THE PARADISE SNARE(118)

The trader captain was cursing steadily and, Han realized with a flare of satisfaction, walking with a distinct limp. The Corellian made himself the heaviest, deadest weight he could as he bumped along over the rooftop, feeling the icy scrape of the permacrete. His right hand tingled as it dragged, and that was good, too.

When Shrike reached the turbolift, he let go of Han’s collar. It was hard to just let himself fall, but Han managed to make it look good, without banging his head too hard. Shrike’s glittery-eyed countenance, a bruise darkening his jaw, appeared in his field of vision. “Now we’re going down in this lift, and you’re going to behave yourself, you little vrelt.

We’re going to be real chummy, you and me. I’m going to say you’re my buddy who had too much to drink.”

Han could hear the turbolift coming. He flexed the muscles of his right leg, his right arm. They responded, if sluggishly. He didn’t have much time …

“So tell me, Han, did you make it into the Imperial Academy?” Shrike asked, just as though Han could speak. “Is that why you were out treating yourself good tonight, eh?”

He laughed. “The Imps must be real hard up if they’d take a loser like you.” He spat, and warm spittle hit Han’s face, just above his right eye.

Han was careful not to react. The turbolift was very close. When those doors opened, Shrike would be distracted for a few precious seconds, and then … then he would make his move.

Imperceptibly, Han flexed his right fingers, and they answered the command of his brain. Shrike was still ranting. “Those Imperials . .

can’t shoot straight, can’t pilot, and can’t fight worth a hoot. It’s a wonder old Palpatine can get himself out of bed in the morning. All a bunch of losers …”

The turbolift doors opened. Shrike looked up, just as Han lunged up off the permacrete.

The element of surprise served him for a moment. Han managed to knock the blaster out of Shrike’s hand again, but then Garris was on him.

Iron-hard hands clamped around the younger man’s throat. Han’s eyes bulged as he hooked a leg behind Shrike’s and sent the man over backward. Shrike didn’t release his grip, so Han went down with him, and they landed in a kicking, punching sprawl.

Han slammed a fist into Shrike’s midsection, heard the man grunt in pain.

The fingers around his throat loosened for a second—then Shrike released his grip and tried to gouge Han’s eye.

His right eye. The viciously gouging thumb skidded in Shrike’s own saliva, and Han turned his head and snapped like an animal. His teeth closed on Shrike’s thumb, clamped down. Shrike screamed as Han tore his flesh. The Corellian tasted blood.

Han took advantage of the man’s momentary distraction to bring his knee up into Shrike’s midsection. The older man’s breath whooshed out in a stinking rush of white, into the cold night air.

Han heaved upward, throwing Shrike off him. The man lost his grip and went sprawling backward. Han scrambled for where he’d heard the blaster land—and his fingers found it.

Shrike was already up and heading purposefully for the younger man, when Han came up onto his knees, the blaster pointed directly at him.

Han ostentatiously thumbed the intensity level up to its highest setting.

“Your turn to freeze, Shrike,” he said. Speaking brought on a spasm of coughing and searing pain in Han’s abused throat, but he managed to get Shrike in his sights.

Shrike laughed, and slowed, but didn’t stop. He was perhaps six meters away. “Now, Han, son,” he said coaxingly, “old Captain Shrike was just having a little fun with you, is all. I wasn’t going to turn you over to those Hutts, no indeed. Did you know you killed one of them, boy?

Hutts don’t like that, no they don’t. They’re never going to stop searching for old ‘Vykk Draygo,’ you know?”

“Stop right there,” Han said, and was terrified to hear the quaver in his own voice. He’d never shot anyone down in cold blood before.

Especially someone he knew. Could he do it?

Shrike grinned as if he could read Han’s mind. “C’mon, Han. You know you ain’t going to shoot me. You can’t. I’m like your daddy, almost.”

Han shook his head and replied with a Huttese obscenity so blistering that Shrike raised his eyebrows. “Oh, my, you’ve developed such a dirty mouth while you were gone, ain’t you, kid?”

He was still moving. Only about four meters separated them now. Han tightened his grip on the blaster, but he was horrified to realize the muzzle was wavering.

“Let’s go down below and talk about this, Han,” Shrike said, his voice low and soothing. “I won’t hurt you, you’ve got my word on it.”