Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 05_ Agents of Chaos 02_ Jedi Eclipse - James Luceno [94]
Considering the debilitating effect it was having on some of the bare-faced Gotals, Bimms, and hapless others whose task it was to gather and shovel excrement overspill into the troughs, Han could well imagine the stench. But he could only guess at the offenses, real or trumped up, the former refugees had committed to have earned themselves such punishment. Among one group, knee-deep in the grounded avians’ ordure and leaning feebly against the wooden handle of his shovel, stood Droma.
“I’m going to run a few quick tests,” Han told Bow through the rebreather’s annunciator. He popped open the carry case and made as if to extract one of the test kits Baffle’s coterie of droids had provided, then stopped abruptly and pointed to Droma in elaborate incredulity. “Is that … is that a Ryn?”
The Salliche man stared, then nodded his head. “Yeah. He’s new here.”
“New or not,” Han continued, growing more agitated as he spoke, “doesn’t anyone realize that Ryn have proscriptions against bathing and other habits most sapients consider essential to good health?”
“But he’s working with manure.”
“That is hardly the point. Do you know what would happen if word leaked that Salliche Ag has Ryn on the premises?”
“It’s only one Ryn,” Bow started to say.
“He’ll have to be removed this instant. I demand that he undergo a complete medical evaluation before he is permitted to return to work—even work of this sort.”
Letting his exasperation show, Bow prized a slim comlink from his shirt pocket and, raising the face bowl of his helmet, began to speak briskly into it.
Han wondered what Salliche Ag was going to do about replacing its comlinks and landspeeders if and when the Yuuzhan Vong showed up.
“All right,” Bow told Han a moment later, “we’re cleared to bring him to medical in the east wing.” He swung angrily toward Droma. “Ryn! Leave your shovel and get over here.”
Droma looked up, set the tool aside, and clomped toward them, shaking one leg, then the other, then his tail, in an effort to rid himself of some of the gray filth clinging to him.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch him,” Han warned Bow, “or you’ll have to be evaluated along with him.”
Reeking of dung, Droma stopped a few meters away, clearly without recognizing Han behind the rebreather mask.
“Hose him down!” Bow ordered a nearby worker.
Han winced as the high-pressure flow from a thick hose nearly swept Droma off his feet. “Ill-starred creatures,” he said, loud enough for the Salliche man to hear, “forever getting themselves into trouble.”
Bow puffed out his lips and nodded grimly. “You can say that again.”
With Droma dripping wet and looking hopelessly forlorn, Bow snapped stun cuffs around his wrists and shoved him toward the warehouse exit. At the checkpoint, Han surrendered the rebreather, deposited the jumpsuit into a shredder/recycler, and followed Droma into the rear seat of the landspeeder. Downcast, Droma didn’t glance at him until they were under way, and even then he didn’t recognize Han immediately. Then his eyes widened appreciably and his jaw dropped.
“Please, hurry,” Han shouted to Bow before Droma could ruin everything with a surprised outburst. “I find it quite distasteful to have to share a seat with this … malefactor.”
“East wing’s dead ahead,” Bow said over his shoulder.
Han exchanged veiled glances with Droma, but didn’t look at him again until the three of them were in a turbolift car, descending for the east wing’s sublevel-one medical lab. Then, throwing Droma a warning look, he drew a small blaster from the durinium shoulder holster the droids had fabricated, and pressed the weapon’s emitter nozzle to Bow’s temple.
“Do exactly as you’re told and you’ll walk away from this.” When the big man nodded in a manner that mixed surprise and anger, Han added, “Stop the lift and move