Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [36]
Rekkon turned to Bollux. “Now, may I see what it is that you’ve brought me?”
Han clucked to himself softly, amazed that anyone should be so palsy-walsy with a mere ’droid.
Bollux’s plastron opened as the stubby ’droid pulled his long arms back out of the way. The computer-probe’s photoreceptor came on. “Hi!” he perked. “I’m Blue Max.”
“You certainly are,” Rekkon answered in his full, amused bass. “If your friend here will release you, we’ll have a look at you, Max.”
Bollux said an unhurried, “Of course, sir.” There were minute clicks from his chest, the withdrawal of connector jacks and retaining pins. Rekkon drew the computer forth without trouble. Max was smaller than a voice-writer; he looked unimposing in Rekkon’s big hands.
Rekkon’s laughter rang. “If you were much smaller, Blue Max, I’d have to throw you back!”
“What’s that mean?” Max asked dubiously.
Rekkon crossed to one of several worktables. “Nothing. A joke, Max.” The table, a thick slab resting on a single service pillar, was. studded with outlets, connectors, and complex instrumentation. Along its front edge ran an extremely versatile keyboard.
“How would you like to do this, Max?” Rekkon asked. “I have background and programming data to feed you, information on systems-intrusion. Then I’ll patch you into the main network.”
“Can you feed it in Forb Basic?” Max piped in his high, childish voice, like an eager kid with a new challenge.
“That presents no difficulty; I see you have a five-tine input.” Rekkon drew a five-tine plug and line from his table and connected it to Max’s side Then he took a data plaque from his robes and inserted it into an aperture in the table, punching up the proper sequence on the keyboard. Max’s photoreceptor darkened as the little computer gave his complete attention to the input. Several screens in the room came to life, giving high-speed displays of the information Max was ingesting.
Rekkon joined Han Solo at the window-wall and handed him another plaque, one he’d taken from his worktable. “Here is the new ship’s ID for your Waiver. Alter your other documentation accordingly, and you should have no further problem with mandatory-performance profiles within the Corporate Sector.”
Han bounced the plaque once or twice on his palm, visualizing enough money to wade through with his pants rolled up, then tucked it away.
“The rest of this shouldn’t take terribly long,” Rekkon explained. “The others in my group are due to show up in short order, and I don’t expect someone with Max’s brainpower to find this task too difficult. But I’m afraid there’s nothing in the way of refreshment around here—an oversight of mine.”
Han shrugged. “Rekkon, I didn’t stop off to eat, drink, or observe quaint local ceremonies. If you really want to make me dizzy with delight, just wrap it up here as fast as you can.” He glanced around the room, with its perplexing lights and racing equations. “Are you honestly a computer expert, or did you get the job on sheer charm?”
Rekkon, hands on lapels, gazed out the window. “I’m a scholar by trade and inclination, Captain. I’ve studied a good many schools of the mind and disciplines of the body, as well as an array of technologies. I’ve lost track of my degrees and credentials, but I’m more than qualified to run this entire Center, if that’s of any importance. At one point I specialized in organic-inorganic thought interfaces. That notwithstanding, I came here with forged records, playing the part of a supervisor, because I wished to remain inconspicuous. My only desire is to locate my nephew, and the others.”
“What makes you think they’re here?”
“They’re not. But I believe their whereabouts can be discovered here. And when Max over there has helped me do that, by sifting through the general information here, I shall know where I must go.”
“You never did get around to mentioning your own lost one,” Han reminded