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The spaceport was on the far side of the island, and Han swooped low over the city on his assigned approach vector. In just minutes he was bringing the Ylesian Dream down for a perfect landing. He’d now had so much experience landing despite massive storms and vicious air currents that landing a ship on a normal planet seemed like child’s play.

The medical unit was waiting, as promised. Han quickly unbuckled Muuurgh’s blaster and stowed it away, then he brought the med droid with the anti-grav stretcher on board, and helped load Muuurgh onto it. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” he asked the attending droid.

“My preliminary scan indicates that there is no life-threatening trauma as a result of the head injury,” the droid replied. “However, we will need to run further tests. I would anticipate that your crew member will require an overnight stay in our facility.”

“Okay,” Han said. I’ve got to figure out some way to pay for Muuurgh’s treatment, he thought as he watched the stretcher bearing the Togorian vanish inside the transport, which promptly lifted off and headed south.

Seeing a technician going by, Han waved the woman over. “Listen, I’ve sustained some damage,” he said. “Can I get a repair crew in here right away?”

“Let me see how bad it is,” she said. Han guided her into the gunner’s mount, then into the engine room to check out the hyperdrive. “Both jobs will require at least six hours work to fix,” she told him. “But we can start on it today.”

“Good,” Han said. He had done minor swoop and speeder repairs while he was a racer, but he’d never tackled anything as big as this, and he wanted to make sure the job was done right.

As the repair crew came aboard the Dream, Han wondered what he should do next. Call Ylesia, he decided. The priests were going to have to arrange for payment for the repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.

Han headed for the control cabin, intending to place the call immediately. His hand was actually on the switch when he suddenly froze.

Waaaaiiittt a minute … he thought. What am I doing? I’m sitting here with a load of glitterstim, the most valuable spice of all, and I’m just going to take it back to Ylesia so they can sell it again?

Han checked back in his automatic log recordings, listened to what he’d said during his transmission. He grinned to himself. This is a piece of cake. All I have to do is tell the priests that I was boarded and the pirates took the glitterstim. Muuurgh was out cold, he doesn’t know what happened. I can sell this spice here on Alderaan, stash the money in an account here, then send for it later. They’ll never know …

But if he wanted to keep his job as a pilot for the Ylesian priests, he’d have to make the deal fast. He’d reported himself at the rendezvous coordinates, and the priests weren’t stupid. They could check on how long it would take a ship to get from where he’d been attacked to Alderaan. He could account for a few extra hours by pointing to the damage the Dream had sustained and pleading the slowness of the journey, the need to nurse the ship along …

Okay, Han thought. I’ve got about five hours I can fudge here … no more. By that time I’ve got to call in and let them know I’m alive, that their ship is damaged, and that they have to arrange for payment. Any more time than that, and they’ll get suspicious …

Pulling his battered brown lizard-hide jacket out of his locker, Han straightened his worn pilot’s coverall as best he could. Then he combed his hair. Don’t want to look scruffy, he thought wryly, thinking of Dewlanna and how the Wookiee had always told him he looked good with his hair standing straight up, like one of her own people.

Pulling on the jacket over the gray uniform, he stared regretfully at Muuurgh’s blaster, wishing he could strap it on. Stupid planet. Whoever heard of a world with no weapons allowed? With a sigh and a shake of his head, Han left the Ylesian Dream to the repair crews.

He walked quickly to the entrance to the spaceport, then caught one of the free shuttles