Star Wars_ Episode VI_ Return of the Jedi - James Kahn [43]
Threepio spoke quietly. “Artoo’s sensors find no other trace of Princess Leia.”
“I hope she’s nowhere near here, now,” Han said to the trees. He didn’t want to imagine her loss. After all that had happened, he simply couldn’t believe it would end this way for her.
“Looks like she ran into two of them,” Luke said, just to say something. None of them wanted to draw any conclusions.
“She seems to have done all right,” Han responded somewhat tersely. He was addressing Luke, but speaking to himself.
Only Chewbacca seemed uninterested in the clearing in which they were standing. He stood facing the dense foliage beyond, then wrinkled his nose, sniffing.
“Rahrr!” he shouted, plunging into the thicket. The others rushed after him.
Artoo whistled softly, nervously.
“Picking up what?” Threepio snapped. “Try to be more specific, would you?”
The trees became significantly taller as the group pushed on. Not that it was possible to see any higher, but the girth of the trunks was increasingly massive. The rest of the forest was thinning a bit in the process, making passage easier, but giving them the distinct sense that they were shrinking. It was an ominous feeling.
All at once the undergrowth gave way again, to yet another open space. At the center of this clearing, a single tall stake was planted in the ground, from which hung several shanks of raw meat. The searchers stared, then cautiously walked to the stake.
“What’s this?” Threepio voiced the collective question.
Chewbacca’s nose was going wild, in some kind of olfactory delirium. He held himself back as long as he could, but was finally unable to resist: he reached out for one of the slabs of meat.
“No wait!” shouted Luke. “Don’t—”
But it was too late. The moment the meat was pulled from the stake, a huge net sprang up all around the adventurers, instantly hoisting them high above the ground, in a twisting jumble of arms and legs.
Artoo whistled wildly—he was programmed to hate being upside-down—as the Wookiee bayed his regret.
Han peeled a hairy paw away from his mouth, spitting fur. “Great, Chewie. Nice work. Always thinking with your stomach—”
“Take it easy,” called Luke. “Let’s just figure out how to get out of this thing.” He tried, but was unable, to free his arms; one locked behind him through the net, one pinned to Threepio’s leg. “Can anyone reach my lightsaber?”
Artoo was bottommost. He extended his cutting appendage and began clipping the loops of the viney net.
Solo, meantime, was trying to squeeze his arm past Threepio, trying to stretch to reach the lightsaber hanging at Luke’s waist. They settled, jerkily, as Artoo cut through another piece of mesh, leaving Han pressed face to face with the protocol droid.
“Out of the way, Goldenrod—unh—get off of—”
“How do you think I feel?” Threepio charged. There was no protocol in a situation like this.
“I don’t really—” Han began, but suddenly Artoo cut through the last link, and the entire group crashed out of the net, to the ground. As they gradually regained their senses, sat up, checked to make certain the others were all safe, one by one they realized they were surrounded by twenty furry little creatures, all wearing soft leather hoods, or caps; all brandishing spears.
One came close to Han, pushing a long spear in his face, screeching “eeee wk!”
Solo knocked the weapon aside, with a curt directive. “Point that thing somewhere else.”
A second Ewok became alarmed, and lunged at Han. Again, he deflected the spear, but in the process got cut on the arm.
Luke reached for his lightsaber, but just then a third Ewok ran forward, pushing the more aggressive ones out of the way, and shrieked a long string of seeming invective at them, in a decidedly scolding tone. At this, Luke decided to hold off on his lightsaber.
Han was wounded and angry, though. He started to draw his pistol. Luke stopped him before he cleared holster, with a look. “Don’t—it’ll be all right,” he added. Never confuse ability with appearance, Ben used