THE PARADISE SNARE(19)

He didn’t want anyone finding out where he’d come from.

When he was nearly to the beginning of the causeway, he stood behind one of the large, ornamental bushes and warily peered across the water to the house. What should he do now? Just walk up and activate the door signal?

He bit his lip, undecided. What if they called the authorities on him, reported him as a runaway? Shrike would descend on him so fast-“Gotcha!”

Han gasped and jumped as a hand closed over his upper arm, hauling him around bodily.

The person who’d grabbed him was head and shoulders taller than the younger boy. He had darker hair than Han, and was stockier as well.

But it was his face that made Han stand staring at him in blank amazement.

Han gaped, speechless, at the older boy. If he’d ever doubted that he was really related to the Solo family, those doubts died an instant death. The face of the youth who was holding his arm looked like an older version of the face Han saw in the mirror every morning.

Not that they were twins or anything. But there was too much resemblance in their features to be coincidence. The same shape of the brown eyes, the same kind of lips, the same quirk to the eyebrows . .

. the same nose and jawline …

The other boy was gaping back at Han, having evidently noticed the same thing. “Hey!” He shook Han’s arm roughly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Han Solo,” Han replied steadily. “You must be Thrackan SalSolo.”

“So what if I am?” the other said sullenly. Han was beginning to feel uneasy about the way the boy was eyeing him. He’d seen vrelts with more warmth in their eyes. “Han Solo, eh? I never heard of you. Where do you come from? Who’s your mother and father?”

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Han said evenly. “I ran away from where I was staying, because I wanted to find my family. I don’t know anything about myself except my name.”

“Huh …” Thrackan was still staring. “Well, I guess you must be one of the family …”

“Looks like it,” Han agreed, not realizing until he spoke that it was a pun. But Thrackan didn’t appear to notice. He seemed mesmerized by Han and, releasing his grip on the other’s arm, walked around him, studying him from every angle.

“Where did you run away from?” Thrackan asked. “Will anyone come looking for you?”

“No,” Han said shortly. He wasn’t about to trust Thrackan with anything that could come back to haunt him. “Listen,” he said, “we look alike, so we must be related, right? Could we … could we be brothers?” Funny, but after all his dreaming about finding a family that would rescue him from Trader’s Luck, Han found himself hoping that wasn’t the case.

“Not a chance,” Thrackan said with a curl of his lip. “My dad died a year after I was born, and my mom shut herself up here ever since.

She’s kind of… a loner.”

That fit with what Han had read about the SalSolo family. Tiion Solo had married a man named Randil Sal, some twenty years ago. The public records had carried his obituary.

“Maybe she’d know something about me, “Han said. “Could I see her?”

He took a deep breath. “Please?”

Thrackan seemed to consider. “Okay,” he said finally, “but if she gets ˇ .

. upset, you’ve got to leave, okay? Mom doesn’t like people. She’s like her grandfather, won’t have human servants, just droids. She says humans betray and kill each other and droids never do.”

Han followed Thrackan into the huge house, through rooms full of shrouded furniture and paintings draped against dust. The family, Thrackan explained, used only a few rooms, to save the cleaning droids time and effort. Finally, they came to Thrackan’s mother’s sitting room. Tiion Solo was a pale, dark-haired woman, plump and unhealthy-looking. She was far from attractive. But, looking at her, studying her face, seeing the bones beneath the puffy flab, Han thought that once, long ago, she might have been beautiful. Seeing her features, a memory stirred within him, so faint …

Once, he’d seen features similar to hers, Han thought. Long ago, far away.

The “memory, “if memory it was, was as fleeting and elusive as a drift of smoke.

“Mother,” Thrackan said, “this is Han Solo. He’s related to us, isn’t he?”

Tiion SalSolo’s gaze traveled to Han’s face, and her eyes widened in distress. She stared at the boy in horror. Her mouth worked, and a thin, shrill mewling sound emerged. “No … no!” she cried. Tears gathered in her brown eyes, coursed down the flabby cheeks. “No, it isn’t possible!