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

by A. C. Crispin

  “Right. You don’t go around tearing yourself up over injustice and corruption and wrongdoing. You accept things as they are, and you figure out ways around them. Right?”

  He thought about that, and finally nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. Maybe, a long time ago, I had some ideas about how I could become someone who righted wrongs and kicked the bad guys’ butts, but”—he sighed and gave her a wry smile—“I think I got those ideas beaten out of me by the time I was just a little kid. When you lived under Garris Shrike’s rule, you tumbled pretty quick to the fact that nobody was gonna look out for you except yourself—and that sticking your neck out for anyone else was a good way to get it whacked off.”

  “How about Dewlanna?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I knew you’d bring her up.” Han ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. “Dewlanna was different. We looked out for each other, yeah. But she was the only one, Bria. The only one who gave a vrelt’s ass if I lived or died. Knowing that made me a … pragmatist, I guess.”

  “Of course it did,” she said. “That’s perfectly natural.”

  “But go on,” he urged. “You were saying about how the pilgrims were … idealists. Are you one?”

  She nodded. “I think so, Han. All my life I wanted to be more, to be better—to make the universe a better place because I was in it. When I found the Ylesian religion, I really, truly thought that was it. That I could somehow change the universe by believing and having faith.” She smiled wryly and shrugged. “Obviously, I picked the wrong thing to believe in.”

  “Yeah,” he said, turning over in his mind what she’d said. “But there are other things to believe in, Bria. Maybe some of ’em are real. Maybe you just have to find out what the real things are.”

  She stood up and came over to him, then bent down to kiss the top of his head. He stood up and slid his arms around her, held her tightly. “I know what one real thing is,” she said. “You’re real. You’re the most real person I’ve ever met. The most alive.”

  He kissed her cheek, and she laid her head on his shoulder. They stood there like that for a minute, not speaking. Finally, he said, “Dewlanna told me about something she believes in. Some sort of life-strength shared by all creatures, all things. She believed in that. She swore to me it was real.”

  “Maybe I should go off to Kashyyyk,” she said. “On a pilgrimage.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Someday we’ll go there. I’d like to see it. Dewlanna said it was a beautiful world. They live in the treetops.”

  “That would be nice,” she said dreamily. “Just you and me in a treetop. What would we do with ourselves all day?”

  “I can think of one thing,” he said, and bent to kiss her with such passion that even the stars seemed to reel around her in long streaks, and her ears rang …

  No, she realized, a moment later, it wasn’t Han’s kiss that had caused that reaction, it was the alarm beeping to tell them they were coming out of hyperspace. Han grimaced. “Talk about bad timing, sweetheart. But … later, okay?”

  She smiled. “Later … I’ll hold you to it.”

  He was already back in his seat as he checked their coordinates, but he spared a moment to give her a grin that made her heart turn over. “I can hardly wait …”

  Han set the Talisman down in a privately owned landing field on Tralus. “What is this place?” Bria said, following him down the ramp and looking around her in bewilderment. Ships of all sizes and descriptions were clustered together. Some were little more than rusted-out hulks … others looked almost brand-new. None had any identifying codes or names, however. Those markings had been scoured off by laser torches. “It’s like … a ship’s graveyard or something.”

  “Yeah. Old spaceships never die … they just wind up at Truthful Toryl’s Used Spaceship Lot,” Han said. “When you need a ship, or you want to get rid of a ship, and you don’t want to leave a … trail … you come here.”

  Her eyes widened. “These ships are all … stolen?”

  “Most of ’em,” he said. “Ours is, too … remember?”

  Bria grimaced. “I keep trying to forget.”

  Han glanced over at the small office set in the middle of the vast landing field. “And here comes Truthful Toryl himself,” he said.

  Truthful Toryl was a Duros, a tall, thin, blue-skinned humanoid. Completely bald, his face was quite human except for the absence of a nose—which gave him a mournful appearance. Han stepped forward, his hand held out. “Good day to you, Traveler Toryl,” he said. Duros loved to travel so much that the word “traveler” was their preferred honorific. “I’m Keil d’Tana, and this is my associate, Kyloria m’Bal. Very pleased to meet you.”

  “And I you,” Toryl said. “Greetings to two travelers. You have time for refreshment and sharing of stories?”

  The Duros were famed for being wonderful storytellers throughout the galaxy. A Duros had a near-photographic memory for any story he or she heard. Most Duros “collected” stories, and apparently Toryl was no exception.

  “I’m sorry,” Han said. “We are in a bit of a rush. There’s a passenger vessel we have to catch.”

  “I quite understand,” the Duros said. “Since you are taking public transport, I gather you are here to sell, not buy, a ship.”

  “You’re right, Traveler,” Han said. “It’s in prime condition, too. A lovely little pleasure yacht. Just needs a little refitting to be perfect for some rich Corellian family who wants to take the kids on the perfect vacation.”

  “Yacht?” Bria thought Toryl’s voice sharpened on the word, but couldn’t be sure. “I will look and quote you a price, Traveler d’Tana.”

  Han led the way to where the Talisman rested. The Duros’s normally mournful-appearing features lengthened even farther when he saw the Ylesian vessel. “Let me show you around,” Han said, pointing at the ramp.

  The Duros shook his bald blue head. “No need,” he said. “I can offer you five thousand. Firm.”

  Han gaped at the alien, completely shaken out of his normal confident demeanor. “Huh?” he said blankly. “What? That’s crazy! Five thousand for a ship like this? That’s scrap price!”

  The Duros bowed slightly in Han’s direction. “Indeed it is, Traveler Draygo.” He bowed in Bria’s direction. “And Traveler Tharen.” Waving a hand at the Talisman, Truthful Toryl said sadly, “I agree that it is a shame to reduce such a beautiful vessel to scrap. But that is all I could do with her. The Hutts are searching for this vessel … searching intensively. As they are searching for the resourceful pilot Vykk Draygo, who stole her.”

  Han turned away, and Bria saw his lips move in a scathing curse, but when he turned back to face Truthful Toryl, his composure was in place again. “I see,” he said. “Five thousand … firm.”

  “Yes. I might be persuaded to raise that price slightly if you and your companion would tell me your stories …” Toryl added hopefully.

  “Sorry, pal, no can do,” Han said. He shrugged. “Okay, five thousand it is. Cash.”

  “Cash it is,” Truthful Toryl said.

  Later that same day, “Janil Andrus” and his wife, “Drea Andrus,” boarded an intersystem shuttle bound for Corellia. Bria had worried about posing as husband and wife, but Han had assured her that the Hutt SECURITY ALERT bulletins listed them as being single. Privately, he was worried about whether the Hutts would try to trace them, since they knew Bria’s last name, but he was also aware that the Hutts wouldn’t want a scene or their scam on Ylesia revealed to the public. He had to hope that would keep them from openly trying to have them arrested. Han wasn’t figuring on staying on Corellia long …

  The pair arrived on their homeworld early in the evening and caught a transcontinental shuttle to the southern continent, where the Tharen home was located. When they arrived at the station, which Bria said was within walking distance of her home, they were tired and grubby, with no way to change clothes. Their only luggage was the backpack that held Teroenza’s treasures.

  “So �
��” Han said, shifting from one foot to the other and looking out of the station window into a soft, foggy drizzle, “now what? Find a place to hole up until morning? Or should we call ’em and warn ’em?”

  “I think I had better call,” Bria said, sounding uncertain herself. “Wait here.” She headed off to borrow the station master’s comlink. A few minutes later she was back.

  Han saw how drawn and tired she looked and put an arm around her. “So … how’d it go?”

  She smiled wanly. “My mother nearly fainted, then she started screaming at me.” She sighed. “I know she loves me, but the ways she shows it make me want to scream sometimes. She wants the best for me—as long as it’s her idea of what’s best!”

  Han nodded, thinking for the first time in his life that perhaps he’d been lucky, in a way, never having to deal with parents. “So do we start walking?”

  She shook her head. “No. My father is coming for us in the speeder. He’ll be here any minute.”

  Even as she spoke, an expensive speeder pulled up outside of the station. A handsome, distinguished-looking man with gray hair and a heavyset build was at the controls.

  As Han and Bria approached the vehicle, the man leaped out of the speeder and, laughing and crying at the same time, embraced his daughter. Long moments later he turned to shake hands with Han. “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said. “I understand from Bria that you saved her from … well, from terrible things. All I can say is … thank you. Thank you, er …”

  “Solo, sir,” Han said. “Make it Han.”

  Tharen’s grip was firm. “Please … call me Renn, Han.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The ride to Bria’s home was short. They passed through a reinforced set of security gates, then headed down a road that seemed to have no other houses on it. Han glanced to each side and saw high fences, the type he’d used to sneer at back during his days as a burglar. “Not many people live out here,” he observed.

  “Oh, this is our land,” Renn Tharen said carelessly. “Bought it years ago as a cushion between ourselves and our neighbors. I’m a man who likes my privacy.”

  He turned the vehicle into a drive that was closed with a another, equally reinforced but more ornamental gate. Beyond it, Han saw the house and mumbled a virulent curse in Huttese under his breath. Bria, baby … he thought grimly, why didn’t you tell me your family was rich enough to buy and sell half of Corellia?

  The house was huge … wings and modified towers, and landscaping to match. The Tharen house made cousin Thrackan’s place look like a cottage. Bria turned to Han and smiled tremulously. “Well, we’re here.”

  “Yeah,” Han said, deliberately keeping his voice noncommittal. He could tell that Bria was nearly sick with anxiety, and he didn’t want to worry her more than she was. At least there was one advantage to Bria’s parents being rich—the Hutts would never dare to try to grab her while she was in her parents’ home. That would surely cause a major interstellar incident, and Hutts preferred to work clandestinely.

  Before the party could reach the front door, Bria’s mother came bursting out, dressed in a flowing gown that Han could only recognize as “rich.”

  “Darling!” she gasped, enfolding Bria in her arms. Han stood off to the side, glad to be out of the way until Bria and her parents were finished with their greetings.

  Midway through the whole hubbub of greetings, recriminations, tears, embraces, and excited questions and answers, Bria’s brother came home. Han recalled Bria saying her brother’s name was “Pavik.” Unlike his sister, Pavik Tharen took after his mother; short, slender, with dark hair and green eyes. He was a handsome youth, and seemed genuinely fond of his sister.

  It was a long time before Bria could disengage herself from her family to introduce Han. Eyes shining, she took his hand and led him over to meet her mother, Sera Tharen, and her brother.

  “Pleased to meet you, Lady Tharen,” Han said, shaking hands and putting on his best manners. “And you, Pavik.”

  Bria’s mother’s handclasp was limp and unenthusiastic. She studied Han, and he gained the quick impression that she didn’t much like what she saw. He sighed inwardly. I’ve got a very bad feeling about this…

  “Well, please come in,” Sera Tharen said. “Let’s all sit down. I must say, this has been a shock. I never thought I’d see my baby again, I really didn’t. Bria, darling, how could you do this to us?”

  Still murmuring recriminations, Sera Tharen led the way inside.

  When Han reached the parlor of the house, and they all sat down, he had to repress the urge to leap up and stride out. I don’t belong here, he thought. I know it, and they know it.

  The thought made him angry. Refusing to let his discomfort show, Han sat down and lounged back against the opulent cushions with a deliberate show of ease. He looked around, his professional eye automatically assessing the credit value the knickknacks and decorations would have to a fence. “Nice place,” he said casually.

  “Well, er—” Sera began.

  “Han. Call me Han, Lady Tharen,” Han said.

  “Very well, Han,” Bria’s mother said stiffly, “I gather we have you to thank for Bria’s return.” Her eyes were fixed on Han’s blaster, and he realized that, like most citizens, none of Bria’s family went armed. Tough, lady, Han thought. I don’t take off my blaster for you or anybody. Live with it.

  “Well, I tried to be helpful, Lady Tharen,” Han replied. “But I couldn’t have managed without Bria. She’s plenty tough when she wants to be. Good in a fight.”

  Lady Tharen stiffened, and Han realized that the woman would not regard what he’d said as a compliment. “Oh, dear …” she murmured. “Bria, darling, before you sit down, why don’t you go and change? Really, dear, where did you get those dreadful clothes?”

  “The tailor droid at the Ylesian Colony,” Bria said quickly, and she cast an appealing glance at Han, as if to ask whether he’d be all right.

  Han gave her a reassuring wave. “Run along, honey.”

  Lady Tharen stiffened again at the casual endearment. Bria smiled at Han, gave her mother and brother a doubtful glance, and went quickly from the room.

  “So, Han,” Pavik Tharen said, “what do you do?” He was staring closely at Han, his eyes assessing in a way that made the pilot uncomfortable.

  “Oh, whatever it takes to get by,” Han replied carelessly. “Mostly I’m a pilot.”

  “In the Navy?” Lady Tharen asked, brightening slightly. “Are you an officer?”

  “Nope. Freighters, ma’am. I can fly most anything, anywhere. That’s why I was on Ylesia, running—” Han broke off, remembering for the first time in a long while that the contraband spice trade was highly illegal, “That is, hauling cargo.”

  “Oh,” murmured Lady Tharen, obviously not understanding, but uncomfortable with Han’s answer. “How interesting.”

  “Yeah, it has its moments,” Han said.

  “I started out as a pilot, many years ago,” Renn Tharen said, a note of approval in his voice. “When I was about your age, Han. Worked my way up until I owned the shipping company. That’s how I made my first million.”

  Han thought of telling Renn Tharen that he was intending to enter the Imperial Academy, but the habit of not revealing any personal information was too ingrained. He just smiled and nodded at Bria’s father. “Those were the exciting days, sir,” he said. “Lots of pirates back then, right?”

  Renn Tharen smiled. “I had a few run-ins. I imagine you have, too.”

  Han smiled back. “A few.”

  Sera Tharen looked from one to the other, vaguely disturbed. “Oh, dear. That sounds … dangerous.”

  “Comes with the job, Lady Tharen,” Han said.

  “But I’m forgetting my manners!” she said. “Captain Solo, can I get you something to drink or eat?”

  “I wouldn’t mind an Alderaanian ale,” Han said. “And some flatbread with meat and cheese. We’ve been traveling all day.”

  “I’l
l tell the cook,” Lady Tharen said. Han was astonished to realize that the “cook” was a living being, a female Selonian, instead of a droid. This further evidence of wealth impressed him more than anything he’d yet encountered.

  By the time Bria reemerged, Han was sitting out in the dining room, eating. He saw her walk out and paused in midbite.

  She wore a plain blue-green dress that matched her eyes. The soft fabric had a faint sheen and clung to her in all the right places. And, for the first time since he’d known her, Bria’s hair was attractively styled, brushed out into a halo of soft red-gold curls. She looked so different from the blaster-toting thief of a few days ago that it was as though she’d stepped out of another universe.

  It’s a good thing Ganar Tos can’t see her now, he thought wryly. “You look beautiful, honey,” he said. “That’s a pretty dress.”

  Han was sophisticated enough to realize that dress probably cost more credits than the average space pilot earned in a week. She’s been raised to have so much, he thought uneasily. How is she going to react to living on the salary of, first, an Imperial cadet, then an Imperial officer?

  Bria smiled and sat down beside him. “Mother, could I have something to eat, too? I’m starved!”

  As Han and Bria munched their late-night snack, her family gathered around the table and sipped expensive vine-coffeine from fragile Levier-made porcelain cups, while the butler, another Selonian, waited on them.

  “So, Captain Solo … you’re Corellian?” Lady Tharen said, raising a delicate eyebrow to indicate that she was pretty sure he was. Han, still chewing, nodded, then swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And your family?” she asked. “Are you one of the Sal-Solos?” There was a touch of hope in her voice. “They have a lovely old estate, I understand. I’ve met the son a few times, but Lady Sal-Solo is very reclusive. I understand her health is not robust.”

  “No, Lady Tharen,” Han replied. “No relation.”

  “Oh,” she said, visibly disappointed. “What branch of the family are you from, then?”

  Bria was looking very uncomfortable, Han noticed, but he couldn’t tell whether she was ill at ease for him, or because of him. “Don’t know, Lady Tharen,” he said honestly. “I’m an orphan, most likely. Traders found me wandering in an alley down by the waterfront near Capital Spaceport when I was a little kid. I was raised by ’em. Spent most of my time in space.” Part of him took a perverse pleasure in watching her reaction to this information.