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But Mako’s wasn’t.

At the hearing, the prosecution had alleged that Mako was a terrorist who’d infiltrated the Academy. Han himself had volunteered to give testimony under truth drugs in order to clear his friend of that charge—and they’d had to accept his word that Mako had acted alone, intending only to play a prank. So Mako was spared the charge of terrorism. In the end, they’d just expelled the senior cadet.

Mako’s father had come through one last time, and given Mako the credits to set himself up in business. Little did the Senator suspect that his only son would spend the money on a ship, and contraband to stock it with. Then Mako had disappeared, but Han knew that Mako Spince wasn’t the sort to just quietly fade into the background. Not Mako. Where there was excitement to be had, and credits to be accrued, that’s where you’d find Mako Spince.

Han was betting that someone on Nar Shaddaa would know where his friend was.

Han watched as the Princess drifted closer and closer to the large moon. Nar Shaddaa was actually the size of a small planet, almost a third the size of Nal Hutta. It was hard to make out details through the shield, but he could see lights flashing.

As the Princess neared the Smuggler’s Moon, a section of the haze that marked the shield suddenly disappeared, and Han knew they’d dropped a shield to admit their ship. The transport went past the shield, and moments later they entered atmosphere.

Now Han could see the source of the flashing lights—huge holosigns that advertised goods and services. As they came closer, he was able to read one. “Sentients—Get It Here! Anything goes! If you have the credits, we have who—or what—you want!”

Just a real classy place, Han thought sarcastically. He’d seen signs for pleasure-houses before, but never anything this blatant.

As the Princess dropped “down” toward a large clear space atop a massive pile of permacrete, Han realized this must be their intended landing site. He looked about for a seat to strap himself in, but realized that none of the other passengers seemed concerned. They just grabbed a handhold affixed to the inside hull and hung on. Han shrugged, glanced at Chewbacca, and they did likewise. The Corellian discovered that it was much more difficult enduring a tricky landing as a passenger than it was as a pilot. When you were piloting, you were too busy to think about the possible danger.

A moment later there was a slight jar, and they were down.

Han and Chewbacca followed the other passengers toward the airlock, and found a line ahead of them, waiting to disembark. Han couldn’t help noticing how hardened and seedy the other passengers appeared. Tough, space-scarred males, with a scattering of even tougher-appearing females. Sapients of assorted species, but no families, and no one was old.

That Barabel would fit right in, he thought, conscious of the comforting weight of his blaster against his thigh.

The airlock door slid open, and the passengers began filing down the ramp, onto the landing pad. Han took a deep breath of the local air, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. Beside him, Chewie whined softly.

“I know it stinks,” Han said, out of the side of his mouth. “Get used to it, pal. We’re gonna be here awhile.”

Chewbacca’s sigh was eloquent, and required no translation.

Han didn’t want to seem like too much of a newcomer, so he tried hard not to stare as they walked down the ramp. Finally, he was able to get a good look at his surroundings.

At first glance, Nar Shaddaa reminded him of Coruscant—there was no open land to be seen at all. Only buildings, towers, spires, pedestrian glidewalks, shuttle landing pads, all of it blending into an unending vista of sentient-created construction. It resembled a permacrete forest studded with garish advertising holosigns.

But as he and Chewie walked slowly across the landing pad, Han quickly realized that even though they were on the topmost levels of the moon, this place differed greatly from the topmost levels of Imperial Center, as it was officially referred to these days.

Coruscant