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By Root 798 0

set up with a booth that suggested the home planet of the cuisine. The Wookiee station, right near the door, was nestled into a fake (at least he hoped it was fake) wroshyr tree. Chewie let out a delighted roar and hurried over to the Wookiee station. Han searched for—and found—the Correllian booth. It looked like something out of Treasure Ship Row, a bright red, green, and purple tent with an equally gaudy Correllian roasting meat on a spit outside. Han didn’t recognize her, but she recognized Han. That wasn’t a surprise. Most Correllians had heard of him, it seemed. And he didn’t like it. He liked to know who he was talking to.

“Slumming, Solo?” she asked as she carved him several slices of meat.

“Dining,” he said, holding out his hand for the plate. The food smelled wonderful. He hadn’t had a Correllian meal in—well, since before the twins were born, at least.

She added some Correllian greens mixed with charbote root, and a scoop of mounder potato rice.

“Sixteen credits,” she said.

“Sixteen?!” He almost choked on his saliva. “This would cost half a credit on Correllia.”

She grinned. “Been a long time since you’ve been home, hasn’t it, Solo?”

He let the remark pass. “A half-credit,” he said again.

“Fifteen,” she said.

“Two,” he said.

“Ten,” she said.

“Five,” he said.

“Done.”

He paid her, repressing his grin. It had been a long time since he’d bargained for a meal. He took his plate to one of the center tables, where Chewie was already digging into a plate of won-wons. He had five round, greasy won-wons hooked to each claw, and was sliding them down his throat like a delicacy.

Han had had won-wons. They tasted like granite slugs, only slimier. At least won-wons smelled appetizing. He sat next to Chewie—

—then leaped to his feet exclaiming in pain. His wound hurt even worse when he put weight on it.

Blue laughed. She was carrying a plate of Exodeenian pasta. “Told you to put salve on that, Solo.”

“Funny, Blue.”

“There’s an emergency med station over there.” She nodded toward the left with her head. “You might want to buy some salve there.”

“I’m going to put it on myself,” Han said.

She smiled prettily. “I wouldn’t suggest otherwise.”

Kid came over, carrying a cup of steaming Vayerbok. “What, no longer heart smuggling, Blue?”

She shook her head. “No sport in it. Experience hasn’t changed the man. He’s still too good-hearted for me.”

“I would think a good heart is a valuable heart, Blue,” Kid said.

“Probably,” Blue said. “But it’s also the kind that gets all mushy and romantic. Still treat your wife to candlelight dinners, Solo?”

“Of course,” Han said. “The rewards are worth it.” He winked, then sauntered to the med station.

A battered medical droid worked the side. It perfunctorily examined Han’s wound and said to the burly man behind the counter, “Blaster scorch.”

“I could have told him that,” Han said.

“No, you couldn’t,” the droid said. “You’re a smuggler. It takes specialized knowledge to have a medical opinion.”

“I’m sure it does,” Han said. “You weren’t a protocol droid in a previous life, were you?”

“Absolutely not,” the droid said. “I’m an FX droid. I have never been nor do I want to be a protocol droid. It goes against my programming.”

“Obviously,” Han said. He moved away from the medical droid and leaned against the counter.

The burly man slapped a jar of salve on it. “Fifty credits.”

Han grinned. “You have to have a high demand for blaster salve here. I’ll give you five credits.”

From under the counter, the burly man pulled out a blaster and aimed at Han’s chest. “You want me to make the salve really necessary?”

Han took a startled step backward. “I’ll just pay you, how’s that?”

“Fifty credits for the prescription,” the burly man said.

“And fifty more for the diagnosis,” the droid said.

“Nope, no way,” Han said. “I remember the blaster shot. I didn’t need your expert opinion.”

The droid turned its silvery face toward the burly man. “It never works,” the droid said, sotto voce.

“Timing’s off,” the burly man said.

Han frowned and yanked his salve off the counter. Then he ducked