Part 34 (2/2)

”I'd been a line officer, had a few decorations myself,” Badure began, ”but there was the matter of a floating Jubilee Wheel I was running onboard the flags.h.i.+p. Anyway, they rea.s.signed me to the staff at an academy.

”The commandant was a desk pilot, off his gyros. His bright idea was to take a training s.h.i.+p, an old U-33 orbital loadlifter, and rig her so the flight instructor could cause malfunctions: realistic stress situations.

” 'Enough can go wrong without building more into a s.h.i.+p,' I said, but the commandant had pull. His program was approved. I was flight instructor, and the commandant came along on the first training mission. He gave the briefing himself, playing up the wise old veteran act.

”In the middle of it a cadet interrupted. 'Excuse me, sir, but the U-33's primary thrust sequence is four-stage, not three.' The kid was gangly, all elbows and ears, and had this big chow-eating grin.

”The commandant was cold as permafrost. 'Since Cadet Solo is such a slick student, he will be first in the hotseat.' We all boarded and took off. Han handled everything the C.O. threw at him, and that grin grew bigger and bigger. He really had put in a lot of time on that kind of s.h.i.+p.

”That crate had checked out one hundred percent, but something went wrong and something blew; a second later we had all we could do to keep her in the air. I couldn't get the landing gear to extend, so I raised ground control and asked for emergency tractor retrieval.

”And the tractors failed, primaries and secondaries both, on the approach run. I just managed to get us up again. The commandant was white around the eyes by then; the crash wagons and firefighting machinery were deploying onto the field.

”Which was when Cadet Solo announced, 'The reservoir-locking valve on the landing gear's stuck shut, sir; these U-33's do it all the time.'

”And I said, 'Well, do you feel like crawling down into the gear bay and taking a wrench to it right this second?'

” 'No need,' the kid says, 'We can joggle it with a couple of maneuvers.'

”The commandant's teeth were rattling. 'You can't take a bulk vessel through aerobatics!' Then I said, 'You hope to sit in your mess kit. I can't, sir, because I don't know which maneuvers Slick over there is talking about. He'll have to do it.' While his mouth was hanging open, I reminded him he was ranking officer. 'Either you land this beast or let the kid try out his idea.'

”He shut up, but about that time there was a rumpus in the pa.s.senger compartment. The other cadets were becoming nervous. So Han opened the intercom. 'By order of the commandant, this is a full-dress emergency-landing drill. All procedures will be observed; you are being graded on your performance.'

”I told him he was playing fast and loose with what might be somebody's last moments, and he told me to go ahead and tell them the truth if I wanted a panic in the hold. I let it ride. Han took control back.

”The U-33 isn't designed for the things Han did to that bird. He took her through three inverted outside loops to free up the locking claws. Our vision began to go. How Han coaxed lift from those inverted wings, I'll never know: but he was smirking, hanging there from his harness.

”He went into barrel rolls to build centrifugal force in the reservoir. I thought he was going to rip the wings off and I almost took control back, but just then I got a board light. He had forced the valve open.

”But gravity could've swung it shut again, so he had to fly upside-down while the landing gear cranked out. The s.h.i.+p had begun losing alt.i.tude and the commandant was sort of frothing at the mouth, babbling for Han to pull out. Han refused. 'Wait for it, wait for it,' he said. Then we heard this long grinding sound as the landing gear seated, and a clang as it locked.

”Han snap-rolled, hit full reverse thrusters, and hung out all the hardware. We uprooted two stop-nets and only lived because we landed into the wind. Jouncer landing, I tell you.

”They had to help the commandant off the s.h.i.+p. Then they deactivated that s.h.i.+p for good. Han locked down his board, just like the rule book says. 'Slick enough for you?' he asked. I said 'Slick.' That's how the nickname started.”

It was fully dark now. The stars were luminous overhead, and both of Dellalt's moons were in the sky. ”Badure, if it happened today,” Hasti asked quietly, ”would you tell those cadets they might die?”

He sounded tired. ”Yes. Even though they might've panicked. They had a right to know.”

The logical next question, then, was, ”Well, what're our chances, the truth? Can we get the Falcon back, or even survive an attempt?” Skynx, and the automata, too, hung on his reply.

Badure remained silent. Through his mind pa.s.sed the options: lying, telling the truth, or simply rolling over and going to sleep. But when he opened his mouth to answer, he was interrupted.

”Depends on what we run up against,” Han Solo said from the darkness, having returned so quietly that they hadn't heard him. ”If camp security's loose, we could get away without losses. If it's tight, we have to tackle them somehow, maybe draw them out. Anyway, it means risk. We'd probably have casualties and some of us might not make it.”

”Some? Admit it, Solo; you're so concerned with getting that s.h.i.+p of yours back that you're ignoring facts. J'uoch's got more hired killers than-”

”J'uoch's got portside brawlers and some small-time muscle,” Han corrected Hasti. ”If they were quality, they wouldn't be working for a two-credit outfit like hers. Handing some clod a gun doesn't make him a gunman.”

He stepped closer and she could see his silhouette against the stars. ”They have the numbers, but the only real gunman within light-years is standing right in front of you.”

The craft was trim, sleek, luxuriously customized, a scouts.h.i.+p off the military inventory. Her approach and landing were exacting, and she set down precisely where the Millennium Falcon had landed several days earlier. Her lone occupant emerged.

The man was limber, graceful, though his movements were at times abrupt. Although he was tall and lean, his form seemed compact. His clothes were expensive and impeccable, of the finest materials, but somber-gray trousers and a high-collared white s.h.i.+rt with a short gray jacket over it. A long white scarf, knotted at his throat, fell in soft folds, and his black shoes shone. He wore his graying hair cropped short, but his mustachios were long, their ends gathered and weighted with two tiny golden beads, giving him a subtly roguish look.

Townspeople appeared and cl.u.s.tered around him, just as they had greeted the Falcon's pa.s.sengers. But something in this stranger's blue, unblinking eyes, something penetrating and without mercy, made them wary. He soon obtained from them the story of the Falcon's arrival and removal by the mining-camp s.h.i.+p. They showed him the spot where the s.p.a.ceboat had been destroyed by the lighter. Even scavengers had avoided the bits of wreckage, fearing radiation residues.

The stranger told the townspeople to disperse, and seeing the look in his eyes, they obeyed. He carefully removed his jacket and hung it inside his s.h.i.+p. Around his waist an intricately tooled black gunbelt held a blaster high on his right hip.

He brought certain sensitive instruments from his s.h.i.+p, some on a carrying harness, others attached to a long probe, and still others set in a very sophisticated remote-globe. Loosening his scarf, he made a patient examination of the area, working in a careful pattern.

An hour later he returned the equipment to his s.h.i.+p and rubbed the dust from his gleaming shoes with a rag. He was satisfied that no one had died when J'uoch's s.p.a.ceboat had been destroyed. He reknotted his scarf while he considered the situation.

Eventually, Gallandro drew on his jacket and locked up his s.h.i.+p, then made his way into the city. He soon heard rumors of bizarre goings-on down at the lake and battles among the natives. He couldn't verify much about the outside humans involved, though; the only close-range witnesses, the sh.o.r.e gang of the sauropteroid Kasarax, had gone into hiding. Still, he was willing to credit the story. It was in keeping with Han Solo's wildly unpredictable luck.

No, Gallandro corrected himself. ”Luck” was what Solo would have called it. He, Gallandro, had long ago rejected mysticism and superst.i.tion. It made it that much more frustrating to see how events seemed to conspire to impel Solo along.

Gallandro intended to prove that Solo was no more than he appeared to be, a small-time smuggler of no great consequence. That the gunman had doubtless given the matter far more thought than Solo himself was a source of ironic amus.e.m.e.nt to him. Using the vast resources of his employer, the Corporate Sector Authority, he had tracked Solo and the Wookiee this far and would, with only a little more patience, complete the hunt.

XI.

”THERE'S something wrong,” Han said, peering intently through his blaster's scope in the morning light. ”I'm not sure, but-Here, you look, Badure.”

”It just looks like a landing field to me,” Hasti commented.

”Just because it's big and flat and has s.h.i.+ps parked on it?” Han asked sarcastically. ”Don't jump to any conclusions; after all, we may've stumbled onto the only used-aircraft lot in these mountains.”

A stiff breeze at their backs blew down the narrow valley toward the field. It had been snowing heavily in the region; at the far edge of the flat area below, a snowfield sloped sharply downward toward the lowlands.

”It's not on any map I ever saw,” declared Badure, squinting through the scope.

”Doesn't mean a thing,” Han replied. ”The Tion Hegemony's survey-updating program is running something like a hundred and eighty years behind schedule and getting worse. And these mountains are full of turbulence and storm activity. A survey-flyover s.h.i.+p could've missed that place altogether. Even an Alpha Team or a full Beta Mission might not have caught it.”

Thinking it over, Han rubbed his jaw, feeling his growth of beard. He, like the others, was drawn and haggard from the march and had lost a good deal of weight. The knife cut across his chin was healing well enough in the absence of a medi-pack.

”Badure's right,” Hasti said, holding the survey-map reader up close to her face. ”There's nothing on her at all. And what's it doing out here anyway? Look, they had to have carved away half that cliff to build it.”

Han was concentrating on the field with his remarkably acute vision. There, guidance lights and warning beacons were dark, understandable at a hidden base; but they seemed to be of a very outdated design. He could make out several craft that appeared to be about the size of s.p.a.ceboats, and five larger ones. It was difficult to see any details because their tails and afterburners were pointed in his direction. Then he knew what was bothering him.

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