Star Wars_ Death Star - Michael Reaves [149]
The world resumed its normal speed. He saw other troopers going for their blasters, but Stihl and Rodo were among them now, too close for the guards to shoot without risking hits on their own people.
Time to leave.
Memah, Vil, Teela, and Doc Divini were just inside the doors. Ratua moved to join them, kicking in the afterburner again. He slapped the hatch control as he blurred by it.
The blast doors closed behind him and locked.
The bay was a small one, used primarily for berthing and launching medical vessels. And there was their ticket to freedom, the E-2T shuttle, sitting on the landing turntable.
As they approached, another officer came down the ramp. He eyed them suspiciously; Ratua was convinced that there was a certain rank of Imperial officers whose only job was to eye everything suspiciously.
The officer, a sergeant major, said, “What do you people want here?”
Uli stepped up. “I’m Dr. Divini,” he said. “This is my team. We have a medical emergency we need to get to, stat. That’s our ship.”
“Your orders—”
“They’re in the ship’s computer. I’ll transmit them from there once we’ve launched.”
“Protocol—”
Uli stepped up close to the officer. “Shut it, man,” he said in a low voice, “do you want to be responsible for the death of Admiral Daala?”
The officer’s eyes went wide. “Admiral Daala?”
“Her ship has been hit by Rebel fire and we’re detailed to collect her. You sure you want to be the man who held us up?”
The officer stepped aside.
“Let’s go, people!” Uli said. “We’ve got a job to do.”
They moved quickly up the ramp into the shuttle, Ratua thinking, The doc’s a pretty good con man. Who knew?
Nova ducked a wild swing, caught the attacking guard’s arm, and spun him into the trooper behind him. Both men fell, but he had no time to rejoice, because there were others coming for him, lots of others. He waded into a pair of guards and hit both at the same instant with a double punch, smashing their noses, then dropped and swept, upending another one, and before that one hit the deck he was up again firing a side kick into the belly of yet another—
Beside him, Rodo grabbed a guard by his front, lifted him off his feet, and head-butted the man, knocking his helmet off, then threw him into another trooper. He whirled and took out two more with a spin kick.
“We’re having fun now, aren’t we?” the big man said. He laughed.
Nova recognized his recurring nightmare, which had now become reality. He didn’t know the how or the why of it. He only knew that they were going to lose.
Well, then—that was how it would be.
They’d taken out a goodly number of guards, but there were still seven or eight of them standing, and the only reason he and Rodo hadn’t been roasted yet was because the fighting had been too close for the guards to use their blasters. That was about to change, however. They were backing away, going for their weapons. The game would soon be over.
Nova felt fear welling inside him. Not for himself; he knew he was a dead man fighting. Two against fifteen, the latter armed with blasters? A win was never in those cards. But it was vitally important that he prolong the fight as long as he could, to give the others time to escape.
This would be his last dance, and he wanted it to be the best he could manage. Going up against impossible odds, going down swinging, using what he knew.
There were a lot worse ways to check out.
Beside him, Rodo grabbed a guard’s head in both massive hands and twisted. The guard dropped, his neck broken. But another trooper had come up behind the big man, and now he thrust his blaster into Rodo’s back. Nova saw Rodo’s midsection turn black and charred as the energy beam burned its way through, saw Rodo’s look of shock as he fell …
He saw another trooper drawing down on him, saw the blaster’s muzzle aimed at his head, and knew he could never reach it in time.
The world turned white hot, like the center of a star, and then icy black, colder than space.