Star Wars_ Children of the Jedi - Barbara Hambly [46]
They came around a corner and Luke stopped, startled, to find the corridor in front of them dotted with what looked, at first glance, like blubbery, putty-colored mushrooms; a meter to a meter and a half tall, lumpy, and smelling strongly like vanilla. A second glance showed him that they had arms and legs, though he could see no sensory organs whatsoever. Threepio said, “Good Heavens! Kitonaks! They weren’t here yesterday.”
He walked forward among them.
Luke followed. There were thirty at least in the corridor, more, he saw, in the rec room that opened to the right. He touched one and found it room temperature, though with a suspicion of greater heat deep within. Under huge folds of fat many of them showed round, open holes in what were probably their heads, and, peering within, Luke identified two tongues and three rows of small, cone-shaped teeth.
“What are they doing?” Several bore abrasions and what looked like knife wounds that had bled, clotted, and were on their way to healing, apparently unnoticed.
“Waiting for Chooba slugs to crawl up into their mouths,” replied the droid. “It’s how they feed.”
“Nice work if you can get it.” Luke reflected that at some point an expedition to the mess hall sounded in order, though it would call for a certain amount of caution. “They look pretty safe for now.”
“Oh, they are, Master Luke.” Threepio clanked briskly among the weird forest of still shapes. “They’re among the toughest species in the galaxy. Kitonaks have been known to go without food for weeks, sometimes months, with no ill effects.”
“Well, unless those landers picked up Chooba slugs in mistake for stormtroopers,” commented Luke, glancing back over his shoulder at them, “they’re going to have to.”
Where the lights failed and the corridors became dim-lit caverns illuminated only by the reflected glow of glowpanels in the lighted areas or an occasional bleary yellow worklamp, they found the corpse of an Affytechan, the gaudy vegetable people of Dom-Bradden. MSEs crawled over it like greedy insects, trying vainly to clean a mess beyond their small capacities; ichor congealed on the floor for meters in all directions and the smell of its rotting sugars lay thick and nauseating in the air. Luke was silent, aware again of the dangers of this not quite empty ship.
A scream echoed down the darkened corridor from the direction of the Gakfedd village in the cargo hold. Luke swung around, listening; then started toward the sound at a limping, staggering run. Its queer and almost metallic timbre told him it was a Jawa, terrified and in agony. He knew long before he reached the hold what he’d find, and in spite of what he knew about Jawas, the hair on his head prickled with fury.
The Gamorrean stormtroopers had gotten a shredder from someplace, and were holding a Jawa by the wrists above it, lowering it feet first into the whirling blades. There were four or five of them, including Ugbuz, all howling with laughter as they dipped their wretched little captive up and down.
From the threshold of the giant chamber, Luke reached out with the Force and swatted the shredder away with such violence that it spattered to pieces on the wall ten meters away. Krok—who was holding the Jawa—hurled the miserable little clump of rags and filth aside and whirled, roaring a curse; Ugbuz brought his blaster carbine to bear. Luke, hobbling toward them between the huts, impatiently ripped the carbine from the Gamorrean’s hands while he was still meters away, sending it spinning, and did the same a moment later to another trooper’s ax. Torture of anything fired in him a white and scalding rage. Krok launched himself at him with his huge hands outstretched, and Luke levitated him as if he’d been a hundred and seventy-five kilos of bagged rocks, and held him for a moment two meters