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“I’d hoped you might have come to prevent the duel or intervene,” Ido said. “None of the other clans will, since they envy us and would like to see us in misfortune. And by the Code, no one else in our clan or its service can take my brother’s part. But another outsider may, for the sake of either our interests or his own. That is to say, if it’s a matter that directly concerns him.”

Han was thinking that if he were the Mor Glayyd he’d be shopping around for a fast starship with the family jewelry in his pocket. His musings were interrupted by Fiolla’s voice. “Ido, please let us talk to your brother; there may be something we can do.”

After Ido, overjoyed, had rushed away, Han, ignoring the possibility of listening devices, exploded. “What’s wrong with you? What can you do to help him?”

She stared back blithely. “I? Why, nothing. But you can take his place and save him.”

“Me?” he howled, coming to his feet so quickly that he nearly bowled over a robo-vassal. The mechanical skittered back with an electronic screech.

“I don’t even know what the fight’s about,” Han continued at high volume. “I’m here looking for someone who owes me ten thousand. I never heard of either of these people. Which reminds me, it looked like you knew about the gunfighter, what’s his name—”

“Gallandro, a name I’ve heard before. If it’s the same man, he’s the territorial manager’s most trusted operative; I’ve only heard his name once before. Odumin, the territorial manager, must be involved in all this; these must be the ‘measures’ Magg informed Zlarb about. If Gallandro kills the Mor Glayyd, it’ll end your tracing of Zlarb’s bosses and your chance to collect. But if you intercede for the Mor Glayyd, we might still get what we want.”

“What about minor details,” Han asked sarcastically, “such as if Gallandro kills me, for example?”

“I thought you were the Han Solo who said he could get more in this life with a blaster than with an open expense account. So this is your department. Besides, Gallandro will almost certainly withdraw when he finds out he’ll have no chance of killing the Mor Glayyd anyway. And who’d dare face the great Han Solo?”

“Nobody wants to and nobody’s going to!”

“Solo, Solo; you’ve eliminated Zlarb, seen Magg with the slavers, and heard what I’ve learned. Do you think they’ll ever stop coming after you? Your one chance is to save the Mor Glayyd and get that information from him so that I can prosecute everyone connected with the slavery ring. And let’s not forget the ten thousand they owe you.”

“Let’s not ever. What about it?”

“If you can’t get it out of them, maybe I can get you some sort of compensation. Reward to a citizen for a job well done, commendation from the Board of Directors, that sort of thing.”

“I want ten thousand, not a credit less,” Han stipulated. Fiolla was right about one thing: unchecked, the slavers would undoubtedly keep coming after him. “And no ceremonial dinners. I’ll leave through the back door, thanks.”

“Whatever. But none of that’s likely if you let Gallandro kill the Mor Glayyd.”

At that moment the door swished open, and Ido returned, her hand through her brother’s elbow. Han was surprised to see how young the Mor Glayyd was; he’d assumed that Ido was a kid sister. But the Mor Glayyd was even younger. He wore a fine outfit stiff with braid and decorations of one kind and another, and a gunbelt that somehow didn’t look right on him. He was slightly shorter than his sister, slim and rather pale. His hair, the same color as hers, was caught behind him in a tail.

Ido made introductions, but while she referred to her brother by his title, she called him by a more familiar name.

“Ewwen, Captain Solo wishes to intervene for you. Oh, please, please agree!”

The Mor Glayyd was unsure. “For what reason?”

Han massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. Fiolla offered no hints, confident that he could come up with some plausible reply.

“I have, uh, business with you, a deal you might be interested in. It’ll take some explaining