Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [101]
The computer saw he had only one chance left. That it involved risk of personal damage to him didn’t make him hesitate for an instant. He shifted power back to Bollux’s midsection, turning the torsion hookup again in an all-out effort that nearly overloaded him. The labor ’droid’s body twisted slowly, then rolled over.
But in the last moment, the roll brought Max’s adaptor close enough to make contact with the fluidics coupling. He linked up with the systems and had time to send out a single command. Then the torso’s descending weight bent his fragile adaptor arm, breaking the connection, and sending feedback washing into Blue Max with a computer analogue of blinding pain.
While Max fought his lonely battle, Han was staring at his controls. He was perspiring and had the front of his thermosuit open, wondering if he should let things go any further or try to jump Zlarb now.
Zlarb was scanning the control console. “I told you to get going, Solo. Raise ship.”
He was still waving Han’s blaster around to emphasize his command when he took a gush of thick, white foam full in the face.
Nozzles in the cockpit and throughout the Millennium Falcon had begun to spew anti-incendiary gas and suppression foam when Max’s single command cut in the ship’s auto-firefighting apparatus. Under the computer probe’s override, the system behaved as if the entire ship were aflame.
Han and Chewbacca, unsure of what was happening, didn’t stop to think, but seized instead upon whatever freak opportunity this was. The Wookiee struck out with a huge paw, backhanding Zlarb against the navigator’s seat, located just behind Han’s. Zlarb, blinded, let off a shot at random. The blaster blew a jagged hole in the canopy, its edges dripping with molten transparisteel.
Just then Han flung himself on the slaver, followed closely thereafter by his first mate. Zlarb was punched, shaken, kneed, bitten, and slammed head-first into the navi-computer before he could get off a second shot.
The cockpit was already ankle-deep in foam, and blasts of anti-incendiary gas made it nearly impossible to see. The racket of sirens and warning hooters was deafening. Nevertheless, both partners’ spirits had risen appreciably. Picking up his blaster, Han cupped his hand to his mouth and hollered into Chewbacca’s ear.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ve got to hit them before they can recover. I counted six of them, right?”
The Wookiee confirmed the number. Han led the way from the cockpit as quickly as he could, both of them slipping and sliding in the deepening foam.
Han dashed out into the main passageway. Fortunately he looked to his right first, toward the forward compartment. There one of the slavers stood open-mouthed, staring at the belching auto-firefighting gear. He caught sight of Han and started to bring his disruptor rifle around. But Han’s blaster bolt took him high in the chest, knocking him backward through the air, his weapon dropping from his hands.
Han heard a horrible growl and whirled. The handler appeared from the other direction and released the nashtah, which sprang at Han with such speed that it was no more than a blur. Before he could even get off a shot the beast hit him, sending him sprawling against the squares of safety cushioning that rimmed the cockpit hatchway, his shoulder and one forearm slashed with parallel furrows from the creature’s claws.
But the nashtah never completed its pounce. Instead it was grabbed and held in midair and sent hurtling against a bulkhead. Chewbacca, having lost his footing in the act of throwing the nashtah aside, scrambled to his feet once more. Han brought his gun up but hesitated to shoot because the fall had shaken