Star Wars_ The Han Solo Trilogy 03_ Rebel Dawn - A. C. Crispin [154]
He manhandled the steering yoke hard to port and hit the ion drives hard. The Outrider leapt toward the egg-shaped planetoid, nosing down slightly in anticipation of dropping beneath the great rock.
When they were close enough that the bulging flanks of the planetoid filled the forward viewport, there was a resonant ping from the proximity sensors and Eaden sat bolt upright. “Target dead ahead!”
“And up!” Leebo screeched through the intercom. A barrage of laser fire erupted from the Outrider’s cannon emplacement at the upper horizon of the planetoid. Dash looked up and felt his blood run cold. Over the close horizon of the great gray egg loomed the bow of an Imperial light cruiser, its laser ports glowing red. Leebo’s useless salvo had pattered harmlessly against its heavy shielding.
Dash thrust the steering yoke forward. The ship plummeted in response, accelerating as she dived beneath the planetoid. A trail of laserfire from the Imperial ship lit up her wake.
“What are you doing?” cried Leebo.
“Proving that size isn’t everything!”
Dash continued to accelerate, giving the Outrider even more juice as they passed beneath the long axis of the planetoid and began ascending. The cruiser was five times bigger than the Outrider, which meant it was, at minimum, at least five times less maneuverable. By the time the captain figured out what Dash was doing and was able to turn the ship or order up a new firing solution, the target would be gone.
He hoped.
The Outrider described a perfect semicircle in the void of space, pressor beams providing maneuverability in the vacuum. It sailed around the planetoid upside down relative to the cruiser and whizzed over it toward the Maw.
“I need a quick course adjustment,” he told his navigator, then spared a second to glance at the rearview screen. As he had hoped, the Imperial captain had read his move as an attempt to flee and had started to turn his ship in anticipation of pursuit into the Pit. He was still swinging to port as the Outrider streaked away in the opposite direction, toward the cluster of black holes.
“I sometimes think,” said Eaden, as his webbed fingers played over the instrumentation, “that you are a certifiable madman. I assume you want a course that the Imperials will be loath to follow.”
“I want the Imperials to think I’ve chosen death over dishonor.”
The Nautolan gave him a sidewise glance. “You may well have done just that.”
“Cute. Range to the rim of the Maw?”
“Two-point-three light-hours and closing.”
Dash’s gaze swept the tactical display, taking in the diffuse rims of the gravity wells, depicted in the display as broad, glowing bands of faded orange. If they eluded the cruiser, and went to hyperspace at the right moment and dived into the Maw at just the right angle, they could, with more luck than anyone had any right to expect, use their superluminal velocity to skip them along the outer edge of the region like a flat stone across a lake. Theoretically, anyway. If the gravitational waves generated by the various collapsed masses didn’t muck up their navigation or suck them out of hyperspace again. If they could maintain a safe course through the complicated orbital arabesques being performed by the singularities. If they could get far enough from the Imperial’s gravity generators to make the jump in the first place.
Eaden pointed out these various risks with maddening calm, and Leebo chimed in over the comm with even more maddening hysteria. Dash shouted them both down. “As much as I hate to quote an adversary,” he said, “remember what Han says in situations like this?”
“Enlighten me,” Eaden replied. It was, Dash thought, hard to believe that an amphibious humanoid could manage so dry a tone.
“Never tell me the odds.”
The navicomp beeped, and he punched the ion drives. Hard.
TWO
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