Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [118]
“Eee-ee!” The figure writhed and wriggled with such sinuosity that the Wookiee lost his hold. But as the would-be burglar sought to dodge past him, Chewbacca’s long arms scooped out to either side, blocking the way. Trapped, the intruder shrank back against the Falcon’s main hatch, panting and trembling.
The being was small, perhaps a head shorter than Han Solo when standing erect rather than cowering. He had the sleek, glossy pelt of an aquatic mammal, colored a deep gleaming black. He was a biped with short, strong-looking fingers and toes; between those fingers and toes were webs of pinkish-gray skin. He had a thick, tapering tail and pointed ears that stood close to his skull, moving independently, aiming this way and that, first at the Wookiee, then away. His long, moist snout snuffled and quivered nervously. From this whiskered snout protruded a set of long buckteeth. It was plain from his squinting eyes that his vision wasn’t very acute.
The being seemed to gain a good deal of information by his ears; Chewbacca assumed it was only because he had been wearing the headphones that he’d failed to notice the Wookiee’s approach.
The intruder collected himself and drew himself up to his full height (which wasn’t very imposing against Chewbacca’s), nose quivering and tail vibrating in righteous indignation. Unfortunately his voice, when it came, was something of a quavering squeak with a slight lisp, reducing the effect. Still, it held conviction.
“What’s the idea of assaulting me, you big overstuffed oaf of a Wookiee? How dare you? I’ll have you know I’m a licensed collections agent. This vessel appears on the Red List!” He snagged a card out of his open bag and presented it with the formal flourish of a webbed hand.
It was a document of identification and authorization for one Spray, of the planet Tynna, to act in the interests and on the behalf of Interstellar Collections Limited, pursuant to the collection of debts, garnishing and repossession proceedings and any and all activities connected thereunto. On it was a flat two-dee depicting the little collections agent.
Chewbacca, satisfied that the document was real, looked up with a snarl of displeasure directed at all skip-tracers in general and at Spray in particular. Like Han, he sincerely detested them.
Jumping out on a debt seldom meant trouble with law enforcement agencies; it was such a common practice among members of the fringe society of independent spacers that every lawman in the galaxy could have spent every waking moment looking for, apprehending, and prosecuting them to the exclusion of all other activity. Thus the Espos, Imperial forces, and other legal authorities tended to ignore the problem, leaving the collection of debts and/or repossession of spacecraft to agency skip-tracers like Spray who roamed the galaxy with the voluminous and infamous Red List.
Spray appeared not to notice the Wookiee’s snarl. Having identified himself, he reverted to being a company man. The Tynnan dug out, from somewhere, an incredibly thick little notebook, squinting into it, his moist nose nearly touching the page.
He mumbled to himself as he read. “Ah, here, yes,” he said finally. “Would you by any chance be Captain, um, Solo?”
Chewbacca barked an irritated negative and jerked a thumb back at the spaceport, indicating Han’s present location as well as he could. Then he moved Spray rudely out of his way and bent to see what had been done to the lock. When he noticed the same damage Han had seen earlier he let out a horrible howl and turned back on the skip-tracer with mayhem in mind.
But the Tynnan, back on familiar territory, was indignant rather than intimidated. He snuffled. “I most certainly am not responsible for that damage! Do you mistake me for a bungler and a thug? A brainless primitive unconversant with modern technology? I am a trained collections agent, my dear Wookiee, equipped