//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: Star Horse: Empire's Sunset 
// by Neal Wolf 
//------------------------------//

"Another day, another credit," thought Mon-Teel Cray, watching through his cockpit window as a collection of Gardulla the Hutt's goons carried the "consumables" he'd just delivered out of the hangar.  He'd taken up smuggling fairly early in life, after an attempted career as an entertainer - he'd picked up the nickname "Parody" from his knack for changing song lyrics - didn't quite pan out.  It was a common enough occupation on Corellia; though born on Alderaan, his parents had relocated when he was still a foal, so he always thought of himself as Corellian.  In fact, he barely batted an eye when the Empire destroyed his place of birth.

Being a Corellian smuggler flying an unregistered YT-1000 freighter did have its drawbacks, largely from countless cases of mistaken identity.  He'd lost track of how many times he'd had to explain... at the business end of a blaster... that he wasn't the infamous Han Solo, even going so far as to point out to one particularly nasty Trandoshan that there wasn't a Wookiee ripping her limbs off at that very moment.  When he was being honest (an admittedly somewhat uncommon occurrence), he had to admit the fact that he'd used that mistake to swipe a few loads intended for Solo probably hadn't helped, nor had it endeared him to the more prominent Corellian and his hairy sidekick.

He was just about to get up and catch a nap when a nearby viewscreen started flashing information about an incoming transmission.  A tap on his instrument panel later, the data was replaced by the smiling face of a chocolate-colored Earth Pony with a black mane.  "Cray, old buddy!" the face greeted.  "How've you been?"

Cray rolled his eyes, barely holding in an annoyed sigh.  "Whatever it is, Calrissian, I didn't do it."

"Not yet," replied the face of Lando Calrissian from the viewscreen, waving a dismissive hoof barely within the image, "but I hope you will; I've got a job offer for you".

Cray thought a moment.  "Tell me the job," he said after a pause, "and I'll tell you whether I'm interested or otherwise occupied".

"It's dirt simple," Lando explained.  "All you have to do is pick up one passenger, a unicorn mare, and take her to a location out near Sullust; she'll have the exact coordinates."

"What's the catch?" asked Cray, arching one eyebrow.

Lando put on a feigned hurt look.  "What makes you think there's a catch?"

"You're offering the job," Cray deadpanned, his expression unchanging, "to me".

After a moment, Lando sighed.  "Okay, your passenger's a Rebel informant, and..."

"Hold it," Cray cut him off.  "You talking about the same Rebels your pal Solo's been in tight with lately?  I smell a set-up."

"I assure you," said Lando, "the chance of you running into Han is virtually nil.  In fact, you pull this off, and I'll talk him into dropping his grudge against you, plus your pay".

"That means there's another catch," Cray said suspiciously.

Lando sighed.  "You'll be picking her up on Coruscant."

Cray's eyes widened in disbelief.  "Solo did put you up to this; you're tryin' to get me KILLED!  How am I supposed to sneak into Coruscant and sneak out with a REBEL?!"

"Jabba the Hutt has Han," Lando told him, silencing any further protests.  "Some friends and I are working on a plan to bust him out, but it's gonna take time; otherwise, I'd go get her myself.  You're the only other pony I know who'd even have a shot."

Cray sighed; being the prisoner of a Hutt was a fate he wouldn't even wish on Solo.  "How much?"

"Five hundred," the relief was clear in Lando's voice, "half when you say yes and half when she checks in with the fleet you're taking her to".

Cray weighed the matter in his mind; sure, there were a few bolt-holes on Coruscant where he could slip in and out without drawing attention, but... "Five hundred credits seems a little low for the amount of risk involved."

"Five hundred thousand credits," Lando corrected, shooting the other Earth Pony's eyes wide enough to encompass three quarters of his face, "out of my own account".

"You got a name for this mare," asked Cray, now far more enthusiastic, "maybe a picture...?"

"Just a set of passwords," Lando told him, shaking his head.  "If a unicorn mare asks you if you've ever been to the cantina in Mos Eisley, reply 'I've been there twice'.  If she comes back with 'The band's okay, but I've heard better', she's your passenger."  Lando's eyes strayed from the screen for a moment, presumably to his own instrument panel.  "I'm sending the first half of the money now; thanks, Cray."