by Brian Daley
When Han was within a few paces, the shore-gang chief addressed him. “That’s close enough.” Several of his men were whispering among themselves, seeing the size of the cloaked and hooded Chewbacca.
Han moved closer, giving out a string of bland cordialities. He had the impression that the man was a good brawler and thought: Victory first; questions later! The chief reached to shove him back, with a warning. “I’m not telling you again, stranger!”
How right, agreed Han silently. He speeddrew, blindingly fast, and placed his gun against the chief’s head. The man was shoving and warning one instant, falling the next, with a look of surprise on his face. Han had time to backhand another man and give the shore-gang chief a stiff shove, such was the surprise he had generated. Then he had to duck a truncheon, and the scene erupted.
One young shore-gang member swung an eager one-two combination at Bollux, a short set-up jab and a long uppercut that would have done considerable damage to a human. But the youth’s fist gonged off the ’droid’s hard midsection and rebounded from his reinforced faceplate. As the boy cried out in agony, Hasti stepped around Bollux and brought the barrel of her gun down on his head.
Another shore-gangster reached for Han, who was otherwise occupied. So Badure stopped him with a forearm block and lashed out with his foot, kicking high and hard. His antagonist dropped. They had done well enough for the moment, but now the rest of the shoregangsters pressed in vengefully.
Then Chewbacca joined the brawl.
The Wookiee had stepped back to shuck the shoulder bag and put Skynx out of danger and to lay down his bowcaster. His hood still pulled low, he selected two men, shook them hard, then hurled them up and back in either direction. A swing of one long arm brushed another man back off the dock; Chewbacca kicked out in the opposite direction, connecting with a man who had lunged at Hasti. The man flew sideways, tumbled twice, and stretched out full length on the dock.
Two men tackled the Wookiee from either side. He ignored them, his legs as sturdy as columns beneath him. He struck out all around him, felling opponents with each blow.
The fight raged around Chewbacca, a flock of flailing, desperate shore-gangsters swarming at him. Spoiling for a fight since he had been downed by Egome Fass’s treacherous attack, the Wookiee obliged them. Bodies flew back, up, over. The Millennium Falcon’s first mate restrained himself to spare needless bloodshed. His companions found themselves left out of the riot with only occasional assistance to be rendered in the form of a tap on the head, a shove, or a shouted warning.
Chewbacca found time to give each of his legs a shake, and the men straining at them were flung loose. Those who remained standing made a concerted charge. The Wookiee spread his arms, scooped up all three of them, and dashed them against the dock. One of them, the gang chief, who had recovered from Han’s blow and reentered the fight, pulled a punch-dagger from a forearm sheath.
Han angled for a clear shot then, whatever the consequences. But Chewbacca caught the chief’s movement. The Wookiee’s head snapped around, his hood falling back for the first time, and he unleashed a full-throated roar into the shore-gang chief’s face, drawing his lips back off his jutting fangs. The chief turned absolutely white, eyes bulging, and managed to produce the smallest of squeaks. His punch-dagger fell from limp fingers. The snarling Wookiee, having attended to all the others, set the man down and put one forefinger against his chest. The chief fell backward to the deck, trying to draw breath.
Hasti grabbed Chewbacca’s bowcaster and her dropped cone of dough; Badure held the sack containing Skynx, from which emerged chitters of hilarity. Han grabbed his partner’s arm. “Gangplank’s going up!”
They dashed for the embarkation float, hopping one by one to the tow-raft. Shazeen, who had watched the whole encounter, loosed a blast from his blowhole. Closing a nictitating membrane over his eye, he ducked beneath the water to reemerge with his head through the tow harness, commanding, “Cast off!” Badure, last in line, brought the raft’s painter with him.
They had expected Shazeen to move off quickly, but the Swimmer warped the raft out slowly. When he had put a few dozen meters between the raft and the dock, he slipped the tow harness by submerging, then resurfaced to nudge it to a stop with his rocklike snout. “That was some fine thumping!” he hailed. Throwing his head back, he issued an oscillating call that rolled across the water. “Shazeen salutes you,” he clarified.
“Uh, thanks,” Han replied dubiously. “What’s the holdup?”
“We wait for Kasarax,” Shazeen answered serenely.
Han’s outburst was forestalled when another sauropteroid surfaced next to Shazeen, whistling and hissing with mouth and blowhole. “Use their language, woman,” Shazeen chided the newcomer, who was smaller and lighter of hide but nearly as battle-scarred as the big bull. “These are Shazeen’s friends. That pipsqueak there with the hairy face can really thump, can’t he?”
The female switched to Standard. “Will you really oppose Kasarax?”
“No one tells Shazeen where he may or may not swim,” replied the other creature.
“Then the rest of us are behind you!” she answered. “We’ll keep Kasarax’s followers out of it.” The lake water swirled as it closed over her head.
“Drop anchor!” shouted Han. “Cut the power! Cancel the reservations! You never said anything about a faceoff.”
“A race, a mere formality,” assured Shazeen. “Kasarax must pretend now that it’s a right-of-way dispute, to conform with the Law.”
“If he can get passengers,” Hasti broke in. “Look!”
Kasarax was having trouble getting any of his shore gang aboard his tow-raft. The clash at the dock had put doubt in them; now they were having second thoughts about being dragged into the middle of a Swimmer dispute. Their chief, too, hesitated.
Kasarax lost his temper and thrashed himself up over his tow-raft, half onto the dock. Men drew back from the enormous bulk and the steaming, gaping mouth. Kasarax bent down at the chief.
“You’ll do as I say! There’s nowhere you can hide from me, even in that shelter you built under your house. If you make me, I’ll dig you out like a stoneshell from the lake bottom. And the whole time, you’ll hear me coming!”
The shore-gang chief’s nerve broke. White-faced, he scurried aboard the tow-raft, pulling along several unwilling followers and browbeating several others to accompany him.
“Mighty persuasive lad, that nephew of mine,” reflected Shazeen.
“Nephew?” Hasti burst out.
“That’s right. For years and years I whipped every challenger who came along, but I finally got tired of being Top Bull. I drifted north, where it’s warm and the fish are fat and tasty. Kasarax has been running wild too long; partly my fault. I think shore folks put this takeover nonsense into his head, though.”
“Another victory for progress,” Badure murmured. Kasarax was nudging his tow-raft up even with Shazeen’s.
“Anyway, don’t worry,” Shazeen told them. “The Swimming People won’t attack you, so don’t use your weapons on them, or you’ll turn it into a death-matter. That’s the Law.”
“What about the other humans?” Han called, but too late; Shazeen had gone to confront Kasarax. The shore-gang members had brought along their harpoon spring-guns and a variety of dockside cutlery.
The two bulls churned the water, trumpeting to one another. At length Shazeen switched to human speech. “Stay clear of my course!”
“And you from mine!” Kasarax retorted. They both plunged for their tow-rafts, flippers beating with full force, diving for their harnesses and creating rolling swells. They reemerged with heads through harnesses and snapped the towing hawsers taut. The hawsers creaked with the strain, wringing the water from them. Water gushed up from the rafts’ blunt bows, breaking in spray and foam. Everyone on both rafts fell to the deck, snatching frantically for a handhold.
Kasarax and Shazeen breasted the water neck and neck, shrilling challenges to one another.
Han began to wonder whether a hike around the lake wouldn’t have been a better idea after all. Why do I always think of these things too late?
IX
TOWING hawsers thrummed like bowstrings. The rafts moved forward with surges matching the Swimmers’ rhythms.
Han clasped the low deck rail. The water teemed with sauropteroids, both Kasarax’s cronies and Shazeen’s supporters, who had been kept from work by Kasarax’s alliance with the shore gang.
Long, scaled necks cut the water; rolling backs and broad flippers showed with each dive, and the spray of swimming and blasting blowholes made it seem the rain had resumed.
“Chewie!” shouted Hasti, who was hugging a rail stanchion, “the bag!”
The shoulder bag containing Skynx was sliding aft. Badure rolled from a stern-rail corner and caught it, wrapping his legs around a stanchion. Skynx popped out of the bag, his big red eyes more glazed now than before.
Taking in their situation unsteadily, the Ruurian scuttled up halfway onto Badure’s head, his antennae bending in the breeze, clinging resolutely with every digit he could spare, and hurled the empty jet-juice flask into the air, cheering, “Weee-ee heee-ee! I bet five driit on us!” Spying Kasarax’s raft, he added shrewdly, “And five more on them!” He sank back down into the bag, which Badure closed over him.
The rough ride didn’t trouble Han nearly as much as the fact that this was no ordinary race. The two bulls were straining, neither able to gain headway against the other. Kasarax made a bid for the lead, then another, but Shazeen matched his spurts and held the pace. Han could hear their booming grunts of effort over the rush of the wind and the slapping of water against the rafts.
Kasarax changed tactics, slackening his line. Shazeen followed suit. The younger creature changed course in an instant, cutting across Shazeen’s path just behind his elder. He ducked under Shazeen’s towing hawsers and pulled hard. His tow-raft came slashing after, hawsers brushing at angles under Shazeen’s.
Han saw the shore-gang chief hoist a broad-bladed axe; Kasarax’s men obviously intended to sever Shazeen’s hawsers when the hawsers came up against Kasarax’s raft’s bow rail. The pilot drew without thinking; a blaster bolt flickered red across the water, and the axehead jolted, sparks arcing from it, a black-edged hole burned through it. The shore-gang chief dropped it with a cry as his men ducked.
Someone else grabbed the axe and swung it as both rafts and the Swimmers towing them were dragged and slewed around by each other’s momentum. Han’s aim was spoiled and the axehead descended. Perhaps it was an off-world product with an enhanced edge; in any case the axe parted a hawser with one blow and bit into the bow rail. Shazeen’s raft swung, coming nearly side-on, with the unbalanced pull of the remaining hawser.
The chief had the axe back, ready to chop the other hawser. Han was aiming carefully at the axe when Shazeen changed course in an effort to see what had happened. The remaining towing hawser dragged across Kasarax’s raft’s rail, catching the shore-gang chief and pulling him overboard. At the same moment Shazeen’s maneuver bumped his own raft into a trough. Han lost his footing, slipped, and fell, whereupon the blaster flew from his hand.
The chief was still clinging to Shazeen’s remaining tow-hawser, lower body in the water, sawing at it with a knife. Han couldn’t spot his blaster, but was determined not to let that second line be severed. The gang chief was working at the hawser, Hasti was shouting something about not starting a firefight, and Badure and Chewbacca were yelling something he didn’t want to take time to listen to, being in no mood for a debate. Losing patience, he threw off his flight jacket, stepped over the bow rail, sprang, and began drawing himself down the hawser, hand over hand, his legs wrapped around it, the higher swells wetting his back.
The shore-gang chief felt the vibrations in the hawser, saw Han, and sawed more furiously at the tough fiber. The chief took a moment to slash at the pilot. Han suddenly realized how impetuous he had been, as if another man entirely had occupied his body for a moment. He didn’t quite avoid the stroke and the knifepoint cut across his chin. The water pulled at them both.
But Han avoided the back-slash with dexterity gained in zero-gee acrobatics drills. He lashed out flat-handed in a disarming blow, and the knife plunked into the water. As the knife fell, the shore-gang chief began to lose his grip on the hawser. He grabbed at Han, and both men plunged into the water. The lakewater was agonizingly cold and had a peculiar taste.
Han dove as deeply as he could, his clothes dragging at him. Underwater he heard the thud of the raft’s bow striking the chief’s head. Cheeks puffed, the pilot glanced up through the icy, dark water as the raft passed over him, and then surfaced just behind it. He grabbed for the stern rail, missed, and was himself grabbed.
Chewbacca pulled his partner over the stern rail in one motion just as the raft began drifting to a halt. Shaking wet hair out of his eyes, Han gave an involuntary cry of surprise, seeing why they had stopped. Kasarax’s maneuver had been Shazeen’s needed provocation for combat under Swimmer Law. Both the monstrous bulls had ducked out of their tow-harnesses; now they met in resolute battle.
They charged into collision, a butting of great heads whose report sounded like the crack of a tree trunk, and an impact of muscular necks and broad chests that sent waves racing outward. Neither seemed hurt as they circled for position, flippers whipping the water into foam. The shore-gang boss was paddling toward his raft, eager to be out of the behemoths’ way.
Han felt Bollux’s hard finger tap his shoulder. “You’ll no doubt be wanting this, sir. I caught it before it could go overboard, but you didn’t seem to hear me call you.” He passed over Han’s blaster.
Without taking his eyes from the battle, Han promised, “I’m doubling your salary,” ignoring the fact that he had never paid the ’droid a thing.
Kasarax wailed; he had been too slow on the withdrawal after nipping Shazeen. The older bull hadn’t gotten a full grip with his fangs, and Kasarax had gotten away, but now blood flowed down his neck scales. Kasarax, wild with rage, charged again.
Shazeen met him head-on, each of them trying to butt and bite, to press the other under the surface, shrieking and trumpeting. Shazeen failed to repel a determined assault by Kasarax and slid back as the younger creature surged up over him seeking a death grip on his uncle’s throat. But he had been too eager. Shazeen had drawn him out and now the older bull dropped his pretext and dove, rolling. His blunt tail slammed Kasarax’s skull, and the younger combatant fell back in pain. They resumed butting heads, biting, thrashing flippers, and colliding with one another.
“Hang on!” warned Hasti, the only one who had thought to watch for other danger. The raft shuddered and timbers splintered as the bow was tipped into the air.
It was one of Kasarax’s followers, a very young bull from the looks of him. He had closed crushing jaws on the raft’s stern, shaking it, spouting wrathful blasts from his blowhole. He tore a meter-wide bite out of the raft, spat the wood aside, then came at them again. Han set his blaster to maximum power.
“Don’t kill him!” Hasti shouted. “You’ll have them all down on us!”
As the sauropteroid butted the raft, nearly capsizing it, Han bellowed. “What do you want me to do, sweetheart, bite him back?”
“Leave it to them,” she answered, pointing. She meant the other Swimmers, who were closing in. Kasarax’s over-eager follower had ignited a general fray. One—Han thought it was the female who had surfaced at the dock and offered support to Shazeen—kicked up an impressive bow-wave, making straight for the raft. But once again the creature closed jaws on the raft’s stern.
The trick’s to keep on breathing till help arrives, Han told himself. He spied the cone of gooey dough Hasti had brought, still more than half-full. He reached for it, calling, “Chewie! Lock hands!”
Han got to unsteady feet. The Wookiee reached out his long arm and caught Han’s free hand, steadying him. The young bull had seen him coming and opened its maw, but whe
n he pulled up short it closed its jaws with a crash and blew a geyser of spray through its blowhole.
When he saw the edges of the blowhole vibrate with the indrawing of breath, Han jammed the cone of dough down on it as hard as he could. It landed on the sucking blowhole with a peculiar shloop!
The Swimmer froze, its eyes bulging. Into what air passages and chambers the dough had been drawn, Han couldn’t begin to guess. The creature shook, then exploded in a sneeze that convulsed him, kicking up a fountain of water and nearly blowing Han off the raft with the fish-scented gust.
At that moment Shazeen’s friend arrived. She hit the younger creature and they battled furiously. All around, pairs of the creatures rolled, ducked, bit, and butted in pitched combat. Scaled hides took tremendous punishment and the sound threatened to deafen the humans; the turbulence promised to capsize the raft.
Han kept his attention riveted on Shazeen and Kasarax, thinking, If that old bull loses, it’ll be a wet stroll home. And the fish are biting today!
Both bulls were torn and injured, chunks missing from each one’s hide and flippers. The older one moved slowly, worn down by his nephew’s youthful endurance. They rammed together for another fierce exchange. Surprisingly, Kasarax went under.
Shazeen sought to follow up his advantage but failed to keep track of his antagonist and circled aimlessly. The air was so full of pealing battle cries that Shazeen took no notice of his passengers’ warnings. Kasarax had slyly and quietly surfaced behind his uncle and to his left, in the blind spot resulting from his missing eye. The younger Swimmer lunged with jaws gaping for a lethal grip at the base of his uncle’s skull.
