The blaster dropped out of Garris’s hand, and Shrike grabbed for it.
Han kicked it away, sending it skittering into the black, sharp-edged shadows.
Then he leaped over Shrike’s crouched form and bolted for the ramp leading up to the tallest roof. From there he could hide and catch a horizontal tube or a turbolift.
Han couldn’t believe he’d actually managed to down Shrike in a fight.
While he’d been growing up, he’d lived in terror of the captain’s temper and his hard fists.
Han reached the ramp and went up the corkscrew with the rush of a ship using full thrusters. He reached the top of the ramp and hesitated, looking around. The rooftop looked otherworldly with its double-edged shadows from Coruscant’s two small moons, edging everything into aching, sparkling white and bands of gray that plunged into impenetrable darkness.
As Han headed out across the rooftop, still scanning for a turbolift, a blue bolt shot out of the darkness at his right. The shot had come from the doorway of a turbolift. Blaster on stun! Han thought, running again, zigzagging frantically. Shrike? How could he have got up here so fast?
Another stun beam.
Han bolted across the rooftop like a vrelt running before a blaster ray, running as he’d never run before in his life. He passed another turbolift entrance, pulled up, and headed toward it. As he reached it, the door opened, and Shrike stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, blaster in hand.
Han skidded to a halt on the icy permacrete and reversed direction.
Shrike here? Who fired those other shots, then?
But he was too busy racing across the rooftop to give the question much consideration.
Shrike’s blaster spat, bluegreen in the shadows. The uppermost level was mostly reserved for courting couples and was not well lit. Only the light of Coruscant’s two small moons illumined the area.
Han’s breath was visible in the darkness as he raced across the permacrete, leaping over curbs and exposed conduits. The uppermost spires of several buildings stuck up from the permacrete like grotesque stone evergreens. Han hurdled one and skidded on hoarfrost as he landed. It was cold up here, away from the protection of the weather deflector. His leather jacket offered little protection.
“Stop or I’ll fry your ass!” Shrike yelled, and another stun beam split the night.
Han lengthened his strides, fleeing like a hunted animal, desperate to escape. Daring to look back over his shoulder, he saw Shrike’s dark form light up faintly in the reflected glow from another stun beam.
Turning forward again, Han ran faster, harder—only to come to a screeching halt and stand teetering on the edge where the permacrete dead-ended!
Arms windmilling, Han threw himself backward. He had a brief glimpse of the gorgeously lit plaza, ten or more stories below him, including the elegant restaurant where he’d eaten dinner. Through the shimmer of the weather deflectors, he could see the elegant statues, the exotic flowers and greenery …
Dinner seemed a lifetime ago.
Han turned right, skidding a little, and headed the other way.
Another stun beam lashed at him. His breath burned his chest as he gasped in the freezing air.
He hurdled another spire, felt it brush the inside of his trouser leg, but made it and ran on, dodging into a patch of shadow to escape another stun bolt.
The shadow suddenly gave way to complete and utter emptiness as an airshaft dropped away into nothingness!
Han was going too fast to stop. With a yell of terror, he leaped as hard as he could-and managed to clear the yawning gap. He landed heavily on the other side, fell, and rolled over, gasping, wind knocked out, trying to get to his feet again. He skidded on the icy permacrete, flailing, just as a stun beam splatted right beside him.
Han’s entire right side went numb.
The Corellian crashed back to the permacrete with an agonized grunt.
Letting himself go limp, he waited, hoping that he’d regain the use of his right side in time. Depending on the intensity level Shrike was using, it might take two minutes … or ten.
Breathing was torture, but Han gulped down every lungful, ignoring the pain. He needed to get his wind back, in case feeling returned to his right side.
Footsteps approached from his left. Shrike, going around the airshaft Han had hurdled. Han lay still. Only the white plume of his breath revealed that he still lived.
The footsteps paused beside him, circled him. Han could see Shrike’s form dimly, through his eyelashes. Then a boot kicked him viciously in his right leg. Han gasped with the pain. “You low-life scum,” Shrike spat.
…. For two credits I’d dump your worthless hide off the edge for what you did.”
The fact that Han could feel pain in the place where Shrike’s heavy boot had struck him was good. The stun paralysis was wearing off. But Han did not move, only lay limp as Shrike grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and dragged him over the permacrete, bumping and slithering, toward the nearest turbolift.