Han strained to see her, though he had the eyes of a newborn.  "Leia!  Where are
we?"
    "Jabba's palace.  I've got to get you out of here quick."
    He sat up shakily.  "Everything's a blur…I'm not going to be much help…"
    She looked at him a long moment, her blinded love—she'd traveled light-years
to find him, risked her life, lost hard-won time needed sorely by the Rebellion, time
she couldn't really afford to throw away on personal quests and private desires…but
she loved him.
    Tears filled her eyes.  "We'll make it," she whispered.
    Impulsively, she embraced him and kissed him again.  He, too, was flooded
with emotion all at once—back from the dead, the beautiful princess filling his arms,
snatching him from the teeth of the void.  He felt overwhelmed.  Unable to move,
even to speak, he held her tightly, his blind eyes closed fast against all the sordid
realities that would come rushing in soon enough.
    Sooner than that, as it happened.  A repulsive squishing sound suddenly became
all too obvious behind them.  Han opened his eyes, but could still see nothing.  Leia
looked up to the alcove beyond, and her gaze turned to an expression of horror.  For
the curtain had been drawn away, and the entire area, floor to ceiling, was composed
of a gallery of the most disgusting miscreants of Jabba's court—gawking, salivating,
wheezing.
    Leia's hand shot up to her mouth.
    "What is it?" Han pressed her.  Something obviously was terribly wrong.  He
stared into his own blackness.
    An obscene cackle rose from the other side of the alcove.  A Huttese cackle.
    Han held his head, closed his eyes again, as if to keep away the inevitable for just
one more moment.  "I know that laugh."
    The curtain on the far side was suddenly drawn open.  There sat Jabba, Ishi Tib,
Bib, Boba, and several guards.  They all laughed, kept laughing, laughed to punish.
    "My, my, what a touching sight," Jabba purred.  "Han, my boy, your taste in
companions has improved, even if your luck has not."
    Even blind, Solo could slide into smooth talk easier than a spice-eater.  "Listen,
Jabba, I was on my way back to pay you when I got a little side-tracked.  Now I
know we've had our differences, but I'm sure we can work this out…"
    This time Jabba genuinely chuckled.  "It's too late for that, Solo.  You may
have been the best smuggler in the business, but now you're Bantha fodder."  He cut
short his smile and gestured to his guards.  "Take him."
    Guards grabbed Leia and Han.  They dragged the Corellian pirate off, while
Leia continued struggling where she was.
    "I will decide how to kill him later," Jabba muttered.
    "I'll pay you triple," Solo called out.  "Jabba, you're throwing away a fortune.
Don't be fool."  Then he was gone.
    From the rank of guards, Lando quickly moved forward, took hold of Leia, and
attempted to lead her away.
    Jabba stopped them.  "Wait!  Bring her to me."
    Lando and Leia halted in mid-stride.  Lando looked tense, uncertain what to do.
It wasn't quite time to move yet.  The odds still weren't just right.  He knew he was
the ace-in-the-hole, and an ace-in-the-hole was something you had to know how to
play to win.
    "I'll be all right," Leia whispered.
    "I'm not so sure," he replied.  But the moment was pasted; there was nothing
else to be done now.  He and Ishi Tib, the Birdlizard, dragged the young princess to
Jabba.
    Threepio, who'd been watching everything from his place behind Jabba, could
watch no more.  He turned away in dread.
    Leia, on the other hand, stood tall before the loathsome monarch.  Her anger ran
high.  With all the galaxy by this petty scumdealer was more outrageous than she
could tolerate.  Still, she kept her voice calm; for she was, in the end, a princess.
"We have powerful friends Jabba.  You will soon regret this…"
    "I'm sure, I'm sure," the old gangster rumbled with glee, "but in the meantime, I
will thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of your company."
    He pulled her eagerly to him until their faces were mere inches apart, her belly
pressed to his oily snake skin.  She thought about killing him outright, then and there.
But she held her ire in check, since the rest of these vermin might have killed her
before she could escape with Han.  Better odds were sure to come later.  So she
swallowed hard and, for the time being, put up with this slimepot as best she could.
    Threepio peeked out momentarily, then immediately withdrew again.  "Oh, no,
I can't watch."
    Foul beast that he was, Jabba poked his fat, dripping tongue out to the princess,
and slopped a beastly kiss squarely on her mouth.

    Han was thrown roughly into the dungeon cell; the door crashed shut behind him.
He fell to the floor in the darkness, then picked himself up and sat against the wall.
After a few moments of pounding the ground with his fist, he quieted down and tried
to organize his thoughts.
    Darkness.  Well, blast it, blind is blind.  No use wishing for moondew on a
meteorite.  Only it was so frustrating, coming out of deep-freeze like that, saved by
the one person who…
    Leia!  The star captain's stomach dropped at the thought of what must be
happening to her now.  If only he knew where he was.  Tentatively he knocked on
the wall behind him.  Solid rock.
    What could he do?  Bargain, maybe.  But what did he have to bargain with?
Dumb question, he thought—when did I ever have to have something before I could
bargain with it?
    What, though?  Money?  Jabba had more than he could ever count.  Pleasures?
Nothing could give Jabba more pleasure than to defile the princess and kill Solo.  No,
things were bad—in fact, it didn't look like they could get much worse.
    Then he heard the growl.  A low, formidable snarl from out of the dense
blackness at the far corner of the cell, the growl of a large and angry beast.
    The hair on Solo's arms stood on end.  Quickly he rose, his back to the wall.
"Looks like I've got company," he muttered.
    The wild creature bellowed out an insane "Groawwwwr!" and raced straight at
Solo, grabbing him ferociously around the chest, lifting him several feet into the air,
squeezing off his breathing.
    Han was totally motionless for several long seconds—he couldn't believe his
ears.  "Chewie, is that you!?"
    The giant Wookiee barked with joy.
    For the second time in an hour, Solo was overcome with happiness; but this was
an entirely different matter.  "All right, all right, wait a second, you're crushing me."
    Chewbacca put his friend down.  Han reached up and scratched his partner's
chest; Chewie cooed like a pup.
    "Okay, what's going on around here, anyway?" Han was instantly back on track.
Here was unbelievably good fortune—here was someone he could make a plan with.
And not only someone, but his most loyal friend in the galaxy.
    Chewie filled him in at length.  "Arh arhaghh shpahrgh rahr aurowwwrahrah
grop rahp rah."
    "Lando's plan?  What is he doing here?"
    Chewie barked extensively.
    Han shook his head.  "Is Luke crazy?  Why'd you listen to him?  That kid
can't even take care of himself, let alone rescue anyone."
    "Rowr ahragh awf ahraroww rowh rohngr grgrff rf rf."
    "A Jedi Knight?  Come on.  I'm out of it for a little while and everybody gets
delusions…"
    Chewbacca growled insistently.
    Han nodded dubiously in the blackness.  "I'll believe it when I see it—" he
commented, walking stoutly into the wall.  "If you'll excuse the expression."

    The iron main gate of Jabba's palace scraped open harshly, oiled only with sand
and time.  Standing outside in the dusty gale, staring into the black cavernous
entranceway, was Luke Skywalker.
    He was clad in the robe of the Jedi Knight—a cassock, really—but bore neither
gun nor lightsaber.  He stood loosely, without bravado, taking a measure of the place
before entering.  He was a man now.  Wiser, like a man—older more from loss than
from years.  Loss of illusions, loss of dependency.  Loss of friends, to war.  Loss
of sleep, to stress.  Loss of laughter.  Loss of his hand.
    But of all his losses, the greatest was that which came from knowledge, and from
the deep recognition that he could never un-know what he knew.  So many things he
wished he'd never learned.  He had aged with the weight of this knowledge.
    Knowledge brought benefits, of course.  He was less impulsive now.
Manhood had given him perspective, a framework in which to fit the events of his
life—that is, a lattice of spatial and time coordinates spanning his existence, back
earliest memories, ahead to a hundred alternative futures.  A lattice of depths, and
conundrums, and interstices, through which Luke could peer at any new event in his
life, peer at it with perspective.  A lattice of shadows and corners, rolling back to the
vanishing point on the horizon of Luke's mind.  And all these shadow boxes that lent
such perspective to things…well, this lattice gave his life a certain darkness.
    Nothing of substance, of course—and in any case, some would have said this
shading gave a depth to his personality, where before it had been thin, without
dimension—though such a suggestion probably would have come from jaded critics,
reflecting a jaded time.  Nonetheless, there was a certain darkness, now.
    There were other advantages to knowledge: rationality, etiquette, choice.
Choice, of them all, was a true double-edged sword; but it did have its advantages.
    Furthermore he was skilled in the craft of the Jedi now, where before he'd been
merely precocious.
    He was more aware now.
    These were all desirable attributes, to be sure; and Luke knew as well as anyone
that all things alive must grow.  Still, it carried a certain sadness, the sum of all this
knowledge.  A certain sense of regret.  But who could afford to be a boy in times
such as these?
    Resolutely, Luke strode into the arching hallway.
    Almost immediately two Gamorreans stepped up, blocking his path.  One spoke
in voice that did not invite debate.  "No chuba!"
    Luke raised his hand and pointed at the guards.  Before either could draw a
weapon, they were both clutching their own throats, choking, gasping.  They fell to
their knees.
    Luke lowered his hand and walked on.  The guards, suddenly able to breathe
again, slumped to the sand-drifted steps.  They didn't follow.
    Around the next corner Luke was met by Bib Fortuna.  Fortuna began speaking
as he approached the young Jedi, but Luke never broke stride, so Bib had to reverse
his direction in mid-sentence and hurry along with Skywalker in order to carry on
conversation.
    "You must be the one called Skywalker.  His Excellency will not see you."
    "I will speak to Jabba, now," Luke spoke evenly, never slowing.  They passed
several more guards at the next crossing, who fell in behind them.
    "The great Jabba is asleep," Bib explained.  "He has instructed me to tell you
there will be no bargains—"
    Luke stopped suddenly, and stared at Bib.  He locked eyes with the major-domo,
raised his hand slightly, took a minutely inward turn.  "You will take me to Jabba,
now."
    Bib paused, tilted his head a fraction.  What were his instructions?  Oh, yes,
now he remembered.  "I will take you to Jabba now."
    He turned and walked down the twisting corridor that led to the throne chamber.
Luke followed him into the gloom.
    "You serve your master well," he whispered in Bib's ear.
    "I serve my master well," Bib nodded with conviction.
    "You are sure to be rewarded," Luke added.
    Bib smiled smugly.  "I am sure to be rewarded."
    As Luke and Bib entered Jabba's court, the level of tumult dropped precipitously
as if Luke's presence had a cooling effect.  Everyone felt a change.
    The lieutenant and the Jedi Knight approached the throne.  Luke saw Leia
seated there, now, by Jabba's belly.  She was chained at the neck and dressed in the
skimpy costume of a dancing girl.  He could feel her pain immediately, from across
the room—but he said nothing, didn't even look at her, shut her anguish completely
out of his mind.  For he needed to focus his attention entirely on Jabba.
    Leia, for her part, sensed this at once.  She closed her mind to Luke, to keep
herself from distracting him; yet at the same time she kept it open, ready to receive
any sliver of information she might need to act.  She felt charged with possibilities.
    Threepio peeked out from behind the throne as Bib walked up.  For the first
time in many days, he scanned his hope program.  "Ah!  At last Master Luke's
come to take me away from all this," he beamed.
    Bib stood proudly before Jabba.  "Master, I present Luke Skywalker, Jedi
Knight."
    "I told you not to admit him," the gangster-slug growled in Huttese.
    "I must be allowed to speak," Luke spoke quietly, though his words were heard
throughout the hall.
    "He must be allowed to speak," Bob concurred thoughtfully.
    Jabba, furious, bashed Bib across the face and sent his reeling to the floor.
"You weak-minded fool!  He's using an old Jedi mind trick!"
    Luke let all the rest of the motley horde that surrounded him melt into the
recesses of his consciousness, to let Jabba fill his mind totally.  "You will bring
Captain Solo and the Wookiee to me."
    Jabba smiled grimly.  "Your mind powers will not work on me, boy.  I am not
affected by your human thought pattern."  Then, as an afterthought: "I was killing
your kind when being a Jedi meant something."
    Luke altered his stance somewhat, internally and externally.  "Nevertheless, I
am taking Captain Solo and his friends.  You can either profit from this…or be
destroyed.  It's your choice, but I warn you not to underestimate my powers."  He
spoke in his own language, which Jabba well understood.
    Jabba laughed the laugh of a lion cautioned by a mouse.
    Threepio, who had been observing this interplay intently, leaned forward to
whisper to Luke: "Master, you're standing—"  A guard abruptly restrained the
concerned droid, though, and pulled him back to his place.
    Jabba cut short his laugh with a scowl.  "There will be no bargain, young Jedi.
I shall enjoy watching you die."
    Luke raised his hand.  A pistol jumped out of the holster of a nearby guard and
landed snugly in the Jedi's palm.  Luke pointed the weapon at Jabba.
    Jabba spat.  "Boscka!"
    The floor suddenly dropped away, sending Luke and his guard crashing into the
pit below.  The trap door immediately closed again.  All the beasts of the court
rushed to the floor-grating and looked down.
    "Luke!" yelled Leia.  She felt part of her self torn away, pulled down into the
pit with him.  She started forward, but was held in check by the manacle around her
throat.  Raucous laughter crowded in from everywhere at once, set her on edge.
She poised to flee.
    A human guard touched her shoulder.  She looked.  It was Lando.
Imperceptibly, he shook his head No.  Imperceptibly, her muscles relaxed.  This
wasn't the right moment, he knew—but it was the right hand.  All the cards were
here, now—Luke, Han, Leia, Chewbacca…and old Wild Card Lando.  He just didn't
want Leia revealing the hand before all the bets were out.  The stakes were just too
high.
    In the pit below, Luke picked himself up off the floor.  He found he was now in
a large cavelike dungeon, the walls formed of craggy boulders pocked with lightless
crevices.  The half-chewed bones of countless animals were strewn over the floor,
smelling of decayed flesh and twisted fear.
    Twenty-five feet above him, in the ceiling, he saw the iron grating through which
Jabba's repugnant courtiers peered.
    The guard beside him suddenly began to scream uncontrollably, as a door in the
side of the cave slowly rumbled open.  With infinite calm, Luke surveyed his
surroundings as he removed his long robe down to his Jedi tunic, to give him more
freedom of movement.  He backed quickly to the wall and crouched there, watching.
    Out of the side passage emerged the giant Rancor.  The size of an elephant, it
was somehow reptilian, somehow as unformed as a nightmare.  Its huge screeching
mouth was asymmetrical in its head, its fangs and claws set all out of proportion.  It
was clearly a mutant, and wild as all unreason.
    The guard picked up the pistol from the dirt where it had fallen and began firing
laser bursts at the hideous monster.  This only made the beast angrier.  It lumbered
toward the guard.
    The guard kept firing.  Ignoring the laser blasts, the beast grabbed the hysterical
guard, popped him into its slavering jaws, and swallowed him in a gulp.  The
audience above cheered, laughed, and threw coins.
    The monster then turned and started for Luke.  But the Jedi Knight leaped eight
meters straight up and grabbed onto the overhead grate.  The crowd began to boo.
Hand over hand, Luke traversed the grating toward the corner of the cave, struggling
to maintain his grip as the audience jeered his efforts.  One hand slipped on the oily
grid, and he dangled precariously over the baying mutant.
    Two jawas ran across the top of the grate.  They mashed Luke's fingers with
their rifle butts; once again, the crowd roared its approval.
    The Rancor pawed at Luke from below, but the Jedi dangled just out of reach.
Suddenly Luke released his hold and dropped directly onto the eye of the howling
monster; he then tumbled to the floor.
    The Rancor screamed in pain and stumbled, swatting its own face to knock away
the agony.  It ran in circles a few times, then spotted Luke again and came at him.
Luke stooped down to pick up the long bone of an earlier victim.  He brandished it
before him.  The gallery above thought this was hilarious and hooted in delight.
    The monster grabbed Luke and brought him up to its salivating mouth.  At the
last moment, though, Luke wedged the bone deep in the Rancor's mouth and jumped
to the floor as the beast began to gag.  The Rancor bellowed and flailed about,
running headlong into a wall.  Several rocks were dislodged, starting an avalanche
that nearly buried Luke, as he crouched deep in a crevice near the floor.  The crowd
clapped in unison.
    Luke tried to clear his mind.  Fear is a great cloud, Ben used to tell him.  It
makes the cold colder and the dark darker; but let it rise and it will dissolve.  So
Luke let it rise past the clamor of the beast above him, and examined ways he might
turn the sad creature's rantings on itself.
    It was not an evil beast, that much was clear.  Had it been purely malicious, its
wickedness could easily have been turned on itself—for pure evil, Ben had said, was
always self-destructive in the end.  But this monster wasn't bad—merely dumb and
mistreated.  Hungry and in pain, it lashed out at whatever came near.  For Luke to
have looked on that as evil would only have been a projection of Luke's own darker
aspects—it would have been false, and it certainly wouldn't have helped him out of
this situation.
    No, he was going to have to keep his mind clear—that was all—and just outwit
the savage brute, to put it out of its misery.
    Most preferable would have been to set it loose in Jabba's court, but that seemed
unlikely.  He considered, next, giving the creature the means to do itself in—to end
its own pain.  Unfortunately, the creature was far too angered to comprehend the
solace of the void.  Luke finally began studying the specific contours of the cave, to
try to come up with a specific plan.
    The Rancor, meanwhile, had knocked the bone from its mouth and, enraged, was
scrabbling through the rubble of fallen rocks, searching for Luke.  Luke, though his
vision was partially obscured by the pile that still sheltered him, could see now past
the monster, to a holding cave beyond—and beyond that, to a utility door.  If only he
could get to it.
    The Rancor knocked away a boulder and spotted Luke recoiling in the crevice.
Voraciously, it reached in to pluck the boy out.  Luke grabbed a large rock and
smashed it down on the creature's finger as hard as he could.  As the Rancor jumped,
howling in pain once more, Luke ran for the holding cave.
    He reached the doorway and ran in.  Before him, a heavy barred gate blocked
the way.  Beyond this gate the Rancor's two keepers sat eating dinner.  They looked
up as Luke entered, then stood and walked toward the gate.
    Luke turned around to see the monster coming angrily after him.  He turned
back to the gate and tried to open it.  The keepers poked at him with their
two-pronged spears, jabbed at him through the bars, laughing and chewing their food,
as the Rancor drew closer to the young Jedi.
    Luke backed against the side wall, as the Rancor reached in the room for him.
Suddenly he saw the restraining-door control panel halfway up the opposite wall.
The Rancor began to enter the holding room, closing for the kill, when all at once
Luke picked up a skull off the floor and hurled it at the panel.
    The panel exploded in a shower of sparks, and the giant iron overhead restraining
door came crashing down on the Rancor's head, crushing it like an axe smashing
through a ripe watermelon.
    Those in the audience above gasped as one, then were silent.  They were all
truly stunned at this bizarre turn of events.  They all looked to Jabba, who was
apoplectic with rage.  Never had he felt such fury.  Leia tried to hide her delight,
but was unable to keep from smiling, and this increased Jabba's anger even further.
Harshly he snapped at his guards:  "Get him out of there.  Bring me Solo and the
Wookiee.  They will all suffer for this outrage."
    In the pit below, Luke stood calmly as several of Jabba's henchmen ran in,
clapped him in bonds, and ushered him out.
    The Rancor keeper wept openly and threw himself down on the body of his dead
pet.  Life would be a lonely proposition for him from that day.

    Han and Chewie were led before the steaming Jabba.  Han still squinted and
stumbled every few feet.  Threepio stood behind the Hutt, unbearable apprehensive.
Jabba kept Leia on a short tether, stroking her hair to try to calm himself.  A constant
murmuring filled the room, as the rabble speculated on what was going to happen to
whom.
    With a flurry, several guards—including Lando Calrissian—dragged Luke in
across the room.  To give them passage, the courtiers parted like an unruly sea.
When Luke, too, was standing before the throne, he nudged Solo with a smile.
"Good to see you again, old buddy."
    Solo's face lit up.  There seemed to be no end to the number of friends he kept
bumping into.  "Luke!  Are you in this mess now, too?"
    "Wouldn't miss it," Skywalker smiled.  For just a moment, he almost felt like a
boy again.
    "Well, how we doing?" Han raised his eyebrows.
    "Same as always," said Luke.
    "Oh-oh," Solo replied under his breath.  He felt one hundred percent relaxed.
Just like old times—but a second later, a bleak thought chilled him.
    "Where's Leia?  Is she…"
    her eyes had been fixed on him from the moment he'd entered the room,
though—guarding his spirit with her own.  When he spoke of her now, she
responded instantly, calling from her place on Jabba's throne.  "I'm all right, but I
don't know how much longer I can hold off your slobbering friend, here."  She was
intentionally cavalier, to put Solo at ease.  Besides, the sight of all her friends there
at once made her feel nearly invincible.  Han, Luke Chewie, Lando—even Threepio
was skulking around somewhere, trying to be forgotten.  Leia almost laughed out
loud, almost punched Jabba in the nose.  She could barely restrain herself.  She
wanted to hug them all.
    Suddenly Jabba shouted; the entire room was immediately silent.  "Talkdroid!"
    Timidly, Threepio stepped forward and with an embarrassed, self-effacing head
gesture, addressed the captives.  "His High Exaltedness, the great Jabba the Hutt, has
decreed that you are to be terminated immediately.
    Solo said loudly, "That's good, I hate long waits…"
    "Your extreme offense against His Majesty," Threepio went on, "demands the
most torturous form of death…"
    "No sense in doing things halfway," Solo cracked.  Jabba could be so pompous,
sometimes, and now with old Goldenrod, there, making his pronouncements…
    No matter what else, Threepio simply hated being interrupted.  He collected
himself, nonetheless, and continued.  "You will be taken to the Dune Sea, where you
will be thrown into the Great Pit of Carkoon—"
    Han shrugged, then turned to Luke.  "That doesn't sound too bad."
    Threepio ignored the interruption.  "…the resting place of the all-powerful
Sarlacc.  In his belly you will find a new definition of pain and suffering, as you
slowly digest for a thousand years."
    "On second thought we could pass on that," Solo reconsidered.  A thousand
years was a bit much.
    Chewie barked his whole-hearted agreement.
    Luke only smiled.  "You should have bargained, Jabba.  This is the last
mistake you'll ever make."  Luke was unable to suppress the satisfaction in his voice.
He found Jabba despicable—a leech of the galaxy, sucking the life from whatever he
touched.  Luke wanted to burn the villain, and so was actually rather glad Jabba had
refused to bargain—for now Luke would get his wish precisely.  Of course, his
primary objective was to free his friends, whom he loved dearly; it was this concern
that guided him now, above all else.  But in the process, to free the universe of this
gangster slug—this was a prospect that tinted Luke's purpose with an ever-so-slightly
dark satisfaction.
    Jabba chortled evilly.  "Take them away."  At last, a bit of pure pleasure on an
otherwise dreary day—feeding the Sarlacc was the only thing he enjoyed as much as
feeding the Rancor.  Poor Rancor.
    A loud cheer rose from the crowd as the prisoners were carried off.  Leia looked
after them with great concern; but when she caught a glimpse of Luke's face she was
stirred to see it still fixed in a broad, genuine smile.  She sighed deeply, to expel her
doubts.

    Jabba's giant antigravity Sail Barge glided slowly over the endless Dune Sea.
Its sand-blasted iron hull creaked in the slight breeze, each puff of wind coughing into
the two huge sails as if even nature suffered some terminal malaise wherever it came
near Jabba.  He was belowdecks, now, with most of his court, hiding the decay of his
spirit from the cleansing sun.
    Alongside the barge, two small skiffs floated in formation—one an escort craft,
bearing six scruffy soldiers; the other, a gun skiff, containing the prisoners: Han,
Chewie, Luke.  They were all in bonds, and surrounded by armed guards—Barada,
two Weequays.  And Lando Calrissian.
    Barada was the no-nonsense sort, and not likely to let anything get out of hand.
He carried a long-gun as if he wanted nothing more than to hear it speak.
    The Weequays were an odd sort.  They were brothers, leathery and bald save
for a tribal top-knot, braided and worn to the side.  No one was certain whether
Weequay was the name of their tribe, or their species; or whether all in their tribe
were brothers, or all were named Weequays.  It was known only that these two were
called by this name, and that they treated all other creatures indifferently.  With each
other they were gentle, even tender; but like Barada, they seemed anxious for the
prisoners to misbehave.
    And Lando, of course, remained silent, ready—waiting for an opportunity.  This
reminded him of the lithium scam he'd run on Pesmenben IV—they'd salted the
dunes there with lithium carbonate, to con this Imperial governor into leasing the
planet.  Lando, posing as a nonunion mine guard, had made the governor lie face
down in the bottom of the boat and throw his bribe overboard when the "union
officials" raided them.  They'd gotten away scot-free on that one; Lando expected
this job would go much the same, except they might have to throw the guards
overboard as well.
    Han kept his ear tuned, for his eyes were still useless.  He spoke with reckless
disregard, to put the guards at ease—to get them used to his talking and moving, so
when the time came for him really to move, they'd be a critical fraction behind his
mark.  And, of course—as always—he spoke just to hear himself speak.
    "I think my sight is getting better," he said, squinting over the sand.  "Instead of
big dark blur, I see a big bright blur."
    "Believe me, you're not missing anything." Luke smiled.  "I grew up here."
    Luke thought of his youth on Tatooine, living on his uncle's farm, cruising in his
souped-up landspeeder with his few friends—sons of other settlers, sitting their own
lonely outposts.  Nothing ever to do here, really, for man or boy, but cruise the
monotonous dunes and try to avoid the peevish Tusken Raiders who guarded the sand
as if it were gold-dust.  Luke knew this place.
    He'd met Obi-wan Kenobi, here—old Ben Kenobi, the hermit who'd lived in the
wilderness since nobody knew when.  The man who'd first shown Luke the way of
the Jedi.
    Luke thought of him now with great love, and great sorrow.  For Ben was, more
than anyone, the agent of Luke's discoveries and losses—and discoveries of losses.
    Ben had taken Luke to Mos Eisley, the pirate city on the western face of Tatooine,
to the cantina where they'd first met Han Solo, and Chewbacca the Wookiee.  Taken
him there after Imperial stormtroopers had murdered Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru,
searching for the fugitive droids, Artoo and Threepio.
    That's how it had all started for Luke, here on Tatooine.  Like a recurring dream
he knew this place; and he had sworn then that he would never return.
    "I grew up here," he repeated softly.
    "And now we're going die here," Solo replied.
    "I wasn't planning on it," Luke shook himself out of his reverie.
    "If this is your big plan, so far I'm not crazy about it."
    "Jabba's palace was too well guarded.  I had to get you out of there.  Just stay
close to Chewie and Lando.  We'll take care of everything."
    "I can hardly wait." Solo had a sinking feeling this grand escape depended on
Luke's thinking he was a Jedi—a questionable premise at best,  considering it was an
extinct brotherhood that had used a Force he didn't really believe in anyway.  A fast
ship and a good blaster are what Han believed in, and he wished he had them now.

    Jabba sat in the main cabin of the Sail Barge, surrounded by his entire retinue.
The party at the palace was simply continuing, in motion—the result being a slightly
wobblier brand of carousing—more in the nature of a prelynching celebration.  So
blood lust and belligerence were testing new levels.
    Threepio was way out of his depth.  At the moment, he was being forced to
translate an argument between Ephant Mon and Ree-Yees, concerning a point of
quark warfare that was marginally beyond him.  Ephant Mon, a bulky upright
pachydermoid with an ugly, betusked snout, was taking (to Threepio's way of
thinking) an untenable position.  However, on his shoulder sat Salacious Crumb, the
insane little reptilian monkey who had the habit of repeating verbatim everything
Ephant said, thereby effectively doubling the weight of Ephant's argument.
    Ephant concluded the oration with a typically bellicose avowal.  "Woossie
jawamba boog!"
    Threepio didn't really want to translate this to Ree-Yees, the three-eyed goat-face
who was already dunk as a spicer, but he did.
    All three eyes dilated in fury.  "Backawa!  Backawa!"  Without further
preamble, he punched Ephant Mon in the snout, sending him flying into a school of
Squid Heads.
    See-Threepio felt this response needed no translation, and took the opportunity to
slip to rear—where he promptly bumped into a small droid serving drinks.  The
drinks spilled everywhere.
    The stubby little droid let out a fluent series of irate beeps, toots, and
whistles—recognizable to Threepio instantly.  He looked down in utter relief.
"Artoo!  What are you doing here?"
    "doooWEEp chWHRrrrree bedzhng."
    "I can see you're serving drinks.  But this place is dangerous.  They're going
to execute Master Luke, and if we're not careful, us too!"
    Artoo whistled—a bit nonchalantly, as far as Threepio was concerned.  "I wish
I had your confidence," he replied glumly.
    Jabba chuckled to see Ephant Mon go down—he loved a good beating.  He
especially loved to see strength crumble, to see the proud fall.
    He tugged, with his swollen fingers, on the chain attached to Princess Leia's
neck.  The more resistance he met with, the more he drooled—until he'd drawn the
struggling, scantily-clad princess close to him once more.
    "Don't stay too far, my lovely.  Soon you will begin to appreciate me."  He
pulled her very near and forced her to drink from his glass.
    Leia opened her mouth and she closed her mind.  It was disgusting, of course;
but there were worse things, and in any case, this wouldn't last.
    The worse things she knew well.  Her standard of comparison was the night
she'd been tortured by Darth Vader.  She had almost broken.  The Dark Lord never
knew how close he'd come to extracting the information he wanted from her, the
location of the Rebel base.  He had captured her just after she'd managed to send
Artoo and Threepio for help—captured her, taken her to the Death Star, injected her
with mind-weakening chemicals…and tortured her.
    Tortured her body first, with his efficient pain-droids.  Needles, pressure points,
fire-knives, electrojabbers.  She'd endured these pains, as she now endured Jabba's
loathsome touch—with a natural, inner strength.
    She slid a few feet away from Jabba, now, as his attention was
distracted—moved to peer out the slats in the louvered windows, to squint through the
dusty sunlight at the skiff on which her rescuers were being carried.
    It was stopping.
    The whole convoy was stopping, in fact, over a huge sand pit.  The Sail Barge
moved to one side of the giant depression, with the escort skiff.  The prisoner's skiff
hovered directly over the pit, though, perhaps twenty feet in the air.
    At the bottom of the deep cone of sand, a repulsive, mucus-lined, pink,
membranous hole puckered, almost unmoving.  The hole was eight feet in diameter,
its perimeter clustered with three rows of inwardly-directed needle-sharp teeth.  Sand
stuck to the mucus that lined the sides of the opening, occasionally sliding into the
black cavity at the center.
    This was the mouth of the Sarlacc.
    An iron plank was extended over the side of the prisoners' skiff.  Two guards
untied Luke's bonds and shoved him gruffly out onto the plank, straight above the
orifice in the sand, now beginning to undulate in peristaltic movement and salivate
with increased mucus secretion as it smelled the meat it was about to receive.
    Jabba moved his party up to the observation deck.
    Luke rubbed his wrists to restore circulation.  The heat shimmering off the
desert warmed his soul—for finally, this would always be his home.  Born and bred
in a Bantha patch.  He saw Leia standing at the rail of the big barge, and winked.
She winked back.
    Jabba motioned Threepio to his side, then mumbled orders to the golden droid.
Threepio stepped up to the comlink.  Jabba raised his arm, and the whole motley
array of intergalactic pirated fell silent.  Threepio's voice arose, amplified by the
loudspeaker.
    "His Excellency hopes you will die honorably," Threepio announced mislaid the
correct program.  Nonetheless, he was a droid, his functions well delineated.
Translation only, no free will please.  He shook his head and continued.  "But
should any of you wish to beg for mercy, Jabba will now listen to your pleas."
    Han stepped forward to give the bloated slime pot his last thoughts, in case all
else failed.  "You tell that slimy piece of worm-ridden filth—"
    Unfortunately, Han was facing into the desert, away from the Sail Barge.
Chewie reached over and turned Solo around, so he was now properly facing the
piece of worm-ridden filth he was addressing.
    Han nodded, without stopping, "—worm-ridden filth he'll get no such pleasure
from us."
    Chewie made a few growly noises of general agreement.
    Luke was ready.  "Jabba, this is your last chance," he shouted.  "Free us or
die."  He shot a quick look to Lando, who moved unobtrusively toward the back of
the skiff.  This was it, Lando figured—they'd just toss the guards overboard and take
off under everyone's nose.
    The monsters on the barge roared with laughter.  Artoo, during this commotion,
rolled silently up the ramp to the side of upper deck.
    Jabba raised his hand, and his minions were quiet.  "I'm sure you're right, my
young Jedi friend," he smiled.  Then he turned his thumb down.  "Put him in."
    The spectators cheered, as Luke was prodded to the edge of the plank by
Weequay.  Luke looked up at Artoo, standing alone by the rail, and flipped the little
droid a jaunty salute.  At that prearranged signal, a flap slid open in Artoo's domed
head, and a projectile shot high into the air and curved in a gentle arc over the desert.
    Luke jumped off the plank; another bloodthirsty cheer went up.  In less than a
second, though, Luke had spun around in freefall, caught the end of the plank with his
fingertips.  The thin metal bent wildly from his weight, paused near to snapping,
then catapulted him up.  In mid-air he did a complete flip and dropped down in the
middle of the plank—the spot he'd just left, only now behind the confused guards.
Casually, he extended his arm to his side, palm up—and suddenly, his lightsaber,
which Artoo had shot sailing toward him, dropped neatly into his open hand.
    With Jedi speed, Luke ignited his sword and attacked the guard at the skiff-edge
of the plank, sending him, screaming, overboard into the twitching mouth of the
Sarlacc.
    The other guards swarmed toward Luke.  Grimly he waded into them,
lightsaber flashing.
    His own lightsaber—not his father's.  He had lost his father's in the duel with
Darth Vader in which he'd lost his hand as well.  Darth Vader, who had told Luke he
was his father.
    But this lightsaber Luke had fashioned himself, in Obi-wan Kenobi's abandoned
hut on the other side of Tatooine—made with the old Master Jedi's tools and parts,
made with love and craft and dire need.  He wielded it now as if it were fused to his
hand; as if it were an extension of his own arm.  This lightsaber, truly, was Luke's.
    He cut through the onslaught like a light dissolving shadow.
    Lando grappled with the helmsman, trying to seize the controls of the skiff.
The helmsman's laser pistol fired, blasting the nearby panel; and the skiff lurched to
the side, throwing another guard into the pit, knocking everyone else into a pile on the
deck.  Luke picked himself up and ran toward the helmsman, lightsaber raised.  The
creature retreated at the overpowering sight, stumbled…and he, too, went over the
edge, into the maw.
    The bewildered guard landed in the soft, sandy slope of the pit and began an
inexorable slide down toward the toothy, viscous opening.  He clawed desperately at
the sand, screaming.  Suddenly a muscled tentacle oozed out of the Sarlacc's mouth,
slithered up the caked sand, coiled tightly around the helmsman's ankle, and pulled
him into the hole with a grotesques slurp.
    All this happened in a matter of seconds.  When he saw what was happening,
Jabba exploded in a rage, and yelled furious commands at those around him.  In a
moment, there was general uproar, with creatures running through every door.  It
was during this directionless confusion that Leia acted.
    She jumped onto Jabba's throne, grabbed the chain, which enslaved her, and
wrapped it around his bulbous throat.  Then she dove off the other side of the
support, pulling the chain violently in her grasp.  The small metal rings buried
themselves in the loose folds of the Hutt's neck, like a garrote.
    With a strength beyond her own strength, she pulled.  He bucked with his huge
torso, nearly breaking her fingers, nearly yanking her arms from their sockets.  He
could get no leverage, his bulk was too unwieldy.  But just his sheer mass was
almost enough to break any mere physical restraint.
    Yet Leia's hold was not merely physical.  She closed of her eyes, closed out the
pain in her hands, focused all of her life-force—and all it was able to channel—into
squeezing the breath from the horrid creature.
    She pulled, she sweated, she visualized the chain digging millimeter by
millimeter deeper into Jabba's windpipe—as Jabba wildly thrashed, frantically twisted
from this least expected of foes.
    With a last gasping effort, Jabba tensed every muscle and lurched forward.  His
reptilian eyes began to bulge from their sockets as the chain tightened; his oily tongue
flopped from his mouth.  His thick tail twitched in spasms of effort, until he finally
lay still—deadweight.
    Leia sat about trying to free herself from the chain at her neck, while outside, the
battle began to rage.
    Boba Fett ignited his rocket pack, leaped into the air, and with a single effort
flew down from the barge to the skiff just as Luke finished freeing Han and Chewie
from their bonds.  Boba aimed his laser gun at Luke, but before he could fire, the
young Jedi spun around, sweeping his lightsword in an arc that sliced the bounty
hunter's gun in half.
    A series of blasts suddenly erupted from the large cannon on the upper deck of
the barge, hitting the skiff broadside, and rocking it forty degrees askew.  Lando
grabbed a broken strut and dangled desperately above the Sarlacc.  This
development was definitely not in his game plan, and he vowed to himself never
again to get involved in a con that he didn't run from start to finish.
    The skiff took another direct hit from the barge's deck gun, throwing Chewie and
Han against the rail.  Wounded, the Wookiee howled in pain.  Luke looked over at
his hairy friend; whereupon Boba Fett, taking advantage of that moment of distraction,
fired a cable from out of his armored sleeve.
    The cable wrapped itself several times around Luke, pinning his arms to his sides,
his sword arm now free only from the wrist down.  He bent his wrist, so the
lightsaber pointed straight up…and then spun toward Boba along the cable.  In a
moment, the lightsaber touched the end of the wire lasso, cutting through it instantly.
Luke shrugged the cable away, just as another blast hit the skiff, knocking Boba
unconscious to the deck.  Unfortunately this explosion also dislodged the strut from
which Lando was hanging, sending him careening into the Sarlacc pit.  Luke was
shaken by the explosion, but unhurt.  Lando hit the sandy slope, shouted for help,
and tried to scramble out.  The loose sand only tumbled him deeper toward the
gaping hole.  Lando closed his eyes and tried to think of all the ways he might give
the Sarlacc a thousand years of indigestion.  He bet himself three to two he could
outlast anybody else in the creature's stomach.  Maybe if he talked that last guard out
of his uniform…
    "Don't move!" Luke screamed, but his attention was immediately diverted by the
incoming second skiff, full of guards firing their weapons.
    It was a Jedi rule-of-thumb, but it took the soldiers in the second skiff by surprise:
when outnumbered, attack.  This drives the force of the enemy in toward himself.
Luke jumped directly into the center of the skiff and immediately began decimating
them in their midst with lightning sweeps of his lightsaber.
    Back in the other boat, Chewie tried to untangle to his feet.  Chewie barked at
him, trying to direct him toward a spear lying loose on the deck.
    Lando screamed, starting to slide closer to the glistening jaws.  He was a
gambling man, but he wouldn't have taken long odds on his chances of escape right
now.
    "Don't move, Lando!" Han called out.  "I'm coming!"  Then, to Chewie:
"Where is it, Chewie?"  He swung his hands frantically over the deck as Chewie
growled directions, guiding Solo's movements.  At last, Han locked onto the spear.
    Boba Fett stumbled up just then, still a little dizzy from the exploding shell.  He
looked over at the other skiff, where Luke was in a pitched battle with six guards.
With one hand Boba steadied himself on the rail; with the other he aimed his weapon
at Luke.
    Chewie barked at Han.
    "Which way?" shouted Solo.  Chewie barked.
    The blinded space pirate swung his long spear in Boba's direction.  Instinctively,
Fett blocked the blow with his forearm; again, he aimed at Luke.  "Get out of my
way, you blind fool," he cursed Solo.
    Chewie barked frantically.  Han swung his spear again, this time in the opposite
direction, landing the hit squarely in the middle of Boba's rocket pack.
    The impact caused the rocket to ignite.  Boba blasted off unexpectedly, shooting
over the second skiff like a missile and ricocheting straight down into the pit.  His
armored body slid quickly past Lando and rolled without pause into the Sarlacc's
mouth.
    "Rrgrrowrrbroo fro bo," Chewie growled.
    "He did?" Solo smiled.  "I wish I could have seen that—"
    A major hit from the barge deck gun flipped the skiff on its side, sending Han
and almost everything else overboard.  His foot caught on the railing, though,
leaving him swinging precariously above the Sarlacc.  The wounded Wookiee
tenaciously held on to the twisted debris astern.
    Luke finished going through his adversaries on the second skiff, assessed the
problem quickly, and leaped across the chasm of sand to the sheer metal side of the
huge barge.  Slowly, he began a hand-over-hand climb up the hull, toward the deck
gun.
    Meanwhile, on the observation deck, Leia had been intermittently struggling to
break the chain, which bound her to the dead gangster, and hiding behind his massive
carcass whenever some guard ran by.  She stretched her full length, now, trying to
retrieve a discarded laser pistol—to no avail.  Fortunately, Artoo at last came to her
rescue, after having first lost his bearings and rolled down the wrong plank.
    He zipped up to her finally, extended a cutting appendage from the side of his
casing, and sliced through her bonds.
    "Thanks, Artoo, good work.  Now let's get out of here."
    They raced for the door.  On the way, they passed Threepio, lying on the floor,
screaming, as a giant, tuberous hulk named Hermi Odle sat on him.  Salacious
Crumb, the reptilian monkey-monster, crouched by Threepio's head, picking out the
golden droid's right eye.
    "No!  No!  Not my eyes!" Threepio screamed.
    Artoo sent a bolt of charge into Hermi Odle's backside, sending him wailing
through a window.  A similar flash blasted Salacious to the ceiling, from which he
didn't come down.  Threepio quickly rose, his eye dangling from a sheaf of wires;
then he and Artoo hurriedly followed Leia out the back door.
    The deck gun blasted the tilting skiff once more, shaking out virtually everything
that remained inside except Chewbacca.  Desperately holding on with his injured
arm, he was stretching over the rail, grasping the ankle of the dangling Solo, who was,
in turn, sightlessly reaching down for the terrified Calrissian.  Lando had managed to
stop his slippage by lying very still.  Now, every time he reached up for Solo's
outstretched arm, the loose sand slid him a fraction closer to the hungry hole.  He
sure hoped Solo wasn't still holding that silly business back on Bespin against him.
    Chewie barked another direction at Han.
    "Yeah, I know, I can see a lot better now—it must be all the blood rushing to my
head."
    "Great," Lando called up.  "Now could you just grow a few inches taller?"
    The deck gunners on the barge were lining up this human chain in their sights for
the coup de grace, when Luke stepped in front of them, laughing like a pirate king.
He lit his lightsaber before they could squeeze off a shot; a moment later they were
smoking corpses.
    A company of guards suddenly rushed up the steps from the lower decks, firing.
One of the blasts shot Luke's lightsaber from his hand.  He ran down the deck, but
was quickly surrounded.  Two of the soldiers manned the deck gun again.  Luke
looked at his hand; the mechanism was exposed—the complex steel-and-circuit
construction that replaced his real hand, which Vader had cut off in their last
encounter.
    He flexed the mechanism; it still worked.
    The deck gunners fired at the skiff below.  It hit to the side of the small boat.
The shock wave almost knocked Chewie loose, but in tipping the boat further, Han
was able to grab onto Lando's wrist.
    "Pull!" Solo yelled at the Wookiee.
    "I'm caught!" screamed Calrissian.  He looked down in panic to see one of the
Sarlacc's tentacles slowly wrap around his ankle.  Talk about a wild card—they kept
changing the rules every five minutes in this game.  Tentacles!  What kind of odds
was anybody gonna give on tentacles?  Very long, he decided with a fatalistic grunt;
long, and sticky.
    The deck gunners realigned their sights for the final kill, but it was all over for
them before they could fire—Leia had commandeered the second deck gun, at the
other end of the ship.  With her first shot she blasted the rigging that stood between
the two deck guns.  With her second shot she wiped out the first deck gun.
    The explosions rocked the great barge, momentarily distracting the five guards
who surrounded Luke.  In that moment he reached out his hand, and the lightsaber,
lying on the deck ten feet away, flew into it.  He leaped straight up as two guards
fired at him—their laser bolts killed each other.  He ignited his blade in the air and,
swinging it as he came down, mortally wounded the others.
    He yelled to Leia across the deck.  "Point it down!"
    She tilted the second deck gun into the deck and nodded to Threepio at the rail.
    Artoo, beside him, beeped wildly.
    "I can't, Artoo!" Threepio cried.  "It's too far to jump…aaahhh!"
    Artoo butted the golden droid over the edge, and then stepped off himself,
tumbling head over wheel's toward the sand.
    Meanwhile, the tug-of-war was continuing between the Sarlacc and Solo, with
Baron Calrissian as the rope and the prize.  Chewbacca held Han's leg, braced
himself on the rail, and succeeded in pulling a laser pistol out of the wreckage with
his other hand.  He aimed the gun toward Lando, then lowered it, barking his
concern.
    "He's right!" Lando called out.  "It's too far!"
    Chewbacca gave it to him.  He took it with one hand, still holding on to Lando
with the other.
    "Now, wait a second, pal," Lando protested, "I thought you were blind."
    "I'm better, trust me," Solo assured him.
    "Do I have a choice?  Hey!  A little higher, please."  He lowered his head.
    Han squinted…pulled the trigger…and scored a direct hit on the tentacle.  The
wormy thing instantly released its grip, slithering back into its own mouth.
    Chewbacca pulled mightily, drawing first Solo back into the boat—and then
Lando.
    Luke, meantime, gathered Leia up in his left arm; with his right he grabbed a
hold of a rope from the rigging of the half blown-down mast, and with his foot kicked
the trigger of the second deck gun—and jumped into the air as the cannon exploded
into the deck.
    The two of them swung on the swaying rope, all the way down to the empty,
hovering escort skiff.  Once there, Luke steered it over to the still-listing prison skiff,
where he helped Chewbacca, Han, and Lando on board.
    The Sail Barge continued exploding behind them.  Half of it was now on fire.
    Luke guided the skiff around beside the barge, where See-Threepio's legs could
be seen sticking straight up out of the sand.  Beside them, Artoo-Detoo's periscope
was the only part of his anatomy visible above the dune.  The skiff stopped just
above them and lowered a large electromagnet from its compartment in the boat's
helm.  With a loud clang, the two droids shot out of the sand and locked to the
magnet's plate.
    "Ow," groaned Threepio.
    "beeeDoo dwEET!" Artoo agreed.
    In a few minutes, they were all in the skiff together, more or less in one piece;
and for the first time, they looked at one another and realized they were all in the skiff
together, more or less in one piece.  There was a great, long moment of hugging,
laughing, crying, and beeping.  Then someone accidentally squeezed Chewbacca's
wounded arm, and he bellowed; and then they all ran about, securing the boat,
checking the perimeters, looking for supplies—and sailing away.
    The great Sail Barge settled slowly in a chain of explosions and violent fires,
and—as the little skiff flew quietly off across the desert—disappeared finally in a
brilliant conflagration that was only partially diminished by the scorching afternoon
light of Tatooine's twin suns.