Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [142]
“Wait; jet back,” instructed Han. “What’d you mean, made yourself inconspicuous? Where’ve you been?”
“Why, doing what ’droids are supposed to do, Captain Solo,” Bollux answered both of Han’s questions at once. “I simply entered the port through the labor-automata checkpoint and began doing whatever work there was to be done. Everyone always presumes that a ’droid is owner-imprinted and task-programmed. After all, why else would a ’droid be working? No one ever questioned me, even the labor-gang bosses. And since I wasn’t really assigned to anyone, no one ever noticed when I drifted from one job to another. Being a labor ’droid is very good protective coloration, Captain.”
Fiolla was interested. “But that involved deceiving humans. Didn’t it go against your fundamental programming?”
Han could have sworn Bollux sounded modest. “My actions involved a very high order of probability of contributing to your and the captain’s well-being or even, if I may say so, of preventing your coming to harm. That, it goes without saying, overcame any counterprogramming forbidding deception of a human. And so, when I saw your boat land, I simply carried a shipping crate across the field until I was behind your craft and then entered it through the rear hatch. As I said—”
“Nobody noticed a ’droid,” Han anticipated him. “When we’re out of here I’ll take care of that, if you like; we’ll repaint you in flashy colors, how’s that? Now what about this duel?”
“From what I’ve been able to learn listening to humans and talking to the few intelligent automata at the port, sir, there’s an extremely rigid code of honor in force among the clans. The Mor Glayyd, leader of the most powerful clan, has been mortally insulted by an outsider, an extremely proficient gunman. The other clans won’t intervene because they’d be happy to see the Mor Glayyd die. And, according to the code, no Glayyd family member is permitted to intervene either. If the Mor Glayyd fails to fight or his challenger is killed or injured before the contest, he’ll lose all face and much of his popular support, and violate his oath as clan protector.”
“We’ve got to get to him before this stupid duel,” Fiolla exclaimed to Han. “We can’t afford to have him killed!”
“I’m sure he feels the same way,” Han assured her dryly. Just then a car slid up, a wide, soft-tired ground vehicle gleaming a hard, enamel black.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Han told the Glayyd clansman. “My ’droid here will stay with the lifeboat. After all, it’s not my property and I guess I’ll be responsible for its safe return.”
There was no objection. Bollux reentered the boat and Han and Fiolla made themselves comfortable in the car’s deeply upholstered interior. Glayyd clanspeople caught handholds and mounted the car’s running boards.
The car was warm and comfortable, with enough room for a dozen passengers. A driver, backed by a guidance computer, sat on the other side of a thick transparisteel partition. The ride took them through the main part of the city. It was a rather ramshackle affair, its buildings being more often of wood or stone than of fusion-formed material or shaped formex. Street drainage was provided by open gutters that were frequently choked with refuse and pools of crimson-scummed water.
The people they passed showed a wide range of activity. There were trappers, starshipwrights, forestry service police, maintenance trouble-shooters, freight haulers, and street vendors. Among them jostled the young men of the clans and their carefully chaperoned kinswomen.
For all its faults and imperfections, Han preferred an open, brawling, and vital place like Ammuud to the depressing functionality of a Bonadan or the groomed sterility of one of