Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [133]
Han heaved upward, throwing Shrike off him. The man lost his grip and went sprawling backward. Han scrambled for where he’d heard the blaster land—and his fingers found it.
Shrike was already up and heading purposefully for the younger man, when Han came up onto his knees, the blaster pointed directly at him. Han ostentatiously thumbed the intensity level up to its highest setting. “Your turn to freeze, Shrike,” he said. Speaking brought on a spasm of coughing and searing pain in Han’s abused throat, but he managed to get Shrike in his sights.
Shrike laughed, and slowed, but didn’t stop. He was perhaps six meters away. “Now, Han, son,” he said coaxingly, “old Captain Shrike was just having a little fun with you, is all. I wasn’t going to turn you over to those Hutts, no indeed. Did you know you killed one of them, boy? Hutts don’t like that, no they don’t. They’re never going to stop searching for old ‘Vykk Draygo,’ you know?”
“Stop right there,” Han said, and was terrified to hear the quaver in his own voice. He’d never shot anyone down in cold blood before. Especially someone he knew. Could he do it?
Shrike grinned as if he could read Han’s mind. “C’mon, Han. You know you ain’t going to shoot me. You can’t. I’m like your daddy, almost.”
Han shook his head and replied with a Huttese obscenity so blistering that Shrike raised his eyebrows. “Oh, my, you’ve developed such a dirty mouth while you were gone, ain’t you, kid?”
He was still moving. Only about four meters separated them now. Han tightened his grip on the blaster, but he was horrified to realize the muzzle was wavering.
“Let’s go down below and talk about this, Han,” Shrike said, his voice low and soothing. “I won’t hurt you, you’ve got my word on it.”
“Your word?” Han laughed, then coughed. “That’s a laugh. Your word isn’t worth spit.”
“Sure, my word. Besides … if you shoot me, boy, you’ll never find out about your parents. Who they were … why you wound up being dumped into those alleys where I found you.”
Han stared at Shrike. “You know who they were? You know why I was abandoned?” He swallowed, and it was searing pain. “Tell me, and I may let you live.”
Shrike was almost within grabbing distance of the blaster now. Only a meter or so away. Han knew he should shoot him, knew Shrike couldn’t be trusted—but still he hesitated. “Tell me, Shrike!”
“I’ll tell you everything when you give me the blaster,” Shrike said. “Everything. You have my word.”
Shoot him! Now! Han’s mind screamed.
With a wash of red light, a blaster bolt struck Garris Shrike directly in the chest. The captain threw up his hands, a look of terror and pain contorting his features. He fell backward like a stone, dead before he hit the permacrete.
Han stared wildly at his hand. His finger was on the trigger of the blaster, but he hadn’t moved it … had he?
The shot, he realized, a second later, had come from behind him.
Han whirled, still on his knees, to find himself facing another man. He was human, young, medium tall, slender build. Darkish hair frosted by moonlight. He held a drawn blaster, and every line of him screamed “bounty hunter.”
“Okay, kid, it’s over,” he said, removing a pair of wrist-binders from his belt. “Stand up. You’re coming with me.”
Those first two shots! Han thought. It must have been him. He followed me up here, and just waited for Shrike to take me down, so he could step in and get me.
As if he’d sensed what Han was thinking, the bounty hunter added, “I knew old Shrike would find you. The Hutts don’t have a picture of you, so I followed Shrike, ’cause he practically raised you, didn’t he, Vykk? I knew he’d pick you out for me.”
No! Han’s mind screamed. Not now! Not again!
He was still stiff from the paralysis, exhausted and hurt from the fight with Shrike. Every muscle screamed with pain and weariness.
The bounty hunter gestured with the blaster. “Drop your blaster, kid, or I’ll stun you right