Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [54]
Poste sighed in disappointment. That ended it for him. He wasn't about to follow the guy all the way into Vertical City—not with his air-speeder parked in the lot across from the hovercab station and already costing him credits. Reluctantly he fell back, and he was on the brink of heading for the pedestrian walkway that accessed the lot when his trained eye settled on two beings who were plainly up to no good and beginning to converge on the newcomer as he stepped from the people mover onto the mag-lev platform. One was human, the other Nautolan, and both were heavyweights.
The interesting thing was that the newcomer had also spotted them. In what could have been interpreted as an abrupt change of mind, he made a sharp turn. Infiltrating the crowd waiting for the mag-lev, he slipped effortlessly into and out of spaces beings often claimed as their own, then hastened for one of the platforms accessed by hovercabs and air shuttles.
The two goons had also picked up speed, the human touching his left ear in a way that suggested he was in communication with his partner, or others as yet unseen. Without displaying any of the finesse the newcomer had shown, the pair circled the edge of the crowd using their bulk to shoulder or shove stragglers aside. Instead of making for free space, the newcomer was staying well inside the crowd. If his pursuers were going to get to him, they were going to have to plow their way through.
Ultimately, that was exactly what they did, prompting Poste to do something anyone who knew him would have described as uncharacteristic.
Fast as his legs could carry him he ran for the pedestrian walkway, then for his roofless airspeeder, which was parked only a level up and close to the lot exit. Hurling himself over the vehicle's door—which didn't work in any case—he settled at the controls and hit the ignition button. A short line of similar repulsorlifts was queued at the exit, so he shot for the entrance, ignoring the synthvoices of two security droids and the strobing flashes of recording cams. The speeder's virttags were counterfeit, so who cared?
By the time he had sped around the lot and maneuvered into the restricted air traffic lanes that accessed the hovercab platform, it was obvious that a melee was in progress. Beings were scattering in all directions, security droids were rolling in, and the sirens of police vehicles were wailing in the distance. When the crowd parted briefly, Poste caught a glimpse of the newcomer leaping over the spread-eagled body of one of the goons, the other one down on all fours and scrambling for a blaster he had apparently lost hold of, blood streaming from his nose. But the newcomer's handiwork or footwork or whatever he had used to incapacitate his assailants hadn't left him in the clear. A showy SoroSuub airspeeder whipped past Poste, then cut him off and came to a sudden stop at the edge of the platform. Two humanoids—one an Iktotchi—clambered out of the passenger nacelle, gleaming weapons in hand. Spotting them, the newcomer whirled and dashed for the far side of the hovercab payment booth. The black attaché case was gone.
Poste saw his chance and made the most of it. Swerving around the idling SoroSuub, he pulled up past the booth just as the newcomer was emerging from the crowd, scarcely winded and professionally alert.
“Get in!” Poste shouted. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You've got more coming!”
The newcomer hesitated but only for a moment. Hurdling the door, he landed adroitly on the speeder's bench seat. “You have a blaster?”
Poste lifted the front of his shirt to reveal a Frohard Galactic F-7 tucked into the waistband of his trousers. In a lightning-fast motion the newcomer snatched and activated the small