"Ann Crispin "Han Solo. The Hutt Gambit"" - читать интересную книгу автора
But as he and Chewie walked slowly across the landing pad, Hah quickly realized that even though they were on the topmost levels of the moon, this place differed greatly from the topmost levels of Imperial Center, as it was offi-cially referred to these days.
Coruscant's topmost levels were clean, tastefully lighted marvels of soaring, graceful architecture. Only when one traveled down, hundreds of levels down, to the deeper levels of the planet-wide tAty, did Coruscant appear dingy and seedy.
The topmost level of Nar Shaddaa looked like the deep-est levels of Coruseant. If this is a top level, Hah thought, catching a glimpse of a dizzying plunge down into an artifi-cial canyon between two massive, graffiti-emblazoned buildings, I hate to think what it must be like down there . . .
Han had been down to the bottommost level of Corus-cant-once. It wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.
Glancing surreptitiously around at the cityscape of Nar Shaddaa, Han made a mental note to NEVER visit the bottom levels of the Smuggler's Moon.
Overhead, the sky was a strange color, as though they were looking at a normal blue sky through a dark brownish filter. Nal Hutta hung there, as huge and bloated as the sluglike sentients that called it home. It took up at least ten degrees of the sky. Han realized that Nat Shaddaa must have two nights. One would be the norma] long night, when one side of the moon was turned away from the sun. The other relatively short "night" would occur when the sun was eclipsed by the enormous bulk of Nal Hutta. Total-ity would probably last a couple of hours, Han thought, running a rough calculation in his head.
Chewie groaned and whined. "You're right, pal," Han said. "At least on Coruscant they planted trees and orna-mental shrubs. I don't think anything could grow on this slag heap. Not even a lubellian fungus."
The two headed for a ramp that led down off the landing pad. The ramp wound round and round, and was not well lighted. Although they'd landed in daylight, the towering spires and structures that flanked the building with the landing-pad roof blocked out most of the sunlight as they descended. The enclosed ramp quickly grew dark and shadowy. The rest of the travelers had long since departed, and they were alone in the echoing silence of the high-walled, roofed ramp. Wan glowlights provided dim illumi-nation. Han kept his back to the wall, thinking uneasily that this would be a real good place for an ambush.
His hand dropped to the butt of his blaster-
just as a blue-green splat of energy from a stun beam came out of nowhere!
Han's reflexes had always been quick, and weeks of liv-ing on the run had honed them to a sharp edge. Before the beam splashed against the wall, he threw himself out of the way', landing flat. He rolled across the permacrete, sideways and down. When he came up, his blaster was ready in his hand.
Hah caught a quick glimpse of his assailant-a stocky inale humanoid, with a lot of hair on his face. A Bothan, probably. A bounty hunter, almost certainly. The Corellian snapped off a shot but missed, blowing a hole in the permacrete wall. He crouched beside the opposite wall, watching for the bounty hunter to reappear.
Chewbacca howled. Hah looked across the ramp at his partner, who was crouched against the curve of the wall, safe for the moment. He made an urgent "stay still!" sign with his hand. Chewbacca glared at him, and hefted his bowcaster emphatically.
What's he trying to tell me? Hah wondered. Chewie roared, and to anyone who didn't understand Wookiee, the sound he produced would have seemed nothing more than a howl of rage. But Hah understood. He nodded at Chewie, then dived down-ramp, firing blindly as he went. Two shots sizzled into the wall, and chips of permacrete flew.
The stun beam screamed past him again, and Hah took a deep breath, then yelled with anguish, doubling over and dropping his blaster.
He hit the permacrete and lay there, as if stunned. This had better work . . .
Steps approached, quick and decisive-
and then came the whang of the bowcaster being fired. A loud, explosive whump and a short, choked-off scream followed.
Hah rolled over and leaped to his feet, just in time to see his assailant slump to his knees, anguish imprinted on every hairy feature. A Bothan, sure enough. His hands were clutching a smoking hole in his chest.
A Bothan bounty hunter. Hah recognized the type, if not the individual.
As he watched, the Bothan pitched over on his face. He thrashed, gurgled, gave one final twitch, then lay still.
Hah looked over at his partner and nodded. "Good shooting, Chewie. Thanks."
Walking over to the dead Bothan, Hah used the toe of his boot to turn him over onto his back. The hairy features had gone slack in death. Hah eyed the wound. "That doesn't look anything like a blaster shot. Can't be all that many Wookiees here on Nar Shaddaa, so I think we need to disguise how this guy met his end."
Drawing his blaster, Hah aimed, turned his head, then discharged it full force into the Bothan's chest. When he looked back, the Bothan barely had a chest, and all signs of Chewie's distinctive weapon were erased.
Hah scanned it, then stuffed it into his pocket. "Looks like things might get real exciting, Chewie," he said. "We'd better stay sharp."
"Hrrrrrrnnnn . . ."
Hah wondered what to do about the Bothan. Should they try to destroy the body? Should they just leave him here, as a warning? Or should they find someplace to dump him where it would take him a while to be discovered?
After some consideration, Hah decided to just leave the Bothan. If the sight of one dead bounty hunter might deter another, so much the better. He and Chewbacca set off down the last part of the ramp together. Hah half expected the bounty hunter to have a partner, but no one bothered them.
Minutes later they emerged onto a street in Nar Shad-daa. Hah stepped onto a lurching glidewalk and let it carry him ‘along, while he looked around.
Nar Shaddaa resembled a tri-dee maze puzzle con-structed by a lunatic. Spidery walkways and precipitous ramps joined building to building. Architectural styles and designs from dozens of worlds jostled shoulder to shoulder. Domes, spires, arches, hulking squat rectangles, parabolas ъ . . the jumble of shapes made his head spin. Durasteel and permacrete and glassine and other building materials Han couldn't even begin to identify were entrusted with filth and graffiti. Some of the scrawled names and images were stories high.
Many of the larger structures had obviously been built decades ago, when Nar Shaddaa was a respectable space-port, a pleasure moon where wealthy sentients came to play. Great buildings that had once been fine hotels were now gutted and reduced to multilevel hovels, housing the living detritus of a dozen or more worlds. The streets and ‘alleys were subject to a constant bombardment of toxic and noxious wastes spewed down from higher up. The air was as bad as one of Nal Hutta's bogs-or worse.
The scent of food from multiple worlds warred with the stench of leaking sewers, mingling with the sharp odors of intoxicating spices and other drugs. The sharp reek of ship exhaust was ever-present, as were the ships themselves, roaring and gliding and swooping overhead, landing and taking off in an endless bizarre ballet.
Some of the hotels and casinos were still in business- most likely those owned by the Hutt Ix)rds, Han guessed. Sentients from dozens of worlds crowded the streets, avoid-ing eye contact, ever-alert, ‘always poised to seek out and profit from another sentient's mistake or moment of weak-ness. Nearly everyone Han saw went armed, with tile ex-ception of the droids.
Han was hungry, but he didn't recognize any of the wares the street vendors were sellingъ "They say there's a Corellian section," he muttered to Chewie. "That's proba-bly where we should head." He didn't want to admit that he was lost, for fear of attracting thieves or worse, but a few minutes later Han saw a banner hanging from an awning (most booths and building fronts possessed awnings-they helped shield the inhabitants from noxious spatters falling from above) that read in six languages and Basic: mvonMa-TION BROKER.
Han stepped off the glidewalk and headed toward the booth, with Chewie trailing behind. The "Information Bro-ker" proved to be an ancient Twi'lek woman, so old that her ropy head-tails were shriveled and knotty with age. She eyed Hah sharply, then spoke in her own language. "What you wish to know, Pilot?"
Hah took out a half-credit coin, and laid it on the edge of the booth, ostentatiously keeping his forefinger on it. "Two things," he said, in his own language, knowing she must speak Basic. "Directions on how to get to the Corel-lian section, by the safest and most direct route" he paused as she keyed some information onto the ancient datapad before her, and then when she looked up again-
"and... where can I find a smuggler named Mako Spince?"
The old Twi'lek grinned, showing stained and broken teethъ "For the first," she cried, "take this." She shoved a flimsy into his hand. Han squinted at it, saw that it was a section of a map. One blinking red dot indicated, "You Are Here." Directions to the Corellian sector of Nar Shaddaa were clearly indicated.
Hah nodded. "Okay. What about Mako?"
She gave him an amused glance. "Go there, Corellian sector, Pilot. Ask in bars, brothels, gambling dens. You not find Mako, no. But he then find you, Pilot."
Han grinned reluctantly. "Yeah, that sounds like Mako. ‘ Okay, I guess you earned it." He lifted his forefinger off the credit piece, and she caused it to disappear so fast it was like a magic act.
She was watching him, her little orange-red eyes bright in her wrinkled countenance. "Pilot handsome," she said, giving her best approximation of a coy smile. The effect, with her teeth, was hideous. "Oodonnaa old, but lots of life yet. Pilot interested?" The tip of one head-tail lifted off her shriveled shoulder and twitched invitingly at the Corellian.
Han's eyes widened. Minions of Xendor, she~ proposi-tioning me.t The tip of her head-tail made a beckoning mo-tion. Hah backed away, shaking his head, feeling his cheeks grow warm. "Uh, no thanks, madam," he said stiffly. "I'm honored, but, uh . . . I've raken a . . . vow. Of absti-nence. Yeah. A vow."
She seemed more amused at his discomfiture than an-gered by his refusal as she waved farewell. Han about-faced and marched away. Beside him, Chewbacca gave an unmis-takable Wookiee guffaw. "Yuck it up," Han snapped. "See if I stick my neck out for you again." Chewie just laughed harder.
Two hours later they reached the Corellian sector. The old Twi'lek's map and directions proved accurate, but street signs were often missing, or had been turned around by pranksters. Hah was relieved to walk into the Corellian sec-tor and see architecture that was plainly patterned on that of his native world. Scents wafting from the sidewalk cafes tantalized him, familiar and reassuring. "Let's get some-thing to eat," Han said, waving Chewie to one of the bistros that looked marginally cleaner than the others. Chairs and tables that had once been white were ranged beneath one of the omnipresent awnings, a green and red one, this time.
Han ordered traladon goulash, and was pleased to find that it was good, almost like eating back home. He dug into his plate with relish, while Chewbacca attacked a large salad and a plate of bloody-rare traladon ribs.
When Han had fnished, he leaned back in his seat, sip-ping a local ale and trying to decide if he liked the taste. When the serving droid appeared to display his bill, Han asked, "Mako Spince. Does he ever come here? Medium height, broad shoulders, short dark hair, graying at the tem-ples?"
The droid's head swiveled side to side. "No, sir, I have not seen the person you describe."
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