Star Wars - The Han Solo Trilogy - Hutt Gambit, page 2
Han took one look at her gaping maw, realizing that she was big enough to make good on her threat, and went for his blaster. His right hand dropped to his thigh with blur-ring speed, then the well-worn grip was there, nestled against his palm.
His hand, still moving with extraordinary speed, started back up as he began his draw-
----only to stop short when the blaster hung up in the holster!
Han had barely a second to realize that the blasters front sight, mounted on the end of the barrel, was caught at the bottom of his holster. He tugged, trying to free his weapon.
The Barabel leaped for him. Han jumped back, but not
far enough. Shallamars huge, sharp talons grabbed the
front of his jacket, slashing the tough material as though it
were tissue. Still yanking at his trapped blaster, Han was
hauled toward the Barabels wide-open mouth so fast his
vision blurred. He let out a choked gasp as a blast of hot,
reeking reptiloid breath engulfed him.
Suddenly Han glimpsed a blur of brownish tan at the comer of his vision, just as a huge roar nearly deafened him. A long, furred arm snaked around Shallamars neck, jerking her back, away from Han.
Chewie! Hah yelled. Hed never been so glad to see someone in his life.
The Barabel roared hack at the Wookiee, dropping the Corellian as she swung around to grapple with her attacker.
Hold her for a second, Chewie! Han yelled, yanking at the bottom of his holster as he twisted the grip of his blaster. At last! He pulled it up and sighted at the Barabel as she wrestled with the Wookiee, but he couldnt get a dear shot.
The two huge beings, snarling and hissing, rampaged across the room, knocking over tables and chairs. The other sabacc players and denizens of the bar scattered before the fray, screaming advice and curses in multiple languages. The Sullustan sabacc player dropped his hand to his own blaster, but when he saw that Han was now armed, he turned and flung himself behind the bar.
Shallamar and Chewbacca swayed back and forth, locked in a grim parody of a loving embrace, each testing the others strength, trying to get each other off balance. Chewie, cmon! Hah yelled. Lets get outta here!
Chewbacca and Shallamar whirled in a blur of brown fur and black scales, then Shallamar lowered her head and snapped at the Wookiees arm. Her needle-sharp teeth sheared off a chunk of fur and meat. The Wookiee roared in agony and, with a burst of strength, grabbed the Barabels arm and slung her around with dizzying speed, so fast that her feet slid out from under her. As she went down, Chewie also grabbed her tail, swinging her so hard she was airborne.
With a final howl of triumph, CheWbaca released his grip and sent the huge reptiloid flying across the room, while sentients scattered to avoid her trajectory. Shallamar landed on her back amid a ruin of chairs, tables, and sabacc card-chips.
Stun wont work, dont want to kiU-a jumble of thoughts raced through Hans mind as he thumbed the setting on the blaster, aimed, and fired at the dazed Shal-lamar, hitting her at half force just below one huge knee joint. She hissed in pain and sagged back, black scales smoking and steaming.
Chewie, cmon! Han yelled, snapping off a stun shot at the sabacc dealer, who was aiming a blaster at the Wookiee. The Devaronian went down without a sound. Chewie, drip-ping blood, was right behind Han as they raced for the exit, knocking over chairs and tables.
The tavems owner, a Devaronian female, blocked his way, screaming curses and threats, but Hah slapped her aside with the barrel of his blaster and kept running. He slammed the door with his shoulder, then bounced off. Locked!
Swearing in six nonhuman languages, Hall thumbed the indicator on his weapon up to its highest power, and blasted the door. The proprietor howled in protest, but tile Corellian and the Wookiee were already gone.
Hah and Chewbacca pelted down the squalid alley, then swung out onto the street with its rustic-looking buildings made of blue native wood and stuccoed permacrete. A chilly breeze made the Corellian shiver. It was early spring here on Devarons souill polar continent.
Hah quickly holstered his blaster as he dropped his pace to a fast walk. Hows the arm, pal?
Chewie groaned, ending in a shad. Han glanced down at the damage. Well, it was your choice to come back, he pointed out. Not that Im sorry you did, mind you. I . . . I want to say . . . uh . . . thanks for saving my rear.
The Wookiee made an interrogatory sound. Han shrugged. Well, sure, I guess . . . he mumbled. Ive never had a partner before, but . . . yeah, why not? It can get kinda boring on long space flights without someone to talk to, I guess.
Chewie rumbled with satisfaction, despite his pain. Dont push your luck, Han said dryly. Listen, we got to get that arm seen to. Theres a med droids clinic across the street. Lets go.
An hour later the two were back on the street. Chewies arm, after a bacta treatment, was sheathed in a protective bandage, but the med droid had assured them that Wookiees were quick healers.
The Wookiee had just finished commenting that he was hungry, when Hah heard a soft call from the shelter of a nearby doorway. Pilot Solo . . .
Han stopped in his tracks and looked over to find a Duros male beckoning to him. He glanced from side to side, but the Devaronian street scene was quiet and peace-ful. This section near the town square was reserved for pedestrian traffic. Yeah? he replied, in a low voice.
The blue-skinned Duros motioned for Han to follow him into a nearby alley. The Corellian walked to the mouth, turned the corner, then stood with his back against the wall, hand on the grip of his blaster. Okay, this is as far as I go without knowing what you want.
The Duros mournful expression lengthened even far-ther. You are not a trusting sentient, Pilot Solo. I was referred to you by a mutual friend, Truthful Tory[ He said you are an excellent pilot.
Han relaxed slightly, but didnt take his hand off his gun. Im good, all right, he said. If Truthful Toryl sent you . . . prove it.
The Duros gazed straight at him with calm, moonstone-colored eyes. He said I was to tell you that the Talisman you brought him is no more.
Han relaxed and took his hand off his weapon. Okay, youve convinced me he sent you, he said. State your business.
I need a ship delivered to Nar Hekka, in the Hutt sys-tem, the Duros said. I am willing to pay well . . . but, Pilot Solo, you must not allow Imperials to board her should you run into any patrols.
Han sighed. More intrigues. But the Duross offer inter-ested him. Hed been planning all along to eventually make his way to Nar Shaddaa, the Smugglers Moon that or-bited Nal Hutta. Now would be as good a time as any. From Nar Hekka, he could easily catch a ship to Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa.
Tell me more, he said.
Only if you can raise ship within two hours, the Duros said. If not, tell me, and I will look elsewhere for a pilot.
Han considered for a moment. Well... I could maybe change my plans . . . for the right price.
The Duros named a figure, then added, And the same sum upon delivery.
Hah snorted, then shook his head, though inwardly he was surprised at how high the initial bid was. Cmon, Chewie, he said, weve got places to go, people to see. Too quickly, the Duros named another, higher sum. This guy must really be desperate, Han thought as he pretended to hesitate for a beat. He shook his head. I dunno . . . its not worth my butt if the Imperials are lookin for this ship of yours. Whats she carrying?
The Duross expression did not change. That I cannot tell you. But I will tell you that if you deliver the ship and its contents safely to Tagta the Hutt, he will be pleased, and pleasing a Hutt Lord is generally considered to he a good thing for ones financial well-being. Tagta is Jiliac the Hutts highest-ranking subordinate on Nar Hekka.
Hans ears pricked up. Jiliac the Hutt was a very high-ranking Hutt Lord indeed. Maybe this Tagta would give him a recommendation to the boss . . .
Hmmmmmmmm . . . Han scratched his head, then named a sum. And all in advance, he added.
The Duross pale blue skin seemed to grow even paler, but then he nodded. Very well as to tile sum, but half up front. You will receive the rest from Tagta, Pilot Solo.
Hah considered, then nodded. Okay, youve got your-self a deal. Chewie-he turned to address the Wookiee, who was hovering nearby, listening intently-go on back to that lockbox where we left our stuff and get it, will you, while I conclude my business with our friend here? The Wookiee rumbled a soft assent.
Thanks. Ill meet you on the north side of the town square in an hour, okay?
Chewbacca nodded and moved off down the street.
Han walked closer to the Duros, and said, Okay, youve got yourself a pilot. Well raise ship within two hours. Fill me in on the rest of it. Where do I find this Tagta the Hutt?
Within minutes Han had all the details. The Duros handed over a sheaf of credit vouchers, gave him the ships security code, and the location of the vessel. Then the blue-skinned alien melted away into the dimness of the alley.
Han had a couple of minutes to kill, so he grabbed a quick bite at the cafe next door. He had to argue with the Devish female chef to get her to cook his meat. But it was worth it. The food drowned the last of the ale-induced muzziness. Clearheaded, his energy renewed, Hah felt con-siderably cheered.
On his way to the town square, he stopped off at a secondhand shop that catered to spacers of all species. There he bought a beat-up black lizard-hide jacket to re-place the one the Barabel had shredded. Respectably clothed again, he started up the street toward his rendez-vous with Chewbacca.
Hah knew something was up long before he reached the town square. The sound of a huge crowd was unmistakable. They seemed to be shouting in unison. The skin at the back of Hans neck prickled suddenly as he realized that there was something familiar about those words. They werent in Basic, but hed heard those simple, repetitious phrases be-fore.
But where?
Ive got a bad feeling about this . . . he thought, turn-ing the corner and seeing the crowd. They were chanting. Chanting, swaying, rocking with religious fervor. Mostly Devaronians, of course, but there were a smattering of hu-mans and other sentients. Hans gaze raked the crowd, fol-lowing it to the front. A hastily erected dais stood there, and atop it, leading the revival, stood a figure out of Hans past.
Oh, no.t he thought. This is a Ylesian revival, and that missionary is Veratil! I cant let him see me!
Five years ago, Han had spent almost six months on the steaming, fungus-infested wodd of Ylesia. Hed been work-ing as a pilot before taking the examinations to get into the Academy, practicing and honing his piloting skills. Ylesia was a world at the edge of Hutt space, whe re a race of beings called the tlanda Til-distant cousins of the Hutts- offered pilgrims supposed religious sanctuary.
The tlanda Til sent missionaries to many worlds to preach about the One and the All. Han had known that for years, but hed never been unlucky enough to run into a Ylesian revival before now.
For a wild moment the Corellian wanted to draw his blaster, shoot Veratil down, and yell to the assembled crowd of potential pilgrims, Go home! Its all a big fake! They just want you so they can enslave you, you fools! Get out of here!
But how could he make them believe him? To most sentients in the galaxy, Ylesia was perceived as a place of religious retreat, where the faithful gathered, and those wishing to hide from their pasts could find sanctuary.
The fact that the Ylesian sanctuary would turn out to be a trap was known only to the lucky few like Han- whod managed to escape. No doubt Veratil had a transport standing by to load the pilgrims on board. Unfortunate sen-tients who followed him would have no idea that their voy-age to Ylesia would lead only to slavery in the spice factories, then, when they grew too weak or sick to work, theyd face death in the spice mines of Kessel. Ylesia was a golden dream for the faithful, but the reality was a world of bondage and unending toil.
Teroenza, Veratils boss, was the High Priest of Ylesia. Before fleeing the colony, Han had robbed the tlanda Til leader of the most valuable pieces in a rare and extensive collection. Hed left Teroenza wounded, but alive.
Han had escaped Ylesia in Teroenzas personal yacht, the Talisman. Soon after his getaway, Han discovered that the tlanda Til and their Hutt overlords had placed a fat bounty on the head of Vykk Draygo-Hans alias. Han had to change his identity, even his retina/patterns, to es-cape detection and capture.
Now, seeing Veratil, Han ducked his head and turned away, wishing he had a hood he could pull up to hide his face. If the Sacredot saw him and recognized him, Hah knew that he was in for it.
The chanting surrounding him intensified. Han began to sweat, despite the chill of the Devaronian weather, because he knew what was coming.
Across the town square, he saw a tall, furred shape standing on the edge of the crowd, watching the ceremony curiously. Chewie! Cant let him get drawn into this/The Exultation is going to come in just a couple of minutes!
Han plunged into the crowd, keeping his head ducked, fighting his way through the throng as he would have clawed his way through a heavy surf. He was breathing hard and his elbows and ribs ached by the time he reached the Wookiee. Chewie! he yelled, grabbing the big sen-tient by the arm. Lets get outta here! This is gonna turn into a mob scene any second now!
The Wookiee whined inquiringly. Never mind how I knowF Han yelled above the chanting. I just know! Trust me!
Chewbacca nodded and turned away, using his huge size to part the crowd before him. Han started to follow him, then something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head. A gleam . . . a gleam of reddish gold on a stray curl.
Hah caught just a glimpse of her, but his whole mind and body jolted to a stop as though hed slammed into a stone wall while running at top speed. Bria? Bria!
He caught only that one brief glimpse of a pale, perfect profile and a stray reddish-blond curl, but it was enough. She was standing there, wearing a black cloak and hood, in this crowd.
Memories came surging back, so strong that they scared him . . .
Bria, a pale ghost of a slave in the spice factories of Ylesia. Bria, scared but determined as they robbed Ter-oenza of his treamtres. Bria, sitting beside him on a golden sand beach on Togoria, her mouth soft and red and just begging to be kissed Bria, lying in his arms late at night . . .
Bria, who had left him behind, saying she needed to fight her addiction w the tlanda Til Exultation by herself...
Han had spent the past five years convincing himself that hed forgotten her. After four years in the Imperial Academy, plus nearly a year of commissioned service, hed been convinced that he no longer cared. But now, in a single searing blaze of insight, Hah Solo knew hed been lying to himself.
Without hesitating, he turned and plunged back into the crowd, heading for the woman in the black cloak. He was halfway there when the Exultation hit the crowd, and the throng of sentients collapsed onto the cobblestones of the town square as though theyd been stun-blasted.
Han had forgotten how strong the Exultation was. Waves of intense pleasure rolled through his mind as well as his body. No wonder the Ylesian pilgrims thought the tlanda Til were Divinely Gifted! Even knowing, as Han did, that the Exultation was caused by an empathic trans-mission coupled with a subsonic vibration that caused a wave of pleasure that acted on the brains of most bipedal sentients, Han had to brace himself to resist it.
He knew without seeing it that the pouch beneath Vera-tils chin had swelled, and that the Sacredot was hum-ming those vibrations as he concentrated on warm, positive emotions. To anyone unprepared for the force of the Exultation, the effect was as intoxicating as any pleasure drug. The ability to produce the Exultation was one that all tlanda Til males shared-it was actually a sex-linked bio-logical ability they possessed that, in their natural habitat, was used to attract tlanda Til females.
All around Han the crowd had fallen prone, and most of the sentients were writhing in pleasure. The sight sickened Han. Hed shaken off the effects of the Exultation now, and he concentrated on not stepping on bodies as he plunged toward the woman in the black cloak and hood. He could no longer see her face or that betraying tendril of hair.
His fingers remembered the soft silkiness of that hair . . he used to play with Brias curls, watching them cap-ture the light, bringing the reddish gold to vibrant life . . .
The woman in the black cloak and hood disappeared behind a stone bench as the crowd heaved in a wave of ecstasy from the Exultation. Han swallowed hard. Bria had left him because she was addicted to the Exultation. Was that where shed been for the past five years? A willing slave on Ylesia, bound to her tlanda Til masters because she needed her daily dose of pleasure? Funny . . . hed thought Bria had more strength than that . . .
Han reached the stone bench, then stopped, staring around him. The woman in the black cloak was nowhere in sight. Whered she go? Bria/ Han thought, staring around him wildly. Froin all sides he could hear the gasps and moans of the crowd filling the air.
He jumped up on the bench, straining his eyes, trying to pick up and, trace of the woman in the black cloak. Han only realized what a terrible mistake hed made when he found himself staring across the crowd, straight into the eyes of Veratil.
The huge, four-legged creature with the tiny arms and the broad, single-horned head was staring back at him, his small, reddish eyes wide with surprise.
The Corellian had no doubt that Veratil had just recog-nized him as Vykk Draygo, the man whod wrecked the glitterstim factory, stolen Teroenzas treasure, and caused the death of the Ylesian Hutt overlord, Zavval.
All around Hah the moans of pleasure suddenly altered into cries of dismay and loss Veratils attention had been diverted, and the Exultation had come to an abrupt, jarring halt.
Some of the throng wailed aloud, others jerked convul-sively. Still others dragged themselves to their feet with cries of distress and anger. Han ducked his head and bolted forward, determined to lose himself in the crowd And then, ahead of him, he caught a glimpse of black. Bria!
Forgetting Veratil, forgetting the danger he was in, Han plunged forward, slamming into would-be pilgrims, trip-ping over feet, elbowing his fellow sentients aside. Bria! he yelled. Stop!
