Star Wars_ X-Wing 04_ The Bacta War - Michael A. Stackpole [49]
The laughter died as the stormtrooper’s comlink came alive. “Get clear, Seven Three, so I can shoot him.”
The pressure in Corran’s chest slackened for a moment and he knew he had only one chance for survival. As the stormtrooper withdrew, Corran kicked off the wall and knocked his foe into the guardrail. Launching himself at the man’s head, Corran grabbed him and held on as the metal guardrail shrieked and bent. Overbalanced, they both whirled off the elevated walkway. Corran tried to twist around so he’d land on top of the stormtrooper, but with a short fall and no frame of reference, he only half-accomplished his goal.
He hit hard, his back slamming into the body of the first stormtrooper he’d killed. His rear end hit the ferrocrete floor, sending a jolt of pain up his spine, then the second stormtrooper smashed headfirst into the floor and his limp body crashed down on Corran, sandwiching him between their armored bodies. With his lungs burning for lack of air, he leaned back and found himself looking straight up into the muzzle of the remaining stormtrooper’s blaster.
Unable to do anything but cough, Corran closed his eyes and prepared to die. He heard the whine of a blaster being fired, then felt a hammer-blow to his chest. It didn’t hurt the way a blaster bolt hurt, but he knew he’d been hit. I’m dead, I have to be dead. As much as he knew that was the truth, he immediately felt a need to rebel and live. Open your eyes. If you can open your eyes, you’re not dead.
Corran willed his eyes open and would have laughed if he could have. Standing over him he saw Bror Jace, a member of Rogue Squadron the Imps had killed well before Coruscant had fallen. Though he wished it otherwise, as his consciousness faded, Corran knew there was only one explanation for what he saw. I am dying because only the dead can see the dead. He knew that made little sense, but he was beyond caring as he realized the dead really have little use for logic as well.
14
Wedge shivered as he waited for the shuttle from the Twi’lek freighter dock at the Yag’Dhul station. His shiver had less to do with apprehension about the Twi’leks’ arrival at the station than it did the temperature on the station. Lowering it by an average of five degrees was just one of the few changes Booster Terrik had made since he’d taken over.
Wedge slowly shook his head. Booster had long been legendary for being tightfisted. He’s left dermal ridge indentations on every credit that has passed through his hands. While Booster was more than generous with his friends, in business he was shrewd and capable of saving money in any situation where he found himself. By lowering the station temp, and by refusing to heat unoccupied portions of the station, he lowered its operating costs rather significantly.
More important, by leaving the tapcafs and cantinas on the central levels warmer than any other place, he encouraged people to congregate there and patronize those establishments. Since the station’s vendors were paying him a percentage of their profits and were funneling all their supply needs through Booster, the old man was making credits hand over fist.
Credits that are going to get us the things we need. Booster had put the word out through his network of contacts that he’d taken over the station and deals were to be had and made there. Traffic to and from the station had begun to increase and while Booster told Wedge there were some suppliers he’d have to visit to make deals with, the vast majority of the items they needed would be delivered straight to them at Yag’Dhul.
The Twi’lek shuttle, an octagonal tube that lacked all the elegance of the Imperial Lambda-class shuttle, looked as if it had been extruded from the freighter. It moved sluggishly onto