Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [111]
That made sense to Han. The Falcon was no ordinary ship, and she had been modified to resist boarding or break-in efforts. Among other things, the relatively unsophisticated lock and other security gear had been replaced with the best Han could build, buy, or steal. Tools and equipment that could crack a stock freighter in minutes wouldn’t even make the Falcon nervous.
Bollux continued his narration. “I warned them over the hatch comlink that I would alert port Espos if they didn’t cease and desist and depart at once. They did, although in keeping with your standing orders I would have been very reluctant to involve any law-enforcement agency.”
Han was back out at the ramp, checking the lock. Its palm plate showed nicks and scratches where a decoder had been fastened to it in a futile attempt to unlock it. The armored cover plate was scorched from a plasma torch or baffled blaster. The cover plate was barely touched and probably could have resisted entry for an additional fifteen to twenty minutes. It would have taken a light cannon to burn through in a hurry. But the damage to his ship left Han beside himself with outrage.
The labor ’droid went on, undaunted. “I went forward to the cockpit to observe them as they left.”
“You stupid stack of factory rejects! You should’ve climbed down into the belly turret and erased ’em!” Han was so angry he could scarcely see straight by now.
The ’droid’s slow speech made him seem imperturbable. “That’s one thing I could not do. I’m sorry, Captain; you know my built-in constraints against harming or attacking intelligent life forms.”
Han, still brooding over the affront to his pride and joy, murmured, “Yeah. One of these days when I’ve got some time I’ll have to see about those.”
Alarmed at the thought of fundamental personality alterations as performed by Han Solo, Bollux quickly changed the subject. “Sir, I did get a view of the individuals who attempted to force entry. Both were human and wore blue standard coveralls. One was a man, but he wore a hat and I couldn’t discern very much about him from the elevation of the cockpit. The other was a female with short black hair and—”
“I’ve met her,” Han cut in, the color rising in his face. He was trying to calculate times and distances and determine whether it could have been her or her companion who had jumped him in the hangar. If, as he suspected, they had their own private transportation, it could easily have been. “Which way’d they go?”
“As a matter of fact, at Blue Max’s suggestion I followed their departure through the macrobinoculars you keep in the cockpit. They parted and the man went off toward the passenger terminal, but the woman boarded a repulsorlift scooter, one of the green rental-agency models. In addition to her safety helmet, I noted, she was carrying a homing unit. Blue Max plugged into the ship’s communication countermeasures package and resonated the homer; I’ve made a notation of the unit’s setting. Then she flew away at a course of approximately fifty-three degrees west of planetary north, Captain.”
Han was looking at Bollux in amazement. “You know, you two lads constantly wozzle me.”
“You’re very kind, sir.” There was a brief squeal of electronic pulse-communication from deep within the ’droid’s chest cavity. “Blue Max thanks you, too.”
“A pleasure.” Han considered his next move. The woman’s course would take her out over some of the only open country in this part of Bonadan. He couldn’t go after her in the Falcon; strict local airspace regulations prohibited taking spacecraft out of approach-departure corridors. The only remaining alternative was renting a repulsorlift scooter of his own and locating her that way. But that also meant going past who-knew-how-many more of