Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [75]
Pilot and Bria were planning to escape. They were planning to steal from his masters. Pilot was planning to “take care” of Muuurgh.
The Togorian shook his massive head unhappily. Muuurgh had given his word of honor to his masters—his course should be clear. But it wasn’t.
He knew well enough what he should do. He should go to Teroenza tomorrow morning and tell him what he’d overheard. Or perhaps he, Muuurgh, should kill Pilot himself and tell the priest why after the deed was done.
But he stood there, hesitating. It was obvious that Pilot was desperate enough to shoot him to get away. Muuurgh had given his word of honor to guard Pilot.
But Pilot was also Vykk … and Muuurgh had come to think of Vykk as a friend. Vykk was determined to protect his female. Muuurgh could understand that. He’d do almost anything to protect Mrrov … if he could only find her …
Muuurgh growled, low in his throat. Perhaps he should pretend to be friendly, so that Pilot would allow him to get close enough to use his teeth and claws. Muuurgh was an expert hunter. Once he’d gotten hold of his prey, there was no escape.
Could he kill Vykk to keep his word of honor?
Muuurgh growled again and turned back into the jungle. Tonight he would hunt, and he would kill. He would tear open and consume his fresh prey. Perhaps that would clear his mind, and then he would be able to decide what to do …
Muuurgh glided beneath the giant trees, as silent and invisible as a wraith …
The next morning Han whistled cheerfully as he showered, and even rubbing the nasty-smelling anti-fungal gray goo over himself couldn’t depress him. He and Bria were getting off this world, and they’d have plenty of credits once they sold the stolen items from Teroenza’s collection. Han would be able to pay for his new ID, food, and lodging while he took the exams to get into the Academy.
And when he got out, he’d be an officer, a respected man, and Bria would be waiting for him …
Rubbing his wet hair with a towel, he headed for his clothes, which were lying across the foot of his bunk.
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 dilga-nut.
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