Star Wars_ Millennium Falcon - James Luceno [55]
“You'd better not be part of this!”
“I'm your way out!” Poste said, wide-eyed.
The newcomer squinted. “What's this, your good-deed day?”
Behind them, three of the assailants were hurrying toward the landspeeder, leaving their unconscious comrade to fend for himself. Farther away, two police vehicles were attempting to maneuver through a logjam of skimmers and hovercabs.
“What are you waiting for?”
Still trying to get past the newcomer's initial remarks, Poste froze for an instant. But it didn't matter. The newcomer shoved the throttle forward, snapping Poste's head back against the rest and almost yanking his hands from the steering yoke. Rebounding, Poste saw that the newcomer had his bloody-knuckled left hand clamped on the yoke and that he was already steering them into the thick of traffic.
Speeders to both sides veered and collided. Air traffic on Nar Shaddaa was often compared to that on Coruscant, but with one major difference: where on the capital world rude driving earned you a few curses or filthy gestures, on the Smugglers' Moon drivers frequently replied with blaster bolts and joined the chase.
Berating himself for having gotten involved, Poste tried to wrestle the controls back. “I'm still making payments on this thing!”
The newcomer refused to remove his hand. “Whatever you're paying's too much.”
“Who's rescuing who?”
“That remains to be seen.”
The first of the pursuers' blaster bolts crackled past Poste's head, and he slumped deeper into the seat.
“Drive!” the newcomer said, hauling him upright. “Don't let yourself get distracted.”
Poste glanced at him in disbelief. “They're firing at us, in case you didn't notice!”
“If they wanted me dead they would have killed me on the platform.”
“Then maybe you should talk to them.”
“Only on my own terms.”
The newcomer pivoted on the seat and took aim on the SoroSuub. The vehicle swung out of the line of fire, slammed into a smaller air-speeder, and bounced back into the traffic lane.
“Turn here!” the newcomer said, motioning with his free hand.
“It's one-way.”
The newcomer laughed. “You've already broken ten laws and you're worried about a traffic violation?”
Poste threw the speeder into the turn, weaving through approaching traffic five hundred meters above the floor of the city canyon.
“That's it. Stay focused.”
“Like I have a choice.”
“You had a choice about inviting me in.”
“I still don't know what I was thinking.”
“Yes, you do,” the newcomer said. “You're a chiseler.”
Poste's eyebrows arched. “Chiseler?”
“You're hoping there'll be something in this for you.”
Poste swallowed what he had in mind to say and began again. “Who'd you cross?”
The newcomer shook his head. “I'm not sure yet.”
“What was in the attaché case?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing important, you mean?”
“No, I mean it was empty.” The newcomer raised himself up over the retractable windscreen. “Turn into the second chasm.”
“You know your way around?”
“Not like I used to.” He used his hand to shield his eyes from Y'Toub's harsh light. “Pull up in front of that truck and switch places with me.”
Poste gaped at him. “My first impression of you was right. You did escape from a psych ward.”
“I've piloted swoops, speeders, skyhoppers, and just about everything else that flies.” The newcomer gestured with the blaster. “Now shove over.”
Poste clenched his jaw and traded places on the bench seat. The newcomer slammed the speeder back into motion and shot into traffic, finding space between vehicles where there shouldn't have been any, and creating spaces when he had to. Fifty meters behind them the pilot of the SoroSuub was trying hard to narrow the lead, or at least line up a shot.
The newcomer glanced at Poste. “You actually know how to use a blaster or you just carry it for adornment?”
“Adornment?” Poste laughed at the word. “Where've you been hiding for the past fifty years?”
“Can you use it or not?”
“I can use it.”
The newcomer slapped the weapon into Poste's hand. “I'm going to put us behind the SoroSuub. When I do, you put a bolt