“That makes sixteen, gamblers. Sixteen is the number. Payoff is now five-to-one.” The fan-tan Droid’s head slowly rotates in a complete circle, it’s electronic photoreceptors evaluating each gambler’s facial expression to determine if he, she, or it wants to wager. Gleaming silver and black, the Droid’s absolutely motionless body contrasts oddly with the revolving head, giving Han Solo the unsettling impression that it has broken its neck and failed to notice.
The Droid’s gaze stops at a Togorian female dressed in a tawdry evening gown. Her slip pupils are contracted too much for the dim lighting of the smoky casino, and her bat-like ears poke through her silky hair at uneven angles. She stands wedged between two Altorian lizards that look even worse.
“Place your bet, madame,” the Droid suggests. Servomotors whine quietly as it swivels its trunk section around to face her.
“I’ll buy five sticks and lay another fifty credits on the one,” she purrs.
“But that’s what he wants!” Han snaps.
His protest comes too late. The Droid has already extended an arm and collected the Togorian’s wager. As the Droid resumes its scan of the crowded fan-tan table, a panel in the surface opens. A glass of bubbling red ooze rises through the opening, then glides into place in front of the Togorian. Her empty glass returns and drops out of sight.
“Thanks, sweetie,” the Togorian says to the now inattentive Droid.
“You see?” Hand complains, turing to face Chewbacca. “That’s what I hate about mechanical dealers. No principles.”
“Aaaooorrgh,” comments Chewie.
“Don’t worry,” Han responds. “I’ll double our bet at four-to-one.”
Chewbacca moans.
“Trust me!” Han insists. He turns back to face the table, not feeling as confident as he hopes he looks. Despite Chewbacca’s objections, their stake for this gambling junket was the 20,000 credits they earned for rescuing the Princess Leia from the Death Star. Han hopes to parlay the reward into the 225,000 credits they need to pay off Jabba the Hutt.
So far, Dame Fortune has not smiled on Han. He lost at sabacc, which is his favorite game, and one he always wins. Not easily discouraged, he tried the crack-loo tables and also lost there. He even lost at pitch-and-toss! Down to the last of their credits, Han has decided to try the high-payoff fan-tan table. If he cannon win back their stake at fan-tan, Han figures he might as well take the Millennium Falcon and flee to the other side of the galaxy. His odds are better to win on the first fan-tan draw and turn his luck around, than to escape Jabba’s bounty hunters for long.
The Droid collects the last wager and removes 12 sticks from the quiver hidden in the center of the table. “Twenty-eight is the number, friends. That draw makes twenty-eight. The odds are four-to-one.”
Han counts out three-hundred credits in wagering tokens. While he waits for the Droid’s photoreceptors to focus on his face, something pinches the back of his left leg. He quickly turns around, but Chewbacca is the only creature within two steps of his backside.
An expression of annoyed disbelief on his face, Han looks to the player on his left. There stands a female Khoan; Hangrimaces. Barely as tall as a human, the Khoan weighs perhaps twice as much as a Wookiee. As far as Han can tell, she is typical of her race: a mountain of yellow-skinned blubber with a spiked dorsal fin on her back. Bony protrusions fan away from her face and down her head to form a spiked collar about her throat. Han cannon believe that she finds him more attractive than he finds her – Khoan imagine themselves the fairest of all intergalactic races.
“Eyes off, mugwump,” the Khoan gurgles in her native language.
Han returns his attention to the fan-tan table. The Droid’s gaze has already passed his position. “Hey!” he calls. “What about my bet?”
The Droid does not even stop. “I’m sorry; your face was turned.”
“Look, short-circuit -“
At that, the Droid’s head freezes. Even though a durasteel face cannot change expression, Han would swear the dealer’s features show anger. “You know the rules sir. I cannot backtrack to take a bet. It would be unfair to other players.”
“You skipped me!” Han insists. “Is that fair?”
“Sir, your head was turned -“
“Your programming’s crooked, Droid!” A murmur arises around the table. Han angrily begins collecting his tokens. But his outburst has attracted the attention of a sentient pit-boss. Although unsure of the creature’s origin, Han knows it belongs to the same race as Jabba’s bounty hunter – Greedo, the one he killed back in Mos Eisley. Bulbous, dull faceted eyes look out of the bipedal humanoid’s pea-green face. A ridge of short spines crests its high skull. Its nostrils and mouth hang on the bottom side of a tapir-like snout.
It addresses the Droid through an electronic translator. “Is something wrong here, Geo Onesix?” The Droid explains what has occurred, exaggerating its own efforts to catch Han’s attention only slightly. After listening carefully to the Droid’s explanation, all the while eyeing Han suspiciously, the pit-boss addresses the smuggler. “Would you still care to place your bet sir?” Its mouth twists into an ugly grin revealing a dozen yellowed incisors.
“Yes,” Han answers, resuming his seat. “As long as no one objects.” He pushes his wager forward without waiting for protests. The Droid resumes its duties without further comment and Han breathes a secret sigh of relief. One missed bet would destroy his sure-fire fan-tan system.
Despite his inner satisfaction at winning the argument, Han feels far from pleased. At the moment, he wishes that he had never come to Ord Mantell. Han blames this whole misguided trip on Princess Leia and her affinity for lost causes.
After helping Luke destroy the Death Star, Han foolishly let Leia talk him into assisting the Alliance yet again. At General Dodonna’s orders, all available personnel started searching for Darth Vader’s disabled starfighter a few days after the battle of Yavin. Dodonna had learned that the Empire still believed the Dark Lord to be alive but had not yet recovered him. Anxious to further capitalize on the Rebel victory, Dodonna wanted to capture of destroy Vader before the Imperials rescued him.
So, Han and Chewbacca had spent the past month searching for Vader’s missing starfighter with young Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia. It was a difficult month, and not only because they spent most of it dodging three Star Destroyers – and their full compliments of TIEs, shuttles and auxiliary craft! Although Han and Luke got along well enough, Han’s relationship with Leia perplexed him – at best. She sometimes seemed fond of him, and other times she acted as though he were freshly emerged Shadorian slime-larva.
Han remains as uncertain about his own feelings for Leia. True, she is an attractive young woman with plenty of spirit. But she is also a pretentious aristocrat who forces her beliefs upon those who would be her friends. Han considers having survived a month aboard the Falcon with Leia more of an accomplishment than having avoided the Imperial fleet.
But Han does not think that the others found the trip any more enjoyable. More than once Leia seemed speechless with frustration. She often remained withdrawn for hours after Han voiced an especially cutting put-down. The days of fruitless searching strained even Luke’s school-boy optimism.
Finally, after roving Star Destroyers claimed the bulk of two patrols, General Dodonna called off the search. The Falcon’s crew readily agreed when Han suggested stopping at the gambling world of Ord Mantell for a little recreation. Unfortunately, their leave has so far proven less relaxing than the search for Vader.
A day into their stay, Dodonna ordered Luke to join his wing in the search for a new base site. After seeing Luke off, Han wanted to stop at the Fifteen Moons Casino. Leia, preferring more elegant entertainment, objected angrily. She finally settled the argument by returning to the Falcon alone. Han hopes Leia is having better luck than he – even though he would still have his reward if she had not insisted that he join the Alliance’s search.
The Droid collects the last gambler’s wager, then reaches into the quiver to withdraw the sticks. “Place your final bets, sportsbeings,” it announces. “This is the last wager of the series.” A chorus of groans echoes around the table.
“Your timing’s as rotten as your personality,” Han growls, eyeing the table. He has a difficult choice to make now. He can bet on the one, which is likely to win, but has a small payoff. Or he can bet on the three, a longshot with a large payoff.
If Han bets on the “three,” Click Here.
If Han bets on the “one,” Click Here.