Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [43]
Keeping a wary eye on Jandler, Lando sat down heavily himself, wondering where all his vim and vigor had come from all of a sudden. And where it had gone just as abruptly. The Falcon settled, its active turret still aimed at the policemen. Lando noticed the guard-captain’s heavy blaster, lying in the sand a few inches from his rag-wrapped knee, picked it up and rested it in his lap.
The Falcon’s long, broad boarding ramp creaked down slowly. After a while there was a flash and twinkle at the dark, inner end of the passage. Vuffi Raa came slither-marching down to the ground, his posture and movements conveying somehow that he was rather pleased with himself—although he looked a bit worse for the previous evening’s wear.
“Master! I’m gratified to see you’re still alive. I feared I wouldn’t get here in time, but I see you’ve taken care of nearly everything yourself already.”
The gambler grinned wearily, accepted the proffered tentacle. “I’m gratified myself, considering some of the alternatives. But you look like you’ve been out in a meteor shower! Or is that the latest robot fashion you’re wearing?”
From eye lens to manipulator tips, the little droid was covered with small, rounded dents. Where they overlapped his joints—which was practically everywhere—his movements were a little stiff and uncertain, and he sounded, when he replied, just the slightest bit self-conscious.
“Yes, well, these arrow wounds are healing, Master. In not too many days I’ll be quite myself again. But you have suffered damage which will not be repaired so quickly. We must get you into the ship, where I can administer—”
“Hold it.” Grunting, Lando hauled on Vuffi Raa’s tentacle, pulled himself onto his knees, and, placing a palm firmly in the middle of the little robot’s lens, pressed himself upward, to his feet. He swayed a little, but he was vertical—and still had the blaster pointed straight at the constabulary contingent.
Meanwhile, Captain Jandler was beginning to do some grunting of his own. He rolled over, tears welling from his eyes and dripping on the inside of his visor, shook his head from side to side, and lay there, still doubled up.
“We’ll administer to me later, old pencil-sharpener. First we’re going to ‘administer’ to our military friend, here. He seems to be among the living, again, although how long …”
Lando offered the blaster to the droid, glancing significantly at the four undamaged troopers. “While I’m attending to Jandler, I don’t suppose you could …”
“Hold them at bay? I’m afraid not, Master. I cannot threaten a living being with bodily harm. Sorry.”
“Well, I’m not complaining, not anymore. I’ll just have to keep an eye on them myself. But I am curious: how was it that, ten minutes ago, you could—”
“Use the Millennium Falcon’s armament to keep them from attacking you?”
“And to do that demolition job on the police cruiser. Neat, but a little outside your specialties, wouldn’t you say?”
Lando approached the semiconscious guard-captain, toed him not too roughly in the armored ribs. “All right, time to rise and shine! We’ve got a little talking to do!”
Vuffi Raa shambled up beside the gambler. “Master, I can watch the troopers for you, and they needn’t know I can’t initiate force against them.” The little robot continued in a louder voice, intended for a broader audience, “If one of them so much as twitches an earlobe, we’ll burn him off at the kneecaps!”
Lando chuckled, “Yeah, right up to the armpits! Just be sure”—he whispered to Vuffi Raa—“that you don’t compromise yourself into a nervous breakdown.” Then he added, more loudly, “I said get up, you!”
Jandler stirred, did some more groaning, rolled over, and sat up painfully. Wincing, he took off his helmet and wiped sweat from his face.
“Calrissian, you just plain don’t fight fair, do you?”
Lando aimed