Hondo Bado proves easy to find. The bartender knows the address – or rather, the artificial memory knows the address. And like all good smuggling suppliers, Hondo is always available – especially at night.
Han and Chewbacca sit across an expensive natural wood desk from the ample Sullustan. His mouse-like ears twitch nervously as he talks, and his immense round eyes never leave Han’s face.
“Yes, I outfitted a ‘free-freighter’ recently, but it wasn’t for this Alfreda Goot. My client was a male human; his interest ran more to cargo capacity and stealth than speed. He said he intended to ply his trade on the rim worlds, where the Empire won’t harass him. Does that answer your questions?”
Han nods. “I’ll look you up sometime,” he says. “But right now, I’ve got to catch someone else.”
“It would be a pleasure to serve the Millenium Falcon.”