The Han Solo Adventures (9 page)

Rekkon’s laughter rang. “If you were much smaller, Blue Max, I’d have to throw you back!”

“What’s that mean?” Max asked dubiously.

Rekkon crossed to one of several worktables. “Nothing. A joke, Max.” The table, a thick slab resting on a single service pillar, was. studded with outlets, connectors, and complex instrumentation. Along its front edge ran an extremely versatile keyboard.

“How would you like to do this, Max?” Rekkon asked. “I have background and programming data to feed you, information on systems-intrusion. Then I’ll patch you into the main network.”

“Can you feed it in Forb Basic?” Max piped in his high, childish voice, like an eager kid with a new challenge.

“That presents no difficulty; I see you have a five-tine input.” Rekkon drew a five-tine plug and line from his table and connected it to Max’s side Then he took a data plaque from his robes and inserted it into an aperture in the table, punching up the proper sequence on the keyboard. Max’s photoreceptor darkened as the little computer gave his complete attention to the input. Several screens in the room came to life, giving high-speed displays of the information Max was ingesting.

Rekkon joined Han Solo at the window-wall and handed him another plaque, one he’d taken from his worktable. “Here is the new ship’s ID for your Waiver. Alter your other documentation accordingly, and you should have no further problem with mandatory-performance profiles within the Corporate Sector.”

Han bounced the plaque once or twice on his palm, visualizing enough money to wade through with his pants rolled up, then tucked it away.

“The rest of this shouldn’t take terribly long,” Rekkon explained. “The others in my group are due to show up in short order, and I don’t expect someone with Max’s brainpower to find this task too difficult. But I’m afraid there’s nothing in the way of refreshment around here—an oversight of mine.”

Han shrugged. “Rekkon, I didn’t stop off to eat, drink, or observe quaint local ceremonies. If you really want to make me dizzy with delight, just wrap it up here as fast as you can.” He glanced around the room, with its perplexing lights and racing equations. “Are you honestly a computer expert, or did you get the job on sheer charm?”

Rekkon, hands on lapels, gazed out the window. “I’m a scholar by trade and inclination, Captain. I’ve studied a good many schools of the mind and disciplines of the body, as well as an array of technologies. I’ve lost track of my degrees and credentials, but I’m more than qualified to run this entire Center, if that’s of any importance. At one point I specialized in organic-inorganic thought interfaces. That notwithstanding, I came here with forged records, playing the part of a supervisor, because I wished to remain inconspicuous. My only desire is to locate my nephew, and the others.”

“What makes you think they’re here?”

“They’re not. But I believe their whereabouts can be discovered here. And when Max over there has helped me do that, by sifting through the general information here, I shall know where I must go.”

“You never did get around to mentioning your own lost one,” Han reminded him, thinking that he was beginning to sound like Rekkon. The man was infectious.

Rekkon paced to the opposite wall, stopping near Chewbacca. Han came after him, watching the man lost in thought. Rekkon took a seat, and Han did the same. “I raised the boy as if he were my son; he was quite young when his parents died. Not long ago, I was hired as instructor at an Authority university on Kalla. It is a place for higher education, mostly for Authority scions, a school rooted in technical education, commerce, and administration, with minimal stress on the humanities. But there were still some vacancies for a few old crackpots like me, and the pay was more than adequate. As nephew of a university don, the boy was eligible for higher study, and that’s where the trouble began. He saw just how oppressive the Authority is, stifling anything that even remotely endangers profit.

“My nephew began to speak out and to encourage others to do the same.” Rekkon stroked his dense beard as he thought back on it, “I advised him against doing so, although I knew he was right, but he had the convictions of youth, and I had acquired the timidity of age. Many of the students who listened to the boy had parents highly placed in the Authority; his words could not go unnoticed. It was a painful time, for although I couldn’t ask the boy to ignore his conscience, I feared for him. As an ignoble compromise, I decided to resign my post. But before I could do so, my nephew simply disappeared.

“I went to the Security Police, of course. They made an appearance of concern, but it was clear that they had no intention of exerting themselves. I began making inquiries of my own and heard accounts of other disappearances among those who’d inconvenienced the Authority. I’m accustomed to looking for patterns; one wasn’t long in emerging.

“Picking carefully—very carefully, I assure you, Captain!—I gathered a close group of those who’d lost someone, and we began a careful penetration of this Center. Word had come to me of the disappearance of Jessa’s father, Doc, as he’s called. I approached her, and she agreed to help us.”

“All of which leaves us sitting here,” Han interrupted, “but why here?”

Rekkon had noticed that the race of characters and ciphers across lighted screens had stopped. Rising to return to Max, he answered. “The disappearances are related. The Authority is attempting to remove those individuals who are most conspicuously against it; it has decided to interpret any natural, sentient individualism as an organized threat. I think the Authority has collected its opponents at some central location that—”

“Let me get this straight,” Han broke in. “You think the Authority’s gone into the wholesale kidnapping business? Rekkon, you’ve been staring at the lights and dials too long.”

The man didn’t look offended. “I doubt that the fact is generally known, even among Authority officials. Who can say how it happened? Some obscure official draws up a contingency proposal; an idle superior takes it seriously. A motivational study crosses the right desk perhaps, or a cost-benefit analysis becomes the pet project of a highly placed exec. But the germ of it was in the Authority all along—power and paranoia. Where no real opposition existed, suspicion supplied one.”

As he spoke, he paced back to the worktable, unplugging Max. “That stuff was really interesting,” the little computer bubbled.

“Please show a little less enthusiasm,” Rekkon entreated, taking Max up from the table. “You give me the feeling I’m contributing to the delinquency of a minor.” The computer’s photoreceptor zeroed in on him as he continued. “Do you understand everything I’ve shown you?”

“You bet! Just give me a chance, and I’ll prove it.”

“I shall. The main event’s coming up.” Rekkon took Max over to one of the terminals and set him down by it. “You have a standard access adapter?” In reply, a small lid in the computer’s side flipped down, and Max extended a short metal appendage. “Good, very good.” Rekkon moved Max closer to the terminal. Max inserted his adapter into the disklike receptor there. The receptor and the calibrated dial around it circled around and back as Max accustomed himself to the fine points of the linkup.

“Please begin as soon as you’re ready,” Rekkon bade Max, and took a seat again between Han and Chewbacca. “He’ll have to sift through an enormous amount of data,” he told the two partners, “even though he can use the system itself to help him at his work. There are numerous security blocks; it will take even Blue Max awhile to find the right windows.”

The Wookiee growled. Both humans understood the expression of Chewbacca’s doubt that the information Rekkon wanted would actually be found in the network.

“The location as such won’t be there, Chewbacca,” Rekkon responded. “What Max will have to do is find it indirectly, just as you must sometimes turn your eyes away to locate a dim star, finding it out of the corner of your eye. Max will analyze logistical records, supply and patrol ship routings, communications flow patterns and navigational logs, plus a number of other things. We’ll know where Authority ships have been stopping, and where coded traffic has been heaviest, and how many employees are on payrolls at various installations, and what their job categories are. In time, we’ll find out where the Authority is keeping the members of what it has come to believe is a far-flung plot against it.”

Rekkon got up again to pace the room briskly, clapping his hands with sounds like solid-projectile rifle shots. “These fools, these execs and their underlings, with their enemies’ lists and Espo informers, they’re creating just the sort of climate to make their worst fears come real. The prophecy fulfills itself; if we weren’t talking about life and death here, it would make a grand joke!”

Han was reclining against the wall, watching Rekkon with a cynical smile. Had the scholar actually thought that people were any different from the Authority execs? Well, anybody who let his guard drop or wasted his time on ideals was in for just the same sort of rude shock Rekkon had gotten, Han thought. And that was why Han Solo had gone and would always go free among the stars.

He yawned elaborately. “Sure, Rekkon, the Authority better watch out. After all, what’s it got going for it except a whole Sector’s worth of ships, money, manpower, weapons, and equipment? What chance does it have against righteous thoughts and clean hands?”

Rekkon turned his hearty smile on Han. “But look at yourself, Captain. Jessa’s communication mentioned a little about you. Just by living your life the way you chose, you’ve already committed deadly offenses against the Corporate Sector Authority. Oh, I don’t look for you to wave a banner of freedom or to mouth platitudes. But if you think the Authority’s the winning side, why aren’t you playing its game? The Authority won’t meet with disaster because it abuses naive schoolboys and idealistic old scholars. But as it increasingly hampers intractable, hardheaded individualists such as yourself, it will find its real opposition.”

Han sighed. “Rekkon, you’d better take it easy; you’ve got me and Chewie confused with somebody else. We’re just driving the bus. We’re not the Jedi Knights, or Freedom’s Sons.”

What Rekkon’s rejoinder would have been became academic. The door-lock buzzed just then, and a man’s voice at the intercom demanded: “Rekkon! Open this door!”

With a cold feeling in his stomach, Han caught the blaster Chewbacca tossed to him as the Wookiee leveled his bowcaster at the door.

Rekkon interposed himself between Han and Chewbacca and the door. “Kindly put your weapons up, Captain. That is Torm, one of my group. Even if it weren’t, would it not have been wiser to find out what was happening before preparing to shoot?”

Han made a sour face. “I happen to
like
to shoot first, Rekkon. As opposed to shooting second.” But he lowered his weapon, and Chewbacca did the same with the bowcaster. Rekkon worked the door controls.

The panel snapped up, revealing a man of about Han’s height, but bulkier through the torso, with brawny arms and wide, blunt bands. His face was fine-featured, with high cheekbones and alert, roving eyes of a liquid blue. His hair was a long shock of bright red. His darting eyes found Han and Chewbacca first, as his right hand made a reflexive spasm toward the thigh pouch of his coveralls. But he arrested the motion, turning it into the rubbing of palm against trouser leg on seeing Rekkon. Han didn’t blame the man for being skittish at this point, with several of his teammates already dead.

The man’s mind worked quickly. “We’re leaving?” he was asking, even as he stepped through the door.

“Presently,” Rekkon replied, gesturing over to where Blue Max sat linked to the data system. “We’ll soon have the data we require. Captain Solo there and his first mate, Chewbacca, will be transporting us offworld when we’re ready. Gentlemen, may I present Torm, one of my companions.”

Torm, his poise recovered now, inclined his head to the two, then went over to inspect Blue Max. Han followed; someone in this band might be an informer, and he wanted to acquaint himself with each one of them, to do all he could to safeguard himself and his ship.

“Not very impressive, is it?” Torm asked, staring down at Max.

“Not too,” Han answered fake-pleasantly.

A nod from Torm. “You think Rekkon’ll find what he’s looking for?” Han asked. “I mean, this long shot’s your only hope of finding your folks, right? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

Torm fastened a frank gaze on him. “It
is
a personal matter, Captain. But since your own safety is at stake, I suppose you’re within your rights. Yes, if I can’t locate my father and brother in this way, I’ll have no idea how to proceed. We’ve fixed all our hopes on Rekkon’s theory.” For a moment he glanced over to Rekkon, who was showing Chewbacca features of the room’s equipment. “I didn’t throw in with him lightly, but when I saw that the Authority was dragging its feet in its investigations, and my own inquiries led me to him, I knew I must commit myself to follow Rekkon’s belief.”

Torm’s voice had drifted as his thoughts had. Now he came back to himself. “It’s most unselfish, very admirable of you, Captain Solo, to take on this mission. Not many men would willingly risk—”

“Jet back: you got it all wrong,” Han interrupted. “I’m here ‘cause I struck a deal, Torm. I’m strictly a businessman. I fly for money and I look out for number one, clear?”

Torm reappraised him. “Quite. Thank you for clarifying that, Captain. I stand corrected.”

The door was sounding again. This time, Rekkon admitted two of his co-conspirators. There were Trianii, members of a humanoid species of feline. One was an adult female, trim and supple, who stood just about the height of Han’s chin. Her eyes were very large, yellow, with vertical slits of green iris. Her pelt, a varied, striped pattern along her back and sides, lightened to a soft, creamy color on face, throat, and torso front. It tufted out to a thick mane around her head, neck, and shoulders. Behind her curled and swayed a meter of restive tail, mixing the colors of her pelt. She wore the only clothing her species required, a belt at her hips to support loops and pouches for her tools, instruments, and other items. Rekkon introduced this being as Atuarre.

With Atuarre was her cub, Pakka. He was a miniature copy of his mother, standing half her height, but his coloring was darker, and he wasn’t as slender or as graceful. He still had some of the fuzzier fur and baby fat of cubhood, but his wide eyes seemed to hold an adult’s wisdom and sorrow. Though his mother spoke, Pakka said nothing. Then Han recalled Rekkon’s saying the cub had been a mute since enduring Authority custody. Like his parent, Pakka wore a belt and pouches.

Atuarre pointed a slim, clawed finger at Han and Chewbacca. “What are they doing here?”

“They’re here to aid our escape,” Rekkon explained. “They brought the computer element I needed to extract the final data. The only one yet to arrive is Engret; I couldn’t contact him, but left a message on his recorder with the code word for him to contact me.”

Atuarre seemed agitated. “Engret didn’t make his check-call and didn’t answer his com, so I stopped by his billet on the way here. I’m sure his quarters are under surveillance; we Trianii do not mistake such things. Rekkon, I believe Engret’s been killed, or taken.”

The leader of the small band sat down. For a moment Han saw the strength and determination leave Rekkon’s features. Then it was back, that special vitality. “I suspected that was the case,” he admitted. “Engret would not forgo contact for days, no matter what. I trust your instincts in this completely, Atuarre. We must presume him to have been eliminated.”

He had said this with absolute finality. This wasn’t the first time he had come up against an unexplained disappearance. Han shook his head; on one side was the near-absolute power of the Authority, and on the other, nothing more substantial than friendship, than family ties. Han Solo, loner and realist, considered it a gross mismatch.

“How do we know he’s what he says he is?” Atuarre was demanding, pointing to Han.

Rekkon looked up. “Captain Solo and his first mate, Chewbacca, come to us by way of Jessa. I presume we all trust her aid and counsel? Good. We leave as soon as possible; I’m afraid there’ll be no time for luggage or arrangements. Or com-calls, for any of us.”

Atuarre took her cub’s paw-hand as Pakka studied Han and Chewbacca silently. “When do we go?”

Rekkon went back to Max, to find out just that. Just then the computer module’s photoreceptor came back on. “Got it!” he chirped. A translucent data plaque emerged from the slot at the terminal’s side.

Rekkon seized it eagerly. “Fine. Now we must match it against the Authority’s installations charts—”

“But that’s not all,” Max blurted.

Rekkon’s dense brows knit. “What more, Blue Max?”

“While I was in the system, I monitored it, you know, to get the feel. This intrusion is fun! Anyway, there’s a Security alert on in the building. I think it’s directed at this level. The Espos are moving into position.”

Atuarre hissed and pulled her cub closer. Torm’s face seemed impassive at first, but Han noticed a tic of anxiety along his jaw. Rekkon tucked the data plaque into his robes, and from them drew a big disrupter pistol. Han was already buckling on his gunbelt, as Chewbacca settled his ammo bandolier over his shoulder and threw the empty tool bag aside.

“Next time I fall for one of these tempting offers,” Han instructed his partner, “sit on me till the urge passes.”

Chewbacca growled that he definitely would.

Torm had taken a handgun from his tight pocket, and Atuarre had produced another from one of her belt pouches. Even the cub, Pakka, was armed; he pulled a toylike pistol from his belt.

“Max,” Rekkon said, “are you still in the network?” Max indicated he was. “Good. Now, look at deployment plans for alerts in this Center. At what corridors, junctions, and levels will the Espos be stationed?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Max answered, “but I could clear a way through them, if that’s what you want.”

That grabbed Han’s attention. “What’d that little fusebox say?”

The computer-probe elaborated. “The Security Policemen are all supposed to respond to alarms, it says here, and redeploy to cover any new trouble spots. I could just make enough alarms in other places and draw them away in different directions.”

“That may not get them all out of the way,” Han pointed out, “but it could sure thin out the opposition. Do it, Maxie.” Another thought struck him. “Wait a second. Can you fake alarms anywhere else?”

Max’s voice burst with pride. “Anywhere on Orron III, Captain. This network’s got so much capacity that they’ve hooked just about everything into it. Good cost reduction, but bad security, right, Captain?”

“No foolin’. Yeah, give it everything you’ve got: fires in the power plants, riots in the barracks, indecent exposure in the cafeteria, whatever appeals to you, all over the planet.” He was thinking that if there
were
a picket ship in orbit, she might also be kept busy by a rash of false alarms.

Bollux, who had remained silent during all this commotion, now came to the terminal and prepared to take Max back the moment the computer’s work was done. Rekkon stood with him.

“There’re two ways out of here that might be open,” Max announced, and flashed the positions on the screen. The two paths, picked out on the level’s layout, both led back to the gallery where the lift and drop chute banks were located. One route was on their floor, the other on the floor above.

Security alarms began clanging and warbling in the corridors. The room’s equipment blazed with ripples of light as every circuit reacted to Max’s prompting. Then, suddenly, the room became dim, except for light from the window-wall. The Center’s automatics had shut down main power sources in response to the supposed emergency. Alarms continued to sound, running on reserves.

“Illumination in the corridors will be very low, on standby power,” Rekkon told the others as they gathered by the door. “We may be able to slip by.” He carefully set Blue Max back into his emplacement. As his plastron swung shut, Bollux, followed by Rekkon, joined the rest of them at the door.

“If I may suggest,” said the ’droid, “I would, perhaps, attract less suspicion than any other individual here. I could walk well in advance of you others, in case there are Security Policemen present.”

“That makes sense,” Atuarre said. “Espos won’t waste time and power shooting a ’droid. They’ll halt him, though, and that will warn us off from any traps.”

The door slid up, and Bollux started off down the corridor, preceded by the noise of his stiff suspension. The others followed after—Rekkon and Han in the lead, with Torm behind. Atuarre and Pakka came next, and Chewbacca brought up the rear, his bowcaster cocked and ready. The Wookiee was watching the conspirators as well as rear-guarding. With the possibility of a traitor in the group, he and Han trusted no one, not even Rekkon. The first wrong move on the part of any of them would be the Wookiee’s signal to shoot.

They came to a turn. Bollux went around first, but as the others approached it, they heard:

“Halt! You, ’droid, get over here!”

Han, peeking cautiously around the corner, spied a contingent of heavily armed Espos clustered around Bollux. He picked up bits of the conversation, mostly questions about whether the ’droid had seen anyone else. Bollux put up a front of supreme ignorance and lethargic circuitry. Beyond the gathered Espos, the corridor opened onto the chute gallery, but it might just as well have been on the other side of the Corporate Sector.

“It’s no good this way,” Han said.

“Then it’s the more desperate route for us,” Rekkon replied. “Follow me.” They went back the way they had come, at a trot. As they rounded the next corridor, the footfalls of the Espo detachment drifted to them. They hadn’t gone far when they heard another squad approaching from the opposite direction.

“Nearest stairwell,” Han instructed Rekkon, who led them a few meters more, then ducked through a door. “Keep it as quiet as you can,” Han whispered in the semidarkness of the emergency-lighted stairwell. “Up one floor, and we’ll make our way to the balcony overlooking the chutes.” Of course, Chewbacca, for all his bulk, moved quietly, as did the sinuous Atuarre and her cub. Rekkon, too, seemed used to running with stealthy efficiency. That left only Han and Torm to guard their steps, both laboring to keep the noise of their movements to a minimum.

When they reached the second floor of that level, they found it empty. Blue Max’s flurry of crazy alerts had drawn the security forces away from their contingency posts. The fugitives raced along the corridors as through a hall of mirrors, keeping close to the walls.

They came to the balcony overlooking the gallery. Crouching low, they edged up to its railing. Han risked a quick peek over the top, then drew his head down again. “They’re setting up a crew-served blaster down by the chutes,” he told them. “There’re three Espos working it. Chewie and I will fix that up; the rest of you get set to jump. Chewie?”

The Wookiee rumbled softly, his finger tightening on the bowcaster. He moved off, staying low, along the railing. Han leaned close to Rekkon’s ear and whispered, “Do us a favor and watch things here; we can only look one way at a time.” He scuttled off in the opposite direction from his partner. With Rekkon armed and watchful, Han doubted that any turncoat would show his hand now.

He paralleled the railing, rounding its corner, down to the far wall. Peering over the rail, he saw the Wookiee’s big blue eyes edging up over the opposite railing. Halfway between them and several meters below, the gun crew was making final adjustments on the heavy blaster and its tripod mount. In a moment they would be ready to activate the weapon’s deflector shield; going after them would then become an almost hopeless venture, and the drop chutes would be inaccessible. Apprehension would be a matter of time. One of the Espos was bending even now to throw on the shield.

Han stood, drew, fired. The man who had been about to activate the shield slumped, clasping a burned leg. But one of the others, with no regard for niceties like fire-discipline, spun and sprayed a steady stream of destructive energy from a short riot gun. The riot gun’s fire blasted material from the walls and railing; the Espo slewed the weapon around carelessly, searching for his target.

Han was forced to duck back out of the way as the rain of energy lashed through the air, striking walls, ceiling, and most things in between. That innocent bystanders might’ve been hurt didn’t seem to have entered into the Espo’s calculations.