THE HUTT GAMBI(113)

Whirling in a dizzying spin, whirling, spinning, utterly powerless to stop …

Stars… moon.., stars.., moon.., stars.., moon very close now…

Dovlis strove for dignity. He was, after all, an Imperial officer.

“Can anyone think of anything that might help?” he asked, keeping his voice steady and calm.

His bridge crew looked at him silently. The law of gravity was, in this case, as cruel and inexorable as any of those imposed by the Emperor.

Stars… moon.., stars.., moon so close now… Stars … moon …

And then there was only the moon, clutching them to her, dragging them into her shield.

And then there was nothing at all …

One of the smugglers who had darted in to take shots at the dying Peacekeeper was Roa, who was feeling pretty cocky. Lately he’d been wondering if he wasn’t getting old, losing his edge, but today he’d engaged in two dogfights with TIE fighters, and come out victorious.

Hey, I’ve still got it! he thought, sending the Lwyll darting after the spinning Dreadnaught. Just for the thrill of it, he sent the Lwyll hurtling beneath the plummeting Imp, pulling out steeply, feeling the gee forces grip him, so strong was the pull–and then the Peacekeeper hit Nar Shaddaa’s shield.

Even climbing as he was, the shock wave threw Roa forward. He smashed into his control yoke with bruising force. Parts of his instrument panel shattered, sending shards of glassine to impale his arms and chest like tiny daggers.

As the big ship exploded, it wiped out a section of the planetary shield, and flaming debris was sucked through, down into the upper atmosphere.

And so was Roa.

The concussion shock wave had stunned him, and he struggled to regain full consciousness. It wasn’t easy. Waves of blackness rolled over him like a night sea.

But Roa was a fighter. He didn’t give up his struggle to open his eyes, to blink, to raise his head.

Seconds later he was able to focus again, and realized where he was and what he was doing. He was falling like a stone, down and down, hurtling through Nar Shaddaa’s grimy atmosphere.

Roa blinked. There was something in his eyes. Blood? Most likely.

He shook his head, and pain stabbed. Trying to move brought agony.

His instrument panel was a mess, but some parts were still lit and functioning. His flight suit was no longer vacuum-proof, but he wasn’t in a vacuum any longer …

Forcing himself to move, to take control, Roa grabbed the controls and began to wrestle the little scout craft down through the atmosphere, using every bit of skill he had to achieve a soft landing. Or even a hard landing. Any kind of landing!

The Lwyll tried valiantly to respond to his commands. He brought her nose up, got air beneath her wings. His headlong fall slowed.

Roa began testing his braking and maneuvering thrusters, and they responded sluggishly. He was still falling, but now it was a relatively controlled fall.

Beneath him, he could see a landing platform. Using his maneuvering thrusters, he managed to edge the Lwyll over, until he was certain he’d land on it, as opposed to tumbling over the side, down into the abyss between buildings …

The permacrete was rushing up at him, fast …

Too fast!

Roa fought gravity as he would have fought a human opponent in a wrestling match, using every bit of skill he possessed.

As the permacrete hurtled up at him, Roa braced himself…

He never remembered the moment of impact.

How much later did he blink, swim back to consciousness? Seconds?

Minutes?

Hours?

Roa didn’t know and didn’t care. He hurt in a hundred places, but a more visceral fear than any he’d ever known drove him to full consciousness.

The smell of burning. The Lwyll was burning. Any moment now, she might explode, and all his struggle to land her would be for nothing .

. .

Ignoring the stabbing glassine shards that still impaled him, Roa reached up and stabbed the control that would pop his cockpit.

Clumsily he unsnapped his flight harness. He managed to pull himself up, out of his seat, then half fell over the side. He kicked weakly, trying to get the strength to draw his legs over.

Suddenly hands grabbed him, lifted him. Voices babbled in his ears, faint because of the helmet.

He was being lifted, carried.

He heard steps on the permacrete. They were hurrying, running steps.

He was being shaken, jounced, almost as badly as when the explosion had hit him.

Roa raised his head slightly, looked back at the Lwyll, just in time to see his beloved little ship blow up.

But I’m alive, he thought foggily. I’m alive, and I still have the real Lwyll …

And with that thought, he blacked out.

For a man who had been granted his wish, Admiral Winstel Greelanx was remarkably unhappy. The Admiral stared at his tactical screens, his sensors, saw the damage his squadron had taken, and was absolutely furious.