The Han Solo Adventures (28 page)

“What’s your name, anyway?” the woman asked as they passed through the entrance to the Landing Zone. It was a well-known spot among spacers, prominent on the avenue of bars, rub-shops, gambling dens, and pawnbrokers’ establishments outside the spaceport’s main crew gate. “Mine’s Fiolla,” she encouraged.

Han hadn’t had much chance to talk to her on the ride back, at the end of which they had abandoned the swoop and the vibroblade several blocks away, in the middle of the teeming Alien Quarter. It was a good bet that the swoop already had a new coat of paint or was dismantled.

But he saw no reason to cudgel his brain for a cover; the slavers already knew his name, and anyone else who wanted to badly enough could find out.

“Han Solo,” he said. She gave no sign of recognizing it.

Bollux, having failed to find Chewbacca in the spaceport’s wide confines, had had no more luck at the Landing Zone. But by soliciting the bartender’s permission with particular fervor, he had been allowed to wait by the entrance.

Now he approached Han who, sighting the ’droid, sighed. “I don’t feel like talking standing up. Come and have a seat, Bollux.”

The Landing Zone and all its furnishings were built from pieces and fittings from the spaceport salvage yards. Han led the way to a small table made from an obsolete charts-computer from an old survey ship.

When Bollux and Fiolla had taken seats he turned to her. “Bollux, general labor ’droid, at your service.”

Han interrupted Fiolla’s courteous reply. “Never mind that,” he snapped. “Bollux, where’s Chewie?”

“I was unable to locate him, Captain. I came here assuming this to be the place where you’d eventually contact him.”

The waiter came by, a many-tentacled Sljee with a broad tray firmly fastened to the top of its low, slab-shaped body. There was a hole in the middle of the tray and through it the Sljee’s olfactory antennae waved like some strange centerpiece.

“What’re you folks having?” it asked them hurriedly, the second afternoon rush just having begun. Then it noticed Bollux. “Sorry, but it’s against house policy to allow ’droids at the tables. You two gentlemen will have to leave him outside.”

“
Who’s
a gentleman?” Fiolla demanded sharply.

“Beg pardon,” apologized the Sljee. “I’ve only been working here since this morning. It’s my first time away from home and I’ve never dealt with aliens before. Non-Sljee, I mean. The smells are so confusing. Frightfully sorry.”

“The ’droid stays,” Han stated flatly. “Now go bring us two Flameouts, or I’ll tell the manager you insulted this lady. I’m a very close friend of his.”

“At once, sir. Coming right up.” The Sljee pirouetted on its many short podia and sailed off in the direction of the service bar.

“So we know I’m not Zlarb,” Han resumed to Fiolla. “Who are you not?”

She chuckled. “I’m not a slaver, but you know my real name, or at least part of it. Im Hart-and-Parn Gorra-Fiolla of Lorrd, Assistant Auditor-General, Corporate Sector Authority.”

An Authority exec
, Han groaned to himself.
Why don’t I just go down to the Espo prison, pick a comfortable cell, and get it over with
? Instead he pursued the conversation. “Slavers must have interesting audits, fascinating expense vouchers.”

“Doubtless, but I’ve never read one. I’m an auditor-at-large, sort of a roving assignment conducting random checks of Authority operations. I was working here with my assistant when I found out that there’s a slavery ring operating inside the Authority. Some top execs are implicated, and a number of Espo officials. I think it might go as high as the territorial manager for this entire part of the Authority, Odumin, and that’s a shock in itself. Although I’ve never met him, I’ve heard that Odumin’s always shunned the limelight, but he’s always been a decent administrator, a regular humanitarian as managers go. Anyway, I’m conducting my own investigation. When I’ve developed all the information, I’m going to dump it right in the lap of the Board of Directors.” She smiled brightly. “Then I’m going to nail myself the juiciest promotion and raise you ever saw. You’re looking at Fiolla of Lorrd, heroine of the spaceways. Now how about you?”

He spread his hands. “I fly for hire. I rendezvoused with Zlarb without knowing he wanted me to move slaves. We disagreed and he got shot. And I don’t care who’s doing what to whom; I’ve got ten thousand in cash coming and I want it. Zlarb had a tape message to meet someone here for payment so I kept his appointment. How did you end up there in the lounge?”

“It was part of the information I came across. Did Zlarb tell you anything else?”

“Zlarb made the Final Jump shortly after being burned with a disruptor, but he had a record of ship registrations and leasing permits. Almost all of them were funneled through an agency on Ammuud.”

She was listening distractedly, but he went on. “Do you mind telling me how come I’m in your confidence all of a sudden? Not that it doesn’t stir me deeply, of course.”

“Simple; this thing’s even bigger than I’d thought. I need some additional help and I can’t go to the Espos. You seem to know what you’re doing in an unsubtle sort of way. And you definitely aren’t a member of the slavery ring unless murder is a standard business pay-down.”

“You’d be surprised. But don’t get any ideas; I’m not the helpful type. How’d you end up out there today, by the way?”

“My assistant, Magg, got his hands on a message that the management was holding for Zlarb back there at the lounge. When I decided you weren’t going to tell me much I sent you off to chase yourself and—”

Han leaned forward with a certain look on his face that caused Bollux to fear for Fiolla’s safety. “And Magg followed me to put my lights out, right?”

She looked honestly shocked. “Are you saying someone attacked you?”

“Somebody did everything except zeroize my rotors.”

She drew a deep breath. “I gave you the number of an Authority pool hangar. The ship there was the one Magg and I arrived in. I knew it was on down time, waiting for parts, and there’d be no one around. But listen—Magg trailed your hairy friend when he left the lounge and that’s how we found out which ship was yours. When we couldn’t get aboard for a search, I went off to keep Zlarb’s appointment myself because the instructions said one person and one scooter. I sent Magg to see what he could find out about you.”

Han was so busy trying to unravel what she had said that he forgot to be angry at her mention of the attempted break-in. He was impressed with her resourcefulness, antagonized a bit by her self-assurance, and surprised by her naïveté.

The Sljee waiter had returned. Two tentacles whisked two tall glasses off its back-tray while two more placed absorb-mats before Han and Fiolla. “There we are,” the Sljee said cheerfully. “Will that be pay as you go, or shall I put it on a tab?” it asked hopefully. It had already been stiffed twice that day by unscrupulous customers who had taken advantage of its difficulty in differentiating among individual non-Sljee.

“Run the tab,” said Han immediately. The Sljee retreated in disappointment, trying its best to memorize Han’s odor without much confidence.

The Flameouts were perfect, burning their tongues and freezing their throats, making them gasp a bit. “Don’t you think it was stupid to ride out there alone?” Han asked.

“I had a gun,” she argued. “A special, one that doesn’t register on scanners. Lots of execs carry them. How did I know the worthless thing would let me down?”

“Where’s your assistant now?”

“After Magg checks on you he’ll go to our hotel and get ready to leave. It occurred to me that we might have to get off-planet in short order.”

“Very possible,” allowed Han. A sudden thought struck him and he became hostile again. “I owe Magg for damaging my ship, don’t I?”

“I ordered him to try to break in, to see if there was any information onboard; I thought you might just be playing very, very dumb. If you want to get even, you can take me on another swoop ride sometime. By the way, what kind of security system is that you’ve got? Magg was sure he could open up a freighter without breaking stride, but that lock of yours stopped him cold. He said he’d need a tool shop to get in.”

“I like my privacy,” Han explained simply, avoiding the mention of smuggling.

“Magg said it was like trying to crack the Imperial Currency Reserve.”

“Sounds like an experienced guy.”

“Oh, very versatile, yes. I handpicked him because he had, ah, a range of abilities. I think you two will find one another quite—”

At that moment Chewbacca arrived with Spray. The Wookiee forcefully sat the little Tynnan down with the pressure of a giant paw and took a seat himself, filling it to overflowing.

“I met Fiolla here and almost got killed,” Han told his friend pleasantly. “How was
your
afternoon?”

Chewbacca studied the woman with his large, lucid blue eyes and she returned the scrutiny. Then the Wookiee motioned to Spray and, in his growling, barking language, explained to Han what had happened as the skip-tracer squinted from one to the other.

“I hate skip-tracers,” announced Han Solo at length.

“In that case I think I’ll just be toddling along…” Spray said, starting to rise. Chewbacca clapped a paw on him and pushed him back down.

Han’s head was spinning with this new development, and he wished he could process information as quickly as Blue Max. Theoretically, Spray could enlist the aid of the Espos in taking possession of the
Falcon
. Once again Han wondered when his string of rotten luck would break.

Just then the Sljee waiter showed up again, having noticed Chewbacca’s and Spray’s presence. It endeavored to speak in its most hospitable tones, still aware of its previous gaff.

“Yes,
sir
” purred the Sljee to the Wookiee, “and what can I bring you and your strapping young hatchling here?”

Chewbacca snarled at the Sljee. Spray, already visibly disturbed, exploded. “We’re not even the same species!”

“What’ve I told you about that?” Han asked the Sljee menacingly.

“A thousand pardons,” wailed the Sljee, rotating back and forth through nervous quarter-turns and intertwining its tentacles imploringly.

“What in the world is going on?” Fiolla wanted to know, not having understood anything Chewbacca had said.

Spray held his paws-up, webbed fingers spread, until the others were quiet, including the Sljee. “First of all, we have no need of any refreshments, thank you,” the Tynnan told the waiter. The Sljee retreated gratefully.

“Now,” Spray continued, “the central issue, Captain Solo—please stop
shushing
me, sir; I will be heard! At issue are two thousand five hundred Credits Standard owed Vinda and D’rag, Starshipwrights. Unless you’re prepared to make payment, I am empowered to attach and take possession of your ship, which, by the way, appears to have had her marking altered in illegal fashion.”

Han narrowed his eyes and glared at Spray. “I am thinking right now,” he said, “of how a certain chisel-beaked runt is going to get his just desserts.”

“It’s a bit public for threats of aggravated assault, isn’t it, Solo?” Fiolla asked.

“You keep out of this! For all I know, you two work together.”

“Bullying will do you no good, Captain,” Spray plowed on insistently in his squeaky voice. “Either remittance arrangements must be made this very moment or I shall be forced to go to the portmaster and the Security Police.”

Han had his mouth open, uncertain whether he would try to lie or simply instruct Chewbacca to render the skip-tracer unconscious. He heard Fiolla say: “
I’ll
pay for him.”

Han’s mouth stayed open as he turned on her. “Better close it,” Fiolla cautioned, “before your tongue gets sunburned. Look, this problem of mine is a lot more complicated than I’d thought. It will take more investigation before I’m ready to go to the Board of Directors. I need a way to get around fast, and I’m not particularly anxious to go by public transportation. And the last thing I want is to take an Authority pool ship. Solo, you ought to be eager to leave, too, before the Espos start asking about missing rental scooters and several swoop riders smeared out on the landscape. If you’ll chart out to me, I’ll cover your debt. Besides, you want your ten thousand, don’t you? Your best chance of finding it is to stick with me.”

She turned to Spray. “How about it?”

The Tynnan nervously scratched up tufts of fur on his skull, blinking and wriggling his nose back and forth in consternation. “Cash?” he asked at last.

“An Authority Cash Voucher,” Fiolla replied. “Half now, half when we’re done. They’re as good as money in a vault.”

“Interstellar Collections Limited does prefer repayment to repo procedures,” the skip-tracer admitted. “But I’m afraid I couldn’t let you out of my sight until restitution is made.”

“Just a second,” Han snapped at Fiolla. “I’m not carting that little bloodsucker along anywhere.”

Spray remained unexpectedly firm. “Captain Solo, her proposal is absolutely the only alternative to having your ship attached.”

“There’s always the famous Disappearing Ship-Tracer Trick,” suggested Han darkly.

“Be civilized,” Fiolla chided. “This won’t take long, Solo. And if you don’t help me, maybe I’ll have to drag your name into my report. But if you take me to check out this shipping agent on Ammuud, the one you mentioned, I’ll forget about you completely.”

Han hoped it would be mutual. He poured down half of what remained of his Flameout. It felt corrosive but didn’t help much otherwise. He looked to his first mate, who was looking back, no help at all, willing to go with whatever decision Han made.

He put his chin on his fist. “Chewie, you take Bollux and paddlefoot, here, back to the ship. I’ll go with our new employer and pick up her assistant. Get liftoff clearance and punch up a jump to Ammuud.”

Fiolla scribbled quickly on a pad of forms and pressed her thumbprint against the authorization square. She presented the voucher to Spray, whereupon Han realized that she was carrying an open expense account and that her position with the Authority must be an important one indeed.