Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [67]
Han's velocity and weight brought the guards straight to the floor, where the three of them tussled for a moment before Han succeeded in wrenching a blaster from one them and jumped to his feet.
“He has a blaster!” a Twi'lek female shouted.
Han swung to her, aiming a finger at the guard. “No, he had the blaster.”
“They have blasters!” someone else yelled.
A panicked pet sank its little teeth into Han's ankle and he yelled. Hopping on one foot, he sent the Kowakian monkey-lizard flying with the other.
“Beast!” someone shouted.
Han turned his head and caught a glancing left hook on the jaw. A starfield burst into being before his eyes, but he managed to hold on to the blaster. Twisting away from a follow-up punch, he leveled the weapon at the guard on the floor.
“We've got your kid, Solo,” the guard said.
Han's finger froze on the trigger.
The guard gestured with his thumb. “Take a gander.”
Han's attention was drawn to a booth twice the size of the one he had ridden almost to the floor, docked to the balcony farther along the curve of the arena wall and accessed by a private entrance. In the doorway, wedged between a human and a Barabel, Allana stood swaying on her feet.
Drugged, Han wondered, or stunned. Instantly he lowered the blaster, which was whipped from his hand.
“I told them you could be reasoned with.” Grunting as he came to his feet, the guard pressed a blaster against the small of Han's back. “Head for the lobby.”
“What's this about?”
“We won't keep you in suspense for long. Do what you're told and no one gets hurt.”
“No one else, you mean.”
“Have it your way.”
“Everything is under control,” the other guard was telling the crowd. “Return to your seats and the show will resume as soon as possible.”
“Madman!” someone yelled at Han.
Someone else pelted him with candy.
The guards escorted him to one of the lobby turbolifts. They descended a couple of levels, emerging in a security area equipped with a holding cell. A human officer was seated at the desk.
Han peeled away the false mustache and beard. “Where's my daughter?” he demanded.
“Your daughter?” The officer appraised Han. “A man of your age. I'm impressed.”
“Cut the flattery. Where is she?”
The man stood. He was nerfy, with big hands and a pale scar over his right eyebrow. “Safe and sound. You get her back in one piece after you've done something for us.” He pushed a comlink across the desk toward Han. “Contact Lando Calrissian.”
Han's brows beetled in genuine surprise.
“Tell him we want twenty YVH droids delivered to Ord Mantell no later than tomorrow noon, local.”
Playing for time and trusting that Leia was on top of the situation, Han said: “You never heard of the black market?”
The officer smiled faintly. “Not a YVH to be had, thanks to our new chief of state. We're forced to go directly to the manufacturer.”
Han shook his head and pushed the comlink forward. “Lando won't do it. He's immune to blackmail.”
“He'll do it for you,” the officer said, shoving the comlink toward Han. “You're his pal.”
Han shoved the comlink back. “Don't believe everything you read. He's held a grudge against me for years.”
The officer's smile vanished. “What is it with you, Solo? You've already lost two kids, so you don't care about losing another one?”
Han propelled himself across the desk with such force that he drove the officer halfway across the room, his hands so tight on the man's throat it took three guards to tear him away.
Stroking his neck, the officer rasped, “That's not going to change things—”
A familiar snap-hiss!