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

by A. C. Crispin

  Nearing the edge of the lip, she held on with both hands and peered down the airshaft.

  The airshaft went down … and down … and down. It was amazing, frightening, to imagine her body falling down that seemingly bottomless expanse, helplessly turning and twisting in midair.

  Bria stared down, shaking. If she were to lean a little farther, just a tiny bit farther, she’d fall down that shaft. It would be effortless. She wouldn’t have to jump, no. Just … lean … and if she did that, she’d never have to feel the pangs of longing for the Exultation again. She’d be free from the pain, the craving. She’d be free …

  Both drawn and repelled, Bria swayed, leaning farther toward the edge … farther …

  “What are you doing?”

  A hand grabbed her shoulder, yanking her back, away from that yawning drop into nothingness. Bria looked up dazedly, to see Han staring at her, his features twisted with worry. “Bria, honey! What were you doing?”

  She put a hand to her head, shook it dizzily. “I … I don’t know, Han. I felt … so strange.” Gulping, black dots dancing before her eyes, she struggled not to faint or be sick.

  Han pushed her head down between her knees, then knelt beside her as she trembled. He stroked her hair, hugged her tightly as her shudders intensified. She was shaking all over. “Easy … easy … just take it easy.”

  Finally, Bria looked up, feeling her shivers abate a little. “Han, I don’t know what happened. I felt so strange for a moment there. I think I almost fell …”

  “You did,” he said grimly. “It’s called vertigo, sweetheart. I’ve seen people get it before, out in space, when they look ‘down’ and lose their bearings. C’mon. I know which way to go, now. We’re gonna take a horizontal tube for a ways.”

  In the tube, Bria huddled against Han, and he held her gently. Gradually, her shivering eased. “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked. “This world? It oppresses me. Fascinates me, but oppresses me, too.”

  “Don’t forget, I grew up in space,” Han reminded her. “Not much room for vertigo or claustrophobia there. I must’ve gotten adjusted long ago, because this place doesn’t bother me. But you … you grew up on Corellia, with a sky above you all the time. No wonder you freaked.”

  “I’m not going to try looking down again,” Bria said.

  “Good idea.”

  After several more turbolift descents, they reached the little hostel where Han had reserved a room and paid for it in cash out of their dwindling funds. “When are you going to get our money at the Imperial Bank?” Bria asked, throwing herself down on the bed and stretching out with a tired sigh.

  “I’ll go first thing tomorrow morning,” Han said. “Listen, honey, you look beat. I’ll go get some food and bring it back here. We’ll turn in early.”

  “But don’t you want to see the sights?” Bria asked, thinking privately that his plan sounded like the best thing she’d heard all day.

  “Plenty of time for that. I just want to eat and then sleep. Maybe watch the vid-unit, see what kind of propaganda Imperial City is putting out these days.”

  “Okay,” Bria said, smothering an exhausted yawn. “I like your plan.”

  The next morning Han left Bria munching a pastry in their room and sipping stim-tea. “I’ll be back in an hour or so,” he told her. “Once I’ve got the money, we’ll head over and find that bar I told you about. What’s its name?”

  “The Glow Spider,” she repeated dutifully.

  “And where is it?”

  She recited the location.

  “That’s great,” Han said approvingly. “If I get lost, you can get me there.”

  She chuckled. “Is this place harder to navigate than space?”

  “In some ways,” Han said. He gave Bria a kiss between the eyes. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay, see you later.”

  With a cheerful wave, he was gone. Bria lay back on the bed with a sigh. Maybe I’ll just sleep late, she thought, stretching luxuriously.

  The Imperial Bank of Coruscant took up three levels in a monstrous, top-level skyscraper. Han walked up to the doors, and looked in. The lobby was enormous, all smoked glassine, black duracrete and marble, and dully shining transparisteel.

  Taking a deep breath, and still missing the weight of his blaster, he walked in and up to the high, shining counter. The lobby was bustling with business types and citizens, and Han both looked and felt out of place in his old pilot’s coverall, now stripped of all insignia, and his battered old jacket and boots.

  The more uncomfortable he felt, the more arrogantly he held himself.

  He had to wait in line for several minutes, but then found himself facing a woman clerk. She was young and pretty, but her gaze was impersonal—until Han gave her his best lopsided grin. Almost against her will, she smiled back. “Good morning,” Han said. “I opened an account a little while ago, on Corellia, knowing I’d be comin’ here. Like to withdraw the funds now.”

  “You wish to close out your account?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Very well, sir, may I have your ID card? We will transfer the funds to that, and then they will be accessible from any credit port on Coruscant or any of the inner-system worlds. Will that be satisfactory, Master.…” Han slid the card beneath the glassine barrier to her. “Idanian?”

  “That’ll be okay,” Han said, having to fight the urge to demand it all in credit vouchers and coin. If he did something that unusual, he’d be bound to appear suspicious.

  The clerk scanned the card, and her eyebrows rose slightly as she took in the amount in the account. Never expected a guy like me to have that kind of funds, Han realized, grimly amused.

  “Sir, this sum exceeds the amount I am authorized to disburse without approval from my supervisor. If you will wait just a moment, I will get that approval, then disburse the funds to your card.”

  There wasn’t much Han could say except, “Okay.”

  Left standing at the desk, he suppressed the urge to fidget, and forcibly restrained himself from overtly scanning the huge lobby for guards or security.

  Take it easy, he ordered himself. You know that with a withdrawal this big, they have to get it okayed. At least I know for sure that Okanor transferred the funds the way I told him to …

  Han saw the clerk speaking rapidly to a big, heavyset man in a posh business suit. The man nodded, took Han’s ID card, and approached him on Han’s side of the barrier. “Jenos Idanian?” he asked courteously. He had a chubby, pink face, pale blue eyes, and a balding pate with sparse white hair.

  “Yeah,” Han said.

  “I am Parq Yewgeen Plancke, the manager of this facility. I have authorized your withdrawal, sir, but before I can give you back your card, I would like to see an additional piece of ID, purely as a formality.” The man smiled politely. “Financial institutions are subject to these rules, I’m afraid. Will you step into my office?”

  He waved at a glassine-enclosed cubicle. Han’s hackles rose, but he could see the entire office, and there was no one else in there, no guards anywhere in evidence. “Okay,” he said, “but I’m kinda in a hurry, so I hope it doesn’t take long.”

  “Only a second,” Plancke assured him, waving Han on ahead.

  The Corellian walked into the office confidently, but every sense was alert, every muscle coiled for action. Plancke’s office was blandly reassuring—an expensive black marble-topped desk, with a stylus and styl-pad resting atop it. An ultra-modern flower arrangement of black lorchads graced the corner of the desk. There were two visitor chairs, and Plancke’s expensive cloned black leather chair.

  “Have a seat, Master Idanian,” Plancke said, gesturing to a chair. Han sat down. “Now, if you will give me another source of ID, I can scan it in and you will be on your way.”

  Han got the ID out without demur, but he didn’t miss a move Plancke made. For two credits, I’d hightail it outta here, he thought. I got a bad feeling about this …

  Plancke took the ID, sc
anned it in. “Oh, dear,” he said, not sounding at all surprised or regretful, “I’m afraid we have a problem, sir. I have been ordered to place a freeze on your account. I cannot give you any of your money.”

  Han was up and out of his chair. “What? But I—what in the name of the galaxy is going on here?”

  Plancke shook his head. “I only know that the Bank has been contacted by Inspector Hal Horn of CorSec. Your funds are suspected of being illegally accrued, and are frozen, pending a thorough investigation by Imperial and Corellian Security.”

  Han didn’t waste his breath arguing, just headed for the door. His chest felt as though it were caught in a gee-vise. No … it can’t end like this …

  He was a meter from the thick, smoked-glassine door when he heard an electronic click. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid I’ve been advised to hold you here for Imperial security forces,” Plancke said, sounding as if he was enjoying his chance to be a hero. “Have a seat.”

  Han turned and looked back at the fat man. He was smiling blandly, his round little pink cheeks making him look like a jolly sprite out of a child’s story. “I’ve also signaled for our guard. He should be here any moment. Please … have a seat while you wait to be arrested.”

  Rage filled Han with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. “Over my dead body!” he snarled, bounding forward. He threw himself over the desk, grabbing the bank manager’s writing stylus as he did so. Slamming into the astonished Plancke, he took him over backward in his expensive chair. In a second, he had the sharp point of the stylus positioned just behind Plancke’s chubby pink earlobe. “One shove,” he gritted, “and this slides between your jawbone and your skull, straight into your brain, Plancke. If you have one. You got a brain, Plancke?”

  “Yes …”

  “Good, then use it. I’m already mad … so don’t push me any further, understand?”

  Han could feel all the muscles of Plancke’s throat contract as he swallowed. His voice was hoarse and shrill with fear. “Yes …”

  “Good,” Han said. “Now, I’m gonna get off you, and you’re gonna get up and sit back down in your fancy chair. You’re gonna let your guard in when he shows up, just like everything is fine … understand?”

  “Yes …”

  Moving precisely, Plancke did as he’d been told. Han crouched behind Plancke’s chair, and now the hand holding the stylus sent the sharp instrument prodding into the man’s back. “Trust me, Plancke,” Han said, “one good thrust into the kidney will cause you more pain than you ever want to know. Might kill you. Want to take that chance?”

  “No …”

  “Good. Here comes your guard. Let him in.”

  “Yes …”

  The door lock clicked, and the guard entered. In a second Han was on his feet, the point of the stylus digging into Plancke’s throat again. “Tell him!”

  “Don’t move,” Plancke said desperately. “He’ll kill me!”

  “He’s right,” Han said with a feral grin. “And I’ll enjoy it, too. Now you,” he said, “do exactly as you’re told, if you want to see your next pay voucher. Place your blaster here on Plancke’s desk. Move real slow, understand?”

  “Yessir,” the guard said. He was an elderly human, and looked terrified at the thought of actually having to do anything besides stand around, wearing his blaster.

  Slowly, carefully, the guard removed the blaster from his holster, placing it on the black marble. Han reached over left-handed, and picked it up. “Now … under the desk. Don’t come out until I tell you to,” he said.

  “Yessir.”

  Han placed the muzzle of the blaster against Plancke’s temple, still hugging the fat man to him. “Now we’re leaving this bank,” he said tightly. “We’re walking outta here, slow and nice. We’re heading for the turbolift. When I get there, if you’ve been a good little bank manager, I’m gonna let you go. Understand?”

  “Yes …”

  “Good.”

  They were halfway across the lobby before anyone noticed that something was amiss. A man yelled, another man squawked with fear, and a woman let out a shriek.

  Han pointed the blaster at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. Flaming debris rained down. “Everybody down!” he shouted.

  His command was unnecessary. Every citizen was already cowering on the expensive carpet. “Okay, Plancke … nice and easy now …”

  Together they moved toward the doors, then out through them. Han relaxed his grip on Plancke slightly, ready to shove the big man down and then leap into the turbolift. He refused to think about what he was going to do afterwards! One thing at a time, he cautioned himself. One thing at a time …

  He kept a sharp lookout as he and Plancke walked toward the turbolift, and so he spotted the squad of Imperial stormtroopers before they saw him. Han yanked Plancke tightly against him and placed the blaster to the man’s head. “Don’t shoot!” Plancke babbled as the troopers leveled their weapons. “I’m the one who called you! I’m the bank manager!”

  Han backed toward the turbolift, dragging the heavy man with him. A glance at its lights reassured him that the lift was on its way to this level.

  “He’s getting away!” yelled one of the stormtroopers. Han stood before the door, tense, sweating, and ready to jump out of his skin. But he betrayed none of that, only waited, his body shielded behind the bank manager’s trembling, corpulent form.

  Han heard the turbolift doors slide open behind him. “Don’t let him escape! Open fire!” yelled the stormtrooper officer.

  “Noooooo!” screamed Plancke as the sizzle of blaster bolts filled the air.

  Han jumped back, smelling burned flesh, dragging Plancke’s falling body with him into the turbolift. He snapped off a shot, just as the turbolift doors closed, then slammed his fist against the lowest button on the bank of floors.

  The high-speed turbolift dropped like a stone.

  Gasping, Han managed to stagger to his feet. One look told him Plancke was dead. Too bad. He’d have let the man go, if those troopers hadn’t started trouble …

  Han’s ears popped rapidly as the turbolift hurtled down. Quickly he pulled out his map-link and checked his location. If the link was correct, this lift would take him down about a hundred fifty stories, then he’d have to catch another.

  The moment the lift doors opened, Han sprang out. The Corellian had dragged Plancke’s body into the darkest corner of the lift, so it couldn’t be seen from the front. Han had also shoved his blaster inside his leather jacket, but his hand rested lightly on its grip, ready to draw.

  The scene that met his eyes was entirely peaceful. Citizens strolled along a passageway between buildings, and from somewhere not far away, music played.

  Han glanced at his map-link as he strode along. Turn right here …

  And there was the next turbolift. Han passed it up as being too obvious, and went on to take a horizontal tube into the next megablock. Then came another lift down. Two hundred stories, this time.

  The streets were dirtier, now, as he searched for the next lift, making sure his turns were random. Down again. He was five hundred stories down, by now. The streets grew ever seedier.

  One time, a gang of kids approached him as he hurried along. Han shook his head at them warningly. “Don’t,” he said.

  “ ‘Don’t’?” the leader, a huge, dark-skinned kid with a black fall of greasy hair, mocked. “Ooooooh, is big man afraid? Big man gonna be real afraid, when we get done with him …”

  Six vibroblades flashed in the dim squalor of the alleys the streets had come to resemble. Han sighed, rolled his eyes, and pulled out the blaster.

  The gang evaporated so quickly they might have been snatched up by hawk-bats. Han stood there, blaster in hand, until he was certain the kids were gone.

  A few startled passersby glanced at him, then quickly hurried on about their business, with a “Me? I didn’t see nothing!” expression.

  Shoving the blaster back into the front of his jacket, Han jogged
down the shadowed street toward the next lift.

  Another hundred stories, then another. He was seven hundred stories down. By now his map-link was useless. How deep is this place? he wondered, boarding another horizontal lift. The turbolift reeked of human and alien effluvia.

  Eight hundred … eight hundred fifty.

  By now Han was moving through streets lit only feebly by stray gleams from the airshafts, or by wan glow-lamps attached to the ramshackle buildings. The permacrete beneath his boots was often awash with foul-smelling, viscous liquid. Noxious rain spattered down, and fungi grew thick on the stonework.

  No more citizens were in evidence—only darting forms that were too quick and furtive to identify. Han thought some of them might be aliens, and knowing Emperor Palpatine’s poorly concealed dislike and distrust of nonhumans, Han wasn’t surprised to find them lurking here, in the depths.

  One thousand stories. Eleven hundred …

  Han went in search of another lift, but couldn’t find one. Instead he found a series of stairwells that took him down, and down …

  He was now almost twelve hundred stories down. Approximately thirty-six hundred meters below where he’d started out at the top level at the Imperial Bank.

  Han was panting, even though he was going downhill. The air down here was thick and humid, and smelled foul, as though he were at the bottom of a tunnel.

  No sign of pursuit. I’ve lost them, Han thought, walking aimlessly along. He caught a flash of something scuttling along beside the front of one of the sagging, sunken buildings, something that moved hunched over, like an animal, but it walked on its hind legs. Tattered scraps of cloth barely concealed pallid skin, blotched with lesions and running sores. The creature snarled at Han from behind a mat of lank, filthy hair, revealing a mouth full of rotting stumps of teeth.

  Han truly couldn’t decide whether it was—or once had been—human.

  The being scrambled away, hissing like a vrelt, half on its feet, half using all fours as it ran.

  Shaken, Han took his blaster out of his jacket and stuck it into the front of his belt, wearing it openly, hoping its presence would deter any more creatures like the one he’d seen.