Star Wars_ Tales of the Bounty Hunters - Kevin J. Anderson [137]
Not that he expected any trouble; this was business, a business he’d been in for a long time before the Rebellion, and he knew what he was doing. But no point in taking chances, on a planet like Jubilar, in a city like Death.
They wanted him to smuggle Jandarra, to Shalam—Han had almost laughed aloud when the Mayor’s representative had approached him; Jandarra was one of Leia’s favorite treats. He expected that even she would be amused when he showed up on Shalam with a cargo hold full of it; and certainly the Shalamites wouldn’t dare prosecute him over it.
The Mayor smiled at Solo. She was a tall, obese woman with features that did not take to a smile very easily. Four bodyguards were present; two at the entrance to the warehouse, two a few steps behind the Mayor, all armed with assault rifles. “Gentleman Morgavi—Luke, isn’t it?”
Han smiled at her. “That’s right. Luke Morgavi. As I told your aide, ma’am, I’m an independent trader out of Boranda.”
She nodded. “A pleasure, Luke. Please, follow me.” She led him down through rows of hydroponics tanks, to a row toward the back where the growing lights were both brighter and of a different wavelength. Inside the tanks, small purple and green tubular vegetables grew. “Jandarra,” she said. “They’re native to Jubilar; they’re a great delicacy, and they usually only grow in the desert after relatively rare rainstorms. After almost two years of work we managed to cultivate them—”
Han nodded. “And the Shalamite slapped a 100% tariff on you.”
Anger touched her voice. “We have eighty thousand credits’ worth of Jandarra here that are only worth forty thousand after the Shalamite tariff.”
“Those Shalamite,” Han commiserated. “Can’t trust ’em. They cheat at cards, too—did you know that?”
She stopped and studied Han. “No … Gentleman Morgavi. I did not.” You cheat at cards, she thought, and kept the pleasant smile on her face—it was hard work. He really didn’t recognize her—well, thirty years was a long time, after all, and she’d put on sixty kilos; and her last name, back then, before her marriage to the unfortunate Miagi Baker, had been Incavi Larado.
He’d said he’d come back, and here he was, the New Republic’s infamous General Solo—and only thirty years late.
“Eighty thousand credits’ worth,” she said again. “Delivered to Shalamite. That’s a forty thousand upside, and we’d be willing to go—”
“Fifty percent,” said Han politely. “Which would be twenty thousand credits, and I’d be happy to make the run for that amount.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think you can get past the Shalamite Navy?”
Han said, “Lady, I used to run the Imperial lines. I’m talking about the old Star Destroyers—let me tell you a story—”
Out in the darkness, Boba Fett lay on his stomach, carefully adjusting his aim—he had to shoot in through the main entrance to the hydroponics warehouse, which wouldn’t have been difficult except that some of the tanks were in his way—he was going to have to wait for Solo to come back out toward the warehouse’s entrance.
Fett waited patiently. He was surprised by his good fortune; who would have thought that a trap he had set three decades ago would come to fruition now?
Good fortune indeed—even today, with the Empire fallen, Han Solo had lots of enemies: Jabba’s relatives, loyal officers of the Empire who had managed to maintain small fiefdoms on a thousand planets across the galaxy; and the various bounties on Solo, Dead or Alive, were still impressive, even with Vader and Jabba and the Empire long gone; still worth making an effort for, even with four and half million credits in the bank.
Oddly enough, the sight of Solo—looking at him through the rifle scope—filled Fett with a nostalgia that surprised him. There was no question in Fett’s mind that Solo was a bad man, worse in every way that counted than the Butcher of Montellian Serat; and if that bounty