Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [143]
Fiolla frowned as they rolled past a row of slums. “It’s an insult to have one of those eyesores in the Corporate Sector Authority.”
“There’re a lot worse things in the Authority,” Han replied.
“Keep your lectures about what’s wrong with the Authority,” she shot back. “I’m better informed about that than you are. The difference between us is that I’m going to do something about it. And my first move is to get on the Board of Directors.”
Han made a silencing motion, indicating the driver and the riders who clung to the car. Fiolla made a hmmph! at him, crossed her arms and stared angrily out her window.
The Glayyd stronghold looked like just that, a pile of huge blocks of fusion-formed material boasting detectors and weapons emplacements galore. The stronghold was set up against the rearing mountains at the edge of the city, and Han presumed that the peaks hid deep, all but impregnable shelters.
The car slid through an open gate at the foot of the stronghold and came to a stop in a cavernous garage guarded by young men, the Glayyd clan’s footsoldiers. They didn’t seem particularly wary and Han took it for granted that the car had been thoroughly checked out prior to admittance.
One of the clan guards escorted them to a small lift chute and stood aside as they entered, setting their destination for them. They rose quickly, and because the chute wasn’t equipped with autocompensation gear, Han’s ears popped.
When the doors swished open they found themselves looking out into a room far airier and more open than expected. Apparently some of those heavy blocks and slabs could be moved aside.
The room was furnished sparely but well. Robo-vassals and fine, if dated, conform-lounge furniture showed that the occupants enjoyed their luxuries. Waiting for the two was a woman some years younger than Fiolla.
She was dressed in a thickly embroidered gown trimmed in silvery thread and wore a shawl made of some wispy blue material. Her red-brown hair was held back by a single blue ribbon. She bore on her left cheek the discoloration of a recent injury; Han thought it the mark of a slap. She had a look of hope, and of misgiving.
“Won’t you come in, please, and sit down? I’m afraid they neglected to forward your names to me.”
They introduced themselves and found places in the comfortable furniture. Han wanted very much to hear her ask if he wanted something to drink, but she was so distracted that she ignored the subject altogether.
“I am Ido, sister to the Mor Glayyd,” she said quickly. “Our patrolman didn’t specify your business but I decided to see you, hoping it concerned this … current distress.”
“Meaning the death duel?” Fiolla asked straightforwardly.
The young woman nodded. “Not us,” Han said quickly, to keep the matter clear. Fiolla gave him a caustic look.
“Then I don’t think my brother will have time to speak to you,” Ido went on. “The duel has been twice postponed, though we hadn’t expected that, but no further delay will be allowed.”
Han was about to argue but Fiolla, more the diplomat than he, changed the course of conversation for the moment, asking what had prompted the challenge. Ido’s fingertips went to the mark on her face.
“This is the cause,” she said. “I fear this little mark is my brother’s death sentence. An offworlder appeared here several days ago and contrived to be introduced to me at a reception. We took a turn through the roof garden at his invitation. He became enraged at something I said, or so it seemed. He struck me. My brother had no choice but to make challenge. Since then we’ve learned that this fellow is a famous gunman who has killed many opponents. The whole thing seems a plot to kill my brother, but it’s too late to avoid the duel.”
“What’s his name, the offworlder?” Han asked, interested now.
“Gallandro, he is called,” she replied. Han didn’t recognize the name but, oddly enough, he saw from Fiolla’s face that she had. She