Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [57]
As Han watched, Pakka nearly caught the globe, but it evaded his pounce at the last second. Han looked to the ’droid. “Bollux, are you directing that remote?”
The red photoreceptors trained on him. “No, Captain. Max is sending information pulses to it. He’s much better at anticipation and dictating random factors than I, sir. Random factors are extremely difficult concepts.”
Han watched the cub make a final, long spring and catch the remote in midair, pulling it to the deck and rolling over and over with it in sheer delight. Then the pilot sat at the gameboard, which often doubled as a table, and accepted a mug of concentrate broth from Atuarre. They had used up fresh supplies several Time-Parts before and were now sustaining themselves on the Falcon’s ample, if bland, emergency rations.
“There have been no new developments, Captain?” Bollux asked. Han presumed the ’droid already knew the answer and had asked only out of a sort of programmed conversational courtesy. Bollux had turned out to be an entertaining shipmate who could spin hours of tales and accounts of his long years’ work and the many worlds he’d seen. He also had a repertoire of jokes programmed into him by a former owner, and an absolutely deadpan delivery.
“Zero, Bollux. Absolutely zilch.”
“May I suggest, sir, that you assemble all available information in sum, recapping it? Among sentient life forms, new ideas sometimes emerge that way, I have noticed.”
“I bet. After all, aren’t most decrepit labor ’droids armchair philosophers?” Han put his mug down, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. “Anyway, there isn’t much to tote up. We’re on our own—”
“Are you sure there’s no other resource?” Max chirped.
“Don’t start that again, lowpockets,” Han warned. “Where was I? We’ve found the place we want, Mytus VII, and—”
“How high is the order of probability?” Max wanted to know.
“Up an afterburner with the order of probability,” Han snapped. “If Rekkon said it’s here, it’s here. The installation has a pretty big power plant, almost fortress class. And quit interrupting, or I’ll take a drill to you.
“Let’s see. We can’t hang around forever, either; supplies are running low. What else?” He scratched his forehead where the synth-flesh patch had flaked away, leaving new, unscarred skin.
“This is a strictly off-limits solar system,” Atuarre contributed.
“Oh, yeah, and if we get nailed here without a mighty good alibi, they’ll stick us in jail, or whatever.” He smiled at Bollux and Blue Max. “Except you boys. You, they’d probably recycle into lint filters and spittoons.”
He dragged the toe of his boot back and forth on the deck. “Not much more to it; only that I’m not leaving this stretch of space without Chewie.” Of all the things he’d mentioned, he was surest of that. He’d spent many long watches in the Falcon’s cockpit, haunted by what his Wookiee partner might be undergoing. A hundred times since taking up this vigil, he’d almost cut in the ship’s engines to shoot his way into Stars’ End and get his friend out or get flamed in the attempt. Each time, his hand had been stayed by the memory of Rekkon’s words, but it was a constant struggle for Han to restrain his impulses.
Atuarre had plainly been thinking along the same lines. “When the Espos came to evict us from our colony world,” she said slowly, “some Trianii tried armed resistance. The Espos were brutal in their interrogation of prisoners, seeking the ringleaders. It was the first time I had seen anyone use The Burning. You know what I refer to, Solo-Captain?”
Han did. The Burning was a torture involving the use of a blaster set at low power, to scorch and sear the flesh off a prisoner, leaving only blood-smeared bone. Usually, a leg would be first, immobilizing the victim; then the rest of the skeleton was exposed, inch by inch. Any other prisoners could be made to watch, to break their will. The Burning seldom failed to obtain answers,