The Han Solo Adventures Part 9

"We can say the Guild got it wrong. So Stars' End wanted a juggler or whatever and they get a storyteller. So what? We'll tell them to go sue the Entertainers' Guild!"

"Captain Solo, sir, if you please," Bollux finally interjected. "With your kind permission, sir, I must point out-"

But Han already had his hands on the 'droid's weatherbeaten shoulders, eyeing him artistically. "Hmm, new paint, of course, and there's plenty aboard; it often pays to slap a coat on something before resale, especially if you didn't own it to begin with. Scarlet liqui-gloss, I think; a five-coat job's all we have time for. And maybe some trim. Nothing flashy, no scrollwork or filigree; just some restrained silver pinstriping. Bollux, boy, you can stop worrying about obsolescence after this, 'cause you're gonna lay 'em in the aisles!"

Their approach and planetfall were uneventful. Han had altered the drift of their captive asteroid to take him back out of range of the Authority's sensors and then abandoned it. Once back in deep s.p.a.ce, he'd made a nanno-jump, barely brushing hypers.p.a.ce, to emerge near Mytus VII and its two small moonlets.

The Falcon identified herself, using the Waivered registration obtained by Rekkon. To that was added the proud announcement that she was the grand touring vehicle of Madam Atuarre's Roving Performers.

Mytus VII was a place of rocky desolation, airless, its distance from its sun rendering it dim and cheerless. If anybody escaped Stars' End, he'd have no place to go; the rest of the solar system was untenanted, none of its planets being hospitable to humanoid life.

The Authority's installation was marked by groupings of temporary dormitories, hangars and guard barracks, hydroponics layouts, dome-sheds and weapons sites. The ground was gouged and pocked where construction of permanent subsurface facilities was in progress, but there was at least one finished structure already. In the middle of the base reared a tower like a stark, gleaming dagger.

Evidently no tunnel system had been completed yet. The whole complex was interconnected by a maze of tunnel-tubes, like giant, pleated hoses radiating from their boxy junction stations, a common arrangement for construction sites on airless worlds.

There was only one sizable vessel on the ground, an armed Espo a.s.sault craft. There were also smaller craft and unarmed cargo lighters, but Han had checked carefully for picket ships this time and was satisfied that there were none.

Han, checking visually for that heavyweight power plant his sensors had spotted, failed to locate it and wondered if it might be in that tower. He shot a second look at the tower, thinking something about it looked strange. It was equipped with two heavy docking locks, one at ground level and the other near its summit, the former hooked up to a tunnel-tube. He would very much have liked to run a close sweep of the place to see if he could pick up a high concentration of life forms that might indicate prisoners, but dared not for fear of counterdetection. Being caught probing the base would spell the end of the masquerade.

He made an undistinguished approach, nothing fancy, revealing none of the Falcon's hidden capabilities. The attentive snouts of turbo-lasers tracked the ship exactingly. Ground control guided the starship down, and one of the tunnel-tubes snaked out, its folded skin extended by its servoframe, its hatch-mounted mouth sealing to the Millennium Falcon's hull, swallowing the ship's lowering ramp.

Han shut down the engines. Atuarre, in the oversized copilot's seat, said, "I tell you one last time, Solo-Captain: I don't wish to be the one to do the speaking."

He brought his chair around. "I'm no actor, Atuarre. It'd be different if we were just going to jump in, spring the prisoners, and kiss off, but I can't cut all that chitchat and play the role."

They left the c.o.c.kpit. Han was wearing a tight-cut black body suit, converted into a costume by the addition of epaulets, piping, shining braid, and a broad yellow sash, over which he'd buckled his blaster. His boots were newly polished.

Atuarre was bedecked at wrists, forearms, throat, forehead, and knees with bunches of multicolored streamers, Trianii attire for festivals and joyful occasions. She'd applied the exotic perfumes and formal scents of her species, using up the tiny supply she had in her belt pouch.

"I am no actress, either," she reminded him as they met the others at the ramp hatch.

"Did you ever see a celebrity?"

"Authority execs and their wives, when they came to our world as tourists."

Han snapped his fingers. "That's it. Smug, dumb, and happy."

Pakka was costumed as his mother was, wearing the scents appropriate to a pre-adolescent male. He handed his mother and Han long, billowing metallic capes, hers coppery and his an electric blue. Han's small wardrobe had been ransacked for material for the costumes, and the capes had come from the thin insulating layers of a tent from the ship's survival gear.

The fitting, seaming, and alterations had been a problem. Han was all thumbs when it came to tailoring, and the Trianii, of course, were a species who had never developed the art because they never wore anything but protective clothing. The solution had come in the form of Bollux, who had been programmed for the necessary skills, among others, while serving a regimental commander during the Clone Wars.

The ramp was already down; all that remained was to open the hatch. "Luck to us all," Atuarre bade them softly. They piled hands, including Bollux's cold metal ones, then Han reached for the switch.

As the hatch rolled up, Atuarre was still objecting. "Solo-Captain, I still think you ought to be the one to-" At the foot of the ramp, the tunnel-tube was crammed with body-armored Espos brandishing heavy blasters, riot guns, gas projectors, fusion-cutters, and sapper charges. Whirling, Atuarre gushed, "Oh, my! How thoughtful! My dears, they've sent us a guard of honor!"

She touched up her glossy, fine-brushed mane with one hand, smiling down at the Security Policemen charmingly. Han wondered why he'd ever worried. The Espos, keyed up for a shootout, stared popeyed as she swept down the ramp, the profusion of streamers rippling and snapping behind her, her cape shimmering. Her steps sounded with the anklet-chimes that Han had run off for her from shipboard materials, using his small but complete tool locker.

At the front of the Espo ranks was a battalion commander, a major, his black swagger stick held behind his back, spine stiff, face rigid with officiousness. Atuarre descended the ramp as if she were receiving the keys to the planet, waving as if to acknowledge a standing ovation.

"My dear, dear General," she halfsang, intentionally giving the man a promotion, "I'm simply beyond words! Viceprex Hirken is too kind, I'm sure. And to you and your gallant men, thanks from Madam Atuarre and her Roving Performers!" She swooped right up to him, ignoring the guns and bombs and other items of destruction, one hand playing with the major's ribbons and medals, the other waving her grat.i.tude to the ma.s.sed, dumbfounded Espos. A dark, high-blood-pressure blush rose out of the major's collar and climbed swiftly for his hairline.

"What is the meaning of this?" he sputtered. "Are you saying you're the entertainers Viceprex Hirken is expecting?"

Her face showed cute confusion. "To be sure. You mean word of our arrival wasn't forwarded here to Stars' End? The Imperial Entertainers' Guild a.s.sured me it would communicate with you; I always demand adequate advanced billing."

She swept a grand gesture back up the ramp. "Gentlemen! Madam Atuarre presents her Roving Performers! First, Master Marksman, wizard of weaponry, whose target-shooting tricks and glittering gunplay have astounded audiences everywhere!"

Han walked down the ramp, trying to look the part, sweating under the tunnel-tube's worklights. Atuarre and the others could use their real names with impunity here, since those names had never appeared in Authority files. But Han's might have, and so he'd been forced into this new persona. He wasn't altogether sure he liked it now. When the Espos saw his blaster, weapons came up to cover him, and he was cautious to keep his hand away from it.

But Atuarre was already chattering. "And, to amaze and amuse you with feats of gymnastics and spellbinding acrobatics, Atuarre presents her pet prodigy-"

Han held up a hoop he had brought down with him. It was a ring-stabilizer off an old repulsor rig, but he'd plated it and fitted it with an insulated hand-grip and a breadboarded distortion unit. Now he thumbed a switch, and the hoop became a circle of dancing light and waves of color as the distortion unit scrambled the visible spectrum, throwing off sparks and flares.

"-Pakka!" Atuarre introduced. The cub dived through the harmless light-effects, bounced off the ramp, and executed a triple forward somersault, into a double twist, and ended bowing deeply to the surprised major. Han scaled the hoop back into the ship and stepped to one side.

"And lastly," Atuarre went on, "that astonishing automaton, robotic raconteur, and machine of mirth and merriment, Bollux!"

And the 'droid clanked stiffly down the ramp, long arms swinging, somehow making it all look like a military march. Han had knocked out most of his dents and dings and applied a radiant paint job, five layers of scarlet liqui-gloss, as promised, with glinting silver pinstriping, painstakingly limned. The 'droid had been converted from an obsolescent into a cla.s.sic. The mask-and-sunburst emblem of the Imperial Entertainer's Guild embellished one side of his chest, a touch that Han had thought would raise their credibility.

The Espo major was stumped. He knew Viceprex Hirken was expecting a special entertainment group, but was not aware of any clearance for one's arrival. Nevertheless, the Viceprex attached particular importance to his diversions, and wouldn't take kindly to any meddling or delay. No, not kindly at all.

The major put on as cordial an expression as his gruff face could achieve. "I'll notify the Viceprex of your arrival at once, Madam, ah, Atuarre?"

"Yes, splendid!" She gathered her cape for a curtsy and turned to Pakka. "Fetch your props, my sweet." The cub skipped back up the ramp and returned a moment later with several hoops, a balance-ball, and an a.s.sortment of lesser props scrounged up aboard ship.

"I'll escort you to Stars' End," said the major. "And I'm afraid my men will have to hold on to your Master Marksman's weapon. You understand, Madam: Standard Operating Procedure."

Han steeled himself and handed his blaster over b.u.t.t-first to an Espo sergeant as Atuarre nodded to the major. "Of course, of course. We must never ignore the proprieties, must we? Now, my dear, dear General, if you'd be so gracious ..."

He realized with a start that she was waiting for his arm, and extended it stiffly, his face livid. The Espos, knowing their commanding officer's temper, hid their grins carefully. They formed up a hasty honor guard as Han hit the ramp control. The ramp pulled itself up quickly and the hatch rolled closed. They would reopen for no one but himself, Chewbacca, or one of the Trianii.

The major, after sending a runner ahead, led the group off through the tunnel-tube mazework. They were a long walk from the tower, and pa.s.sed through several of the tread-mounted junction stations, to the surprised gazes of black-coveralled tech controlmen. Their footsteps and Bollux's clanking joints echoed through the tunnel-tubes, and the new arrivals noticed a gravity markedly lighter than the Standard gee maintained onboard the Millennium Falcon. Air in the tubes had the tang of hydroponics recycling, a welcome change from shipboard.

They came at last to a large, permanent air lock. Its outer hatch swung open at a verbal order from the major. Han caught a quick glimpse of what he knew must be the tower's side, surrounded by the tunnel-tube's seal, that confirmed something he'd thought he'd seen when landing.

Stars' End, or at least the tower's outer sheath, was molecularly bonded armor, of a single piece. That made it one of the most expensive buildings-no, he corrected himself, the most expensive building-Han had ever seen. Enhancing the molecular bonding of dense metals was a costly process, and doing it on this scale was something he'd simply never heard of.

Inside the tower, they pa.s.sed down a long, broad corridor to the central axis, which was a service core that also housed elevator banks. They were hurried along, with little chance to gawk, but they did see techs, Authority execs, and Espos coming and going. Stars' End itself didn't appear to be particularly well manned, which didn't jell with the theory that it was a prison.

They entered an elevator with the major and a few of his men and were whisked upward in a high-speed ride. When the elevator opened and they trailed the major out, they found themselves standing beneath the stars, which shone so brightly and were packed so tightly overhead that they seemed more like a mist of light.

Then Han realized they were on top of Stars' End, which was covered with a dome of transparisteel. There was an ap.r.o.n of bright flooring by the elevators. Beyond that began a small glen, complete with miniature streamlet, and flowers and vegetation from many worlds, landscaped down to the last bud and leaf. He could hear the sounds of birds and small animals, the hum of pollinating insects, all of which were confined to the roof garden, he a.s.sumed, by part.i.tion fields. The glen was cleverly lit by miniature sun-globes of various colors.

Footsteps to their right made them turn. A man came around the curve of the tower's service core, a tall, handsome patriarch of a man. He wore superbly cut uppermost-exec's attire-a cutaway coat, formal vest, pleated shirt and meticulously creased trousers, set off by a jaunty red cravat. His smile was hearty and convincing, his hair white and full, his hands clean and soft, his nails manicured and lacquered. Han instantly wanted to bop him in the skull and dump him down the elevator shaft.

The man's voice was sure and melodious. "Welcome to Stars' End, Madam Atuarre. I am Hirken, Vice-President Hirken, of the Corporate Sector Authority. Alas, you come unheralded, or I'd have greeted you with greater pomp."

Atuarre feigned distress. "Oh, honorable sir, what shall I say? We were contacted by the Guild and asked to serve as a replacement act, at the last moment, as it were. But I was told the Secretary in charge of scheduling, Hokkor Long, would make all arrangements."

Viceprex Hirken smiled, a charming drawing back of red lips from chalk-white teeth. Han thought how useful that smile and smooth voice must be in Authority board sessions. "Totally unimportant," the Viceprex announced. "Your appearance is thus an unexpected pleasure."

"Why, how gracious of you! Never fear, my kind Viceprex; we'll distract you from the problems and pressures of your high office!" To herself, though, Atuarre swore Trianii vengeance: If you've hurt my mate, I vow I'll see your living heart in my hand!

Han observed that Hirken wore, at his belt, a small, flat instrument, a master-control unit. He a.s.sumed that the man liked to keep close watch on everything in Stars' End; the unit gave him total control of his domain.

"I have gathered some of the most prestigious entertainers in this part of our galaxy," Atuarre continued. "Pakka here is a premier acrobat, and I myself, in addition to being mistress of ceremonies, perform the traditional music and ritual dance of my people. And here stands our handsome Master Marksman, peerless expert with firearms, to amaze you, worshipful Viceprex, with his trick shooting."

There was a whistling laugh and a jeering: "Trick shooting of what? Of his mouth, as appears likely?"

The speaker appeared behind Viceprex Hirken. He was a reptilian creature, slender and quick of movement. Viceprex Hirken chided the humanoid gently. "There, there, Uul; these good folks have come a long way to relieve our tedium." He turned to Atuarre. "Uul-Rha-Shan is my personal bodyguard, and something of an adept with weapons himself. Perhaps a contest of some sort could be arranged later. Uul has such a droll sense of humor, don't you agree?"

Han was eyeing the reptile, whose bright green scales were marked with diamond patterns of red and white, and whose big black, emotionless eyes were studying Han. Uul-Rha-Shan's jaw hung open a bit, exposing fangs and a restless pink tongue. Strapped to his right forearm was a pistol, a disrupter, Han thought, in a spring-loaded or power-driven holster of some kind.

Uul-Rha-Shan had taken up a position to Hirken's right. Han recalled having heard the bodyguard's name before. The galaxy was filled with species, all boasting their exceptional killers. Nonetheless, some individuals rose to a kind of prominence. One of those, an a.s.sa.s.sin and gunman who, it was said, would go anywhere and slay anyone for the right price, was Uul-Rha-Shan.

Hirken's manner had shifted to businesslike demeanor. "Now, that is the 'droid I requested, I take it?" He inspected Bollux unsmilingly, with a look that put cold danger in the air. "I was most specific with the Guild; I told Hokkor Long precisely what sort of 'droid I desired and stressed that they were to send nothing else. Has Long acquainted you with my desires?"

Atuarre swallowed, trying not to let her effusive manner slip. "Of a certainty, Viceprex, he did."

Hirken threw one more skeptical look at Bollux. "Very well. Follow me." He set off, back the way he had come, Uul-Rha-Shan at his heels. The travelers and their escort came behind. They left the garden area, coming to an amphitheater, an open expanse surrounded by banks of comfortable seats, separated by part.i.tions of transparisteel.

"Automated fighting is combat at its purest, don't you agree?" Hirken said chattily. "No living creature, no matter how savage, is free of the taint of self-preservation. But automata, ah! They are without regard for themselves, existing only to follow orders and destroy. My own combat-automaton is a Mark-X Executioner; there aren't many of them around. Has your gladiator 'droid ever fought one?"

Han's nerves were screaming; he was trying to figure out whom to jump for a weapon if, as he feared, Atuarre bobbled her reply. Any show of hesitation or ignorance now would surely tip their hand to Hirken and his men.

But she improvised smoothly. "No, Viceprex, not the Mark X."

Han was struggling with the jarring revelation. Gladiator 'droid? So that was what Hirken a.s.sumed Bollux was. Han had known, naturally, that matching 'droids and other automata in combat was a fad among the wealthy and jaded, but it hadn't occurred to him that Hirken would be among those. He put his brain into overdrive, looking for a way out.

As they walked, a woman joined them, coming from what was evidently a private lift tube. She was short, extremely fat, and trying to hide it with expensive, well-tailored robes. Han thought she looked as if somebody had draped a drogue parachute over an escape pod.

She took Hirken's hand. The Viceprex endured the gesture with ill humor. She fluttered a fat, beautifully maintained hand and chortled, "Oh, darling, do we have company?"

Hirken turned upon the woman a stare that, Han calculated, was enough to dissolve covalent bonding. The chubby birdbrain ignored it: The Viceprex gritted his teeth. "No, dearest. These people have brought a new compet.i.tor for my Mark X. Madame Atuarre and Company, I present my lovely bride, Neera. By the way, Madam Atuarre, what did you say your 'droid's designation is?"

Han jumped in. "He's one of a kind, um, Viceprex. We designed him ourselves and call him Annihilator." He turned to Bollux.

Bollux looked from Han to Hirken, then bowed. "Annihilator, at your service. To destroy is to serve, exalted sir."

"But our troupe has other acts to offer," Atuarre was quick to tell Hirken's wife. "Tumbling, dancing, trick shooting, and more."

"Ooh, dearest!" the obese woman exclaimed, clapping her hands, sliding up against her husband. "Let's see that first! I grow so tired of watching that old Mark X demolish other machinery. How boring and uncouth and crude, really! And live performers would be such a relief from those dreadful holotapes and recorded music. And we have company here so seldom." She made puckering noises which, Han took it, were intended to be kisses to her husband. Han thought they sounded more like the attack of some invertebrate.

He saw a chance to solve two problems at once: how to get Bollux out of the match and how to get a look around Stars' End on his own. "Uh, honored Viceprex, I'm also gaffer for the troupe. I have to tell you, our gladiator 'droid, Annihilator there, was damaged in his last match. His auxiliary management circuitry needs to be checked. If I could use your shop, it'd only take a few minutes. You and your wife could enjoy the other performances in the meantime."

Hirken looked up at the stars through the dome and sighed, while his wife giggled and seconded the proposal. "Very well. But make these repairs quickly, Marksman. I'm not much taken with acrobats or dancing."

"Sure, right."

The Viceprex summoned a tech supervisor who had been checking the amphitheater's systems and explained to the man what was needed. Then he offered his arm, unwillingly, to his wife. They went to find seats in the amphitheater, with the Espo major and his men ranging themselves around in a loose guard formation. Uul-Rha-Shan, with a last, menacing look at Han, followed along, again positioning himself near Hirken's right.

Since Pakka's acrobatics and Atuarre's dancing would pose no danger to the audience, Hirken hit a control on his belt unit, and the transparisteel slabs forming the arena's walls slid away into floor slots. The Viceprex and his wife settled into luxurious conform-loungers. Pakka readied his props.

Han turned to the supervisor tech who'd been placed at his disposal. "Wait for me by the elevator; I'll get the circuit box out, be with you in a second."

The man left. Han, loosening his cape and sliding it from his shoulders, turned to Bollux. "Okay, open up just enough for me to get Max."

The plastron opened partway. Han leaned close, shielded by the plastron halves. As he freed the computer-probe, he warned, "Not a sound, Max. You're supposed to be a combat-control component, so no funny stuff. You're deaf and dumb as of now." As a signal that he understood, Blue Max's photoreceptor went dim. "Good boy, Maxie."

Han straightened, slinging the computer's shoulder strap over his arm. As Bollux closed his chest up, Han handed his cape and gunbelt over and patted the 'droid's freshly painted head. "Hold these for me and stay loose, Bollux. This shouldn't take long."

As Han joined the tech supervisor at the elevator, Pakka was just beginning a marvelous exhibition of tumbling and gymnastics. The cub was a compet.i.tion-cla.s.s acrobat and covered the amphitheater floor in a series of flips, twists, and cartwheels, somersaulting through a hoop he held and, perching on the balance-ball, moving himself around the arena with both hands and feet. Then Atuarre came in to act as thrower as Pakka became a flyer.

Hirken's wife thought it all charming, oohing at the cub's prowess. Subordinate Authority execs began to show up and take seats, a handful of the privileged who had been invited to see the performance. They muttered approval of Pakka's agility, but stifled it when they saw their boss's deadly look of discontent.

Hirken thumbed his belt unit. A voice answered instantly. "Have the Mark X readied at once." He ignored the crisp acknowledgment from the duty tech, eyed the waiting Bollux, and turned his attention back to the acrobatics. Authority Viceprex Hirken could be very, very patient when he wished, but wasn't in the mood now.

IX.

RIDING down in the elevator, Han concentrated furiously on his predicament.

He'd led the others into this jam thinking that, if nothing else, he'd at least get an idea of what he was up against. At worst, he'd thought, they'd be told they weren't welcome. But this was an unantic.i.p.ated twist.

That Bollux was committed to a match against a killer robot of some sort shouldn't bother him, Han reminded himself. Bollux was, after all, only a 'droid. It wasn't as if a living ent.i.ty would die. Han had to keep repeating that because he was having a hard time selling it to himself. Anyway, he had no intention of giving Viceprex Hirken the enjoyment of seeing the superannuated 'droid taken apart.

Times like this, he wished he were the slow, careful type. But his style was the product of Han himself, defying consequences, jumping in with both feet, heedless of what he might land in. His plan, as revised in the elevator, was to do all the scouting he could. If nothing more could be accomplished, he and the others would have to wing it, withdraw from the performance and, it was to be hoped, Stars' End, on the plea that Bollux was irreparable.

He watched floor numbers flash and kept himself from asking questions of the tech supervisor beside him. Any outsider, particularly an entertainer, would be scrupulously uncurious about an Authority installation. For Han to be otherwise would be a matter causing instant suspicion.

A few other pa.s.sengers entered and left the car. Only one was an exec; all the rest were Espos and techs. Han looked them over for keys, restraint-binders, or anything else that might indicate detention-block guard duties, but saw nothing. Again he noticed that the tower seemed very lightly manned, contrary to what he'd expect if there really was a prison here.

He followed the tech supervisor out of the elevator, alighting at the general maintenance section, nearly back at ground level. Only a few techs were there, moving among gleaming machinery and dangling hoisting gear. Disa.s.sembled 'droids, robo-haulers, and other light equipment, as well as commo and computer apparatus, were to be seen everywhere.

He resettled Max's carrying strap at his shoulder. "Do you guys have a circuit scanner?"

The tech led him to a side room with rows of booths, all of them vacant. Han set Max on a podium in one of them and lowered a scanner hood, hoping the tech would go off and take care of his normal duties. But the man remained there, and so Han found himself staring into the computer-probe's labyrinthine interior.

The tech, watching over his shoulder, commented, "Hey, that looks like a lot more than just an auxiliary component."

"It's something I worked up, pretty sophisticated," Han said. "By the way, the Viceprex said when I'm done here I could take it up to your central computer section to recalibrate it. That's one level down, right?"