Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [63]
“Off-world?” Han fought back a stab of fear at the thought that he might never see Pilgrim 921 again. “What, I’m supposed to hope that she gets shipped out to some barracks pleasure-house, to be a plaything for bored Imperial troops?”
“Better that than a miserable death from slow blood-poisoning.”
Han was thinking fast, and he didn’t like what he was thinking. “Listen, Nebl, I’m glad we got to talk. I’ll come back and visit again sometime. Right now … there’s something I’ve gotta do.”
The alien nodded kindly. “I quite understand, Vykk.”
Once outside, Han realized that the short Ylesian day was definitely waning. The pilgrims would be at evening devotions. If he hurried, he might be able to catch up with 921 and have a few words with her. He had to figure out some way to get her out of that factory and yet keep her here on Ylesia.
Despite the wet heat and the fine drizzle that was falling, Han began to jog through the jungle, up the familiar path. His breath burned in his chest after the first five minutes or so, but he refused to slow down. He just had to see 921’s face, reassure himself she was still here, on Ylesia.
What if she’d been shipped off-world? He’d never find her … never! Han felt panic nibble at the edge of his mind and cursed himself in every language he knew. What has gotten into you, Solo? You’ve got to get hold of yourself! Things are going good for you here on Ylesia. At the end of the year, you’ll have a stack of credits waiting in an account on Coruscant. Now is no time to lose your head over some crazy religious fanatic. Get over it!
But his body and heart would not listen to his mind. Han’s strides came longer and faster until he was running full tilt. He rounded a turn near the Plain of Flowers, and nearly ran headlong into the first of the pilgrims on their way back from evening devotions. They were staggering or shambling along, that drugged, ecstatic look in their glazed eyes.
Han began elbowing his way through the throng, feeling like a fish swimming upstream. He squinted at faces in the gathering darkness, peered beneath caps, searching, searching …
Where was she?
Increasingly worried, Han began grabbing pilgrims’ arms and demanding to know if anyone had seen Pilgrim 921. Most ignored him or stared stupidly, slack-jawed, but finally an old Corellian woman jerked her thumb behind her. Han turned to find 921 some distance behind the others. Relief flooded through him. He hurried up to her, still panting, sweaty, and disheveled from his run.
“Hi,” he wheezed, hoping the greeting didn’t sound as lame to her as it did to him.
She looked up at him in the twilight. “Hi,” she said uncertainly. “You’ve been gone for a while.”
“Off-world,” Han said, taking her arm and falling into step with her. “Had some cargo to transport.”
“Oh.”
“So, how’s it been going?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said. “The Exultation was wonderful tonight.”
“Yeah,” he agreed grimly. “I’m sure it was.”
“How was your voyage, Vykk?” she asked after a minute or so of silence. Han was pleased by her question; it was the first time she’d betrayed any curiosity about him and his life.
“It turned out okay,” he said, picking his way down the muddy path, trying not to get his boots any worse than they already were. He was splashed to the knees with all that running. “Pirates shot at me, though.”
“Oh, no!” She looked distressed. “Pirates! You could have been hurt!”
He smiled at her and shifted his grip so they were walking hand in hand. “How nice to know you care,” he said with a touch of his old cockiness. For a moment he thought she might pull away, but she let him hold her hand.
By the time they’d reached the dorm, it was dark. Han walked her over to their same spot, halfway between the light and the darkness.