Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 02_ The Hutt Gambit - A. C. Crispin [53]
Han smiled wryly. “That’s because there are no Imperials here on Nar Shaddaa.” Which wasn’t quite true, but it might as well be. There was an Imperial Customs office on the Smuggler’s Moon. The office was staffed by an old man named Dedro Needalb, who basically worked for the Hutts. He bore the title of “Imperial Customs Inspector,” though. He transmitted data about ships and their cargoes to the local Sector Moff, Sarn Shild, when he felt like it. No one ever verified whether the data he transmitted were accurate.
Basically, the Hutts had their own arrangements with Sarn Shild. They made “political contributions” and “personal gifts” to Shild as “gratitude” for being such a good Imperial rep. Shild, in turn, left the Hutts and their holdings pretty much alone.
Each prospered from the arrangement. Like a symbiotic organism, Han thought.
“Exactly,” she said. “There’s no point in harming old Dedro Needalb. Hutting him would hurt the Hutts and Nar Shaddaa, and it might actually benefit the Empire. That’s the last thing I want.”
“So how do you hurt them?” Han asked, wondering whether she was an assassin. She was an accomplished gymnast and contortionist, and some of her tricks involved weapons such as daggers, sabers, and vibroblades. But he had trouble imagining her in the role of an assassin. Xaverri was smart, very smart. Probably smarter, Han had to concede, than he was. She’d be more likely to use brains rather than weapons in her one-woman vendetta against the Empire.
She gave him an enigmatic smile. “That would be telling.”
Han shrugged. “Hey, I got no love for the Empire myself. They’re slavers these days, and I hate slavery. Maybe I could give you a hand sometime. I’m pretty good in a fight.”
Xaverri regarded him thoughtfully. “I’ll consider it. I’ve been thinking about replacing old Glarret soon. He’s not quick enough anymore to be a good assistant in the act, and he can’t pilot. It’s hard on me to do all the piloting myself.”
“Well, lady, let me tell you, I’m a first-class pilot,” Han said with a grin. “Matter of fact, I’m good at a lot of things.”
She rolled her eyes. “And modest, too.”
By now they had reached the door to Xaverri’s room. The illusionist looked at Han for a long level second. “It’s pretty late, Solo.”
He didn’t move. “Yeah.”
She pressed the doorlock with her forefinger and thumb, and it opened silently. Xaverri hesitated for a second, then walked into her room.
Leaving the door open.
Han smiled, and followed her in.
Han awoke after a few hours, and decided to leave Xaverri, who was still deeply asleep, to finish her rest. Quietly, he dressed and let himself out of the room, after leaving a message on her comlink that he’d see her later that day.
It was just after sunrise on Nar Shaddaa, though the activity on the Smuggler’s Moon had little to do with the unnaturally (to most sentients) long days and nights. Nar Shaddaa was always awake, always active. Han walked toward home through crowded streets, hearing the cries of the street vendors selling their myriad wares.
Han whistled a few bars of an old Corellian folk song as he walked. He felt great. He hadn’t realized how lonely he’d been for female companionship. It had been a long time since he’d met a woman he really cared for, and Xaverri obviously found him as attractive as he found her. The memory of her kisses still had the power to stir him.
Han found himself counting the hours until he could see her again, and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Get hold of yourself Solo. You’re no moony-eyed kid anymore, you’re—
Without warning, something jabbed him in the right buttock. At first Han thought he’d staggered and bumped his rear against a sharp piece of glassine protruding from the half-ruined building beside him.
Then a rush of strange, tingling warmth engulfed him. His steps faltered, and his vision blurred, then cleared.
What’s happening?
Steely fingers clamped on to his arm and dragged