Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [99]
Satisfied that the Falcon was his, Zlarb began issuing commands. “Let’s get busy.” Han was directed to Chewbacca’s side. The nashtah handler and the man with the disruptor rifle continued to watch them while Wadda hurried down the ramp, making it tremble under his great weight.
“Zlarb,” Han began, “don’t you think its time you told us what’s so flaming …”
He was distracted by the ramp’s vibrations and the sound of many light footfalls. A moment later he understood just what had happened to him and in how dangerous a situation he and Chewbacca had become involved.
A file of small figures trooped aboard, heads hung in fatigue and despair. These were obviously inhabitants of Lur. The tallest of them was scarcely waist-high to Han. They were erect bipeds, covered with fine white fur, their feet protected by thick pads of calluslike tissue. Their eyes were large, and ran toward green and blue; they stared around the Falcon’s interior in dull amazement.
Each neck was encircled by a collar of metal, the collars joined together by a thin black cable. It was a slaver’s line.
Chewbacca bellowed an enraged roar and ignored the answering scream from the nashtah. Han glared at Zlarb, who was directing the loading of slaves. One of his men held a director unit, its circuitry linked to the collars. The director, a banned device, had an unfinished, homemade look to it. Any defiance from the captives would earn them excruciating pain.
Han fixed Zlarb with his eye. “Not in my ship,” he stated, emphasizing each word.
But Zlarb only laughed. “You’re not in much of a position to object, are you, Solo?”
“Not in my ship,” Han repeated stubbornly. “Not slaves. Never.”
Zlarb aligned Han’s own blaster at him, sighting down the barrel. “You just think again, pilot. If you give me any trouble, you’ll end up locked in a necklace yourself. Now, you and the Wookiee go forward and get ready to lift.”
A second line of slaves was being led aboard and ushered aft to the hold. Han scowled at Zlarb for a moment, then turned toward the cockpit. Chewbacca hesitated, bared his fangs at the slavers once more, and followed his friend.
Han lowered himself unwillingly into the pilot’s seat, and Chewbacca took the copilot’s. Zlarb stood behind them watching their every move carefully. He mistrusted the two, of course, but knew that they could get more speed and better performance out of the Falcon than he or any of his men could. And that might well mean survival in the perilous business of slave-running.
“Solo, I want you and your partner to be smart about this. You take us to our point of delivery and you’ll both be taken care of. But if we’re halted and boarded, it’s the death sentence for all of us, you included.”
“Where are we going?” Han asked, tight-lipped.
“I’ll tell you that when the time comes. For now, you just prepare to raise ship.”
Han brought the Falcon’s engines to full power, warming up her shields and preparing to lift. “What are they paying you? Even I can’t think of enough money to get me mixed up in slaving.”
Zlarb chuckled derisively. “They told me you were a hard case, Solo. I see they were wrong. Those little beauties back there are worth four, five, maybe even six thousand apiece on the Invisible Market. They’re natural-born experts at genetic manipulation, and in great demand, my friend. Not everyone is happy with the rigid restrictions that were imposed after the Clone Wars. It seems these creatures like their own world too much, though, and wouldn’t sign out on contract labor for anything. So my associates and I rounded up a bunch. A few of them are sick or wounded, but we’ll deliver at least fifty of them. I’ll make enough