Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [171]
Han turned to Hissal, who had accompanied him on the flight and who was to be the college’s first president. “The only thing left to get outboard is your duplicator.”
“Ah, yes, the duplicator, our most-awaited-item,” commented Hissal, “and the most expensive. It will print and collate material at speeds our own presses cannot match and synthesize any paper or other material from the raw constituents it contains. This, from a device that fits into a few crates. Amazing!”
Han made a noncommittal sound. Bollux was returning, and Han called down the curve of the passageway, “Chewie! Secure the main hold and crack open the number two; I want to get that duplicator off and raise ship.” From aft echoed the Wookiee’s answering growl.
“Captain, there’s one more thing,” Hissal went on, drawing a pouch from beneath his lateral folds. Han’s right hand dropped immediately to his blaster. Hissal, sensing his breach of decorum, held up a thin hand in denial.
“Be of tranquil mind. I know that among your kind it is customary to offer a gratuity for a task well done.” Hissal plucked a curl of bills out of his pouch and extended it to the pilot.
Han examined the bills. They had a strange texture, more like textile than like paper. “What is this stuff?”
“A new innovation,” admitted Hissal. “Several Progressions ago the New Regime replaced bartering and local coinages with a planet-wide monetary system.”
Han slapped the sheaf of minutely inscribed bills against the palm of his flying glove. “Which gives them a hammer-lock on trade, of course. Well, thanks anyway, but this stuff isn’t worth much off-planet.”
Hissal’s elongated face grew even longer. “Unfortunately, only the New Regime may hold off-world currency; thus, all equipment and materials for our school had to come by donation. The first thing the New Regime did when it accumulated enough credits was bring in a developmental consulting firm. Aside from the currency system, the firm’s main accomplishment was to profit from a major purchase of military equipment, which included that warship you saw.”
Han had noticed the ship, a pocket-cruiser of the outmoded Marauder class surrounded by worklights and armed guards.
“Her main control stacks blew on her shakedown cruise,” Hissal explained. “Naturally, there are no Brigian techs capable of repairing her, and so she remains inert until the Regime can muster enough credits to import techs and parts. That money could have brought us commercial technology, or medical advancements.”
Han nodded. “First thing most of these boondock worlds do—no offense, Hissal—is pick up some toys to build their image. Then their neighbors run out and do the same.”
“We are a poor planet,” the Brigian told him solemnly, “and have more important priorities.”
Han declined further comment on that subject. Bollux had returned and was waiting for Han’s next order, when suddenly there was a distant screeching of steam sirens.
Han walked down to the ramp’s hinged foot. Closing in from all sides were rows of lumbering metal power wagons, petro-engines chugging, sirens ripping the night, high wheels making the landing field tremble. Arc-spotlights swung to converge on the Millennium Falcon and the freight truck.
Han shouldered past Hissal and dashed to the ramp head. “Chewie! We’ve got problems; get into the cockpit and charge up the main guns!” He rejoined Hissal halfway down the ramp.
The college volunteers stood surprised and unmoving on the bed of their truck, unsure of what to do. In moments the cordon of power wagons had been drawn tightly. Doors flew open and squads of figures came leaping from the vehicles. They were obviously government troops, carrying old-fashioned solid-projectile firearms. But something about their uniforms