Star Wars_ X-Wing 03_ The Krytos Trap - Michael A. Stackpole [64]
Urlor led Corran out of the area near the doorway and deeper into the cell complex. It appeared to have been ground and drilled out of solid rock. Thick dust coated the floor and hung in Urlor’s wake like ground-covering fog. The irregular rock walls and ceiling had pockets of luminous lichen clinging to them. Their lime-green light gave the dust an eerie glow, and greyed out the flesh of those standing about.
Corran followed Urlor into a side chamber with an entrance low enough that even he had to duck his head. Beyond the threshold the big man straightened up and moved aside. On the opposite side of the circular room, barely six meters from the entrance, an older, white-haired and bearded man sat up and hung his legs over the edge of a hammock braided together from darkened strips of tunic canvas. Corran immediately had a vague sense that he’d seen the man before, or a holograph of him, but if so, it was a long time ago, and he couldn’t place him.
“Sir, this is Corran Horn. They just delivered him to us.”
The older man stood and straightened his tunic, then peered closely at Corran. He felt as if under the scrutiny of his first drill instructor at the Corellian Security Force Academy. The effect was not wholly unpleasant in that it reinforced the leadership role into which the old man had been cast. “Come here, son, let me see you close up.”
Corran closed the gap between them and felt Urlor drop in behind him, ready to prevent him from doing any harm to the old man. “I’m with Rogue Squadron, a lieutenant.”
“You have the look of a pilot about you—size, anyway. You’ve got a good leader in Antilles—assuming Skywalker’s not back in charge there.”
“No sir, he isn’t. Wedge Antilles is still in charge, and is a commander now.”
The older man nodded, then squinted at Corran’s face. “You’re from Corellia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I know your grandfather?”
Corran shrugged. “His name is Rostek Horn. He was with CorSec.”
The old man shook his head and straightened up again. “No, I was thinking of someone else, from the Clone Wars. I don’t recall Rostek Horn, though I might have met him once or twice. It’s possible.”
Though the man qualified his statement, Corran felt he was being polite instead of indecisive. Although his age had given him white hair and wrinkled skin, clearly the man’s mental faculties were not suffering from the ravages of age. The old man knew exactly who it was he thought Corran looked like, and he also knew that he’d never met Corran’s grandfather. That clarity of mind impressed Corran, as did the mannerly qualification of his firmly voiced denial.
The old man extended his hand to Corran. “My name’s Jan.” His dark eyes flicked up toward Urlor. “Despite what he will tell you, there’s no rank here. That was for when we were people. Now we’re just here.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Corran shook the man’s hand and found his grip firm even though his hands were a bit bony.
Jan sat back in the hammock. “You say Antilles has finally accepted a promotion?”
“Yes, sir.”
“He always seemed level-headed. Good officer material. And who’s commanding the fleet?”
Corran hesitated. “I’m not sure how much of that you want me to discuss, sir.”
A smile spread across Jan’s face. “Very good, my boy. If you’re in here it’s because Isard has sucked you dry like the spider she is, but caution is good.” He glanced down. “It’s just that some of us have been in here since Yavin and, well, we wonder about how the war is going. We’ve had others through here who have told us a lot. We know, for example, that the Emperor is dead and with him another Death Star. And we know about the Ssi-ruuk. But news has