Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (3 page)

Han crawled back to his friend, turning her over gently, seeing the great hole the blaster beam had bored into her chest. He knew immediately that the wound was mortal. No medical droid ever constructed could heal this. Dewlanna moaned, gasped, and fought with all her great Wookiee strength to breathe. Han slid his arms beneath her shoulders and tried to ease her struggle. Her blue eyes opened and, after a moment, fixed on his. Lucidity returned, and she rumbled softly.

“No, I won’t leave you!” Han replied, clutching her harder. Tears blurred his vision, and she swam below him in a sea of brown fur. “I don’t care if I get away! Oh, Dewlanna …”

Making a great effort, she raised a huge, furred paw-hand and grasped his arm. Han had to struggle to translate her speech. “I know,” he choked, talking aloud so she’d know he understood her. “I know you care about me …” she rumbled again, “as much as you do your own children.”

Han swallowed, his throat tight and aching. “I … I feel the same way, Dewlanna. You’re the closest thing to a mother I’ll ever have.”

A long moan of anguish made her shudder. She rumbled at him again. “No,” Han insisted. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay with you till … till …” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Dewlanna grabbed his arm with a ghost of her old strength and growled at him urgently. “If I …” Han was having trouble comprehending her slurred speech, “if I die … nothing? Oh, you’re saying that if I don’t live, you’ll have died for nothing?”

She nodded, her eyes in their nest of hair holding his with all the intensity she could muster. Han shook his head stubbornly. How could he abandon her to die alone?

Dewlanna rumbled softly, faintly. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be safe, one with the life-power,” Han said, trying to sound sincere. He knew some Wookiees believed in a unifying power that bound all of existence together. Personally, he thought this power—he’d never been able to translate the term accurately, the Wookiee word could have meant “strength,” or “force,” too—that Dewlanna believed in so steadfastly was just superstition.

But if it comforted her to believe in it during her dying moments, Han wasn’t going to argue with her. He remembered the words she’d said to him several times. “Dewlanna, may the life-power be with you …” For a moment he wished that he, too, could believe …

She moaned with pain. Han could see she was going fast. Then Dewlanna rumbled feebly, and again he automatically translated. “Your last request …” He choked, barely able to get the words out, “You want me … to go … to live. And to be … happy.”

Han struggled not to break down. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll go. I still have time to get aboard that robot ship before it takes off.”

Dewlanna whined faintly.

“I
promise
,” he agreed, his voice ragged. “I’ll go now. And I swear I’ll always remember you, Dewlanna.”

She was beyond speech now, but he was sure she’d heard him. He laid her gently on the deck, then rose and
picked up the blaster. Then, after giving Dewlanna one final look, Han turned and raced out the door.

His running feet resounded through the corridors of
Trader’s Luck
; the time was past for stealth. He had to reach the docking bay, and that robot Ylesian freighter! Han had no idea when it was due to blast away from the
Luck
, but the loading schedule posted for the space dock workers had listed it as being ready for blastoff as soon as the droids finished fueling. And when he’d swiped the spacesuit and hidden it, they’d just started that process.

The
Ylesian Dream
might be leaving any moment!

Gasping, Han sprinted for the lock, his feet thudding along the decks that had been his playground ever since he was old enough to remember. In the distance, he could hear sleepy voices, interspersed with shouts and orders.

I can’t let them catch me. Shrike will kill me
. The certainty lent speed to his flying feet.

He skidded around the final turn and grabbed the spacesuit he’d hidden behind some fueling equipment. The helmet flopped over his arm, banging him in the midsection as he hastily keyed in the code he’d stolen into the airlock door.

Seconds passed. The sounds of pursuit were growing louder. But surely they’d think he was headed for the shuttle deck or even the lifepods. Nobody would guess he’d be crazy enough to try stowing away on a robot freighter—at least that’s what he was counting on …

The lock hissed open. Han leaped inside, closed the hatch, and began yanking on the spacesuit. He checked the air storage.
Full. Good
. He’d originally planned to bring along some extra air paks, but he didn’t dare venture back out. The pak on the suit was good for two days. That should be enough, unless the
Dream
was a really slow vessel. Since it was a robot-drone, he had no way of discovering what course it would be following, or how fast it was scheduled to go.

Han grimaced. Only a desperate man would use this method of escape. He was desperate, all right. He just
hoped he wouldn’t arrive on Ylesia dead because he’d run out of air.

Let’s see … food pellets … full. Water tank … full. Good
. That was Captain Shrike again, insisting that all ship’s equipment be maintained in perfect working order.

Han dragged the suit up over the arms of his ship’s gray jumpsuit and closed the seam running up the front. He picked up the helmet, clumsy because of the gloves, and settled it over his head. It was mostly glassine, and he could see every direction except directly behind him. A bank of holos ran around the bottom rim of the helmet, giving him his vitals, amount of air remaining, and all the other information he needed to survive. Han could “talk” to his suit in a limited fashion by bumping his chin against the communications lever and giving the suit instructions concerning his temperature, air mix, and so forth.

Okay, this is it
, the young man thought as he clumped over to the connecting hatch and keyed in the final sequence to equalize pressures between the lock and the
Ylesian Dream
. He could faintly hear a hiss as the air was pumped out of the lock. The
Dream
, being a robot, didn’t need air to operate. The ship would be filled only with vacuum.

Finally, the hatch opened, and Han stepped inside.

It was crowded with equipment and cargo, and the corridors were very narrow. The
Dream
wasn’t constructed to accommodate a living crew, only for routine maintenance, and Han had to turn sideways to squeeze in. The youth was fleetingly grateful that all standard engineering was designed to function in gravity. Otherwise, he might’ve had to contend with zero gee, and that would have been a real pain.

He’d been outside the
Trader’s Luck
with the welding crew in spacesuits several times since he’d been considered old enough for hazardous ship’s duty, hanging in space, tethered to the ship only by a seemingly fragile umbilical. It had been kind of exciting the first couple of times, but Han didn’t particularly care for weightlessness, and he’d soon learned
never
to look “down.” Seeing nothing but space
beneath his feet for light-years and light-years was enough to make his head swim.

Han clumped toward the “bridge,” figuring that was where the maximum amount of room would be. He reached it in only moments—the
Dream
was a small ship. If her cargo list was correct, she’d brought in a shipment of top-grade glitterstim spice, and would be leaving with a cargo of high-quality Corellian electronic components that could be used in factory maintenance.

Han wondered for a moment whom Garris Shrike had paid off to be able to receive a shipment of spice. The substance was rigidly controlled by most planetary governments and also by the Imperial trade commission.

He turned sideways to enter the bridge—and froze.

What in the name of all the Sons of Barab is an astromech droid doing on the bridge?
Everyone knew a droid couldn’t pilot a ship by itself, so it couldn’t be piloting. Han grimaced behind the glassine helmet. This droid must be there as a sort of burglar alarm, a sophisticated communications device to help deter portside thieves or space pirates. Han knew that one of the reasons the Ylesian priests were eager to hire a pilot—preferably a Corellian, their ad had read—was that they’d been losing robot ships to piracy.

As he froze, hoping the droid wasn’t aware of his presence, the young man felt the
Dream
shudder.
We’re undocking! I’ve got to get braced for breakaway thrust!

Quickly he edged away from the bridge and headed back toward the cargo area. Finally, he found what he was looking for, and just in time. A small space that he could sit down in, just the right size to allow him to brace himself with his arms and legs.

The
Dream
shuddered again, and then again. Mentally, Han pictured the docking clamps falling away, one by one.
One more to go, then—

The ship shuddered one more time, then lurched violently. Since the
Dream
wasn’t supposed to be manned, it could utilize acceleration patterns that were much rougher than those used in a vessel with a living crew.

Wham!
Han’s body jerked, then he braced himself
against the thrust of violent acceleration. The
Dream
was undocked and away!

Mentally, Han pictured them thrusting away from
Trader’s Luck
, out of the embrace of Corellia’s gravity field. Closing his eyes, he pictured his homeworld turning lazily against the backdrop of stars. Corellia was a pretty planet, with narrow blue seas, green-brown forests, tan deserts, and large cities. On the nightside it glittered like a battle remote studded with lights …

The hardest thrust of acceleration hit then, and Han was pinned uncomfortably against the cargo container.
We’ve made the jump to lightspeed
, he realized.

Moments later, as the ship’s speed evened out, he was able to move again. He flexed his arms and legs, wincing as bruises made themselves felt.
From the fight in the galley
, he realized. The thought made him remember Dewlanna with a sudden, visceral sadness. Tears stung his eyes, and he fought them back fiercely. Crying in a spacesuit helmet was a lousy idea, since you couldn’t wipe your face.

Han sniffed, trying to blink back the tears.
Dewlanna
 … he thought. His friend had given her life to give him this chance.

Get hold of yourself, Solo
, he ordered himself sternly. His throat ached, but Han gulped, swallowed hard, then bit his lip until the urge to cry receded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, and what was the point? It wouldn’t bring Dewlanna back …

Han knew Dewlanna believed in an afterlife of the spirit. If she was right about that, then maybe she could hear him now.

“Hey, Dewlanna,” Han whispered, “I made it. I’m on my way. I’m going to Ylesia, and I’m going to become the best pilot in the sector. I’ll learn enough—and earn enough—to apply for the Academy, the way we always dreamed. I’m free, Dewlanna.” His voice broke.
We’re safe, Dewlanna. Shrike can’t touch either of us, now …

Wedged into his little crevice, the young pilot smiled with grim determination.
I’m free, and I owe it all to you. I’ll never forget it, either. If I ever get a chance to pay you
back by helping one of your people, I swear to anything that’s out there—any god, or life-power, or force—I won’t hesitate
.

Han Solo took a long, deep breath of canned spacesuit air. “Thank you, Dewlanna,” he whispered.

Wherever she was now, he hoped she could hear him.

W
hen Han awoke from exhausted sleep, he was completely disoriented at first.
Where am I?
he wondered groggily. Memory came rushing back in swift, violent images: his own hand holding a blaster … Shrike’s face twisted with hatred and rage … Dewlanna, gasping, dying alone …

He swallowed hard, his throat aching. Dewlanna had been part of his life since he was just a little kid, eight, perhaps, or nine. He remembered the day she’d come aboard with her mate, Isshaddik. Isshaddik had been outlawed from the Wookiee homeworld for some crime that Dewlanna had never referred to. She’d followed her mate into exile, leaving behind all that she’d ever known—her home and their grown cubs.

A year or so later, Isshaddik had been killed during a
smuggling run to Nar Hekka, one of the worlds in the Hutt sector. Shrike had announced to Dewlanna that she could remain aboard
Trader’s Luck
as cook, since he’d grown to like the foods she prepared. Dewlanna could have gone back to Kashyyyk—after all,
she’d
committed no crime—but she’d chosen to stay aboard the
Luck
.

Because of me
, Han thought as he located the water dispenser nipple inside his helmet and took a cautious sip. Then he tongued up a couple of food pellets and washed them down with another swallow. It wasn’t the same as food, but they’d keep him going for the day … 
She stayed because of me. She wanted to protect me from Shrike …

He sighed, knowing it to be true. Wookiees were among the most steadfast and loyal companions in the galaxy, or so he’d heard. Wookiee loyalty and friendship was not lightly given, but once bestowed, it never wavered.