Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [61]
But Atuarre was already chattering. “And, to amaze and amuse you with feats of gymnastics and spellbinding acrobatics, Atuarre presents her pet prodigy—”
Han held up a hoop he had brought down with him. It was a ring-stabilizer off an old repulsor rig, but he’d plated it and fitted it with an insulated hand-grip and a breadboarded distortion unit. Now he thumbed a switch, and the hoop became a circle of dancing light and waves of color as the distortion unit scrambled the visible spectrum, throwing off sparks and flares.
“—Pakka!” Atuarre introduced. The cub dived through the harmless light-effects, bounced off the ramp, and executed a triple forward somersault, into a double twist, and ended bowing deeply to the surprised major. Han scaled the hoop back into the ship and stepped to one side.
“And lastly,” Atuarre went on, “that astonishing automaton, robotic raconteur, and machine of mirth and merriment, Bollux!”
And the ’droid clanked stiffly down the ramp, long arms swinging, somehow making it all look like a military march. Han had knocked out most of his dents and dings and applied a radiant paint job, five layers of scarlet liqui-gloss, as promised, with glinting silver pinstriping, painstakingly limned. The ’droid had been converted from an obsolescent into a classic. The mask-and-sunburst emblem of the Imperial Entertainer’s Guild embellished one side of his chest, a touch that Han had thought would raise their credibility.
The Espo major was stumped. He knew Viceprex Hirken was expecting a special entertainment group, but was not aware of any clearance for one’s arrival. Nevertheless, the Viceprex attached particular importance to his diversions, and wouldn’t take kindly to any meddling or delay. No, not kindly at all.
The major put on as cordial an expression as his gruff face could achieve. “I’ll notify the Viceprex of your arrival at once, Madam, ah, Atuarre?”
“Yes, splendid!” She gathered her cape for a curtsy and turned to Pakka. “Fetch your props, my sweet.” The cub skipped back up the ramp and returned a moment later with several hoops, a balance-ball, and an assortment of lesser props scrounged up aboard ship.
“I’ll escort you to Stars’ End,” said the major. “And I’m afraid my men will have to hold on to your Master Marksman’s weapon. You understand, Madam: Standard Operating Procedure.”
Han steeled himself and handed his blaster over butt-first to an Espo sergeant as Atuarre nodded to the major. “Of course, of course. We must never ignore the proprieties, must we? Now, my dear, dear General, if you’d be so gracious …”
He realized with a start that she was waiting for his arm, and extended it stiffly, his face livid. The Espos, knowing their commanding officer’s temper, hid their grins carefully. They formed up a hasty honor guard as Han hit the ramp control. The ramp pulled itself up quickly and the hatch rolled closed. They would reopen for no one but himself, Chewbacca, or one of the Trianii.
The major, after sending a runner ahead, led the group off through the tunnel-tube mazework. They were a long walk from the tower, and passed through several of the tread-mounted junction stations, to the surprised gazes of black-coveralled tech controlmen. Their footsteps and Bollux’s clanking joints echoed through the tunnel-tubes, and the new arrivals noticed a gravity markedly lighter than the Standard gee maintained onboard the Millennium Falcon. Air in the tubes had the tang of hydroponics recycling, a welcome change from shipboard.
They came at last to a large, permanent air lock. Its outer hatch swung open at a verbal order from the major. Han caught a quick glimpse of what he knew must be the tower’s side, surrounded by the tunnel-tube’s seal, that confirmed something he’d thought