Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 02_ The Hutt Gambit - A. C. Crispin [137]
After paying Han’s passage from Corellia on a fast shuttle to Alderaan, he’d taken over as pilot, and brought them to Bespin right on schedule.
The Wayward Girl was through the wispy exosphere now, and plunging deeper, moving toward the evening twilight, blue sky building above them. Han altered course, heading southwest, toward where the setting sun must be. As they streaked along, the tops of the piled, puffy masses of clouds far below began taking on colors, deep crimson and coral, then yellow-orange.
Han Solo had his own reasons for needing a ride to Bespin. If it hadn’t been for Jadonna’s ad on the nets, he’d have had to dip into his rapidly dwindling stash of credits to buy passage for himself on a commercial vessel.
Veloz’s accident couldn’t have come at a better time, far as Han was concerned. With the credits she’d promised him, he’d be able to afford a cheap room and a few meals during the big sabacc tournament. The buy-in alone was a staggering ten thousand credits. Han had barely managed to scrape those credits together by fencing the small golden palador figurine he’d stolen from the Ylesian High Priest Teroenza, plus the dragon pearl he’d discovered in Admiral Greelanx’s office.
The Corellian wished for a moment that Chewie was here with him, but he’d had to leave the Wookiee behind in their little flat on Nar Shaddaa because he couldn’t afford to buy his passage.
They were deep into the atmosphere now, and Han could actually see Bespin’s sun, a squashed looking orange ball just clearing a massive bank of clouds. The Girl was surrounded by a golden glory of heaped clouds—as golden as Han Solo’s dreams of wealth.
Han was staking everything on this big gamble … and he’d always been lucky at sabacc. But would luck be enough to let him win? He’d be playing against professional gamblers like Lando.
The Corellian swallowed, then resolutely concentrated on his piloting. This was no time to get an attack of nerves. Han made another adjustment to the Girl’s approach vector, thinking that he ought to be within range of Cloud City traffic control any time now.
As if in answer to his thoughts, a voice spoke up from his comm. “Incoming vessel, please identify yourself.”
Jadonna Veloz reached left-handed to activate their comm. “Cloud City traffic control, this is the Wayward Girl out of Alderaan. Our approach vector is …” she glanced at Han’s instruments and reeled off a string of numbers.
“Wayward Girl, we confirm your vector. Cloud City is your destination?”
“That’s an affirmative, traffic control,” Jadonna said. Han grinned. From what he’d heard, Cloud City was about all there was to Bespin. There were the mining facilities, of course, and gas refining, storage and shipping facilities, but more than half of all incoming traffic was probably bound for the luxurious resort hotels. In the past few years, bored tourists had made the city in the clouds one of their favorite vacation playgrounds.
“Traffic control,” Jadonna continued, “we have a priority shipment for the Yarith Bespin kitchens. Nerf tenderloins in stasis. Request a landing vector.”
“Permission granted, Wayward Girl,” came the voice of the traffic controller. The controller’s voice took on a more informal note. “Nerf steaks, eh? I’ll have to take my wife out this week. She’s been wanting something fancy, and that’s a treat we don’t get too often.”
“These are prime cuts, traffic control,” Veloz said. “Hope the chef at the Yarith Bespin appreciates them.”
“Oh, he’s good,” the voice said, then the controller reverted to his official tones. “Wayward Girl, I have you slotted in at Level 65, Docking Bay 7A. Repeat. Level 65, 7A. Do you copy?”
“We copy, Cloud City Controller.”
“And your assigned landing vector is …” the voice hesitated, then gave them more coordinates.
Han punched them into the navicomputer, then they settled back to enjoy the ride. He found himself looking forward to seeing