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one.”
    “Really?” Zerba asked, clearly surprised. “You want me?”
    For half a second Han was tempted to go ahead and tell Zerba that he was actually number eight on his particular skill list, just to see how the other would react. But he pushed the thought aside. Zerba probably didn’t have a ship of his own, and Han had no desire to have a depressed Balosar moping around underfoot the whole way back to Wukkar. “Absolutely,” he said instead. “I’ve been working on a few different plans for this thing, and all of them will need sleight of hand, a quick-change artist, or something else in your bag of tricks. So. Interested?”
    “Yes, of course.” Zerba looked furtively around. “Is this job, ah, off-world?”
    Han nodded. “Wukkar, to be exact.”
    “Ah.” Zerba pursed his lips. “The thing is, as I may have implied earlier, I’m lying low at the moment. But that security comes at a bit of a cost.”
    Han rolled his eyes. “Let me guess. Your current employers won’t let you leave.”
    “Let’s just say they like keeping track of me.” Zerba waved a hand over his yellow outfit. “Hence the chicken suit. They take the indentured nature of their performers very seriously.”
    Han looked at Chewbacca, saw his same thought reflected in the Wookiee’s face. They’d already worked their way down to number eight on the list. They really couldn’t afford to work it down any farther. “How much will it take?” he asked.
    “Oh, it’s not a matter of credits,” Zerba said, slipping out of his vest. “But thank you for offering. Here, take this, will you? Any chance you could give me transport? I don’t have a ship of my own.”
    “Sure,” Han said, frowning as he took the vest. It was heavier than it looked. Probably filled to the top of each pocket with Zerba’s magic stuff. “But you just said—”
    “Wonderful,” Zerba interrupted, taking off the multipocket belt that had been concealed under the vest and handing it to Chewbacca. “Let me collect my things and I’ll meet you at the spaceport.”
    Chewbacca rumbled a question.
    “Oh, don’t worry,” Zerba said. “They don’t watch me that closely. And I’ve been prepared for this day for quite a while.” He looked around. “I just need to make sure none of them is right here.…”
    “One other thing,” Han said. “The things you’ll be collecting include that old lightsaber you used to have, right?”
    Zerba’s head snapped back, his eyes darting between Han and Chewbacca. “Wait a minute,” he said suspiciously. “Is that what this is about? All you need is my lightsaber?”
    “No, we need you, too,” Han hastened to assure him. “Besides, if I wanted a real lightsaber, I know another guy who’s got one.”
    “What do you mean, a real lightsaber?” Zerba huffed. “Mine cuts as well as anything else you can find out there.”
    “I mean a lightsaber with a blade longer than this ,” Han said, holding his hands twenty centimeters apart. “Yours is more like a lightdagger. Or a light-breadknife.”
    “Yet it seems to be worth you coming all this way to get it,” Zerba countered. “Why? What do you want with it?”
    “To cut something,” Han said, fighting back his impatience. This wasn’t exactly the right time or place for this conversation. “I don’t know what yet. But there’s always something that needs cutting.”
    For a long moment Zerba stared at him in silence. Han stared back, trying to remember where exactly number nine on their list was at the moment.
    Then, to his relief, Zerba nodded. “Of course,” he said. “And yes, I still have it. Though the blade length’s down to about fifteen centimeters now. I don’t know why it keeps shrinking.”
    “That should be fine,” Han assured him. So Zerba wouldn’t be moping, but he’d probably be paranoid and suspicious the whole way back. Not much of a gain. “You with us or not?”
    “I’m with you,” Zerba said. He glanced around one final