Star Wars_ Legacy of the Force 01_ Betrayal - Aaron Allston [99]
The chamber beyond, an antechamber providing access to a variety of bedchambers and function rooms, was filled with smoke and bodies. Three of the downed combatants were black-armored intruders. Several were GA security. One, on the far side of the room, sitting half upright, was an elderly man in an admiral’s uniform. His head, neck, and the top portion of his chest were missing, the edges of what remained blackened by high energy. A huge hole in the wall above, centered at the two-meter level, showed where the upper reaches of his body had been when the blast had hit.
Nearer, a fourth black-armored intruder was sprawled on the floor, his blaster rifle a meter beyond his reach; he struggled to rise, but another GA-uniformed officer straddled his body, gripping his helmet by the faceplate. As the intruder continued to struggle, the officer brought a small blaster pistol up to the back of his neck and fired down, through the spine. The attacker jerked and lay still.
The officer became aware that someone was standing behind him. He spun and aimed, and as he turned Leia recognized him as Tycho Celchu. The old pilot’s friend-or-foe recognition was still incredibly quick—he brought his aim off Leia even as she raised her blade to deflect a possible shot.
Leia looked past him to the body against the wall. “Oh, no,” she said. “Not Pellaeon.”
Tycho shook his head. “Not Pellaeon.”
“My double.” The voice came from a shadowy doorway; its door was opened, not destroyed. From it stepped the old admiral, dressed in a dark robe, a blaster rifle in his hands. He looked sorrowful as he gazed at the man who had died in his stead; even his bristly mustache seemed to droop.
Tycho asked, “Is Han—”
“He’s fine,” Leia said. “Han shot first.”
There was no more blasterfire to be heard; the loudest noises were the hum of Leia’s lightsaber and the crackling of flames from some of the bodies. Leia switched her weapon off and it was even quieter. “Let’s find out how bad the damage is,” she said.
“He looked at me,” Luke said, “foamed at the mouth, and fell dead.”
“The one Jacen crippled did the same thing,” Wedge said.
“I saw foam on the lips of several of them,” Pellaeon added.
They were crowded into a lounge near the Solo suite—representatives of both diplomatic parties, all the Jedi, and a few of Toryaz Station’s security officers.
One of them, Lieutenant Yorvin, a reed-thin woman with hair a rustier red than Mara’s, decided to straighten things out. “We need to start taking statements immediately,” she said, “as soon as we can set up our truth analyzers. I’ll be requesting a judge come up from Kuat to help with the officiating. My lord Solo”—she gestured at Han—“I’ll need you to surrender your blaster. You’re in the company of the envoys again.”
Han gave her a look that was half scowl, half puzzlement. “I’m not sure how to respond to a statement like that,” he said. “Except with violence.”
Lieutenant Yorvin suddenly discovered herself flanked by Wedge Antilles and Tycho Celchu. “You seem to be asking to suck space,” Wedge said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Perhaps the term isn’t common in the Kuat flavor of Basic,” Tycho said. “What he’s asking, Lieutenant, is whether you’d like to patch the station exterior without wearing an enviro-suit.”
“I don’t—I’m not—”
“Shhh,” Wedge said. “Listen. Yes, an investigation is about to happen, but you’re not in charge. We are. Here are your orders.”
“I—”
“First,” Tycho said, “shut up. Second, lock down this entire habitat. Seal off the connection to Toryaz Station, then shut and seal every door, allowing them to be opened only from your security station.”
“Speaking of which,” Wedge said, “is there an auxiliary security station? Somewhere that can override security controls from the bridge and the main security office?”
“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Yorvin’s attention flickered back and forth between the two pilots, and the comprehension dawning on her face