Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare

by A. C. Crispin

  “That is because you are a strong-minded individual, Pilot Draygo,” Veratil said. “Our pilgrims come to us because they are not strong-minded, they are weak, and looking for guidance. And their diets are designed to make them even more … malleable.”

  Teroenza spoke up, “The Exultation is a refinement of a ability we males of the t’landa Til use to attract the females of our species during mating season. We create a frequency resonance within the recipient’s brain that stimulates the pleasure centers. The humming vibration is produced by air flowing over the cilia in our neck pouches when we inflate them. Our females find it irresistible.”

  “We males also have a low-grade empathic projection ability,” Veratil said. “By concentrating on feeling good, we can project those feelings at the crowd of pilgrims. Both effects, taken together, produce the Exultation.”

  “Neat trick!” Han said admiringly. “Is it difficult?”

  “Not at all,” Teroenza said. “What we find difficult is having to lead the pilgrims in those endless services and prayers. At times, I’ve been so bored that I nearly fell asleep, waiting for my turn to lead the devotions.”

  “Last year, one of the Sacredots did fall asleep,” Veratil said, booming with his species’s version of laughter. “Palazidar fell right over. The pilgrims were most upset.”

  Both priests enjoyed the memory. Han laughed, too, but inside he was simmering with anger, thinking of the pilgrims staggering down the path, religious faith and devotion shining in their eyes. This place makes any of Garris Shrike’s scams look like nothing, he thought disgustedly. Someone should shut these greedy vermin down …

  For a moment he wished he could be the one to do it. Then Han reminded himself that sticking one’s neck out for others was a good way to get one’s head and shoulders permanently separated. So why are you doing all this for Bria? his treacherous mind asked sarcastically.

  Because, his heart answered, Bria’s safety has become as important to me as my own. I can’t help it, it’s just the way things are …

  Now that he’d accomplished what he’d come here to do, Han began to think about how to gracefully (metaphorically speaking) extract himself from the mud and the company of the priests.

  He was rescued by the arrival of a Hutt, who came gliding over the mudflat on his repulsorlift sled. A small squad of guards trotted vigorously alongside, panting in the humid heat as they struggled to keep up.

  “Zavval!” Teroenza hailed his Hutt overlord, standing respectfully. Feeling like a fool, Han did likewise.

  This was the Corellian’s first close-up encounter with a Hutt, and he tried not to stare at the creature’s huge, recumbent form, the enormous, pouchy eyes amid the leathery tan skin, and the green slime that oozed from the corners of the being’s mouth. Ugh … they’re even uglier than Teroenza and his crew, Han thought. He reminded himself that Hutts had been civilized for probably longer than his own species—but he still couldn’t quite eliminate the revulsion their appearance caused.

  Or maybe it was just the knowledge that it was the Hutts who’d dreamed up the idea of running a religion on Ylesia as a cheap way to enslave innocent sapients that repulsed him.

  The Hutt leaned toward Teroenza and said in Huttese, “I’ve received a message from home. Jabba and Jiliac deny everything, and we have no proof. The clan council has refused to …” Han couldn’t catch the word, “so we have no other way to …” and he finished with a phrase that Han couldn’t translate.

  “Regrettable,” replied Teroenza in Huttese. “What about my requisition for more troops, armament, and shielding for our ships, Your Excellency?”

  “Approved,” Zavval said. “Should be arriving any day.”

  “Good.”

  Teroenza continued, in Basic, “Zavval, I would like you to meet our brave pilot, Vykk Draygo, who saved our shipment of glitterstim.”

  The huge Hutt chuckled, a “heh, heh, heh” sound that was so deep and resonant that Han could feel it as well as hear it. “Greetings, Pilot Draygo. You have our lasting gratitude.”

  “Thank you, sir …”

  Teroenza waved an undersized arm. “The correct form of address is ‘Your Excellency,’ Pilot Draygo.”

  “Okay, then. Thank you, Your Excellency. I’m honored to be able to serve you.”

  The Hutt chuckled again, and said to Teroenza in Huttese, “A most polite and perceptive young man—for a human. Have you arranged for a bonus? We want to keep him happy.”

  “Yes, I have, Your Excellency,” Teroenza replied.

  Han, of course, did not let on that he’d understood any of the exchanges in Huttese.

  “Good, good,” Zavval said.

  Han stood watching as the alien turned his repulsorlift sled and glided away. Teroenza and Veratil began slogging their way out of the mud with grunts of effort. The High Priest addressed Han in Basic. “His Excellency is pleased with your performance, Pilot. Has the factory foreman informed you as to when the next shipment will be ready for transport?”

  Han, too, was squishing his way toward the bank. “He said at the end of the week, sir. In the meantime, there are two shipments of pilgrims due in at the space station, one tomorrow, one the day after.”

  “Good. We don’t want to be shorthanded in the factories.”

  Once back on the bank, Han scooped up his clothes, then turned east and gestured in the direction of the ocean, a kilometer away. “I think I’ll walk over and rinse off,” he said, “before I get dressed.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Veratil, “we use the mud as a cleansing agent, but it does not cling to our skins the way it appears to cling to yours. Once dry, all we need to do is shake”—he gave a pronounced shudder, and dust rose in clouds—“and it all flakes away, as you can see.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Han said. “But I’ll have to use water to rinse.”

  “Be careful not to go too far into the ocean, Pilot Draygo,” Teroenza cautioned. “Some of the denizens of the Ylesian oceans are quite large, and very hungry.”

  “Yessir,” Han said.

  Holding his clothes and boots away from his red, mud-covered body, Han began picking his way barefoot toward the ocean. He couldn’t see it yet, because of a ridge of sand dunes, but he could smell the warm, brackish water.

  When he reached it a short time later, he cautiously ventured out, knee-deep, and then squatted down to let the pounding surf sluice over him. Again and again the waves washed over the Corellian, rinsing away all trace of the red muck.

  Then Han went over to the sandy shore, found a smooth patch, and stretched out to dry. He felt the dim Ylesian sun beating down on him, drying him, leaving his hair salt-stiffened and tousled. But anything’s better than that mud, he thought drowsily.

  He was almost asleep when Han jerked awake, remembering something he’d forgotten. He got to his feet, walked over to his clothes, then fumbled with his belt pouch. Looking carefully around before he did so, he withdrew the tiny audio-log recording device he’d “borrowed” from the Ylesian Dream and, seeing that it was still running, turned it off with a decisive snap.

  Satisfied that he’d successfully recorded the entire exchange between himself and the Ylesian priests, Han walked back to his spot, lay down on the warm sand, and took a well-deserved nap.

  Han flew many missions for the Ylesians during the next three months. Several times he was able, with Muuurgh’s complicity, to make small “side runs” to hone his piloting skills and to allow Muuurgh to practice with the weaponry. Han successfully landed vessels on airless moons, on ice moons, even on a small asteroid, barely bigger than his ship. He learned to dock with a space station, matching airlocks perfectly on the first try.

  As a result of Han’s run-in with the “pirates,” the Ylesian Hutts increased the weaponry and equipped their ships with better shielding. They also tightened the security surrounding the dates and locations of their shipments, and refused to agree to any more off-planet rendezvous points. Instead, Han was ordered to fly hi
s cargo to a planet and exchange the processed spice for the raw materials planet-side. In a populated area, there was less chance of a double cross that might lead to an ambush.

  Teroenza made it clear to Muuurgh that Vykk Draygo had passed muster as a trustworthy employee, so Muuurgh no longer felt compelled to spend every waking moment with the Corellian. The big Togorian was still bound by his promise to guard the pilot, however, and Muuurgh never forgot that.

  True to his promise, Teroenza interviewed Bria and gave the Corellian woman the job of maintaining and cataloging his collection. Han was able to see her every day he was on Ylesia. Once she began getting better food in the mess hall, and healthy exposure to fresh air and sunlight, that pale, wan, too-thin look vanished, and her eyes grew bright, her step lighter, and her smile came more readily.

  She liked her new job, both because she enjoyed caring for the antiquities and because she felt that serving the High Priest was a sacred honor. Bria continued to attend prayer times every morning and devotions every evening. When Han was on Ylesia, he usually walked her to and from the service.

  Bria was offered a room in the Administration Center, but told Teroenza that she preferred to stay in the pilgrims’ dormitory. Not only did she enjoy the company of her fellow pilgrims at prayer time, but she found she was uneasy at the thought of occupying an apartment in the same building as Vykk Draygo. Bria Tharen was still wary of the Corellian, still unwilling to respond to the feelings he awakened in her. She was a pilgrim, she reminded herself constantly. Her loyalty, her duty, her spiritual self, was reserved for the One and the All.

  Still, there was no doubt that she enjoyed Vykk’s company. He was so alive, so full of energy, so charming and attractive … Bria had never met anyone like him.

  During the hour before evening devotions, when her daily work with the High Priest’s collection was done, Bria developed the habit of searching out Vykk and Muuurgh (they were almost always together) and then the three of them would go to the mess hall for a cup of stim-tea together …

  Bria walked through the jungle, enjoying the small respite from the heat that the lowering sun brought. A breeze was blowing in off the ocean, which was where she was headed. She walked quickly, feeling the skirts of her tan pilgrim’s robe brushing the plants that grew along the edges of the path. Brilliant flowers hung from drooping vines … scarlet, purple, and green-yellow. Their sharp, slightly astringent scent made her nostrils flare as she passed them.

  The Exalted One, Teroenza, had told Bria that she was free to put on regular clothing, in place of her bulky pilgrim garb, pointing out that it would make it easier to tend his collection … but so far the girl clung to her robes, as she clung to her vows.

  The young Corellian woman reached the mudflats and paused to make an obeisance before the mud wallow where two priests lounged. Both ignored her, but Bria was used to that. Priests paid little attention to pilgrims, unless they needed to direct them in their work. That was natural … their minds were on higher things, soaring on spiritual planes that humanoids like Bria could not hope to reach …

  The first time Bria had seen the priests wallowing in the red stinking mud, she’d been shocked. It was unsettling to see them indulging in such a … secular … activity. But over the past three months, ever since she’d come to work for His Exaltedness, Teroenza, Bria had gotten used to seeing them.

  She was glad that she no longer had to work in the darkness of the glitterstim factory. Working in the Administration Building was much nicer. Climate-controlled, with good lighting and the food … the food was much better. It had taken Bria nearly a full month to be able to eat a regular meal. At first she’d been so listless, so drained of energy, she’d just picked at her food, as she’d been doing for months. The medical droid had had to treat her for malnutrition, as well as traces of fungi-induced blood-sickness.

  But now she was fine.

  Things were much better for her, she had to admit, since Vykk had come into her life. If only …

  Bria frowned, and sighed. If only Vykk were a pilgrim, too. Then they could worship together, attend prayer times together, and receive the sacrament of Exultation together. But Vykk … she couldn’t escape the fact that he was an unbeliever, even though he’d never admitted to it. Vykk believed in nothing but himself.

  When they attended devotions together, he would hold her arm or her hand to steady her on the way back to her dorm. The touch of his hand made her question her devotion to the One, the All, and Bria didn’t like that. She wanted nothing to shake her faith or make her question her vows.

  By now she’d reached the sand dunes. As she’d half expected, she heard the sound of a blaster bolt whine and sizzle. “Vykk!” she called, not wanting to sneak up on a man who was doing target practice. “Vykk, it’s me!”

  As she climbed to the top of the dune, the wind grabbed her robes and whipped them about her legs. She had to hold onto her cap, lest it be blown off by the ocean wind.

  Below her, on the beach, she could see Vykk, legs braced in a shooter’s stance, his blaster in its holster, which he wore slung low, far down his thigh. Muuurgh was some distance from the Corellian, holding several black ceramic target pieces. Without warning, the big Togorian flung two of the targets into the air, one high and to his left, the other low and to his right.

  Vykk’s hand was a blur of motion so fast that Bria’s eyes could barely follow it. A blaster bolt shattered first the rightmost, then the left target piece. Tiny droplets of slagged ceramic rained into the restless Ylesian surf.

  Muuurgh yowled his approval. Vykk turned, ready to practice distance shooting at the stationary target they’d set up, then he spotted Bria at the top of the dune. With a wave and grin, he holstered his blaster and loped toward her.

  Bria was struck, as she always was, by how good-looking he was, with his regular features, brown hair and eyes, and lean build. Taken all together, he wasn’t actually a classically handsome man—but any woman who’d ever been on the receiving end of his smile wouldn’t notice that.

  “Hi!” he yelled, running up to her.

  Before Bria could fend him off, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. Breathless, she pushed him away. “No, Vykk. That’s against my vows.”

  “I know,” he said unrepentantly, “but someday, honey, you’re gonna kiss me back.”

  “I wondered if you wanted to go for stim-tea before devotions,” she said.

  “Not today,” he said, suddenly serious, looking down into her face. “There’s something we need to talk about, Bria. I’ve waited until you were … better, because I’m afraid it’s gonna be a shock. But you gotta find out sometime.”

  Bria looked up at him, wondering what was going on. “What are you talking about, Vykk?”

  “Let’s go and sit down,” he said. “Over here, on the beach, okay?”

  He led her over to a smooth spot in the sand, and when Muuurgh came up to see if they were going back, Vykk shook his head. “Give us a little privacy for a while, pal, okay?”

  The Togorian walked away, up the dune. Bria watched as his inky form vanished behind the hill of sand.

  Her heart began to race as Vykk took a small device out of his pocket. “This is the audio-log recorder I pulled out of the Dream’s control panel,” he told her. “I’m going to play a recording I made a couple of months ago, before Teroenza asked you to look after his collection. Just be patient and listen, okay?”

  “I don’t know … I can tell I’m not going to like this,” she muttered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about that recording.”

  “Please,” he said. “For me. Just listen.”

  Bria nodded, her hands twisting in her lap. Suddenly the ocean breeze, instead of seeming pleasant, made her shiver despite the sun dipping toward the west.

  Vykk turned on the recorder. Bria listened to the conference that ensued … heard Vykk greet the priests and heard them invite him to take a mud bath. Bria recognized Exalted Teroenza’s and Sacredot Veratil’s voices talk
ing to the pilot. Mud baths. They were saying how relaxing mud baths were. Bria stirred restlessly, and Vykk held up a warning finger and mouthed, “Wait.”

  She forced herself to sit still, though she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Surely the priests had not known that Vykk was recording their conversation—his actions were worse than eavesdropping, more like outright spying!

  Then—Bria caught her breath in dismay—she heard Veratil and Teroenza laughing and talking about the Exultation—they were saying it was not a Divine Gift, they were saying it had nothing at all to do with the One or the All!

  Bria’s eyes widened, then narrowed in fury, and she shot to her feet. The wind whipped her pilgrim’s cap off, allowing her golden-red curls to spring free, but she paid no attention. She was trembling with anger as she faced Vykk. Seeing her reaction, he shut off the recorder and stood to face her.

  “How could you?” Bria demanded, her voice low and shaking. “I thought you were my friend.”

  He stepped toward her, hands raised placatingly. “Bria, sweetheart, I am your friend. I did it for you … you need to know the truth. I’m sorry you’re—”

  Bria’s hand and arm seemed to move of their own volition, coming up in a roundhouse slap! that connected solidly with his cheek. Vykk staggered back, hand pressed to his face. “You’re lying!” she cried. “Lying! You faked that to make me break my vows! Admit it!”

  He dropped his hand and stood staring at her, and his eyes were full of sadness and pity. Slowly, Vykk shook his head. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said. “Sorrier than I can say. But I didn’t fake it. What you heard is the truth, and gettin’ mad at me won’t change that. Teroenza and his crew don’t have any Divine Gifts. They invented this whole scam just to get factory workers and slaves to sell.”

  The print of her hand was darkening on his cheek, dull red where she’d struck him. Bria could see the marks of her fingers. She fought the impulse to throw herself at him, babbling apologies. How could she have hurt him like that?