Star Wars - Han Solo Trilogy - The Paradise Snare

by A. C. Crispin

  The ship suddenly shivered, then rocked slightly.

  They were hitting atmosphere, Han realized.

  He took a deep breath and glanced at his air pak reading, realizing itwas going to be close . . . very, very close.

  Here we go, he thought, switching to manual control of the YlesianDream. "Hey, R2," he said tightly, adjusting his course slightly.

  "Yes, sir?" "Wish me luck."

  "I-beg-your-pardon, sir, this unit is not--" Han swore, and the YlesianDream headed down, for the surface of a planet he couldn't even see.

  He could see the sensor readouts and the infrared scanners, though, andhe realized that Ylesia was a world of tempestuous air currents, evenin the upper layers of the atmosphere. Mapping sensors created aglobal portrait of the planet Shallow seas studded with islands, andthree small continents. One lay nearly at the north pole, but theother two, the eastern and western continents, lay nearer the equator,in what must be temperate zones.

  "Great," he muttered to himself, locating the ship's home-in beacon.

  He could use it as a guide to plan his landing. The landing field wason the eastern continent. That must be where the Ylesian colony ofpriests and religious pilgrims was located.

  The Dream rocked wildly, swooping through the swirling air currentslike a child on a rope swing. Han's suit gloves were clumsy on theundersized diagnostic controls as he used his stabilizers to steadytheir descent.

  Trying to get the feel of the controls, Han yawed them to port, thenovercompensated, sending them skittering to starboard.

  On the infrared image, a huge blob of red suddenly loomed up. That's ahuge storm--Han thought, using his laterals to even out theirdescent.

  He allowed the Dream to drift a few degrees north, figuring that he'dmiss the storm, then swing back south later, when he was beneath themaelstrom.

  The ionized particles left in the wake of all that lightning wereplaying havoc with his instruments, Han realized. He gulped air, felthis chest tighten, and had to fight back panic. Good pilots couldn'tafford to let their emotions get in the way, or they'd wind up dead andthat would end their trip real quick, wouldn't it?

  "R2," Han said tightly, "see if you can chart me those storm areas so Ican avoid the ion trails that lightning is leaving. Concentrate on thedirect flight path between our present location and the landing fieldon that eastern continent."

  "Yes, sir," the R2 unit said.

  Moments later the electrical storm sites appeared before him. "Give mea scaled-down version of that chart in the corner of this screen,R2,"

  Han ordered. Usually it would be the navicomputer's job to "merge"the intended flight path with the geographical features and the stormcells, and to suggest an intended course, which the pilot could thenimplement and modify as needed.

  Han had never missed having a navicomputer at his disposal more than hedid at this moment.

  He slowed their headlong rush fractionally, then was forced to kick intheir thrusters to get them out of the way of yet another wind shearfrom a storm cell.

  Sweat was dripping down his face now as he fought the tiny controls,forcing Ylesian Dream into maneuvers only a swoop or a military fightercould reasonably be expected to tackle. Han realized he was stillgasping, and wondered for a split second whether it was from stress andadrenaline or whether his air was running out.

  He couldn't spare the second it would take to check the air pak. Theywere now only a kilometer above the surface of the planet, coming inwith a rush. Too fast! Han slowed them, using the braking thrustersroughly. Gee forces seized him, and he felt as though something weresqueezing his chest in a giant vise. He was gasping steadily now, andhe dared to look down at his air pak.

  Empty! The status indicator was solidly in the red zone.

  Hold together, Han, he counseled himself. Just keep breathing.

  There's got to be enough air in your suit to support you for a coupleof minutes--at least.

  He shook his head, feeling light-headed and dizzy. His breath began toburn in his chest.

  But they were almost slow enough now to land. He braked again,lightly, and the ship bucked suddenly. I've lost my forwardstabilizer!

  Han fought to compensate. Still too fast, but there was nothing morehe could do about that. He flicked on the repulsorlifts and began toset her down, feeling the ship's vibration through his knees and legsas he knelt on the deck.

  Hold together, baby! he thought at the Dream. Hold together-With ahuge whooooommpppp! the forward portside repulsor shorted out. TheDream yawed wildly to port, hit the ground, then bounced upward. Thestarboard repulsor blew, and then its entire starboard side impactedwith the ground, nearly flipping the vessel over.

  Veham! With a hideous crunch that Han could feel through his entirebody, the Ylesian Dream crashed into the surface of the planet,shuddered once, and was still.

  Han was thrown violently across the cabin. His helmet impacted with

  the bulkhead, and he lay there, arms and legs flung wide, dazed. Hefought to stay conscious. If he passed out, he'd never wake upagain.

  Trying to pull himself up into a sitting position, Han grunted witheffort. Waves of blackness threatened. He triggered his suitcommunications channel. "R2

  ... R2 ... come in!"

  "Yes, sir, I am here, sir." The droid's mechanical tones sounded a bitshaken. "If you don't mind my saying so, sir, that appears to havebeen a most unconventional landing. I am concerned that--" "Shut UPand OPEN THE CARGO AIRLOCK!" Han wheezed. He managed to push himselfup into a sitting position, but he was afraid he wouldn't be able tostay up. He was swaying like a drunk in a high wind.

  "But, sir, I warned you that in the interests of security, allentrances would be sealed pending--" Han found the blaster he'd stuckinto the outside pocket on his suit and, drawing it, leveled the weaponat R2. "R2, YOU OPEN THAT AIRLOCK NOW, OR I'LL BLAST YOUR METAL HIDEINTO ATOMS!"

  The droid's lights flashed frantically. Han's finger tightened on thetrigger as he wondered whether he'd have the strength to crawl to theairlock. Blackness ho vered at the edges of his vision.

  "Yes, sir," the R2 said. "I am doing as you request."

  Moments later Han felt the concussion as air whoomped into the Dreamwith near-explosive force. Gasping, he counted to twenty, then, withthe last of his remaining strength, wrenched off his helmet. He lethimself sink back down onto the deck.

  He gasped, found he could breathe, and gulped huge lungfuls of freshair.

  Warm air, humid air, air laden with smells he couldn't identify. Butit was rich with oxygen, eminently breathable, and that was all hecared about at the moment.

  Closing his eyes, Han concentrated on simply breathing, and feltexhaustion overwhelm him. His head throbbed, and he needed just amoment to rest.

  Just a moment . . .

  When Han swam back up to full consciousness and opened his eyes, hefound he was staring into a face out of a nightmare. That is theugliest critter I've ever seen! was his first thought. Only years ofexperience in dealing with nonhumans of all varieties made him able tocontrol his initial reaction.

  The face was broad, with two bulbous, protruding eyes, and covered withleathery grayish-tan skin. No visible ears, and only slits fornostrils.

  Above the nostril slits was a large, blunt horn that was nearly aslong as Han's forearm. The mouth was a wide, lipless split in the hugehead.

  Han shook his own pounding head and managed to sit up, noting from hissurroundings that he appeared to be in some type of infirmary. Amedical droid hovered across the room, lights flashing.

  His host (if that was who the creature was) was big, Han realized.

  Much bigger even than a Wookiee. It somewhat resembled a Berrite, inthat it walked on four tree-trunklike legs, but it was far larger.

  This creature's head was appended to a short, humped neck that wasattached to a massive body. Han figured its back would reach hisshoulders when he was standing up. The leathery skin covering its bodyhung in creases, wrinkles, and loose folds, espe
cially on its short,almost nonexistent neck. The skin shone with an oily gleam.

  The four short legs ended in huge, padded feet. A long, whippy tailwas carried curled over its back. For a moment Han wondered if thecreature had any manipulatory limbs, but then he noticed two undersizedarms that were folded against its chest, half-hidden by the loose foldsof neck skin. The being's hands were delicate, almost feminine, withfour long, supple fingers on each hand.

  The being opened its mouth and spoke in accented, but understandableBasic. "Greetings, Mr. Draygo. Allow me to welcome you to Ylesia.

  Are you a pilgrim?"

  "But I'm not . . ." Han muttered, his head spinning. For a momentthe name didn't connect, then things snapped into place. Of course.

  He clamped his mouth shut, thinking that maybe he'd gotten a worseknock on the head than he'd realized. Vykk Draygo was the alias whoseID he'd currently been carrying.

  Han had several alter egos, with proper documentation to back themup.

  Ironically, he had nothing by way of ID under his true name.

  "Sorry," he muttered, holding his hand to his head, hoping his slipwould be excused as a result of his head injury. "I'm still kind ofshaken up, I guess. No, I'm not a pilgrim. I came here to answer ajob advertisement for someone--preferably a Corellian--to do thepiloting here."

  "I see. But how did you happen to be aboard our ship when itcrashed?"

  the creature inquired.

  "I wanted to reach Ylesia as quickly as possible, so I took theopportunity to stow away on the Ylesian Dream," Han said. "I'd havehad to wait a week for a commercial flight, and the ad said a pilot wasurgently needed. Did you get my message?"

  "Yes, we did," the being said. Han watched it intently, wishing he

  could read its expression. "We were expecting you--but not in theYlesian Dream."

  "See, I brought the ad with me." Han reached for his jumpsuit that washanging over a chair beside the bed and extracted the holo-cube thatfeatured the Ylesian advertisement he'd replied to. "It says you needsomeone to start right away."

  He handed the cube over. "So . . . Vykk Draygo here, and I'm applyingfor this job. I'm Corellian, and I fit all your qualifications. Ijust . .

  well, I wanted to say that I'm sorry about crashing the Dream. Yourship's a different model than any I ever piloted, but a couple of hourson a simulator will fix that. And I'm afraid that your atmosphericcurrents came as a surprise."

  The being scanned the cube, then placed it on the table. The cornersof the massive, lipless mouth turned upward slightly. "I see. Mr.Draygo, I am the Most Exalted High Priest of Ylesia, Teroenza. Welcometo our colony. I am impressed at your initiative, young human.

  Traveling aboard a robot ship in order to answer our ad so quicklyspeaks well for you."

  Han frowned, wishing his head didn't hurt quite so much. "Well . .

  .

  thanks."

  "I am impressed that you managed to control and land a robot craft.

  Few human pilots have been able to react quickly enough to deal withthis world's challenging weather patterns. The damage to our ship isnot serious, and repairs are already under way. You landed on softground, which was fortunate."

  "Does that mean I get the job?" Han asked eagerly. Great! They'renot mad!

  "Would you be willing to sign a year's contract?" Teroenza asked.

  "Maybe," Han said, leaning back and relaxing, hands behind his head.

  "How much?"

  The High Priest named a sum that made Han smile inwardly. Even thoughit was more money than he'd hoped for, he was too much of a trader notto automatically bargain.

  "Well, I dunno . . ." he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Imade more than that in my previous position . . ."

  A lie, but not one they'd be able to disprove. Vykk Draygo had indeedmade more than that--Han had paid well to make sure his alter ego's jobrecord showed that he could command the highest wages. It had takenall of Han's savings, plus the proceeds from two dangerous heists thatGarris Shrike hadn't known anything about, to finance those alterationsin his alter ego's job record--but Han had wanted Vykk Draygo to beable to command a high salary.

  Teroenza pondered that information, then said, "Very well, I can offeryou thirty thousand for the year, with a bonus of ten at the end of thefirst six months, providing you make every assigned flight onschedule."

  "Bonus of fifteen," Han said automatically. "And you provide thetraining sims."

  "Twelve," countered Teroenza. "And you pay for the sims." "Thirteen,"Han said. "You supply the sims."

  "Twelve and a half, and we provide the sims," the High Priest said.

  "Final offer."

  "Okay," Han said, "you got yourself a pilot."

  "Excellent!" Teroenza actually chuckled, a deep, booming, oddlymelodious sound.

  Quickly the contracts were produced, and Han signed them, then alloweda retinal scan as proof of his identity. Hope they're like everyoneelse , he thought, and just do a general, system-wide check of myretinal patterns.

  If the priests ordered a comprehensive--and very expensive--allsystemssearch to determine whether "Vykk Draygo's" retinal scan was unique,they'd eventually discover that it wasn't. Vykk Draygo, Jenos Idanian,Tallus Bryne, Janil Andrus, and Keil d'Tana all shared the exact sameretinal patterns--which wasn't surprising, as all of those individualswere, in fact, Han Solo.

  Before Han left Trader's Luck, he'd taken the precaution of stashing asmall hoard of credits and complete ID sets in two lockboxes onCorellia, in case he ever needed a quick change of identity. GarrisShrike had provided the boy with different sets of ID for each scam Hanparticipated in, and Han had kept each set and updated them asnecessary.

  The Corellian knew, however, that none of his forged IDs would stand upto Imperial scanners. Before he'd be able to take the Academy entranceexams, Han was well aware that he'd have to pay out a small fortune inbribes on Coruscant to gain ID documentation so genuine that it wouldpass an Imperial security clearance check.

  With all of the business details taken care of, Teroenza then summonedan Under-Priest, or Sacredot, as they were called, and instructed himto take Han on a tour of the complex. Han was left in private to puton his jumpsuit, after being assured that clothing bearing the Ylesiansymbol--a huge, wide-open eye and mouth--would be furnished to him.

  As he donned the clothes and his boots, he realized that he wassweating heavily. Hot and humid, he thought. Wonderful climate. Butfor the money the priests were paying, he was willing to put up with ayear's discomfort. By taking this job, he'd get lots of practiceflying big ships and

  access to training sims. That ought to ensure that he could pass theentrance exams to enter the Academy.

  The money would mean that he had the proper amount for bribes to makesure his application was processed quickly and actually reached theadmissions officers. He knew from his research that without bribes itfrequently took a month or more for a cadet candidate to apply, passall relevant exams, be interviewed, and finally accepted for entranceinto the Imperial Academy.

  The Sacredot arrived and introduced himself as "Veratil." Han followedhim down a corridor, past a large amphitheater, and what appeared to bea registration area. "Our Welcome Center," the priest explained.

  Veratil led him outside. Han stepped through the door, and even beforehe could draw a deep breath, he was immediately bathed in sweat.

  Steaming heat and humidity smote him in the face, almost like aphysical blow. The air was rich with smells--heavy perfume fromflowers, rotting vegetation and another odor, one he'd smelled beforebut couldn't quite identify.

  Han stood at the top of the short ramp that led down from the buildingand looked up at the sky, seeing that it was a translucent blue gray The sun overhead was an orangey-red, and looked larger than he was usedto. This star must be closer to its planet than Corel was toCorellia.

  Han glanced at the shadows, seeing it was far past noon, and thenglanced at his wrist-chrono. "How long is the day here?" he askedVe
ratil.

  "Ten Standard hours, sir," the Sacredot replied.

  No wonder the weather is so stormy, Han thought. We've got a hot, wetworld with a really rapid rotation.

  Han looked out across the cleared area. The permacrete ended abruptly,giving way to the natural ground and vegetation. Pools of waterattested to recent torrential rain. Reddish mud made an arrestingcontrast to lush, blue-green vegetation. The flowers hanging from thevines and trees in the encroaching jungle were huge andmulticolored--scarlet, deep purple, and vivid yellow.

  "This is Colony One," Veratil explained. "We have also established twonew colonies for our pilgrims. Two years ago we founded Colony Two,and last winter we built Colony Three, which is still very small.