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The sun was ready to set and dusk would come rapidly; this part of the Badlands was close to Kamar’s equator. Removing the sweatband he’d been wearing around his forehead, Han bent over the holoprojector. “Everything checks out; we have ourselves a new feature tonight. Come on back to the Falcon and I’ll let you help me take admission.”

Sonniod scowled at having to turn around and climb the bowl again. “I got word on the rumor vine that you were here, but I couldn’t understand how in the name of the Original Light you and the Wookiee ended up showing holo to the Kamar Badlanders. Last I heard, you two took some fire on the Rampa Rapids.”

Han stopped and scowled at Sonniod. “Who says?”

The little man shrugged elaborately. “A ship looks like a stock freighter but she’s leaking a vapor trail on her approach, and the Rampa Skywatch figures she’s a water smuggler. They shoot at her when she won’t heave to, but she dumps her load, maybe five thousand liters, and cuts deeper into the traffic pattern. What with the thousands of ships landing and lifting off all the time, they never got a positive I.D. on her. And you were seen on Rampa.”

Han’s eyes narrowed. “Too much chatter can get you into trouble. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that, Sonniod?”

Sonniod put on a big grin. “What she told me was never to talk to strangers. And I haven’t, not about this, Solo. But I’d have thought you’d have known better. Didn’t you check for leakage?”

Han relaxed and shifted his feet. “Next time I’ll install the damn tanks myself. That was pure R’alla mineral water, sweet and natural and expensive as hell to haul—worth a fortune on Rampa, where all they’ve got is that recycled chemical soup. Too bad. Anybody who makes it down the Rampa Rapids with a load of fresh water these days is a rich man.”

What Han didn’t mention, though he assumed Sonniod had concluded as much, was that he and Chewbacca had lost all the money they had saved during those two-and-a-half minutes of fun and excitement in the Rampa approach corridors.

“As it was, I landed with nothing but the general cargo I was lugging as cover. And somebody messed up on that, too! Instead of twelve of the Lockfiller holo models, I had eleven of them and this old Brosso Mark II. The consignee would only accept the eleven Lockfillers and finally wouldn’t pay because he’d been shorted. The shipper liquidated right after I lifted off, and you know how much I hate police and courts, so I was stuck with that holoprojector.”

“Well, I see you didn’t let it put you out of business, Solo, I’ll say that for you,” Sonniod granted.

“Inspiration’s my specialty,” Han agreed. “I knew it was time to get out of the Corporate Sector for a while anyway, and I figured the locals out here in the Badlands would be crazy over holos. I was right; wait till you see. Oh, and thanks for fronting for the holo.”

“I didn’t,” Sonniod answered as they resumed their way. “I know someone who rents them, and Love Is Waiting is about the oldest he’s got. On my return leg I’ll swap him whatever you’ve got and pick up a bit of cash on the side. My cut, all right?”

The deal sounded good to Han.

They returned to the Falcon, where a variety of local trade goods had been heaped at the foot of the starship’s main ramp. As Han and Sonniod arrived, a labor ’droid came clumping down the ramp bearing a plastic-extrusion carton containing more Kamarian wares of various sorts.

The ’droid was somewhat shorter than Han, but barrel-chested and long-armed, and moved with the slight stiffness that indicated a heavy-duty suspension system. It had been designed in the image of man, with red photoreceptors for eyes and a small vocoder grille set in his blank metallic face where a mouth would have been. His durable body was finished in a deep, gleaming green.

“How’d you afford a brand-new ’droid?” Sonniod asked as the machine in question set down its burden.

“I didn’t,” Han answered. “He said they wanted to see the galaxy, but sometimes I