Star Wars: Hope Fails

Chapter 7: The Gambler

"You're going to let us dock here because I'll report you for selling boosters with scrambled serial numbers," Han explained through a grin.

"You're full of exhaust, Solo," Breen, the platform concierge, spat back with false bravado. He'd like to smack the cocky right off Han's face. But when Chewbacca snarled from over Han's shoulder a bead of sweat dropped into his eye.

Han raised his arm to restrain the over-protective Wookie. "Easy, Chewie. He's not worth getting blood in your fur." Then Han's grin became a sneer and he leaned close. "Turning you in for all the stolen hyperdrive mods you've sold me would be the kindest thing I could do, Breen. After the week I've had, blasting you isn't far down my list to keep this visit quiet." Han patted his blaster.

Breen looked from Han to Chewbacca then to the Millennium Falcon behind them. They were inside a private VIP hangar of the Casino Corellia where Breen worked as docking bay attendant. He maintained a side business selling parts on the black market off of the ships he 'attended'.

"And Chewie knows every nut and bolt of that ship. So if anything is amiss when I get back I can't guarantee I'll be able to stop him from smashing your face into the deck." Han pointed to the floor and his grin returned. Chewbacca snarled to drive home the sincerity of Han's threat.

Begrudgingly, Breen aquiesced. "Yeah, fine. You just better be back before morning. When my shift's over it won't take long until someone notices that piece of junk among the respectable ships."

Han clapped Breen's shoulder. "Don't sweat it, Breen. I'm on a lucky streak. After a couple quick hands of Sabacc I'll maybe have a generous tip for your trouble." Han side-stepped Breen, offering a mocking salute, and strolled out of the hanger. Chewie leaned forward until his black eyes were level with Breen's. After a tense stare-down, the Wookie followed his partner out.

Breen scowled after them with impotent venom. He began to tremble uncontrollably.

"Graaagh!" Chewie bellowed to Han's back. They walked down a freight corridor with soft jazz playing over the intercom.

"Of course I don't trust him, Chewie," Han shot back over his shoulder. "So you'll stay here to keep your eyes on the Falcon."

Chewie shook his head "no."

"We won't stay long enough for anyone to notice. But both of us together in a casino-full of Imperial boot-lickers could blow our cover quick. So I'll go quietly buy into a ritzy Sabacc game, clean-out a fat-cat CEO or bureaucrat, and then we're out of here with enough money to not only pay Jabba off but tell him off too. And with plenty left over to buy a platform on the Outer Rim and start an honest freight business. No more working for guys who send bounty hunters to shoot you." Han stopped at the door of a freight elevator and tapped the control panel.

"Wroo?" Chewie asked.

"No, we won't register with the Empire. Our biggest business will come from folks who want to trade without Imperial fingers in their pies."

"Raragh!"

Han's head and eyes rolled impatiently. "Chewie, we're pirates. The Empire's always going to be shooting at us." A pleasant-sounding chime announced the arrival of the elevator. Its doors hissed open. "At least they announce their visits; bounty hunters sneak in and kill you while you sleep." He stepped backward into the freight bay. Chewie followed but Han pushed him back.

"No, you stay! I'll be fine." The doors began to re-close and Han stepped back in. Chewie watched him like a sad puppy. "Keep your eyes on the ship! Don't get distracted looking at all the nice ones!" The doors locked, chimed, and Han was gone.