Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (18 page)

“I told my chief that, and I’m glad to have my impression confirmed. Nice talking to you, Pilot Draygo. Enjoy your stay on Alderaan.”

The man’s strides came faster and longer, then, and he walked away from Han, up the street.

The Corellian forced himself to keep walking slowly, forced himself not to glance behind him. They were there, no doubt, shadowing him. The game was over, and he was busted. Scowling, Han shook his head, half in disgust, half in admiration. Those security operatives must be good. He’d had no idea they’d been tailing him.

Obviously, the man’s “talk” had been a not-so-veiled warning to stop trying to sell his cargo. He’d have to take it back to Ylesia. There weren’t any other planets close enough to reach so he could make the sale.

He checked the time, discovered he just had time to get out to check on Muuurgh before he’d have to call back to Ylesia. Han’s strides came faster as he headed for the nearest public transport station.

The University medical facility where the Togorian had been taken was attached to the University of Alderaan campus. Han swung down from the repulsorlift public transport
and stood looking around for a moment.
Nice
 … he thought,
real nice
 … For a moment he wondered if the Academy would look anything like this.
Probably not
, he concluded.
It’s a military establishment. It’ll look more like a base, I’ll bet … but this … this is real classy …

Green and blue lawns stretched across the central quadrangle. Flower beds made bright splashes of color and surrounded the huge central fountain. At the center of the fountain was a massive sculpture carved from living ice of a young Alderaanian man and woman standing with linked hands, reaching for the skies.
Hey, that’s got to be worth a barrel of credits
, Han thought, eyeing the sculpture and realizing it must be a priceless work of art.

Definitely a classy joint
, Han decided as he walked past the huge fountain and continued up the impressive white-stone stairs to the medical facility.

The info-droid at the front desk gave him the number of the Togorian’s room. Han hurried down the corridors, then, outside, paused to speak to the medical droid. “Your friend sustained a severe blow to the cranium,” the droid said. “It would probably have killed a humanoid. Fortunately, Togorians have very dense bone matter, and so he is relatively uninjured. We have been quick-healing him since he came here, and he should be ready to leave by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks,” Han said, opening the door and going in.

Muuurgh lay curled on a large, round pallet. The Togorian was covered with tiny sensor units that reported on his condition. As Han entered, the blue eyes opened. Muuurgh raised himself partly up. “Pilot!”

“Hey, how’re you doing, pal?” Han was surprised to feel a huge wash of relief when he saw the Togorian conscious and lucid again. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so fond of the big felinoid. “They treating you all right?”

“Pilot …” Muuurgh seemed utterly amazed to find Han here.

“You look surprised to see me,” Han said. That was a
huge understatement. Muuurgh didn’t look surprised—he looked flabbergasted.

“Muuurgh is …” The big alien shook his furry head a little dizzily. “I mean, I am. I never thought I would see you again.”

Han drew himself up. “Why not? Did you think I’d just dump you here and swipe the cargo?”

“Yes,” replied Muuurgh simply.

“Well, I’m here, ain’t I? If it wasn’t for me hauling us into Alderaanian space by the skin of our noses, you’d be dead meat by now. I suggest you remember that, pal. You owe me.”

Muuurgh nodded dazedly. “Yes, Pilot … I owe you.”

Han scowled at him and sat down on the edge of the pallet. “And skip that ‘pilot’ formality. I’m Vykk from now on, okay?”

Muuurgh put out a paw, laid it gently over Han’s arm, the huge clawed fingers with their now-retracted claws dwarfing the human’s limb. “Okay, Vykk …”

   After Han left Muuurgh to the tender ministrations of the medical droids, he went back to the
Dream
and called Ylesia. Teroenza was not available, so he asked to speak to Veratil. When the Ylesian’s horned, bloated visage appeared on the screen, Han gave him an abbreviated account of their adventures, promising to start back to Ylesia the following day. Veratil, in his turn, promised to arrange payment for the ship repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.

When he’d finished with his call, Han found that he was hungry, so after checking his small hoard of credits, he headed over to a combination tavern and eatery on the campus of the University of Alderaan. It was set into a secluded courtyard, and a rainbow-colored fountain sent showers of crystal drops into the air before the entrance.

Han pulled the door open and went in.

The tavern was filled with fashionably dressed young people … talking, laughing, drinking, and eating. Han hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but his natural
bravado came to his rescue.
I’m just as good as they are
, he thought defiantly, following the serving droid to a small table. Despite his brave front, the young Corellian was uncomfortably conscious of the way his sweat-stained coverall and battered jacket contrasted with the elegant, trendy garb of the students who chattered and laughed at the tables.

Once seated, Han ordered an Alderaanian ale. Studying the menu, he noticed that the place featured “nerf cubes and tubers in wine sauce” for a special. It was a little pricey, but he ordered it anyway, knowing that nerf was said to be a delicacy. The stew came with a plate of flatbread, which made him think of Pilgrim 921.
Wish she were here
, he thought.
It’d be nice to have someone to talk to
 … Dipping a square of flatbread into the dish, he tasted, chewed, then smiled.
This is really good!
It had been a long, long time since he’d had really good food … denizens of
Trader’s Luck
frequently existed on space rations during their voyages. The only times Han had really eaten well was when he’d been playing his part in one of Garris Shrike’s scams. He remembered one barbecue he’d gone to on Corellia. Traladon ribs with special sauce …

But even barbecued traladon ribs couldn’t equal nerf, he decided. Hungrily, Han dug into his meal. When he was about halfway through, a pretty girl with long, curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes walked up onto the tiny stage, carrying a mandoviol. Seating herself on a stool, she began to strum it, then, a moment later, her voice rang out, clear and true, in what was evidently a traditional Alderaanian ballad.

It was the usual stuff, about a girl who lost her lover to the lure of the space lanes, and how she waited but he never came home—but the singer’s voice was so pure, so unaffected, that she lent the clichéd words true emotion and dignity.

When she’d finished, Han, along with the other patrons, clapped enthusiastically. The girl sang another song, then stepped down off the stage and walked straight toward Han. For a moment he thought—hoped!—that she was
coming over to sit with him, but no such luck. She slid into a seat at the next table.

Since the tavern was evidently a popular hangout, the tables were crowded close together; the girl wound up sitting within arm’s length of Han. The other person at the table was a round-faced young man a year or two older than the pilot.
Probably her boyfriend
, Han thought, covertly eyeing the young man. He had light brown hair and pale, hazel-green eyes. Unlike the girl, who wore a simple, ankle-length blue dress and sandals, her escort was a tribute to modern fashion.

His purple tunic was belted with a wide, orange belt that clashed with his knee-high red boots. His yellow britches clung to his legs like a second skin. Han, in his worn, gray coverall, felt like a house-warbler next to a paradise bird.

As the singer shook back her hair and smiled triumphantly, Han managed to catch her eye. He mimed clapping, and she grinned and bowed. “You were great!” he told her.

“Thank you!” she said. “That was the first time I’ve gotten up my nerve to sing in front of a crowd!” The girl was flushed, breathless, and very charming. Han smiled back at her.
I wouldn’t mind spending the evening—and the night—with her …

Aloud, he said, “We’re a very lucky audience, then. Witnessing the beginning of a great career.”

“Thank you!” She held out her hand. “I’m Aryn Dro, and this is Bornan Thul.”

Han took her hand and, instead of shaking it, bowed over it, as though she were Corellian nobility. His lips didn’t touch the back of her hand, but he came close enough so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I’m honored, Aryn,” he said. “Vykk Draygo.”

When he released her hand and turned to greet her escort, Han could tell the young man was irked, and making no effort to hide it. “Greetings …” Han said, since he wasn’t sure what honorific, if any, was proper on Alderaan.

“Greetings,” Thul said. “Aryn, you were magnificent.
Would you care to go somewhere else to celebrate your triumph?”

Can’t stand competition
 … Han thought, smothering a mischievous grin. He, too, had seen Aryn’s blue eyes light up when he’d introduced himself.

“Listen, I won’t intrude,” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the singer. “I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed your singing. But I won’t take up any more of your time.”

Thul looked as though he’d have liked to say “Good!” but didn’t quite dare.

Aryn shook her head and put a reassuring hand on Han’s arm. “Oh, no! Of course you’re not intruding … Vykk.” She eyed his coverall. “I was going to ask you if you went to school here, but you don’t, do you?”

Han shook his head. “No, I’m only here for tonight. Flew in this morning for repairs. Got in a fight with some pirates and damaged my ship.”

The wide blue eyes grew even wider. “Flew? Pirates? Are you a star pilot?”

Han shrugged modestly. “Yeah.”

Bornan Thul was getting hot under the collar, the Corellian noted.
Doesn’t like the idea of his girl talking to a working-class guy like me, the stuck-up so-and-so … well, tough, brother Bornan …

“Oh, my …” Aryn breathed. “That’s so … exciting. Real pirates? What happened?”

Han shrugged again. “Came out of hyperspace, and they were on me quicker than stink on a Skeeg. Two of ’em. Blasted one, but between them, they damaged my hyperdrive. So I came on to Alderaan for repairs.”

“You blasted one?” Bornan demanded sharply, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “With what?”

“With an Arakyd missile, pal,” Han said evenly. “I blew his butt into little bitty pieces.”

Aryn shivered, half with excitement, half with distress. “That sounds … really scary.”

Han took a swallow of ale. “All in a day’s work,” he said, deliberately laconic.

By this time Bornan had had just about enough. His face reddened, and he grabbed Aryn’s arm. “Sweetheart, let’s go. I’m taking you out to the best place in town. If you’ll excuse us … Pilot Draygo.”

The girl hesitated for long moment.
I could get her
, Han thought.
I know I could. That’d really stick in this upper-class jerk’s craw, too, to have me walk out of here with his girl …

For a moment Han was tempted, then he made himself relax and relinquish the contest. He sensed that Aryn was a really
nice
girl, someone who didn’t deserve to be treated like a gaming piece so he could score points off her snotty boyfriend. One of the reasons he found her attractive, Han realized, was that she reminded him a little of 921, with her wide blue eyes and sweet smile.

Besides
, he thought,
those security guys are probably still tailing me. Old Bornan here might just be man enough to pick a fight, and if they’re still around, that could get messy …

So Han stood, respectfully, and gave Aryn a formal bow. “Been a real pleasure,” he said. “Enjoy your celebration.”

“Thank you …” she said, and gave him a last, quick smile before she allowed Bornan to lead her out.

Han sat back down to his cooling food, reflecting that this incident had reminded him of just how much he detested stuck-up rich people. He’d encountered lots of them on Corellia, while working Shrike’s scams, and the fact that most of them weren’t worth a blaster bolt to blow them to atoms was the only thing that had made him able to act his part during the swindles.

By the time Han returned to the
Ylesian Dream
, and the tiny bunk that had been installed in part of the cargo area for him, he was slightly the worse for the Alderaanian ale. Thoughts of 921 kept running through his mind, and he cursed aloud in the silence, wishing he could
stop
thinking about her. Han had never before encountered a woman that he’d spent time thinking about when she wasn’t with him …

The knowledge that 921 had wormed her way that deep
into his mind unsettled Han, made him uncomfortable.
She’s just a girl, Solo. You don’t even know her blasted name. Quit mooning around like this. You going soft in the head or something?

Han flung himself down on his bunk and groaned aloud, remembering the events of the day.
What a world
, he thought muzzily.
So goody-goody that a guy can’t even sell a perfectly good cargo of spice …

   The trip back to Ylesia was uneventful. Han piloted the
Dream
down through the clouds without a single mishap, and hardly even shook the ship as he did it. Even Muuurgh, who was still nursing a headache, couldn’t complain. It was becoming second nature to Han to see, analyze, and avoid the paths of the planet’s massive storm systems.

The moment the ship was down on the landing pad, Han’s communicator came to life, summoning him to meet with Teroenza immediately. Han had been expecting this. He sent Muuurgh off to the infirmary to get some treatment for his headache, and walked up to the Administration Building alone.

This time he was met by Ganar Tos and escorted into the High Priest’s inner sanctum, where he’d been before. Teroenza was resting in a most unusual piece of furniture—a sort of sling or hammock that allowed the High Priest to lean back on his massive haunches and take his weight off his back legs. His thick forelegs were supported by a movable padded leg rest that could swing in and out to allow him to get into the contraption.