The trip to Shador lasts only two days, but it seems an eternity. Now that Sodarra’s charade has ended, the atmosphere is tense and antagonistic in the Falcon’s cramped quarters. A guard watches the smugglers at all times – even while they sleep.
Han’s mood is sullen and rude, even to Chewbacca. He spends the trip alternately cursing himself for trusting Sodarra and silently berating Leia for getting him into this mess. Although Sodarra has hinted that he will release the spacers after Shador, Han harbors no illusions. Like all Imperial officers, the captain is an accomplished liar. As soon as he no longer needs the Falcon’s crew, he will arrest or execute them.
As they drop into normal space, Sodarra steps into the cockpit. “You will be rid of us soon, Captain Solo.”
Han fingers his chronometer. “One way or another,” he mutters. The bomb will explode in ten hours – unless he cancels the countdown. Han hopes he and Chewbacca will be safely on their way to their rendezvous with Leia – even if they are now sure to lose the race.
Shador orbits its white sun at a distance of only a hundred million kilometers. Murky clouds of gray and black swirl over its surface, hiding its pariah population from the gaze of the galaxy’s decent creatures. Where the clouds do not cover the planet, dirty-green seas and yellow-brown continents cast a mottled reflection back toward its star. Shador’s air, Han remembers, stinks so badly that it hurts to breath. It will be a fitting place to dump Darth Vader’s body – but not his own, if he can avoid it.
Three of Shador’s five moons hang in sight. From those moons, an odd assortment of starfighters rushes to meet the Falcon. There are two TIE fighters, an X-wing, and a couple of other craft Han does not recognize. He reaches to an open hailing channel.
The transmitter is already activated! Han pauses long enough to cause Chewbacca to take notice. This time, he does not suspect for even a second that Chewie failed to repair it correctly. The two of them worked the entire communications system over from hardware to software. Someone opened the channel and left it open intentionally! Han says nothing, however, and hails the approaching interceptors.
“Outlaw, outlaw!” This is the free freighter Millenium Falcon requesting sanctuary.”
The escort splits to all sides and approaches the Falcon. “Transmit the code,” orders a coarse voice.
Han calls the outlaw code from the flight computer and transmit it to the X-wing. The response comes a moment later. “Welcome back to Shador, Han. You have the berthing fee this time?”
The smuggler switches off the transmitter and turns to Sodarra. “Do you have a thousand credits?”
Sodarra shakes his head. “I can issue an Imperial voucher.”
“Great.” Han activates the transmitter again. “My passenger’s credit is good.”
“It better be!” the voice snaps. “You know what we do to stiffs.”
Since Captain Sodarra’s contact lives in Fink’s Hole, Han berths the Falcon at nearby Mud Station. The launch stations here lie in concrete-lined, durasteel cones. The cones rest above Shador’s swampy surface on immense pylons.
After berthing the ship, Han takes Sodarra’s voucher chip and meets the port boss, an Altorian bird. He has a large hooked beak, golden eyes, and a feathery skull covering that sweeps away from his face. As the Altorian appraises him, Han feels as though the bird is more interested in eating him than in doing business with him.
As Han feared, the port boss has no interest in an Imperial voucher. They argue up and down bureaucratic channels for hours before the angry avian agrees to accept a blaster rifle as payment.
When he returns to the Falcon, Han finds Sodarra’s humor no better than the Shadorian’s. Vader’s agent has not yet answered the Imperial’s summons. Sodarra orders Han to guide him to the agent’s address, and Han has his second lengthy argument of the day. Sodarra insists upon wearing his uniform into Fink’s Hole while Han remains entirely unarmed. But Shador is not a place to wear unusual uniforms advertising off-world origins – especially Imperial uniforms. And it is most definitely not a place to walk about lightly armed. After convincing Sodarra to remove his uniform and trust his captive with a blaster rifle, Han leads the way out of Mud Station.
Like all of Shador’s burroughs, Fink’s Hole is built upon massive support pylons sunk deep into the planet’s swampy surface. Endless rows of dingy structures rise ten to twelve meters out of the swamp. The bottom floor of each building is dedicated to commerce – gambling dens, houses of ill-repute, weapons shops, and so forth. Prices, where actual numbers appear, are cheap, and a handful of credits would likely assuage just about any need a body could have. In front of each shop, life forms of every type walk, scuttle, or crawl along a narrow walkway.
A green, filmy canal, upon which float all types of shallow-water craft, separates the rows of building. Most of the boats, whether immense freight-hauling broadhorns or zippy passenger bateaus, rely upon hydrogen turbines for propulsion. The jets are mounted atop A-shaped, durasteel superstructures in the aft. The fact that Shadorians still use the ancient drive systems amazes Han. Although as fast and nearly as powerful as repulsor lifts, the hydrogen-turbines have maintenance problems – they occasionally explode. Han guesses that, on the outlaw world, spare parts are easier to acquire for turbines than for repulsor craft.
The sweet smell of rot pervades the sulfury air to such an extent that Sodarra gags. “I didn’t think bad smells bothered Imperials,” Han comments.
An unexpected need to wretch cuts Sodarra’s reply short. Han smiles and hails a public flatboat.
Han, who understands Shador’s layout, works hard for the next hour to keep track of the taxi-boat’s course. Sodarra quickly loses his bearings, and his face shows his frustration. Even to an experienced military officer, Shador’s twisting canals are an impenetrable web of half turns and hairpins. The fact that the driver doubles-back several times to hike the fare only adds to Sodarra’s confusion. When the rusty driver-Droid stops at last, Han pays the fare without objection – it won’t hurt to let Sodarra believe their twisting course had been the most direct.
Han can only assume the flatboat has brought them to the right address, for notne of the buildings are marked. This neighborhood has deteriorated more than most. Many buildings have no coverings over the windows or doorways, and several lie collapsed across the canals. These collapsed buildings create wide dams of debris, although someone has cleared narrow channels to maintain access to the neighborhood.
Han and Sodarra stand in front of a grimy five story building. A foreboding tavern occupies the lowest floor. The building next to the tavern has collapsed. Nothing but a pile of rubble remains. Derelicts of all races litter the walkways up and down the canal.
Han approaches a Twi’lek with an amputated right skull tentacle. The bum smells of cheap liquid intoxicants. “Can you tell me where Zeboron Gamma 452 is?”
The Twi’lek lifts his gaze to Han’s face. His eyes are glassy and un-focused. “Sure can,” he slurs. “And something else, too. How about a credit or three for my trouble?”
Decide how many credits Han should give the Twi’lek.
Click Here