Star Wars_ X-Wing 06_ Iron Fist - Aaron Allston [92]
The officer before him was not what Face had expected. The man was tall and lean, with features that might have been bland had they not been twisted into such a predatory smile. He seemed to glow with an inner light, and Face suspected that it was a dangerous light. The man liked to win, or to kill, or to inflict pain—Face wasn’t sure which, but he did know that this was a man to watch. The officer also, incongruously, had long and perfectly reflective fingernails; Face suspected they were metal and would not have been surprised to discover that they were very, very sharp.
Face cleared his throat. “I am General Kargin, founder and leader of the Hawk-bat Independent Space Force.” He put on an urbane smile and lowered his voice. “I believe I have an invitation.”
“Indeed you do. General Melvar. I am in charge of the warlord’s assault forces, and I welcome you to Iron Fist.” The general shook Face’s hand. Firm grip, fast shake—he made no effort to conduct a contest of grip strength to demonstrate dominance. “Your associates?”
Face gestured first to Dia, then to Kell. “Captain Seku, my second-in-command. Lieutenant Dissek, my bodyguard.”
“Delighted. Before we continue, though, there is a bit of bureaucratic unpleasantness to accomplish.”
“Oh?”
The general looked regretful. “Zsinj is a man with many enemies. For this reason, many policies surround him, policies that I do not let him overrule, for his own safety. One of them leads me to insist that you turn over all weapons to my men for the duration of your stay.”
Face shrugged. Then he drew his blaster pistol with such speed that the stormtroopers present were caught off guard, their weapons out of line; he could have shot Melvar and one or two others before they would have been able to react. But just as quickly he flipped the blaster in the air and caught it, then handed it, butt first, to the nearest stormtrooper. “I have no fear of treachery here,” Face said. “Alive, I promise additional strength to Zsinj. Killed, I would cost him very dearly.”
Melvar gave him a polite nod and shrug, neither agreeing to nor denying Face’s assertion. Dia and Kell handed over their own blasters in a less dramatic fashion.
“The second part of this unfortunate protocol,” Melvar said, “is that you must be scanned for additional weapons you might have forgotten to hand over, because of your habitual wearing of them almost as clothing rather than weapons. Please.”
Obligingly, Face and the others raised their arms and let a stormtrooper specialist run a handheld scanner around them. Face came up clean, then Dia.
Then it was Kell’s turn. His accoutrements also failed to trigger the weapons scanner, but the stormtrooper behind him obviously thought his arms needed to be a little higher; with the barrel of his blaster rifle, he tapped the underside of one of Kell’s arms to raise it.
Kell stepped back so that the stormtrooper’s barrel protruded beneath his right arm. He clamped his right arm upon it, then twisted, simultaneously yanking the blaster out of the man’s hand and bringing his elbow up under the stormtrooper’s helmet. A slight change to the angle of his attack and the blow would crush the man’s windpipe, but Kell instead brought his elbow up into the man’s chin. Everyone heard the crack of the man’s jaw snapping shut.
The stormtrooper dropped to the floor, his armor clattering.
The other stormtroopers aimed at Kell. With admirable aplomb, Kell slowly reached over to switch off the blaster rifle’s power, then lowered the weapon onto its fallen owner. “Is there a problem?”
General Melvar’s mouth twitched into what looked like an amused smirk. “You appear to be punishing one of my men.”
“Punishing?” Kell looked down at the stormtrooper as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, I assure you, no