The Lando Calrissian Adventures: Star Wars Legends (Star Wars - Legends) by L. Neil Smith

Author:L. Neil Smith [Smith, L. Neil]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780307795496
Publisher: Random House Worlds
Published: 2011-06-28T00:00:00+00:00

• XVIII •

WITH A VICIOUS tentacle-slash at the bulkhead behind him, the robot launched himself across the room, straight at the astounded fighter pilot. The pilot leaped up just as four chrome-plated manipulators seized him in their mechanical embrace, joined by a belated fifth.

The pilot heaved his forearms up and outward in a hold-breaking maneuver, fended off a tentacle with a forearm block that would have snapped radius and ulna of a human antagonist, delivered a powerful turning backfist blow to Vuffi Raa’s pentagonal torso.

The little robot flew back the way he’d come, smashed into the wall, and was on the way back into combat again before Lando could so much as blink.

“Master!” the droid shouted, once again wrapping his limbs about those of the pilot. “Use your medikit!”

Fumbling at the belly of his suit, Lando grabbed the kit’s injector, a flat thick coin of an object with a red side and a green side laminated over silvery plating. As Vuffi Raa held the fighter pilot momentarily, Lando slapped the injector on his neck.

There was a hisssss, the pilot slumped, and Vuffi Raa released him.

The robot seemed to slink into a corner, his red eye growing dimmer, his tentacles spreading and curling until the little fellow was a simple metallic sphere. The light pulsed feebly once, and went out.

“Vuffi Raa!” the gambler exclaimed, shaken with surprise and grief. He hurried to the robot’s side, without the faintest idea what to do for his friend. A tiny hint of eye-glow still could be made out. Lando stood as anger began to fill him.

He walked over to the pilot. The sedation hadn’t rendered him unconscious. He lay, breathing deeply, his eyes swimming in and out of focus, in and out of burning lunatic hatred for the helpless droid across the room.

Lando turned him over roughly, tore the somewhat antiquated blaster from the man’s military holster, flipped him on his back again. Poking around in the small cramped chamber, he found some scraps, odds and ends from maintenance projects, among them a two-meter length of heavy wire. Holding it against the shield-saturated upper hull, he burned it in half with the blaster on its lowest setting, and, without waiting for the fused ends to cool, returned to the recumbent pilot, twisting one piece around his suited wrists, the other around his ankles.

Then, uncaring about what physiological damage he might be doing the soldier, he twisted the knurled edge of the injector until a small arrow was opposite the engraved legend STIM, and clapped it firmly to the man’s face.

The device made its subtle noise. The fellow flushed, groaned, but his eyes grew clearer immediately. Lando pressed the still-warm muzzle of the blaster against the man’s left kneecap.

“All right, Ace: tell me your story and make it short. By all means don’t cooperate. I’d love an excuse to use you up, one joint at a time!” The knuckle of his index finger tightened on the trigger, and the pilot saw it.

“I’m Klyn Shanga,” the trussed-up figure said with a sigh.

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