Luke and Ben were securing Artoo Detoo in the back of the speeder while Threepio

kept a lookout for any additional troops.

"If Solo's ship is as fast as his boasting, we should be all right," the old man

observed with satisfaction.

"But two thousand-and fifteen more when we reach Alderaan!"

"It's not the fifteen that worries me; it's the first two," Kenobi explained. "I'm

afraid you'll have to sell your speeder."

Luke let his gaze rove over the landspeeder, but the thrill it had once given him

was gone-gone along with other things best not dwelt on.

"It's all right," he assured Kenobi listlessly. "I don't think I'll need it again."

From their vantage point in another booth, Solo and Chewbacca watched as the

Imperials strode through the bar. Two of them gave the Corellian a lingering glance.

Chewbacca growled once and the two soldiers hurried their pace somewhat.

Solo grinned sardonically, turning to his partner. "Chewie, this charter could

save our necks. Seventeen thousand!" he shook his head in amazement. "Those

two must really be desperate. I wonder what they're wanted for. But I agreed, no

questions. They're paying enough for it. Let's get going-the Falcon won't check

itself out."

"Going somewhere, Solo?"

the Corellian couldn't identify the voice, coming as it did through an electronic

translator. But there was no problem recognizing the speaker or the gun it held stuck

in Solo's side.

The creature was roughly man-sized and bipedal, but its head was something out

of delirium by way of an upset stomach. It had huge, dull-faceted eyes, bulbous on a

pea-green face. A ridge of short spines crested the high skull, while nostrils and

mouth were contained in a tapir-like snout.

"As a matter of fact," Solo replied slowly, "I was just on my way to see your

boss. You can tell Jabba I've got the money I owe him."

"That's what you said yesterday-and last week-and the week prior to that.

It's too late, Solo. I'm not going back to Jabba with another one of your stories."

"But I've really got the money this time!" Solo protested.

"Fine. I'll take it now, please."

Solo sat down slowly. Jabba's minions were apt to be cursed with nervous

trigger fingers. The alien took the seat across from him, the muzzle of the ugly little

pistol never straying from Solo's chest.

"I haven't got it here with me. Tell Jabba-"

"It's too late, I think. Jabba would rather have your ship."

"Over my dead body," Solo said unamiably.

The alien was not impressed. "If you insist. Will you come outside with me,

or must I finish it here?"

"I don't think they'd like another killing in here," Solo pointed out.

Something which might have been a laugh came from the creature's translator.

"They'd hardly notice. Get up, Solo. I've been looking forward to this for a long

time. You've embarrassed me in front of Jabba with your pious excuses for the last

time."

"I think you're right."

Light and noise filled the little corner of the cantina, and when it had faded, all

that remained of the unctuous alien was a smoking, slimy spot on the stone floor.

Solo brought his hand and the smoking weapon it held out from beneath the table,

drawing bemused stares from several of the cantina's patrons and clucking sounds

from its more knowledgeable ones. They had known the creature had committed its

fatal mistake in allowing Solo the chance to get his hands under cover.

"It'll take a lot more than the likes of you to finish me off. Jabba the Hut

always did skimp when it came to hiring his hands.
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