The paradise snare by A. C. Crispin

Author:A. C. Crispin [Crispin, A. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction; American, Fiction - Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Solo; Han (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Space opera, Star Wars fiction, Science Fiction - Star Wars, Solo; Han (Fictitious character), General, Science fiction, Science Fiction - General, Adventure, Fiction
ISBN: 9780553574159
Publisher: Bantam Books
Published: 1997-05-04T23:00:00+00:00

Unknown

9

Lost and Found

The next morning Han whistled cheerfully as he showered, and even rubbing the nasty-smelling anti-fungal gray goo over himself couldn't depress him.

He and Bria were getting off this world, and they'd have plenty of credits once they sold the stolen items from Teroenza's collection.

Han would be able to pay for his new ID, food, and lodging while he took the exams to get into the Academy.

And when we got out, he'd be an officer, a respected man, and Bria would be waiting for him . . .

Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, he headed for his clothes, which were lying across the foot of his bunk.

He had no warning, none at all. One moment he was walking, the next something had grabbed him and flung him to the floor so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Han gasped like a beached whaladon and spots danced before his eyes.

But there was something else, there, too . . . holding him down, something that had one gigantic hand pressing his chest.

Instinctively, Han lay still, gasping and finding breath, realizing that hand could crush him like a dilganut.

Blackness swam before his eyes--no, the blackness was real. Real and furry, with a white spot in the middle of its chest and bristling white whiskers. Han managed to focus his eyes. “Muuurgh . . .?” he gasped feebly. “Wha's goin' on . . .?”

Muuurgh snarled into Han's face, his huge fangs so close that Han could see them gleam with saliva. “Pilot planning to escape, take Bria,” he growled. “Vykk planning to steal from Ylesian masters. Vykk planning to take care of Muuurgh . . .”

“But--” The hand pressed down, slightly, and Han subsided, eyes bulging.

Muuurgh raised a massive paw-hand and flexed it slightly. Scimitarlike claws extruded. “Now treacherous Pilot will die,” the Togorian snarled.

“No!” Han put up his hands in a gesture of appeal. "Please! Just listen?

“Muuurgh listened last night. Muuurgh heard plenty,” the Togorian said grimly.

“Hey, pal!” Han babbled, imagining what those claws would do to his exposed throat. “I thought we were friends!”

“Muuurgh liked Pilot. Muuurgh is sorry to have to kill Pilot. But word of honor was given. No choice for Muuurgh.”

The hand started down. Han squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end.

He felt the breeze of the Togorian's swing graze his cheek, his throat, but nothing touched him. After several eternities, Han opened his eyes again. Muuurgh was staring down at him, plainly torn.

Finally, he grabbed Han by the shoulder and hair, jerked him to his feet, and pushed him in the direction of the Corellian's clothes. "Get dressed!

Muuurgh not want Pilot's blood on his claws. We go to tell Teroenza what Pilot and girl are planning. Priest will tell other guards to kill traitors."

Han hastened over to the bunk, and began dragging on his clothes. At least he wouldn't die naked and wet. “Listen, Muuurgh,” he said, “you've gotta listen to me. Please! What can it hurt?”

“Pilot lies. Muuurgh knows he lies. Muuurgh I will not listen.

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