed to be a Jedi Knight and who had sent droids to Jabba as gifts. The human wanted to bargain for Han Solo, and Fortuna invited him to the town house to hear his offer. This sudden burst of interest in the frozen Corellian amused Fortuna. Perhaps there were ways to make Solo turn a profit yet.

“It would be to your master’s advantage to simply let Han go,” Skywalker said.

Fortuna laughed. He had expected arrogance from someone claiming to be a Jedi Knight, and he was not disappointed.

“Han Solo cost Jabba dearly, young Jedi,” Fortuna said. “How would simply letting him go work to my master’s advantage? Besides, I’m certain the Empire would not want Solo wandering about again.”

“The government will change,” was all Skywalker said in reply.

And suddenly the mists clouding Fortuna’s intuition cleared. He identified an astonishing plot afoot in the palace. The Rebellion