Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [56]
“Thanks,” Han said, opening the door and going in.
Muuurgh lay curled on a large, round pallet. The Togorian was covered with tiny sensor units that reported on his condition. As Han entered, the blue eyes opened. Muuurgh raised himself partly up. “Pilot!”
“Hey, how’re you doing, pal?” Han was surprised to feel a huge wash of relief when he saw the Togorian conscious and lucid again. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten so fond of the big felinoid. “They treating you all right?”
“Pilot …” Muuurgh seemed utterly amazed to find Han here.
“You look surprised to see me,” Han said. That was a huge understatement. Muuurgh didn’t look surprised—he looked flabbergasted.
“Muuurgh is …” The big alien shook his furry head a little dizzily. “I mean, I am. I never thought I would see you again.”
Han drew himself up. “Why not? Did you think I’d just dump you here and swipe the cargo?”
“Yes,” replied Muuurgh simply.
“Well, I’m here, ain’t I? If it wasn’t for me hauling us into Alderaanian space by the skin of our noses, you’d be dead meat by now. I suggest you remember that, pal. You owe me.”
Muuurgh nodded dazedly. “Yes, Pilot … I owe you.”
Han scowled at him and sat down on the edge of the pallet. “And skip that ‘pilot’ formality. I’m Vykk from now on, okay?”
Muuurgh put out a paw, laid it gently over Han’s arm, the huge clawed fingers with their now-retracted claws dwarfing the human’s limb. “Okay, Vykk …”
After Han left Muuurgh to the tender ministrations of the medical droids, he went back to the Dream and called Ylesia. Teroenza was not available, so he asked to speak to Veratil. When the Ylesian’s horned, bloated visage appeared on the screen, Han gave him an abbreviated account of their adventures, promising to start back to Ylesia the following day. Veratil, in his turn, promised to arrange payment for the ship repairs and Muuurgh’s treatment.
When he’d finished with his call, Han found that he was hungry, so after checking his small hoard of credits, he headed over to a combination tavern and eatery on the campus of the University of Alderaan. It was set into a secluded courtyard, and a rainbow-colored fountain sent showers of crystal drops into the air before the entrance.
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.