Star Wars: The Adventures of Lando Calrissia Read Online Free Page B

berecognizable as a spaceman. He was puzzled, however, over the robot’s commercial pessimism. This was a healthy, thriving colony, with enormous and growing export statistics. “
Retsa
, if you’ve got it.”
    In one dark corner, what might have been the same under-clothed old man leaned on the same old pushbroom.
    “Coming up, Captain.” Deft maneuvering with glassware followed.
    Lando turned his back, put elbows on the bar, inquired over his shoulder: “Where could a fellow find some action around here?” He’d put it in a colonial accent—when in hick city, act hickier than the hicks. Civilized polish scares money away. “I just got in from the Oseon; my evening’s free.”
    “How free?” The machine’s optic regarded Lando appraisingly. “There’s Rosie’s Joint, down the street. Has a real nice revue. Just turn left at the big red neon—”
    Lando shook his head. “Later, maybe. Perhaps a game—
sabacc
? Folks back home used to say I was pretty good.”
    Cynicism in its voice, if not upon its unyielding features, the automaton put on a show of thinking deeply. “Well, sir, I don’t know …”
    Lando offered twice the going price for
retsa
.
    “I
might
know of a game—my memory stacks just aren’t what they used to be, though, and …”
    Lando placed another bill in the bar-top. “Will this cover having them recharged?”
    The bill seemed to evaporate.
    “Don’t go away, Captain. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
    The ’tender vanished almost as impressively as had Lando’s money.

•  II  •
    T HE FLEDGLING STARSHIP owner/operator had scarcely picked up his drink, selected a dark, heavy, quasiwood table, and seated himself, carefully adjusting the creases in his trousers, when another figure appeared, a tall, cadaverous, nearly human individual wearing something loose, with polka dots.
    They clashed badly with his mottled orange complexion.
    “Allow me to introduce myself, sir: I am the proprietor of this establishment.” The creature stroked its moustaches—two separate levels filling the inhumanly broad space between nose and upper lip—took a chair to the gambler’s left, and lit a long green cigarette. The young gambler noticed with amusement that the fellow hadn’t really introduced himself at all.
    “I understand,” said the alien, “that you have expressed an interest in the scientific theories regarding the phenomenon of probability.”
    Lando had wondered how the subject would be broached.
    He settled back with a grin, assuming the facade, once again, of an overconfident colonial, put his feet up on the chair opposite, and winked knowingly.
    “
Purely
scientific, friend. I’m a spacer by profession, an astrogator, so my interest’s only natural. I’m especially intrigued by permutations and combinations of the number seventy-eight, taken two at a time. Fives are wild.”
    “Ah … 
sabacc
.” The owner took a long drag of orange smoke, exhaled softly. “I believe you could be inducted into the, er, research foundation practically instantaneously.” He paused, as if embarrassed. “But first, Captain … well, a small formality: your ship name if you please, sir, strictly for identification purposes. There are certain regressive, antiscientific enemies of free inquiry—”
    “Who carry badges and blasters?” He laughed. “
Millennium Falcon
, berth seventeen. I’m Calrissian, Lando Calrissian.”
    The proprietor consulted a data-link display on his oddly jointed wrist. “A pleasure, Captain Calrissian. And your credit, I observe, is more than sufficient to support this, er, research program of ours. If you will follow me.”
    It’s the same the galaxy over, Lando thought. A small back room, emerald-color dramskin tabletop, low-hanging lamp, smoke-filled atmosphere. In an honest game, there was a modest house percentage, and the cops were all paid off—that routine of the tavern owner’s had merely been a chance to check