Star Wars - Han Solo and the Lost Legacy by Brian Daley

remained clipped to Han’s gunbelt throughout the night’s action.
    They were damp, bedraggled, and miserable. Han’s hair was plastered flat against his skull, as was Hasti’s. Drops fell from Skynx’s matted wool, and Chewbacca’s pelt had started exuding the peculiar odor of a wet Wookiee. Han reached out and patted his friend’s head in a gesture of consolation, wishing there were something he could do for Bollux and Max. The two automata, abiding patiently, were worried that their moisture-proofing would fail.
    “You haven’t got a prayer of pulling this off, Solo,” the girl finished.
    He swiped a damp strand of hair off his forehead. “Then don’t come along. There’ll be another ship through here any year now.”
    A man in a shabby cloak appeared, splashing through the puddles, bearing a bundle on his shoulder. Han, his blaster’s scope set for night shooting, identified Badure. The old man crouched with them under the tarp. Having acquired a cloakfrom an alley-sleeper, he had contrived to buy four more. Han and Hasti found that two fit them passably well and even Bollux could don one stiffly, unaccustomed as he was to the extraordinary feel of clothing. But the biggest cloak Badure had brought could barely contain Chewbacca; though its hood managed to cover his face from casual observation, his shaggy arms and legs stuck out.
    “Maybe we could wrap him in bunting, like mittens and leggings,” Badure suggested, then turned to Skynx. “I didn’t forget you, my dear Professor.” With a flourish he produced a shoulder bag, which he held open invitingly.
    Skynx shrank back, antennae wobbling in dismay. “Surely you can’t mean.… This is unacceptable!”
    “Just until we’re out of town,” Han coaxed.
    “Um, about that, son,” Badure said, “maybe we should lie low awhile instead.”
    “Do what you feel like; this could be a bad hike. But they’re probably tearing the
Falcon
apart at that mining camp.”
    “Then what’s the point in going?” Hasti remonstrated. “It’s a couple of hundred kilometers. Your ship’ll be in pieces.”
    “
Then I’ll put her back together again!
” he near-hollered, then calmed. “Besides, how did J’uoch and company show up so fast, unless she’s got contacts here? We’d be sitting targets, not even to mention the average citizen’s dislike of offworlders. We could end up bunking in the local slams.”
    Badure looked resigned. “Then it’s the Heel-and-Toe Express for us.”
    The rain was letting up, the sky lightening. Han studied the chart readout he had picked up. It turned out to contain a complete survey map of the planet, dated but in exacting detail. “At least we had the good luck to get this.”
    Hasti sniffed. “You spacers and mariners and aviators are all alike: no religion, but plenty of superstition. Always ready to invoke luck.”
    To forestall another verbal skirmish, Badure jumped in.“The first thing is to get across the lake; there are no connections south on this side. No air service anywhere, but there’s some ground transport over there somewhere. The only way across is a ferry service run by the natives, the Swimmers. They’re jealous of their territory and they charge a fee.”
    Han wasn’t sure he wanted to be transported by one of the sauropteroids, the Swimming People of Dellalt. “We could hike around the lake,” he proposed.
    “It would take us five or six extra days unless we could negotiate a vehicle or get our hands on some riding animals.”
    “Let’s check the ferry. What about food and equipment?”
    Badure looked askance. “What about lovely ladies and hot food? There’ll be settlements along the way; we’ll have to improvise.” He blew his breath out, and it crystallized.
    “Are you coming or staying?” Han asked Hasti.
    She gave him a scalding glare. “Why bother asking? You’ll lean on people until there’s no choice left.”
    The moderately safe and comfortable adventure envisioned by