"Ann Crispin "Han Solo. The Hutt Gambit"" - читать интересную книгу автора

"Tell your boss I was askin' about him, okay?" Han said. He finished the last of his ale, then he and Chewbacca headed down the street toward the most garish of the bars. Short night was rapidly falling now, as Y'Toub was eclipsed behind the bulk of Nal Hutta. The real night was still many hours away, and would last more than forty standard hours. As the artificial lights came up, Han wondered if he'd ever get used to such long nights. It probably didn't matter, since the moon that was a city never really slept.
At The Smuggler's Rest, Han asked again for Mako Spince, and naturally, nobody had ever heard of him. They did the same thing at The Lucky Star, the tattered remains of what had once been an elegant casino, and then at two or three more bars. Han was getting used to the word "no." He sighed and trudged onward.
The Smuggler's Hideaway.
The Corellian Cafe.
The Golden Orb.
The Exotic Exhibit (LIVE Dancers! LIVE Shows!).
The Comet Casino.
The Drunken Drummer.
By now Han's feet were beginning to hurt from pound-ing the permacrete, going up and down ramps. Places on Nar Shaddaa were often frustrating to reach unless one had wings, or a jet pak. You could stand on a balcony and look over at your destination, only ten meters away, and yet have to walk for fifteen minutes, up and down rampways, to reach it.
Some of the buildings had ropes or wires strung be-tween them, but Han wasn't desperate or foolhardy enough to trust himself to swing hand over hand across a twenty- or forty- or hundred-story abyss.
The walkways between buildings were frequently in poor repair, and after an assessing look, Hah often decided to take the long way around. Some of them might have held him, but he doubted they'd stand up to the Wookiee's weight.
He was beginning to wonder whether they should just give up their search and try to find a flophouse that would be a safe place to grab a few hours' sleep. Thinking back, Han realized that it had been nearly twelve hours since he'd awakened on the Princess.
He turned his head as they walked by the mouth of a smelly alley to suggest fitis to Chewbacca when a hand reached out of the ‘alley and grabbed him by the throat. Half a second later, Hah was dragged up against a hard humanoid body. He felt the muzzle of a blaster press his temple.
"Not one step," a deep, congenial voice said over his shoulder, addressing Chewbacca, "or I'll scramble his brains till they run out his ears."
The Wookiee halted, snarling, showing teeth, but obvi-ously unwilling to attack in the face of that threat.
Han knew that voice. He gasped, but couldn't get any breath to speak with. The iron hand tightened on his throat. "Mako!" he tried to say.
"Maa "was all he managed to get out.
"Don't cry to your mama to me, kid," the voice said. "Now who in the Name of Xendor are you, and why were you askin' about me?"
Hah gulped, gagged, but still couldn't speak. Chewbacca growled, then pointed at Mako's quivering captive. "Haaaaannnn," the Wookiee said, twisting his mouth around the human name with great difficulty. "Haaaannnn . . ."
"Huh?" the voice said, sounding stunned. "Han?" Abruptly Hah was released, then swung around. As he gasped, hands to his throat, his captor, who was indeed Mako Spince, grabbed him in a hug so enthusiastic that it deprived him of breath yet again. "Han! Kid, it's great to see you! How ARE you, you old sonofagun?" A hard fist thumped the younger Corellian between the shoulder blades.
Han gasped and wheezed, only to lose his breath again. Mako helpfully slapped him on the back, which didn't im-prove matters.
"Mako . . ." he managed, finally. "It's been a long time.
You've changed."
"So have you," his friend said.
They stood there studying each other. Mako's hair was long enough to brush his shoulders now, and there were more gray threads amid the black. He wore a fierce, bris-tling mustache, and had gained some weight, mostly in his shoulders. A narrow scar ran down the line of his jaw. Hah decided he was glad Mako was on Iris side. He didn't look like anyone Han wanted to have as an enemy. He wore a scarred jumpsuit of spacer's leather, hide so thin and flexi-ble, and yet so tough, that it was said it could maintain internal pressure even in vacuum.
The two friends stared at each other, sizing each other up, then both burst out with questions. They stopped, laughing. "One at a time!" Mako said.
"Okay," Hah said. "You go first . . ."
Minutes later, they were all seated in a tavern, drinking, talking, and spouting questions. Han told Mako his story, and found that his old friend wasn't surprised to learn that he'd left the service. "I knew you'd never be able to go along with the slaving, Han," Mako said. "I remember how it used to set your teeth on edge to even see an Imperial slaving detail. Made you crazy, boy. I knew the first time they tried to get you to boss slaves, that would be the end of your brilliant career."
Han looked sheepish as he raised his second tankard of Alderaanian ale to his lips. "You know me too well," he admitted. "But what could I do, Mako? Nyklas was gonna kill Chewie!"
Mako's ice-blue eyes were smiling with unaccustomed warmth. "Nothing else you cou/d have done, kid," he said.
"So, Mako, how've you been doing?" Han asked. "How's the business?"
"Booming, Han," Mako said. "The Empire's restrictions are makin' us all rich, runnin' contraband of all kinds these days. Spice, yeah, that's still big. But we do nearly as well these days smuggling arms, weapons components, power paks, all that kind of thing. Luxuries like perfume and As-kajian fabric, too. Lemme tell ya, Hah, old Palpatine wouldn't rest nearly as easy nights if he knew how dissatis-fied with his rule some wodds are getting."
"So there's work here?" Han asked eagerly. "Work for pilots? You know I'm good, Mako."
Mako signaled the server droid for another round of drinks. "Kid, you're one of the best, and I'll let everyone know that," Mako said, slapping Han on the shoulder. "Badure didn't name you ‘Slick' for nothin'! Tell you what, want to work for me to get your feet wet? I could use a good copilot, and while you're ridin' with me, I can show you some Of the best runs. I'll introduce you to all the other runners, too. Some of ‘em are bound to need help." Han hesitated. "Could Chewie here come along?"
Mako shrugged and took a huge swig of ale. "Can he shoot? I can always use a good gunner."
"Yeah," Han said, finishing his own tankard with more confidence than he felt. Chewie was a dead shot with his bowcaster, but he'd only been training as a gunner for a month or so. "He can shoot."
"It's all set, then," Mako said. "Listen, kid, you found yourself a landing zone yet?"
"A landing zone," in smuggler's lingo, meant a room or fiat. Han shook his head and felt the room lurch slightly. "I was hoping you could recommend a decent place," he said. "Not too expensive."
"Sure I can!" Mako said, slurring ever so slightly. "But why don' you two come stay with me for a day or so, till we c'n get you set up."
"Well . . ." Han glanced over at Chewie, "sure, we'd love to, wouldn' we, o1' buddy?" "Hrrrrrrnnnnnnnn!"
Mako insisted on paying for the drinks, then the three left, heading for Mako's digs. The two humans were rather the worse for the ‘ale they'd consumed, but Mako assured them it wasn't far. They headed a few levels down, where the buildings were grimier and seamier. "Don' be fooled," Mako said, waving a hand at their surroundings. "I've got plenty of room, ‘n my place is fixed up decent. But living down here, you're not as much a target for thieves and burglars as the folks livin' topside." He jerked a thumb upward.
Hah eyed their surroundings, and concluded that back in his days as a burglar he'd have given this area a clean miss. It was unprepossessing. Drunks weaved along the permacrete, and the glidewalks down on this level were permanently broken. Beggars and pickpockets eyed them, but didn't approach the trio. Han figured that was because Chewbacca was wearing his fiercest "Don't mess with me or I'll rip your arm off" look.
But suddenly, what Hah had assumed was a heap of old, grimy rags stirred. From within the rags a skeletal human hand appeared, and Han caught just a glimpse of a beaky-nosed, nearly toothless face. An ancient crone, whose eyes shone bright with . . . what? Drugs? Madness?
Oh, no! Not again! What is it with all the old women on Nar Shaddaa? Can't wait to get their hands on young pi-lots?
Hah drew back, but the liquor had slowed his reflexes, and he wasn't quick enough. A second talonlike hand shot out of the heap of tatters and grabbed his wrist. "Tell your fortunes, good sirs? Tell your fortunes, masters?" The voice was shrill and squeaky, and Hah couldn't place the accent. "The descendant of Vima Sunrider has foreseen the future, good sirs! For a credit she will tell you what lies ‘ahead."
"Lemme go!" Han tried to yank his hand free from the filthy claw, but the ancient woman's grip was surprisingly strong. He fumbled for a credit coin, just to make her let go of him. He didn't want to have to stun the crone-at her age a stun blast might kill her. "ttere! Take th' credit and lemme go!" He dropped the money in her lap.
"Vima no beggar!" the old woman insisted indignantly. "She earns her creditT Foresees the future, yesssss she does! Vima knows, yessssss . . ."
Han stopped and sighed, rolling his eyes. At least she wasn't propositioning him. "Go ahead, then," he snapped.
"Ah, young captain . . ." she half crooned, prying open
his fist and staring at his palm, then up at his face. "So