Star Wars_ X-Wing 07_ Solo Command - Aaron Allston [105]
“He’s loose?” Janson said.
“He’s loose.” Wedge looked around. “But for how long? We’ve got to find him, keep to a minimum the number of crewmen who see him—”
There was a soft patter-patter of movement from the far end of the chamber, the bow end.
“We’re in luck,” Wedge said. “He’s still in here.” He extended the bowl of food. “Here, take some. Maybe we can lure him back.”
Janson grimaced as he grabbed up a handful of the smelly Ewok food.
They headed forward, only to hear the forward door out of the chamber hiss open, followed by the patter-patter of bare feet and the door hissing closed again. Wedge headed forward at a dead run, Janson at his heels.
The door opened for them, revealing dimness beyond, then Wedge was skidding to a halt and Janson ran into him. They toppled over together, crashing into containers of some sort, and fluid, liters of it, splashed over them.
A sharp, poisonously clean smell forced its way into Janson’s nose. “Sithspit, what’s that?”
“Cleansing fluid of some sort. We must have hit a janitor droid’s stash.” Wedge sat up. Janson could see him wrinkling his nose even in the dim light. Somewhere else in the room, a door hissed open and closed again.
“Oh, this is no good,” Wedge said. “He’s running now because we’re chasing him, and he’s going to be able to smell us from kilometers away.”
“So let’s call in Kell and Tyria. They can hunt him down while we clean up.”
“They’re not part of our Kettch conspiracy.” Wedge rose and moved away from the puddle. “Strip.”
“What?”
“Get those clothes off. We’ll rub some of the Ewok food over the parts of our skin that have the cleansing fluid on them. That should make it possible for us to get close to him.” Wedge suited action to words, unzipping his jumpsuit.
“Oh, sure. Would you stand still if you were being approached by two naked men with Ewok food smeared all over them?”
“No, but I’m not an Ewok. Just do it.” Wedge nodded right and left. “Looks like there are two doors out of here. I don’t know which one he took, but they’ll both go into General Solo’s mess. You take that one, I’ll take this one.”
“Wedge, this is the last time I’m feeding Kettch.”
“Me, too.”
The door opened for Janson and he crept through into the dimly lit room beyond.
Not three meters ahead stood an Ewok, wearing the traditional bonnet-style headgear of the species, his back to Janson.
Janson took a careful, silent step forward. The Ewok didn’t react. One more step and he was in range—Janson lunged, grabbing the Ewok with his left hand, the one uncontaminated by Ewok food. “Got you!”
The Ewok didn’t struggle. Nor did it weigh much. Janson looked at it. It wasn’t a live Ewok; it was the stuffed toy the Wraiths had brought with them from Hawk-bat Base, the one they called Kettch.
Then Janson realized that the room was full of people—all the other members of Wraith Squadron. In the dimness, they stood like statues, in poses suggesting they’d been in the middle of a social gathering, in conversational groups of twos and threes, and then had been flash-frozen.
No, not frozen, exactly. They still breathed. Some swayed a little where they stood.
And none of them looked at Janson.
Janson stood still for a long moment, waiting for some reaction from them, or for some realization to set in and inform him why they’d be standing stock-still in a dimly lit room. None came.
So he held the stuffed Ewok toy before him and backed to the door through which he’d entered.
His bare skin touched metal and he flinched. The door had closed and wasn’t opening for him.
He scraped the Ewok food off his hand against the door-jamb. Slowly, silently, his sense of unreality mounting, he walked sideways toward the other door into this chamber. To get there, he’d have to pass close to Piggy, Shalla, and Elassar, who were grouped close to the wall. As he neared them, he paused and reached out to touch Piggy, the Wraith nearest him.