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Han grabbed the pair of pilot’s gloves with their nonslip finger pads and tugged them on, snapping them securely into place. He flexed his fingers. “Thanks, Roa.”

“Don’t mention it,” the older smuggler said. “I always wear ’em, and I suggest you do, too.”

Han nodded. “I will.”

Several hours later, when Han had finished his first Kessel Run, and they were relaxing in the relative safety of hyperspace, Roa leaned back in the copilot’s seat. “So,” he said, “I have to say, I’ve never seen anyone fly the Run any smoother on his first try, Han. You’re a natural, son.”

Han grinned at his friend. “You’re a good coach.”

Chewbacca commented sourly that he wouldn’t have objected to a bit more coaching from Roa—Han had frightened him so badly it was a wonder his hair hadn’t fallen out.

Han turned around and glared at his furry friend. “Hey, just keep it up, and I’ll give Wynni our home address the next time I see her.”

Chewie subsided into glaring silence.

“So, what are you going to do now, Han?” Roa asked. “Not every smuggler can brag that he’s flown the Kessel Run, and you made it in excellent time. What’s your next move?”

Han had been thinking about that. “I want a ship of our own for me and Chewie,” he told Roa. “First I’ll have to lease one, of course, but then maybe someday I’ll find one I can buy. But I’ll need a pile of credits, Roa. So when I get back to Nar Shaddaa, I’m going where the credits are.”

Roa’s eyebrows went up. “The Hutts,” he said.

Han checked his stabilizers. “Yeah, the Hutts.”

Roa shook his head, frowning. “Working for the Hutts has its dangers, Han. Hutts make risky employers. Displease them, and you can end up swimming through vacuum without a suit.”

Han nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed bleakly. “I’ve worked for them before. But to make the big money, you’ve got to be willing to take those risks …”

Two weeks and yet another bounty hunter later, Han and Chewbacca walked up to the largest building in the Hutt section of Nar Shaddaa. Once a luxury hotel, The Jewel was now headquarters to the Desilijic kajidic.

When The Jewel had been a hotel, the management had boasted that it could provide quarters for over half the known sentient races in the galaxy. Aquatic beings, methane breathers, and beings who could only be comfortable in low gravity—The Jewel had accommodated them all, and more.

As he approached the old building, Han could see that it had been vastly remodeled to suit its new tenants. The giant lobby area was now festooned with glide ramps leading to higher levels. The carpeting had been pulled up, and the stone floors were polished to a brilliant shine to ease a Hutt’s passage when gliding along.

Han checked, for the fourth time, that he had Tagta’s message cube safely in his pocket. He glanced over at Chewbacca. “You don’t have to come in, pal. I can probably handle this interview myself.”

Chewie’s only response was a firm shake of his head. Han shrugged. “Okay, then, but let me do the talking.”

Jiliac’s majordomo on Nar Shaddaa proved to be a human woman, a striking redhead who was approaching middle years. She wore a simple green gown, modest in cut. Han was impressed by her dignity and presence as she introduced herself. “I am Dielo, Lord Jiliac’s assistant. You said that you had a letter of recommendation, sir?”

Han nodded, feeling rather shabby by comparison, even though he’d worn his best pants, shirt, and jacket. Inside he felt defensive, but he’d learned long ago never to show discomfort or nerves. So his insouciant smile never wavered, and not the slightest crack showed in his air of casual bravado. “Yes, I do.”

“May I see it?”

“Sure, long as you don’t leave with it.” Han produced the small holocube, handed it to her. She glanced quickly at the greenish smear on the side, scanned the message, then nodded. “Very well,” she said, handing the holocube back. “Please wait here. I will call you in presently.”

Forty-five minutes later, she reappeared and ushered Han into