Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [188]
Bollux entered, chest panels open wide to let Blue Max perceive things as well. These two machines had been combined by a group of outlaw techs and had been instrumental in Han’s survival at an Authority prison called Stars’ End several adventures ago. Bollux and Max had elected to join Han and Chewbacca, exchanging labor for passage, in order to see the galaxy.
“Captain, First Mate Chewbacca says we’ll be reverting to normal space shortly,” the ’droid announced. Then his red photoreceptors fell on the cranial turret, and Han could have sworn they abruptly became brighter. In a voice more hurried than his usual drawl, Bollux queried, “Sir, what is that?” He went over to examine the thing more closely. Max studied the relic as well.
“So very old,” mused the ’droid. “What machine is this?”
“War-robot,” Han told him, sifting through the other crates. “Great-grandpa Bollux, maybe.” He didn’t notice the ’droid’s metallic fingers quizzically feeling the shape of the massive head.
Han was mumbling to himself. “Reinforced stress points; heavy-gauge armor, all points. Look how thick it is! You could run a machine shop off those power-delivery systems. Hmm, and built-in weapons, chemical and energy both.”
He stopped rummaging and looked at Skynx. “These things must’ve been unstoppable. Even with a blaster, I wouldn’t want to mix with one.” He slid the lid back on the crate. “Find yourselves a place and get comfortable, everybody. We’ll revert from hyperspace as soon as I get to the cockpit. Where’s Hasti? I can’t hold up the whole—”
His jaw dropped. Hasti—it had to be her—had just swept into the forward compartment. But the factory-world, mining-camp girl was gone. The red hair now fell in soft, fine waves. She wore a costume of rich iridescent fabrics in black and crimson; the hem of her ruffled, wrapfront gown brushed the deckplates, and over it she wore a long quilted coat with voluminous sleeves, its formal cowl flung back and its gilt waist sash left open. Her steps revealed supple, ornamentally stitched buskins.
She had applied makeup, too, but with such restraint that Han couldn’t tell what or how. She was cooler, more poised, and seemed older than Han recalled. Her expression dared him to make a crack. One side of him was trying to tally how long it had been since he had seen anyone this attractive.
“Girl,” breathed Badure, “for a second there I thought you were a ghost. It might’ve been Lanni, standing there.”
An hour ago I’d have said she couldn’t find romance in a prison camp with a jetpack on! I’m slipping, Han thought. Then he found his voice. “But why?”
While Hasti inspected Han distantly, Badure explained. “When Lanni diverted course on a freight run to store the log-recorder disk at the vaults, she changed into this local outfit Hasti’s wearing so word wouldn’t leak that a woman from the mining camp had been there. Fortunately she gave us the rental code and retrieval combination before she was killed by J’uoch’s people. Hasti must look as much like poor Lanni as possible, in case any of the vault personnel happen to remember her sister.”
Hasti motioned back toward Han’s quarters. “Nice wallow you have there; it looks like the end of a six-day sweepstakes party.”
His reply was cut short by an angry caterwauling from the cockpit. It was Chewbacca insisting that Han come up for the reversion to normal space. “I wonder if I wouldn’t be asking too much to view the procedure from the cockpit?” Skynx said to Han.
“Sure; we’ll find some place for you.” Han met Hasti’s aloof gaze. “How about you? Care to watch?”
She pursed her mouth indifferently. Skynx left off observing what was, as far as he could conclude, a variation of human preening/courting rituals and excitedly hurried toward the cockpit, followed by Badure. Han, weighing Hasti’s expression, decided neither to offer his arm nor to touch her in any ushering-along gesture.
None of them noticed