Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 02_ The Hutt Gambit - A. C. Crispin [77]
Equipment lined the walls, and was kicked into corners. At first glance the place seemed chaotic and cluttered, but as Han was soon to discover, Shug Ninx could immediately locate any piece of equipment in the place.
“Yeah,” Shug said proudly, obviously pleased by Han’s frank admiration. “I saved for a long time to buy this place.”
After Shug had a chance to check out the Bria, the half-breed shook his head mournfully. “Han, half your problem with this ship is that she’s been modified using non-SoroSuub parts and components! Everyone knows that SoroSuubs don’t take kindly to that!”
“Can you help us get her running?” Han asked.
Shug nodded. “Won’t be easy, but we’ll try.”
Over the next few weeks, Han and Chewie helped Shug Ninx fix up their new ship. The two smugglers worked each day until they were exhausted, tinkering and learning the intricacies of starship repair from the master mechanic.
Han was so tired by all of the work, he almost quit going out, but one evening, on impulse, he stopped off for a drink in a local tavern he frequented in the Corellian sector. The Blue Light served only liquor, and was mostly a dive, but Han kind of liked the dark little place with its holo-posters of Corellian cities and natural wonders on the wall. It was too dark to see them well, of course—especially after a drink or two. But it suited him better than the glitzier joints.
While he was sitting at the bar, sipping an Alderaanian ale, a fracas erupted in the back of the place. Han jumped to his feet at the sound of a woman’s curse, then a man’s drunken growl. “Hey, baby, that’s no way for a lady to talk!”
“I’m no lady,” a woman said in a deep, angry voice. Peering into the dimness, Han could make out two struggling figures, hear the sounds of a scuffle, then a slap.
“C’mere, you tramp!” the man said.
The woman swore, then Han heard the meaty sound of a punch. The man yowled, then lunged at her. As he raced toward the back, Han saw the man’s feet leave the floor. The woman tossed him, using a single-shoulder throw that was accompanied by a popping sound. The man shrieked, a short, bitten-off scream, then thumped to the floor and lay there, sniveling and whimpering.
When he reached the back of the dimly lit bar, Han found a short, spindly smuggler and thug-for-hire he knew only as “Jump” moaning and writhing at the feet of a tall woman. As Jump’s buddy (who had wisely not joined the fracas) helped the thug sit up, Han could see that his arm hung at an odd angle, plainly dislocated. The woman stood over them, hand on the grip of her undrawn blaster, eyes narrowed, not even breathing hard.
As Han approached, she turned on him. “Mind your own business, man!”
Han took a step back before her flashing amber eyes. She was as tall as he was, with skin the color of Lando’s, and a wild frizz of black curls standing out from her head like a brelet’s mane. She looked tougher than neutronium, and mad clear through.
The Corellian hastily put up both hands in a gesture of peace. “Hey, I’m not one to interfere. Looks to me like the situation’s been handled.”
“I can take care of myself,” she snapped, striding past him on her way toward the front entrance. Her boot heels clicked on the scarred floor. She wore a long, tan-colored skirt, a brown silk blouse, and a half carapace of black armor, festooned with metallic studs. Her blaster rode her hip, and Han could tell by its worn grip that she knew exactly what to do with it.
Intrigued, he jogged up to the front of the Blue Light, then, careful not to stand between her and the front door, Han gestured to a couple of empty bar stools. “So … do you have to rush