Star Wars_ The Han Solo Adventures - Brian Daley [46]
Han shook off the fall. The hovervan was closing quickly. Rekkon pulled him down into the shelter of the skimmer’s nose and began working at the adjustments of his oversized disrupter pistol. Han drew his blaster. “Chewie, get ’em moving,” he called.
The vociferous Wookiee, still lugging Blue Max in one arm, shoved or shouted the others into motion. Atuarre and Pakka sped away, the Trianii female half dragging her cub, half carrying him, with Torm not far behind. Even Bollux moved at top speed in long, jarring bounds made possible by his heavy-duty suspension system, disregarding the damage he might do his gyros and shock absorbers. Chewbacca came last, casting frequent glances over his shoulder. Before them rose another stand of grain, being reaped by another of the giant machines, and past that was the spaceport security fence.
Han felt a warm liquidity on his forehead, swiped at it, and saw blood on his fingers, courtesy of the skimmer’s windscreen. Rekkon, having finished adjusting his disrupter, was waiting for the hovervan to come into range, which it was doing with frightening speed.
The hovervan driver, watching the figures running for the fence, failed to notice the two men hiding behind the disabled vehicle. When the Espo was close enough, Rekkon, forearms braced across the skimmer’s nose, fired. He’d set his disrupter on overload, and now the powerful handgun emptied itself in a brief flood of ruinous energy. Han had to shield his face from it, thinking what a chance Rekkon was taking; the disrupter could just as easily have blown up in his hands, killing both men.
But the jet of disrupter fire splashed across the hovervan’s cowling and windshield. The Espo craft slid side-on, spun once, and planed into the ground, plowing up a mound of soil before it.
Han, lowering his hands, saw that the barrel of Rekkon’s pistol was white-hot, and the scholar’s face was sweating and seared. Rekkon tossed aside the useless pistol. “You must’ve taught in some tough damn schools,” was Han’s only comment as he struggled to his feet, preparing to run again.
Rekkon, watching the overturned hovervan, didn’t hear. Body-armored Espos were already stumbling from it, to continue the pursuit on foot. The twin-gun mount, twisted underneath the vehicle, was useless. Rekkon, backing away a step or two, said, “The moment has come for our departure, Captain Solo!”
Han pegged a couple of shots at the Espos. The range was long, but they still hit the dirt. Then he put his head down and pounded off behind Rekkon, wondering if the Espos could get into range before the fugitives made the fence and somehow got over, under, or through it. All things considered, the smart money appeared to be with the Espos, he conceded.
For long moments all he did was race after Rekkon’s flying sandals and wait for a blaster bolt to fry his shoulder blades. Then he raised his head, gulping breath. The monstrous harvester was working its way back down the rows of grain, its gaping maw cutting down a swatch twenty meters wide, pouring the grain into a tandem load-carrier. Han and Rekkon cut wide around it, and Han scanned the terrain in front of him. He spotted figures thrashing through the stalks, but could make none of them out.
A shot kicked up dirt and flame off to the left, proof that the Espos were gaining. Han and Rekkon dodged right to put the enormous agrirobot between themselves and their pursuers. Then they were shoving, running, tearing through a world of golden-red stalks, occasionally spying one of their companions in the distance.
Han dug his heels in, sliding to a stop. Rekkon, who’d come abreast of him, caught the movement and halted, too. Both of them panted hard, as Han demanded, “Where’s Chewie?”
“Ahead of us, to the side; who can tell in this field?”
“He’s not. He’s the only one who’d be easy to spot, even here.” Han straightened, his