Han tried to make it up the ramp, but then he stumbled and everything went dark …
He swam up into partial consciousness a long time later, to the sound of voices arguing, one in Wookiee, the other in Basic. Dewlanna and Shrike.
The Wookiee growled insistently. “I can tell he’s really sick,” Shrike agreed, “but you can’t kill one of my kids with a blaster set on full. He’ll be okay after a couple of days rest. He doesn’t need a medical droid, and I’m not springing for it.”
Dewlanna snarled, and Han, automatically translating, was surprised at how insistent the Wookiee was being. He felt a furred paw-hand lay something cold on his forehead. It felt wonderful against the heat.
“I told you no, Dewlanna, and I meant it!” Shrike said, and with that, the captain stomped out, cursing the Wookiee in every language he knew.
Han opened his eyes to see Dewlanna bending over him. The Wookiee rumbled gently at him. Han struggled to speak. “Pretty bad …” he conceded, in response to her question. “Thirsty …”
Dewlanna held him up and gave him water, sip by slow sip. She told him that he had a high fever, so high that she was afraid for him.
When Han finished the water, she stooped down and scooped the child up into her arms. “Where … where’re we …”
She told him to hush, that she was taking him planetside, to the medical droid. Han’s head was swimming, but he made a great effort. “Don’t … Captain Shrike … really mad …”
Her answer was short and to the point. Han had never heard her curse before.
He faded in and out as they moved through the corridors, and his next clear memory was of being strapped into the seat of a shuttle. Han had never known Dewlanna could pilot, but she handled the controls competently with her huge, furred hands. The shuttle slipped loose from its moorings, and then accelerated toward Corellia.
The fever was making Han light-headed, and he kept imagining that he heard Shrike’s voice, cursing. He tried to say something about it to Dewlanna, but found he didn’t have the strength to get the words out …
He next regained consciousness in the medical droid’s waiting room. Dewlanna was sitting down, with Han’s scrawny form still clutched protectively in her arms.
Suddenly a door opened, and the droid appeared. It was a large, elongated droid, equipped with anti-grav units so that it floated around its patient as Dewlanna placed Han on the examining table. Han felt a prick against his skin as the droid took a blood sample.
“Do you understand Basic, madame?” inquired the droid.
For a moment Han was about to answer that of course he understood Basic, and who was Madame?—but then Dewlanna rumbled. Oh, of course. The medical unit was talking to her.
“This young patient has contracted Corellian tanamen fever,” the droid told Dewlanna. “His case is quite severe. It is fortunate that you did not wait any longer to bring him to me. I will need to keep him here and observe him until tomorrow. Do you wish to stay with him?”
Dewlanna rumbled her assent.
“Very well, madame. I am going to use bacta immersion therapy to restore his metabolic equilibrium. That will also bring his fever down.”
Han took one look at the waiting bacta tank and feebly tried to make a run for the door. Between them, Dewlanna and the medical unit restrained him easily. The boy felt another needle prick his arm, and then the whole universe tilted sideways and slid into blackness …
Han opened his eyes, realizing his reverie had turned into sleep, then dreams. He shook his head, remembering how wobbly he’d been when Dewlanna and the droid helped him out of the bacta tank. Then Dewlanna paid the droid out of her own small store of credits and piloted them back to Trader’s Luck.
The young pilot grimaced. Boy, Shrike had been mad. Han was worried that he’d space them both. But Dewlanna never showed even the slightest sign of fear as she stood between the captain and Han, insisting that she’d done the right thing, that otherwise the boy would have died.
In the end, Shrike subsided because one of the pieces of jewelry Han had stolen that night turned out to be set with a genuine Krayt dragon pearl. When the captain discovered what it was worth, he was mollified.
But he didn’t pay Dewlanna back for Han’s medical bills …
Han sighed and closed his eyes. Dewlanna’s loss was like a knife wound—no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get away from the pain, and the memories. He’d let down his guard and suddenly find himself thinking of her as still alive, visualize himself talking to her, telling her about his troubles with the recalcitrant R2 unit—only to be brought up short with pain nearly as searing and immediate as he’d felt yesterday when he’d held her dying body.
Han swallowed another sip of water, trying to ease the tightness in his throat. He owed Dewlanna … owed her so much. His life—even his true identity—he owed Dewlanna for that, too …
Han sighed. Until he was eleven years old, his only name had been “Han.” The boy often wondered and worried about whether he had a last name. One time he mentioned his concern to Dewlanna, along with his conviction that if anyone knew who he really was, it was Shrike.
Very soon after that, Dewlanna learned to play sabacc …
Han heard the soft scratch on the door to his tiny cubicle and woke instantly. Listening, he heard the scratch again, then a soft whine. “Dewlanna?” he whispered, sliding out of bed and sticking his bare feet into his ship’s coveralls. “Is that you?”
She rumbled softly from outside the door. Han yanked up his jumpsuit, sealed it, and opened the door. “What do you mean, you have exciting news for me?”
Dewlanna came in, her huge, furred body fairly bouncing with excitement. Han waved her past him, and she sat on the narrow bunk. Since there was no place else to sit, Han settled down beside her. The Wookiee cautioned him to keep his voice low, and glancing at the chrono, Han realized it was the dead of night.
“What are you doing up now?” he asked, puzzled. “Don’t tell me you were playing sabacc this late?”
She nodded at him, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement amid her tan and chestnut hair.
“So what’s going on, Dewlanna? Why did you need to talk to me?”
She rumbled softly at him. Han sat up straight, suddenly transfixed. “You found out my last name? How?”
Her answer was a single name. “Shrike,” Han muttered. “Well, if anyone knows, it’s him. What … how did it happen? What’s my name?”
His name, she told him, was “Solo.” Shrike had gotten very, very drunk, and he started bragging about how much the Krayt dragon pearl was worth, what a good deal he’d gotten when he sold it. Dewlanna asked Shrike innocently if Han came from a long line of successful thieves. Shrike, she reported, exploded into laughter at the suggestion. “Maybe some branches of the family, but this Solo?” he sputtered, wheezing with merriment, pausing to gulp more Alderaanian ale, “I’m afraid not, Dewlanna. This kid’s folks were …”
And at that point, the captain suddenly halted in midword, fixing the Wookiee with a suspicious glare. “So why do you care, anyhow?” he demanded, his momentary good humor gone.
Dewlanna answered only by covering Shrike’s bet, and raising.
“Solo,” Han whispered softly, trying it on for size. “Han Solo. My full name is Han Solo.”
He looked up at Dewlanna, and a wide grin spread across his features. “I like it! It sounds great!”
Dewlanna whined softly and, slinging a long arm around him, gave the boy a hug …
Han smiled, remembering, but it was a sad smile. Dewlanna had meant well, but her discovery that his name was “Solo” had led to one of the worst episodes of his young life. The next time the Luck was in orbit around Corellia, he’d stolen time away from his pickpocketing and burglary duties and had gone to one of the public archives to do some research.
Shrike didn’t like his “rescuees” to spend any time on furthering their education. Each child aboard Trader’s Luck was given an elem
entary-level education via the ship’s computer, so he, she, or it could learn to read and count money. Beyond that, Shrike discouraged the children from pursuing higher learning.
It was partly because he automatically wanted to flout Shrike’s wishes, and partly due to Dewlanna’s encouragement, that Han had kept up his studies in secret. He had a tendency to ignore subjects he didn’t like—such as history—and to spend all his time on subjects he enjoyed—such as reading adventure stories and solving math equations. Han knew how important math was to anyone who wanted to be a pilot, so he worked hard at mastering as much of it as he could.
Once Dewlanna discovered what he was doing, she monitored his curriculum, making him study subjects that he would otherwise have skipped, leaving gaps in his knowledge. Reluctantly, Han tackled the physical sciences, and history.
He was surprised to discover that some real historical battles were just as exciting as anything he’d read in adventure sagas.
That day in the public archives on Corellia, Han applied some of his newly learned research skills to learning about his new surname. The results were surprising. When Han looked up the last name “Solo” in the historical records, he was astounded to discover that the name was well known on Corellia. A “Berethron e Solo” had introduced democracy on Han’s homeworld three centuries ago. He’d actually been a ruler, a king!
But there’d been another Solo, more recently, who was equally famous—or, to put it more accurately, infamous. About fifty years ago, a descendant of Berethron, Korol Solo, had fathered a son named “Dalla Solo.” The young man, taking the alias “Dalla Suul” in an effort to disguise his identity, had made quite a name for himself as a murderer, kidnapper, and pirate. “Dalla the Black” had become a name to make children quake in their beds on lonely outpost colonies or tramp freighters …
The child Han wondered whether he was related to these men. Did royal blood run in his veins? Or the blood of a pirate and murderer? He’d probably never know, unless, somehow, he could persuade Shrike to divulge what he knew. He read about Dalla Suul’s exploits as a thief, and smiled grimly, wondering if he was actually following some kind of family tradition.
Then he began checking the more recent Corellian news files and society pages in the computer. A search for the surname “Solo” brought up a name. Tiion Sal-Solo. She was a wealthy but reclusive widow with one child, a son. Thrackan Sal-Solo was six or seven years older than Han, in his late teens.
What if I’m related to this Tiion Solo, or she knew my parents? Han wondered. This could be my best chance yet to get away.
When he went back to Trader’s Luck, Han talked it over with Dewlanna. The Wookiee agreed with him that while it was risky, Han had to take the chance of contracting the Solo family.
“Of course,” Han said, resting his chin on his fist and looking dejectedly at the table, “once I did that, I couldn’t see you again, Dewlanna.”
The Wookiee growled softly, telling Han that of course he’d see her. Just not aboard Trader’s Luck.
“The last time I ran away, Shrike beat me so hard I couldn’t sit down for days,” Han said softly. “If Larrad hadn’t reminded him that he had something else to do, I really think he might’ve killed me.”
Dewlanna rumbled. “You’re right,” Han agreed. “If this Solo family takes me in, they’re powerful enough and rich enough to protect me from Shrike.”
Han even knew something about the rules and manners required of people living in Corellian high society. Every so often, Shrike would run a major scam on rich folks on Corellia. Han had been part of the background during several such con operations.
Shrike would rent a wealthy estate on Corellia, and then set up a “family unit,” to provide a respectable backdrop to the scam. Han and the other children detailed to such a “family” would be sent to live on the estate. He’d go to a rich-kids school, and one of his jobs during the scam was to make friends with the children of the wealthy and bring them home to play. Several times, this had resulted in valuable contacts whose parents had been duped into “investing” in Garris Shrike’s current scam.
Just a few weeks past, Han had been attending such a school—a school so well known that it had merited a visit from the famous Senator Garm Bel Iblis. Han had raised his hand and asked the Senator two questions that had been insightful and intelligent enough to make the Senator really notice him. After class was over, Bel Iblis had stopped Han, shaken his hand, and asked him his name. Han had glanced around quickly, seeing that nobody else was within earshot, and proudly told the Senator his real name. It had felt great to be able to do that …
Shrike recruited Han frequently for his scam operations, partly because of the boy’s easygoing charm and winning smile, and partly because Han’s clandestine studies made him fit into his grade level better than most of the other children. Han had also gained a small reputation as an up-and-coming swoop and speeder pilot—a rich man’s sport if there ever was one. He’d met lots of kids from wealthy families while swoop racing, and several times Shrike had managed to lure their parents into whatever scam he was currently running.
In a year, Han would be eligible to race in Corellia’s Junior Championship division. That would mean big prize money—if he won.
Han both liked and disliked these assignments. He liked them because he got to live in the lap of luxury for weeks, sometimes months. Swoop and speeder racing was life and breath to him, and he got to practice every day.
He disliked these con operations because he always wound up caring about some of the kids he was ordered to befriend, and all the while he knew they and their families would be irrevocably injured by Shrike’s scheme.
Mostly, Han managed to stifle any guilt feelings he felt. He was becoming good at putting himself first. Other people—with the sole exception of Dewlanna—had to come second or not at all. It was self-preservation, and Han was very, very good at that.
I still am, Han thought as he got up from the deck of the Ylesian Dream and went to check on their course and speed. The young Corellian smiled and nodded as he read the instrument readings. Right in the groove, he thought. We’re going to make it.
He checked his air pak, seeing it was more than half-gone.
For a moment Han was tempted to explore the Dream further, but he resisted the impulse. Moving around would just cause him to use up his oxygen faster, and he was skirting the edge of safety as it was.
So he settled back down, and the memories came back. Aunt Tiion. Poor woman And dear cousin Thraken as hre remembered, Han’s lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral grin that was more like a canoid’s snarl …
Han swung down off the high stone wall and landed lightly on the balls of his feet. Through the trees he could see a large structure built of the same native stone as the wall, so he headed toward it, staying in the tree-shadow whenever possible.
When he reached the house, he halted, staring at it in amazement. He’d seen a lot of rich mansions, even lived in more than a few, but he’d never seen anything like the Sal-Solo estate.
Towers festooned with creeping vines, four of them, stood at each corner of a large, squarish stone building. An ancient gardener droid moved about arthritically, pruning the bushes that grew down to the edge of a large trench filled with water. Han walked around to the side and saw, to his surprise, that the stretch of water completely surrounded the house. There was no way to enter the place, except to cross a narrow wooden bridge that spanned the water and led up to the front door.
Han had been interested in military tactics ever since he was small, and he’d read up on them. He studied the Sal-Solo mansion, realizing it was built to almost military fortress standards of impregnability. Well, that sort of fit in with what he’d read about the Solo family. They didn’t socialize, didn’t attend charity events or go to plays or concerts.
In all the times he’d posed as a rich kid, he’d never heard anyone mention the Solo family—and the way those rich people talked about each o
ther, he’d have heard something if they ever mingled with their peers.
Han walked cautiously toward the house. He’d exchanged his ship’s gray jumpsuit for a “borrowed” pair of black pants and a pale gray tunic. He didn’t want anyone finding out where he’d come from.
When he was nearly to the beginning of the causeway, he stood behind one of the large, ornamental bushes and warily peered across the water to the house. What should he do now? Just walk up and activate the door signal? He bit his lip, undecided. What if they called the authorities on him, reported him as a runaway? Shrike would descend on him so fast—
“Gotcha!”
Han gasped and jumped as a hand closed over his upper arm, hauling him around bodily.
The person who’d grabbed him was head and shoulders taller than the younger boy. He had darker hair than Han, and was stockier as well. But it was his face that made Han stand staring at him in blank amazement.
Han gaped, speechless, at the older boy. If he’d ever doubted that he was really related to the Solo family, those doubts died an instant death. The face of the youth who was holding his arm looked like an older version of the face Han saw in the mirror every morning.
Not that they were twins or anything. But there was too much resemblance in their features to be coincidence. The same shape of the brown eyes, the same kind of lips, the same quirk to the eyebrows … the same nose and jaw-line …
The other boy was gaping back at Han, having evidently noticed the same thing. “Hey!” He shook Han’s arm roughly. “Who are you?”
“My name is Han Solo,” Han replied steadily. “You must be Thrackan Sal-Solo.”
“So what if I am?” the other said sullenly. Han was beginning to feel uneasy about the way the boy was eyeing him. He’d seen vrelts with more warmth in their eyes. “Han Solo, eh? I never heard of you. Where do you come from? Who’s your mother and father?”
“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Han said evenly. “I ran away from where I was staying, because I wanted to find my family. I don’t know anything about myself except my name.”
Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare Page 5