Terrified and bereft of any sense of loyalty to their fellow student, the whole auditorium turned their sunken, Pau’an eyes to Fyzen Gor. And then the gunners did, too. Fyzen got ready to scream, to be blasted, to maybe just collapse beneath the weight of this sudden, impossible horror.
And then a voice said, “I am,” and Greesto Ftrak stood up, looking as languid and unimpressed as ever.
Fyzen sputtered and blinked. He couldn’t. How could this be happening?
The head gunner looked back and forth between them. Fyzen wasn’t even sure what he wanted to happen. Could he live with himself if his best friend was hauled off in his place? Still, his parents’ warnings and the desperate voice inside him clamored away: Stay down and stay quiet, stay down and stay quiet.
“Take them both,” the head gunner finally snarled. Then he clambered off the table as his crew closed in and grabbed Fyzen and Greesto with impossibly tight grips, hauling them away.
And now the surface fields stretched out around them, and they were rumbling off to who-knew-where, and Greesto, Greesto the inexplicable, the heroic, the utterly reckless, was still running his mouth.
“You’re not scared?” one of the hooded gunners said, a grin sliding across his face. “How cute. Perhaps you should be.”
“You held up a medical school,” Greesto said. “Kidnapped the two most promising surgical students. Took them out to the wastelands beyond the Shrapnel Field.” He glanced out the window. Two dactillions glided through the distant sky. Fyzen wished desperately that his friend would shut up for once in his life. “In a few more klicks we’ll be past even Sinkhole Crassnah.” All the gunners were staring now, eyes narrowed. “And there’s a medical droid on board. And at least ten more in the cargo hold of this thing, from what I saw. That means you’re going to a drop of some kind. Probably with gunrunners, if I had to guess. You’re Wandering Star, so you’ve been fighting off the Utai gangs encroaching on your territory. And the Amani have outposts here somewhere, so probably—”
A blast shrieked out and Fyzen screamed, wondering if he was dead. But it was Greesto who looked down at his own smoking chest in shock, mouth open, eyes wide and watery. A splash of blood burst from his lips. “B-but…” he stuttered, then slumped over.
“Your friend, he talks too much.” The gunner shrugged and holstered his blaster. “Talked,” he amended, unnecessarily.
Fyzen had been staring in disbelief, his own heart pounding incessant explosions in his ears. He lurched toward Greesto’s heaving, bleeding body, forgetting about his restraining belt, and found himself yanked backward and then staring down the barrels of three blasters. “Maybe don’t follow in those footsteps, eh?” the gunner drawled. “We would prefer not to have to kill two of Utapau’s most promising young surgeons in one day.”
A shrill whistle sounded outside and then the transport rocked with a mortar blast.
“It’s an ambush!” the driver called from the cockpit. “There’s a roadblock ahead!”
“Ram them,” the head gunner commanded.
“Perhaps,” the medical droid advised, “it would not be wise to ram them.”
Please, Fyzen found himself praying to a god he had no name for, please don’t let them ram the roadblock. Greesto was still breathing, although not much from the look of it. But that meant there was still a chance. Between the medical droid and Fyzen’s own skills, maybe, just maybe they could save him. But not if they got blown up first.
“Quiet, droid,” the gangster snapped. “Accelerate to ramming speed!”
Blasterfire slammed against the armored sides of the transport as the engines rattled into high gear. Fyzen was positive he was going to be sick, and that they were all going to die. He wondered briefly where his parents were at that moment, and whether they’d found out that their only son had been kidnapped; that they’d probably never see him again. And then, with another screech and a teeth-shattering explosion, the cramped metal world of the transport speeder heaved forward and they went catapulting upside down through the air.
For a fraction of a second everything seemed to freeze in motion: the gangsters, none of whom had bothered strapping in, their shocked faces and the weapons spinning out of their long-fingered hands, a cup of something blue hurtling upward, splashing its contents in a perfect arc across the space amid everyone, Greesto’s slumped body and the splotch of blood spreading slowly across his white medical gown.
And then another explosion ripped one of the side doors halfway off, letting a shock of pale sunlight in as the transport tumbled upside down again and finally came skidding to a rest.
“Ah!” one of the gangsters gasped, blood dripping from his open mouth. One of his eyes was missing and half his face had become a singed mess of raw flesh. “Ah…ah…ah…”
Fyzen looked around. The other two gangsters were dead, their shattered bodies lying amid the wreckage at the far end of the transport. Greesto, still strapped in, lay nearly lifeless, but his shoulders heaved one time with another breath. The medical droid, also secured to the opposite side of the craft, took a quick scan of the carnage and then regarded Fyzen with its softly glowing eyes.
“I suggest we evacuate quickly,” it said. Severed wires sparkled from the severed stump where one of its arms had been just moments before. “Or we will soon die.”
“Greesto,” Fyzen said, his head still spinning, body an entire ocean of aches.
“Your friend is all but expired. It is very unlikely we will be able to save him and ourselves. Strategically, we must evacuate immediately if we hope to survive.”
“We’re taking him with us,” Fyzen said, finally managing to unfasten his shoulder straps.
“There are life-forms approaching,” the droid croaked. “The ambushers, most likely.”
“Ah,” the one gangster still living gurgled. Fyzen reached gingerly past the man’s dilapidated face and pulled a small blaster from his underarm holster. A shadow fell across the patch of light streaming in from the wrecked door. Fyzen turned and shot, staring past his trembling hand as the Utai raider flew backward, a charred hole smoking right between his eyes.
He’d killed someone.
Fyzen Gor had just taken a life.
Sure, it was an attacker, someone who was about to kill him, but still…he had sworn an oath. He was a medical professional, or almost anyway. He wasn’t supposed to—
Another face appeared in the doorway, this time accompanied by a blaster bolt that singed past Fyzen and slammed into the dying gangster. Fyzen let loose a barrage of shots, not even realizing he was screaming until the roar of his blaster died down.
He didn’t know how much time had passed when he finally stepped out of the overturned transport, Greesto slung over one shoulder, the medical droid, now with a charred stump instead of one of his arms, at his side.
Seven Utai bodies lay amid the wreckage.
“One of these raiders is still alive,” the droid said. “But barely.” Even though it was right there, its voice sounded very far away.
Fyzen nodded slightly, gazing out past the clearing smoke.
“Which way, master?”
Master.
Somehow, in the midst of all that killing, he had become the droid’s master. Or maybe it was just because there was no one else left around.
He didn’t answer. The fallen Utai had become the whole world.
“Up that embankment is the road,” the droid said. “We could find it and follow it back to Pau City, back home.”
Fyzen shook his head. “We’re never going home again.”
“This direction, past that stream, there are caves. Beyond that, an abandoned sinkhole.”
Fyzen looked up from the bodies, found the droid staring at him, awaiting direction. “Lead the way. And bring that dying Utai. Parts of him may prove useful to us.”
“AT SOME POINT,
” LANDO CALRISSIAN said as the Falcon swooped out of hyperspace, “you’re going to have to tell me what this is all about. You know that, right?”
L3 turned her single eye on him and just stared for a couple of seconds. That was a no in L3ese, generally, but this time Lando thought he detected a hint of something else…curiosity, maybe? Pity?
He shook his head. “You’re lucky I like you, El. Now where—whoa!”
A vast sea of asteroids stretched out ahead of them, but they appeared to be formed from pure ice. Their slowly spinning edges glinted with the light of a distant star. The field seemed to go on forever. “What is this place—some kind of ice asteroid system?”
“It’s the Mesulan Remnants Belt,” L3 said. “Enter it.”
“As in Mesula the ice moon? Didn’t it rupture ages ag—oh.”
“Hence, Remnants.”
“Got it. Aaand enter the ice asteroid field? That’s what you’re asking me to do?”
“Affirmative.”
“Just enter it. Drive the Falcon right up into the middle of the shattered ice moon.”
“Correct. That is what I’m asking you to do, Captain Calrissian.” After a moment, and very quietly, L3 said: “Please.”
L3 never said please. Lando cast a dubious glance at the slowly spinning frozen shapes in the darkness ahead. “This is a terrible idea,” he said, easing the Falcon forward past the first line of humongous moon shards. They loomed like sleeping giants on either side of the ship.
“If I guess what we’re doing out here, will you tell me I’m right?” he said into the eerie silence of deep space.
“Probably not,” L3 said. “But you are welcome to try.”
“Is this about love, El? Did you finally discover how droids can love and now you’ve got me chasing some handsome droid boy out into the far reaches of the galaxy?”
“I’m curious why you presume the droid I am interested in would be a boy.”
Lando slammed the steering panel in triumph. “Okay, wow, so I was right! What’s her name then? Is she cute? Can’t be as good looking as me, right?”
L3 just stared out into the emptiness.
“Speaking of love,” Lando went on chipperly. “I want you to know just how close I was to finally making something happen with the vice grand administrator, when you decided to—”
“My analytics of the situation determined that particular entanglement had exactly zero to do with the concept that you humans call love.”
“Oh? And what does a droid know about love, El? Hm?”
Again, no comment.
“Okay, okay, seriously,” Lando said, swerving the Falcon around a smaller ice shard that had been hidden behind a gigantic one they’d slipped past. “You set up a delivery of spice for us to smuggle and it’s going to make me the richest man in the galaxy. El, you shouldn’t have!”
“Lando.”
“Well, okay, yes you should’ve, but still! Wow!”
“Lando.”
“And anyway, what in—”
“Lando!”
L3 reached across the flight deck and shoved the boosters to a lower setting. “There.” She nodded toward a dark rectangular cube in the distance.
“What is that?” Lando couldn’t quite make it out, but it appeared to be some kind of a rusty metal chamber floating through the shattered moon field. The Falcon sensor screen let out a blurp of alarm as four lights blinked to life on it. “Of course we have company. And looks like it’s Imperials.”
The blips closed fast toward the floating chamber and pretty soon, Lando spotted three TIE fighters and an Imperial shuttle gliding through the Mesulan Remnants.
“This just gets better and better,” he muttered. “Anything else you’d like to not tell me until it’s too late?”
L3 was staring out at the floating chamber.
The Imperial squad surrounded it quickly, and for a moment, it seemed like the whole ice field held its breath. Then something stirred at the top of the chamber. Lando squinted. “Is that a—”
Faz-FaZIIIIIiiiiiish! Two blasts roared out, tearing through one of the TIEs, which reeled into a wild loop and then smashed into a moon shard, exploding. The other ships lurched back into a defensive formation, evading another barrage of laser cannon fire and returning it in kind.
“Laser cannon,” L3 said. “Yes, it is.”
Another TIE got clipped but it wasn’t out of commission, and with no evasive maneuvers at its disposal, the floating chamber was taking a beating. It wouldn’t last much longer, Lando surmised. “Should we—?”
“Wait,” L3 said. “Just wait.”
Something else stirred at the chamber’s rooftop now. An escape pod, maybe. But instead, a figure in a dark-green space suit emerged, heavy laser fire blazing from each hand. “Whoa!” Lando gaped. With a shriek of flame, the figure blasted off through the Mesulan Remnants.
The Imperial ships seemed to be simply startled into paralysis for a moment, or perhaps they were conferring. Then the shuttle took off, followed by one of the TIEs, leaving the other hovering by the chamber.
“I don’t suppose you just wanted to witness a wild space battle between some Imperials and a lunatic in a space suit,” Lando said, “and now we could just jump on out of here, mission accomplished, huh?”
L3 didn’t take her eye off the chamber. “Have you met me?”
“Unfortunately,” Lando sighed, maneuvering the Falcon from its hiding place and jetting toward the lone TIE fighter.
FREEMA FREEMA BARA BARA FREEMA freema!
“Is that really necessary?” Han yelled over the blaring music as he settled into the copilot’s seat.
Freema leema chucka chucka freema bola freema!
“What?” Taka yelled.
“Is! That! Really! You know what…” Han scanned the controls for an off switch.
“Oh, you looking for this?” Taka held up a remote device of some kind and grinned, then clicked a button and the heavy grinding screaming sounds suddenly stopped.
“Thank you!” Han sighed. “How do you fly with that noise blaring in your ears?”
Taka shrugged. “Keeps me focused. Wait—are you trying to tell me you’ve never heard of Snograth and the Mogwars?”
“No, I have not. And I had hoped to keep it that way.”
“Get your life!” Taka yelled, clicking the cacophony back on and rocking back and forth.
Freema freema!
“Taka!” Han shook his head and huffed off down the narrow hallway into the main hold of the Vermillion. “I don’t know about this pilot,” he told Lando, who was leaning over a table covered in small cards and metal figurines, brow furrowed with concentration. Across from him, Kaasha sat with her arms behind her head, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face.
“I’m sure they’re fine, Han,” Lando said without taking his eyes off the board. “You’re just mad you’re not in the pilot’s seat for once in your life.”
“There’s some kind of horrible noise blasting in there. While flying, Lando. Taka insisted on playing it for me. Flomath and the Mogsomething?” Han sat on the bench beside Kaasha and rubbed a hand through his hair.
“They’re trying to share things with you, Han,” Kaasha said, her eyes still closed. “It’s called bonding. Lando, I’m still waiting.”
Lando growled. “I know, I know.”
“What are you guys playing?”
“Saigok,” Kaasha said. “It’s like dejarik, same madman invented them both in fact, but saigok is way more badass.”
“Makes dejarik look like cambiblocks,” Lando said, scowling.
Kaasha wiggled her eyebrows. “We have to master it as part of tactical training on Ryloth. Lando sucks at it.”
“C-four to eighteen-alpha,” Lando said.
Kaasha allowed the move to hang in
there for a moment, still smiling blissfully. “Blocked.”
“Kriff!”
Something short and lumpy rolled out of the cargo hold and Han leapt up, blaster out.
Kaasha opened her eyes and then rolled them. “You’re gonna have to get used to there being a worrt on board, Han. So jumpy.”
Korrg slapped his long, shiny arms onto the floor and hopped sloppily forward on two stubby legs. His bulgy yellow eyes took in the room with a musty innocent and sleepy wonder—like he was vaguely amused and somehow couldn’t be bothered at the same time.
“Is there a point to him?” Han said, holstering his blaster and eyeing the creature uneasily. “Does he serve a purpose besides sliming up the equipment and generally being a nuisance?”
“Pest control,” Lando said. “And besides, look at that face!”
Korrg turned his bemused gaze on Lando and blinked, possibly smiling. Then he burped and with a slobbery flash his tongue blasted out and back again, snatching up a packet of dry-packed meat strips from the table and disappearing it into his huge mouth.
Han gaped. “Wrapper and all? How does he—”
“Just—” Kaasha held up a hand. “—wait for it.”
The worrt rocked back and forth on his hind legs, stubby toes tapping the floor. Then he blinked quickly and let out another burp, sending the tattered, soaked shreds of the wrapper fluttering into the air.
“That’s it,” Han said, heading for the cockpit. “I’ve had it.”
“Easy,” Lando cautioned, standing. “Han, just…take a nap or something. We’re already coming up on Kashyyyk, we’re not switching pilots now.”
Han turned, let out a long breath. “All right, Lando. This is your mission. We’ll do what you want. But if that”—he pointed at Korrg—“eats any more of my snacks? Air lock.”
“So touchy,” Lando muttered, sitting and turning his attention back to the saigok spread. “Ninety-nine to thirty-nine-Vector.”
“Blocked.”
Lando growled.
“Brigratz fipa largo largo,” Florx announced dejectedly from the door to the tech room.
Last Shot_Star Wars Page 9
