Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 06_ Balance Point - Kathy Tyers [135]
“Stop,” the officer said. “No more mind tricks.” Dorsk torturously pushed himself back to his feet. He took another step forward.
I am a Jedi. A Jedi knows no fear. The dusk lit with blasterfire.
Help.
The automated signal was weak but faint.
“Got ’em,” Uldir said. “I told you, didn’t I?”
Dacholder, his copilot, clapped him on the back. “No doubt about it, lad. You’re the best rescue flier in the unit.”
“I have good hunches, that’s all,” Uldir replied. “See if you can contact them.”
“Sure thing.” Dacholder activated the comm unit. “Pride of Thela to injured vessel. Injured vessel, can you hear me?”
The answer was static—but modulated static.
“They’re trying to answer,” Uldir said. “Their comm unit must be damaged. Maybe when we get closer. Hey, there they are now.”
Long-range sensors showed a craft dead in space, medium transport-sized. It ought to be the Winning Hand, a pleasure craft that had made a jump from the Corellian sector and vanished somewhere en route. The Hand’s jump had taken her dangerously near Obroa-skai, which was now in Yuuzhan Vong space. Though they hadn’t moved overtly on any planets since the fall of Duro, the Yuuzhan Vong had been setting up occasional dovin basal interdictors near their space, yanking from hyperspace ships bold or careless enough to approach their somewhat fuzzy borders. Most were never found again, but the Winning Hand had managed to get off a garbled transmission placing them along the Perlemian Trade Route not far from the Meridian sector. That was still a lot of space, but search and rescue had been Uldir’s business for the past six years. At the ripe old age of twenty-two, he was one of the best fliers in the corps.
“Dead-on,” Dacholder said. “Congratulations. Again.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
Dacholder was a little older than Uldir, his hair prematurely shot with gray and receding from his forehead so fast Uldir could almost see it redshifting. He wasn’t a great pilot, but he was competent enough, and Uldir liked him.
“Say, Uldir,” Dacholder began, in an inquisitive tone, “I never asked you—when the Vong came along, why didn’t you request transfer to a military unit? The way you fly, you could be an ace.”
“Too hot for me,” Uldir replied.
“Carbon flush. Rescue is twice the danger with a tenth of the firepower. During the fall of Duro I heard you picked up three stranded pilots under fire from four coral-skippers with no backup at all.”
“I was pretty lucky,” Uldir demurred.
“You sure it’s not something else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I heard you attended that Jedi academy of Skywalker’s.”
Uldir could only laugh at that. “Attended isn’t the right word. I was there, caused a systemful of trouble in a real short time, and had no talent for the Jedi thing at all. Still, maybe you’re right. I guess I figured if I couldn’t be a Jedi, I could at least emulate ’em. Search and rescue seemed like the best way. And we’re needed in wartime just as much as the flyboys.”
“And you don’t have to kill.”
Uldir shrugged. “That sounds about right. When did you start thinking about me so much, Doc?” He flipped the magnification up on the visual. “Look there,” he said, as the derelict ship came on-screen. “She doesn’t look half bad. Maybe they didn’t have any casualties.”
“We can only hope,” Dacholder said.
“See anything else out there?”
“Not a thing,” Dacholder replied.
“That’s good. We’re outside of Yuuzhan Vong space, but not that far outside. Even with all the tinkering I’ve done on this baby, I don’t want to run up against one of their interdictors.”
“I noticed you coaxed another twenty percent from the inertial dampeners. Good work.”
“Shows what you can do when you’ve got no life but the service, I guess,” Uldir replied. He adjusted their trajectory a bit. “Looks like they’re limping, but life support seems to be okay.”
“Yeah.”
Uldir gave his copilot a sidewise glance.