Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 01_ The Paradise Snare - A. C. Crispin [26]
“R2,” Han said tightly, “see if you can chart me those storm areas so I can avoid the ion trails that lightning is leaving. Concentrate on the direct flight path between our present location and the landing field on that eastern continent.”
“Yes, sir,” the R2 unit said.
Moments later the electrical storm sites appeared before him. “Give me a scaled-down version of that chart in the corner of this screen, R2,” Han ordered. Usually it would be the navicomputer’s job to “merge” the intended flight path with the geographical features and the storm cells, and to suggest an intended course, which the pilot could then implement and modify as needed.
Han had never missed having a navicomputer at his disposal more than he did at this moment.
He slowed their headlong rush fractionally, then was forced to kick in their thrusters to get them out of the way of yet another wind shear from a storm cell.
Sweat was dripping down his face now as he fought the tiny controls, forcing Ylesian Dream into maneuvers only a swoop or a military fighter could reasonably be expected to tackle. Han realized he was still gasping, and wondered for a split second whether it was from stress and adrenaline or whether his air was running out.
He couldn’t spare the second it would take to check the air pak.
They were now only a kilometer above the surface of the planet, coming in with a rush. Too fast! Han slowed them, using the braking thrusters roughly. Gee forces seized him, and he felt as though something were squeezing his chest in a giant vise. He was gasping steadily now, and he dared to look down at his air pak.
Empty! The status indicator was solidly in the red zone.
Hold together, Han, he counseled himself. Just keep breathing. There’s got to be enough air in your suit to support you for a couple of minutes—at least.
He shook his head, feeling light-headed and dizzy. His breath began to burn in his chest.
But they were almost slow enough now to land. He braked again, lightly, and the ship bucked suddenly. I’ve lost my forward stabilizer!
Han fought to compensate. Still too fast, but there was nothing more he could do about that. He flicked on the repulsorlifts and began to set her down, feeling the ship’s vibration through his knees and legs as he knelt on the deck.
Hold together, baby! he thought at the Dream. Hold together—
With a huge whooooommpppp! the forward portside repulsor shorted out. The Dream yawed wildly to port, hit the ground, then bounced upward. The starboard repulsor blew, and then its entire starboard side impacted with the ground, nearly flipping the vessel over.
Wham! With a hideous crunch that Han could feel through his entire body, the Ylesian Dream crashed into the surface of the planet, shuddered once, and was still.
Han was thrown violently across the cabin. His helmet impacted with the bulkhead, and he lay there, arms and legs flung wide, dazed. He fought to stay conscious. If he passed out, he’d never wake up again. Trying to pull himself up into a sitting position, Han grunted with effort. Waves of blackness threatened. He triggered his suit communications channel. “R2 … R2 … come in!”
“Yes, sir, I am here, sir.” The droid’s mechanical tones sounded a bit shaken. “If you don’t mind my saying so, sir, that appears to have been a most unconventional landing. I am concerned that—”
“Shut UP and OPEN THE CARGO AIRLOCK!” Han wheezed. He managed to push himself up into a sitting position, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stay up. He was swaying like a drunk in a high wind.
“But, sir, I warned you that in the interests of security, all entrances would be sealed pending—”
Han found the blaster he’d stuck into the outside pocket on his suit and, drawing it, leveled the weapon at R2. “R2, YOU OPEN THAT AIRLOCK NOW, OR