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

by A. C. Crispin

“I didn’t wound him that bad,” Han said. “I’ll bet even now he’s on his way to the infirmary and the medical droid.”

  As he flew, he kept an eye on the map. “Oh, and by the way, there’s something I’d better tell you two.”

  “What?” asked Bria and Muuurgh together.

  “My name’s not Vykk Draygo. My real name is Han Solo. It’d be good if you started calling me that.”

  “Han?” Bria said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I was afraid if I did, you might slip and give me away to Teroenza or one of his goons,” Han said matter-of-factly. “But I wanted you to know, so I told you as soon as I could.”

  “Vykk was an alias?”

  “Yeah. One of several, actually.”

  “Muuurgh will have to get used to this,” the Togorian said. “How close are we now … Han?”

  “We should be there in less than five minutes,” Han replied.

  “How are we going to do this?” Bria asked. “I mean, there will be guards there, too.”

  “I don’t know,” Han said. “But I’ll think of something.”

  He concentrated on his piloting, and then, when they reached Colony Two, he flew the Talisman over the camp from south to north, skimming low over the treetops. “You said the pilgrims were supposed to assemble at the Altar, right?” Han asked Muuurgh.

  “Yesssss.”

  “Okay, then, I wonder if we’ll have enough room to do what I’m thinkin’ about …” he muttered, peering at the viewscreen that showed the actual area, and also at the schematic that showed the topographical features and camp buildings. Colony Two was over the Mountains of Faith from Colony One, set on the northeastern edge of the Zoma Gawanga, the shallow ocean that enclosed the entire eastern continent.

  “I think we can do it,” he muttered. “I just hope the repulsorlifts on this baby are in prime working condition. We’ll need to hover and lower a wire. I don’t think I’ll have room to actually land. Muuurgh, go back to the middle airlock and see if there’s a wire we can let down. I think most of these ships are equipped with emergency gear, and a wire and hoist should be part of it.”

  Muuurgh disappeared, and Han concentrated on flying a slow circuit of the Colony. Bria peered out the viewscreen. “I see them!” she said excitedly. “There’s a big crowd assembling at the Altar!”

  “Good,” Han said abstractedly.

  Muuurgh reappeared. “Yes, we have a wire. There is a harness that can be attached to it.”

  “Okay, pal. Here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to bring this crate down over the amphitheater, real slow. Then I’m gonna set her to hover on her repulsorlifts. Mrrov has no reason to know who we are, so she’s gonna have to get a look at you in order to run over to the ship, right?”

  “Yesssss.”

  “You’re gonna have to go down in the harness and let Mrrov see you. Bria, you control the wire, okay?”

  “All right … Han,” she said.

  “Both of you stay sharp. There may be shooting. The ship’s deflectors should protect us against small-arms, but once you’re outside, that won’t count, Muuurgh.”

  “I understand.”

  “If the guards get too aggressive, I can give ’em a burst from the ship’s light laser cannon,” Han said. “I’ll aim over their heads, so I won’t hit the pilgrims, but that should make the point.”

  “Muuurgh is ready, Han.”

  “Okay. Here goes.”

  Carefully Han brought the Talisman in over the amphitheater, wishing he’d had more time to get used to the “feel” of these controls. He circled the amphitheater, belly holocams on, so he could get a good look at the layout. Han was conscious of all the pilgrims looking up and pointing, as he dropped lower and lower with each pass. Finally, he was close enough to engage the repulsorlifts and hover, about twelve or thirteen meters above the permacrete.

  Han could see several priests and a bevy of guards behind the milling crowd of pilgrims. He knew the Sacredots must be wondering why the High Priest’s personal yacht was being used to ferry pilgrims to the Kessel slave ship.

  “That’s as low as I can get and hover safely!” Han yelled. “Lower Muuurgh!”

  He kept a finger poised over the controls that would lower the light laser cannon, but he didn’t want to make an aggressive move first. Han could hear Bria and Muuurgh talking, their voices muffled by distance. He glanced over at the belly holocam screen just in time to see Muuurgh descending, his blaster still holstered.

  The cam didn’t provide audio, but he watched as Muuurgh’s mouth opened, and knew he must be calling to Mrrov.

  Guards milled, still uncertain, but clearly uneasy. This whole scenario was highly irregular, and they were getting suspicious. One of the guards shoved his way through the crowd of pilgrims. When the human guard reached the forefront of the crowd, he had his blaster drawn and was clearly calling to Muuurgh to identify himself and state what he was doing.

  “Bria,” Han yelled, turning his head, careful not to jostle the controls on the hovering vessel, “stand by! Looks like they’re gonna—”

  Two things happened simultaneously: a tall figure in a pilgrim’s robe suddenly broke and raced toward Muuurgh’s dangling figure—and the guard aimed his blaster.

  Han had only a glimpse of orange stripes on white fur and knew the running figure must be Mrrov. He saw a spurt of blaster fire from the guard’s weapon, and it was answered twice in rapid succession, by Bria and Muuurgh.

  Two more guards drew their weapons and fired. The crowd of pilgrims panicked and scattered, trampling each other and the guards.

  Han lowered the light laser cannon, grateful for the pirate attacks that had made Teroenza decide to beef up the ship’s shielding and weapons capability. He fired a burst, careful to aim over the heads of the running, screaming crowd.

  More fire from the guards—and Han heard a faint yowl of pain! Checking the screen, he saw Muuurgh sag in his harness, clutching his side, though he still gripped his weapon. Mrrov reached him a second later and leaped tc wrap her arms and legs around her mate, anchoring her tc him.

  Bria was firing steadily now, and Han saw a Gamorrean go down. The wire was ascending now, revolving slowly with its off-balance load. Mrrov grabbed Muuurgh’s blaster out of his lax hand and fired over his shoulder. Han couldn’t see whether she hit her target.

  Han saw that most of the pilgrims had scattered, and only guards and priests remained near the Altar. Many of the guards had scattered in the crowd, but a few were still there, still firing. Han targeted the Altar of Promises, made sure his aim had pinpoint accuracy, and fired the laser cannon again.

  The Altar went up with a boom Han could hear from inside the Talisman. Dust spurted up, and bits of stone rained down. The priests scattered, galloping away. Har was surprised by how fast and maneuverable their huge four-footed bodies were. The guards had vanished.

  Quiet suddenly reigned. Seconds ticked by, but outside nothing was stirring. A few bodies, both guards and pilgrims, lay motionless where they’d been trampled in the panic.

  From the nether regions of the ship, he heard Bria’s voice. “I’ve got them! Let’s go!”

  Han checked that the bay doors were safely closed, then took the Talisman up in a rush. The belly holocams showed a dizzying view of the amphitheater receding into the distance. Han flicked them off as he circled, checking the weather in relation to his closest escape vector.

  Ironically, he’d have to angle back toward Colony One for the best “window” off Ylesia. Han gunned the Talisman and took her south and up … up …

  We’re almost there, he thought with a rush of excitement. Almost free …

  Muuurgh repressed a moan as his shoulder banged against the side of the Talisman. He felt Bria’s hands on him, then he heard Mrrov’s voice say, in Basic: “Help me up. I can lift him.”

  He clung to the harness with his good hand and felt Mrrov’s body brush against his as she was pulled into the hovering Talisman. The wou
nd in his side was the fire-stab of a night-demon’s talons. It was all he could do to breathe and make no sound. He was a hunter, and hunters knew how to be quiet.

  The blaster shots had stopped. Muuurgh opened his eyes as the harness revolved slowly and saw that the Altar of Promises had been blown apart. Perhaps that had been the loud explosion he’d heard. At the time he’d thought it was inside his head.

  The blaster wound was throbbing now, in waves. Muuurgh struggled to stay conscious as Bria and Mrrov grabbed his arms and hauled him, still in the harness, into the Talisman. Dimly, he was aware of the cargo airlock being sealed behind him.

  Then he heard Bria’s voice call out: “I’ve got them! Let’s go!”

  Muuurgh lay on the deck, breathing shallowly, but a little of his strength was returning. He could hear Mrrov talking to Bria. “Is there a medic kit aboard?”

  “I’ll check!” With a rustle, the human was gone, leaving him alone with Mrrov. With an effort, Muuurgh opened his eyes.

  When she saw him looking up at her, Mrrov leaned over and lovingly rubbed his cheek with her own, exchanging scent, “My hunter,” she murmured in their own language, licking his face tenderly. “You tracked me. You are the greatest hunter our people have ever known!”

  “Mrrov …” Muuurgh managed to whisper.

  “Quiet,” she said. “Don’t try to talk. Your wound is serious, though I believe it will heal, in time. Oh, Muuurgh! When I saw you come down from the belly of this ship, I could not believe that it was you! For all these days and weeks, I have wondered whether you would ever find me—and you did!”

  “You knew I was here?” Muuurgh was confused. “If you knew, then why—”

  Her lovely, orange-striped features were troubled as she gave him another cheek rub. Her whiskers entangled with his own, and Muuurgh sighed with pleasure, despite his pain.

  “I had only been here a short while, when I realized that this entire place was a sham. I was searching for truths, but there are only lies, here. So I told the priests I wanted to leave. They showed me your picture, Muuurgh! They told me if I tried to leave, they would kill you!”

  “So you stayed? You should have torn their throats out!” Muuurgh protested.

  “At the cost of your life?” She shook her head, her eyes large and vividly golden. “No, my mate-to-be. I dared not take the chance. I only hoped that someday you would find me, and that you would have a ship. And … that day has finally come.”

  Muuurgh nodded weakly. “Thanks to … Vykk … Han …”

  Bria came running back into the cargo compartment. “I found it!”

  Moments later Muuurgh’s pain was ebbing, and Mrrov and Bria were bandaging the wound in his side. “You’re going to have an awful scar, Muuurgh,” Bria said, sounding dismayed.

  “Hunters show their scars proudly, on Togoria,” Mrrov said. “Muuurgh will heal, and he will have a scar everyone will envy.”

  Suddenly the ship shuddered. Bria shouted, “Han! What was that?”

  “Someone’s shooting at us!” he yelled from the bridge. “Someone get up here and man the weapons station! I need Muuurgh!”

  Muuurgh struggled to get up. “No,” Mrrov said. “I will do it. Among my people, females have the technical expertise. I am an engineer. I will do it.”

  Muuurgh opened his eyes, saw Bria’s doubtful expression, and said, “Believe her. Muuurgh was not a very good shot, anyway. Ask Pilot …”

  He closed his eyes, feeling blackness waiting behind the lids. He could resist it no longer … so, with a sigh, Muuurgh let himself slide under …

  Han glanced at the tall Togorian form that slid into the copilot’s seat beside him and started in surprise. “You’re not Muuurgh!”

  “I am Mrrov,” the female Togorian introduced herself. She’d doffed her pilgrim’s robe, and her glorious white and orange-striped coat blazed like fire. “I will handle the weapons for you. Acquaint me with what we have, please. You will find I am a far better weapons officer than Muuurgh. In our species, females are the technicians and experts with instruments.” She glanced over at Han, and he saw that her slit-pupiled eyes were bright yellow. “Besides, Muuurgh is wounded, and in no shape for this.”

  “Is he gonna be okay?” Han felt a stab of concern.

  “He should be. My people are very strong and hardy. Bria—is that her name?” Han nodded. “Your Bria is with him. He is resting.”

  “Okay,” Han said. “This baby doesn’t have a lot of weaponry, but it’s got some concussion missiles and a light laser cannon. Right down there. Laser cannon to your right, missile launchers to your left. Targeting computer is straight in front of you.”

  “Very well.” After spending a moment checking the board before her, she nodded. “I can do this. Who shot at us?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” Han said tightly, studying his readouts. “I don’t think the priests have surface-to-air stuff, but I’m hanged if I can see—”

  He broke off with a whoop of laughter, just as the Talisman shuddered again. Mrrov looked at Han, who was still chuckling, as if he were crazy.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  She pointed at the technical readout of their surrounding space. It showed several storm cells, safely removed in distance from their escape vector, but it also showed a small, teardrop-shaped craft rapidly gaining on the Talisman. “What do you mean, ‘okay’? There is someone pursuing us and shooting at us, and they are gaining!”

  “Aahhhh … it’s just old Jalus Nebl in the Ylesian Dream,” Han said, waving a dismissive hand. “The priests must’ve ordered him to come up here and shoot our asses down.” He chuckled again.

  Talisman lurched slightly. Han laughed again.

  Mrrov was staring at him, obviously wondering if his mind had snapped from the strain. Han grinned at her cheerfully. “You don’t understand,” he said.

  “No,” agreed Mrrov. “Would you care to explain it to me?”

  “Sure. Jalus Nebl and I are friends. He wouldn’t shoot me down any more than I’d shoot him. So he’s firing his laser cannon, just missing us by a hair each time, making it look good. We’re gaining speed every minute, and soon, we’re gonna be out of the atmosphere, and five minutes after that, we’ll be out of the planet’s gravity well. We’re fine, Mrrov. Trust me.”

  Mrrov’s whiskers twitched. “I believe I am beginning to understand. Your friend Jalus Nebl is putting on a show of attempting to shoot us down? So we have nothing to worry about?”

  “Right,” Han said cheerfully. “We’re almost clear of the atmosphere, and if Nebl’s got a grain of sense, he’ll take the Ylesian Dream and get his droopy-jowled little carcass off Ylesia, too. Or maybe he’s decided to hang in with the priests and ask for a raise. They’ll be desperate, with only one pilot left.”

  Another near-hit caused the Talisman to shiver. “That was close,” Han muttered, checking his ship’s hull and systems. “The little so-and-so’s showing off.”

  He continued to track the Ylesian Dream as it followed them up through the last of the stratosphere, into the thin layer of ionosphere. Ahead lay the thinnest whisper of upper atmosphere—the exosphere.

  As they burst upward, Han turned his attention to the navicomputer, checking on the programming for their jump to hyperspace. They wouldn’t be clear of Ylesia’s gravity well for several minutes yet, but he wanted to be ready.

  “I see a vehicle on our sensors,” Mrrov said. “Above us, in our path.”

  “That’s just the space station. It orbits in a synchronous orbit with Colony One,” Han said, not looking up. “That’s where they off-load the pilgrims when the ships bring them in. You must’ve been there.”

  “No, Han.” Mrrov’s voice was suddenly urgent. “I remember it very well, but that’s not it. That’s no space station—it’s a spaceship! A big one!”

  Finally alarmed, Han looked up—and abruptly swore in six languages. “That’s a Corellian corvette! What’s it doing here?”

&n
bsp; His hands flew over the controls as he began evasive maneuvers, increasing speed and sheering away from the huge vessel. With one part of his mind, Han noted the blip that was the Dream streaking off in the opposite direction.

  Suddenly the Talisman jerked hard and bucked. The engine began to strain. “What’s wrong?” Mrrov demanded, just as Bria burst into the cabin.

  “Han … what happened?” she asked.

  Han cut in the auxiliary power, felt the Ylesian yacht strain, but … it … wasn’t … going … to … be … enough—

  “No!” he yelled, frustrated, on the verge of panic. “No, we can’t go back!”

  His passengers stared at him, wide-eyed with fear, as Han began shutting down his engines to avoid burning them out.

  As he did so, a voice erupted from the comm unit. “Attention, Talisman. This is Captain Ngyn Reeos in command of the Corellian corvette Helot’s Shackle out of Kessel. We advise you to shut down your engines. You are caught in our tractor beam.”

  “I know!” Han yelled, not bothering to activate his comm unit. “Thanks for telling me!”

  Captain Reeos went on, inexorably. “We have detained you because I have been advised by planetary authorities that you have taken the Talisman without authorization. These same planetary authorities have asked that we deliver you back to Ylesia to face charges there. Prepare to be boarded. Any attempt at resistance will be met with summary force.”

  Han stared at the narrow-waisted vessel with its eleven huge reactor tubes. The corvette was easily twenty times the size of his ship. He noted that the corvette had been modified so it had a docking bay.

  “That’s a huge ship,” Bria whispered. “We’re being pulled toward it, Han.”

  “There’s nothing I can do, sweetheart,” Han said dully. “They’ve got us caught—we can’t break free.”

  “How many crew aboard that ship?” Mrrov asked, staring as if mesmerized at the slave ship—the ship that had come to fetch her and the other pilgrims to a grim fate in the mines.

  “With a Navy crew aboard, the complement is 165. But this is a modified corvette. It’s been altered to dock in space—probably to make it easier to take on cargo—or slaves. Crew size is probably forty or fifty.”