Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 02_ The Hutt Gambit - A. C. Crispin [30]
“Lemme go!” Han tried to yank his hand free from the filthy claw, but the ancient woman’s grip was surprisingly strong. He fumbled for a credit coin, just to make her let go of him. He didn’t want to have to stun the crone—at her age a stun blast might kill her. “Here! Take th’ credit and lemme go!” He dropped the money in her lap.
“Vima no beggar!” the old woman insisted indignantly. “She earns her credit! Foresees the future, yesssss she does! Vima knows, yessssss …”
Han stopped and sighed, rolling his eyes. At least she wasn’t propositioning him. “Go ahead, then,” he snapped.
“Ah, young captain …” she half crooned, prying open his fist and staring at his palm, then up at his face. “So young … so much lies before you. A long road, first the smuggler’s road, then the way of the warrior. Glory you will have, yessssss. But first you must face terrible danger. Betrayal, yessssss … betrayal from those you trust. Betrayal …” Her eyes fixed for a second on Mako, and the older man and Han exchanged exasperated glances.
“So I’m gonna be betrayed,” Han said impatiently. “Will I get rich? Thass all I care about.”
“Ahhhhhhh …” she cackled shrilly. “My young captain, yessssss … wealth will come to you, but only after you no longer care about it.”
Han burst out laughing. “That’ll be th’ day! Grandma, gettin’ rich is ALL I care about!”
“Yesssss, that is true. Much will you do for money. But more will you do for love.”
“Great,” Han snarled, trying again to yank free. “Thass it, I’ve had ’nuff of this garbage,” he growled, and with a hard flex of his wrist, he broke her grip. “Thanks for nothing … nutty old witch. Don’t ever bother me again.”
Turning unsteadily on his heel, Han stalked away, scowling, with Chewbacca and Mako in his wake. He could hear Mako snickering, and Chewie was still chuckling. Han scowled. The crazy old thing had made a fool of him!
The permacrete beneath his feet seemed to lurch slightly, and all Han could think about was how good it was going to feel to stretch out on Mako’s couch, or floor, and grab some sleep.
Behind him, he could hear the old woman cackling softly, crooning nonsense to herself.
Han hardly remembered climbing the rampway to Mako’s flat, and he didn’t remember falling onto the couch at all. He was instantly asleep, and this time, he didn’t dream.
When he awakened the next morning, he’d forgotten all about the old woman and her “foretelling.”
Aruk the Hutt was doing what he loved most in all the universe … totaling his profits. The powerful Hutt Lord, head of the Besadii clan and its kajidic, bent over his datapad, his stubby fingers busy as he instructed the machine to calculate a percentage of profits based on a twenty percent yearly growth in product, projected three years into the future.
The resulting graph and accompanying figures made him laugh softly, a booming “Heh, heh, heh …” in the solitude of his huge office. No other living thing was present, only Aruk’s favorite scribe, who stood poised in the corner, metallically gleaming, waiting until its master summoned it from its artificial repose.
Aruk read the graph again, and blinked his bulbous eyes. He was an old Hutt, approaching his ninth century, and he’d reached the corpulent stage that most Hutts achieved past middle age. It was now such an effort for him to get around under his own power that he seldom bothered anymore. Even the warnings of his personal physician about impending circulatory problems failed to make him exercise these days. Instead, he relied on his anti-gravity repulsor sled. With it, he could go anywhere. Aruk’s sled was top quality, the best money could buy. After all, why should the head of the Besadii kajidic deny himself anything?
But Aruk was not one of those sybaritic Hutts who relished