Pirate's Price Read online

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  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press,

  an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be

  reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher.

  For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press,

  1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-368-04382-3

  Designed by Leigh Zieske & Jason Wojtowicz

  Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Follow the Adventure! Map

  Prologue

  Part One: A Ship to Remember

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Interlude

  Part Two: Hondo and Maz Save the Day

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Second Interlude

  Part Three: Attack of the Porgs!

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  For Arthur

  “Oh, the stories I could tell. So many of them true.”

  —Hondo Ohnaka to Ezra Bridger

  As far as wretched hives of scum and villainy went, Bazine Netal thought that Black Spire Outpost seemed friendlier than most. Certainly, the Trandoshan running the supply company was more than willing to point her in the direction of her quarry. He didn’t even ask her why she was looking for the Weequay. He just sold out his neighbor for a few credits.

  She moved through the crowded streets. Although she looked striking in her black leather skull cap and Rishi eel ink–tipped fingers, no one paid her any attention. The locals were used to all manner of beings coming and going. Still, Bazine knew better than to turn her back on any of them. Especially not when she was so close to her goal.

  She had been a long time getting there.

  After being led on a chase across the galaxy, she had tracked the Millennium Falcon to the planet Batuu and its infamous port—Black Spire Outpost.

  Glancing above the roofline of the buildings, Bazine could see how the place found its name. Rising above the shops and dwellings were the petrified trunks of what were once giant trees that had dominated the skies of that world. Now their blackened remains stood as silent sentinels on the outskirts of the town.

  The outpost was not an easy place to find unless you knew about it first. It was located where the Unknown Regions met Wild Space, a stopover for smugglers and those of less savory occupations—a place for rogues and opportunists, con artists, thieves…and of course, pirates.

  So it made a sort of sense that her target would be there. After all, the infamous Hondo Ohnaka had been all those things and more.

  Bazine’s intelligence had told her that the notorious Weequay scoundrel was there on Batuu, where he was running a shipping operation called Ohnaka Transport Solutions. Doubtless it was a thin front for a smuggling operation. But it didn’t matter to Bazine what it was. She wasn’t interested in his services—just his ships…or rather, one of them in particular.

  One very special ship.

  She found the old pirate in a busy cantina where a repurposed RX-series pilot droid was playing upbeat music to an audience that mostly ignored it. But there was Hondo. He was sitting at a corner table playing sabacc with a nervous-looking Ithorian, a furry Yarkora, and a grinning Suerton.

  Surprisingly, the Weequay didn’t even have his back to the wall. If she had gone there to kill him, he would already be dead. Fortunate for him, then, that she wasn’t planning to. At least she wouldn’t unless she had to. And that remained to be seen.

  Still, the way he had his back to half the room struck Bazine as unnecessarily careless and ridiculously trusting. It certainly spoke to his legendary overconfidence. In fact, Hondo wasn’t so much sitting in his chair as sprawling in it, a drink in one hand and three sabacc cards in the other. He wasn’t playing it close to the vest, either, but swinging his sabacc cards in time with the music. As she approached him from one side, Bazine could easily glance at his hand. He had a two, a three, and the face card known as a sylop, sometimes called the idiot. He was grinning like one, too, although, judging from the pile of credit chips on the table, it looked as though the Suerton was the one who was winning the most.

  “My friends,” said Hondo, his voice ringing out with a happy lilt that was almost musical, “I cannot tell you how much it pains me to take all of your credits today. But you make it too easy. And as my sweet mother used to say, if you’re going to bet, bet big.”

  He tossed an impressive handful of credit chips onto the growing pile in the center and waited for the others to ante up.

  “You’re bluffing,” growled the Ithorian from one of his twin mouths.

  “I never bluff,” Hondo replied. Then, after a slight pause, he added, “Except maybe for those occasions when I do. But this is not one of them”—another pause—“as far as you know. Which is not very far.”

  “So you are bluffing?” asked the Ithorian, confused.

  “How can you be sure? I could be bluffing about bluffing,” said Hondo. “Hmmm…or bluffing about that.”

  “Bah,” growled the Ithorian from both mouths at once. But then the Yarkora spotted Bazine. He gave a little start, and it amused her to wonder which of his two stomachs had done a flip.

  “What is it?” said Hondo. “Have I got something on my face? I mean besides my so very attractive frills?” He brushed the backs of his fingers across the barbs that grew from his jowls. They had gotten longer as he had gotten older. Perhaps he thought they made him look distinguished. But then he caught sight of the newcomer out of the corner of his eye.

  “Oh, we have company, don’t we?” Hondo said. He swung his legs around and turned in his chair to face her. “Well, well, won’t you join us for a game…Bazine Netal?”

  She couldn’t help cocking an eyebrow at that.

  “You were expecting me?” Bazine asked.

  “You or someone like you,” said Hondo. “I figured someone would show up eventually.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Then you know I’m looking for—”

  “Not here, not here.” Hondo waved a hand dismissively. He stood, scooping up his remaining credit chips and depositing them in a pocket of his jacket.

  “Hey!” objected the Suerton. “Play your hand first.”

  “Bah,” said Hondo. “I smell bigger profits than these. Just count yourself lucky I did not take all of your money today.”

  Despite the Suerton’s face being split in a perpetual grin, Bazine didn’t think he looked happy about this.

  “You were bluffing, weren’t you? You would have lost the hand,” he growled, but Hondo was already rising.

  “I suppose we will never know, my friends.”

  “He was bluffing,” said Bazine. “I saw his cards.”

  Hondo coughed in embarrassment.

  “What? Nonsense. Never. But, my dear, may I suggest we move to another table, where we can talk without this riffraff overhearing?” He gestured to indicate his companions.

  “Riffraff?” barked the Ithorian, and the Suerton frowned. But the Yarkora rose when they did. Bazine thought something passed between Hondo and the furry
little alien, a nod perhaps. But then Hondo strode toward a table at the far side of the room, and she hurried to keep up in case he was making a run for it.

  He didn’t seem to be.

  “You were playing with a Suerton,” observed Bazine.

  “So?” said Hondo. “I play with everybody who has credits to risk.”

  “You do know that some Suertons have the ability to subconsciously affect probability?” she asked.

  Hondo stopped in his tracks.

  “What? No,” he said, scowling. “I thought he was just lucky. Oh, well, that explains some things. Live and learn, they say. So, can I get you a drink?” He gestured to a bizarre array of taps that lined two opposite walls of the room. Bazine noticed that the tap handles were all handmade, each one unique. Obviously, they’d been scavenged from different objects over the years, from droid arms to what she thought might be an antique lightsaber handle. But then Hondo was talking again.

  “I can recommend the Fuzzy Tauntaun,” he said.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  “Are you sure? I have a wonderful relationship with the owner, Oga Garra. She puts all of my drinks on my tab. And then I tear up my tab. It’s such a good arrangement. At least for me. I am not sure how she feels about it. But you can feel free to order what you like. Cost is literally no object.”

  Bazine frowned. “I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

  Hondo held a hand to his chest as though he were deeply offended by that.

  “I’m shocked. Shocked at your misunderstanding,” he said. “Surely, you must know that business is pleasure.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do, and I am an expert on these things, but here we are.”

  Hondo had led her to a table in a far corner of the room. This time, the pirate did place his back to the wall, forcing Bazine to sit with hers to the crowd. The move was intended to put her at a disadvantage. It didn’t. Bazine could handle herself anywhere, and she’d been in plenty of establishments rougher than this cantina. Plus, there was a certain confidence that came from wearing thermal detonators in your shoes.

  She leaned across the table and stared into the goggles over the Weequay’s eyes.

  “I’m looking for a ship,” she said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Hondo, smiling. “Straight and to the point. I like that about you. And Ohnaka Transport Solutions stands ready to serve you. We have plenty of ships. I’m sure we can provide any solution you might need for…well, for transport obviously.”

  “I didn’t come here in need of a smuggler,” she said.

  “Smuggler!” Hondo waggled his fingers in the air and made a face like he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Why, the very word is an affront. No, I am merely an honest dishonest businessman making his way in a harsh galaxy the only way I know. The way my mother taught me. Not a simple sleemo smuggler scum.”

  “Let me clarify,” said Bazine. “We both know that I’m not here for your services. I don’t need anything transported, smuggled or not.”

  “No,” said Hondo. “No, you are here for something greater. Let us stop pretending. You are here for that most amazing treasure. A real wonder in a galaxy full of wonders. You, my friend, are after the Millennium Falcon.”

  Bazine was genuinely surprised.

  “How did you know?”

  Hondo shrugged.

  “Word gets around when one searches as much as you have done. And I am always interested in news when it carries with it the potential for profit.”

  “So do you have it?”

  “Who wants to know? I assume you are not looking for it for yourself. You have an employer, do you not?”

  “That’s my business. It’s not your concern.”

  Hondo held up a finger.

  “Ut-ut-ut…It is my concern, insofar as this: can whoever is paying you pay me? More to the point, can they pay me a lot?”

  Bazine nodded. It wasn’t her credits, after all.

  Hondo’s smile showed all his teeth.

  “Good, good,” he said happily. “Then we have something to talk about. Now supposing I have the Falcon or I know where it is, we must talk about a fair price for such a famous ship.”

  Bazine started to speak, but Hondo cut her off.

  “No, no. Not so hasty,” he said. “You must understand, the Millennium Falcon is not a prize easily won—it is no ordinary ship, and if there is a chance that I will part with it, you must first understand what this means to me to say good-bye. You must know its value to me personally before I can name my asking price. To do that, you must know something of my own history with this legendary vessel. Are you sure you won’t have that drink? The Fuzzy Tauntaun? Or maybe a Carbon Freeze? No? Well, then, settle back and prepare to be wowed as the great Hondo Ohnaka tells you a story. I remember it like it was many years ago. Because it was. Ah, yes, the first time that I ever saw the Millennium Falcon. A ship so fabulous I knew right away that I had no choice but to try to steal it for myself.”

  Bazine raised a painted eyebrow at this. But she settled in as Hondo had suggested. After all her travels, it looked like she was going for another ride.

  The day started out like so many others.

  I woke up in a strange spacecraft. I was alone in the cockpit. The control console was smoking and sparking. Crackle, crackle, fizzle, spark!

  Oh, and it seemed that two Imperial TIE fighters were shooting at me.

  Keeooo-keeooo!

  It was all very exciting.

  How did I get there?

  I had only the vaguest memory. I recalled something about a party, excitement and dancing.

  Oh, yes, and a strange drink called Sarlacc Juice. In hindsight, I don’t recommend it.

  Oh, and I think there was an Imperial garrison commander.

  He was the one doing the dancing.

  Because I asked him to.

  By “asked,” you understand, I mean I was firing blaster bolts at his feet. And he was hopping about so as not to get shot in the foot. It was so amusing, for me at least. But perhaps he was not having as much fun.

  Ah.

  So that explained why the Imperial TIE fighters were shooting at me.

  Well, there is always a price for a good time.

  And this was another good time.

  But all good times must end.

  And the strange ship didn’t look like it was going to last much longer, not with the smoking and the sparking and the shooting—keeooo-keeooo!—and everything coming apart around me.

  So I looked for a place to land.

  There was a planet up ahead.

  The navicomputer said it was Galagolos V. Do you know it? It is one of those swampy, stinky planets.

  Not much to look at and you have to be careful where you put your feet. But beggars cannot be choosy when their ships are on fire, I always say.

  So I set down.

  I went careening through the atmosphere, black smoke billowing behind me. It must have really been quite a sight.

  And do you know, it was a perfect three-point landing.

  By that I mean, I hit three separate points before I finally came to rest.

  What was left of the ship skidded to a stop right in an empty docking bay. At least I think it was empty. There were some bang-crash-crunch-crunch noises at the end before I stopped moving.

  I hopped out quickly. The service droids were getting excitable.

  “Sir, sir, you can’t dock here,” they said, rushing up to me and waving their metal arms about.

  I tossed them a handful of what might be credit chips. Or maybe just pieces of the control console.

  “Keep the change,” I said.

  Then I rushed through the doors before they could stop me, and I was in the spaceport proper. I hoped to quickly lose myself in the crowd. Oh, it was a busy place for such a stinky, swampy planet. That was good. But the air was all sweaty and wet. Sticky, sticky. Nothing like the dry heat of my beloved Florrum. It was no matter. I didn’t plan to
stick around for long.

  But to get off that stinky ball, I would need a new ship. That was, of course, merely a momentary setback for a great pirate such as myself. And there I was lucky enough to have crashed in a spaceport. Opportunities abounded for the unscrupulous and the bold. And I am both of those things.

  I began to look around.

  So many people. And I did not know any of them. The day was alive with possibility. I had a feeling that something was bound to happen.

  And it wasn’t long before something did.

  You see, as I walked through the crowded streets of the Galagolos spaceport, I heard a shout of alarm. It was coming from an alleyway.

  There was a young woman, human as far as I could tell. What did she look like? Like any human. She was about so tall. With hair.

  I saw that she was being menaced by two nasty-nosed Cloddograns.

  “Go away and leave me alone,” she said, and though she might have been afraid, her voice was strong and determined. Of course, that was none of my concern. It is a rough galaxy after all, and we all must learn to take care of ourselves. Which is what my sweet mother said before she threw me out the first time.

  So away I walked.

  But as I continued on, I noticed the unwelcome presence of stormtroopers. The bucketheads were moving around the spaceport. They seemed to be asking questions, talking to the locals. And I, Hondo, was getting funny looks—and fingers pointing in my general direction. Were the stormtroopers looking for me? Well, I did arrive in a ship shot down by TIE fighters. It was just possible that the two things might be somehow related.

  I needed some way to appear less conspicuous. The bucketheads were probably looking for a lone Weequay who matched my description. Well, I could not change my looks. But perhaps I could do something about that “lone” part.

  An idea occurred to me.

  So I turned and headed back to the alley where I had seen the woman. She was still struggling with the Cloddograns. In fact, a fight had broken out. I had to admire the way she was holding her own, even when it was two against one. And when fighting Cloddograns, the odds are even worse than usual, because they have twice as many arms!

  “Hold it right there, you ruffians!” I yelled, reaching for my blaster.