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Jabba loved to talk, and Han Solo— one of the Hutt’s many, many smugglers, wanting to stay in the slug’s good graces, listened— although he wasn’t exactly the listening type. If it were not for the occidental free viewing of pod-races with the best view in the open arena the smuggler would consider having to listen to the Hutt talk for hours on end the worst part of his job. Although being at Jabba’s side did make him feel special, even if he knew it would take one mistake for the Hutt to turn on him completely.
For now, the worst part was the weather on the planet the Hutt decided to make his home. Han unfortunately always had to return here to do dealings with the Hutt, and there were usually smaller jobs in town the kept him and Chewie around.
It was always the most inhospitable planets that offered the best jobs, for some reason.
Standing here under the twin suns Han was sweltering hot— even underneath the canopy of the Boonta Eve open arena’s best viewing spot. The wind offered little comfort from the temperature, and the company wasn’t great either, even if it was marginally better then the weather.
Today it appeared Jabba wanted to tell him of one of the other Hutt’s many misfortunes.
“Gardulla once had a human who raced in these, ended up winning one of them.” Jabba spoke to him in the guttural tones of huttese. “Although she lost him before he ever started racing.”
The hutt gave out a harsh laugh at that last part.
Misfortune of others always seemed to make him laugh— especially that belonging to what had once been his competitor on this dustball of a planet. Gardulla’s time as the hutt with influence over Tatooine had ended long ago.
Han had heard this old tale before— of a human winning a pod race— it’s quite the common one on Tatooine. Certainly he did not believe in it, he’s not as dumb as some people would like to think he is. Humans weren’t made for pod-racing, he knew that, and people loved to tell impossible stories of grandeur. Hutts were no exception. They were more likely to tell stories like this than anything else.
“She was always upset at that, her most valuable slave lost in a bet and gone forever, before she knew his real value.”
“Well, what was their slave number then anyways, might get lucky one day and find him again someday.” Han said to the hutt in basic, humoring him.
If that human was real however— despite how impossible that would be— Han could see himself making a tough choice.
He wasn’t exactly a fan of slavery, but he knew what his line of work was— even if he only ever smuggled spice and criminals and weapons, never live cargo, he still worked with slavers. It would be stupid of him not to know the types that pay the best in the less than legal type of work often owned others, and at the end of the day Han needed that money to get by more then he needed to follow his moral code. Chewie understood that too, begrudgingly.
Han had a pretty good idea of why the wookie never came with him to deal with the Hutt, it wasn’t just about the weather, it was the company. Even if he never said it.
Moral codes and smugglers never really mixed too well.
If the opportunity ever came— even if he wasn’t that particular mythical human the stories told of— bringing a missing slave Jabba saw as valuable to him could put Han in his good graces forever— and it would also get him a nice hefty sum. One big enough that he and Chewie wouldn’t have to break their backs for a good long while after. He’d just have to convince the Wookie that capturing one singular human was worth it. Maybe the Wookiee would agree to it because the slave was human.
“Ha,” Jabba gave what Han assumed to be a fake laugh— it was too short and hollow sounding to be anything else, “He is only known by a first name. I doubt a smuggler like you would be able to find and catch the pod-racer. It’s slave implant hasn’t been picked up in the system since before you were conceived.”
Great way of saying the kid never existed to begin with. Han thought. Well, at least Jabba wasn’t doubting his abilities on something that mattered and actually existed then. Valuable slaves don’t just go missing one day without a trace— especially ones that more than one hutt had their eyes on. Hutts don’t lose a valuable slave’s number, and those slaves certainly don’t go running wild across the galaxy without ever being picked up on by any tracking system.
Again, Han wasn’t stupid.
He did not believe in fairytales or made up stories of impossible feats and people disappearing into thin air.
“You never know.” Han replied with a slight shrug, making conversation more so than actually being interested in this story he was now quite sure was made up. There wouldn’t be enough information to try and find the kid even if he was real once upon a time. “Humor me.”
“We called him Anakin.”