He had no warning, none at all. One moment he was walking, the next something had grabbed him and flung him to the floor so hard it knocked the wind out of him. Han gasped like a beached whaladon and spots danced before his eyes.
But there was something else, there, too … holding him down, something that had one gigantic hand pressing his chest.
Instinctively, Han lay still, gasping and finding breath, realizing that hand could crush him like a dilganut.
Blackness swam before his eyes—no, the blackness was real. Real and furry, with a white spot in the middle of its chest and bristling white whiskers. Han managed to focus his eyes. “Muuurgh …?” he gasped feebly. “Wha’s goin’ on …?”
Muuurgh snarled into Han’s face, his huge fangs so close that Han could see them gleam with saliva. “Pilot planning to escape, take Bria,” he growled. “Vykk planning to steal from Ylesian masters. Vykk planning to take care of Muuurgh …”
“But—” The hand pressed down, slightly, and Han subsided, eyes bulging.
Muuurgh raised a massive paw-hand and flexed it slightly. Scimitarlike claws extruded. “Now treacherous Pilot will die,” the Togorian snarled.
“No!” Han put up his hands in a gesture of appeal. “Please! Just listen?
“Muuurgh listened last night. Muuurgh heard plenty,” the Togorian said grimly.
“Hey, pal!” Han babbled, imagining what those claws would do to his exposed throat. “I thought we were friends!”
“Muuurgh liked Pilot. Muuurgh is sorry to have to kill Pilot. But word of honor was given. No choice for Muuurgh.”
The hand started down. Han squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the end.
He felt the breeze of the Togorian’s swing graze his cheek, his throat, but nothing touched him. After several eternities, Han opened his eyes again. Muuurgh was staring down at him, plainly torn.
Finally, he grabbed Han by the shoulder and hair, jerked him to his feet, and pushed him in the direction of the Corellian’s clothes. “Get dressed!
Muuurgh not want Pilot’s blood on his claws. We go to tell Teroenza what Pilot and girl are planning. Priest will tell other guards to kill traitors.”
Han hastened over to the bunk, and began dragging on his clothes. At least he wouldn’t die naked and wet. “Listen, Muuurgh,” he said, “you’ve gotta listen to me. Please! What can it hurt?”
“Pilot lies. Muuurgh knows he lies. Muuurgh I will not listen.”
That’s a good sign that he’s regaining his cool, Han thought. The grammar I taught him is coming back.
Sealing the front of his coverall, Han sat down on the edge of the bunk to pull on his boots. “Your people have a code of honor, right?” he said, thinking as fast as he’d ever thought in his life.
“Yes.”
“If you give your word of honor to someone who’s employing you, you’ve got to keep it, right?”
“Yes. Pilot can move faster than that. Put on those boots.”
Han slowly inserted his right foot, toes pointed down, and began to pull the boot on. “Well, pal, suppose you gave your word of honor to someone and found that everything he told you was a lie on his part of the contract. What does that do to your agreement? Do you have to keep your word to someone who’s lied to you and made a fool out of you?”
Muuurgh eyed Han suspiciously, but said nothing.
“C’mon, pal, what’s your code of honor say about making agreements with liars, eh?”
Muuurgh shook his massive head, then his ears flattened in anger. “If a Togorian makes a word of honor with a liar, contract is void. There is no honor to be had dealing with a liar.”
“All right,” Han said with a surge of satisfaction. He picked up his left boot. “Listen to me, pal. I think Mrrov is here, on Ylesia. I think Teroenza lied to you.”
Muuurgh stared at Han, then his blue eyes narrowed. “You would lie to stay alive, Vykk.”
“Yeah, I would, pal,” Han said honestly. “But I swear to you I ain’t lying about this.”
“Swear? What is this ‘swear’?”
“It’s … like a word of honor, sort of,” Han said. “My people swear by the most important thing in the world to them. It’s like . .
. sacred, I guess you’d say.”
“So what does Vykk swear by?”
Han thought for a moment. “I swear,” he said, slowly and distinctly, “by Bria’s life. You know I care for her … a lot. Don’t you?”
Muuurgh considered for a moment, then nodded.
“Okay, then, I swear to you, on Bria’s life, that last night she told me she saw a Togorian here, six months or more ago. That would tie in with the time you were searching for Mrrov, wouldn’t it?”