Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (33 page)

“Han …” Gently she touched his cheek, caressed his face, and gave him a loving smile. “You’re the ultimate pragmatist, aren’t you? If you’re not getting shot at or caught in a tractor beam, life is great, right?”

He shook his head, a little stung. “I’m a simple guy, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I can’t understand what you’re talking about, Bria. It would be nice if there were some higher power, maybe. I just don’t happen to believe there is. And it hurts me to see you hurt.”

“Han … don’t you realize that the only person you can really take care of and protect is
you
—”

“And
you
, Bria,” he broke in. “Don’t forget that for one second. We’re a team, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” she said. “We are a team. But it’s hard for me to be content with not being shot at or having money. I want
more
.”

“You want some reason for everything that happens. You want to work to make your ideals real,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “But I understand that you don’t let questions like the meaning of life torment you. You’re probably the smart one, Han.”

“Smart?” Han frowned. “I ain’t dumb, I know that, but I never pretended to be a philosopher or something.”

“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.