The beggar closes his hand and his eyes clear. “Thanks, bud. That’s Taslo Deville’s place. Into the bar, then up the lift on the right. Six goons went up there this morning – haven’t come down since.”
“Is there another way up?” Han asks.
“Through Zeboron Delta. Used to be a doorway in the back – it connects to a manual stair.”
“Where’s Zeboron Delta?” Sodarra asks.
The beggar points to the rubble pile next door, then lurches to his feet and stumbles into the tavern.
Han and Sodarra carefully pick their way over the rubble pile to the back of the building. True to the beggar’s word, a dark corridor leads into the Zeboron Gamma’s rear sections. The Corellian steps into the foul-smelling hallway and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Something hisses and slithers over his feet.
Sodarra stifles a scream, then steps into the corridor behind Han. A narrow case of moss-covered stairs leads up into the shadows. “That must have been one of the tenants,” Han says.
“I hope not. I am not that brave.”
Han ascends slowly, testing each plank’s strength before he puts his full weight on it. The stairwell smells mustier and more foul with each step upward. Han stops at the fourth door opening out of the stairwell. It is locked.
He and Sodarra ready their blaster rifles, then the smuggler kicks the door open. It swings into a tiny sleeping cubicle. Apparently, the door is not often used, for a sleeping cot has been placed directly against it. The cubicle is two meters wide and three meters long. It contains the sleeping cot, a half-filled garment suspension rack, and a plasteel security chest. A door stands in the opposite end of the cubicle; a grid of razor-wire serves as the ceiling.
Gruff voices drift over the top of the cubicle. They seem unconcerned about the noise of Han’s entrance. He crosses to the door and cracks it open. Two humans and four Gamorreans sit in a lounge area. All wear dark, cheap gray suits and watch a Twi’lek dancer gyrate on a holoconsole in the center of the room. Battleaxes rest against the console next to the Gamorreans; the humans hold blaster pistols in their laps.
More sleeping cubicles stand around the lounds area. Some have numbers, some do not. The door of number 452 has been smashed in.
“Vader’s agent lives in a public dormitory?” Han whispers.
Sodarra shrugs. “Taslo is Togorian. Try to take one of them alive.”
“Easier said than done,” Han mutters. Holding his breath, the pilot pushes the door open a bit further and aims at one of the humans. At that moment a Gamorrean stands, blocking Han’s shot. He looks right at the blaster rifle but does not immediately appear to understand what he sees.
Han holds his fire, hoping for a clear shot. He wants to disable the humans first, since they are probably the bosses of the group. Although Gamorreans are excellent fighters, nobody the smuggler knows considers them tactical geniuses.
“He!” the Gamorrean shouts. “Somebody’s pointing a blaster at -“
Han squeezes the trigger and the porcine creature falls. The others grab their vibroaxes and rush Han’s cubicle. Han throws the door open and yells, “I hope you can shoot, Captain!”
Sodarra responds with a series of quick shots that stalls the Gamorrean charge.