Free Star Wars: The Han Solo Trilogy I: The Paradise Snare by A.C. Crispin Page A

scanners, though, and he realized that Ylesia was a world of tempestuous air currents, even in the upper layers of the atmosphere. Mapping sensors created a global portrait of the planet: shallow seas studded with islands, and three small continents. One lay nearly at the north pole, but the other two, the eastern and western continents, lay nearer the equator, in what must be temperate zones.
    “Great,” he muttered to himself, locating the ship’s home-in beacon. He could use it as a guide to plan his landing. The landing field was on the eastern continent. That must be where the Ylesian colony of priests and religious pilgrims was located.
    The
Dream
rocked wildly, swooping through the swirling air currents like a child on a rope swing. Han’s suit gloves were clumsy on the undersized diagnostic controls as heused his stabilizers to steady their descent. Trying to get the feel of the controls, Han yawed them to port, then overcompensated, sending them skittering to starboard.
    On the infrared image, a huge blob of red suddenly loomed up.
That’s a huge storm!
Han thought, using his laterals to even out their descent. He allowed the
Dream
to drift a few degrees north, figuring that he’d miss the storm, then swing back south later, when he was beneath the maelstrom.
    The ionized particles left in the wake of all that lightning were playing havoc with his instruments, Han realized. He gulped air, felt his chest tighten, and had to fight back panic. Good pilots couldn’t afford to let their emotions get in the way, or they’d wind up dead and that would end their trip real quick, wouldn’t it?
    “R2,” Han said tightly, “see if you can chart me those storm areas so I can avoid the ion trails that lightning is leaving. Concentrate on the direct flight path between our present location and the landing field on that eastern continent.”
    “Yes, sir,” the R2 unit said.
    Moments later the electrical storm sites appeared before him. “Give me a scaled-down version of that chart in the corner of this screen, R2,” Han ordered. Usually it would be the navicomputer’s job to “merge” the intended flight path with the geographical features and the storm cells, and to suggest an intended course, which the pilot could then implement and modify as needed.
    Han had never missed having a navicomputer at his disposal more than he did at this moment.
    He slowed their headlong rush fractionally, then was forced to kick in their thrusters to get them out of the way of yet another wind shear from a storm cell.
    Sweat was dripping down his face now as he fought the tiny controls, forcing
Ylesian Dream
into maneuvers only a swoop or a military fighter could reasonably be expected to tackle. Han realized he was still gasping, and wondered for a split second whether it was from stress and adrenaline or whether his air was running out.
    He couldn’t spare the second it would take to check the air pak.
    They were now only a kilometer above the surface of the planet, coming in with a rush. Too fast! Han slowed them, using the braking thrusters roughly. Gee forces seized him, and he felt as though something were squeezing his chest in a giant vise. He was gasping steadily now, and he dared to look down at his air pak.
    Empty! The status indicator was solidly in the red zone.
    Hold together, Han
, he counseled himself.
Just keep breathing. There’s got to be enough air in your suit to support you for a couple of minutes—at least
.
    He shook his head, feeling light-headed and dizzy. His breath began to burn in his chest.
    But they were almost slow enough now to land. He braked again, lightly, and the ship bucked suddenly.
I’ve lost my forward stabilizer!
    Han fought to compensate. Still too fast, but there was nothing more he could do about that. He flicked on the repulsorlifts and began to set her down, feeling the ship’s vibration through his knees and legs as he knelt on the deck.
    Hold together, baby!
he thought at