Star Wars_ Children of the Jedi - Barbara Hambly [42]
Luke nodded.
“Missing. Festering mutineers. Two men killed, three missing. Sons of sows. We’ll get ’em.”
Bullyak squealed something angrily at him, her long, gray-green braids swinging heavily over the gelid, bitten flesh of her six enormous breasts. Morrts were blood parasites, gray, finger-size, and furry; one of them was even now, Luke could see, fixed on Ugbuz’s neck, and another was crawling up Bullyak’s braid. The pinny glitter of their eyes flickered all around the hut, in the corners, in the rafters. The blankets stank of them.
Slowly, agonizingly, he tried to get to his feet.
Bullyak snarled something at him, and thrust a stick into his hand. It had clearly started life as a pole arm of some weapon brought from Pzob, six feet of knobbed and hand-smoothed wood. His trouser leg had been slit from halfway down his thigh, to let her dress the wound. Even if he’d been able to stand the thought of putting weight on that leg he knew it wouldn’t bear him. She’d wrapped his left foot in rags, having cut off the blood-soaked boot. Rather to his surprise, his lightsaber was hooked to his belt.
The sow shoved him in the direction of the door, with a violence that nearly had him on the floor again.
“She says get yourself some coffee,” said Ugbuz, with an officer’s hearty cheer. “You’ll heal up fine.”
“Master Luke!”
Luke looked around. Two dozen huts had been erected, ranged around the walls of what looked like a cargo hold. Doors, pieces of metal paneling, plastic and corrugated crate sides had gone into their construction, as well as blankets, bits of armor, mess hall plates, wire, cable, pipe, and the ubiquitous engine tape. More plates and coffee cups littered the metal decking, and the place had a faint, garbagy smell in spite of the best efforts of the MSEs buzzing and puttering around the open square in the center. There were few Gamorreans in sight.
In the dark, open doorway of the vast chamber, Threepio stood waiting. Had he been programmed to do so he’d have wrung his hands.
Slowly, every step an acid jolt of suppressed agony, Luke limped the fifteen meters that separated them. Threepio made a move as if he would have come through the door to help him, but seemed to think better of it.
“I’m terribly sorry, Master Luke,” apologized the droid. “But the Gamorreans don’t permit droids in their village. The SP Eighties have tried repeatedly to dismantle the huts and put the pieces away in their proper places and … well …”
Luke leaned against the wall and laughed in spite of himself. “Thanks, Threepio,” he said. “Thanks for following this far.”
“Of course, Master Luke!” The protocol droid sounded shocked that there would have been any question of it. “After that dreadful fracas in the mess hall …”
“Did you see what happened to Cray? Ugbuz says she’s missing …”
“She was carried away by the Klagg tribe. They seem to regard the Gakfedds as mutineers, and vice versa. Nichos went after them. She was putting up a good fight, but I’m afraid she was no match for them, sir.” He clanked softly along at Luke’s side as Luke started to walk again, limping down the corridor and grimly blocking his mind against the pain in his leg. Simply keeping the agony at bay took enormous amounts of his concentration, far more than he’d channeled against the effects of his concussion. He had to find sick bay, and fast. At least with so obvious an injury Ugbuz couldn’t argue that he was merely malingering.
“Any idea where they’re headquartered?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. Captain Ugbuz has sent out scouts to locate their stronghold, so it’s quite clear he has no idea either.”
“They shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Luke was checking every door they passed, mostly cargo holds in this part of the ship. Owing to the Eye’s configuration as an asteroid the ship possessed long stretches of hallway unbroken by doorways; the lights were on here, gleaming coldly off the gray metal walls. Here and there a plastic plate or coffee cup from the mess hall made a bright spot