Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare (17 page)

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 what 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.

The automated shuttle’s canned program indicated points of interest as they passed. Han saw museums, gigantic enclosed gallerias, office and government buildings, and finally, as they approached the heart of the city, he saw the tall, sharp spires and shallow domes of the royal palace gleaming white and gold in the sun. Han smiled wryly, wondering if the child princess he’d seen was somewhere on those grounds, living her rich, perfect life.
With any luck, I’ll soon be rich, too …

Han stayed aboard the transport as it glided along its route, and he continued scoping out the city. They were out of the big buildings, now, and heading through the residential suburbs.

Han had to admit that it looked like a nice place to live, as he gazed at the many fountained plazas and courtyards, the affluent homes, clean streets, and the well-dressed people they passed.
But this isn’t the area I want … I’d better do some exploring on my own. They don’t want tourists to see the places I want to go …

After the shuttle let him off, Han walked around the central part of the city, checking out the lay of the land. Instinctively, he headed for an area where the houses were smaller and not as well maintained. Finally, in a neighborhood that was definitely lower-income, and boasted more than one tavern and hock shop, he realized he’d come to the right place.

Han scanned the streets as he walked, looking for a particular type of individual. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for. A boy dressed in clothes that were borderline too small, ragged, and not very clean was sauntering along the street, glancing oh-so-casually at each passerby. Han recognized the child, though he’d never seen him before.

A pickpocket. Ten years ago,
he’d
been that child.

Han increased the length of his strides until he caught up with the boy. As expected, the lad shifted his weight and altered stride to brush against Han as the Corellian walked past him. Also expected were the lightning-fast fingers that delved deep into the pilot’s jacket pocket. The fingers came away empty; Han’s ID and the few credits he was carrying were sealed into the inside pocket of his coverall.

Han lengthened his strides until he was ahead of the boy, then, without warning, he spun on his heel and confronted the child. “Hey, there,” he said, smiling pleasantly and holding up the boy’s identdisk and money. “Lose something?”

The boy’s mouth dropped open in amazement, then he recovered himself and glared at Han, his black eyes smoldering.

Han leaned casually against a storefront. “Careless of you to lose these things …”

The boy swelled up like a poisoned mrelfa lizard, then launched into a furious and detailed description of Han’s ancestry, personal habits, and probable destination. Han listened patiently until the urchin began to sputter and repeat himself, then he waved for silence. “I’ll give ’em back,” he said genially, “in exchange for some information.”

The boy glared sullenly, tossing his overlong hair back out of his eyes. “What kind of information, you son of a diseased pervert?”

Han tossed one of the credit coins into the air, caught it effortlessly, without looking. “Watch your mouth, junior. I just want to know where in this town people go to make deals.”

“What kind of deals?”

“You know what kind of deals. Deals they don’t want the law to know about. Deals for substances you can’t buy legally.”

“Spice?” the boy frowned. “What kind?”

“Glitterstim.”

The boy’s brow creased even farther. “What’s that?”

Just my luck
, Han thought.
I run into the only dumb pickpocket in Aldera. Great
.

“Glitterstim,” Han said. “It’s … well, it’s really valuable. Even more so than carsunum or andris.”

The boy shook his head again. “Never heard of them, either.”

I don’t believe this!
“What about andris? You got andris here? Used to flavor food, preserve it?”

The kid nodded. “Yeah. Andris. We got that. Expensive stuff.”

“Right,” Han said. “When you buy andris, who do you buy it from?”

“I don’t buy it, creep,” the boy said. “Now gimmee back my money and ID.”

“Just a second, be patient,” Han said, holding the items up, safely out of the boy’s reach. “So, okay, you don’t buy andris personally. But if you or your friends wanted some, how would they get it? Buy it in a store? Or a government agency?”

The boy’s expression was eloquent as he shook his head. “No, man. We’d buy it from Darak Lyll.”

At last! A name!
“That’s what I wanted. Darak Lyll. What’s he look like?”

“Taller than you. Long hair, beard. Fat around his middle.”

“Old or young?”

“Old. Gray hair.”

“Where’s he hang out?” Han asked.

“Do I look like his keeper?” the pickpocket demanded scornfully.

Han took a deep breath. “Just tell me the names of any places where he might go on a typical day. Don’t lie, or I’ll swear out a complaint that you tried to rob me.”

The boy named six taverns, telling Han that they were all within a five-minute walk. Han straightened up and flipped the boy his ID and money. “Next time keep it
inside
your clothes, junior,” he said. “Next to your skin.” He patted his own money and gave the lad a smug smile.

The lad snarled at Han and walked away, cursing.

Alderaanian taverns were much too clean and well lit, Han decided, an hour later. He’d been to three of the six so
far, and none of them appeared seamy enough for his purposes. No sign of Darak Lyll, either.

At one place he’d glimpsed a man in the back slide something to another under cover of his arm, and then receive a credit disk slipped to him just as clandestinely. Han had waited until the first man had gotten up to use the refresher unit, then he’d followed him. When the man came out, Han was waiting for him in the dim hallway.

“Like a word with you, pal,” he said.

The dealer, a small, sharp-faced man who reminded Han of a ranat, eyed the Corellian suspiciously, then evidently decided Han offered no threat. “Yeah? What about?”

“You deal in spice?”

The man hesitated for a long moment. “How much you want?”

“No, pal, I’m selling, not buying. You interested?”

“What you got?”

“Glitterstim. A hundred vials.”

“Glitterstim!” The man’s voice scaled up, then he hastily lowered it and stepped closer. “Where’d you get
that
, son?”

“I’m not your son, and it’s none of your business where I got it. You interested?”

“On any other world than this one, better believe I’d be interested, but …” The man shook his head. “No. No channels to unload it. I’d have to try and smuggle it off-world, and that’s too risky. They’d send me to the mines on Kessel to dig out the infernal stuff. Glitterstim can be dangerous, y’know. Make you blind, if you take too much. Drives Biths mad, y’know.”

“I know all that,” Han said impatiently. “Thanks for nothing, pal.”

Scowling, he stalked out of the tavern.

He finally ran down Darak Lyll in the fifth tavern he visited. Han recognized the man from the pickpocket’s description. Lyll was playing sabacc, and when he saw Han standing there, watching the game, he cordially waved the young Corellian over. “Care to sit in for a hand?”

Han had played sabacc before, but that wasn’t what he’d come here for. He stared directly at Darak Lyll and raised
his eyebrows. “All depends on what you’ll accept for a stake, Lyll.”

The man’s expression didn’t change a whit as he glanced casually up. “You got something good, Pilot?”

“Might.”

“Well, the ante is twenty credits.”

Han shook his head. “Changed my mind. Going out to get some fresh air.”

He stood outside, leaning against the alley wall, for about five minutes. When he heard someone approaching, Han said, without looking, “Took you long enough. Must’ve been winning.”

“Idiot’s array,” Lyll said, using the sabacc player’s term for a top-notch winning hand. “So, what’ve you got?”

Han turned to look at the man. “Glitterstim. One hundred vials.”

“Whooo!” Darak Lyll whistled in amazement. “Where’d you come by
that
?”

“None of your business,” Han said. “Want it? Give you a good price …”

“Wish I could, young fellow, wish I could,” Lyll said, sounding regretful. “But I’d be a fool to take it. Just no market here on Alderaan.”

Han cursed under his breath and turned away.
What am I going to do?
he wondered. His time was definitely running out. Maybe he should hop an intercontinental shuttle to some other city. Maybe it was only Aldera that was so preternaturally clean on this world …

Han sighed.
I don’t have time. I either sell that stuff in an hour, or I—

A hand fell on his shoulder. It took every bit of self-control Han possessed not to yell and bolt, he was so keyed up. Instead he just turned and glared at the middle-aged, dark-skinned man who’d fallen into step with him. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he said evenly.

“I don’t think so, Vykk,” the man said. “Pilot Vykk Draygo, out of Ylesia, right?”

“So what?” Han said. “I don’t know you.”

“Marsden Latham,” the man said, flashing a holo-ID
badge under Han’s nose. “Alderaanian internal security force.”

Oh, no …

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you, Pilot Draygo, ever since you limped in here this morning. We’re happy we can help you out with repairs and fix up your partner. You saw that message when you first came within frequency range of Alderaan?”

“I saw it.”

“Well, it’s meant to be taken seriously. We don’t like trouble here.” The man smiled suddenly, showing very even, very white teeth. “You wouldn’t be out to cause us any trouble, would you, Pilot?”

Han strove to keep his face impassive.
They know that I’ve been trying to cut a deal … must’ve been watching me all morning
 … Silently, he cursed the official. Aloud, he said, “Course not, sir. I’m a peace-loving kinda guy.”