Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [154]
With a happy burble at the thought of the good lunch he would provide, Spray struck and doubled his catch for the day. When his air supply approached its limit, Spray headed for the lake’s surface. He broke through with a happy squeal, spitting a jet of water high into the air and filling his lungs again.
He held his catch over his head, treading water and waving the crustaceans at Chewbacca, who stood on the shore. The Wookiee woofed happily and hungrily and waved back. By the time Spray was wading ashore, the Falcon’s first mate was already knee-deep in the cold water, holding an empty toolbag wide open. Spray dropped his prizes into the bag gingerly, and Chewbacca shut it at once; he ruffled the skiptracer’s furry head in approval. “You came along at just the right moment,” said the Tynnan.
The freighter’s rations had been all but depleted when Chewbacca had set her down, and no grazers had come near since the stampede. But Spray’s skill had kept them fed, and they had split their tasks—Chewbacca staying busy with repairs and Spray taking on the job of meal procurement. Now they turned back for the half-kilometer trudge to the grounded starship. Water was already bubbling in an old inducer cowling that Spray had set over a thermal coil at the ramp’s foot.
Their contemplation of a tasty meal was broken when Spray’s head perked up, his ears swinging this way and that. Chewbacca craned at the sky and pointed, woofing an exclamation. A small boat or large gravsled had just crested the ridge and was now dropping in directly toward them.
The Wookiee pressed the toolbag into Spray’s hands, leaving his own free to unsling his bowcaster. Not that the weapons would be much good against an aircraft, he reminded himself, as there was no cover near them. Luckily, Spray had the sense to imitate Chewbacca in remaining perfectly still. He realized that movement, more than anything else, would attract the attention of the airborne observer.
The boat passed over them, but even as it did, Chewbacca could hear the strain of its steering thrusters as its pilot came about for another pass. He pivoted, watching, then barked and roared with pleasure. On its second pass the boat waggled and went into a barrel roll. It could only be Han Solo.
Chewbacca plunged through the snow toward the freighter, yowling at the top of his lungs, making the shallow valley echo. Spray, clutching the writhing toolbag to his chest, followed in the Wookiee’s wake as best he could.
When the lifeboat had settled next to the Falcon, its lock opened and Han jumped out. Chewbacca raced to him, kicking up an aftermath of churned snow, and began pounding his friend on the back and howling his delight across the valley from time to time. When the first wave of joy had passed, the Wookiee noticed Fiolla at the boat’s hatch. He plucked her down and whirled her around in a carefully restrained hug, then set her on her feet.
Last to descend was Bollux. To him Chewbacca extended a friendly growl but withheld a helping paw, not wanting to imply that the ’droid needed assistance. A rumble of inquiry from the Wookiee and a thumb indicating Bollux’s chest panels brought assurances that Blue Max, too, was present.
“We almost passed you by,” Han said. “You’re a little too good at camouflage.” He meant the Millennium Falcon, which Chewbacca had permitted to settle until her landing gear was nearly retracted. The Wookiee and Spray had piled snow around the starship and spread clumps of scrub and more snow across her upper hull.
“But we noticed all those animal tracks detouring around to either side of her,” Han added, “so I took a closer look.” Spray and Chewbacca were tugging at the arrivals, urging them to come aboard. Han delayed just long enough to drag forth some of the new circuitry; he thought for a moment his copilot was going to weep at the sight of it.
Lunch was forgotten as they brought