Free Star Wars: The Adventures of Lando Calrissia by L. Neil Smith Page A

watched and listened, but Lando couldn’t persuade himself to believe the expressions on their faces were friendly. He found himself wishing he’d sat a little nearer the door.
    The Toka’s monolog went on and on, one of Mohs’ bony hands indicating the Key occasionally, the rest of the time his weathered face turned upward toward the ceiling. Finally, the chanting ceased.
    “Have I recited rightly, Lord?”
    Lando scratched his smoothly shaven chin. “Sure. Perfectly. And—just as another test, mind you—let’s have an abbreviated version in the vernacular.” He indicated the rest of the room. “Might win a few converts among the heathen. Think you’re up to it?”
    “Lord?”
    The old man reached out shakily toward the Key, apparently thought better of it, withdrew the gnarled hand with obvious reluctance, then began. “This is the Key of the Overpeople, Lord Bearer, the Opener of Mysteries. It is the Illuminator ofDarkness, the Shower of the Way. It is the Means to the End. It is—”
    “Hold it, Mohs, just tell me what it does.”
    “Why, Lord, as thou knowest perfectly well …”
    Mohs tapered off. Was that a hint of sudden skepticism in the ancient High Singer’s eye? He began again, in a very slightly different tone of voice.
    “It releaseth the Mindharp of the Sharu, which in turn—”
    “Bull’s Eye! Look, Mohs. As official Bearer of the Key, I have personally selected you to lead—in a purely ceremonial sense, of course—to lead a pilgrimage. We’re going to use the Key. What do you think of that?”
    The thought that everything was happening too easily began to seep into the back of Lando’s mind, but he repressed it savagely. He was stuck with his task and welcomed any lead that would get it over with.
    “Why, whatever else would we do, Lord? It must be as it has been told, else it would not have been told to begin with.”
    “I’m sure there’s a hole in your logic somewhere, but I’m too tired right now to go poking for it. How soon can you start, then?”
    The old man raised his snowy eyebrows, and the crude representation of the Key on his forehead squashed itself from top to bottom like an accordion.
    “This very instant, Lord, if that be thy desire. Nothing supercedeth Their holy plan.”
    He cast a pious eye toward the ceiling fixtures again.
    “Good,” the gambler answered, once the native’s gaze returned from its rafter rapture, “but I think we’ll—”
    “Master!” The little droid’s tone was urgent.
    “What is it, Vuffi Raa?”
    “Master, I hear trouble coming!”
    “Just what we needed.” Lando groaned.
    Suddenly, a man with a gun in his hand burst through the door.
    “All right, spaceboy,” he growled, pointing his massive weapon at the gambler, “get ready to die!”

•  VII  •
    “
M R . J ANDLER !
” T HE barkeep shouted, a panicky harmonic apparent in its electronic voice, “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but my employer has permanently restricted you from entering this—”
    “Shut up, machine! Now where in blazes was I? Oh, yeah—you there! Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you! It’s just like Bernie down to the Pyramid told me! And not only with a snivelin’, job-stealin’ droid at the table, but a dirty Toka, too! What are you sailor, some kinda pervert?”
    The few patrons in the establishment instantly cleared a broad aisle between Lando and the intruder.
    “I don’t know,” Lando replied evenly. “It wasn’t my turn to watch. Now just who in the galaxy are
you
?”
    The man was good-sized, maybe eighty-five kilos, perhaps a shade under two meters tall. Over the powder-blue jumpsuit that draped his broad frame, he wore a dark blue tunic and neckcloth. He was neat, clean, shaved, and surprisingly sober for a thug, Lando thought. And with surprisingly good taste, as well.
    The man walked closer; the muzzle of his pistol didn’t waver.
    The robot bartender hurried to Lando’s table, placing himself between the two men. “He’s the