THE PARADISE SNARE(114)
Solo. From now on. Just me. The galaxy and everyone in it can go to blazes. I’m Solo, now and forever.
The last of the youthful softness had vanished from Han’s features, and there was a new coldness, a new hardness in his eyes. He walked on into the night, and his boot heels sounded hard against the permacrete—as hard and unrelenting as the shell now sheathing his heart.
A week later Han Solo walked toward the Hall of Admissions of the Imperial Space Academy. The building was a huge, topmost-level structure, massive and quietly, solidly dignified in design.
The light from Coruscant’s small white sun made him blink. It had been a long time since he’d seen sunlight, and his eyes were still sensitive, still easily irritated.
Having one’s retinal patterns altered was possible, as Han had just proved, but it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. He’d had the laser surgery and cell rearrangement, then he’d spent a day in a bacta tank, healing. He’d then worn a bacta visor for three more days, lying in a little back room at Nici’s “clinic.”
He’d put his forced inaction to good use, though, and had listened to hours of canned history and literature recordings, boning up for the examinations he hoped to begin. Han was under no illusions that the Academy testing would prove easy for him. His education had been spotty, at best.
Nici the Specialist had been worth every credit of his exorbitant fee.
“Han Solo” now existed in the Imperial database, along with his retinal patterns, and other identifying marks. (Most of these scars were brandnew, carefully placed on his body by Nici’s medical droids. Han had had most of his old scars erased.) “Han Solo” now had IDs that were indistinguishable from those possessed by every loyal citizen of the Empire. For the first time in more than a decade, he was “clean”—Han Solo wasn’t wanted by anyone for anything. He no longer had to glance guiltily behind him or try to grow eyes in the back of his head. He didn’t have to stay alert for the betraying flash of light of a suddenly revealed blaster muzzle. He still tensed at loud noises, but that was just reflex.
Han Solo was a regular citizen, not a hunted fugitive.
He still had Vykk Draygo’s and Jenos Idanian’s IDs, buried deep in a credit case, but he was simply waiting for a good chance to dispose of them. Han’s face had never appeared on a whirred poster or in a database, only his original retinal patterns. And they were gone, erased.
As he mounted the stone steps to the Hall of Admissions, Han’s strides were sure and confident. He walked up to the human recruiting officer sitting behind the desk and smiled politely. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Han Solo, and I’d like to apply for admission into the Imperial Academy. I’ve always wanted to be a Naval officer.”
The clerk did not smile back, but he was civil. “May I see your identification, Mr. Solo?”
“Certainly,” Han said, and laid it on the desk.
“This will take a moment. Please take a seat.”
Han sat, feeling inner tension, but telling himself he had nothing to be afraid of. Renn Tharen’s credits had seen to that …
Minutes later the clerk handed Han’s IDs back to him and offered a remote smile. “Everything checks out, Solo. You can begin the application and testing process today. Are you aware that over fifty percent of the candidates are not accepted? And that fifty percent of those accepted never complete their course at the Academy?”
“Yes, sir, I am,” Han said. “But I’m determined to try. I’m a good pilot.”
“The Emperor needs good pilots,” the man said, his smile actually genuine for a moment. “Very well, let’s get you started …”
The next week was a calculated nightmare. The first step was a thorough physical, more detailed than any Han had experienced before.
The medical droids poked and prodded places that made Han long to give them a swift kick in their circuitry, but he bore it all stoically.
He was very tense during the eye exam, but Nici’s droid had been an expert. The Imperial medical droid found nothing wrong.
Han passed the physical with flying colors. His reaction time and reflexes were in the topmost percentile.
Then came the hard part …
Day after day, a steadily dwindling group of cadet candidates were ushered into private examination rooms. Each room came equipped with an examination droid, who posed the questions to the candidates, recorded their scores, and kept tabulations of their standing.
Each night Han went back to his tiny little cubicle in yet another flophouse and fell asleep, exhausted, only to dream all night of taking exams: “Cadet Candidate Solo, I am going to show you four types of body armor.