The Han Solo Adventures (36 page)

Han and Chewbacca had run out of options. The slaver had fastened her tractor on them again. This time there would be no survival value in a sudden reversal; the next volley would almost certainly penetrate shields and convert the
Millennium Falcon
into an explosive nimbus.

Han was busily training batteries for a last futile salvo in an attempt to avert death. But the volley didn’t come. Chewbacca began pointing at the sensors and hooted excitedly. Han gaped, wanting to rub his eyes, at the size of the ship moving up hard astern the slaver.

She was an Espo destroyer of the old Victory class, close to a kilometer long, an armored space-going fortress. Where she’d come from wasn’t as important to Han as what she would do.

The tractor beam pulling at the
Falcon
dissipated; the slaver had seen the destroyer, too, and wanted no part of her. But the Security Police battlewagon had tractors of her own, mightier than the slaver’s. Suddenly the
Millennium Falcon
and her pursuer were both held in an inflexible, invisible grip.

Somebody aboard the slaver had the bad judgment to try a volley at the destroyer. Cannonade splashed harmlessly off the Espo’s immense shields and a turbolaser turret in the warship’s side answered, opening a huge hole in the slaver’s hull and evaporating most of her power plant.

The slaver offered no further resistance. She was drawn up, uncontesting, into the gaping boarding lock in the destroyer’s underbelly. The
Falcon
’s commo board sounded with a general override broadcast: “All personnel in both captive ships remain where you are. Follow all instructions and offer no opposition.” There was something familiar about the voice. “Shut down your engines and lock all systems except commo.”

Since the slaver was already occupying the destroyer’s boarding lock, the
Falcon
was eased down toward the ground, the vast bulk of the battlewagon settling in over her, blocking out the sky. Relaxing to the inevitable, Han extended his ship’s landing gear; the
Falcon
could never break from this tractor beam, and he had just seen the stupidity of trying to slug it out. He shut off his engines and cut power to weapons, shields, tractors, sensor suite.

He nudged his partner. “Keep your bowcaster ready; maybe we can make a break for it when we’re outside.” If they could get away, perhaps the Mor Glayyd could use a couple of good pilots. If not, there was nothing to worry about anyway, except which periodicals to subscribe to while in prison. But Han was determined to go out kicking.

The Espo craft descended until it was no more than fifty meters above the grounded
Falcon
. By leaning forward in the cockpit, Han could see the captive slaver ship. A boarding tube, no doubt packed with combat-armored Espo assault troops, was extending itself and fastening to the slaver’s main lock.

Now, Magg, see how you like it
, thought Han. It was only a knot of satisfaction in his long string of bad luck, but it was something. He savored it while he could.

From another lock in the destroyer a safety cage appeared, lowered by a utility tractor beam, coming down slowly and silently. The safety cage was a circular, basketlike affair with high guardrails and an overhead sling for hoist work. Within the cage, where Han would have expected a flock of triggerhappy Espos, there was only the man who had given the instructions over the commo a few moments before.

It was Gallandro, the gunman.

Gallandro approached the
Falcon
at a sedate pace. When he stopped, looking up at the cockpit, his hand moved to his belt and brought something up. A moment later the gunman’s voice came over the commo board, obviously channeled through the Espo warship.

“Solo, can you hear me?” Rather than answer, Han flashed the ship’s running lights once. “Oh, come now, Solo! How can you be surly to the man who saved your skin?”

Easily
, Han reflected,
when he’s so slick and so fast with a blaster
. But he opened his headset mike. “It’s your play, Gallandro.”

There was satisfaction in the other’s tone. “That’s better; isn’t cordiality more pleasant? I’m sure that even you can grasp the realities here, Solo. If nothing else, you’re a pragmatist. Kindly open your main hatch and come down, if you’d be so good, and we’ll sort out this entire affair.”

Han considered suggesting that Gallandro go sit in a converter, but one glance up at the great underbelly of the destroyer changed his mind. Turbolaser emplacements, twin and quad batteries, missile tubes, and tractor beam projectors were all aimed at the freighter.
One wrong move and we’ll all be random energy
. He sighed and unbuckled his seat belt. Perhaps something outside would change the situation, but he knew nothing he could do there in the cockpit would help.

He turned to find that Spray had been standing at the rear of the cockpit, watching him. A moment later Fiolla appeared next to the Tynnan. It occurred to him that she might have some use as a hostage, but in view of the number of times her life had been in real danger already, he doubted that threatening her would deter Gallandro; the man seemed to know what real ruthlessness was. Besides, Han wasn’t sure Gallandro would believe Han could kill her in cold blood, even now.

“Your friends have shown up,” Han told her bitterly. “The Authority has things well in hand. There ought to be that big promo in this one, Fiolla.”

She moved away toward the main hatch. Spray gave Han an odd look, then followed after. Encountering Bollux in the passageway, Han nodded at him. “Step into the cockpit and keep a photoreceptor on things, old-timer. If we don’t come back the ship is yours, unless Interstellar Collections grabs it. Good luck; business has been lousy lately.”

When Han got the hatch open he found Gallandro waiting at the ramp’s foot. The gunman met his stare with a polite inclination of the head. “I mentioned earlier today, Captain, that there would perhaps be another occasion.”

The invitation was obvious. Han thought about hooking for his blaster but, recalling Gallandro’s incredible speed, set it aside as an option he could take later. Han was prepared to believe that the man confronting him was his equal or better with a sidearm.

Gallandro saw that in his expression and evinced a certain disappointment. “Very well then, Solo. You may keep your blaster for now, in case you change your mind. I don’t suppose I need to tell you how many weapons are trained on you right now; please don’t do anything abrupt without letting me clear it beforehand.”

Han and Chewbacca stepped off to opposite sides of the ramp’s foot, but Gallandro stayed far enough back to keep them both in view. The Wookiee, as aware of the situation as Han, kept his bowcaster slung at his shoulder.

Han was expecting to see a profuse greeting or at least a cordial welcome for Fiolla. But Gallandro accorded her only a suave smile and sketchy bow, and waited expectantly.

Spray was last down, coming at his slightly uneven dryland gait, the tip of his tail brushing the ramp, some moisture from his recent swim still gleaming in his pelt. Gallandro bowed to him deferentially, although the gunman never lost sight of Han.

“Odumin,” Gallandro said, “welcome, sir. You’ve brought yet another project to a successful conclusion. You haven’t lost your touch for field work, I see.”

Spray made a depreciating gesture, squinting up at the tall, aristocratic gunfighter. “I was fortunate, old friend. I must confess, I find I much prefer administration.”

Han, who’d been gaping from one to the other while Chewbacca made little strangling sounds, finally got out “
Odumin
? You’re the territorial manager? Why you treacherous, mutinous worm, I ought to—” Words failed him for a fate sufficiently horrible.

“That’s hardly called for, Captain,” Spray chided, sounding wounded. “I
did
start out as a skip-tracer, you see. But as I advanced myself in the structure of the Corporate Sector Authority, I found it expedient, as a nonhuman, to use others as go-betweens and remain an anonymous figure. In this slavery business, which extends to my own deputies and officials of the Security Police, I found myself obliged to do my own investigating with the help of a few trusted aides like Gallandro here.”

He laced his webbed fingers together and assumed the introspective air of a teacher. Han found himself listening despite his fury.

“It was a very convoluted problem,” Spray/Odumin began. “First, there was the evidence that you had taken off of Zlarb, which, you see, led you to Bonadan and convinced me that you were the slaver. At the spaceport, when you headed for the hangar, I concluded that you were about to depart the planet. There were materials at hand, a pair of work gloves and an industrial solvent that could double as an anesthetic; that prompted an overly hasty decision on my part to attempt to take from you whatever information you possessed in such a manner as to make you suspicious of your, um, confederates. But you turned out to be a resourceful man, Captain.”

Han snorted. “I still can’t believe you worked up the guts to jump me, even with the lights out.”

Spray drew himself up to his full height. “Don’t make the mistake so many others have; I’m more capable than I appear. With your superior eyesight neutralized, you would almost certainly have grown dizzy from the fumes before I; I can, after all, hold my breath for protracted periods. But immediately after our struggle, Gallandro here, who’d been running a check on you, informed me of your true identity. I decided I’d found my solution.”

Han’s brows knit. “Solution?”

Spray turned to Chewbacca. “Remember our board game, and the Eight Ilthmar Gambit, a lone combatant sent in to draw out an opponent? Captain Solo, you were that playing piece, my solution. The slavers knew you were no security operative and that you couldn’t appeal to the legal authorities. You compelled them to acts that made them vulnerable, as you can see, to me.”

That made Han remember something else. He looked to Fiolla. “What about you?”

Spray answered for her. “Oh, she’s precisely what she said she is: an ambitious, aggressive, loyal employee. The house-cleaning required by this whole business will leave some prime job slots in my organization; I plan to see Fiolla amply rewarded. My deputy territorial manager’s position will be vacant quite soon, I should think.”

“A plush job with the Authority,” Han spat, “worst gang of plunderers who ever infested space.”

“Not everyone can outfly them or rob them blind, Han,” Fiolla said. “But somebody inside might bring change, as Spray’s been trying to do. If someone had the right position, she might do a great deal of good.”

“You see?” Spray’s question was filled with approval. “Our attitudes are complementary. For all your daring and ability, Captain, you’ll never do appreciable damage to an organization of the Authority’s size and wealth. I submit to you that beings like Fiolla and myself, working within it, may accomplish what blasters cannot. How can you fault her for that?”

To avoid answering, Han looked to Gallandro. “What was the challenge all about?”

The gunman’s hand moved in an airy dismissal. “The Glayyd clan constituted a particular problem; their records are connected to a destruct switch manned by loyal clan members. We couldn’t risk going in and taking the evidence only to have it destroyed in the process.

“The elder Mor Glayyd mistrusted the slavers and they suspected him of planning to extort more money from them. They aren’t the type for faith in human nature, you see. The slavers made secret overtures to the Reesbon clan and when the elder Mor Glayyd learned of it, he began making roundabout contact with Spray, fearing his clan was going to be betrayed. He was poisoned very soon thereafter, of course, partly at Zlarb’s suggestion, as it seems.

“I preceded you all here; after the
Falcon
made her emergency landing, Odumin—sorry, sir,
Spray
—managed to contact me. I saw an opportunity to use the peculiar structure of their Code to put the Glayyds in your debt, Solo. It wasn’t very difficult to make myself available to the Reesbons, and as far as they’re concerned, they’re the ones who originated the idea of having me challenge the new Mor Glayyd to a duel.”

“A marvelous inspiration,” applauded Spray. “And it was also at your suggestion that the Reesbons contrived to key open the lifeboat transceiver?”

Gallandro shrugged modestly, twisting his mustache. Han wanted to kick himself. And everyone else present. “Wait a minute, Spray,” he objected. “How’d you contact him? You were stuck out in the mountains.”

Spray was suddenly chagrined. “Er, yes. There were commo techs standing by for my signal, but I had to have uninterrupted use of the
Falcon
’s facilities in case Gallandro wasn’t immediately available,”

He turned to the Wookiee. “And that involves an apology I owe you. To keep you away from the ship for the requisite time I frightened those grazers into stampeding with a flare gun, meaning only to isolate you on the ridge for a time. I had no idea there’d be so many of them, or that you’d be endangered. I’m truly sorry.”

Chewbacca pretended not to hear him, and Spray didn’t press the issue.

“So you’re just another hired gun,” Han said to Gallandro. “Is that right? An errand boy on the Authority’s chain?”

The gunman was amused. “You’ve got a lot of time to put in before you’re ready to pass judgment on me, Solo, whereas I’ve been in your place already. I’ve done it all, but I got tired of waiting to die in some senseless manner. So I’ve given up sleeping with one eye open, and in return I’ve got a future. Don’t be surprised if you feel this way yourself, somewhere down the line.”

Never
, Han thought, but he found Gallandro to be more of a puzzle than ever.

“With Magg and the others in the slaver ship, and the evidence that’s come to light, I should think our case will be incontestable,” Spray said with satisfaction.

“Then you won’t be needing us?” Han said hopefully.

“Not quite true,” the territorial manager admitted. “I’m afraid I can’t simply let you go, though I’ll do what I can to elicit leniency for you.”

Han made a skeptical face. “From an Authority Court?”

Spray looked pained, squinting at Han, then away. Seeing the empty safety cage, he said, “Gallandro, did you bring no men? Who’s going to fly the
Millennium Falcon
back to port?”

“They will,” Gallandro announced, indicating Han and Chewbacca. “I’ll go with them, to make sure they behave.”

Spray was shaking his head vigorously. “This is sheer recklessness. Needless risk-taking! I know you didn’t enjoy reneging on your challenge, but that was in line with your employment. There’s no need to be provocative!”

“I will bring them,” Gallandro repeated coolly. “Don’t forget that I work for you under certain agreed-upon conditions.”

“Yes,” Spray lisped softly to himself, stroking his whiskers. He turned to Han. “This is Gallandro’s affair; I cannot interfere. I advise you most emphatically against any rash acts, Captain Solo.” He extended his paw, offering a friendship-grip. “Good luck to you.”

Han ignored the extended hand, staring directly at Fiolla, who wouldn’t meet his gaze. Spray looked to Chewbacca, but the Wookiee conspicuously clamped both hands on the sling of his bowcaster and gazed off into empty air.

The territorial manager sadly withdrew his hand. “Should you both succeed in avoiding imprisonment, I would advise you to leave the Authority as quickly as you can and never, never return. Fiolla, we’d better be going. Oh, and Gallandro, please make sure you obtain Zlarb’s data plaque from Captain Solo.”

He started off at a slow amble, tail dragging the rocky ground. Fiolla fell in at his side without a backward glance. Gallandro extended his hand to Chewbacca. “I’m afraid I can’t have both of you armed, my tall friend. I’ll take the bowcaster.”

Chewbacca growled, showing long fangs, and might have tried for a shootout right then and there. But there was no doubt that the gunman could kill the Wookiee where he stood and maybe get Han as well. At least, Gallandro seemed confident he could.

“Pass it to him, Chewie,” Han ordered. The Wookiee looked at him, snarled again at Gallandro, and reluctantly handed his weapon over stock-first. Gallandro was careful to stay out of reach of those shaggy arms. With a gesture to the ramp, he invited them aboard.

“It’s nearly that time, Captain Solo,” said the gunman.

Just about
, Han agreed to himself, and preceded Gallandro up the ramp.

“Now,” said Gallandro contentedly when they were aboard, “if your copilot will be good enough to prepare the ship, you and I will get that data plaque.” He caught Chewbacca’s eye. “Warm up your engines only, and don’t do anything rash, my friend; your partner’s life hinges on it.”

The Wookiee turned to go and Han led the way toward his quarters. The cramped cubicle was in the same disarray as when he had last seen it, with clothes and equipment strewn on the sleeping pallet and the tiny desk and chair. The pallet’s free-fall netting had somehow come unstrapped from its retainers and hung from the bulkhead. A used mealpack tray sat atop the desk reader.

Han ignored the clutter and stepped to his minuscule closet as Gallandro put the bowcaster aside. With the gunman watching him carefully, Han reached his right hand into the inner pocket of his thermosuit, feeling for Zlarb’s security case. But as he groped for it he found that the case’s clip was engaged, hooked through the top edge of the pocket.

That Wookiee’s a big, ugly genius!
Han thought, instantly covering the disarm button with his forefinger and drawing the case out, separating it from its clip. He offered it to the gunman.