Then again, he might.

"C-9PO," Brakiss said, "we have a guest."

"I know, sir." The droid stood the requisite two meters in front of him, its golden eyes radiant with inner light.

"Bring him to the a.s.sembly room, and have him wait for me."

"But sir, guests do not go to the a.s.sembly room." He glared at C-9PO. C-9PO continued to give him an implacable stare. Some things remained the same in protocol droids no matter how many memory wipes they had.

"This one is not a buyer."

"Then what is he, sir, that I may learn who goes to the a.s.sembly room?"

What is he? Brakiss smiled, but the smile had no amus.e.m.e.nt behind it.

Skywalker was impossible to fit into a category that the protocol droid would understand.

"He is a Jedi Master, 9PO. He is not here on factory business."

"Ah," C- 9PO said. "Then it is personal. I understand." He turned and minced out of the room. The small feet on the C-9's were not an improvement over the normal-sized feet of the C-1's through C-8's. Not an improvement at all.

He would have to remember that.

But even focusing on the droids was not enough for him. It usually cleared his mind, and it did no longer. Skywalker's presence surrounded him.

The sooner he got Skywalker off Telti, the better.

They took the Millennium Falcon to Skip 5. Seluss wanted to take one of the Skippers, but Han reminded him that Han was in charge of making the plans.

Han wasn't going to go ten meters without the Falcon.

He had decided that he needed to see this outrageous operation for himself. Something felt wrong. Smugglers always moved valuable products.

Now they were getting paid ten times more than usual for junk-junk any resourceful crime lord could find on dozens of worlds.

The Empire, or what was left of it, was no longer making equipment. The New Republic had seen to that by shutting down each factory it could find. The prototypes and designs were taken and destroyed. If any factories remained, then this crime lord had to be paying them, too, in order to get modern Imperial equipment.

Or was there something about the old stuff? Something different?

Han felt that if he looked at the stuff the smugglers were selling, he might discover it. For the first time in a long time, he missed having 3PO at his side. The Professor could tell him about the differences in Imperial equipment, and if 3PO didn't know, R2 did.

It felt odd to travel without his resources.

When Han had been a regular at the Run, Skip 5 had been abandoned. The caves of Skip 5, while huge, were lined with sun-stone, and the ambient temperature inside was about forty degrees Celsius, unbearable for humans most of the time, deadly for many of the larger species that inhabited the Run. A decade before Han arrived, a gang of human smugglers had lived in the caverns for months. They ended up killing each other in a fight some said was sparked by the heat.

Han had never been to Skip 5. He had only heard about it.

He was unprepared for its size, and for its level of development.

The landing pad in the caverns at the edge of Skip 5 was large enough for six luxury liners to rest comfortably. Han hadn't seen a landing pad that big outside of Coruscant in years. The Falcon looked small next to the dozens of freighters that waited, their cargo doors open, for the binary load lifters to finish placing boxes inside. Some of the boxes were as large as the Falcon's c.o.c.kpit.

Han glanced at Chewie, who moaned in astonishment. Seluss, who had been sitting behind them, chittered excitedly.

"Boxes could carry anything, Seluss," Han said. "I want to see what's inside." Seluss chittered again.

Han ignored him. He knew that no one would voluntarily open a box for him, especially now that he was perceived as legitimate. But he wanted to see the packing rooms and the work stations. He still didn't entirely believe that smugglers had voluntarily pooled their efforts to supply this mysterious customer. He had a hunch that only a few worked together.

The rest made a play at it, and delivered the real goods personally. He would discover who was working Skip 5, and who wasn't. Then he and Chewie would follow the ones who were conspicuously absent. He hoped one of those smugglers owed him an old debt. Then he could solve the mystery of the client without a personal meeting.

"You two stay here," Han said to Chewie. "I'll be back." Chewie growled.

"We've been through this," Han said. "I'm not going to leave the Falcon unguarded here. And I'm not going into the Skip with Seluss alone."

Seluss chirped.

"Just because your explanation's plausible doesn't mean that I should trust you," Han said. He slipped out of the pilot's chair. "If I'm not back soon, Chewie, get out of here." Chewie roared.

"I mean it, Chewie." Chewie shook his furry head and moaned.

"Yeah, I know. A life debt," Han said. "So why doesn't that mean you'll listen to me?" He grabbed his blaster. "Protect the Falcon, Chewie. I'd rather rely on my own wits than be trapped on Skip 5 forever. Got that?"

Chewie mumbled under his breath, but he turned back to the control panel.

Seluss grabbed Han's shirt and chittered.

"Yeah, I know you know what you're looking for, mouse brain," Han said.

"That doesn't mean I'm looking for the same thing." He shook Seluss's hand free and left the c.o.c.kpit. Chewie already had the ramp down, and Han disembarked.

The heat was so intense it felt as if he had hit a wall. Sweat broke out all over him, plastering his clothes to his body. He wished he had brought water rations, but he didn't want to return to the ship for them.

He wouldn't be gone that long. He could last.

Besides, he'd been in this kind of heat before, weaker and with no protection. The worst time had been on Tatooine when he had hibernation sickness. Blind, in the blazing sun, a battle going on around him. He'd been amazed he had survived that.

Still was, if truth be told.

The deep breath he took stalled in his lungs. He tried again, and then hurried down the ramp.

Smugglers watched him from their cargo bays. Blasters followed him. Two binary load lifters stopped as he went by. Near the droids and the running s.p.a.cecraft, the heat intensified. And this was a relatively open s.p.a.ce. Inside it would be worse.

He slipped through the door and into a narrow corridor. The sunstone walls here were sealed with a coolant cover and the temperature dropped several degrees. Han took the moment to wipe the sweat from his face and to breathe deeply. He also checked his blaster, uncertain how well it would work in the heat.

It checked out fine.

"Plan to use that?" Han looked up. A slender human with golden curls falling past his shoulder sat on a desk built into the wall. He wore mesh pants and no shirt. His chest was covered with tattoos. His hand rested on the desktop. Han couldn't see the man's fingers. They probably covered a blaster.

"Just making sure it worked in case I needed it," Han said.

"That your ship outside?"

"Yeah." Han kept his tone neutral. He wasn't sure if the man was friend or foe yet.

"Awful small for a cargo ship."

"She's a great freighter," Han said.

"Sure," the man said, his tone full of disbelief.

Han made himself take a breath. "You have a problem with my ship?"

"No," the man said. "It's just this bay is usually used for larger ships.

Ancient equipment goes to the other side of Five."

"Well, no one explained the rules to me until now," Han said. "Next time I'll go to the other side." The man lifted his blaster and rested it sideways on his knee. "There won't be a next time, pal, until you tell me your business."

"A friend sent me here to inspect the cargo. He hired my ship to take his stuff off the Run."

"Your friend got a name?" Han lowered his blaster into position as well.

"Seluss. He's a Sull.u.s.tan whose partner disappeared on him, with their ship."

"Heard about that," the man said. He still hadn't moved his blaster. But he hadn't moved his finger near the trigger, either. "Been happening a lot lately."

"Smugglers disappearing?"

"Not coming back." The man shrugged. "Guess they make their killing and get out of the business."

"I thought there was no out of this business," Han said. The man tossed his hair over his shoulder. "Ah, people get out. They retire, they leave.

It's normal. Smugglers just like to be romantic. And they hate to think about getting old. It's just not as much fun as it was when they were young. And now that there's some money flowing, well, who can blame them."

"You don't look that old," Han said. "I'm not retiring, either."

"Then what are you doing here? I've never seen guards on Skip 5 before."

Of course, he'd never been on Skip 5 before, but the man didn't have to know that.

"Never said I was a guard." The man slid off the desk. "Just thought maybe your ship was too close to mine. Wanted to see what you were about before I loaded up."

"Which ship is yours?" Han asked. "The one you parked beneath." Han glanced over his shoulder. He had parked beside the only bulk freighter on the landing pad. The freighter dwarfed the other ships, with its square armored build. The Falcon had slipped right under the freighter's rear hold. "How'd you get that thing into the Run?"

"I didn't," the man said. His tone didn't invite any more questions. Han didn't need to ask any. Jarril was right; the Run was a different place these days. In the past, no smuggler would have stolen another's vessel.

Now, it seemed, that was something to brag about.

Han was happier than ever that he had left Chewie on the Falcon.

"So," he said. "You going to let me through here or not?" The man shrugged. "I never tried to stop you."

"You did a good imitation of it," Han growled, and slipped into the corridor. He was getting rusty. He was so used to Coruscant that he had never once questioned the man's role as guard. Smugglers didn't use guards, unless they were their own. He had to clear his mind, get back into the old habits, the old ways. The new ways might get him killed on the Run.

The corridor wound down in near darkness. The coolant cover also blocked the radiant light of the sunstone. Even so, the air was dry here, unpleasantly so. He missed the sound of dripping water, and he almost missed the stench of Skip 1.

Almost.

His boots sc.r.a.ped along the cover. His hand slipped on his blaster, the sweat on his palms making it difficult to hold anything. Gradually his eyes adjusted. Various-sized footprints messed the sand on the sloping corridor. Below, he heard the sound of large equipment, and the t.i.tter of voices, speaking a language he hadn't heard in a long time. Then the stench drifted up to him, grease, oils, cleaning solvent, and something foul, like a gondar pit.

Jawas.

But it couldn't be. Jawas remained on Tatooine. The only time he knew of Jawas leaving were the ones Luke had encountered on the Eye of Palpatine, and those hadn't left by choice.

Maybe these hadn't either.

Han kept his back to the corridor wall, and moved slowly down the slope.

Bright light illuminated the far wall, and heat rose, making the stench worse.

Down here, the covers were off the sunstone.

He swallowed, licking his lips to keep them moist. He promised himself one quick look, and then he would return to the Falcon. His grip tightened on his blaster. Jawas were not his favorite creatures, even in the best of times.

The sunstone blinded him as he rounded the corner. The heat enveloped him like a lover. He remained in one place until his eyes had a chance to react to the light. Then he crept forward, careful to remain as quiet as he could.

The corridor opened into a large cavern. Its ceiling was several stories high-high enough for the sunstone to mimic the sun - and all the walls from the second story down were coolant-covered. The effect somehow made this cavern, in the center of Skip 5, look like Tatooine.

Parked in the middle of the cavern was a sand crawler. Its wedge-shaped doors were open, and Jawas moved in and out. Their eyes glowed red from beneath their hoods. Their robes were tattered on the bottom, and they kept a continual conversation going as they loaded pieces of stormtrooper uniforms onto the sand crawler. Jawas inside were cleaning the uniforms, and others were repairing droids, making them usable. Buried in the sand were more pieces of stormtrooper uniforms, some blasters, and parts to an Imperial shuttle.

Han forgot his discomfort. He leaned as far forward as he could. He saw shadows of other caverns through the openings, and sand-crawler tracks leading away. After a few moments, a Jawa raised a small hand, gave an order, and the Jawas carried the remaining uniforms on board. They apparently hadn't seen the shuttle pieces. The crawler moved forward on its giant treads, leaving even more tracks. As it rumbled past Han's hiding place, he leaned against the wall so that no one would see him.

As if anyone were looking.

After the Jawas were gone, he crept forward and crouched. The sand was hot, as he had expected it to be. He grabbed a handful, then let it filter through his fingers. He watched the tiny rocks slip away until he saw a bolt in the pile. He shook the sand off the bolt and examined it.

Imperial issue, about twenty-five years old. Usually used on cargo ships.

He tossed the bolt aside and dug through the sand, uncovering more and more pieces of equipment, until below, he found more coolant covers.

The sand had been placed here on purpose.

And so, apparently, had the Imperial equipment.

It made no sense.

He remained hunched for a moment, thinking. There was a clue here, and he had had one earlier. An important clue.

The heat was intense on his back. The rumble of another sand crawler made him look up. In the cavern beyond, a different sand crawler was closing its doors.