"Ann Crispin "Han Solo. The Hutt Gambit"" - читать интересную книгу автора

Han relaxed slightly, but didn't take his hand off his gun. "I'm good, Сall right," he said. "If Truthful Toryl sent you . . . prove it."
The Duros gazed straight at him with calm, moonstone-colored eyes. "He said I was to tell you that the Talisman you brought him is no more."
Han relaxed and took his hand off his weapon. "Okay, you've convinced me he sent you," he said. "State your business."
"I need a ship delivered to Nar Hekka, in the Hutt sys-tem," the Duros said. "I am willing to pay well . . . but, Pilot Solo, you must not Сallow Imperials to board her should you run into any patrols."
Han sighed. More intrigues. But the Duros's offer inter-ested him. He'd been planning Сall along to eventually make his way to Nar Shaddaa, the "Smuggler's Moon" that or-bited Nal Hutta. Now would be as good a time as any. From Nar Hekka, he could easily catch a ship to Nal Hutta or Nar Shaddaa.
"Tell me more," he said.
"Only if you can raise ship within two hours," the Duros said. "If not, tell me, and I will look elsewhere for a pilot."
Han considered for a moment. "Well... I could maybe change my plans . . . for the right price."
The Duros named a figure, then added, "And the same sum upon delivery."
Hah snorted, then shook his head, though inwardly he was surprised at how high the initial bid was. "C'mon, Chewie," he said, "we've got places to go, people to see." Too quickly, the Duros named another, higher sum. This guy must really be desperate, Han thought as he pretended to hesitate for a beat. He shook his head. "I dunno . . . it's not worth my butt if the Imperials are lookin' for this ship of yours. What's she carrying?"
The Duros's expression did not change. "That I cannot tell you. But I will tell you that if you deliver the ship and its contents safely to Tagta the Hutt, he will be pleased, and pleasing a Hutt Lord is generally considered to he a good thing for one's financial well-being. Tagta is Jiliac the Hutt's highest-ranking subordinate on Nar Hekka."
Han's ears pricked up. Jiliac the Hutt was a very high-ranking Hutt Lord indeed. Maybe this Tagta would give him a recommendation to the boss . . .
"Hmmmmmmmm . . ." Han scratched his head, then named a sum. "And all in advance," he added.
The Duros's pale blue skin seemed to grow even paler, but then he nodded. "Very well as to tile sum, but half up front. You will receive the rest from Tagta, Pilot Solo."
Hah considered, then nodded. "Okay, you've got your-self a deal. Chewie"-he turned to address the Wookiee, who was hovering nearby, listening intently-"go on back to that lockbox where we left our stuff and get it, will you, while I conclude my business with our friend here?" The Wookiee rumbled a soft assent.
"Thanks. I'll meet you on the north side of the town square in an hour, okay?"
Chewbacca nodded and moved off down the street.
Han walked closer to the Duros, and said, "Okay, you've got yourself a pilot. We'll raise ship within two hours. Fill me in on the rest of it. Where do I find this Tagta the Hutt?"
Within minutes Han had Сall the details. The Duros handed over a sheaf of credit vouchers, gave him the ship's security code, and the location of the vessel. Then the blue-skinned alien melted away into the dimness of the alley.
Han had a couple of minutes to kill, so he grabbed a quick bite at the cafe next door. He had to argue with the Devish female chef to get her to cook his meat. But it was worth it. The food drowned the last of the ale-induced muzziness. Clearheaded, his energy renewed, Hah felt con-siderably cheered.
On his way to the town square, he stopped off at a secondhand shop that catered to spacers of all species. There he bought a beat-up black lizard-hide jacket to re-place the one the Barabel had shredded. Respectably clothed again, he started up the street toward his rendez-vous with Chewbacca.
Hah knew something was up long before he reached the town square. The sound of a huge crowd was unmistakable. They seemed to be shouting in unison. The skin at the back of Han's neck prickled suddenly as he realized that there was something familiar about those words. They weren't in Basic, but he'd heard those simple, repetitious phrases be-fore.
But where?
I've got a bad feeling about this . . . he thought, turn-ing the corner and seeing the crowd. They were chanting. Chanting, swaying, rocking with religious fervor. Mostly Devaronians, of course, but there were a smattering of hu-mans and other sentients. Han's gaze raked the crowd, fol-lowing it to the front. A hastily erected dais stood there, and atop it, leading the revival, stood a figure out of Han's past.
Oh, no.t he thought. This is a Ylesian revival, and that missionary is Veratil! I can't let him see me!
Five years ago, Han had spent almost six months on the steaming, fungus-infested wodd of Ylesia. He'd been work-ing as a pilot before taking the examinations to get into the Academy, practicing and honing his piloting skills. Ylesia was a world at the edge of Hutt space, where a race of beings called the t'landa Til-distant cousins of the Hutts- offered "pilgrims" supposed religious sanctuary.
The t'landa Til sent missionaries to many worlds to preach about the One and the All. Han had known that for years, but he'd never been unlucky enough to run into a Ylesian revival before now.
For a wild moment the Corellian wanted to draw his blaster, shoot Veratil down, and yell to the assembled crowd of potential pilgrims, "Go home! It's all a big fake! They just want you so they can enslave you, you fools! Get out of here!"
But how could he make them believe him? To most sentients in the galaxy, Ylesia was perceived as a place of religious retreat, where the faithful gathered, and those wishing to hide from their pasts could find sanctuary.
The fact that the Ylesian "sanctuary" would turn out to be a trap was known only to the lucky few like Han- who'd managed to escape. No doubt Veratil had a transport standing by to load the pilgrims on board. Unfortunate sen-tients who followed him would have no idea that their voy-age to Ylesia would lead only to slavery in the spice factories, then, when they grew too weak or sick to work, they'd face death in the spice mines of Kessel. Ylesia was a golden dream for the faithful, but the reality was a world of bondage and unending toil.
Teroenza, Veratil's boss, was the High Priest of Ylesia. Before fleeing the colony, Han had robbed the t'landa Til leader of the most valuable pieces in a rare and extensive collection. He'd left Teroenza wounded, but alive.
Han had escaped Ylesia in Teroenza's personal yacht, the Talisman. Soon after his getaway, Han discovered that the t'landa Til and their Hutt overlords had placed a fat bounty on the head of "Vykk Draygo"-Han's alias. Han had to change his identity, even his retina/patterns, to es-cape detection and capture.
Now, seeing Veratil, Han ducked his head and turned away, wishing he had a hood he could pull up to hide his face. If the Sacredot saw him and recognized him, Hah knew that he was in for it.
The chanting surrounding him intensified. Han began to sweat, despite the chill of the Devaronian weather, because he knew what was coming.
Across the town square, he saw a tall, furred shape standing on the edge of the crowd, watching the ceremony curiously. Chewie! Can't let him get drawn into this/The Exultation is going to come in just a couple of minutes!
Han plunged into the crowd, keeping his head ducked, fighting his way through the throng as he would have clawed his way through a heavy surf. He was breathing hard and his elbows and ribs ached by the time he reached the Wookiee. "Chewie!" he yelled, grabbing the big sen-tient by the arm. "Let's get outta here! This is gonna turn into a mob scene any second now!"
The Wookiee whined inquiringly. "Never mind how I knowF' Han yelled above the chanting. "I just know! Trust me!"
Chewbacca nodded and turned away, using his huge size to part the crowd before him. Han started to follow him, then something caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his head. A gleam . . . a gleam of reddish gold on a stray curl.
Hah caught just a glimpse of her, but his whole mind and body jolted to a stop as though he'd slammed into a stone wall while running at top speed. Bria? Bria!
He caught only that one brief glimpse of a pale, perfect profile and a stray reddish-blond curl, but it was enough. She was standing there, wearing a black cloak and hood, in this crowd.
Memories came surging back, so strong that they scared him . . .
Bria, a pale ghost of a slave in the spice factories of Ylesia. Bria, scared but determined as they robbed Ter-oenza of his treamtres. Bria, sitting beside him on a golden sand beach on Togoria, her mouth soft and red and just begging to be kissed· Bria, lying in his arms late at night . . .
Bria, who had left him behind, saying she needed to fight her addiction w the t'landa Til~ Exultation by herself...
Han had spent the past five years convincing himself that he'd forgotten her. After four years in the Imperial Academy, plus nearly a year of commissioned service, he'd been convinced that he no longer cared. But now, in a single searing blaze of insight, Hah Solo knew he'd been lying to himself.
Without hesitating, he turned and plunged back into the crowd, heading for the woman in the black cloak. He was halfway there when the Exultation hit the crowd, and the throng of sentients collapsed onto the cobblestones of the town square as though they'd been stun-blasted.
Han had forgotten how strong the Exultation was. Waves of intense pleasure rolled through his mind as well as his body. No wonder the Ylesian pilgrims thought the t'landa Til were Divinely Gifted! Even knowing, as Han did, that the Exultation was caused by an empathic trans-mission coupled with a subsonic vibration that caused a wave of pleasure that acted on the brains of most bipedal sentients, Han had to brace himself to resist it.
He knew without seeing it that the pouch beneath Vera-til's "chin" had swelled, and that the Sacredot was "hum-ming" those vibrations as he concentrated on warm, positive emotions. To anyone unprepared for the force of the Exultation, the effect was as intoxicating as any pleasure drug. The ability to produce the Exultation was one that Сall t'landa Til males shared-it was actually a sex-linked bio-logical ability they possessed that, in their natural habitat, was used to attract t'landa Til females.
All around Han the crowd had fallen prone, and most of the sentients were writhing in pleasure. The sight sickened Han. He'd shaken off the effects of the Exultation now, and he concentrated on not stepping on bodies as he plunged toward the woman in the black cloak and hood. He could no longer see her face or that betraying tendril of hair.
His fingers remembered the soft silkiness of that hair · . . he used to play with Bria's curls, watching them cap-ture the light, bringing the reddish gold to vibrant life . . .
The woman in the black cloak and hood disappeared behind a stone bench as the crowd heaved in a wave of ecstasy from the Exultation. Han swallowed hard. Bria had left him because she was addicted to the Exultation. Was that where she'd been for the past five years? A willing slave on Ylesia, bound to her t'landa Til masters because she needed her daily dose of pleasure? Funny . . . he'd thought Bria had more strength than that . . .