The Han Solo Adventures Read Free Page B

was a common pattern in the Corporate Sector, naive outworlders lured by false promises, signing on only to become prisoners once they reached the compounds. And what could these few fugitives hope to accomplish?
    The luck of the draw, he reminded himself. Hits off the Cosmic Deck didn’t always make things Right, but Right wouldn’t fill an egg timer on Tatooine. You played the cards you got, and Han Solo liked to be on that end of things with the largest profit margin.
    But Chewie was staring down at him. Han sighed; the big lug was a good first mate, but a soft touch. Well, the tip about the Authority ship was worth something—a hint, maybe, a useful lesson. Han snatched the carbine from the leader irritably.
    “Just remember this, you’re prey. Got me? You’ve got to think like prey, and use your brains.”
    The creature understood and moved closer, standing on tiptoe to see what Han was doing with the carbine.
    “It’s got three settings, see? Safety, single shot, and constant fire. Now, the Security Police here use those riot guns, right? Sawed-off, two-handers? They’re real fond of using constant fire, because they can afford to waste power, just hosing it around. You can’t. What you do is, lock all your carbines on single shot. And if you get into a firefight at night or in the deep jungle where visibility’s poor, shoot at the constant-fire sources. You’ll know it’s none of your people, so it must be Security Police. You’ve got to start using your brain.”
    The creature looked from the man to the carbine and back again. “Yes,” it assured him, retrieving the weapon, “we will remember. Thank you.”
    Han sniffed, knowing how much they still had to learn. And they’d have to learn it on their own, or the Authority would grind them under its vast heel. And on how many worlds, he asked himself, was the Authority doing just that?
    His thoughts were interrupted by distant sounds of blaster fire off in the jungle. The creature had moved to the hatch, with its carbine leveled at them. “I am sorry,” it told them, “but we had to test some of the weapons here, now, to make certain they work.”
    It lowered the carbine and fled down the ramp, heading for the jungle. So much for world-saving. “I take it all back,” Han said to Chewie as they leaned on the open hatch. “They might do all right at that.”
    Their long-range sensors had been knocked out by the destruction of the Falcon ’s dish antenna on the approach run. The ship would have to make a blind lift-off, taking her chances on running into trouble.
    Han and Chewbacca stood atop the Falcon for nearly an hour, straining to patch the damaged antenna mount. Han didn’t begrudge the time; it had been a worthwhile effort and, if nothing else, had given the fugitives time to leave the rendezvous area. Because, sure as stink in a spacesuit, the Falcon ’s lift-off would be plotted and its point of origin thoroughly searched.
    They could wait no longer. The first lightening of the sky would bring every flitter, skimmer, and armed gig the local Authority officials could lay hands on, in a tight visual search grid. Chewbacca, sensing Han’s mood, made a snarling comment in his own language.
    Han lowered his macrobinoculars. “Correct. Let’s raise ship.”
    They adjourned below, buckled in, and ran through a preflight—warming up engines, guns, shields. Han declared, “I’m betting that lighter will be holding low, where his sensors will do him the most good. If we come up any distance away from him, we can outrun him and dive for hyperspace.”
    Chewbacca yelped. Han poked him in the ribs. “What’s eating you? We just have to play this hand out.” He realized he was talking to hear himself. He shut up. The Millennium Falcon lifted, hovering for just a moment as her landing gear retracted. Then Han tenderly guided her up through the opening in the jungle’s leafy ceiling.
    “Sorry,” he apologized to his ship, knowing what abuse