The Crystal Star (6 page)

"They're mine, mine!" the being cried. "Find your own!" They all ignored the hairy being's protests.

"No, thanks, we don't want any," Han said, sidling through the group and dragging Luke with him. He

imagined Luke passing out all the rest of their spare credits before they made it beyond the entryway.

It did not take them long to escape. The beggars, guides, and sellers retreated to their places near the

entryway and waited for more receptive customers.

But the hairy being had followed Han and Luke through the crowd. It circled them warily, muttering,

"Mine, mine." "The droid who came in with us," Han said.

"Did you see him?" He craned his neck to look across the chaos of the welcome dome. In any group of

standard humans, Han Solo could look over the heads of most of them.

Within the mix of sentient life-forms gathered at Crseih, he was of no more than average height.

And he had to remind himself that he was looking for a purple droid, not a gold one.

"Droids never have spare change," the hairy being said. "Droids never have pocketses. No reason to ask

droids." "Maybe you could help us," Luke said. "In another way." "Help?" the being asked suspiciously.

"Work?" "Just show. Show us where there's a good lodge.

Help us get our bearings at Crseih Station." "I can find us a lodge," Han said, insulted. "I haven't been out

of touch so long that I can't even find us a lodge!" "Shut up!" Luke whispered fiercely.

Startled, Han stopped his protest.

"Lodge, yes, lodge," the being said. "And places to eat and places to buy nice clothes, specialize in

human fit." The being loped off, its heavy fur bouncing against its sides.

Luke followed it. Han glanced at the ceiling in supplication. As the ceiling neither replied nor did anything

to help, he shrugged and went along, muttering, "Damned if I'll take fashion criticism from a guy in a hairy

suit."

The hairy being led Han and Luke through several airlinks and as many completely different domes.

The noise and excitement of the first dome faded away. They passed into a region of huge machines and

warehouses, then into a lush park, where alien vegetation clambered up the walls and moderated the

whirlpool light with leaves in all the colors of the rainbow.

"Where are we going?" Han demanded. "There's got to be lodges back in the carnival dome." "Not for

you," the hairy being said. "Not good enough for you." They traveled farther away from the lights and the

noise and the action, into quieter regions.

Gardens and low, organically engineered buildings surrounded them. Instead of being excited by the

atmosphere, Han felt as if the very air were wrapping him in hot, damp blankets.

"Luke," he said under his breath, "we're never going to find anything, out here in the middle of nowhere."

"Be patient," Luke said.

"Patient! I've been patient! We've been walking half the day." Except to grin at Han's exaggeration, Luke

ignored the complaints and continued on after the hairy being.

They entered the largest dome so far. The top curved so far overhead that small clouds floated at the

apex, and a breeze circulated the heavy warm air. The being led Han and Luke to a building that

followed the contour of a crater. The front of the building spilled down to a pool at the crater's floor, and

rose to a tower at the crater's rim. Two wings of the building followed the rim of the crater.

"Here," the hairy being said. "Here is perfect." It pointed through an irregularly arched opening.

Han stepped over the threshold into a cool dim room filled with the sound and scent of running water. He

glanced back. Luke stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the harsh light. Han started. For a moment he

could see both Obi-wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, Lord Vader, in Luke's stance. Luke came

toward him, gazing around curiously, and the illusion vanished.

Han returned to the entryway and looked outside. The hairy being had disappeared. He scowled.

"Why'd you want to follow that guy all the way out here?" he asked Luke, who sat on his heels at the

edge of the indoor pool, scooped his hand through the running water, smelled then briefly tasted it.

"We needed a native guide." "We're supposed to have one," Han pointed out.

"And he might be useful to us," Luke said.

"I doubt it," Han said.

"And... he reminded me of Yoda." "You think he might be one of the Jedi?" "I thought he might be. Now

I don't think so. But he could have been." Han started to make a crack about Luke's highly honed

decision-making abilities, but thought better of it for the moment. Luke's uncharacteristic lack of

composure and self-assurance troubled him.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Anybody here?

Is this a lodge or not?" It occurred to him that the place might not be a lodge; the hairy being might have

brought them to a business or even a private house as a joke.

"Yes, human being, I am here." An image formed above the pond, flickering, reflecting, shooting shards

of light throughout the irregular room. Han could not make out a definite shape amid the hypnotic aurora.

"We want three rooms," Han said.

"Two for humans, one fitted for a droid." "For what duration?" The musical voice took on color, like the

image.

"We'll be here indefinitely." "Payment two standard days in advance, if you please."

Han slammed the door as he entered his room.

The lodge now possessed all but the very last of his ready cash.

Not that the room wasn't worth it. It was luxurious, with everything from instant-delivery high cuisine in

the alcove to a patio overlooking the spectacular crater lake far below. Nevertheless, if he could not

negotiate the letter of resources, he and Luke would be on a dangerously short rein.

He had a bad feeling about the letter of resources. Crseih Station was too far off the spaceways; it had

been left too far outside the embrace of the New Republic. The rights and privileges and services he took

for granted did not exist here.

Crseih was the kind of place he had known inside out, before he became General Han Solo. The kind of

place where he could land the Falcon, walk into any establishment, and blend in or stand out, as he

chose. He wondered if he still had that ability.

You've gotten too soft, he said to himself.

Too complacent, too secure. It's time to make some changes.

And time to repair our finances.

He knew Luke would disapprove of his plan.

As Han grabbed his jacket and left, Luke knocked on the connecting door between their rooms.

Instead of answering, Han left by the front door, closed it softly, and hurried away down the corridor.

The letter of resources was a worthless piece of trash in Han's pocket. His immediate impulse was to rip

it to shreds and throw it into the nearest crater.

But that would be stupid as well as impossible. It was printed not on paper, but on a practically

indestructible sheet of archival plastic. The edges would cut his skin before they would tear.

As far as he could make out, no one in Crseih Station was the least bit interested in honoring a letter of

resources drawn on the assets of the New Republic. One entrepreneur had negotiated to buy it. Han

would have had to be a lot more desperate to consummate the deal; the offering price had been

ridiculous.

It would have been a fine bargain for the entrepreneur, for it was negotiable by the bearer. Negotiable

almost anywhere but here.

"Hell with it," he muttered.

"Have you a spare--" "No!" he said without looking around. "No spare change!" his--minute, sir?" The

ghostling placed herself in front of him, as delicate as a reed in a spring pond. "I want nothing from you

but a moment of your time." "Sure," he said, "I have a minute." Ghostlings had always mesmerized him.

They looked like humans, but were not. Their ethereal beauty tantalized humans and they in their turn

were fascinated by human beings. They were as seductive as incubuses and succubuses, but as fragile as

spiderwebs. For a human and a ghostling to enter into a physical relationship meant certain death for a

ghostling.

But there's no harm in looking, Han said to himself.

The ghostling smiled. Her long fine green-gold hair spread around her head like a halo, and her wide

black eyes searched his gaze. She touched his hand with her delicate fingertips. Her gilt-tan skin glowed

and her golden fingernails dimpled his skin. Han shivered.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone harsh.

The ghostling smiled. "Nothing. I want to give you something. The route to happiness--" "To your death!"

Han exclaimed.

"No," she said. "No, I'm not like that, not one of them. I used to--" She broke their gaze and looked at

the street, at bits of trash that skittered past her bare feet.

She stood on tiptoe. Her feet had never evolved to stand flat. Her feet and legs were more like those of a

faun than a human being.

"I used to plague humans," the ghostling said.

"I was fascinated with your kind. I followed, I teased--y are so exciting!--and I thought, It might be

worth it just to partake of a human, even as the last experience of my life." She smiled again, her

expression beatific. "But I saw the error of my ways, of my thoughts, and I've dedicated myself to helping

others see the truth! The truth that we are all the same, that we may commune in joy if we give ourselves

to Waru!" Han laughed out loud. The ghostling sprang back, at first startled and frightened, then

distressed.

"Sir? I've said something to amuse you?" "Something to surprise me," Han said. He gestured around him,

at the dome, the taverns and lights, the establishments at which one could get anything one wished, if one

had the price. "I didn't expect to be proselytized--not here." The ghostling smiled again, and moved

close. "But where better? Come with me, I'll show you. We're the same. Waru will give us joy."

"Thanks," Han said. "But, no. Thanks." "Perhaps some other time," the ghostling said, her voice a soft

promise. She tiptoed away, waved over her shoulder, and vanished into the crowd.

Han chuckled and strolled into the nearest tavern. He forgot about his encounter with the ghostling, as he

had forgotten about every other encounter with a ghostling.

It was pointless to remember them, pointless to dwell on the impossibilities.

The tavern was hot and dark and smoky; intoxicant incense tinged the air and mixed with the pungent

scent of wine. Han sat at the bar and relaxed. He could identify the homeworlds of about half the

customers in the place; the other half were unfamiliar to him.

Borderland, he thought. A real borderland.

He smiled to himself, then laughed again.

It had been too long since he had crossed a border.

"Two-element minimum." Han turned to the bar. No one was there. He looked up, then down; still

nothing.

A slender tentacle tweaked his cuff.

"Two-element minimum." All along the bar, the slender tentacles waved or waited or curved around mugs

or wineglasses or flagons. Han rose to look over the edge of the bar, but the slender tentacle stretched

before his face and motioned him back.

"If you wish to imbibe, you are in the right place." The voice sounded like a falling stack of steel rods. "If

you wish to indulge your curiosity, may I suggest the museum in the next dome?" "Sorry," Han said,

offended.

"No offense taken. Two-element minimum." The tentacle was poised to serve him.

Han subsided onto his barstool. "Then give me two elements," he said. "How about polonium and

plumbum?" "I serve neither here," the voice said.

"Two glasses of the local ale will do," Han said.

"A fine choice for a brave individual." The tentacle snapped out of sight behind the bar.

Han searched his memory for a shy species with many tentacles, but he came up with no one who would

suit. He leaned against the bar, content. When he returned home was plenty of time to research the

species he had never met, and perhaps to start an expedition to invite them to join the New Republic.

He scouted out the tavern. This was not a family establishment. The light was low, the intoxicant smoke

thick, and small groups of people leaned close together over heavy tables and the occasional meeting

pond. Han could hear the low tones of many conversations, none loud enough to make out.

Two glasses of ale thumped on the bar behind him; the serving tentacle vanished before Han turned

around. Ale sloshed over the lips of the tankards, splashing on the dented wood.

Han took a gulp of ale, expecting watery swill or throat-stripping solvent.

Instead, the soft strong ale traced its flavor across his tongue. He swallowed. The ale glowed pleasantly

in his stomach. He finished the first tankard and started in on the second, still checking out the patterns of

the tavern.

A damp tapping drew his attention. The slender tentacle patted the bar, gently at first, then more

insistently, till one of the suckers on the tentacle fastened to the bar and released, over and over, with a

loud wet pop.

"Careful, you're going to get tangled," Han said. He laughed. The ale warmed him with an agreeable buzz.

He could hear the conversations better; he could almost make out the ^ws. He took another gulp of ale.

"You have already proven your bravery, sir human," the barkeep's voice said. "No need to push your

luck by failing your obligations." "My what?" Han said.

"Your obligations! You occupy my space, you ingest my comestibles--" Han chuckled. "This isn't your