Part 23 (1/2)
”What'd you do when the escape pod grounded?” Han wanted to know.
”I'm afraid Spray's timing wasn't all that good, sir,” Bollux answered. ”I landed some distance from the city, but at least that kept me from being painted by their sensor screens or destroyed on the way down; defenses are very good here. I walked the rest of the way to the s.p.a.ceport and simply made myself inconspicuous, awaiting your appearance. I must admit I'd been concentrating on incoming s.h.i.+ps at their small pa.s.senger terminal; I hadn't expected you to arrive in this fas.h.i.+on. Also, I've managed to learn a good deal about the current situation here.”
”Wait; jet back,” instructed Han. ”What'd you mean, made yourself inconspicuous? Where've you been?”
”Why, doing what 'droids are supposed to do, Captain Solo,” Bollux answered both of Han's questions at once. ”I simply entered the port through the labor-automata checkpoint and began doing whatever work there was to be done. Everyone always presumes that a 'droid is owner-imprinted and task-programmed. After all, why else would a 'droid be working? No one ever questioned me, even the labor-gang bosses. And since I wasn't really a.s.signed to anyone, no one ever noticed when I drifted from one job to another. Being a labor 'droid is very good protective coloration, Captain.”
Fiolla was interested. ”But that involved deceiving humans. Didn't it go against your fundamental programming?”
Han could have sworn Bollux sounded modest. ”My actions involved a very high order of probability of contributing to your and the captain's well-being or even, if I may say so, of preventing your coming to harm. That, it goes without saying, overcame any counterprogramming forbidding deception of a human. And so, when I saw your boat land, I simply carried a s.h.i.+pping crate across the field until I was behind your craft and then entered it through the rear hatch. As I said-”
”n.o.body noticed a 'droid,” Han antic.i.p.ated him. ”When we're out of here I'll take care of that, if you like; we'll repaint you in flashy colors, how's that? Now what about this duel?”
”From what I've been able to learn listening to humans and talking to the few intelligent automata at the port, sir, there's an extremely rigid code of honor in force among the clans. The Mor Glayyd, leader of the most powerful clan, has been mortally insulted by an outsider, an extremely proficient gunman. The other clans won't intervene because they'd be happy to see the Mor Glayyd die. And, according to the code, no Glayyd family member is permitted to intervene either. If the Mor Glayyd fails to fight or his challenger is killed or injured before the contest, he'll lose all face and much of his popular support, and violate his oath as clan protector.”
”We've got to get to him before this stupid duel,” Fiolla exclaimed to Han. ”We can't afford to have him killed!”
”I'm sure he feels the same way,” Han a.s.sured her dryly. Just then a car slid up, a wide, soft-tired ground vehicle gleaming a hard, enamel black.
”I've changed my mind,” Han told the Glayyd clansman. ”My 'droid here will stay with the lifeboat. After all, it's not my property and I guess I'll be responsible for its safe return.”
There was no objection. Bollux reentered the boat and Han and Fiolla made themselves comfortable in the car's deeply upholstered interior. Glayyd clanspeople caught handholds and mounted the car's running boards.
The car was warm and comfortable, with enough room for a dozen pa.s.sengers. A driver, backed by a guidance computer, sat on the other side of a thick transparisteel part.i.tion. The ride took them through the main part of the city. It was a rather ramshackle affair, its buildings being more often of wood or stone than of fusion-formed material or shaped formex. Street drainage was provided by open gutters that were frequently choked with refuse and pools of crimson-sc.u.mmed water.
The people they pa.s.sed showed a wide range of activity. There were trappers, stars.h.i.+pwrights, forestry service police, maintenance trouble-shooters, freight haulers, and street vendors. Among them jostled the young men of the clans and their carefully chaperoned kinswomen.
For all its faults and imperfections, Han preferred an open, brawling, and vital place like Ammuud to the depressing functionality of a Bonadan or the groomed sterility of one of the Authority's capitol worlds. This place might never be awash in profit or influential in galactic affairs, but it looked like an interesting place to live.
Fiolla frowned as they rolled past a row of slums. ”It's an insult to have one of those eyesores in the Corporate Sector Authority.”
”There're a lot worse things in the Authority,” Han replied.
”Keep your lectures about what's wrong with the Authority,” she shot back. ”I'm better informed about that than you are. The difference between us is that I'm going to do something about it. And my first move is to get on the Board of Directors.”
Han made a silencing motion, indicating the driver and the riders who clung to the car. Fiolla made a hmmph! at him, crossed her arms and stared angrily out her window.
The Glayyd stronghold looked like just that, a pile of huge blocks of fusion-formed material boasting detectors and weapons emplacements galore. The stronghold was set up against the rearing mountains at the edge of the city, and Han presumed that the peaks hid deep, all but impregnable shelters.
The car slid through an open gate at the foot of the stronghold and came to a stop in a cavernous garage guarded by young men, the Glayyd clan's footsoldiers. They didn't seem particularly wary and Han took it for granted that the car had been thoroughly checked out prior to admittance.
One of the clan guards escorted them to a small lift chute and stood aside as they entered, setting their destination for them. They rose quickly, and because the chute wasn't equipped with autocompensation gear, Han's ears popped.
When the doors swished open they found themselves looking out into a room far airier and more open than expected. Apparently some of those heavy blocks and slabs could be moved aside.
The room was furnished sparely but well. Robo-va.s.sals and fine, if dated, conform-lounge furniture showed that the occupants enjoyed their luxuries. Waiting for the two was a woman some years younger than Fiolla.
She was dressed in a thickly embroidered gown trimmed in silvery thread and wore a shawl made of some wispy blue material. Her red-brown hair was held back by a single blue ribbon. She bore on her left cheek the discoloration of a recent injury; Han thought it the mark of a slap. She had a look of hope, and of misgiving.
”Won't you come in, please, and sit down? I'm afraid they neglected to forward your names to me.”
They introduced themselves and found places in the comfortable furniture. Han wanted very much to hear her ask if he wanted something to drink, but she was so distracted that she ignored the subject altogether.
”I am Ido, sister to the Mor Glayyd,” she said quickly. ”Our patrolman didn't specify your business but I decided to see you, hoping it concerned this ... current distress.”
”Meaning the death duel?” Fiolla asked straightforwardly.
The young woman nodded. ”Not us,” Han said quickly, to keep the matter clear. Fiolla gave him a caustic look.
”Then I don't think my brother will have time to speak to you,” Ido went on. ”The duel has been twice postponed, though we hadn't expected that, but no further delay will be allowed.”
Han was about to argue but Fiolla, more the diplomat than he, changed the course of conversation for the moment, asking what had prompted the challenge. Ido's fingertips went to the mark on her face.
”This is the cause,” she said. ”I fear this little mark is my brother's death sentence. An offworlder appeared here several days ago and contrived to be introduced to me at a reception. We took a turn through the roof garden at his invitation. He became enraged at something I said, or so it seemed. He struck me. My brother had no choice but to make challenge. Since then we've learned that this fellow is a famous gunman who has killed many opponents. The whole thing seems a plot to kill my brother, but it's too late to avoid the duel.”
”What's his name, the offworlder?” Han asked, interested now.
”Gallandro, he is called,” she replied. Han didn't recognize the name but, oddly enough, he saw from Fiolla's face that she had. She keeps track of some strange information, he thought.
”I'd hoped you might have come to prevent the duel or intervene,” Ido said. ”None of the other clans will, since they envy us and would like to see us in misfortune. And by the Code, no one else in our clan or its service can take my brother's part. But another outsider may, for the sake of either our interests or his own. That is to say, if it's a matter that directly concerns him.”
Han was thinking that if he were the Mor Glayyd he'd be shopping around for a fast stars.h.i.+p with the family jewelry in his pocket. His musings were interrupted by Fiolla's voice. ”Ido, please let us talk to your brother; there may be something we can do.”
After Ido, overjoyed, had rushed away, Han, ignoring the possibility of listening devices, exploded. ”What's wrong with you? What can you do to help him?”
She stared back blithely. ”I? Why, nothing. But you can take his place and save him.”
”Me?” he howled, coming to his feet so quickly that he nearly bowled over a robo-va.s.sal. The mechanical skittered back with an electronic screech.
”I don't even know what the fight's about,” Han continued at high volume. ”I'm here looking for someone who owes me ten thousand. I never heard of either of these people. Which reminds me, it looked like you knew about the gunfighter, what's his name-”
”Gallandro, a name I've heard before. If it's the same man, he's the territorial manager's most trusted operative; I've only heard his name once before. Odumin, the territorial manager, must be involved in all this; these must be the 'measures' Magg informed Zlarb about. If Gallandro kills the Mor Glayyd, it'll end your tracing of Zlarb's bosses and your chance to collect. But if you intercede for the Mor Glayyd, we might still get what we want.”
”What about minor details,” Han asked sarcastically, ”such as if Gallandro kills me, for example?”
”I thought you were the Han Solo who said he could get more in this life with a blaster than with an open expense account. So this is your department. Besides, Gallandro will almost certainly withdraw when he finds out he'll have no chance of killing the Mor Glayyd anyway. And who'd dare face the great Han Solo?”
”n.o.body wants to and n.o.body's going to!”
”Solo, Solo; you've eliminated Zlarb, seen Magg with the slavers, and heard what I've learned. Do you think they'll ever stop coming after you? Your one chance is to save the Mor Glayyd and get that information from him so that I can prosecute everyone connected with the slavery ring. And let's not forget the ten thousand they owe you.”
”Let's not ever. What about it?”
”If you can't get it out of them, maybe I can get you some sort of compensation. Reward to a citizen for a job well done, commendation from the Board of Directors, that sort of thing.”
”I want ten thousand, not a credit less,” Han stipulated. Fiolla was right about one thing: unchecked, the slavers would undoubtedly keep coming after him. ”And no ceremonial dinners. I'll leave through the back door, thanks.”