Star Wars_ The Adventures of Lando Calrissia - L. Neil Smith [67]
He didn’t have to wait long.
“All right, prisoners,” the fat man shouted, “we will open the cells in a moment, and you will step outside, stand at attention, until told otherwise. Then you will turn left-face and march, single file and silently, into the waiting bus. Step out of line, utter so much as a single word, and you are dead where you stand.”
Luckily, Lando didn’t have a snappy come-back ready anyway.
The door slid open with a clank. He stepped out and stood stiffly, shivering in the early morning breeze. He had his first look at the compound, and, having looked around, decided he didn’t want to make a habit of it. Boxed into the corner between two plastic Sharu buildings hundreds of meters tall and unscalable, the yard was fenced on the other two sides. Bare earth, a handful of small one-story cell blocks, and an administration building. Home sweet home for the rest of his life.
Like hell, Lando swore to himself. He would be free. He had debts to settle.
The command was given. He turned left smartly, walked behind half a dozen other prisoners to the bus, an old one, driven by another convict. Its skirts were stained and tattered. It would be a rough ride this morning. It—
The ground began to shake.
Across the compound, the earth billowed up like waves on the ocean, heaved at the cellblocks, smashing them to bits, ripped the administration building apart, toppled the hoverbus. The man inside it screamed.
Several convicts ran to help the trapped driver. They were shouted at by the guards. One of the uniformed men opened fire, sending a prisoner up in flames that were mirrored by those which suddenly burst from a leaking fuel line in a building on the far side of the yard.
Lando stood where he was, then decided to fall down, since the quake threatened to do it to him anyway, and there was less chance of getting shot. Suddenly, a figure in the town-cop uniform, mirrored helmet visor and all, staggered up to the warden or whatever he was. Lando could hear him over the rumble, roar, and screaming.
“That man is to be turned over for further interrogation!” The armored finger pointed at Lando. The warden and the cop leaned on each other to stay erect.
“I have no authorization! He’s mine! Can’t this wait?”
“The governor wants him immediately!” There was sudden menace in the big policeman’s voice. “Something about a load of cops he tried to maroon on Rafa XI four months ago.”
“Then by all means take him. I—” That was all the fat man had to say. He swayed and fell. The cop ducked back, came for Lando.
“Let’s go!”
Grabbing Lando by the pajamaed scruff, the cop bore him along toward a waiting cruiser that had been left aground beside the cell block. “Get in!”
They roared away through the gate, which hung open on one hinge. It wouldn’t have mattered: the force-fence was down, even its auxiliary power system apparently destroyed in the quake. The car rocked and swayed, turned right, and sped down the road.
“Say, old flatfoot, this isn’t the way to Teguta Lusat!” Lando shouted. He cringed as they rounded a corner and dashed toward the country.
“What’s it to you? Shut up and mind your own business!”
“Would this make it my business?”
The cop looked down to see what was pressing at his side. It was his own blaster. He raised a visored head to the young gambler.
“Very good. I guess you didn’t need rescuing that badly, after all. Want to go back and have all the glory to yourself?”
“What are you talking about?” Lando demanded. “Stop this car and take that helmet off. I want to see who I’m talking to!”
The cruiser slowed as per specification. They halted in the middle of the road and waited out an aftershock. Lando leveled the blaster at the policeman’s face. “Okay, take it off.”
The gloved hands rose, took the helmet and lifted. In place of a head sticking up through