Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [72]
The Mark-X Executioner, latest word in combat automata, was ruptured open by a spectacular explosion just as Bollux, semiobsolete general-labor ’droid, got his tired chassis out of the arena.
Han knelt by him, pounding the old ’droid on the back while Blue Max somehow produced a cheer from his vocoder. The pilot threw his head back and laughed, forgetting everything else in the absurdity of the moment.
“Give me a minute, please,” Bollux begged, his drawl even slower now. “I must try to bring my mechanisms into some sort of order.”
“I can help!” Max squeaked. “Link me through to your brain circuits, Bollux, and I’ll handle all the bypasses. That’ll leave you free to deal with the cybero-stasis problems.”
Bollux opened his plastron. “Captain, if you’d be so kind?” Han put the little computer back into place.
“Touching, whoever you are,” said a smooth, dry voice behind Han, “but pointless. We’ll pick them both apart for the information we want. What happened to all your pretty braid and medals, by the way?”
Han turned and stood fast. Uul-Rha-Shan was waiting there, gun in hand. Han’s holstered blaster hung over the reptilian gunman’s shoulder.
Hirken came up behind Uul-Rha-Shan, followed by the major and the other Espos, his execs, and his wife, all the trappings of his corporate importance. The air was filled with the smell of charred circuitry and molten metal, all that remained of the precious Mark X. Hirken’s face held inexpressible rage.
He pointed a quivering finger at Han. “I should’ve known you’re part of the conspiracy! Trianii, ’droids, the Entertainers’ Guild—they’re all in on it. No one on the Board will be able to deny it now; this conspiracy against the Authority and against me personally involves everyone!”
Han shook his head, amazed. Hirken was sweating, bellowing, with a maniacal look on his face. “I don’t know your real name, Marksman, but you’ve come to the end of this plot. What I need to know, I’ll dig out of your ’droid, and the Trianii. But since you’ve spoiled my entertainment, you’ll make up for it.”
He went with the rest of his entourage and stood just inside the arena, safe behind the transparisteel slabs. Uul-Rha-Shan took Han’s gunbelt from his shoulder and held it out to him. “Come, trick shooter. Let’s see if you have any tricks left.”
Han moved warily and collected the belt. He checked his holstered blaster by eye, and saw that it had been drained of all but a microcharge, not enough to damage the primary-control circuitry. His gaze went to Hirken, who stood gloating behind invulnerable transparisteel. The belt control unit was out of the question. Han climbed the amphitheater stairs slowly, buckling the gunbelt around his hips, tying down the holster.
Uul-Rha-Shan came after, returning his disrupter to its forearm holster. The two stepped out onto the open area overlooking the arena; the gathered Authority officials looked up at them.
It had been a good try, Han told himself, just a touch shy of success. But now Hirken meant to see him dead, and Chewbacca and Atuarre and Pakka in his interrogation chambers. The Viceprex held all the cards but one. Han made up his mind on the spot that if he was going to die anyway, he’d take all these warped minds of Corporate Security with him.
He went, carefully, and stood by the wall, unsnapping the retaining strap of his holster. His opponent, squared off a few paces away, wasn’t through taunting.
“Uul-Rha-Shan likes to know whom he kills. Who are you, imposter?”
Drawing himself up, Han let his hands dangle loosely at his sides, fingers working. “Solo. Han Solo.”
The reptile registered surprise. “I have heard your name, Solo. You are, at least, worthy of the killing.”
Han’s mouth tugged, in amusement. “Think you can bring it off, lizard?”
Uul-Rha-Shan hissed anger. Han cleared his mind of everything but what lay before him.
“Farewell, Solo,” Uul-Rha-Shan bade him, tensing.
Han