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“Our contingency plan called for us to meet on Rhinnal,” the other added, “but, as is the case with so many on the Wheel, we find ourselves marooned here, with dwindling resources and little hope of securing onward transportation.”

“We fear our clanmates may move on from Rhinnal without being able to get word to us.”

Han folded his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry to hear that your family’s scattered, but it’s like I told you—”

“We can pay you well.”

“We won’t cause you any problems.”

“Hold it,” Han said loudly. “I said I’m sorry. But I’m out of the rescue business, you understand?”

The pair fell silent for a long moment. “We, too, are sorry to hear that,” the tall one remarked.

Han angrily drained his drink as the Ryn walked off. No sooner did he set the glass down than Roa returned.

“What did they want?”

“A ride to Rhinnal.”

Roa frowned and sat down. “As I said, everyone’s desperate.”

“D’you learn anything?”

Roa nodded his chin toward a rangy, red-haired spacer who was approaching from the bar with a drink in hand. “Roaky Laamu, meet Fasgo,” he said as the man took a chair and extended his hand to Han. “Just make sure to count your fingers when you’re done shaking.”

Fasgo grinned broadly, showing stained teeth, and took a long swallow from the ale Roa had obviously paid for.

“Fasgo was one of my best tax-and-tariff boys,” Roa continued. “Just ask him and he’ll tell you. Since he left my employ, he’s had occasion to work with Reck Desh.”

Han watched Fasgo’s smile collapse.

“Any idea where Reck can be found?” Roa asked pleasantly.

Fasgo swallowed hard. “Look, Roa, I appreciate your buying me a drink, but—”

“Roaky and I know all about Reck’s new employers,” Roa cut him off, “so there’s no need to feed us a tale.”

Fasgo licked his lips and forced a short laugh. “You know Reck, Roa, he follows the credits.”

Han put his elbows on the table. “If the pay’s all that good, how come you’re not still with him?”

“Not my style,” Fasgo said, shaking his head. “I’m no traitor.”

Han and Roa glanced at each other. “So what about Reck?” Roa said.

Fasgo shook his head once more. “I don’t know where he is now.” Gauging the look in Han’s eyes, he added, “I’m being straight with you guys, I don’t know.” He glanced around and leaned forward conspiratorially. “There is someone on station who can probably tell you. He runs things around here—the underground things. They call him Boss B.”

“And just where do we find this Boss B?” Roa said.

Fasgo made his voice a whisper. “Ask around for him and he’ll find you.”

As the spacer was about to rise, Han laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Who’s running Reck’s enterprise? Who’s his control?”

The color drained from Fasgo’s face. “You don’t want to meet them, Roaky. They’re nasty as they come, and then some.”

“Give me a name?”

“I never learned any names—honest.” Fasgo swallowed whatever else he was about to say and riveted his gaze on something over Han’s shoulder.

Han twisted around to see three Trandoshans moving toward the table, armed with Merr-Sonn and BlasTech blasters and wearing knee-length climate-control coveralls. While two came to a halt on either side of his chair, the largest of the saurian trio—older, by the look of his graying skin—circled the table twice, never taking his black-pupiled, red eyes from Han. Eventually, he took up a position directly across from him.

“Now, you look very familiar,” he rasped. His long tongue emerged from a lipless mouth and wriggled in the air for a moment. “And you taste even more familiar.”

Han forced himself to relax. While the Trandoshan had clearly recognized him, Han wasn’t sure if he and the alien had ever crossed paths. Native to a world in the same star system as Kashyyyk, the brackish-smelling Trandoshans had been instrumental in persuading the Empire to enslave the Wookiees and had often worked as slavers themselves.

“Last time I saw a tongue like that it was hanging in a meat market collecting stink-flies,” Han said.

The Trandoshan’s death trap of a mouth approximated