"Brian Daley "Han Solo at Stars' End"" - читать интересную книгу автора

Ploovo, flashing more than enough currency to create an inspired sense of hospitality in the waitress, primped at his black, oily topknot. While he waited, he gloated over his anticipated revenge on Han Solo. Not that the pilot wouldn't repay. The loan shark was certain of getting his money. But Solo had long been an irritant, always ready with some daTzrling evasion of payment, jeering Ploovo and bewildering him at the same time. On a number of occasions Ploovo had lost face with his backers because of run-ms with Solo, and his backers weren't the sort to be mused by that. The code of ethics necessary to the conduct of illegal enterprises kept Ploovo from turning in the captain-owner of the Millennium Falcon to the law; neverthe-less, a convenient local circumstance would serve the loan shark's purpose just as well.
Entering with Chewbacca beside him, a metal case in hand, Han Solo appraised The Free-Flight Dance Dome with a great deal of approval.
As on almost any civilized planet, many species mixed and mingled here in a taxonomic hodgepodge, their appearance familiar or alien by turns. Having seen about as much of the galaxy as a man might reasonably expect to, Hah still found he couldn't iden-tify half the nonhuman types he saw here. That wasn't unusual. The stars were so many that no one could catalog all the sentient races they'd spawned. Han had lost count of the times he'd entered a room like this one, filled with a kaleidoscope of strange shapes, sounds, and odors. Without straining, he could spot a dozen types of respirators and life-support apparatus being used by entities whose biology wasn't compat-ible with standard human atmosphere.
Han particularly appreciated those human and near-human females dressed in shimmers'fiks, chroma-sheaths, and illuminescences. One swept up to him fresh from the bank of coin-games that offered such diversions as Mind-Jam, Senso-Switch, Reflex Races, and Starfight. She was a tall, lithe girl with a wine-dark cast to her skin and hair like plaited silver, wearing a gown that seemed to have been knit from white mist. "Welcome down, spaceman," she laughed, throwing an arm around him. "How about a turn through the dance dome?"
Han shifted his burden to his other arm as Chew-bacca looked on disapprovingly; several of their less auspicious adventures had begun just this way. "Sure? Han responded enthusiastically. "Let's dance, let's snuggle up, let's get grafted together?' He gently pushed her away. "A little later."
She showed him a truly stunning smilo---to let him know it was nothing personalaand moved on to greet another customer before he'd moved out of earshot.
The Free-Flight Dance Dome was a first-class trough. It was equipped with a top-of-the-line gravity field, its console visible among the bottles, spigots and taps, and other paraphernalia encircled by the bar. The field permitted the management to alter gravity anywhere on the premises, and so the dance floor and the dome over it had become a low-gee acrobatic play-ground in which singles, couples, and groups looped, floated, and spun with effortless grace. Han also spotted individual booths and tables where species from low-gravity worlds were taking their ease in com-fort, the specific gravity of their area having been low-ered for them.
Han and Chewbacca moved further into the tw'sight of the place, hearing the clink of drinking vessels of many kinds and the interweaving of any number of languages over the blast from the sound system. They breathed in the aromas of diverse inhalants and aero-sols; a profusion of smoke and vapors of various hues, defying the ventilation unit, had drifted by thermo-clines into multicolored strata.
He had no problem spotting Ploovo Two-For-One; the big glom had found a large table in the corner, the better to watch for his debtor. Han and Chewbacca sauntered over. Ploovo applied a labored, unconvinc-ing smile to his well-upholstered face. "Solo, old col-league. Come, sit."
"Spare us the guano, Two-For-One." Han sat down next to Pieeve. Chewbacca slung his bowcaster over his shoulder and took a place across the table so that he and Hah could watch each other's backs. Hah set down the box he carried. Ploovo's greedy eyes caressed it. "Feel free to drool," Hah bade him.
"Now, Solo," Ploovo chided, volubly ready to ignore any insult in the heady presence of money, "that's no way to talk to your old benefactor." Ploovo had al-ready been informed by contacts here that these two freighter bums had exchanged a large quantity of ne-gotiables for cash. His hand went for the box. Hall's got there first.
The pilot challenged the loan shark with a raised eyebrow. "Your payment's in there. With interest. We're quits after this, Pieeve."
Strangely unperturbed, Ploovo nodded, his topknot jiggling along with his jowls. Han was about to ques-tion this when Chewbacca's warning snarl interrupted. A detail of Security Police had entered The Free-Flight. Some stationed themselves at the doors while the others made their way around the room.
Han snapped the retaining strap off his holstered blaster. The sound made Ploovo turn. "Now, tun, Solo, I swear I had nothing to do with this. We are, as you so recently pointed out, quits. Even I wouldn't pre-sume to turn informer and risk my livelihood." He put a fat, covetous hand on the box. "I believe those gen-tlemen in institutional brown are seeking a man who answers your description. While I no longer have any interest in your well-being, I suggest that you and your fuzzy comrade absent yourselves from here at once."
Hah didn't waste time wondering how the Authority had gotten on his tail after he'd obtained new registra-tion for the Falcon and identification certificates for himself and Chewbacca. He leaned close to Pieeve, right hand still close to his blaster.
"Why don't we just sit here awhile, colleague? And
as long as we're at it," he addressed Ploovo's flunkies,
"you all have my permission to put your hands right
up on the table here, where Chewie and I can see
them. Now/"
Ploovo's upper lip beaded with sweat. If anyone made a play now, he would certainly become corpse number one. He stuttered an order; his men complied with Han's proposal.
"Compose yourself, Solo," Ploovo implored, though Han was quite serene; it was Ploovo's face that had become pasty white. "Don't let that, er, renowned temper get the better of you. You and the Weekice can be so irrational at times. Take the occasion when Big Bunji was careless enough to forget to pay you, and you two strafed his pressure dome. He and his staff barely had time to get into their survival suits. Things like that give a man a bad reputation, Solel" Ploovo was shaking now, having very nearly forgot-ten his money.
The Security Police had been circulating. They stopped by the table, two rankers and a sergeant. Their timing couldn't have pleased Ploovo less. "Everyone at this table, produce identification." Chewbacca had assumed his most innocent expres-sion, his big, soft blue eyes upturned to the soldiers. He and Han offered their falsified 1Ds. The pilot's hand hovered near his weapon's grip, even though a shootout now, in this position and at these odds, with the door firmly held by reinforcements, held little promise of survival.
The Espo sergeant ignored the credentials of Ploovo and his gang. Skimming Hall's, he asked, "These are correct? You're the master-owner of that freighter that made planetfall today?"
Hah saw no margin for deception there. And if the Authority had already connected his new persona with events surrounding the illegal landing ell Duroon, he was as good as dead. Still, he managed to look faintly amused and somewhat bewildered by all this interroga-tion.
"The Sunfighter Franchise? Why, yes, Officer. Is anything wrong?" Guileless as a newborn, he gazed up at them.
"We got your description from the docking bays su-pervisor," the Security Police sergeant answered. "Your ship's been impounded." He threw the IDs back on the table. "Failure to conform to Authority safety standards."
Han's mental processes switched tracks. "She's got all her approvals," he objected, thinking he ought to know, having forged them himself.
The Espo waved that away. "Those're outdated. Your ship fails to meet new standards. The Authority redefined ships' performance profiles, and from what I heard, buddy, your freighter violates hers about ten different ways and doesn't appear on the Waivers List. Just on external inspection, they found her lift/mass ratio and armaments rating way out of line for non-military craft. It looks like a lot of radiation shielding got removed when the thruster ducting was chopped and rechanneled. Also, she's got all that irregular dock-ing tackle, augmented defensive shields, heavy-duty acceleration compensators, and a mess of long-range detection gear. That's some firecracker you've got there."
Han spread his hands modestly; this was one tune when he didn't feel like boasting about his pride and joy.
The Espo sergeant went on. "See, when you run a hot rig like that, small payload, overmuscled, the Cor-porate Sector Authority starts thinking you might take a notion to do something illegal with it. She'll have to be refitted to original specs; you'll have to appear and make arrangements."
Hah laughed airily. "I'm positive there's some er-ror." He knew he'd been lucky they hadn't forced the locks for an inboard search. If they'd seen the anti-sensor equipment, jamming and countermeasures ap-paratus, and broad-band monitoring outfit, this would have been an arrest party. And what if they had found the contraband compartments?
"I'll drop by the portmaster's office as soon as my business is done," Hah promised. He now realized that this was why Ploovo Two-For-One had been so con-tent. The loan shark hadn't even had to violate cr'uninal protocol or risk his own rank hide going against Hah and Chewbacca; Ploovo had known the Millennium Falcon, under any name, would run afoul of these Authority regulations.
"No good," the Espo sergeant was saying. "My or-ders are to escort you down as soon as you're found. The portmaster wants this matter cleared up right away." The Espos were suddenly more alert.
Han's smile became pained and sympathetic. Plati-tudes of understanding rolled from him. Meanwhile, he considered his dilemma dispassionately. The Authority would want a full accounting of ship's papers, log, master's credentials. When those showed discrepancies, there'd be a full ID scan: pore patterns, retinal and cortical indexes-the whole routine. Eventually, they'd find out who Han and his first mate were, and then the trouble would really start.
It was axiomatic to Han Solo's philosophy that you never go one step closer to jail than necessary. But seated here, he could offer no decent resistance. He shot a glance at Chewbacca, who was amusing himsel/ by showing his teeth to the wary Security Police in a frightening smile. The Wookiee caught Han's look, though. and reclined his head slightly.
Whereupon the pilot rose. "Shah we get this un-pleasantness taken care of, then, Sergeant, so we can all go our way?" Chewie shui'sed away from the table, his attention on Hah, one paw on the sling of his bow-caster. Han leaned down for a last word with Ploovo.
"Thanks for the good time, old colleague. We'll get back to you as soon as we can, I promise. And before I forget, here's your payment." He flipped down the bex's front end and stepped back.
Ploovo dug into the box, expecting to fill his itchy palm with wonderfui, sensuous money. Instead, sharp little fangs clamped down on the fleshy part of his thumb. Ploovo screamed as the enraged Dinko swarmed out and sank its needlelike claws into his pudding of a stomach. Fastened to the Dinko's dorsal vane was the Authority Cash Voucher, Han's thought-ful way of repaying debts both financial and personal 'swith interest.
The Espos' attention switched to the table as the criminal boss howled. One of P1oovo's henchmen tried to tear the Dinko off his employer while the others gaped. The Dinko wasn't having any; it slashed the fumbling hands with the serrated spurs on its rear legs, then sprayed everyone at the table with vile squirts from its scent sac. Few things in nature are more repugnant than a D'mko's defensive secretion. Men and humanoid fell back, coughing and gagging, forgetting their boss.
The Security Police were trying to understand what was happening as beings stumbled from the table, lurching past them, leaving Ploovo to the mercies of the rabid little beast. The Dinko was now trying ener-gefically'sif overoptimisticallywto devour him, start-ing with his nose, which rather reminded it of one of its many natural enemies.
"Yahhld" Ploovo complained, wrenching at the de-
termined Dinko. "Ged it off of bel"
"ChewieI" was all Han had time to yell. He punched the nearest Espo, not wanting to shoot at close quarters. The Espo, caught off guard, fell back-ward, thrashing. Chewie did better, picking up the other two by their harnesses and bashing them to-gether helmet to helmet, eliciting a gonging sound from the ultrahard surfaces. Then the Weekice ducked into the crowd with notable agility, following his friend.
The Espos at the doors were unlimbering wide-bore, shoulder-fired blasters, but the confused crowd was milling around and no one had a clear idea yet of just what was going on. The antigrav dancers began alight-ing as beings raised their attention from assorted in-toxicants, stimulants, depressants, psychetropics, and placebos. The room buzzed with a sort of befuddled, franslingual "Huh?"
Ploovo Two-For-One, having finally dissuaded the Dinko from his abused nose by main force, flung it across the room. The Dinko landed upon the dinner of a wealthy dowager, destroying the appetite of every-one at that table.
Ploovo, still caressing his wounded snout, turned just in time to see Han Solo vault the bar. "There he is?' the underworld boss exclaimed. The two bartend-ers rushed to stop Han, swinging the stun-staves they kept behind their bar for the preservation of order. He met the first with crossed wrists intersecting the bar-tender's, stopping the descending stun-stave, brought his knee up, and elbowed the first mixologist into the second. Chewbacca, following his parmer over the bar with a joyous bellow that made the lighting fixtures tinkle, fell on top of the bartenders.
A blaster bolt, fired by one of the Espos at the doors, shattered a crystalline globe of four-hundred-year-old Novanian grog. The crowd bleated, most of them diving for the floor. Two more shots blew frag-ments out of the bar and half slagged the cash reposi-tory.
Han had struggled past the vigorous tangle of Chewie and the bartenders. He grabbed for his blaster and threw down on the Espos, peppering their general location with short bursts. One dropped, his shoulder smoking, and the others scattered for cover. Off to one side, Hah could hear Ploovo and his men clubbing their way through yelling, charging customers. He headed for the bar.
Hah turned to his objective, the gravity controls. With no leisure to analyze them, he frantically began moving indicators toward maximum. Luckily for ev-eryone not within the insulated area of the bar, he no-ticed when he'd happened on the general field override, and there were no longer any free-flight dancers in the air. Thus, no one was crushed, or dashed to smither-eens.