THE PARADISE SNARE(81)

Reddish-orange blood spurted into the air.

Muuurgh jumped back, and Han watched, fascinated, as the Aar’aa sagged, then fell, with ponderous slowness, to the floor. As the being lay there, it slowly reverted from its pale color to its own natural skin tone, a grayish-tan. Han didn’t have to look twice to know that it was dead.

Bria was staring in horror at the spot where the dead Aar’aa lay. “He almost had me,” she whispered. “If it hadn’t been for Muuurgh . .

.”

“How’d you see him, pal?” Han said, holstering his blaster. “I couldn’t see a thing!”

“I did not see him, I smelled him,” Muuurgh said matter-of-factly.

“Togorians hunt by sight and smell. Muuurgh is a hunter, remember?”

“Thanks, pal,” Han said, and put an arm around Bria. “I owe you one.

Now we’d better—”

“Look out!” Bria yelled, and Han instinctively ducked. Bria’s blaster went off in stun mode just over his head, making his ears ring.

He straightened up in time to see Ganar Tos slowly crumpling to the floor as a blaster slipped from his green fingers.

Han walked over to the old majordomo and, picking up the blaster, slipped it into his belt. Bria came to stand beside him. “All I can think is that if you hadn’t come back today, tonight I’d have been his wife,” she murmured, and shuddered so deeply that Han hugged her reassuringly.

“I’m glad you only stunned him,” Han said. “He may have been a lecherous old creep, but how can I blame him for being attracted to you?” He smiled at her, his eyes very intent.

She glanced down, and her color rose. “I didn’t want to marry him, but I’m glad he’s not dead.”

“Well,” Han said, “I owe you one, honey.”

“No, you don’t,” she said. “We’re even. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be buried under that ceiling back there, like that Hutt.”

“Yeah, I’m afraid old Zavval’s no longer with us,” Han said. “And I suppose the Hutts will blame me for it.”

For a moment Han remembered Teroenza, who was still alive, only wounded.

Should he go back and finish off the t’landa Til? The thought of walking up to a helpless sentient and coldly shooting the creature in cold blood didn’t appeal to him.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, beckoning to Muuurgh, who was licking Aar’aa blood off his paws with fastidious distaste. “C’mon, Muuurgh, you can finish grooming your whiskers later. Don’t forget—Mrrov is waiting.”

As they jogged out of the Administration Center, they could see the glitterstim factory still shooting up blue sparks into the air—but the sky was no longer black, but lighter, almost blue.

“Dawn’s not far off? Han said. “C’mon!”

The three broke into a run down the jungle path. When they neared the end, Han motioned them to stay back as he cautiously scanned the landing field.

He saw no guards … apparently all of them were still fighting the fire or in the Administration Center.

Still, they went cautiously, blasters ready, every sense alert for movement or sound.

When Han reached the Talisman, he quickly coded Bria’s access code into the lock, then the three went up the ramp.

The Talisman was a little larger than the Ylesian Dream, teardrop-shaped, bulging along its keel. But instead of cargo space, most of its interior was given over to lavish passenger quarters and amenities. It was proportioned and laid out for the t’landa Til, so only the pilot’s cabin contained human-style seats. There was one small, human-sized bunk in a guard’s cabin, but the rest of the passenger cabins were outfitted with the sleeping “hammocks” the t’landa Til favored.

Once inside, Han motioned Bria to the copilot’s seat and instructed Muuurgh to strap himself into one of the passenger berths.

He’d never flown this particular ship during his time here—Teroenza had been too worried by the pirate attacks to risk traveling before the weapons and shield upgrades had been completed.

Quickly Han familiarized himself with the controls. The Talisman didn’t have as much weaponry or shielding as the Dream, but for a private yacht, it was now heavily armed and well shielded.

“Preflight checks completed, we’re good to go. Strap in, folks …

we are outta here!” Han cried, and raised ship. The Talisman responded well to his touch and seemed a willing—though rather slow—craft. “Now for Mrrov,” Muuurgh called excitedly. “Right, Vykk?”

“Right, pal,” Han said. “We should be there just at sunrise. Where are they assembling the pilgrims destined for the Kessel ship?”