Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 01_ Betrayal - Aaron Allston [159]
In the first moments there was almost no wind in his face, then suddenly the air currents increased and became cold. He guessed that they were now out of the tube and hurtling down through the caverns Brisha had spoken of.
The clattering of the metal wheels on the rails became louder, more echoing, a sign that they were moving through a narrow gap, and suddenly they were in light again—a broad cavern lit at intervals by glow rods affixed to the ceiling and wall surfaces.
Not that it was particularly well or effectively lit. The cavern, in the brief glimpse Ben had of it, was huge, its walls uneven and pitted, and through the vast empty space stretched curious columns of red-brown material. They seemed as ponderous and massive as stone, yet flowing and elongated like rivers of rusty water suddenly frozen into stillness. The glow rods illuminating the landscape were situated at intervals, sometimes on the surface of stone, sometimes within the pits of the walls, sometimes behind the columns of flowing material to silhouette them; the effect was more artistic than it was helpful.
As if sensing his question, Brisha pointed toward one of the columns, which flowed laterally in a curving wave, and called out, “Ferrous ore. Denuded by the mynocks eating around it.”
Then the railcar, continuing its descent, dropped toward another narrow, dark crevasse and plunged into darkness again.
Now Ben could feel the concentrated dark side energy that waited below. It didn’t feel so much malicious as merely ominous—less an enemy threatening death than a somber realist reminding him that death was what he ultimately faced.
The rail noises, suddenly close and echoing, then distant and quieter, told Ben that they’d passed through a narrow region and emerged into another cavern, this one unlit.
He was grabbed by the collar from behind and yanked up out of his seat. He found himself floating, drifting through the darkness, perhaps hurtling at dangerous speeds toward sharp rock formations, and was so startled by the sudden transition that he didn’t even cry out.
RELLIDIR, TRALUS
“Incoming starfighters.” The voice of the leader of one of the two squadrons now escorting the Shriek bombers crackled in Han’s ears. “You two stay put, we’ll handle them.”
One of the fighter squadrons broke away from the formation. The other stayed in array around the Shriek bombers.
Han didn’t reply. His comm board was fixed to broadcast on a frequency and encryption code that would allow only Wedge and the mission controllers to hear him—it wouldn’t do for someone to recognize his all-too-distinctive voice. But Wedge said what Han was thinking, his tone ironic: “Thanks, sonny. I was mighty scared until you spoke up.”
On the sensor board, Han could see the dozen attack fighters head out southeastward against the incoming flight of half a dozen starfighters, unknown type.
Unknown type. Han frowned over that. He liked surprises, but only when he was springing them on someone else.
The outbound attack fighter formation neared the enemy formation and their lines blurred for a moment, then suddenly there were nine fighters instead of twelve, frantically turning in the wake of the unknown enemy. The enemy still numbered six.
“Not good,” Han said.
“Lasers to power,” Wedge answered.
Han checked his weapons board. The lasers in his top-side turret were charged and ready to go.
Half the remaining attack fighter escort broke away from the Shrieks and turned toward the incoming fighters, forming a defensive screen. Red laser flashes, missed shots by the incoming enemy, flashed by laterally ahead of Han’s viewport.
Suddenly the six attack fighters that had just turned away became four on the sensors, and Han’s targeting alarm shrieked with the news that one of the enemy had a weapons lock on him. Han kicked his thruster, then fired repulsors, tactics to vary his speed and throw off the aim of his enemies. He spun