"Brian Daley "Han Solo at Stars' End"" - читать интересную книгу автора

The Authority's installation was marked by group-ings of temporary dormitories, hangars and guard barracks, hydroponics layouts, dome-sheds and weap-ons sites The ground was gouged and pocked where construction of permanent subsurface facilities was in progress, but there was at least one finished struc-ture already. In the middle of the base reared a tower like a stark, gleaming dagger.
Evidently no tunnel system had been completed yet. The whole complex was interconnected by a maze of tunnel-tubes, like giant. pleated hoses radiating from their boxy junction stations, a common arrangement for construction sites on airless worlds.
There was only one sizable vessel on the ground, an armed Espo assault craft. There were also smaller craft and unarmed cargo lighters, but Han had checked carefully for picket ships this time and was satisfied that there were none.
Hah, checking visually for that heavyweight power plant his sensors had spotted, faded to locate it and wondered if it might be in that tower. He shot a sec-ond look at the tower, thinking something about it looked strange. It was equipped with two heavy dock-ing locks, one at ground level and the other near its summit, the former hooked up to a tunnel-tube. He would very much have liked to run a close sweep of the place to see if he could pick up a high concentra-tion of life forms that might indicate prisoners, but dared not for fear of counterdetection. Being caught probing the base would spell the end of the masquer-ade.
He made an undistinguished approach, nothing fancy, revealing none of the FaIcon's hidden capabili-ties. The attentive snouts of turbo-lasers tracked the ship exactingly. Ground control guided the starship down, and one of the tunnel-tubes snaked out, its folded skin extended by its servoframe, its hatch-mounted mouth sealing to the Millennium Falcon's hull, swallowing the ship's lowering ramp.
Han shut down the engines. Atuarre, in the over-sized copilot's seat, said, "I tell you one last time, Solo-Captain: I don't wish to be the one to do the speaking."
He brought his chair around. "I'm no actor, Atuarre. It'd be different if we were just going to jump in, spring the prisoners, and kiss off, but I can't cut all that chitchat and play the role."
They left the cockpit. Han was wearing a tight-cut black body suit, converted into a costume by the addition of epaulets, piping, shining braid, and a broad yellow sash, over which he'd buckled his blaster. His boots were newly polished.
Atuarre was bedecked at wrists, forearms, throat, forehead, and knees with bunches of multicolored streamers, Trianii attire for festivals and joyful occa-sions. She'd applied the exotic perfumes and formal scents of her species, using up the tiny supply she had in her belt pouch.
"I am no actress, either," she reminded him as they met the others at the ramp batch.
"Did you ever see a celebrity?"
"Authority execs and their wives, when they came to our world as tourists."
Han snapped his fingers. "That's it. Smug, dumb, and happy."
Pakka was costumed as his mother was, wearing the scents appropriate to a pre-adolescent male. He handed his mother and Han long, billowing metallic capes, hers coppery and his an electric blue. Han's small wardrobe had been ransacked for material for the costumes, and the capes had come from the thin insulating layers of a tent from the ship's survival gear.
The fitting, seaming, and alternations had been a problem. Hen was all thumbs when it came to tailor-ing, and the Trian'fi, of course, were a species who had never developed the art because they never wore anything but protective clothing. The solution had come in the form of BoUux, who had been pro-grammed for the necessary skills, among others, while serving a regimental commander during the Clone Wars.
The ramp was already down; all that remained was to open the hatch. "Luck to us all," Atuarre bade them softly. They piled hands, including Bollux's cold metal ones, then Hen reached for the switch.
As the hatch rolled up, Atuarre was still objecting.
"Solo-Captain, I still think you ought to be the one
to---" At the foot of the ramp, the tunnel-tube was
crammed with body-armored Espos brandishing heavy
blasters, riot guns, gas projectors, fusion-cutters, and
sapper charges. Whirling, Atuarre gushed, "Oh, myl
How thoughtfull My dears, they've sent us a guard of
honorV'
She touched up her glossy, fine-brnshed mane with one hand, smiling down at the Security Policemen charmingly. Hah wondered why he'd ever worried.
The Espos, keyed up for a shootout, stared popeyed as she swept down the ramp, the profusion of stream-ers rippling and snapping behind her, her cape shim-mering. Her steps sounded with the anklet-chimes that Han had run off for her from shipboard materials, using his small but complete tool locker.
At the front of the Espo ranks was a battalion com-mander, a major, his black swagger stick held behind his back, spine stiff, face rigid with officiousness. Atuarre descended the ramp as if she were receiving the keys to the planet, waving as if to acknowledge a standing ovation.
"My dear, dear General," she halfsang, intention-ally giving the man a promotion, "I'm simply beyond words[ Viceprex Hirken is too kind, I'm sure. And to you and your gallant men, thanks from Madam Atuarre and her Roving Performersl" She swooped right up to him, ignoring the guns and bombs and other items of destruction, one hand playing with the major's ribbons and medals, the other waving her gratitude to the massed, dumbfounded Espos. A dark, high-blood-pressure blush rose out of the major's collar and climbed swiftly for his hairline.
"What is the meaning of this?" he sputtered. "Are you saying you're the entertainers Viceprex Hirken is expecting?"
Her face showed cute confusion. "To be sure. You mean word of our arrival wasn't forwarded here to Stars' End? The Imperial Entertainers' Guild assured me it would communicate with you; I always demand adequate advanced billing."
She swept a grand gesture back up the ramp.
"Gentlemenl Madam Atuarre presents her Roving Per-
formers! First, Master Marksman, wizard of weap-
onry, whose target-shooting tricks and glittering gun-
play have astounded audiences everywhere["
Han walked down the ramp, trying to look the part, sweating under the tunnel-tube's worklights. Atuarre and the others could use their real names with impunity here, since those names had never ap-peared in Authority files. But Han's might have, and so he'd been forced into this new persona. He wasn't altogether sure he liked it now. When the Espos saw his blaster, weapons came up to cover him, and he was cautious to keep his hand away from it.
But Atuarre was already chattering. "And, to amaze
and amuse you with feats of gymnastics and spell-
binding acrobatics, Atuarre presents her pet prod-
igym"
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 sur-prised 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, Bolluxl"
And the 'droid clanked stiffly down the ramp, long arms swinging, somehow making it all look like a military march. Hah 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 Entertain-er'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 im-portance 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'11 notify the Vieeprex 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 mo-ment later with several hoops, a balance-ball, and an assortment of lesser props scrounged up aboard ship.
"I'H escort you to Stars' End," said the major. "And I'm afraid my men will have to hold on to your Mas-ter Marksman's weapon. You understand, Madam: