Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [129]
Han’s eyes were still riveted to players trying their luck or skill at Point Five, Bounce, Liar’s Cut, Vector, and a half-dozen other games. For two Standard timeparts, ever since coming aboard the passenger liner Lady of Mindor, he had been trying to come up with a way to get into a game. Now that he was completely rested, inactivity was nearly intolerable.
Fiolla had absolutely refused to back him, though Han had promised bountiful returns on her investment. He then pointed out that if she hadn’t squandered money on separate accommodations, she would have had plenty to loan him.
“I didn’t have time to brush up on my hand-to-hand” had been her retort. “And besides, if you’re such a good gambler, how come you’re flying around in that cookie-box freighter instead of a star yacht?”
He changed the subject. “We’ve been on this mud cart for two Standard timeparts. To get to Ammuud! No wonder I’m going crazy; the Falcon could’ve gotten us there in the time it took these idiots to clear port.”
He rose from the little table where they had eaten an indifferent meal. “At least we’ll make planetfall soon. Maybe I’ll go run my clothes through the robo-valet one more time for fun.”
She caught his wrist. “Don’t be so depressed. And please don’t leave me here alone; I’m afraid that priest of Ninn will corner me for another lecture on the virtues of formalistic abstinence. And no comments! Come on, I’ll play you a game of Starfight. That we can afford.”
Not many passengers remained in the lounge, for the Lady of Mindor was due to reenter normal space shortly; most of them were packing or making other last-minute preparations. He gave in and they crossed to the bank of coin games.
She mimicked his rangy walk, swaggering along next to him, arms dangling a bit and shoulders slumped back. There was an exaggerated sway to her hips as she swept the room arrogantly with narrowed eyes and an invisible blaster weighting her side, right in step with him.
When he noticed, he recognized himself at once. He glared around the salon in case anyone was inclined to laugh. “Will you quit that?” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Somebody’s liable to call you out.”
She chuckled. “Then they’ll stop a blaster bolt, handsome; I’ve been studying with the master.” He found himself laughing, as she’d intended.
The Starfight game consisted of two curved banks of monitors and controls, almost surrounding each of the two playing stations. Between them was a large holotank with detailed star charts. With the stacks and stacks of controls, each player sent his myriad ships out to do battle in computer modeled deepspace.
He stopped her as she was about to drop a coin into the game. “I’ve never been too partial to Starfight,” he explained. “It’s too much like work.”
“What about a last stroll through the promenade?”
* * *
It was as good a diversion as any. They ascended the curved staircase to find they had the promenade to themselves. The novelty of the place must have worn off for the other passengers. A single pane of transparisteel ten meters long and five high curved to follow the ship’s hull, showing them the tangled luminosity of hyperspace. They stared with the age-old fascination, their human minds and eyes trying to impose order on the chaos beyond the transparisteel so that, at times, they believed they saw shapes, surfaces, or fluxes.
She noticed he was still distracted. “You’re thinking about Chewie, aren’t you?”
A shrug. “He’ll be all right. I just hope the big lug didn’t worry himself sick when we were overdue and start shedding or something.”
The ship’s public-address system announced final warning of transition, though it was for crew members rather than passengers. Shortly thereafter Fiolla pointed and breathed a soft exclamation as the distortions and discord of hyperspace melted