Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [120]
“Then again,” the collections agent resumed hastily, “perhaps we could work out some sort of agreement and spare my employers the expense and inconvenience of public auction. Point well taken, sir. Where might I find your captain?”
Chewbacca carefully set Spray back down on his feet and, gesturing to the lock surveillance system, growled harshly. Taking his meaning clearly, Spray dug some tools from his bag and quickly reactivated the device.
Blue Max’s chirp instantly sounded over the intercom. “Who’s there? Why was this instrument deactivated? Reply at once or I’ll notify port security!”
Chewbacca barked once at the comlink. “Oh, First Mate Chewbacca, sir,” Max replied happily. “I thought the ship was being burglarized again. There was already one attempt earlier. Captain Solo’s gone off to investigate. He dispatched Bollux to the Landing Zone with word, and said he’d meet you there. Are you coming aboard, sir?”
The Wookiee barked irritably as he marched Spray down the ramp. The Tynnan had to trot to match Chewbacca’s long strides.
Blue Max called after them. “But what are my instructions?”
As the Wookiee dragged him off, the skip-tracer shrilly called back, “In the name of Interstellar Collections Limited, make sure no harm comes to the vessel!”
“What’s your name, anyway?” the woman asked as they passed through the entrance to the Landing Zone. It was a well-known spot among spacers, prominent on the avenue of bars, rub-shops, gambling dens, and pawnbrokers’ establishments outside the spaceport’s main crew gate. “Mine’s Fiolla,” she encouraged.
Han hadn’t had much chance to talk to her on the ride back, at the end of which they had abandoned the swoop and the vibroblade several blocks away, in the middle of the teeming Alien Quarter. It was a good bet that the swoop already had a new coat of paint or was dismantled.
But he saw no reason to cudgel his brain for a cover; the slavers already knew his name, and anyone else who wanted to badly enough could find out.
“Han Solo,” he said. She gave no sign of recognizing it.
Bollux, having failed to find Chewbacca in the spaceport’s wide confines, had had no more luck at the Landing Zone. But by soliciting the bartender’s permission with particular fervor, he had been allowed to wait by the entrance.
Now he approached Han who, sighting the ’droid, sighed. “I don’t feel like talking standing up. Come and have a seat, Bollux.”
The Landing Zone and all its furnishings were built from pieces and fittings from the spaceport salvage yards. Han led the way to a small table made from an obsolete charts-computer from an old survey ship.
When Bollux and Fiolla had taken seats he turned to her. “Bollux, general labor ’droid, at your service.”
Han interrupted Fiolla’s courteous reply. “Never mind that,” he snapped. “Bollux, where’s Chewie?”
“I was unable to locate him, Captain. I came here assuming this to be the place where you’d eventually contact him.”
The waiter came by, a many-tentacled Sljee with a broad tray firmly fastened to the top of its low, slab-shaped body. There was a hole in the middle of the tray and through it the Sljee’s olfactory antennae waved like some strange centerpiece.
“What’re you folks having?” it asked them hurriedly, the second afternoon rush just having begun. Then it noticed Bollux. “Sorry, but it’s against house policy to allow ’droids at the tables. You two gentlemen will have to leave him outside.”
“Who’s a gentleman?” Fiolla demanded sharply.
“Beg pardon,” apologized the Sljee. “I’ve only been working here since this morning. It’s my first time away from home and I’ve never dealt with aliens before. Non-Sljee, I mean. The smells are so confusing. Frightfully sorry.”
“The ’droid stays,” Han stated