A soarer's cry sounded and he spied the creature rising from the cliff across the valley, bearing what looked like a stunned or injured grazer calf. The Wookiee growled an im-precation at the flier and wished for a second that he, too, had wings. Then he shook his fist in the air and bellowed wildly, for a mad inspiration worthy of Han Solo had just struck him.
As he worked out details, he slung his bowcaster and be-gan rummaging through the equipment he had brought. First, the tripod. He clamped all three legs under his arm and got a firm grip on its mounting plate. Cords of muscle swelled in his arms and paws, and he gritted his fierce teeth in exer-tion. Slowly, he put the needed crease into the tough metal of the plate.
When he was satisfied, he put down the tripod and began to work furiously, casting occasional glances down to the growing turmoil in the valley as it surged toward.his high ground. He had, he believed, the tools and materials he re-quired; time was another question entirely.
He threw the downed soarer's carcass over onto its back without trouble; its bones were hollow and it had, for all its size, evolved for minimum weight. He jammed the bent mounting plate up under its chin, ignoring the ruin of its gaping skull, and fixed it there with a retainer from his tool roll, turning its screw down as tightly as he could without crushing the bone.
He spread two of the tripod's legs, extending them to maximum length, and lay them out along each wing. He curled the leading edge of the wings over the tripod legs and wrapped them two full turns at the tips, exerting his strength,against the resistance of the wing cartilage. There was barely any fold at all near the wing joints, but it would have to serve. He had only eight clamps in his carryall pouch; four for each wing had better be enough. He tight-ened them down quickly to hold the tripod legs in place within the folds of the wing edges.
Stopping to check, he saw that the grazers were already thronging on the lower slopes of his high ground, packed tightly together, antlers swaying and flashing. He applied himself to his task with redoubled energy.
He drew the central tripod leg out along the soarer's body as a longitudinal axis. The creature was an efficient glider, but its breast lacked the prominent keel to which flight mus-cles are attached in birds, and that made fastening a problem. He settled, after no more than a few seconds' thought, on a row of ring-fasteners punched through the skin and passed around the creature's slender sternum. Fortunately, it had no more than a vestigial tail. He swallowed and tried to ignore its nauseating odor as he worked.
Then came his worst problem; a kingpost. Taking one of the bracing members he had brought, he thrust it up directly through the soarer's body next to the sternum, to stand a meter and a half out its back, and made it fast to the longi-tudinal axis. Then he fit the longest brace he had across the juncture, securing it to the other two tripod legs as a lateral axis. He didn't fret over the various vile substances now leak-ing out of the soarer; that decreased the weight, which could only help. He spent a frantic several minutes cutting and fitting cable, with no time to measure or experiment, connecting wingtips, tail, and beak to the tip of the kingpost.
He had to pause when a group of grazers breasted the ridge, wild-eyed and quick to swing their antlers in his di-rection. He jammed a new magazine into his bowcaster and emptied it into the ground, filling the air with explosions that could be heard over the countless hoof-falls in the valley, driving the animals back down for the time being. But the valley was now filled and there would be no room for them below, he knew; it was only a matter of moments before a major part of the stampede covered the high ground and engulfed the Wookiee.
The soarer's grasping legs probably hadn't given it very good locomotion, but they made a plausible control bar once Chewbacca had stiffened them with supports, wired the claws together, and braced the shoulders with ground spikes. Then they, too, were cabled to wingtips, nose, and vestigial tail. The Wookiee dashed around the soarer's body, tightening down turnbuckles with no more than a hasty guess at the tension needed.
He heaved, thews bulging under his pelt, and lifted the animal framework, gazing down and hoping the stampede had receded and that he would be spared the necessity of testing his handiwork.
It hadn't; grazers were literally being borne up toward him by the pressure of those below. Another barrage from the bowcaster only made them fall back for a moment; the tightly packed bodies came at him again.
Chewbacca took his ammo bandolier, twisted it several times to tighten it, then slipped both arms through it as a harness and fastened it together at the front with a length of cable, hooking himself up to the framework where kingpost met longitudinal axis. He shouldered the weight of the soarer and slung his bowcaster around his neck. The body slumped but the extremely light; superstrong support materials kept it in deployment.
A grazer bull with antlers like a hedge of bayonets cut in toward him. The Wookiee skipped out of the way and almost collided with another knot of the animals. The ridge was being overrun. With nothing to lose, Chewbacca churned toward a dropoff, holding the soarer's reinforced carcass at what he hoped was the correct angle of attack, and launched himself.
He wouldn't have been surprised if the wings had luffed and, with no lift at all, he had gone tumbling into the stamp-ing, snorting mass of grazers. But a caprice of the strong air currents along the ridge flared the flier's wings, bearing him along on an updraft.
He began to yaw, the soarer's beak moving to the right, and pushed hard on the creature's braced claws to bring its nose around into the wind once more. Even so, his makeshift glider's sink rate was appalling. He raised his legs behind him and tried to distribute his weight for better control. He nosed up in an instinctive effort to get more lift, caring little about speed. He had flown powered craft of a design based on these same principles, but this was an entirely new ex-perience. He nearly stalled and only barely got moving again.
Then a strong updraft off the ridge caught the soarer's wings, and a moment later he was truly flying. And for all the terror of unpowered flight, deadly panic of the milling grazers below, reek of ichor dripping down cables and sup-ports from the soarer's corpse, the Wookiee found himself roaring and howling in elation. He started to dip the soarer's nose, but the experiment with pitch nearly sent him into a neutral angle of attack-and an abrupt descent. He instantly foreswore the exploration of new aeronautical principles.
Body centered, he made minor corrections and did his best to recall the devotional chants of his distant youth. Below him grazers thrashed and pushed, strident and frenzied, but the Wookiee now had the sound of the wind in his ears. The other soarers steered well clear of this new and bizarre rival. It was large and strange and therefore not to be trusted.
Chewbacca estimated that he was making better than thirty kilometers an hour and suddenly realized he had but one problem-getting down alive. He had angled toward the Fal-con. The last of the herd had passed it now, and the freighter seemed to be intact. But his makeshift glider wasn't so in-clined, and he found that any decrease in speed threatened to rob him of the lift that kept him aloft. Gradually, though, he cut back on both, bringing the soarer's nose back toward a neutral attitude, and brayed happily as he spied a good landing spot. The little mountain lake grew before him. He thought for a moment that he was about to overshoot it and began to experiment with a turn, hunching forward and pull-ing the soarer's bound claws back toward himself.
He didn't quite have time to conclude what went wrong; the next moment, Chewbacca and a splayed carcass were gyrating toward the lake's surface. He caught a split-second flash of his own reflection before it parted for him with all the soft receptiveness of a fusion-formed landing strip.
The curt slap of the water galvanized him, though, helping him overcome the numbing cold. He fought to untwist him-self, only to find that the soarer didn't float well; its wings settled around him and the weight of the metal framework bore him down. Reaching and wriggling, he still couldn't release himself from the improvised harness that held him to it.
The bowcaster around his neck only complicated things.
He became snarled in slack cable and his giant strength meant nothing against the cushiony persistence of the lake-water. His breath, too much to retain, began to escape his lips in silvery bubbles as the Wookiee fought to free himself from the sinking glider. It became hard to see, and he found himself thinking about his family and his green, lush home-world.
Then he realized a dark shape was circling him, making quick motions and weaving in and out among the tangled rigging with a sure ease and suppleness. A moment later the Falcon's first mate was being tugged toward the surface of the lake, which came at him like an unending, flawed mirror.
Chewbacca broke into the air and drew a breath with such enthusiasm that he found himself choking on it, splitting and coughing and mouthing salty Wookiee expressions. Spray got around behind to support him, swimming with deftness and agility despite the pair of heavy cutters he held in one hand.
"That was fantastic!" gushed the skip-tracer. "I've never seen anything like that in my life! I came after you when I realized you'd overshoot and land in the lake, but I never thought I'd reach you in time. The land just isn't my ele-ment. " He pulled at the Wookie's shoulder to get him started.
Stroking for the nearby shore, Chewbacca decided he felt exactly the same way about the sky.
Part 11
"HIS name was Zlarb, " Han said to the Mor Glayyd in that fortunate young man's study. "He tried to cheat me and kill me. He had a list of ships that were cleared through your clan's agency, but I haven't got the plaque with me right now. But if you could find his name in your records--"
"That isn't necessary. I know his name well," interrupted the Mor Glayyd, exchanging looks of extreme gravity with his sister.
"His bosses owe me ten thousand, " said Han with some-thing akin to fervor, "and I want it."
The Mor Glayyd leaned back, his conform lounger mold-ing to him, and folded his hands. He no longer seemed quite so young; he was playing a role for which he'd been well groomed. Han wished he had hung on to one of those guns in the armory.
"What do you know of the clans of Ammuud and their Code, Captain Solo?"
"That the Code almost plotted your terminal orbit for you today, " Han answered.
The youthful Mor Glayyd conceded, "A possibility. The Code is what holds the clans together yet keeps us from one another's throats. Without it, we'd revert to the backward, warring savages we were a hundred years ago. But betraying a trust or breaking an oath is also covered by the Code, and makes the violator a nonentity, an outcast, whatever his pre- _ vious status. And not even a clan Mor is above the Code. "
Oh, let me guess where this is going, Han, simmered, but he said nothing.
"Those dealings my clan had with Zlarb's people fall into that category. We asked no questions; we accepted our com-mission for delivery and pickup of the ships without con-cerning ourselves with their use. Zlarb and his associates knew our practice; that's why they were willing to pay us so well. "
"Meaning you're not going to tell me what I want to know," Han predicted.
"Meaning that I cannot. You're free to summon Gallandro back if you wish," returned the Mor Glayyd stiffly. His sister looked apprehensive.
Fiolla broke in: "Forget that; it's over with. But Zlarb's people broke faith with Han. Doesn't that mean anything to your Code? Do you shield traitors?"
The Mor Glayyd shook his head. "You don't see. No one broke faith with me or mine; that's the province of the Code." "We're wasting our time," Han rasped to Fiolla. He was
thinking of Chewbacca and the Falcon. He was willing to put aside his quest for the ten thousand for the time being; it didn't matter as much right now as the fact that Chewbacca was still somewhere out in the Ammuud mountains.
But as a parting shot he waved out at the city, at the de-parted Gallandro. "You saw what sort of people they are; you're throwing in with slavers and double-crossers and poi-soners! They-"
The Mor Glayyd and his sister came out of their loungers so suddenly that the furniture slid on the slick floor. "How's that you say," the girl whispered, "poisoners ? "
He'd said it thinking of the kit he had found on Zlarb and wondered now what nerve he had hit. "Zlarb was a Malkite poisoner. "
"The late Mor Glayyd, our father, was killed with poison only a half-month ago," Ido said. "Had you not heard of his death? "
When Han shook his head, the Mor Glayyd went on.
"Only the most trusted of my clan circle know he was poi-soned. It's unprecedented; the clans almost never use poi-sons, but we take precautions against them.. And none of our food tasters showed any ill effects."
"They wouldn't, from Malkite stuff," Han told him. "Even some food-scanning equipment and air samplers miss it. And all a Malkite poisoner does to get around tasters is dose them with an antidote beforehand. The tasters never notice, and only the victim dies. Run tests on your tasters, and I bet you'll find antidote traces in their systems."
He looked to Fiolla. "The poisoning must be the sugges-tion Magg spoke about in the tape I found on Zlarb; I don't know how the duel bears on it. "
The Mor Glayyd had been rocked by what he'd heard. "Then, then-"
His sister finished for him. "We, too, have been betrayed, Ewwen. "
Han Solo checked his pocket to make sure the plaque given him by the Mor Glayyd was secure and tugged at the too-tight collar of the suit he had borrowed. Bollux was just finishing loading the lifeboat with guidance components-shielded cir-cuitry rather than those damned fluidics! -provided from his own repair shops by the Mor Glayyd.
The boat had been moved here to the Glayyd yards so that its departure would be less conspicuous. The Mor Glayyd had shown a grim openhandedness when quick tests had borne out Han's suspicion that the food tasters' bodies con-tained traces of a Malkite antidote.
"You're certain you don't want us to accompany you? " the boy was saying for the fourth time.
Han declined. "That would draw too much attention if the slavers or the other clans are watching. I just hope the port defenses don't burn us out of the sky. "
"Many of my people are on watch today, " the Mor Glayyd answered, "and you're listed as a regular patrol flight over hereditary Glayyd lands. You'll go unchallenged. We'll be listening; if you needs, we'll come as quickly as we can. I'm sorry that your Millennium Falcon dropped beneath the detection ceiling when she bypassed the spaceport.
"No stress; I'll find her. But they should be getting the Lady of Mindor repaired any time now. Right after that, this place'll be alive with Espos. Do you think you can stall them?"
The Mor Glayyd was mildly amused. "Captain Solo, I thought you understood; my people are very good at not answering questions. None will violate the Silence, espe-cially to Security Police."
Fiolla joined them. Like Han, she wore a borrowed Glayyd flier's snugsuit of gleaming blue and high spacer's boots. She'd been both awed and angered when she'd seen the names of Authority higher-ups who were implicated in the slaving ring by the Glayyd records, though the evidence was a bit tenuous, mostly official permits for ship charters and certi-fications for operation within the Authority.
"Please remember, Fiolla, we expect to hear from you when you've rooted out our enemies," the Mor Glayyd said. "If we can't work our own vengeance we will at least witness yours. "
She promised soberly, "You will-and I know what a vow means to the Mor Glayyd. When I've gotten all this before an Authority Court I think I'll be able to keep you from prosecution. But I'd advise you to scrutinize future clients more closely. "
The Mor Glayyd raised his hand in farewell. "We will not be used again, you may be confident." Ido kissed both Han and Fiolla on the cheek. Then brother and sister stepped back, as did their kinsmen and kinswomen. Within seconds the lifeboat lifted from its resting place, drifted into a depar-ture lane, and sped up toward the mountains above the space-port, hurtling between them and rising for the higher peaks beyond.
"How are you g
oing to find them, anyway?" Fiolla, again in the copilot's seat, asked. "The sensors and detectors in this kettle aren't made for a tight such, are they?" She moved aside a disruptor rifle given them by the Mor Glayyd, to give herself more room.
Han laughed, happy to be off the ground again. "This wreck? You'd be lucky to find your own back pocket with the gear she carries. Even if she had a whole scoutship pack-age, there'd be all these peaks and valleys and the ground clutter. But we've got this," he put a forefinger to his temple dramatically.
"If we haven't got something a little more high-powered than that, " she said, mimicking his gesture perfectly, "I hope there are some drop-harnesses aboard, because I want out! ¯
Han brought the little craft over onto a prechosen course, satisfied that he'd dipped low enough behind the peaks to be off the spaceport's detectors. "We know the course Chewie was on when he passed over the port and I know how he thinks, how he pilots. I am now Chewie, with a damaged Falcon under me, one I've got to keep above three thousand meters, with limited guidance response. I know his style well enough to duplicate it. For instance, he'd never bank right off those three high peaks up there. You can't see enough of what's beyond to be sure of finding a high enough landing place to set down without blowing the rest of the fluidics.
Star Wars - Han Solo's Revenge Page 15