Star Wars: The Corellian Trilogy II: Assault at Selonia

by Roger MacBride Allen

  Indeed, it seemed as if Thrackan were the only one who did not find it all off-putting. He looked down at Han with a calm and steady gaze.

  Han decided he had better do his best to take it all in stride as well. Or at least pretend. “Hello, Thrackan,” he said. “I sort of figured I’d be seeing you.”

  “And hello to you, Han,” his cousin replied, in a voice that was startlingly similar to Han’s. “Some things never change, do they?”

  “I’m not exactly sure I know what you mean.”

  “Back in the old days, Han,” Thrackan said. “Back in the old days. You were always the one who liked to play games. And I was always the one who had to come in and clean up after you.”

  “That’s not exactly the way I remember it,” Han said. Thrackan had never cleaned up after himself, let alone anyone else. But he had always been good at making it seem like he had. Most bullies were good at playing the victim. Thrackan had never had the slightest problem blaming others for his foul-ups, or taking all the credit for someone else’s effort and success. “But you’re right,” Han went on. “Some things never change.”

  “This time there’s rather a lot to clean up,” Thrackan went on. “You shot up my spaceport, damaged or destroyed six of my Pocket Patrol Boats, and allowed that X-TIE Ugly fighter to escape,” Thrackan said. “We believe that X-TIE managed to jump into hyperspace. If its pilot is able to get word to the New Republic, that could throw many of my plans into disarray.”

  “I thought the spaceport and the PPBs belonged to the Corellian government. I didn’t think they were yours,” Han said.

  “They are now,” Thrackan said. “For that matter, the government is mine as well. But just now the point is that the games you are playing have caused me a great deal of trouble.”

  “I’m real broken up about that,” Han said.

  “I doubt it,” Thrackan said. “I wouldn’t be, if I were you. But the question remains—what am I to do with you?”

  “I have a suggestion.” Han said, his voice light and casual. “Let me go and then let me accept your surrender. I might be able to get the New Republic to go easy on you.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to explain why I should do that.” Thrackan said, the trace of a smile on his face.

  “Because you’re going to lose, Thrackan,” Han said. “Because that X-TIE got through, and even if it didn’t, someone else will get the word out, somehow. And you’re up against the same New Republic that beat the Empire. If they could take on the Emperor and Darth Vader and Admiral Thrawn and the Death Stars, what makes you think they should have any problems with the likes of you? Why not save everyone a lot of trouble and give up now?”

  Thrackan smiled, but there was nothing warm or happy about his expression. Instead, the smile made him look colder, harsher. He shook his head sadly. “Still the same old Han. Beaten up, dirty, unshaved, a captive fresh from a night in his cell, and still full of the same old tired bluster and bluff.” He hesitated a moment, and leaned back in his chair. “There’s a very good reason I’m not going to lose,” he said. “I’ve won already. It’s all over. The New Republic might be able to cause me some limited trouble, but nothing more. Not unless they want a few inhabited star systems vaporized. Otherwise, they will leave me strictly alone.”

  Han hesitated a moment before replying. Was there anything behind that claim? There was no doubt that a star had gone supernova, a star that had no business doing any such thing. The League had claimed responsibility, but how could a bunch of ignorant malcontents and thugs manage to blow up a star? “That was a nice parlor trick,” Han said. “But I’m not sure you can repeat it.”

  “Oh, we’ll convince you,” Thrackan said. “Have no doubt of that.” His voice, his manner, were absolutely confident. If it was a bluff, it was an awfully convincing one.

  “So why am I here, Thrackan?” Han asked, in a tone of voice that made it sound as if he were a busy man who had more important things to do. With most people, it would have been a suicidal display of arrogance. But Han knew his cousin. A show of politeness would have won Han little more than a sneer of contempt from Thrackan.

  “In such a hurry to get back to your cell?” Thrackan asked with a wicked smile.

  Han resisted the temptation to let out a sigh of relief. Until that moment he hadn’t been sure if Thrackan intended him to live long enough to see his cell again. “No,” he said. “But I’m not much interested in trading threats, either. Why am I here?”

  “I did have the vague idea that you might be willing to cooperate with me. Act like a patriotic Corellian, help me get rid of these New Republic interlopers. But I never did have much hope for that idea. It’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “Not in a million years.”

  “All right, then,” Thrackan said. “If you won’t help me, why should I keep you alive?”

  That question would have terrified most people under the circumstances, but Han knew Thrackan from way back. Even a few moments’ reacquaintance told him he hadn’t changed much since the old days. If Thrackan had already decided to kill him, he wouldn’t have wasted his time with word games. Han would already have had a blaster hole through his chest. Thrackan’s cruelty had never been capricious or pointless. Whenever he did something vicious—or indeed anything at all—it was because doing it benefited him directly. Nor had Thrackan ever been shy about letting others do his dirty work, or been much interested in putting himself to extra effort. There was no way to know for sure, but at a guess, Thrackan had genuinely not yet decided whether or not to let Han live. He could go either way. And that meant the reasons for letting him live or die were in the balance. The reasons for killing Han were depressingly obvious, but why would Thrackan want him alive?

  “There are lots of good reasons for not killing me,” Han said, trying to stall for time. He tried to sound calm and confident, but Han’s tone of voice didn’t seem very convincing, even in his own ears.

  “Perhaps you could help me think of a few,” Thrackan said coolly.

  Think, Han told himself. Work it out. Why would Thrackan want him alive? Wait a second. Why were any of them alive? It was obvious that the Human League had deliberately timed its phony uprising to coincide with the trade summit, when lots of off-planet movers and shakers would be on Corellia. And all of those brass were staying in the Governor-General’s residence, Corona House. If the League had wanted to, it could have blown the building to smithereens, killing everyone inside, decapitating the planetary government at a stroke, and killing the New Republic’s Chief of State as well.

  But they had done no such thing. Han had been at Corona House when the assault came. In his best judgment, it had been a clumsily executed surgical strike, not a bungled decapitation attempt. It was clear that the League had intended to bottle up the Governor-General and Leia and the rest of the higher-ups in Coronet House by sealing off all the exits and burying them in rubble. That Han had managed to escape was a testament to their incompetence, not their intent.

  It was hard to escape the notion that Thrackan wanted Leia and the others for use as bargaining chips, hostages. Suddenly Han understood. His cousin was keeping him alive in hopes of using him to ensure Leia’s cooperation in whatever plots he was hatching. But if he needed something from Leia, that meant Thrackan Sal-Solo was not the master of all he surveyed, all bluster to the contrary. Han grinned, and this time he wasn’t trying to pretend. “There’s no reason at all to keep me alive,” Han said. “None whatsoever. At least there isn’t if you don’t care how upset the Chief of State gets. And she tends to get real angry when members of her family are murdered in cold blood.”

  Thrackan was suddenly angry. “I don’t need your Chief of State,” he snapped.

  “Then why did you work so hard to capture her?” Han demanded. “Why was the revolt timed for the beginning of the trade summit?”

  “Quiet!” Thrackan half shouted. “I’ll ask the questions around here. One more word out of you
about your wife and I swear I’ll kill you myself, here and now, no matter how much I need you alive.”

  Han said nothing, but simply smiled, knowing that he had won and that Thrackan knew it. Han had called his bluff.

  Thrackan glared at him and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I had forgotten just how much you used to drive me crazy,” he said. “But I think I can at least remind you that it is not wise to try and score points off me. Besides,” he said, gesturing to the men lining the two sides of the room, “my officers have been working very hard and they deserve some recreation.” Thrackan smiled again, and, if anything, it was an even more unpleasant expression than it had been the last time. “Honor detail may stand at ease,” Thrackan said, keeping his eyes squarely on Han. The thugs-in-uniform relaxed, shifted their feet, and smiled at each other with a certain nasty eagerness. “Captain Falco, instruct the keepers to send the ah—other—prisoner—in.”

  One of the greasier-looking officers saluted and said, “Yes, sir.” He pulled a comlink out of his pocket and spoke into it. “Send it in, Sergeant.”

  There was a moment’s pause, one that Han did not enjoy at all. Then, faintly at first, but gradually getting louder, Han could hear muffled footsteps coming from behind him, from beyond the door he had come through. Han turned to face the door, and backed away from it. Doing so put Thrackan directly behind him, but it seemed to Han that, all things considered, his cousin was dangerous no matter where he was. He was, at any rate, the danger Han knew. Best to concentrate on the danger he didn’t know.

  The doors swung open and a pair of heavily armed Human League troopers came in, their blasters at the ready. They immediately took up positions on either side of the door, with their backs to the wall. Han had rated no such precautions. It would seem the Leaguers regarded the whatever-it-was as far more of a threat than Han.

  After a moment’s pause, the “other prisoner” came in—and suddenly Han understood all the precautions. The “other prisoner” was a Selonian. Even thugs and fools knew to take Selonians very seriously indeed.

  And this Selonian was a big and tough-looking female, though that was no surprise. All the Selonians ever seen in public were big, tough, and female.

  Selonians tended to be a trifle taller and more slender than humans. They had somewhat longer bodies, and shorter arms and legs. Though normally bipedal, they could go on all fours when they wanted. Their hands and feet had retractable claws, good for climbing or digging—also very good in a fight. They were strong swimmers, with short, powerful tails that helped steer and propel them in the water, and served as a counterbalance while walking—and, not incidentally, as a fearsome club in a fight.

  Theory had it that Selonians had evolved from some sort of predatory swimming mammal that lived in riverside burrows, a species that moved from riverside burrowing to sophisticated tunneling far from water. They had sleek, short fur, usually brown or black, and long pointed faces full of sharp teeth. They had bristly whiskers and equally bristly tempers if you didn’t know how to handle them right. They lived in underground dens for the most part, and their social structure was unusual, to say the least.

  But, interesting though it was, Han was not worried about how the Selonian society was controlled by sterile females just at the moment. He was more interested in this particular sterile female’s very, very sharp teeth.

  The big, lithe, graceful creature walked into the room calmly, casually, with such self-assurance she might have been the master of the place rather than a prisoner. Two more guards followed her into the chamber, but she paid no more mind to them than she had to the first pair.

  There was one other thing that Han could not help but notice—the Selonian had her hands free. That could only mean that the Selonian had given her parole, promised not to disobey or attempt to escape. It would otherwise be absolute madness to let her go free. But if she had given her parole, then the guards were not only superfluous, they were a deadly insult. It was definitely not advisable to question a Selonian’s honor. Arrogance or ignorance might explain such a lapse, but nothing could forgive it.

  “Get down there, you,” said one of the guards, pointing to the lower level of the chamber, where Han waited. They had shoved Han over the edge with his hands tied behind his back. The Selonian they allowed to use a small set of stairs set in the left rear corner of the chamber. She walked down the stairs with a calm grace, and came to stand in the center of the chamber. She turned toward Han and looked at him, her expression utterly neutral.

  “Say hello to Dracmus,” Thrackan said. “Quite an impressive specimen, don’t you think? She was trying to do us a little damage in Coronet when we picked her up.”

  Han said nothing. Taunting Thrackan was one thing. He could know just how far to push things, know what the consequences might be. Not with a Selonian. Not with the way things were shaping up here.

  Thrackan laughed. “Not taking any chances, I see. Dracmus, say hello to the family pirate and traitor, my dear cousin Han Solo.”

  “Bellorna-fa ecto mandaba-sa, despecto Han Solo!” said Dracmus. “Pada ectal ferbraz bellorna-cra.” Her voice dripped with contempt, but the words did not match the tone. “Speak you this language of mine, Honorable Han Solo? None of these fools do.”

  Han thought fast. He had no way of knowing what Dracmus intended. All he knew was that she was the enemy of his enemy—if even that much was true. She could be some hired stooge of Thrackan’s, playing a part in some convoluted plan of his. Could this be a trap? But what point to a trap when he was already a prisoner? And suppose Dracmus was wrong, and one of the Leaguers did speak Selonian?

  But the universe never had given Han many sure answers, and it wasn’t likely to start anytime soon. “Belorna-sa mandaba-fa kurso-kurso,” Han snarled back, trying to make his voice as abusive sounding as Dracmus’s had been. “Speak me it well enough.” Han backed to the corner and risked a glance at Thrackan. His cousin was grinning from ear to ear. Clearly he had no doubt the two of them were trading insults.

  “Kurso! Sa kogna fos zul embaga. Persa chana-sa prognas els abta for dejed kurso,” Dracmus growled the words, and snapped her jaws at him. “Good! I think they will force us to fight. Allow me to win quickly and you will avoid being well injured.”

  Han had been afraid of that. It would be just like Thrackan to force two prisoners to fight, especially in a combat as unequal as this one would be.

  “I see there is great love between you,” Thrackan said. “I think our Selonian friend has many pent-up feelings for her hosts. She cannot vent them on us, as she has given her parole, and must not break her oath. I must say that it is convenient to have an enemy of such strong principles. I think I shall reward her honorable behavior and let her take it all out on you.”

  Han tugged at his bonds, but they held firm. “Nice fair fight, Thrackan,” he said. “A Selonian against a human with his hands tied behind his back.”

  Thrackan laughed. “I’m interested in entertainment, Han, not fairness.” He indicated the four guards, who, by this time, had positioned themselves in the four corners of the chamber’s upper level. “Shoot,” he ordered. All four of them aimed their blasters at the center of the chamber’s floor and fired simultaneously.

  The floor exploded in a gout of flame. Han flinched back from the blast, and felt stinging pains on his face and hands as he was peppered with micro-fragments of pulverized stresscrete.

  Han staggered back, half-blinded and half-deafened. “If you do not acquit yourself well, my troopers will fire again. At both of you. I would suggest you make the fight convincing.”

  Han shook his head and blinked, trying to get over the effect of the blaster shots at close range. “How am I supposed to fight convincingly with my hands behind my back?” he asked.

  Thrackan laughed again. “You can’t expect me to give you all the answers,” he said. “Show a little initiative.”

  Han’s vision had cleared enough now for him to see Dracmus, and it w
as plain that the Selonian was more than prepared to give a good fight. She had her mouth open, putting her needle-sharp teeth on clear display.

  The only thing Han had going for him was surprise, and he decided to use it. He shouted at the top of his lungs and charged straight for Dracmus, his head down. He got under her guard, if just barely, and managed to give her a good solid head butt to the gut. He hit her hard enough to knock down a human, but she managed to use her tail to steady herself against the floor and stay upright. She took a swipe at his head with her left hand-paw. She didn’t connect fully, but it was enough to send him sprawling.

  He slammed his left shoulder into the side of the raised platform and almost fell. He recovered and spun to his right just in time to dodge another open-handed slap at his head.

  And in that split second Han knew he could trust her, at least part of the way. He saw her claws retract in the split second before her hand-paw whipped past his face, and she had missed by less than the length of those claws.

  No claws. She could have raked them across his face twice by now. She was playing fair, or would be until it came down to killing Han or Thrackan’s goons killing them both. He would have to lose fast, and convincingly. That ought to be easy. He could do it with both hands tied behind his back. At least he’d better be able to do so. He pulled at the bindings on his wrists, but it was clear that they weren’t going to give.

  Han dodged another swing from the left, but ran straight into the sucker punch to his chest. The blow knocked him clean off his feet. He landed on the hard stresscrete floor, taking most of the fall across the top of his back, even though he managed to crush his hands and bounce the back of his head off the stresscrete.

  Dracmus was lunging for him before he could even begin to recover, and it was either Han’s dumb luck or Dracmus’s superb reflexes that sent her diving left as he rolled right.

  Han managed to roll to his feet one more time—and almost collapsed again. His ankle had somehow gotten twisted in that last fall. Just what he needed. A bad sprain. He swore under his breath and hobbled to the far side of the chamber as fast as he could. His right eye was beginning to swell, and he was pretty sure his nose was bleeding. If this was going easy on him, he’d hate to deal with Dracmus in a bad mood. But he was going to have to trust her. Either she was going to change her mind and kill him, or she wasn’t.