THE PARADISE SNARE(3)

Sticking the blaster into his belt, he opened the door and stepped into the galley. “Hey … Dewlanna …” he said softly. “It’s me.

I’ve come to say goodbye.”

The tall, furred being who had been vigorously kneading the wastril dough swung around to face him with a soft, inquiring growl.

Dewlanna’s real name was Dewlannamapia, and she had been Han’s closest friend since she’d come to live aboard Trader’s Luck nearly ten years ago, when Han had been about nine. (The young swoop pilot had no idea of when he’d been born, of course. Or who his parents had been. If it hadn’t been for Dewlanna, he wouldn’t even have known that his last name was “Solo.”) Han couldn’t speak Wookiee—trying to reproduce the growls, barks, roars, and rumbling grunts made his throat sore, and he knew he sounded ridiculous—but he understood it very well. For her part, Dewlanna couldn’t speak Basic, but she understood it as well as she did her own language. So communication between the human youth and the elderly Wookiee widow was fluent, but … different.

Han had gotten used to it years ago and never thought about it anymore.

He and Dewlanna just … talked. They understood each other perfectly. Now he hefted the stolen blaster, careful not to point it at his friend.

“Yes,” he replied, in response to Dewlanna’s comment, “tonight’s the night. I’m getting off Trader’s Luck and I’m never coming back.”

Dewlanna rumbled at him worriedly as she automatically resumed kneading her dough. Han shook his head, giving her a lopsided grin. “You worry too much, Dewlanna. Of course I’ve got it all planned. I’ve got a spacesuit stashed in a locker near the robot freighter docks, and there’s a ship docked there now that will be departing as soon as it’s unloaded and refueled. A robot freighter, and it’s headed where I want to go.”

Dewlanna punched her dough, then growled a soft interrogatory. “I’m heading for Ylesia,” Han told her. “Remember I told you all about it?

It’s a religious colony near Hutt space, and they offer pilgrims sanctuary from the outside universe. I’ll be safe from Shrike there.

And”—he held up a small holodisk where the Wookiee cook could see it—”look at this! They’re advertising for a pilot! I already used up the last of my payout credits from that job we pulled, to send a message, telling them I’m coming to interview for the job.”

Dewlanna roared softly.

“Hey, I can’t let you do that,” Han protested, watching the cook set the loaves into pans and slide them into the thermal grid to bake.

“I’ll be okay. I’ll lift some credits on my way to the robot ship. Don’t worry, Oewlanna.”

The Wookiee ignored him as she shuffled quickly across the galley, her hairy, slightly stooped form moving rapidly despite her advanced age.

Dewlanna was nearly six hundred years old, Han knew. Old even for a Wookiee.

She disappeared into the door of her private living quarters, and then, a moment later, reappeared, clutching a pouch woven of some silky material that might even, from the look of it, be Wookiee fur.

She held it out to him with a soft, insistent whine.

Han shook his head again, and childishly put his hands behind his back.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not taking your savings, Dewlanna. You’ll need those credits to buy passage to join me.”

The Wookiee cocked her head and made a short, questioning sound. “Of course you’re going to join me!” Han said. “You don’t think I’m going to leave you here to rot on this hulk, do you? Shrike gets crazier every year. Nobody’s safe aboard the Luck. When I get to Ylesia and get settled in, I’m going to send for you to join me. Ylesia’s a religious retreat, and they offer their pilgrims sanctuary. Shrike won’t be able to touch us there.”

Dewlanna reached inside the pouch, her hairy fingers surprisingly dexterous as she sifted through the credit vouchers inside. She handed several to her young friend. With a sigh, Han relented and took them.

“Well … okay. But this is just a loan, okay? I’m going to pay you back.

The salary the Ylesian priests are offering is a good one.”

She growled her assent, then, without warning, reached out to ruffle his hair with her massive paw, leaving it sticking out in wild disarray.

“Hey!” Han yelped. Wookiee head rubs were not to be taken lightly.

“I just combed my hair!”

Dewlanna growled, amused, and Han drew himself up indignantly. “I do not look better scruffy. I keep telling you, the term ‘scruffy’ ain’t complimentary among humans.”