Part 8 (1/2)

Q9 hit the c.o.c.kpit door control and they all stepped out into the s.h.i.+p's corridor. Ebrihim went to the door of the children's cabin and knocked. ”Jaina, Jacen, Anakin. We've landed safely. You can unstrap now and come out.”

Ebrihim tried to step out of the way quickly, but he was nearly trampled all the same as the three children tumbled out of the cabin.

AAULK AT 3tLO 79 78 Dogm MocSr A-v By the time he got himself untangled from them, Chewbacca and Q9 were ready to open the airlock bulkhead door and lower the access ramp. ”Wait just a moment!”

Ebrihim called out, and hurried over. ”I'd best go first, alone.

There was a brief chorus of protests from all hands, but Ebrihim shook his head firmly. ”No,” he said. ”I go alone. I am known here, and you are not. They might well have spotted our landing from the house, and could be a trifle nervous about it. Things could go badly if they saw a stranger coming out of the s.h.i.+p.”

”Well,” said Jaina, ”I guess you're probably right. But hurry back!

We've been cooped up in this s.h.i.+p way too long.”

”I'll be back as fast as I can. However, friend Chewbacca, it might be just as well if we were ready for a quick takeoff. It's possible that my aunt isn't here, and that we'll encounter a somewhat, ah, less hospitable welcome than we might like.”

Chewbacca nodded his agreement.

”Anakin, if you would be so kind as to open the hatch and let the ramp down,” Ebrihim said.

”Sure thing!” Anakin cried, delighted at the chance to do real work with real machinery. He punched in the proper codes and watched with obvious pride as the inner hatch opened and the ramp dropped smoothly down into the dark night. The night air of Drall wafted into the s.h.i.+p, cool and inviting, redolent with the soft, flat tang of a river breeze.

”I'll be back as soon I am able,” Ebrihim said, trying not to sound nervous. And, indeed, why should he feel nervous? This was his family seat, his home. If there were any place in the universe that he ought to feel safe, and comfortable, it was here.

He walked down the ramp, out into the dark night of home. As he stepped onto the soil of Drall for the first time in years, he was surprised by how soft it felt underfoot.

Stepping clear of the s.h.i.+p, he walked a little ways toward the house, but then stopped. There is a bit of folklore common to the s.p.a.ceways, a little piece of knowledge that all believe to be true. In its crudest terms, it is that there is no place like home. You can never be as comfortable as on your own home planet, with the air pressure, the atmosphere, the gravity, and all the other things exactly as you knew them as a child.

It felt good to Ebrihim to be back under Drall's lighter gravity, breathing its sweet air. Even the hooting and cawing of the night creatures, the hums and buzzes of the local insects, seemed to reach out to him, soothe him, remind him of days gone by. The very air seemed perfumed, laden with all sorts...o...b..AM!

A high-powered blaster bolt blew up the ground right in front of him.

Ebrihim dove for the ground and landed face-first in a thicket of big, blue, foolish-looking flowers that gave out a cloyingly sweet scent.

His aunt's prized garden.

”Who's there?” a familiar voice cried out. ”Did I hit anybody?”

His aunt. What was she doing out here packing heavy weapons?

”Don't shoot!” Ebrihim cried out. ”Don't shoot. It's me, your nephew Ebrihim!”

”Ebrihim?” his aunt's voice asked. ”What the devil are you doing out there? Did you come on that raider s.h.i.+p that's lurking back there?”

”It's no raider!” he called out. ”Those aboard are friends! We are here seeking help!”

”Then why land like thieves in the night?” she asked, coming close enough for Ebrihim to see her by starlight.

She looked a bit older and stouter than he remembered, but seemed as vigorous as ever. Of course, the oversized blaster rifle she was carrying added to the impression of vigor. ”It is you, Ebrihim,” she said, in a slightly irritated tone of voice, as if she were expecting him to have changed into someone else.

”Get yourself up. You look ridiculous down there.

”Yes, ma'am,” Ebrihim said, scrambling to his feet and brus.h.i.+ng the dirt out of his fur.

”Now then, tell me quick and no foolish answers.

Why did that pilot sneak up on the house? Why did he land in the trees, if you have nothing to hide?”

”We weren't hiding from you” Ebrihim said. ”We were afraid someone from the outside might spot us.

The pilot put down there to try and keep out of sight from above.”

”Hppphm. I see,” said Aunt Marcha. She slung the blaster rifle over her shoulder and bent down to examine one of the bright blue flowers Ebrihim had crushed when he dove for cover. Straightening up, she surveyed the ground under the Millennium Fakon's landing pads.

”Next time,” she said, her voice more peeved than ever, ”tell your pilot friend to land somewhere besides my nannarium beds.”

CHAPTER FIVE.

Seems Like Old Times The bucketful of water hit Han square in the face.

”Wake up,” an unpleasantly familiar voice told him as he sat upright, spluttering and coughing.

”Show's over.”

Han opened his eyes cautiously, and instantly knew that caution was called for. He was back in his cell, and Fthe light was none too bright.

Even so, it hurt his Feyes. For that matter, pretty much every part of him hurt. That Selonian, Dracmus, packed one heck of a wallop.

Thrackan tossed the empty metal bucket into the far corner of the cell, and its clattering was enough to set off a pounder of a headache at the base of Han's skull.

”Come on,” Thrackan said, his voice impatient.

''Snap out of it. My medics checked you over, and they told me you'd live. Said you were too mean to kill easy.

”Being mean was always your department, Thrackan,” Han said, his voice barely more than a croak. He opened his eyes a bit more fully, and watched as his cousin laughed, pulled up a stool, and sat down facing Han on the cot.

”There's the Han I always knew,” Thrackan said.

”Good to hear you show some spirit.”

Thrackan was close to Han. Oddly close. Han suddenly realized he could smell alcohol on his cousin's breath. He noticed that Thrackan was carrying a bottle of what looked very much like Vasarian brandy.

His cousin was at least a little drunk. ”What do you want now, Thrackan?” Han asked, nOt sure of what was going on. ”You've had your entertainment.”

”Don't push it, Han. Don't have much patience left for you, believe me.”

”So why are you here?” Han asked, unable to control his temper completely. ”Is it a slow day, and you want to kill an hour or two pulling my fingernails out?”