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

by A. C. Crispin

  “Because … you’re not good for me. For my spiritual essence.”

  He smiled in the hot darkness. “Admit it. You like me.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. Admit it.” He stepped closer to her, looking down into her face. She was tall, only half a head shorter than he was. Gently Han reached up to push the concealing goggles up, off her eyes. His fingers lingered on her cheek as he did it. “There,” he said softly, “that’s better. It’s wrong … totally wrong … to cover this face, these eyes …”

  “You’re … you’re being blasphemous,” she said, sounding breathless, but she didn’t jerk away.

  “No, I’m not,” he said. “Tell me your name.”

  She shook her head miserably, and her eyes were haunted. “Vykk … I can’t …”

  “All right.” I can wait, Han thought. “But I will see you again, right?”

  She hesitated for so long that he found himself holding his breath. Then she ducked her head, mumbled, “Yes,” and pulled away. This time, Han let her go.

  921 ran away, into the dormitory, without looking back.

  Han leaned forward in the pilot’s seat, glancing at the figures rolling by on the screen of the navicomputer. “Ready to enter realspace, at rendezvous coordinates,” he said aloud. “Three … two … one …”

  He pulled back the lever, and the stars around the Ylesian Dream suddenly elongated into thin streaks of light all reaching toward a central point—a point toward which the ship plunged. The engines roared, then throttled down, and then—with a suddenness that took some getting used to—they were back in realspace.

  “Right on course, Muuurgh,” Han said triumphantly. “I’m getting this interstellar flying stuff down pat lately, ain’t I?”

  “Aren’t,” the Togorian corrected. “I have been reading book Pilot gave Muur—” he stopped himself, “uh, me, and ‘ain’t’ is not correct way to talk Basic.”

  “Remind me to teach you about articles sometime,” Han muttered. “Don’t I even get a gold star for bringing us to the rendezvous right on the money?”

  “Much better than first time,” Muuurgh commented, referring to their first interstellar trip, three weeks ago. Han had made a tiny error in programming the navicomputer on exactly where to bring them out of hyperspace, and the Dream had wound up three parsecs from where they were supposed to emerge.

  Han had had to make an extra hyperspace jump to bring them into correct position.

  “Hey,” Han protested, “that was just my first time! And it wasn’t my fault that screen is so old that an eight looked like a six.”

  “Pilot has done better since then,” Muuurgh acknowledged. “Second and third trips went okay.”

  “You bet they did,” Han muttered. “I’m good, Muuurgh … I really am. I’ll bet that I could almost pass the exams to get into the Imperial Academy now. A few more months practice, and I’ll really be set.”

  “Muuurgh will miss …” the Togorian paused. “Correction. I will miss Pilot when he goes.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, pal,” Han said, meaning it. “But don’t worry, we can—”

  The Ylesian Dream shuddered violently as a loud whang! reverberated through her hull. “What the—” Han pushed buttons, turning on the rear viewscreen. “Muuurgh, something hit us!”

  “Asteroid?” the Togorian suggested.

  Whanggggg!

  “No!” Han yelled, staring incredulously at the viewscreen. “Two ships! They’ve gotta be pirates! Get to the gunner’s well!”

  As he stared at the screen, the rightmost vessel launched another shot. “Brace yourself!”

  Muuurgh, who had unstrapped himself and gotten up to head for the gunner’s mount, yowled as another shot whanged against the hull, sending him back into his seat with bruising force.

  Cursing, Han yanked the Dream hard to port. Who were these guys? Pirates usually fired warning shots and demanded that the attacked vessel surrender. Their goal was to steal the cargo, commandeer the ship, and keep the crew alive so they could be sold as slaves. Destroying or crippling the ship and killing the crew wasn’t cost-effective.

  “Muuurgh! Get below! They’re gonna blast us into atoms! We’ve lost a shield!”

  As the Togorian propelled himself out of the copilot’s seat and lurched out of the control room, two more shots grazed the Ylesian Dream. They’re aiming at the hyperdrive engines! They’re out to cripple us!

  Han sent the ship into a desperate roll, flipping her up on her side, just in time to avoid another blast that nearly singed his underside and would have blown out his Quadex power core.

  He put on a burst of speed, trying to get far enough ahead of the pursuing pirates to double back and shoot at them. He had little confidence in Muuurgh’s ability to actually hit anything while manning the gun well. The Togorian was quick and able, but he’d never actually shot at a live—much less moving—target.

  As he sent the ship hurtling recklessly along, straining her speed to the utmost, Han flipped open his communications channel. He had to let someone know what was happening, in case the Dream was crippled and they got a chance to get to a lifepod.

  “Ylesia Colony One, this is Ylesian Dream. Colony One, this is the Dream. We are under attack, repeat, under attack. Two vessels jumped us just after we emerged from hyperspace!” Han’s voice cracked from the strain. “Honest, it wasn’t my fault! They’re chasing us, and I’m taking evasive maneuvers—Pilot Draygo out!”

  Han glanced at the viewscreen with the sensor readouts below, saw that they’d gained on their pursuers—he still hadn’t gotten a good look at the pirate ships—and then sent the Dream spiraling down, beneath the oncoming ships. As they whooshed by overhead, he flipped his vessel up into a tight turn. “Muuurgh! Now!” he yelled into the intercom.

  A Togorian roar and a splat of energy rewarded his command—but Muuurgh missed his quarry completely. One of the pirates had turned, and was firing again—

  Wham!!

  The Ylesian Dream shook violently as the ship sustained a major hit. Han’s stomach lurched as he heard a yowl of sheer agony float up from the gun well. “Muuurgh? Muuurgh? Are you hit?” he yelled, but there was no answer.

  A quick status check told him that they’d suffered a tiny drop in pressure, but that the leak had been automatically sealed by the ship’s systems.

  “All right, you creeps …” Han muttered, homing in with his Arakyd concussion missiles, centering the rightmost pirate in the cross-sights … “take that!”

  The Dream lurched violently as the missile shot away. Han grimaced as the pirate managed to evade at the last second. He tried again … if he could just get him moving more to his portside …

  “Yes!” Han muttered savagely as he launched another missile right into the path of the pirate, anticipating his evasive maneuver. “Gotcha!”

  A second later a bright yellow-white light splashed out in all directions, expanding into a fireball of incandescent beauty. Han had to look away, and when he looked back, the other pirate was hightailing it in the opposite direction at full throttle.

  “No you don’t,” Han growled. “I’ll get you, too—” With a fierce stab of his finger, he tracked and launched again.

  The concussion missile followed its target, but then the pirate ship vanished in a burst of striated light. They had jumped to hyperspace and safety. Han cursed under his breath as he put the Dream on autopilot and bolted for the gun well. Was Muuurgh okay?

  Seconds later Han was standing in the ruins of the gun mount, seeing the pressure sealant that the Dream’s systems had automatically triggered to squirt out and mend the pressure leak. There was a strong ozone smell and scorch marks where the blast had hit them.

  Muuurgh was still strapped in the movable seat, but the Togorian was slumped, unconscious, and he didn’t stir as Han unstrapped him and managed to half carry, half drag him up the ladder to the control room.

  The Togorian was breathing, but there was a b
urn mark along one side of his head, just below his right ear. Han looked further, running his fingers through the black fur, and discovered a swelling lump just back of the ear. The Togorian had obviously taken a nasty blow to the head. Han wasn’t sure what to do—he knew first aid for humans, and a few species of aliens, but Muuurgh’s people were rare in the galaxy.

  Got to get him to a medical facility, he thought, covering the unconscious alien with a blanket and going forward to check his navicomputer. Where’s the nearest system?

  Han scanned star charts, then his finger stabbed down. “Okay,” he whispered. “Here we go.” He glanced over at the Togorian. “Hang on, Muuurgh!”

  Han programmed the ship for the short hyperspace hop, then, before giving the command, went to check the engines. The nose-wrinkling smell of a burned connection made him grimace. Wonder whether I should use the backup hyperdrive unit instead?

  But the backup was much slower, and he had no way of knowing how serious Muuurgh’s condition was. Han decided to chance using the main hyperdrive engine. He held his breath as he initiated the jump to hyperspace. From the way the ship hesitated, and the laboring sound of the engine, he started to sweat.

  The Dream strained, shuddered, but the stars suddenly blazed at him in streaks, and they jumped.

  Han came out of hyperspace a short time later, thanking his lucky stars that the Ylesian Dream had held together for that hop. The ship’s lightspeed engines definitely needed repairs …

  The Corellian headed into the star system he’d chosen, toward the sole inhabited world. While he was still fairly far out, he placed the Dream on autopilot and went back to check the box of glitterstim. The world he’d chosen was known to have customs and spice checks, so he opened up the secret compartment the priests had had built into the cargo deck and removed the boxes of Doreenian ambergris perfume that he carried as a “cover” cargo. Grunting with effort, Han lugged the heavy containers of perfume into the cargo bay and put them down. Then he placed the much smaller container of glitterstim vials in the concealed compartment, making sure it sealed shut. Unless someone knew it was there, he’d never spot it, and the hatch was designed to be scanner-proof.

  By the time Han returned to his pilot’s seat, the world he’d chosen was growing in his viewscreens. As he approached, he saw it was a lovely world, hanging blue and white and tan against the night-blackness of space.

  As he swooped toward it, Han suddenly remembered that he’d shut down his communications system after sending off the message to Ylesia. Better turn it back on, he thought, check in with the spaceport authority and get clearance to land. He glanced back at Muuurgh, who hadn’t stirred or made a sound. And arrange for transport to the nearest hospital …

  As his fingers clicked on the comm unit, the vid-screen filled with an image of a kindly looking man with a little, dark haired girl sitting on his lap. Han was startled, then realized that this message was prerecorded, and played to every ship on an approach vector.

  A voice-over identified the man: “His Majesty, Bail Prestor Organa, Viceroy and First Chairman.”

  The man smiled into the screen. “Greetings. On behalf of myself and my people, I bid you welcome to Alderaan.”

  Han listened with half his attention as the man—King somebody or other, did they say?—continued with the vid-message. “As many of our visitors are already aware, Alderaan is a peaceful world, a world where we have eschewed weapons and their use. While you are our guest, we ask that you respect our traditions and our laws, by leaving your weapons with the Port Authority during your stay here.

  “You will find that Alderaan has much to offer a visitor. We have almost no crime …”

  Right, Han thought. I’ll just bet …

  “And no pollution. Our lakes are clear, our air is pure, and our people are happy. We have wonderful museums, and we invite you to visit them. Be sure not to miss our grass paintings as you fly over them on your landing approach. Our grass painters are among the greatest artists in the galaxy. We welcome visitors to our beautiful world, and we ask only that you come in peace, and that you obey our—”

  With a muttered curse, Han leaned over and snapped the audio portion of the broadcast off. He made a rude gesture at the screen. A whole planet full of honest citizens? I’ll believe it when I see it …

  Minutes later, Bail Organa’s canned message was replaced by a live traffic controller from the Port Authority. Han snapped the audio back on. “Captain Draygo, piloting the Ylesian Dream,” he said crisply. “Request permission to land. I was attacked by pirates, my ship is damaged, and I’ve got an injured gunner. Can you arrange for med-lift to meet my ship as soon as I land?”

  “Certainly, Captain Draygo. I’ve assigned you a priority approach vector. We’re slotting you in at Docking Bay 422. Just follow the landing beacon to your site. We’ll have a transport and med droid standing by.”

  “Thanks.”

  Han’s approach vector did indeed take him over the grass paintings, and distracted as he was, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The huge plain of windblown, flowing grass boasted a kilometers-wide abstract design picked out in multicolored wildflowers. Neat trick, he thought. Wonder how they do it? And why they bother? It’s not like you could sell art like that and make money off it …

  The capital city of Alderaan, Aldera, was located on an island in the middle of a lake. The site of the lake was actually a meteor crater that had filled with water from underground springs. The remains of the huge, relatively “recent” (in geological terms, at least) crater surrounded the lake in a series of low, jagged foothills whose sides were splashed with green fields and forests. The water filling the millennia-old crater sparkled brilliant ice-blue in the early morning rays of the sun.

  The spaceport was on the far side of the island, and Han swooped low over the city on his assigned approach vector. In just minutes he was bringing the Ylesian Dream down for a perfect landing. He’d now had so much experience landing despite massive storms and vicious air currents that landing a ship on a normal planet seemed like child’s play.

  The medical unit was waiting, as promised. Han quickly unbuckled Muuurgh’s blaster and stowed it away, then he brought the med droid with the anti-grav stretcher on board, and helped load Muuurgh onto it. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” he asked the attending droid.

  “My preliminary scan indicates that there is no life-threatening trauma as a result of the head injury,” the droid replied. “However, we will need to run further tests. I would anticipate that your crew member will require an overnight stay in our facility.”

  “Okay,” Han said. I’ve got to figure out some way to pay for Muuurgh’s treatment, he thought as he watched the stretcher bearing the Togorian vanish inside the transport, which promptly lifted off and headed south.

  Seeing a technician going by, Han waved the woman over. “Listen, I’ve sustained some damage,” he said. “Can I get a repair crew in here right away?”

  “Let me see how bad it is,” she said. Han guided her into the gunner’s mount, then into the engine room to check out the hyperdrive. “Both jobs will require at least six hours work to fix,” she told him. “But we can start on it today.”

  “Good,” Han said. He had done minor swoop and speeder repairs while he was a racer, but he’d never tackled anything as big as this, and he wanted to make sure the job was done right.

  As the repair crew came aboard the Dream, Han wondered what he should do next. Call Ylesia, he decided. The priests were going to have to arrange for payment for the repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.

  Han headed for the control cabin, intending to place the call immediately. His hand was actually on the switch when he suddenly froze.

  Waaaaiiittt a minute … he thought. What am I doing? I’m sitting here with a load of glitterstim, the most valuable spice of all, and I’m just going to take it back to Ylesia so they can sell it again?

  Han checked back in his automatic log recordings, listened to wh
at he’d said during his transmission. He grinned to himself. This is a piece of cake. All I have to do is tell the priests that I was boarded and the pirates took the glitterstim. Muuurgh was out cold, he doesn’t know what happened. I can sell this spice here on Alderaan, stash the money in an account here, then send for it later. They’ll never know …

  But if he wanted to keep his job as a pilot for the Ylesian priests, he’d have to make the deal fast. He’d reported himself at the rendezvous coordinates, and the priests weren’t stupid. They could check on how long it would take a ship to get from where he’d been attacked to Alderaan. He could account for a few extra hours by pointing to the damage the Dream had sustained and pleading the slowness of the journey, the need to nurse the ship along …

  Okay, Han thought. I’ve got about five hours I can fudge here … no more. By that time I’ve got to call in and let them know I’m alive, that their ship is damaged, and that they have to arrange for payment. Any more time than that, and they’ll get suspicious …

  Pulling his battered brown lizard-hide jacket out of his locker, Han straightened his worn pilot’s coverall as best he could. Then he combed his hair. Don’t want to look scruffy, he thought wryly, thinking of Dewlanna and how the Wookiee had always told him he looked good with his hair standing straight up, like one of her own people.

  Pulling on the jacket over the gray uniform, he stared regretfully at Muuurgh’s blaster, wishing he could strap it on. Stupid planet. Whoever heard of a world with no weapons allowed? With a sigh and a shake of his head, Han left the Ylesian Dream to the repair crews.

  He walked quickly to the entrance to the spaceport, then caught one of the free shuttles that led into the capital city of Aldera. The metropolis glittered white in the sunshine, as clean and luxurious as a city in a dream. Han stared out the windows of the shuttle, taking in the ultra-modern towers, domes, and layered buildings, their white shapes interspersed with green terraces. The island was hilly, and the city architects had followed the natural lines of the place rather than leveling it. The result was pleasant and varied to the eyes … beautiful and modern, without seeming harsh or artificial.