The Han Solo Adventures (35 page)

Spray, the skip-tracer, wound his sinuous body through the chilly water, fully at home, indulging in aquabatics and playful zigzags for the sheer joy of it, his tapered tail and webbed paws driving and guiding him with grace and power, his nostrils clenched shut tightly. The clear water in this small mountaintop lake, fed by underground springs and runoff, was cold even by Spray’s standards, but his pelt kept him comfortable enough for short swims. As a youth, he had swum in much colder water, but he hadn’t had the leisure for much swimming in a long time.

At last the Tynnan saw what he was looking for, one of the multilegged crustaceans that made its home in the lake’s bottom. Spray was a bit short on air, having been frolicking when he should have been searching, he realized a little guiltily. He put on a burst of speed, hoping to catch the creature without a prolonged chase.

The crustacean didn’t sense Spray’s shadow or the pressure-wave he threw out before him until it was too late. It had barely begun to pick up speed when Spray seized it from behind—carefully, to avoid the pincers and walking legs. The velocity of his dive carried him down nearer the lake’s bottom where, to his great surprise, his shadow scared up a second crustacean.

With a happy burble at the thought of the good lunch he would provide, Spray struck and doubled his catch for the day. When his air supply approached its limit, Spray headed for the lake’s surface. He broke through with a happy squeal, spitting a jet of water high into the air and filling his lungs again.

He held his catch over his head, treading water and waving the crustaceans at Chewbacca, who stood on the shore. The Wookiee woofed happily and hungrily and waved back. By the time Spray was wading ashore, the
Falcon
’s first mate was already knee-deep in the cold water, holding an empty toolbag wide open. Spray dropped his prizes into the bag gingerly, and Chewbacca shut it at once; he ruffled the skiptracer’s furry head in approval. “You came along at just the right moment,” said the Tynnan.

The freighter’s rations had been all but depleted when Chewbacca had set her down, and no grazers had come near since the stampede. But Spray’s skill had kept them fed, and they had split their tasks—Chewbacca staying busy with repairs and Spray taking on the job of meal procurement. Now they turned back for the half-kilometer trudge to the grounded starship. Water was already bubbling in an old inducer cowling that Spray had set over a thermal coil at the ramp’s foot.

Their contemplation of a tasty meal was broken when Spray’s head perked up, his ears swinging this way and that. Chewbacca craned at the sky and pointed, woofing an exclamation. A small boat or large gravsled had just crested the ridge and was now dropping in directly toward them.

The Wookiee pressed the toolbag into Spray’s hands, leaving his own free to unsling his bowcaster. Not that the weapons would be much good against an aircraft, he reminded himself, as there was no cover near them. Luckily, Spray had the sense to imitate Chewbacca in remaining perfectly still. He realized that movement, more than anything else, would attract the attention of the airborne observer.

The boat passed over them, but even as it did, Chewbacca could hear the strain of its steering thrusters as its pilot came about for another pass. He pivoted, watching, then barked and roared with pleasure. On its second pass the boat waggled and went into a barrel roll. It could only be Han Solo.

Chewbacca plunged through the snow toward the freighter, yowling at the top of his lungs, making the shallow valley echo. Spray, clutching the writhing toolbag to his chest, followed in the Wookiee’s wake as best he could.

When the lifeboat had settled next to the
Falcon
, its lock opened and Han jumped out. Chewbacca raced to him, kicking up an aftermath of churned snow, and began pounding his friend on the back and howling his delight across the valley from time to time. When the first wave of joy had passed, the Wookiee noticed Fiolla at the boat’s hatch. He plucked her down and whirled her around in a carefully restrained hug, then set her on her feet.

Last to descend was Bollux. To him Chewbacca extended a friendly growl but withheld a helping paw, not wanting to imply that the ’droid needed assistance. A rumble of inquiry from the Wookiee and a thumb indicating Bollux’s chest panels brought assurances that Blue Max, too, was present.

“We almost passed you by,” Han said. “You’re a little too good at camouflage.” He meant the
Millennium Falcon
, which Chewbacca had permitted to settle until her landing gear was nearly retracted. The Wookiee and Spray had piled snow around the starship and spread clumps of scrub and more snow across her upper hull.

“But we noticed all those animal tracks detouring around to either side of her,” Han added, “so I took a closer look.” Spray and Chewbacca were tugging at the arrivals, urging them to come aboard. Han delayed just long enough to drag forth some of the new circuitry; he thought for a moment his copilot was going to weep at the sight of it.

Lunch was forgotten as they brought one another up on what had happened. Spray turned sheepish when his jettisoning of Bollux was mentioned. “To tell the truth, Captain,” he said, “as I explained to Chewbacca here, I got the idea all at once and knew I’d have to act instantly.” To the ’droid he said, “I truly apologize, but it seemed like the only thing to do, and I sometimes have trouble making snap decisions. I just plunged ahead with it before I could stop and dither. Perhaps the general impulsiveness was contagious.”

“I fully understand, sir,” Bollux answered graciously. “And as it worked out, it was quite fortunate for all of us that you thought and acted so quickly. Blue Max agrees with me, too.”

They all thought it best to ignore the high-pitched hollow sounding “
Hah!
” that came from Bollux’s closed chest panels.

Soon they were all at work. Bollux, Spray, and Fiolla began clearing away what they could of the piled snow, concentrating on exposing the cockpit, bow, and main thrusters. Han and Chewbacca strained at repairs with Blue Max, out of Bollux’s chest emplacement and connected to the forward tech station to check for accuracy as each individual hookup was made.

As the fluidic components were removed one by one from the starship, Chewbacca took great pleasure in heaving them as far as he could; some of his throws were so impressive that Han regretted that it wasn’t a formal athletic event. He pardoned his friend these excesses; the fluidics had been as much a curse as a blessing since they were installed.

As the replacements were made, the pile of discarded adaptors and jury-rigged gear grew. Because they knew intimately every cubic centimeter of their ship, they worked rapidly; they had originally installed the fluidics in such fashion that removal would be simple.

Activating another component, Han asked Max over the comlink how things looked from the tech station. “Checks out perfectly, Captain,” came the computer’s childish voice.

Pleased with the speed with which their labors were going, Han said, “We should take time to retune the engine power-curves for peak efficiency, but I’d rather get off Ammuud first. The biggest job’s the only one left—the hyperspace control units. Shouldn’t take more than—”

“Captain Solo!” Max’s vocoder communicated urgency. “Trouble! Long-range sensors paint three blips!”

Chewbacca yipped a question at Han, who snapped a sharp response. “What’s it matter who they are? They’re not coming for a gala sendoff, that’s for sure. No time for the hyperdrive. Seal up the hull.” He called to Fiolla and the others “Get aboard; we’re raising ship right now!”

Han sprinted up the ramp, leaving his first mate to close up the exposed systems. In the cockpit his hands flew back and forth across both his own and Chewbacca’s sides of the console. Among other things, he flicked on the ship’s commo board and monitoring outfit, though he doubted he’d pick up much in the way of transmissions from the bogies.

But a moment later, in the midst of charging the ship’s weaponry, he noticed a blinking telltale on the broad-band monitor. He read the instruments; there was a steady signal coming from somewhere very close by. A fast scan by the direction finder told him its origin.

He recalled that he had left the disruptor rifle in the lifeboat. But Chewbacca had placed his gunbelt in the navigator’s chair. Good boy! Fastening the belt around his hips and tying down the holster, he rushed back for the ramp.

Chewbacca noticed the blaster at once. “We’ve been popped,” Han explained. “Somebody keyed the boat transceiver; we’ve been sending all along. It probably took them this long to pick us up among all the dips and crags.” He was glaring meaningfully at Fiolla.

“After all this time,” she said with amazement, “you still don’t trust me.”

“Name another nominee? Spray hasn’t been near the boat and I sure don’t remember doing it.” He beckoned his partner. “We’ve got work to do, pal. Spray, you too. Bollux, go with our other guest to the forward compartment and watch her. And brace your chassis for some rough weather.” He started back for the cockpit, and Fiolla headed for the forward compartment without another word.

Han ushered Spray into the navigator’s chair, directly behind his own, and all three buckled themselves in. He thought about sending out a distress signal to the Mor Glayyd, but a glance at the commo board ended that; one or more of the oncoming craft was jamming, and he had no time to try to circumvent the interference.

Bringing thrusters up to a hover, he retracted the ship’s three-point landing gear the rest of the way. Over the low tumult of the engines he asked the Wookiee, “How good a pilot is he?” He jerked a thumb at Spray. The first mate made a so-so motion of his hairy paw but nodded, which meant that while the skip-tracer might never make the Kessel Run, he would be adequate in a jam—which this was. “Splendid,” Han said unenthusiastically, and cut in main thrusters. Kicking up fountains of steam and mud and clumps of scrub growth, the
Millennium Falcon
blasted free of the remaining snow and shot off into the sky.

Han let his copilot take the controls and left his seat to bend over Spray. “Here it is: we haven’t got hyperdrive because we didn’t have time to reconnect it. That means we can’t duck out of this one. Sensors say those are small, fast jobs coming for us, maybe interceptors, and sooner or later they’ll overhaul us. We can’t outrun them but we can outfight them
if
Chewie and I can man the turrets. That means somebody’s got to pilot, so unless you feel like manning a quad-mount—”

“Captain,” gasped Spray, “I’ve never fired a weapon in my life!”

“Sort of what I figured,” sighed Han. “Take a seat here.” Scratching his hand nervously, Spray sat unwillingly in the pilot’s seat while Han adjusted it and pushed it closer to the console. Spray poked his buck-toothed snout up to various indicators, scopes, and gauges; with his inferior eyesight he was, of course, primarily an instrument pilot. But he obviously knew what he was doing.

“Just keep shields up and try to angle with their attack runs,” Han instructed, “and try to preserve her resale value, if that inspires you. Otherwise, nothing fancy. Just leave the rest to us.”

He and his partner made their way to the central ladderwell that led to the top and belly turrets. “I wish there was another way to do this,” Han confessed.

“
Dowwpp
,” the Wookiee responded.

Han climbed toward the top turret and felt the vibrations along the ladder that told him his copilot was descending. He hauled himself into the turret, seating himself before the quad-guns and donning his headset.

Ship’s gravity was altered here, permitting him to sit with his back perpendicular to the ladderwell without feeling a downward drag. In the same way, Chewbacca would be sitting in the belly turret facing directly “downward” without being pulled against his seat’s belt.

Glancing over his shoulder, Han could look directly down the ladderwell at his friend’s back. Chewbacca flipped him a quick wave, and each of them ran his battery through a few test-traverses, making sure the servos responded to control grips and tracked accurately.

“The usual stakes,” Han called down, “and double for kills in the Money Lane.” Chewbacca woofed consent.

Spray’s voice, shaking with tension, came up. “I have three confirmed blips on approach. They should be on your screens by—
they’re on us!
”

Just as Spray apprised the two partners of the oncoming craft, the newcomers announced their own arrival unmistakably. The
Millennium Falcon
quaked, her shields claiming huge amounts of power as cannon fire incandesced against her.

“They’re breaking!” Spray yelled, but both Han and Chewbacca could already see that from their targeting monitors. Clutching the handgrips of his gunmount, Han traversed the quad-barrels astern to address his natural target, the uppermost of the vessels overtaking his ship. He knew the Wookiee would be on the one falling deepest into his own field of fire. They’d been through this sort of thing before; each knew the area of his responsibility and how the other worked.

The targeting computer drew up intersecting lines in two parallel grids and showed Han an arrowhead of light representing the bandit. From a lifetime’s habit, Han divided his time and attention between computer modeling on the tiny screen and visual ranging. He never entirely trusted computers or any other machine; he liked to see what he was shooting at.

The target swept in, even faster than he had expected. It was, as he had thought it would be, a pinnace, a ship’s fighting boat.
So, our friends the slavers are still with us
.

At the same time he was squeezing off quick bursts, trying to bracket the pinnace. The quad-guns slammed away in alternating pairs, but the pinnace had picked up too much speed; it was into his gunsights and out again before Han had a chance to come close.

The starship shook like a child’s toy as her defensive mantle struggled to deal with the blasts of the pinnace’s cannon. Han registered, distantly, the sound of the belly guns and Chewbacca’s frustrated howl as the Wookiee, too, missed on the first pass.

Then, instead of one triangle of light on his targeting monitor screen, Han saw two. He brought the quad-mount around hastily, its servos protesting, throwing him deeper against the padding of the gunner’s seat.

A pinnace had come in from directly astern, its blaster fire bisecting the
Falcon
’s upper hull precisely. There were deep vibrations as the starship shuddered from the fire. Han couldn’t stop himself, when he saw the volley walking along the hull at him, from throwing an arm up to protect himself. But deflectors held, and in a split second the pinnace had swept by with its two companions to come to bear for another run.

The pinnaces were perhaps twice the size of the lifeboat Han and Fiolla had stolen. They were fast, heavily armed, and nearly as maneuverable as fighters. Lacking hyperdrive, there was no question of outrunning them; the
Falcon
could only make a fight of it.

The freighter tilted and sideslipped as Spray attempted an evasive tactic. Han, his aim spoiled, yelled into his headset mike. “Nothing fancy, Spray. Just go with their strafing runs and cut into their speed advantage; no aerobatics!”

Spray trimmed the freighter. The pinnaces had broken right and left with the third ship going into a steep, rolling climb for an overhead attack. Han held fire, knowing they were out of range, and bided his time. Spray headed the freighter deeper into the high mountains.

The pinnace that had broken left now dove abruptly and came in under the
Falcon
’s belly. Han could hear the reports of Chewbacca’s guns as he brought his own weapon around, its four barrels pivoting and elevating on their pintles in response to the commands of the targeting grips.

He tried for the diving pinnace. Outside the ball-turret the quad-guns responded minutely to the least adjustment of his controls. The computer limned aiming grids, plotted the pinnace’s estimated course and speed, and predicted where it would be. Han slewed his seat around, hands clenching the grips, and four cannon barrels swung to follow suit. He opened fire and the quad-guns pounded red destruction at the bandit. He scored a partial hit, but the pinnace’s shields held and it managed to evade his fire almost instantly.

“
Swindler!
” he howled, tracking the pinnace in a hopeless effort to connect again. There was the sound of a distant explosion and a triumphant roar echoed up the ladderwell. Chewbacca had drawn first blood.

The third pinnace swept past, taking a course almost at right angles to the one Han was still tracking. The newcomer got off a sustained burst that splashed harmlessly off shields, but there was a surge from the
Millennium Falcon
’s engines. The ship’s defensive mantle was in danger of failing, having taken extreme punishment from the sustained, well-directed fire of the attackers.

Realizing he couldn’t catch up with the one he had just missed and ignoring his comlink, Han yelled down the ladderwell, “Chewie! One in the Money Lane!”

Because of the
Falcon
’s design, a flattened sphere, and the position of her main batteries at the precise top and bottom of the ship, her turrets’ fields of fire overlapped in a wedge expanding from the freighter’s waist all the way around. This overlap was what Han and his first mate called the Money Lane; kills scored there counted extra, since it was a shared responsibility; their standing wager on who was better with a quad-mount carried a double payoff for hits in the Money Lane.

But right now Han didn’t care if he ended up owing the Wookiee his shirt. Chewbacca brought his weapon around and just barely failed to get a bead on the pinnace out in the Money Lane, chopping the air behind it with crimson cannonfire.

“Spray, keep your eye on the long-range sensors,” Han called into his mike. “If their parent ship sneaks up on us, Interstellar Collections will have nothing to auction off but a gas cloud!”

The ship missed by Chewbacca came up into Han’s field of fire. He led it, reaching out for it with red cannon blasts, but the pinnace’s pilot was quick and threw his ship out of the line of fire before his shields gave. The enemy scored on the
Millennium Falcon
’s upper hull, and the freighter bucked. Han caught the smell of smouldering circuitry.

“Captain Solo, there’s a large vessel moving up rapidly from magnetic southwest. At current courses it’ll close with us in another ninety seconds!”

Han was too busy to answer the skip-tracer. Hearing his first mate’s frustrated growl at a near miss, reverberating in the ladderwell, he saw the ship the Wookiee had just lost. It arced out beyond the bow mandibles, its pilot going into a fast bank as he realized he’d flown into another line of fire.

Han didn’t bother with the targeting computer but tracked by eye, catching the pinnace at the slow point in its turn with a sustained burst. A moment later the pinnace disappeared in a fireball, shreds of it hurled outward.

The third pinnace, coming about for another run, swerved to avoid the explosion of its companion, rolled, and was again in the Money Lane. Han’s and Chewbacca’s fire probed at it simultaneously. It, too, became an eruption of enormous violence.

Han was instantly at the ladderwell, not bothering to climb down but sliding with toes clamped to its side-pieces, braking himself with his hands, worrying about the oncoming mother ship.

As he reached main deck level, he found Chewbacca swarming up the rungs beneath him. The Wookiee crowed happily and Han found time to sneer “What d’you mean,
pay up
? I made the kill in the Money Lane; you never even touched him!”

Chewbacca snarled as they dashed together toward the cockpit, but the issue of who owed whom had to be dropped. Once Chewbacca was in place, Spray squirmed out of the pilot’s seat, breathing with relief as Han dropped into it.

“That ship’s coming at vector one-two-five-slash-one-six-zero,” Spray said, but Han had already read that information off the console. Bringing the starship’s helm over and accelerating, he angled all deflectors aft with one hand, belting himself in with the other.

Spray had taken on more altitude than Han would have liked. With the hyperdrive still inoperable, things boiled down to a simple race. His best chance to deny the enemy a clear shot at him was to put the planet between them.

He was still increasing speed, the engines’ rumble growing louder and louder, when the
Falcon
was jolted by a teeth-rattling explosion. Checking combat information feeds, Han found that the approaching mother ship was firing from extreme range even though its shots had little chance of penetrating the freighter’s shields at this distance.

Their pursuer was indeed the slaver, the would-be “pirate” that had stopped and grappled the
Lady of Mindor
. That left him nonplused about Fiolla’s part in matters and why the lifeboat transceiver had been left keyed open. Surely the slavers were out to get Fiolla, too?

Then he had no more time for imponderables; the slaver ship was closing the gap between them and nothing he did seemed to make any difference. She was an extremely well-armed vessel, easily three times the
Millennium Falcon
’s size, and fast in the bargain.

If we had had time to retune the engines
, Han carped at himself,
we’d be highstepping away from them right now
.

A voice crackled over the open commo board. “Heave to,
Millennium Falcon
, or we fire for effect!” Han recognized the voice.

He switched his headset to transmit mode. “No free meals today, Magg!”

Fiolla’s onetime assistant said nothing more. The pursuer’s shots came closer; the shields’ drain on the
Falcon
’s power grew acute. Han trained batteries aft by servo-remote. The slaver with her heavier guns was still out of range. Though Han flew a twisting, evasive course, parting the cold air of Ammuud with a high whistle of speed, he knew the slaver would soon close. All he could hope for was that inspired piloting, more than a little luck, and a well-placed salvo to damage the slaver would get him clear.

He brought his ship out of a quick bank with a flourish, sideslipping as thick streams of turbolaser fire belched past to starboard, just missing the
Falcon
. He thought,
we could still make it, unless
—

Fulfilling his silent fear, the freighter wobbled and shook herself as if in the throes of a fit. Instruments confirmed that a brute tractor beam had fastened onto the
Falcon
. Her maximum effort failed to free her.

With the freighter held fast, the slaver closed rapidly. In another moment, Han knew, their pursuer would be on top of them. He tried not to be distracted by regrets; his hands flew across the console and he lacked even the time to tell his copilot what he was about to do.

Han brought the
Falcon
about at full power, just barely overcoming the drag of the tractor, redeploying defensive shields to maximum over the upper half of his ship’s hull. Before the startled pilot of the slaver vessel knew what was happening, the
Millennium Falcon
had come about, reversing field in the tractor beam, and dived under his bow. Evading the tractor projector set in the bottom of the slaver’s hull took an extra twist and full power from the freighter’s already overworked engines, using both the tractor’s draw and the
Falcon
’s thrust to snap-roll free of the beam.

Dumbfounded fire-control officers began redirecting their gun crews’ aim, but the suddenness of the freighter’s evasion had won Han the advantage of surprise.

Streaking under the length of the slaver, Han fired salvos from his top turret and waited with some dread for the moment his shields failed. But they didn’t, and Han’s wild aerobatics eluded all fire coming from the surprised slaver.

Nearly. There was a monumental jarring. Such of the
Falcon
’s alarms and warning lights as were not already alive came on. Chewbacca, taking damage readings, hooted worriedly as Han accelerated again, leaving the slaver to match him if she could.

He turned to Spray. “Some of that new stuff we put in today must’ve been hit; I don’t get any readouts from it. Try the forward tech station and see if you can find out anything.”

The skip-tracer staggered off, lurching this way and that as the ship swayed around him. Reaching the forward compartment, he found Fiolla and Bollux still seated in the acceleration couch. From the tech station’s chair Spray began examining readouts and squinting into scanners and scopes, twisting in the chair and scratching at his hand nervously.

“Does your hand still hurt, Spray?” asked Fiolla.

“No, it’s much—” he started to say, then stopped and swung his chair around to face her with a shocked look. “I meant—that is—”

“Somatigenerative treatments always leave the skin itchy, don’t they?” Fiolla went on, ignoring his protests. “You’ve been scratching since we got here. Solo told me he bit the hand of whoever jumped him in the hangar at the Bonadan spaceport. It
was
you, wasn’t it?” There was little of inquiry in her tone, more of statement.

Spray was very calm. “I forgot how bright you are, Fiolla. Well, yes, as a matter of fact—” The
Falcon
quaked again; the slaver was gaining on her once more.

“And you left the lifeboat transceiver keyed open, too, didn’t you?” she snapped. “But how? Han was right; you
weren’t
anywhere near that boat.”

“I did not,” Spray declared soberly. “That, you may believe. I hadn’t expected things to go quite this far, either; I abhor all this useless violence. This will end soon; your ambitious former assistant is close.”

Still not sure she credited any of what he had said, she told him, “You know I’m going to tell Han, don’t you?”

Bollux turned red photoreceptors from one to the other, wondering if he dared leave them alone long enough to inform Han of what he’d heard.

Then the
Falcon
jolted again in response to a barrage. “I doubt if that would make any difference now,” Spray stated calmly. “And it’s in your own best interests, Fiolla, to cooperate with me; your life has reached a critical juncture.”