Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [111]
“I spent a lot of years there,” Han said.
“Oh, yeah? Me, too.”
“I know that whole area like I know the back of my hand. Nal Hutta, Ylesia, Sriluur, Kessel … You name the world I've been there.”
“No kidding. Me, I took the Falcon to a lot of other places.”
“Ever flown through the Maw?”
“That black-hole cluster? Sure. Oovo Four, too.”
Han's nostrils flared. “I've raced swoops there.”
“Swoops? I've raced swoops nearly everywhere.”
“You ever fly the Hoth asteroid field?”
“No, not that one, but dozens of others.”
“Ever hear of Lando's Folly?”
“Han,” Leia cut in. “While I'm sure you two could spend several days comparing runs and whatnot, Amelia and I are more interested in knowing why Quip wound up donating the Falcon to Dr. Thorp.”
“Was it because you loved her?” Allana asked while Han was simmering down.
“Loved who—Dr. Thorp?” Fargil said.
Allana nodded. “It was like a present.”
Fargil wet his lips. “No, what happened was I fell in love with the ship, and that's why I had to give her away.”
* * *
“The ship's proximity alarm system is activated,” the slicer droid told Poste in a raspy voice that owed more to the shoddy quality of its vocoder than any intentional programming. “The system is linked to a Ground Buzzer anti-personnel blaster concealed in the dorsal bow. The alarm can be disabled, but there is a high probability that the protocol droid will contact its masters the moment the system is overridden.”
Poste cursed under his breath. “How close can we get to the ship before the alarm is tripped?”
“The field extends to the perimeter of the landing bay. We can reduce our distance to the ship by one-point-three meters if necessary.”
Resembling a primeval avian as much as it did a predatory reptile, the droid was held aloft by a small repulsorlift that dangled from a compact torso. Bulging, oval-shaped sensors atop the snout-like module that contained the slicing matrix might have been eyes, but in fact the droid's visual scanners and recorders were located beneath the tapered snout, where teeth might have been.
“What are our options?” Poste said.
“We need to interfere with communications to and from the landing bay.”
“Go ahead and do that.”
“The ability to interfere with communications is beyond my programming. We need a jamming device. A Locris D-Eighty field disruptor will suffice.”
“Where am I supposed to get a jammer?”
“Master Druul has one in the shop. You will need to go there while I wait here.”
“Go—can't we just have it delivered?”
“Certainly. Although I am obliged to point out that you will be affording Master Druul full knowledge of this operation. Normally he asks few questions of his customers, but in this instance his curiosity is likely to be aroused.”
Poste cursed again. “How much is this jammer going to cost?”
“Absent current specials, the rental fee will be four hundred credits per local hour.”
Poste puffed out his breath. “That'll wipe us out.”
“Are we aborting the mission?”
“No, we're not aborting the mission. Find a place to hide yourself and I'll be back as quick as I can.”
Hoofing it into town to save the few credits a speeder taxi would have cost, Poste hurried through the door of the droid shop, grateful to find the Gran—Druul—behind the counter.
“How is the droid working out?”
“Fine,” Poste said. “But we—I need a jammer.”
“Any particular model?”
“Locris D-Eighty.”
“Just so happens I have one of those.” Druul came out from behind the counter, his trio of stalked eyes scanning the shop. “Ah, there it is.” He lifted the device from a shelf and carried it to the counter. “I charge an hourly rate of five hundred credits.”
“I thought it was four hundred,” Poste snapped.
The Gran appraised him. “Who told you that?”
“Your slicer droid.”
“Kriffing droid,” Druul said. “All right, it's yours for four hundred. One hour down, plus a deposit of four hundred. When will you be returning it?”
“Uh,” Poste said while he was counting out the last of the credit bills, “not right away.”
“I close at six local sharp. If you're not here by then, the price rolls over into