Half a minute later, the edges of the cut glowing gold from the lightsaber’s heat, there was an audible thunk and the metal bar swung free. Well above the area of overheated metal, Jacen gave the hatch a push and it swung open.
Beyond was a cylindrical metal shaft, almost featureless, lit by green glow rods affixed at intervals. Dangling at head height were four heavy metal cables ending in loops and four lighter cables ending in small two-button controls, standard for industrial lifting and lowering. Jacen nodded. In ordinary use, a worker would attach a personal safety hook to one of the loops and activate the corresponding LIFT button. Jacen merely put his lightsaber away, grabbed a loop with his left hand, and punched the LIFT button with his right. The winch controls at the top of the shaft activated and raised him with arm-jarring swiftness.
Moments later, forty meters up, the ride came to an end. A circular side tunnel led away from the shaft. Jacen gave himself the most fleeting push with the Force and swung over the floor of that tunnel, then dropped noiselessly. A few meters down, a ramp led up to another modern-era hatch.
The dogging bar on this hatch was already in the right-hand position, and the control panel beside the hatch was not lit. Jacen stared at it for a moment. Dr. Seyah had given him the access code for this hatch, too, but apparently it wasn’t needed now.
Apparently.
Jacen took his lightsaber in hand again and pushed the hatch open.
It required a little more push than its mass would ordinarily have called for. The atmospheric pressure on the other side of the hatch was higher than on Jacen’s side, and once he got the hatch more than a hand span open cool air began to pour across him. He shoved the hatch open far enough to see through-there was only darkness beyond-and then wider yet. Once beyond, he slowly shut the hatch, not letting the air pressure differential slam it shut.
Here, the only sounds were his own breathing and echoes from the air-conditioning system. He could not see anything, but the chamber felt large, very large. He nodded. That matched what Dr. Seyah had told him; this was supposed to be a featureless oval chamber, big enough to host small-scale groundspeeder races, its purpose unknown. On the far side would be a set of ramps allowing access to a higher walkway level, which would, in turn, give him access to Centerpoint Station’s control room governing the station’s artificial gravity generators. Those generators had been installed over several years and only recently made completely operational.
The hatch by which he’d entered went thunk. The control panel next to it lit up, the red and yellow glows from the numbered buttons providing Jacen with just enough light to see himself and the floor.
Jacen cleared his throat. He raised his voice so that it would carry. “Am I about to endure a speech?”
Far overhead, banks of white light came on, dazzlingly bright. Jacen shaded his eyes, focused his attention on the Force-on incoming danger, on malevolent intent.
There was none.
But a voice came from those walkways high on the other side of the chamber. “Is this somebody’s sense of humor? Sending you?”
As Jacen’s vision cleared, he saw a man in deep blue civilian dress-boots, pants, ruffly tunic, and open overcoat-and a dozen armored CorSec agents up on the balcony that was Jacen’s route out of the chamber. Though Jacen knew the man, he still felt a momentary shock of a different sort of recognition.
For the man wore the face of Han Solo-but bearded, a little leaner, a little grayer, and possessed of a confidence that looked like political arrogance rather than Jacen’s father’s cockiness.
“Thrackan Sal-Solo,” Jacen said. “I thought you were spending all your time groundside on Corellia, telling the population what to think and pretending not to be a convicted felon.”
“Little Jacen.” His father’s near double gave him a condescending smile. “I’m also still in charge of restoring Centerpoint Station. And when word reached me that the GA intended to execute an offensive in Corellian space, an offensive that was premature by almost every political measurement-unless you factored in the possibility that they knew just how close I was to restoring the station to full operability-I decided I needed to be here. To prepare against strike teams. And commandos. And Jedi.”
Jacen gave his cousin an admonishing look. “You can never prepare against Jedi.”
“Yes, you can. And I must admit to being offended. For a target as important as Centerpoint Station, shouldn’t they have sent Luke Skywalker? Are you stronger than him?”
Jacen offered a humorless smile. “No, just educated in different directions. Besides, it’s been my experience that anyone who claims to be stronger than Luke Skywalker receives a lot of grief from his admirers.”