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He knew his appearance was all right—he’d gotten taller in the past couple of years, but he was still underweight enough to be called skinny. And he knew how to make his voice servile, his manner cringing and cowering, as though only desperation were driving him to plead for alms.

Maybe it was his eyes, Han thought. Maybe the secret resentment and shame he felt at having to beg showed in them and potential marks could see it. Nobody respected a beggar, and Han, more than almost anything, had an undeclared desire to be respectd.

Not just respected, he wanted to be respectable. He couldn’t recall much about his life before Garris Shrike had found him begging on Corellia, but Han somehow knew that once upon a time, things had been different.

Long ago, he’d been taught to believe that begging was shameful. And that stealing … stealing was worse. Han bit his lip angrily. He knew that someone, perhaps the parents he couldn’t remember, had taught him these things. Once, long ago, he’d been taught different ways … different values.

But now—what could he do? Aboard Trader’s Luck, there was one cardinal rule. If you didn’t work, you begged or stole. If you refused to work, beg, or steal, you didn’t eat. Han had no other skills to offer. He was too little to pilot, not strong enough to load smuggled cargo.

But I won’t always be! he reminded himself. “I’m growing every day! Soon I’m going to be big, in just five more years I’ll be ten, and then, maybe, I’ll be big enough to pilot!”

Han had discovered that when he made up his mind to accomplish something, he could do it. He was sure that piloting would be no exception.

And when I can pilot, that’ll be my way off Trader’s Luck, he thought, his mind slipping automatically into an old dream, one that he never told anyone about. Once he’d confided it to one of the other children, and the little vrelt blabbed it to everyone. Shrike and the others laughed at Han for weeks, calling him “Captain Han of the Imperial Navy,” until Han wanted to crawl away, hands over his ears. It took all his control to just shrug and pretend not to care …

Yeah, and when I’m the best pilot around, and I’ve made lots of credits, I’ll apply to the Imperial Academy. I’ll become a Naval officer. Then I’ll come back and get Shrike, arrest him, and he’ll get sent to the spice mines on Kessel. He’ll die there … The thought made Han’s mouth curl up in a predatory smile.

At the far end of his fantasy, Han pictured himself, successful, respected, the best pilot in the galaxy, with a ship of his own, lots of loyal friends, and plenty of credits. And … a family. Yeah, a family of his own. A beautiful wife who adored him, who’d share adventures with him, and kids, maybe. He’d be a good father. He wouldn’t abandon his children, the way he’d been abandoned …

At least, Han supposed that he’d been abandoned, though he couldn’t remember a thing about it. He didn’t even know his last name, so he couldn’t try to trace his family. Or maybe … maybe his parents hadn’t abandoned him …

Maybe they’d been killed, or he’d been kidnapped away from them. Han decided that he preferred that scenario. If he thought of his parents as dead, he wasn’t so mad at them, because people couldn’t help it if they died, right?

Han decided that from now on, he’d think of his mother and father as dead. It was easier that way …

He knew he’d probably never know the real truth. The only person who knew anything about Han’s background was Garris Shrike. The captain kept telling Han that if he was good, if he worked and begged hard, if he earned enough credits, someday Shrike would tell him the secrets behind how he’d come to be wandering the streets of Corellia that day.

Han’s mouth tightend. Sure Captain, he thought just like you were going to get Danalis’s face fixed …

The child glanced up at the street signs. He couldn’t read the ones in the native language, but there was a Basic translation beneath each. Yeah, this was his territory, all right.

Han took a