Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [63]
Han was eyeing the reptile, whose bright green scales were marked with diamond patterns of red and white, and whose big black, emotionless eyes were studying Han. Uul-Rha-Shan’s jaw hung open a bit, exposing fangs and a restless pink tongue. Strapped to his right forearm was a pistol, a disrupter, Han thought, in a spring-loaded or power-driven holster of some kind.
Uul-Rha-Shan had taken up a position to Hirken’s right. Han recalled having heard the bodyguard’s name before. The galaxy was filled with species, all boasting their exceptional killers. Nonetheless, some individuals rose to a kind of prominence. One of those, an assassin and gunman who, it was said, would go anywhere and slay anyone for the right price, was Uul-Rha-Shan.
Hirken’s manner had shifted to businesslike demeanor. “Now, that is the ’droid I requested, I take it?” He inspected Bollux unsmilingly, with a look that put cold danger in the air. “I was most specific with the Guild; I told Hokkor Long precisely what sort of ’droid I desired and stressed that they were to send nothing else. Has Long acquainted you with my desires?”
Atuarre swallowed, trying not to let her effusive manner slip. “Of a certainty, Viceprex, he did.”
Hirken threw one more skeptical look at Bollux. “Very well. Follow me.” He set off, back the way he had come, Uul-Rha-Shan at his heels. The travelers and their escort came behind. They left the garden area, coming to an amphitheater, an open expanse surrounded by banks of comfortable seats, separated by partitions of transparisteel.
“Automated fighting is combat at its purest, don’t you agree?” Hirken said chattily. “No living creature, no matter how savage, is free of the taint of self-preservation. But automata, ah! They are without regard for themselves, existing only to follow orders and destroy. My own combat-automaton is a Mark-X Executioner; there aren’t many of them around. Has your gladiator ’droid ever fought one?”
Han’s nerves were screaming; he was trying to figure out whom to jump for a weapon if, as he feared, Atuarre bobbled her reply. Any show of hesitation or ignorance now would surely tip their hand to Hirken and his men.
But she improvised smoothly. “No, Viceprex, not the Mark X.”
Han was struggling with the jarring revelation. Gladiator ’droid? So that was what Hirken assumed Bollux was. Han had known, naturally, that matching ’droids and other automata in combat was a fad among the wealthy and jaded, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Hirken would be among those. He put his brain into overdrive, looking for a way out.
As they walked, a woman joined them, coming from what was evidently a private lift tube. She was short, extremely fat, and trying to hide it with expensive, well-tailored robes. Han thought she looked as if somebody had draped a drogue parachute over an escape pod.
She took Hirken’s hand. The Viceprex endured the gesture with ill humor. She fluttered a fat, beautifully maintained hand and chortled, “Oh, darling, do we have company?”
Hirken turned upon the woman a stare that, Han calculated, was enough to dissolve covalent bonding. The chubby birdbrain ignored it: The Viceprex gritted his teeth. “No, dearest. These people have brought a new competitor for my Mark X. Madame Atuarre and Company, I present my lovely bride, Neera. By the way, Madam Atuarre, what did you say your ’droid’s designation is?”
Han jumped in. “He’s one of a kind, um, Viceprex. We designed him ourselves and call him Annihilator.” He turned to Bollux.
Bollux looked from Han to Hirken, then bowed. “Annihilator, at your service. To destroy is to serve, exalted sir.”
“But our troupe has other acts to offer,” Atuarre was quick to tell Hirken’s wife. “Tumbling, dancing, trick shooting, and more.”
“Ooh, dearest!” the obese woman exclaimed, clapping her hands, sliding up against her husband. “Let’s see that first!