Hero's Trial: Agents of Chaos I (20 page)

Then, from a dark orifice in the bow, the warship extruded an enormous hose that was more living monstrosity than machine. The blunt nose of the stipple-skinned gargantuan caught the scent of the nearby
Jubilee Wheel
and, elongating, began to close on the small orbital station, weaving its way through the
Wheel
’s flock of freighters, barges, and passenger ships.

A trailing wedge of X-wings and TIEs launched from the cruiser-carrier
Thurse
attacked the herpetoid terror weapon like ravenous birds of prey, but to no avail. Still attached to the warship and shielded by dovin basals, the outsize creature struck at the
Wheel
like a venomous serpent. As if intent on yanking it from orbit, the creature recoiled and struck again, this time sinking its mawlike mouth into the rim, clamping down on the
Wheel
as if it were a piece of ring pastry, and shaking it back and forth.

In the florid haze of emergency illumination, and with blaring warning sirens making it almost impossible to hear one another, Han, Roa, and Fasgo raced down a curving stretch of corridor, hoping to reach the
Happy Dagger
before whatever had the
Wheel
in its grip decided to shake it apart.

Concussions from the battle raging outside the space
station heaved them to and fro as they ran, sometimes into sections of padded bulkhead, but too often into unyielding objects wrenched loose by the intense paroxysms.

Most of the panicked tide was going against them, but Roa maintained that he was following the shortest route to the docking bay. Each violent tremor sent crowds of people slipping, sliding, or hurtling through the passageways, many to be slammed into bulkheads or crushed under the weight of bodies massed in alcoves and junctions. Folk in repulsor cabs fared no better, as vehicles careened into walls or one another, frequently overturning and spilling riders across the deck.

With Han and Fasgo on his heels, Roa jinked left into one of the
Wheel
’s spokes, hurrying down a frozen stairway into a narrow, twisting corridor whose walls were in places caved in or crumpled. Sparks rained down from ruptured power ducts and exploded energy mains.

They weren’t ten meters into the corridor when the station suffered another powerful jolt that temporarily disabled the artificial gravity generators. One moment Han and the others were snaking through the damage and the next they were airborne, drifting toward the partially collapsed ceiling like divers swimming for the surface of the sea. Then, just as suddenly, the gravity system reenabled, and they were jerked facefirst to the hard deck.

“Not much future in this,” Roa shouted as he picked himself up and began to stagger forward once more.

“The future’s what you make it,” Han hollered back, somehow managing to hold on to his pack and keep his balance through a violent quake that brought down what remained of overhead tiles and ducting.

Ahead of them a heavy metal curtain dropped, sealing off the way and forcing them to detour back to the station’s outer rim. Reaching a central passageway, they were immediately swept up in a mixed-species mob that was fighting its way toward the launch bays.

All at once the station sustained a strike of unprecedented force. Earsplitting, nerve-grating sounds of rending alloy filled the corridor as a huge arc of exterior bulkhead was simply ripped away.

And toward that dark breach the crowd was inexorably pulled.

Screams overwhelmed the metallic stridency. Waging a losing battle, people clawed at walls, deck plating, and one another in an effort to keep from being sucked into the maw.

Pressed to the inner wall of the curve, Han, Fasgo, and Roa managed to grab hold of the twisted remains of a hand railing. But even as they struggled to secure themselves—bodies lifted parallel to the deck by the vacuuming force—the railing tore away from the bulkhead.

The three of them were sucked forward several meters before the railing snagged on a section of floor grating wedged into a stairwell, but the force of the sudden stop dislodged them. Flags snapping in an incessant wind, they latched on to whatever handholds they could find, as people and droids flew past them into the breach and atmosphere roared out like an angry river.

An airborne, shoebox-size MSE-6 droid caught Fasgo square in the head and carried him shrieking into the current. Han watched him sail toward the breach, arms outstretched and flailing, as if plummeting from a great height.

Han tore his gaze away before Fasgo vanished.

“Looks like we took a wrong turn,” he shouted to Roa, who was just out of reach to Han’s left, plump fingertips curled around the slightest of ledges in the wrinkled section of bulkhead.

Roa twisted his head around. “Too bad the rejuvenation techs didn’t equip me with the strength of a young man in addition to the good looks.”

“Hang on, Roa!”

“How I wish I could. But I think I hear Lwyll calling me.”

“Don’t say that! Just hang on till I get there!”

Roa grunted in effort. “Bad luck creeps in through the hatch you leave open, Han. Fortune smiles, then betrays.”

Han spit a curse. “All right, keep talking if you have to. But just hang on.”

“I can’t, Han. I’m sorry. I just don’t have it in me.” Roa’s face betrayed the struggle. “Take care, old friend. Finish our business with Reck.” Smiling resignedly, he submitted to the flow.

“Roa, no!” Han screamed, daring to extend one arm and nearly allowing himself to be carried away.

Han shut his eyes, hung his head for a moment, then screamed in anger until his throat hurt.

When his breath returned, he secured the travel pack to his back and began to pick his way toward a rib left exposed by flayed bulkhead sheets. He had no sooner wrapped his arms around the structural member when someone hurtled past his face a hair’s breadth away and latched desperately onto his outstretched legs.

Han’s backbone stretched like a rubber band and groaned in protest. When the shock abated, he peered
down the length of himself and saw that his unsolicited hanger-on was a male Ryn, arms clutched around Han’s knees and legs thrashing. This one was sporting a soft, brimless cap of bright red and blue squares, worn at a rakish angle.

“Mind if I rest here a moment?” the alien asked in melodic Basic. “If I’m too heavy, I’ll toss the cap.”

Han scowled at him. “Long as your head’s in it.”

“So you’d rather I let go.”

“If you make sure to close the door on your way out.”

“That isn’t vacuum out there,” the Ryn said, nodding toward the breach. “There’s a mouth on the other side of that hole.”

“A
mouth
?”

“The mouth of a Yuuzhan Vong dread weapon. For taking captives.”

Han instantly saw the logic of it. The people, droids, and objects zipping past him weren’t victims of compromised gravity; they were effectively being
inhaled
by whatever it was that had taken a giant-size bite out of the
Wheel
’s rim.

“So how do we gag that thing?” Han said.

The Ryn shook his head, long mustachios whipping about. “I don’t think we can. But there might be a way to stifle it.”

Han followed the Ryn’s gaze to a seam in the corridor ceiling, between them and the maw.

“A blast shield!”

The problem was that the mushroom-shaped button that could lower the shield was located on the corridor wall, some five meters closer to the breach.

“There’s a support strut just beyond me,” the Ryn
said. “If I release my grip on you, I may be able to grab hold of it. But I still won’t be able to reach the shield activation button.”

“Finish your thought,” Han said, trying to ignore a sinking feeling.

“Then you’ll have to let go and catch hold of me. That should put you close enough to tap the button with your foot.”

“Assuming I manage to catch hold of you!”

The Ryn snickered. “Assuming also that I manage to catch hold of the strut. If I miss, well, I suppose it’s a matter of how long you think you can hold on. Otherwise …”

“Otherwise what?”

The Ryn grinned. “Otherwise, I’ll see you in hell.”

Han regarded him quizzically for a moment, then nodded grimly. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Good luck.”

The velvet-coated Ryn eased himself down Han’s legs until he was dangling from Han’s ankles, then disengaged. Han heard rather than saw him make harsh contact with the strut.

“You all right?” he called.

“Your turn,” the Ryn yelled shortly.

Han took a steadying breath. Carefully unwrapping himself from the alloy rib, he let fly. The current was even stronger than he expected. In a split second he was rushing past the Ryn, but when he reached out wildly to arrest his motion he hugged only air.

He was already imagining himself inside the Yuuzhan Vong dread weapon when something wrapped itself around his chest under his arms, yanking him to a halt. It
took Han a moment to grasp that the Ryn had snagged him with his tail.

“Kick the button, kick the button!” the alien squealed in a pained voice. “Or plan on taking part of me with you into that creature!”

Han looked to his right and spied the mushroom-button, almost within reach of his right foot. “Swing me to the right!” he yelled.

The Ryn’s muscular tail spasmed just enough to set Han swaying and bring him within reach of the corridor wall. He extended his foot and caught the button with the toe of his boot.

The blast shield dropped rapidly, hitting the grooved deck with a loud and reassuring thud. At once, Han, the Ryn, and everyone left in the corridor followed suit, falling to the floor like stones.

While Han was fighting to regain his wind, the Ryn sprang to his feet and tugged his cap down on his forehead. Han took in the rest of the alien’s brightly colored outfit of vest, culottes, and ankle boots.

“What time do they switch you on?” he asked between breaths.

The Ryn laughed. “Round about your bedtime. Now what?”

Han stood up, clapping grit from his hands. “We get off this station before that thing decides it’s still hungry.”

“The launch bays are this way,” the two of them said at the same time, although rushing off in opposite directions.

“Trust me,” the Ryn said before Han could speak.

Han stared at him stonily, then waved him on and fell in behind.

Powerful spasms continued to rock the
Wheel
, throwing them from side to side. Han stopped to collect a pair of crying Bimm children who had become separated from their families. Other children and adults began to attach themselves to Han and the Ryn, if for no other reason than the two at least appeared to know where they were going.

“You’d better be right,” Han warned as he ran.

“Don’t worry,” the Ryn called over his shoulder. “I’m too young to die.”

“Yeah, and I’m too well-known.”

Ahead, the corridor swept broadly to the right, and Han began to recognize where he was. The docking bays were only a short distance away.

“Can you pilot a ship?” the Ryn asked breathlessly.

Han grinned smugly. “Don’t worry—”

“You know a few maneuvers.”

Han’s nostrils flared. “You’re some conversationalist, pal.”

“Try to stay awake, anyway.”

The Ryn skidded to a halt at the first docking bay door and tapped the entry switch repeatedly. “Security lock,” he announced.

Han shoved him aside to study the lock’s control touchpad.

“Hurry!” someone in their crowd of distressed followers said. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

Han spun angrily from the mechanism and had his mouth open to respond when the Ryn said, “He’s working on it, he’s working on it.”

Han thrust a silencing forefinger at the Ryn, then whirled and entered an override code on the touchpad.
The hatch remained closed. He tried another code, then a third. “What I’d give for a loaded blaster right about now,” he mused.

“Would an R-series droid do?” the Ryn asked.

“If we
had
one.” Han shot him a sarcastic glance. “Unless, of course, you’ve got a droid summoner tucked away in that suit of lights.”

He had returned his attention to the touchpad, figuring to give it one final try, when from the edge of the crowd he heard the characteristic chirps, toodles, twitters, and warbles of an R2 unit. Swinging around in elated surprise, though, he saw that the sounds were coming from the Ryn, who was fingering the perforations in his chitinous beak as if it were a flute.

Han regarded the alien open-mouthed, then shook his head in a flustered way. “Do you sing and dance, too?”

“Only for credits.” The Ryn smiled in elaborate self-satisfaction. “Sometimes I amaze even myself.”

Han took a menacing step toward the alien. “Now, listen you—”

A mellifluous cascade of genuine hoots and whistles interrupted him as a red-domed R2 unit wheeled onto the scene.

“It wants to know how it can be of assistance,” the Ryn translated.

Han gazed from the alien to the droid in disbelief, then silently indicated the hatch’s security lock.

The droid extended a manipulator arm from a compartment high up on its cylindrical body, inserted it into an access port above the lock, and quickly sliced the code. The hatch raised and the crowd surged forward, almost flattening Han in the process.

“I’m certain they’ll all thank you later on,” the Ryn said as he brushed past.

Waiting on one of the docking bay launch pads was a bullet-shaped civilian shuttle, just spacious enough to accommodate everyone. Han hurried for the cockpit while the Ryn supervised the boarding; then the Ryn joined Han at the cockpit controls, slipping comfortably into the copilot’s seat and buckling into the safety harness, despite his long tail.

Han flicked the switch that enabled the repulsorlift generators and raised the ship. Rotating it through a 180-degree turn, he maneuvered the shuttle through the docking bay door and out into the launch bay.

Local space was thick with fighters and lighted by flashes of explosive light. A band of coralskippers raced past the bay’s magnetic containment window, pursued by twice their number of X-wings and TIE interceptors, lasers firing steadily.