THE PARADISE SNARE(14)

As the ship steadied around him, Han drew a long, long breath and let it out very slowly. He slumped to the deck and sat there, his legs stuck out before him. “Whew!”

“You realize, sir,” said the R2 unit, “that you will now have to land this craft manually. Altering our course and speed has invalidated the existing landing protocols programmed into the ship.”

“Yeah, I know,” Han said, leaning wearily back against the console. He took another sip of water and then ate two tablets. “But there’s no other way. I just hope I can work the controls fast enough to land us.” He glanced around him at the nearly featureless control room. “I wish this bucket of bolts came with a viewscreen.”

“An autopilot cannot see, sir, so visual data is useless to it,” the R2 unit pointed out helpfully.

“No!” Han said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought droids could see just like we can!”

“No, sir, we cannot,” R2 told him. “We recognize our surroundings by visual relays that translate into electronic data within our—” “Shut up,” Han said, too tired even to enjoy baiting the droid. Leaning back against the console, he closed his eyes. He’d done all that he could to save his life, by bringing the ship to Ylesia on a much more direct route, at a faster speed.

Han drifted into sleep and dreamed of Dewlanna, as she had been long ago, when they’d first known each other …

Han was halfway through the window when he heard the shout behind him.

“We’ve been robbed!”

Clutching his small sack of loot, he kicked, wriggling, trying to squeeze through the narrow enclosure. In the dark outside lay safety.

A feminine cry of dismay: “My jewelry!”

Han grunted with effort, realizing he was stuck. He fought back panic.

He had to get away! This was a rich house, and when someone summoned the authorities, they were certain to come immediately.

Silently he cursed the new vogue in Corellian architecture that had caused this luxurious home to be built with floor-to-ceiling narrow windows. The windows were advertised as being able to thwart burglars.

Well, there might be some truth to that, he decided grimly. He’d sneaked in earlier through one of the doors that led to the gardens, then hidden out until he’d felt safe in believing that all the inhabitants were asleep. Then he’d ventured out to pick and choose among their treasures. He’d been confident that he could wiggle his skinny, nine-year-old self through those windows and make good his escape.

Han grunted with effort again, kicking frantically. It was possible he was wrong about that…

A voice behind him. The woman. “There he is! Get him!”

Han turned a little more sideways, wriggled violently, and then suddenly he was through the window and falling. He didn’t let go of his sack, though, as he crashed down onto the manicured bed of flowering dorva vines. Breath whooshed out of his lungs, and for a moment he just lay there, gasping, like a drel out of water. HIS leg hurt, and so did his head.

“Call the security patrol!” The masculine shout came from inside. Han knew he had only seconds to make good his escape. Forcing his leg to bear his weight, he rolled over and staggered to his feet.

Trees ahead in the moons-light … big ones. He could lose himself in them, easy.

Han half limped, half ran to the shelter of the trees. He resolved not to let Eight-Gee-Enn know what had happened. The droid might accuse him of slowing down now that he was going on ten.

Han grimaced as he ran. He wasn’t slowing down, he just hadn’t been feeling well today. He’d had a dull headache ever since he’d awakened, and had been tempted to turn himself in on sick call.

Since Han was almost never ill, he’d probably have been believed, but he didn’t like showing weakness in front of other denizens of Trader’s Luck.

Especially Captain Shrike. The man never missed an opportunity to ride him.

He was in the shelter of the trees, now. What next? He could hear the sound of running footsteps, so he didn’t have much time to decide. His muscles made that decision for him. Suddenly the sack was clenched in his teeth, there was bark against his palms, and the soles of his beat-up boots were braced against branches. Han climbed, listened, then climbed again.

Only when he was high in the tree, above the range of a casual glance by pursuers, did he slow down. Han settled back on a limb, against the tree trunk, panting, his head whirling. He felt dizzy, nauseated, and for a moment he was afraid he’d be sick and give himself away. But he bit his lip and forced himself to stay still, and presently he felt a little better.

Judging from the star patterns, it was only a few hours until dawn.