Star Wars - Han Solo and the Lost Legacy (9 page)

A man approached her from the semigloom—tall, broad-shouldered,
his hair as white as his forked beard. He moved briskly; at his heels was an assistant, a smaller, grimmer man whose long black hair was parted down the middle and showed a white blaze.

The tall man’s voice was hearty and charming. “I am steward of the vaults. How may I help you?”

Holding her chin high, Hasti answered in her best approximation of a local accent. “The lockboxes. I wish to recover my property.”

The steward’s hands circled one another, fingers gathered, in the Dellaltian sign of courtesy and invitation. “Of course; I shall assist you personally.” He spoke to the other man, who departed.

Remembering to walk on his right, as a Dellaltian woman would, Hasti followed the steward. The vaults’ corridors, musty with age, displayed mosaics of colored crystal so complicated that Hasti couldn’t interpret them. Many of the pieces were cracked, and whole stretches were missing; they arched high overhead into shadow. Here, their footsteps resounded hollowly.

At last they came to a wall, not the end of the corridor but a partition of crudely cut stone that had plainly been mortared into place after the original construction. Set in the wall was a door that looked as if it had been scavenged from some later, less substantial building. Next to it was an audio pickup. The steward pointed to it.

“If the lady will speak into the voice-coder, we can proceed to the lockbox repository.”

When Hasti’s sister had told her and Badure about depositing the log-recorder disk she had told them the box-rental code and retrieval combination, but had mentioned no voice-coder. Hasti felt the pulse in her forehead and the thumping in her rib cage quicken.

The steward was waiting. Leaning to the audio pickup she said, as if in mystic invocation, “Lanni Troujow.”

* * *

“My last offer,” Badure threatened for the fourth time, resorting to hyperbole common on Dellalt, “is ten credits a day, guaranteed three-day minimum.”

The landlord shrieked and tore hairs out of his beard, beat his chest with his free hand, and vowed to his ancestors that he would join them before letting plundering offworlders steal the food from his children’s mouths. Skynx took it all in, amazed by the carefully measured affrontery of the hagglers.

Han listened with one ear, worried that Hasti might not have been able to get away from the landing area undetected. There was a tug at his shoulder; it was Bollux. “I noticed this altercation, sir. Shall I continue to outload our cargo?”

That meant Hasti was away. Badure heard and understood. “Get everything back onboard until this son of contaminated genes, this landlord, bargains reasonably.”

“Unthinkable!” screamed the landlord. “You have already made use of my precious building and diverted me from my other pursuits. A settlement must be made; I hereby hold your cargo against the arrival of the Fact-Finders.” He and Badure swapped deadly oaths.

The landlord called the old man a horrible name. Skynx, quivering in excitement, immersed himself in the spirit of the thing, antennae trembling. “Devourer of eggs!”

Everyone stopped, glancing at the diminutive Ruurian, who swallowed, appalled at his rash outburst. The landlord departed, along with much of the crowd, hurling back epithets and leaving his cousins to guard the outbuilding. From somewhere, the cousins had produced bolt-operated slug rifles with hexagonal barrels and long, lens-type scopes.

Back onboard the
Falcon
, Badure threw himself into a chair. “That landlord! What a freighter bum he’d have made!”

Han grabbed Bollux. “What happened?”

“The men guarding the building entrance kept looking through the door after me as I deposited the cargo. It was some time before they became bored and gave all their attention over to Badure’s performance and Skynx’s appearance. Hasti was no longer in her crate, and the inner door
was unbarred. At Blue Max’s suggestion I resecured the door.”

“Tell Maxie he’s a good boy,” Badure said. “I like you two; you’ve got a touch of larceny in you.”

Bollux’s chest plastron swung open, the halves coming apart like cabinet doors. Blue Max’s photoreceptor lit up. “Thanks, Badure,” he said, sounding smug. Han told himself.
I should keep an eye on that computer or he’ll end up wearing juvie-gang colors and packing a vibro-shiv
.

Just at that moment, Skynx appeared with Chewbacca, who had just left the cockpit. The Wookiee was holding the metallic flask of vacuum-distilled jet juice the partners kept under the control console for special occasions. “Skynx,” Badure said, “I think it’s time to strike up the band.”

Skynx flowed to the acceleration couch and on up into his nook. He began taking objects from his treelike storage rack. “If you have no further tasks for us, sir,” Bollux told Han, “Max and I would like to continue our study of Skynx’s tapes.”

“Whatever you want, old-timer.”

Bollux crossed to the tech station, where he and the computer resumed their perusal of the ancient records Skynx had brought along. The labor ’droid, who had worked his way across the galaxy and had already outlived one body, possessed an almost sentient streak of curiosity, and Blue Max was always ready to absorb new information. The two mechanicals were particularly interested in technical data and other references to the giant war-robots of long-dead Xim.

Skynx, sitting up on his rearmost two sets of limbs, took and held a miniature amplified hammer dulcimer in the next set and two hammers in each digital cluster of the next. He strapped a pair of tympanic pulsers around himself, tapping experimentally with the digits of his next-higher limbs. Above those he fastened a pair of small bellows to pump air to a horn held in his uppermost-but-one set of extremities. In the uppermost he took up a flute of sorts and tried a few runs. The sound was like the wind cones Han remembered from
his own homeworld. He wondered what kind of brain could coordinate all that activity.

Skynx launched into a merry air, full of sudden runs, bright interplay and humorous progressions, and impudent catches made to sound as if the instruments or Skynx’s limbs were getting out of hand and taking their own course. The Ruurian made a great pretense of distress and bewilderment and a desperate effort to bring his extremities under control again. The others laughed, particularly Chewbacca, whose Wookiee chortles made the bulkheads ring. Badure rapped time on the gameboard and even Han was tapping a toe or two. He opened the flask, took a swig, and passed it to the Wookiee. “Here, this’ll put some curl in your pelt.” Chewbacca drank, then sent the flask along. Even Skynx accepted a drink.

They demanded another number after that, and a third. Badure eventually jumped up, both hands over his head, to demonstrate the Bynarrian jig. He capered around the compartment as if he were twenty kilos lighter and as many years younger.

At the height of the Bynarrian jig the ship’s hatch signaled. Badure and Chewbacca rushed off, eager to see what Hasti had brought back. Bollux and Blue Max looked up from the strobing rapid-readout screen, and Skynx began extricating himself from his instruments.

“Step one completed!” he said in his quick fashion. “Skynx, of the K’zagg Colony, off on a treasure hunt! If my clutch-siblings could see me now!”

But when the Wookiee reentered the compartment, he slumped dejectedly over to his partner and sank into the couch, head in hairy hands.
Bad as that
? thought Han. Badure followed, one arm clasped around a despairing Hasti. She took a sip from the flask, coughed, told her story quickly, then took another.

“Voice-coder?” Han exclaimed. “Nobody said anything about a voice-coder.”

“Maybe Lanni never realized her voice was being printed,” Badure replied.

“That steward,” Hasti muttered. “I should’ve jabbed my gun into his bellybutton and offered to glaze his gallstones for him.”

Han handed the half-empty flask to his copilot and rose. “Now we do it
my
way.” He headed for the cockpit, pulling on his flying gloves. Chewbacca fell in behind. “Want to know how to make a withdrawal? Stick around.”

Badure hurriedly interposed himself between the two partners and the main passageway. “Steady there, boys. Just what’ve you got in mind?”

Han grinned. “Swooping down on the vault, blowing the doors with the belly-turret guns, going in, and taking the disk. Don’t bother getting up, folks; it’ll all be over in a minute.”

Badure shook his head. “What if a Tion patrol cruiser shows up? Or an Imperial ship? Would you care to have a hunter-killer team on your neck?”

Han made a move to step around him. “I’ll chance it.”

Hasti jumped up. “Well, I won’t! Sit
down
, Solo! At least consider the options before you risk the death penalty for all of us.”

Chewbacca awaited his friend’s decision. Bollux watched impartially and Blue Max with a certain excitement.

“Some forethought might not be out of place here,” Skynx contributed in a very subdued voice.

Han disliked complications and subterfuge, but his hasty action was stayed, for the moment, by the conviction that being dead was the least interesting thing in life. “All right, all right; who’s hungry?” he asked. “I’m sick of ship’s rations. Let’s go see what kind of meal we can get in town. But if nobody thinks of a new one, my plan still goes.” He clipped the flask to his gunbelt while Chewbacca gathered up his bowcaster and bandoleer of ammunition. Badure found the small purse of local currency he had brought, and Bollux shut his plastron halves on Blue Max.

Hasti saw Skynx shedding his instruments. “Hey, I never got to hear anything.”

Badure looked around. “Bring them along,” he bade Skynx. The Ruurian began tucking his instruments into carrying cinches he fastened around himself.

Pulling on his flight jacket, Han shut and sealed the hatch behind them. Storm clouds had moved in, and electrical discharges illuminated the clouds in strange flashes of red. Badure pointed out that the landlord’s cousins had disappeared. “They probably figured out they were guarding empty boxes.”

“More likely they didn’t want to sit around in that leaky barn,” Hasti reasoned. The rest of the onlookers who had been watching the starship from a distance, mostly children and the domestic yappers, were gone as well.

They set off downslope with Bollux bringing up the rear. Up this high, away from the docks, the streets were poorly maintained and lighting was unknown. They didn’t get far.

Han was first to sense something wrong—everything was too quiet, too many ramshackle windows were shuttered. No lights were showing and no voices could be heard anywhere nearby. He grabbed Chewbacca’s shoulder, and the bowcaster came up, the blaster appearing at the same time. By instinct, they stood back to back. Hasti had her mouth open to ask what was wrong when the spotlights hit them.

Han recognized them as hand-held spots and, figuring that a right-handed man would be holding the spot as far out with his left as he could, took an estimated aim.

“Don’t!” a voice ordered. “We’ll cut you all down if anyone fires a shot!”

They were surrounded. Han holstered his side arm, and the Wookiee lowered his bowcaster. Humans and various other beings appeared in the glare waving rifles, riot guns, slug-shooters, and other weapons. Han and his companions were easily disarmed and their equipment examined. Skynx chittered in terror while their captors pawed his delicate musical instruments, but he was allowed to retain them.

Three individuals strode forward to search the captives. The smaller two were mainbreed human—twins, a young
man and woman who shared traits of thick, straight brown hair and widow’s peaks, startling black-irised eyes, and thin, intense, pale faces. The third personage hung back, a looming hulk in the light backwash of the spots. Han remembered the name Badure had mentioned: Egome Fass, the enforcer.

The twins approached them, the female in the lead. “J’uoch,” murmured Hasti, shivering.

The twins’ faces held the same rigid, lethal composure. “That’s it,” J’uoch replied quickly. “Where’s the disk, Hasti? We know you went to the vaults.” She gave Han a chilly smile. Then the smile vanished and she turned again to Hasti, “Give it up, or we burn down your friends, starting with the pilot here.”

Chewbacca’s great arms tensed, fingers curling. He prepared to die as he would be expected to, head of a Wookiee Honor Family, his life so intimately intertwined with that of Han Solo that there existed no human word for the relationship.

Han, in turn, was choosing among several tactics, all of them suicidal, when Bollux spoke. “Captain Solo mustn’t come to harm. I will open the
Millennium Falcon
for you.”

The woman eyed him. It hadn’t occurred to J’uoch that the ’droid would be cleared for ship access. “Very well. All we want is the log-recorder disk.” Han, in the grip of adrenal overload, stared at Bollux and wondered what was going through the old labor ’droid’s logic stacks. One fact did not escape him: he had heard high-pitched communication bursts exchanged between Bollux and Blue Max.

Their captors herded them back toward the
Falcon
. Too late, Han understood why the Dellaltians had scattered. He just hoped the two machines had a workable plan.

Bollux, climbing the ramp, was at the main hatch lock with several of J’uoch’s people near. Strangely, just as the main hatch rolled up into its recess, the ’droid chose to swing his chest panels open. Then Han and the others heard Blue Max’s high-speed burst signals.

An ear-splitting hiss of a hurtling object echoed through
the air. One of the men who was guarding Bollux was lifted off his feet by terrific impact, and in the next moment was stretched headlong on the ramp. Another captor, farther down the ramp, was slammed in the shoulder and knocked through the air.

“Run for it!” Blue Max shrilled. As suddenly as that, chaos broke loose.

VII