The Han Solo Adventures (55 page)

Bollux crouched in the jumble of boulders on the far side of the bridge. The mining-operations site was now completely razed. Machinery was burned and buildings were flattened, and no living thing could be seen.

The Corps Commander had mustered all his forces with high-pitched summonses. Other resistance had been crushed; all that remained was to annihilate the barracks area on the far side of the bridge, the successful completion of their first combat action in generations.

Bollux waited and didn’t try to interfere. That would have been useless, he knew; they weren’t so different from him. The machines gathered around their commander by the hundreds. The Corps Commander indicated the way with a long metal arm, gleaming like a statue of death in the blue-white light. He stumped toward the bridge, and his awesome troops crowded after him. And as the war-robots drew abreast of him, about to step onto the bridge, Bollux triggered the command signalry he had brought from the podium.

The Corps Commander fell into a marching step as the signals reached him. He didn’t question them; the commands were automatic, military, geared to a segment of him that didn’t doubt or ponder. Such was his construction.

Behind their commander the other war-robots responded to the signal as well, falling into ranks of ten, in step with their leader. Funneled onto the bridge, their ranks filled it from side to side. They stepped with meticulous precision. Metal feet tramped; arms swung in time.

“Will it work?” Bollux asked his friend.

Blue Max, tuned in with both their audio pickups, listened carefully, cautioning the ’droid not to bother him at this critical point. At Max’s instruction, Bollux adjusted the marching tempo, matching the forced vibration of the robots’ tread to the bridge’s own natural frequency, creating a powerful resonance. The war-robots marched in to do battle for an overlord generations dead. The bridge began to quake, dust rising and forming a haze with the unified footfalls. Timbers reverberated, joints and stress members strained; the perfection of their marching made the robots a single, unimaginable power hammer. More of them poured onto the bridge and took up the step, adding to the concussions.

At last the bridge itself thrummed under them as Max found the perfect beat. All the robots were on the bridge, with no thought but to get to the other side and attack the enemy.

Han and the others rose, waiting. “I guess Bollux couldn’t pull off his plan,” Han said. The front rank, following their gleaming leader, had grown large. “We’ll have to fall back.”

“There’s not much room for that,” Hasti reminded him sadly. He had no answer.

Suddenly Skynx exclaimed, “Look!”

Han did, feeling a deep vibration through his boots. The bridge was shuddering in time with the robots’ march, its timbers creaking and cracking with the punishment it couldn’t absorb. Feet pounding, the robots marched on.

Then there was a rending snap; the vibration had found a member that couldn’t support it. A timber bent and turned in its bed of press-poured material. The bed wouldn’t accept the play and the timber twisted and split. All the supporting members at that side of the bridge gave way.

There were electronic bleats of distress from the war machines and the popping of aged rivets from the timber-joining plates. For a moment the whole doomed assemblage, robots and bridge, was suspended in space. Then all fell into the crevasse with a huge concussion, sending up clouds of rock dust and smoke and a wall of impact-noise that drove Han back from the crevasse’s edge.

Wiping the dust from his eyes and spitting it out of his mouth, Han returned to the brink. Among the drifted dust and smoke he could see bridge timbers and the gleam of crumpled armor, the flare of circuit fires, overloaded power packs, broken leads, and shorted weapons. Suddenly Bollux appeared at the other side of the crevasse, waving stiffly, having divested himself of the scavenged equipment. Han returned the wave, laughing.
From now on those two are full crewmembers
.

A new sound made him look around in surprise and anger, mouthing a Corellian oath. The
Millennium Falcon
was lifting off. She rose on blaring thrusters, swinging out over the abyss. Han and Chewbacca watched in despair as they saw their ship whisked from under their noses despite all their efforts.

But the freighter settled gently on their side of the crevasse. They got to her just as her ramp-bay doors opened and the main ramp lowered, beneath and astern the cockpit. The main hatch rolled up, and there stood Gallandro. He welcomed them with a smile, his weapon conspicuously holstered. His fine clothing and beautiful scarf were soiled, but other than that, Han reflected, he looked none the worse for someone who had just waded through a horde of war-robots.

The gunman sketched a mocking bow. “I found myself obliged to play dead among the slain; I couldn’t get to the ship until the robots had all left, or I’d have been of more assistance. Solo, those ’droids of yours are priceless!” His smile disappeared. “And so is Xim’s treasure, eh? You’re out for high stakes for a change; my compliments.”

“You tracked me all the way from the Corporate Sector to tell me that?” Chewbacca had his bowcaster aimed at Gallandro, but Han knew that even that was no guarantee against the man’s incredible speeddraw.

The gunman made a wry twist of his mouth. “Not originally. I was rather upset about our encounter there. But I’m a man of reason; I’m prepared to put that aside in view of the amount of money involved. Bring me in for a full cut and we forget the grudge. And you get your ship back; wouldn’t that strike you as a fair arrangement?”

Han remained suspicious. “All of a sudden you’re ready to kiss and make up?”

“The treasure, Solo, the treasure. The wealth of Xim would buy affection from anyone. All other considerations are secondary; surely that’s in keeping with your own philosophy, isn’t it?”

Han was confused. Hasti, who had come up behind him, said, “Don’t trust him!”

Gallandro turned clear blue eyes on her. “Ah, the young lady! If he doesn’t accept my offer, you’ll be in a bad way as well, my dear; this vessel’s weapons are functional.” His voice went cold, the playacting evaporating. “Decide,” he ordered Han crisply.

The defenders were beginning to emerge from the barracks, having seen the bridge collapse and the ship land. In another moment, escape might be much more complicated. Han reached out and pushed down Chewbacca’s bowcaster. “Everybody onboard; we’re back in business.”

In moments they had lifted off with Han at the controls, uttering angry maledictions at the techs who had torn the starship apart in search of the log-recorder disk and reassembled her so inexpertly. “Why did J’uoch have the ship repaired, anyway?” Badure asked.

“She was either going to keep it for her own use or sell it,” explained Gallandro. “She tried to sell me a lame story about her disagreements with you people, but considering the things I’d already discovered about your movements, the truth wasn’t hard to guess.”

Han brought the ship in to hover over the camp. “What about the other miners, the ones who lived?” Hasti asked.

“They’ve got food, weapons, supplies there,” Badure said. “They can hold out until a ship shows up, or slog it over to the city.”

Han was bringing the
Falcon
down again on the other side of the crevasse. A gleaming metal form waited there. Chewbacca went aft to let Bollux aboard.

“Like you said,” Han found himself telling Gallandro defensively, “they’re valuable ’droids.”

“I said ‘priceless,’” Gallandro corrected him. “Now that we’re comrades, I’d never offend you by suggesting you’ve gone soft. May I inquire what our next move is?”

“Direct collection of intelligence data,” Han declared, lifting off again. “Interrogation of indigenous personnel for tactical information. We’re going to make a couple of locals sweat and find out what all this was about.”

The Survivors who had activated the war-robots had decided to escape together in one large hover-raft rather than spread out across the plains in a fleet. A few passes and a barrage from the
Falcon
’s belly turret brought them to a halt. They threw down their arms and waited.

Han prudently left Chewbacca at the ship’s controls. He and the others, weapons recharged, went to confront the Survivors. Hasti, first down the ramp, waved her gun at them, shouting, and fairly dragged one of them off the raft. Han and Badure had to pull her off the man, while Gallandro looked on in amusement and Skynx in confusion.

“It’s him, I tell you,” she yelled, straining to go after the frightened man again. “I recognize the white blaze in his hair. It’s the vault steward’s assistant.”

“Well, clubbing him silly isn’t going to help,” Han pointed out as he turned to the man. “Better spill it, or I’ll let her loose.”

The assistant licked dry lips. “I can say nothing, I swear! We are conditioned in youth not to reveal the secrets of the Survivors.”

“Old-fashioned hypno,” Han dismissed it, “nothing you can’t overcome if we scare you enough.”

Gallandro stepped forward with a wintry smile, pulling his pistol in one fluid motion, adjusting it one-handed. A low-power, high-resolution beam sizzled into the ground at the captive’s feet, blackening and curling the grass. The man paled.

Bollux had come up, his chest plastron open. “There’s a better way,” Blue Max advised. “Circumvent his conditioning, and we can find out anything we want. We can rig up a strobe and key it to the same light pattern the Survivors use.”

Gallandro was dubious. “Query, computer: can you duplicate the Survivors’ light pulses exactly?”

“Quit talking to me like I’m some kind of
appliance
!” snarled Max.

“Beg pardon,” said Gallandro politely. “I keep forgetting. Shall we proceed?”

The
Millennium Falcon
moved through the Dellaltian air at what was for her a conservative speed. Even so, Han was recovering the distance from the city in minutes.

Gallandro was off gathering equipment elsewhere in the ship, with Bollux’s help. Hasti and Badure sat, respectively, in the navigator’s and communication officer’s high-backed chairs behind Han and Chewbacca. Skynx, his injuries dressed and treated, as theirs had been, was curled in Hasti’s lap.

“It’s hard to accept,” Hasti was saying. “All these years. How could a secret be kept for generations?”

“Secrets have been kept for ages,” Badure pointed out. “It was easy enough in this case; there’re really two strata in the Survivors’ organization. The dupes lived and died there in the mountains, maintaining the war-robots as a religious ritual, holding their ceremonies once in a while. Then there were the others, the ones who knew the secret of Xim’s treasure and waited for the time they could use it.”

“But they all got the conditioning as children, right?” Han asked.

“And when Lanni happened on the mountain base and got her hands on the log-recorder disk and put it in the lockbox at the vaults,” Hasti murmured, her voice thick with sorrow, “she couldn’t have known that the steward was part of the Survivors’ apparatus.”

Such had been the assistant’s testimony once his conditioning had been overcome. The steward had sent the disk back to the Survivors’ mountain warren as soon as it had come into his possession, of course. And he had contrived a nonexistent voice-coder to keep Lanni, Hasti, or anyone else from claiming it. He was aware that J’uoch had learned something about the disk from Lanni before killing her, and that the woman was actively seeking it. He had passed word to her through Survivor double agents that the
Millennium Falcon
had landed, knowing he couldn’t cope with the starship if force were brought to bear on the vaults. He knew J’uoch could, and hoped that Hasti and the others and their ship would be destroyed in battle, and the matter closed.

But instead, J’uoch had mounted the ambush that had resulted in the capture of the
Falcon
. Not having found the disk onboard the starship, J’uoch had made pointed inquiries at the vaults. The steward had managed to put her off but, knowing it was only a matter of time until she used force to inspect the lockboxes herself and put him to a more harrowing interrogation, he ordered the long-dormant Guardian Corps sent out against the mining camp. The war-robots, maintained through generations for just such an emergency, had come close to accomplishing their purpose.

“So why are the Survivors still sitting on their money after all this time?” Han wondered.

“The Old Republic was stable and unbeatable,” Badure answered. “They had no hope of moving against it, even with Xim’s treasure backing them. It’s only now, with the Empire having its troubles, that the Survivors smelled a setup they might be able to exploit, especially here in the Tion Hegemony. I bet small-timers everywhere are getting the same sort of idea.”

“A new Xim, and a new despotism,” Hasti mused. “How could they have believed it, even under conditioning?”

“They can believe one thing,” Han said, watching the land roll by quickly beneath them. “The Survivors are about to suffer a capital loss.”

“Shouldn’t we have a bigger ship?” Hasti inquired.

Han shook his head. “First we make sure the treasure’s there, and put what we can in the
Falcon
. Then we unship a quad-battery and some defensive shielding generators. Gallandro and I will hold the fort while Chewie and the rest of you go find a bigger ship, about the size of J’uoch’s lighter, say. It won’t take too long.”

“And what will you do with your share of the money?” Badure asked casually. He saw doubt and confusion cross the pilot’s face.

“I’ll worry about that when I’ve got a stack of credits so high I’ll have to rent a warehouse,” Han replied at last.

Gallandro, who had just entered the cockpit, carrying the equipment he had gathered, said, “Well put, Solo! Indelicate, but on target.” He checked their progress. “We’ll be there in a moment. I haven’t ransacked a bank in a long time; there’s a certain zest to it.”

Han reserved his reply and put the starship into a steep dive. The
Falcon
dropped out of the sky ahead of her own sonic boom. Dellaltians near the vaults suddenly saw the vessel appear above them, its braking thrusters thundering, its landing gear extended like predatory claws. People scurried for shelter as the shock wave of the freighter’s passage caught up with her, making the ground tremble and the buildings shake. She came to rest on the roofless portico outside the vaults’ single door.

The
Falcon
’s external speakers whooped and wailed with emergency sirens and klaxons. Her visual warning systems and running lights were flashing at maximum luminescence. Bystanders would have difficulty seeing and hearing, much less interfering.

The ramp dropped and Han and Gallandro ran down, blasters ready, equipment and tools weighting them. Behind followed Badure, Hasti, and Skynx. The girl objected, “Are you sure there isn’t some other way to do this?” Han had to read her lips, unable to hear her in the din.

He shook his head. Chewbacca had to stay at the controls, both because he knew the ship and because Han trusted only the Wookiee with care of the
Falcon
. Bollux stayed behind as well to keep a photoreceptor on instrumentation the first mate couldn’t spare time to monitor. Han wanted at least two people to hold the main door, Hasti and Badure. He and Gallandro would do the searching, taking Skynx along to translate.

The area seemed fairly secure; the Dellaltians had no way to cope with an armed starship. Han waved to his partner in the cockpit, and though he couldn’t be heard, added, “Fire, Chewie!”

From the
Falcon
’s top and belly turrets shot lines of red annihilation, playing on the closed door of the treasure vault. Smoke obscured the door in seconds as the quad-guns traced incandescent lines across it. Red cannonfire pitted and burned through material that had withstood generations of time and weathering, cutting glowing gashes in it. No weapon of its time could have penetrated it so easily, but in moments the door had been breached, pieces of it falling away. The reports of the gunfire added to the tremendous noise level.

Han signaled again and Chewbacca ceased fire. Smoke billowed away on the chill wind to reveal a yawning hole, its red-hot edges quickly cooling. “Armed robbery!” laughed Gallandro. “There’s nothing like it!”

“Let’s get inside,” Han mouthed. They ran together and hurdled through the gaping door. Hasti and Badure followed a moment later. “Stay here and make sure you maintain com-link with Chewie,” Han told them. Badure set Skynx down.

“Don’t forget the defensive system!” Hasti called as Han, Gallandro, and Skynx raced off. Among the things their captives had revealed was the fact that the treasure vaults were equipped with defensive security devices; the presence of a firearm in any protected area would trigger automated weapons.

They went deeper into the gloom of the cavernous vestibule, abandoned by the Dellaltians, who had wisely sought other refuge. Han didn’t see a man appear to one side, weapon raised, but Gallandro caught the movement, drew, and fired all in the same instant.

The steward cried aloud, clutching his middle, then collapsing to the pressure-pacted tile floor. The gunman kicked the steward’s dropped disruptor away.

“You cannot, cannot,” the white-bearded man moaned, half in delirium from his wound. “We have kept it, safe, unsullied since we were entrusted with it.” His lids fluttered and lowered forever.

Gallandro laughed. “We’ll make better use of it than you, old man. At least we’ll get it into circulation, eh, Solo?”

Han, moving on, offered no answer. Gallandro came after, and Skynx rushed to catch up. They descended dusty ramps and broad staircases, the empty vaults all around them. At one point they lowered themselves by the cable of an ancient lift platform that no longer worked, complying precisely with the instructions extracted from the captive Survivors under hypno. Han marked their trail with a tint bulb. At the lowest level of the vault proper they came to a forking of the ways. Their information on the vault-complex layout went no further than this.

“It’s off this corridor, one of the side tunnels,” Han said. “Got your copy of the identi-marks? Good.”

“The little fellow can stay with you, Solo,” Gallandro replied, meaning Skynx. “I prefer to operate alone.” He hitched up the straps holding his equipment and stalked away.

“Okay, stay sharp,” Han told Skynx, and the search began. Soon they were absorbed in the intricate business of examining side corridors for the identi-marks described by their prisoners and copied by Skynx. These lowest levels of the vault proper were stale and seemed airless, layered with ankle-deep dust, and a gloom that resisted the beam of the hand-held spotlight. They passed room after room of empty bins and vacant shelves.

At last Skynx stopped. “Captain, this is it! These are the ones!” He was vibrating with excitement. To Han the side corridor looked no different from any other, ending as it did in a blank wall at the bottom of an obviously empty vault complex. But Skynx was right; the identi-marks matched. Han shucked his other gear and lifted a heavy-duty fusion cutter into place. Skynx, taking the com-link, tried to contact the others and inform them of the find, but could raise no response.

“The walls are probably too thick,” Han suggested as he set to work. When it had been built, the wall would have withstood any assault that could have been made with portable equipment, but Han was beneficiary of a long technological gap. Chunks of the wall began to fall away. Beyond was the glow of a perpetual illumi-system.

Han set the fusion cutter aside hurriedly, anxious to see for himself. A treasure beyond spending! He could barely contain himself. He ducked and stepped through, followed by Skynx. The vault was dust-free, dry, and as quiet as when Xim’s artisans had sealed it, moments before they were put to death, centuries ago.

His steps echoing in the stillness, Han smiled. “The
real
vaults; all the time they were right here!” Hunters had scoured this whole part of space for Xim’s treasure because his vaults were empty and all the time there had been complete duplicates, right under the decoys. “Skynx, I’ll buy you a planet to play with!”

The Ruurian made no answer, silenced by the weight of years hanging over the place. They followed the corridor through a few turns and came to a stretch where warning flashers blinked in their wall sockets, as they had been doing for centuries. This no-weapons zone was an antechamber to the true treasure vaults of Xim.

Han stopped, wishing neither to be burned by the defensive weapons nor to go on unarmed, aware he might face other dangers. He turned back with great reluctance. At the fusion-cut opening, Gallandro waited.

Han paused and Skynx waited uncertainly. “We found it,” the pilot told the gunman with a jerk of his thumb. “The real one. It’s back there.” He realized Gallandro had heard Skynx’s transmissions after all.

Gallandro registered no elation, only amused acceptance. Han knew without being told that everything had changed. The gunman’s abandoned equipment was stacked to one side, and he had doffed his short jacket, prelude to a gun duel. “I said, the
treasure
is back there,” Han repeated.

Gallandro smiled his frosty smile. “This has nothing to do with money, Solo, although I postponed it until you and your group could help me find the vaults. I have my own plans for Xim’s treasure.”

Han warily shrugged out of his jacket. “Why?” was all he asked, carefully unsnapping his holster’s retaining strap and rotating it forward out of his way. His fingers stretched and worked, waiting.

“You require chastening, Solo.
Who do you think you are
? Truth to tell, you’re nothing but a commonplace outlaw. Your luck has run out: now, call the play!”

Han nodded, knowing Gallandro would if he didn’t. “And this’ll make you feel superior, right?” His hand blurred for his blaster, the best single play of his life.

Their speeddraw mechanics were very different. Han’s incorporated movements of shoulders and knees, a slight dipping, a partial twist. Gallandro’s was ruthless economy, an explosion of every nerve and muscle that moved his right arm alone.

When the blaster bolt slammed into his shoulder, Han’s overwhelming reaction was surprise; some part of him had believed in his luck to the end. His own draw half-completed, his shot went into the floor. He was spun half around, in shock, smelling the stench of his own charred flesh. The pain of the wound started an instant later. A second bolt from the cautious Gallandro struck his forearm and Han’s blaster dropped.

Han sank to his knees, too startled to cry out. Skynx retreated with a terrified chitter. Swaying, clasping his wounded arm to him, Han heard Gallandro say, “That was very good, Solo; you came closer than anyone’s come in a long time. But now I’ll take you back to the Corporate Sector—not that I care about the Authority’s justice, but there are those who have to be shown what it means to stand in my way.”

Han gasped through locked teeth, “I’m not doing time in any Authority horror factory.”

Gallandro ignored that. “Your friends are more expendable, however. If you’ll pardon me, I’ll have to see to your Ruurian comrade before he gets into any mischief.”

He slapped a pair of binders he’d found onboard the
Falcon
around Han’s ankles and ground the pilot’s com-link under his heel. “You were never the amoralist you feigned to be, Solo, but I am. In a way, it’s too bad we didn’t meet later, when you were salted and wiser. You’re pretty good in a fight; you might’ve made a useful lieutenant.” He removed the charge from Han’s blaster, tucked it into his belt, and sauntered off after Skynx, who, unable to get past the gunman, had fled back down the corridors toward the treasure vaults.

Gallandro moved cautiously, knowing the Ruurian was unarmed but counting no being harmless when it was fighting for its life. He rounded a corner to see Skynx cowering against the wall some distance along, gazing at him with huge, terrified eyes, paralyzed with fear. Around the far turn of the corridor he could see the reflected warning lights of a no-weapons zone.