THE PARADISE SNARE(50)

Han pulled the door open and went in.

The tavern was filled with fashionably dressed young people …

talking, laughing, drinking, and eating. Han hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious, but his natural bravado came to his rescue.

I’m just as good as they are, he thought defiantly, following the serving droid to a small table. Despite his brave front, the young Corellian was uncomfortably conscious of the way his sweat-stained coverall and battered jacket contrasted with the elegant, trendy garb of the students who chattered and laughed at the tables.

Once seated, Han ordered an Alderaanian ale. Studying the menu, he noticed that the place featured “nerf cubes and tubers in wine sauce” for a special. It was a little pricey, but he ordered it anyway, knowing that nerf was said to be a delicacy. The stew came with a plate of flatbread, which made him think of Pilgrim 921. Wish she were here, he thought. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to …

Dipping a square of flatbread into the dish, he tasted, chewed, then smiled. This is really good! It had been a long, long time since he’d had really good food … denizens of Trader’s Luck frequently existed on space rations during their voyages.

The only times Han had really eaten well was when he’d been playing his part in one of Garris Shrike’s scams. He remembered one barbecue he’d gone to on Corellia. Traladon ribs with special sauce …

But even barbecued traladon ribs couldn’t equal nerf, he decided.

Hungrily, Han dug into his meal. When he was about halfway through, a pretty girl with long, curly chestnut hair and bright blue eyes walked up onto the tiny stage, carrying a mandoviol. Seating herself on a stool, she began to strum it, then, a moment later, her voice rang out, clear and true, in what was evidently a traditional Alderaanian ballad.

It was the usual stuff, about a girl who lost her lover to the lure of the space lanes, and how she waited but he never came home—but the singer’s voice was so pure, so unaffected, that she lent the cliched words true emotion and dignity.

When she’d finished, Han, along with the other patrons, clapped enthusiastically. The girl sang another song, then stepped down off the stage and walked straight toward Han. For a moment he thought—hoped!- -that she was coming over to sit with him, but no such luck. She slid into a seat at the next table.

Since the tavern was evidently a popular hangout, the tables were crowded close together; the girl wound up sitting within arm’s length of Han. The other person at the table was a round-faced young man a year or two older than the pilot. Probably her boyfriend, Han thought, covertly eyeing the young man. He had light brown hair and pale, hazel-green eyes. Unlike the girl, who wore a simple, ankle-length blue dress and sandals, her escort was a tribute to modern fashion.

His purple tunic was belted with a wide, orange belt that clashed with his knee-high red boots. His yellow britches clung to his legs like a second skin. Han, in his worn, gray coverall, felt like a house-warbler next to a paradise bird.

As the singer shook back her hair and smiled triumphantly, Han managed to catch her eye. He mimed clapping, and she grinned and bowed. “You were great? he told her.

“Thank you!” she said. “That was the first time I’ve gotten up my nerve to sing in front of a crowd!” The girl was flushed, breathless, and very charming. Han smiled back at her. I wouldn’t mind spending the evening—and the night—with her…

Aloud, he said, “We’re a very lucky audience, then. Witnessing the beginning of a great career.”

“Thank you!” She held out her hand. “I’m Aryn Dro, and this is Bornan Thul.”

Han took her hand and, instead of shaking it, bowed over it, as though she were Corellian nobility. His lips didn’t touch the back of her hand, but he came close enough so she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “I’m honored, Aryn,” he said. “Vykk Draygo.”

When he released her hand and turned to greet her escort, Han could tell the young man was irked, and making no effort to hide it.

“Greetings . .

.” Han said, since he wasn’t sure what honorific, if any, was proper on Alderaan.

“Greetings,” Thul said. “Aryn, you were magnificent. Would you care to go somewhere else to celebrate your triumph?”

Can’t stand competition …Han thought, smothering a mischievous grin.

He, too, had seen Aryn’s blue eyes light up when he’d introduced himself.

“Listen, I won’t intrude,” he said, flashing his most charming smile at the singer. “I just had to tell you how much I enjoyed your singing.

But I won’t take up any more of your time.”