Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (38 page)

The scene that met his eyes was entirely peaceful. Citizens strolled along a passageway between buildings, and from somewhere not far away, music played.

Han glanced at his map-link as he strode along.
Turn right here …

And there was the next turbolift. Han passed it up as being too obvious, and went on to take a horizontal tube into the next megablock. Then came another lift down. Two hundred stories, this time.

The streets were dirtier, now, as he searched for the next lift, making sure his turns were random. Down again. He was five hundred stories down, by now. The streets grew ever seedier.

One time, a gang of kids approached him as he hurried along. Han shook his head at them warningly. “Don’t,” he said.

“ ‘Don’t’?” the leader, a huge, dark-skinned kid with a black fall of greasy hair, mocked. “Ooooooh, is big man afraid? Big man gonna be
real
afraid, when we get done with him …”

Six vibroblades flashed in the dim squalor of the alleys
the streets had come to resemble. Han sighed, rolled his eyes, and pulled out the blaster.

The gang evaporated so quickly they might have been snatched up by hawk-bats. Han stood there, blaster in hand, until he was certain the kids were gone.

A few startled passersby glanced at him, then quickly hurried on about their business, with a “Me? I didn’t see
nothing
!” expression.

Shoving the blaster back into the front of his jacket, Han jogged down the shadowed street toward the next lift.

Another hundred stories, then another. He was seven hundred stories down. By now his map-link was useless.
How deep
is
this place?
he wondered, boarding another horizontal lift. The turbolift reeked of human and alien effluvia.

Eight hundred … eight hundred fifty.

By now Han was moving through streets lit only feebly by stray gleams from the airshafts, or by wan glow-lamps attached to the ramshackle buildings. The permacrete beneath his boots was often awash with foul-smelling, viscous liquid. Noxious rain spattered down, and fungi grew thick on the stonework.

No more citizens were in evidence—only darting forms that were too quick and furtive to identify. Han thought some of them might be aliens, and knowing Emperor Palpatine’s poorly concealed dislike and distrust of nonhumans, Han wasn’t surprised to find them lurking here, in the depths.

One thousand stories. Eleven hundred …

Han went in search of another lift, but couldn’t find one. Instead he found a series of stairwells that took him down, and down …

He was now almost twelve hundred stories down. Approximately thirty-six hundred meters below where he’d started out at the top level at the Imperial Bank.

Han was panting, even though he was going downhill. The air down here was thick and humid, and smelled foul, as though he were at the bottom of a tunnel.

No sign of pursuit.
I’ve lost them
, Han thought, walking aimlessly along. He caught a flash of
something
scuttling along beside the front of one of the sagging, sunken buildings, something that moved hunched over, like an animal, but it walked on its hind legs. Tattered scraps of cloth barely concealed pallid skin, blotched with lesions and running sores. The creature snarled at Han from behind a mat of lank, filthy hair, revealing a mouth full of rotting stumps of teeth.

Han truly couldn’t decide whether it was—or once had been—human.

The being scrambled away, hissing like a vrelt, half on its feet, half using all fours as it ran.

Shaken, Han took his blaster out of his jacket and stuck it into the front of his belt, wearing it openly, hoping its presence would deter any more creatures like the one he’d seen.

He passed the mouth of another alley, and there, in the ooze, several of the troglodytes crouched, tearing and ripping at something, cramming bits of it into their red-stained mouths. Revolted, Han drew his blaster, snapped off a shot over their heads, and watched them scatter.

He didn’t go any closer to their prey, but swallowed uneasily when he saw that human-shaped ribs protruded from the mangled chest.
Minions of Xendor, what kind of place is this?

His legs were growing very tired. He wasn’t wearing a chrono, but when he passed beneath an airshaft, Han tilted his head far, far back and stared up at the dizzying height. A faint square of pallid light was visible at the very top.
Light’s going. By the time I’ll be able to reach the rendezvous, it’ll be dark …
For the first time in hours, Han thought of Bria, and was very glad he hadn’t taken her with him to the bank this morning.

She would be worried, he knew that. With a sigh, Han found another stairway and started the long, long climb upward.

By the time he’d reached a level that had such amenities
as parks, and park benches to sit on, Han’s legs were cramped and he was shaky with exhausion. He slumped onto the bench, wondering, for the first time, what he’d do now.

He was so tired and disheartened that his mind spun like a creature trapped inside a barrel, rolling downhill.
Gotta think
, he told himself.
I can’t go back to Bria like this …

But, despite his best efforts, no solution to his present dilemma presented itself. Han got to his feet and shambled off toward the nearest turbolift, feeling like one of the troglodytes he’d seen—only marginally human.

When he checked his locator, he found that it was working again, and he began following it to the coordinates he’d told Bria about.

Level 132, megablock 17, block 5, subblock 12
 … he kept repeating to himself. As he ascended the levels to ones that were, to his mind, livable, his stomach growled when he caught whiffs of enticing odors from cafés and restaurants he passed.

Finally, he saw a sign lighting up the night in a sleazy section that bordered the alien enclave. A huge, venom-dripping Devaronian fur-spider, picked out in garish greenish-black lights, dangled from an eye-searing scarlet web.
The Glow Spider. At last …

Noise and bustle filled the streets, and many of the passersby were the worse for drink or drugs. Han passed the mouth of an alley and saw someone activate a light, then the blue flash and sizzle as a dose of glitterstim ignited.

Han paused in an alcove across the street from the cantina, wondering whether Bria was waiting outside or inside. He hoped she hadn’t gone inside alone … or had she gone to try and make contact with Nici the Specialist? He sighed, wiped his sweaty face with his hand, and felt his head spin from exhaustion, thirst, and hunger.

As he hesitated, Han felt someone grab his arm. He spun on his heel, hand going to the front of his jacket where the blaster was hidden, and then stopped when he saw Bria. “Honey!” he gasped, grabbing her and holding
her so tightly she began to struggle after a second. She felt—and smelled—so
good
!

“Han!” she gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

He relaxed his grip slightly, stood swaying. She pushed his hair back from his brow, staring anxiously up into his eyes. “Oh, Han! What
happened
?”

Han felt his throat close up, and for a moment he was afraid he might disgrace himself and start bawling. But he took a deep breath, shook his head, and said, “Not here. Let’s find a place to stay and some food. I’m done in.”

Half an hour later, they were locked inside their room in a dingy flophouse. Han had been in worse, but it hurt him to see Bria’s brave attempt to pretend she wasn’t shocked by the dirt, the smells, and the scuttling insects. But the place was cheap and seemed secure.

The first thing Han did was wash up and drink several glasses of water. He still felt light-headed, but the smell of the carry-in food revived him somewhat. He sat down on the edge of the rickety bed, and he and Bria took turns eating out of the single container.

The food returned some energy to Han’s exhausted body. He swallowed the last bite and sat back, staring hollow-eyed at Bria, wondering where to begin.

“Han, you have to tell me,” she said. “I know from your expression that it’s bad. You didn’t get the money, did you?”

Han shook his head, then, slowly, haltingly, he told her what had happened. Tears filled Bria’s eyes as she sat listening to him. Finally, he stopped … or ran down. “And I made it back here,” he finished. “The rest … the rest you know. Honey”—he looked at her, feeling his throat close up—“this is it. There’s no place left to turn. I can’t think of anything to do except use the last of our credits to try and get off-world. Then … we can work. I can get a job piloting, I know I can.” He sighed and buried his head in his hands.

“Baby … this is my fault. I should have realized the Hutts would run an all-system scan on my retinal patterns, and that they’d turn up all my aliases. I thought I’d been smart—but I was dumb as a box of rocks. Oh, Bria …”
He groaned, and turned to her, sliding his arms around her, putting his head on her shoulder. “Can you forgive me?”

She kissed his forehead and said softly, “There’s nothing to forgive. It wasn’t your fault. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d be in a pleasure-house being passed around from one stormtrooper to another. Never forget that, Han. You are a hero. You saved me, and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I couldn’t say it before … but … I want you to know. I love you, Bria.”

She nodded, and a tear broke loose and coursed down her cheek. Han wiped it away with a fingertip. “Don’t cry,” he said. “I admit I came close to it myself, earlier, but I’ve been thinking. If we can just get off this blasted world, I know we can manage. We can work. We’ll make a life … I know we can.” He hesitated, then blurted, “We could even get married, sweetheart. If you want.”

He could tell she was profoundly moved by his awkward proposal, but she shook her head. “Your dreams, Han. You can’t give them up. We’ve gotten this close. We have to think of something. You’re going to be an officer in the Imperial Navy, remember?”

It was his turn to shake his head. “Not anymore, Bria. That’s over, now. I’ve gotta think of what else I’m gonna do with my life.”

“Oh, Han!” she began to cry in earnest. “I can’t bear to see you so hurt!”

“I’m okay,” he insisted, though it was a lie.

Bria laid her head against his chest, then held him tightly. “We’re okay for tonight,” Han said. “Tomorrow we’ve gotta do some heavy-duty planning.”

She was kissing him now, his cheek, his chin, his jaw … little, desperate, grazing kisses. Han held her tightly and captured her mouth, kissing her, touching her cheek, running his fingers through her hair, desperate to touch her, to be healed by her touch.

The dingy little room faded away, and all he could think about was how glad he was to be with her …

·  ·  ·

In the early hours before daylight, on this world where night and day meant very little to anyone who wasn’t living a wealthy “top-level” existence, Bria Tharen sat huddled in the grubby, cramped refresher unit. In her hands was a stylus, and before her was a sheet of flimsy and a large stack of credits.

Faintly, from the bedroom, she could hear Han snoring lightly. He was so exhausted he’d never heard her get up and leave, never awakened when she’d returned, hours later.

Now she struggled with the flimsy and the stylus, stopping every so often to wipe away the tears that blurred her eyes, making it almost impossible to write. Six or seven times she’d voided the flimsy and started over, but time was ticking by, and she couldn’t be here when Han awoke. If he awakened, Bria knew, she’d never, ever, be able to make herself go.

So she was taking the coward’s way out, once again. Her sobs caught in her throat, and she pressed both hands against her chest. For a moment she wondered whether her heart might stop from the pain she felt, then she shook her head and told herself to stop delaying.
I’m so sorry
, she made herself write.
Please forgive me for doing this …

Tonight, for the first time, she’d realized that Han might not achieve his lifelong dream if she stayed with him. She’d been dragging him down, holding him back, for weeks, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it. But tonight … seeing the anguish in his eyes, hearing the catch in his voice—it had been too terrible to bear.

So she had slipped out, found a bar where the proprietor had let her pay him to borrow his comm unit, and called her father. Bria had appealed for help, both for herself and for Han. The pile of credit vouchers on the floor was the result. Renn Tharen was a man who knew how to get things done, and he had wasted no time. The money had been delivered to Bria by one of her father’s Coruscant business associates, who had handed her the credits, refused thanks,
then headed back out into the night, clearly glad to get away from the sleazy, all-night tavern.

During their brief conversation, Bria’s father had warned her not to come home. Renn Tharen told her that inspectors from CorSec had come to the house shortly after Bria and Han escaped, asking about Bria’s whereabouts. “I told them nothing,” he said. “And your brother and mother aren’t speaking to me, because I cut off their allowances for a month, even though they swore they hadn’t called CorSec. Be careful, dear …”

“I will, Dad,” Bria promised. “I love you, Dad. Thanks …”

I’ve hurt him, too
, Bria thought.
Why do I always hurt the people I love the most?

Despair filled her, but she refused to let herself break down. All she could do for Han, if she loved him, was to leave him.
Be strong, Bria
, she commanded herself.

Gripping the stylus tightly, Bria wiped away her tears, then forced herself to finish the most difficult letter she would ever write …

   Han knew something was wrong even before he opened his eyes. There was no sound, none at all. “Bria?” he called.
Where is she?
Sliding out of bed, he pulled on his clothes. “Bria, honey?”

No answer.

Han took a deep breath and told his wildly hammering heart to calm down.
She probably went out to get some stim-tea and pastry for breakfast
, he told himself. It was a reasonable guess, under the circumstances—but something told him that he was wrong.