Star Wars - [New Jedi Order Short] - Recovery (by Troy Denning)

VIP免费
2024-12-20 0 0 158.47KB 60 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Chapter 1
Outside the medcenter viewport, a ragged crescent of white twinkles known as the Drall’s Hat drooped
across the violet sky, its lower tip slashing through the Ronto to touch a red star named the Eye of the
Pirate. The constellations above Corellia had not changed since Han Solo was a child, when he had spent
his nights contemplating the galactic depths and dreaming of life as a starship captain. He had believed
then that stars never changed, that they always kept the same company and migrated each year across
the same slice of sky. Now he knew better. Like everything in the galaxy, stars were born, grew old, and
died. They swelled into red giants or withered into white dwarfs, exploded into novas and supernovas,
vanished into black holes.
All too often, they changed hands.
It had been nearly three weeks since the fall of the Duro system, and Han still found it hard to believe
that the Yuuzhan Vong had a stronghold in the Core. From there, the invaders could strike at
Commenor, Balmorra, Kuat, and—first in line—Corellia. Even Coruscant was no longer safe, lying as it
did at the opposite end of the Corellian Trade Spine.
Harder to accept than Duro’s loss—though easier to believe—was the enthusiasm with which the
cowards of the galaxy had embraced the enemy’s offer of peace in exchange for Jedi. Already a lynch
mob on Ando had killed Dorsk 82, and on Cujicor the Peace Brigade had captured Swilja Fenn. Han’s
own son Jacen was the most hunted Jedi in the galaxy, and his wife and other children, Anakin and Jaina,
were sought almost as eagerly. If it were up to him, the Jedi would leave the collaborators to their fate
and go find a safe refuge somewhere in the Unknown Regions. But the decision was not his, and Luke
Skywalker was not listening.
A raspy murmur sounded from the lift station, shattering the electronic silence of the monitoring post
outside Leia’s door. Han opaqued the transparisteel viewport, then stepped around the bed where his
wife lay in a therapeutic coma, her eyelids rimmed by purple circles and her flesh as pallid as wampa fur.
Though he had been assured Leia would survive, his heart still ached whenever he looked at her. He had
almost lost her during the fall of Duro, and a stubborn series of necrotic infections continued to threaten
her mangled legs. Even more in doubt was their future together. She had greeted him warmly enough
after they found each other again, but Chewbacca’s death had changed too much for their marriage to
continue as before. Han felt brittle now, older and less sure of his place in the galaxy. And in the few
hours she had been coherent enough to talk, Leia had seemed hesitant, more tentative and reluctant to
speak her mind around him.
At the door, Han peered out of the darkened room to find four human orderlies outside flanking the MD
droid at the monitoring post. Though they had a covered repulsor gurney and fresh white scrubs, they
were not wearing the masks and sterile gloves standard for visitors to the isolation ward.
“. . . don’t look like orderlies to me,” the MD droid was saying. “Your fingernails are absolute bacterial
beds.”
“We’ve been cleaning disposal chutes,” said the group’s leader, a slash-eyed woman with black hair and
the jagged snarl of a hungry rancor. “But don’t worry, we came through decon.”
As she spoke, one of the men with her was sliding across the counter behind the droid. Han drew back
into the room and retrieved his blaster from a satchel beneath Leia’s bed. Though he had been dreading
this moment for three weeks, now that it had come, he felt almost relieved. The enemy had not arrived
when he was sleeping or out of the room, and there were only four.
Han returned to the door to find the MD droid standing with darkened photoreceptors, his vocabulator
slumped against his chest. The orderly behind the counter was scowling down at the data display.
“Don’t see her on the register, Roxi,” he said to the woman.
“Of course not,” Roxi growled. “Slug, do you think a Jedi would use her own name? Look for a human
female with amphistaff wounds.”
Slug, a moonfaced man with a bald head and a week’s worth of stubble on his face, scrolled down the
screen and began to read symptoms off the display. “Parietal swelling . . . thoracic lacerations . . . double
severed sartorius . . .” He stopped and looked up. “You understand this stuff?”
Roxi glared at the man as though the question were a challenge, then asked, “What was that second
one?”
Slug glanced back at the display. “Thoracic lacerations?”
“Thatcould be it.” Roxi glanced at her other companions and, seeing that they had no better idea what
thoracic meant than she did, continued, “Well, lacerations sounds right. What room?”
Slug gave her the number, and the four impostors started down the opposite corridor. Han allowed them
a few moments to clear the area, then slipped into the monitoring post and used the controls to seal his
wife’s room with a quarantine code. The thought of leaving her alone made his stomach queasy, but he
had to handle this problem quietly and by himself. Though a Jedi-friendly doctor had admitted Leia under
a false name and Han had sent the famous Solo children home with Luke and Mara, the alias would not
withstand a CorSec incident investigation. And with a new Yuuzhan Vong base rising at the edge of the
sector, no one associated with the Jedi would dare trust Corellia’s always erratic government for
protection. Had Leia’s condition not forced them to divert soon after escaping Duro, this was the last
place Han would have stopped.
He peered around the corner of the monitoring post and, in the night-shift twilight, saw the impostors
disappearing into a bacta tank parlor about halfway down the corridor. Taking a datapad from the
recharger on the counter and a breath mask, hygienic cap, gloves, and lab coat from the supply locker,
he did his best to disguise himself as someone official and followed.
The intruders were gathered around tank number three in the parlor’s far corner, studying a slender
human with a trio of freshly stitched lacerations angling down across her chest. Like Leia’s wounds, the
cuts were atypically inflamed and almost black at the edges, a sign that some toxin was proving a
challenge for the bacta. The only other occupied tank contained a Selonian female whose severed tail
stump was covered by a graft of unfurred hide.
“The contract said she’d shaved her head,” Roxi complained, staring at the long hair of the patient in
tank three. “Even in bacta, I don’t think it would grow back this fast.”
“Maybe not, but theyare amphistaff cuts,” Slug said. He was standing next to a deactivated attendant
droid, reading from a data display. “And no one’s saying how she got them.”
Roxi lifted her brow and thought for a moment, then said, “We’d better bring her along. Start the tank
draining. We’ll pick her up after we’ve checked the other rooms.”
Han drew back and tucked the blaster under his lab coat, then made sure his breath mask was secure
and waited. When he heard the impostors coming, he turned the corner with the datapad before him. He
ran headlong into the burliest of the impostors and was nearly knocked off his feet.
“Uh, sorry,” Han said, looking up. “Entirely my . . .” He let the sentence dangle off, then gasped,
“You’re not wearing a breather!”
The burly impostor frowned. “What breather?”
“Your safety mask.” Han tapped the breath mask on his face, then looked from one impostor to the
other. “None of you are. Didn’t you check the hazard indicator?”
“Hazard indicator?” Roxi asked, pushing her way to the front. “I didn’t see any indicator.”
“In the decontamination lock,” Han said. “Red means no entry. Orange means full biosuit. Yellow means
breath masks and gloves. The light was yellow. We’ve had a leuma outbreak.”
“Leuma?” Slug asked.
“You’ll be all right,” Han said, striking just the right note of insincere reassurance. He waved Roxi
toward the monitoring post. “But we’ve got to get you some breath masks. Then you’ll need
inoculations—”
Roxi made no move to leave the bacta parlor. “I’ve never heard of any disease called leuma.”
“Airborne virus,” Han said. “A new one—or maybe it’s a spore. We really don’t know yet, but there’s
talk of it being a Yuuzhan Vong weapon.”
That was enough to bring Slug and the burly impostor out into the corridor.
“Hold up, you two!” Roxi snapped.
The pair stopped, then Slug frowned and said, “But we need those breath masks.”
“And soon,” Han pressed, turning his attention to Slug. “You can still be saved, but the chances are
going down with every breath you take.”
Three of the impostors—the three men—clamped their mouths shut. Roxi only glared at Han.
“You know thishow ?” She stepped into the door and stood nose-to-chin with him. “Because you’re a
doctor?”
Han’s stomach sank. “That’s right.” He had to resist an urge to check his appearance. “Senior
xenoepidemiologist, to be exact.” He pretended to scrutinize her white scrubs. “And you are?”
“Wondering why the senior xenoepidemiologist would make his rounds in patient slippers.” Roxi glanced
at his feet. “Without socks.”
She flexed her fingers, and a hold-out blaster dropped out of a sleeve holster. Han cursed and brought
the datapad down on her wrist. Her weapon clattered to the floor, and he kicked it away, then retreated,
fumbling for his own blaster. Roxi withdrew into the parlor, shrieking orders and pushing her companions
at the door. Only Slug went. He ignored Han and ran up the corridor.
“Slug!” Roxi screamed.
“M-masks!” Slug called. “Gotta get—”
Han found his blaster and planted a stun bolt between Slug’s shoulder blades. The impostor thumped to
the floor.
Weapon flashes sprayed from the bacta parlor. Han dived behind a low half wall in the small waiting
area opposite. His attackers continued to fire, and the thin plasteel started to smoke and disintegrate. He
thumbed his own power to high, then stuck the blaster through a melt hole and returned fire.
The bolt storm quieted. Han dropped to his belly and peered around the corner. The impostors were
nowhere to be seen, but their repulsor gurney remained at the back of the parlor. The woman in tank
three had opened her eyes and was looking around. Considering that she was caught in the middle of a
firefight, her expression seemed surprisingly calm. Maybe she was too sedated to comprehend what was
happening. Han hoped so. If she didn’t use the microphone in her breathing mask to call for help, there
was still a chance—a slim chance—that he could take care of this without CorSec connecting the
incident to Leia’s room.
The woman’s gaze shifted, then Roxi’s voice cried, “Go!”
The male impostors leaped into view and began to lay suppression fire. Han burned a hole through one
man’s chest. Roxi pulled something long from beneath the gurney sheet, and when Han switched targets,
she took cover behind tank three. He stopped firing. The woman in the bacta seemed to smile her
thanks.
“On two, Dex,” Roxi called. “One—”
Roxi stepped into view, and “two” was lost to the shrieking cacophony of the repeating blaster in her
hands. Han concentrated fire on her. A faint hiss sounded somewhere deep in the parlor, and Dex’s
blaster fell quiet.
Roxi’s bolts stitched their way across the floor toward Han’s head. He drew back and popped up in the
corner, blaster trained on the parlor entrance. She poured fire into the corridor, but stayed out of sight
until she appeared at the door and began to chew through his flimsy cover.
Han fired back, but to little effect. There was no sign of Dex, and that worried him, too. Seeing that his
angle was hopeless, he stopped firing and looked to the back of the parlor.
“Now!” he yelled.
Nothing happened, except that Roxi glanced away long enough for Han to hurl himself across the waiting
room. She adjusted her aim and began to burn more holes through the half wall. Han returned fire. Now
that his angle was better, at least he was making her cringe.
Then the repulsor gurney glided into view, moving sideways, no one pushing. Han’s jaw must have
dropped. Roxi sneered, shook her head, and, not one to be fooled twice, nearly burned his head off.
The gurney caught her in the hip. Her weapon stitched craters across the ceiling, and she stumbled into
the doorway. Han blasted her chest and shoulder, spinning her around so that she fell over the gurney.
The repeating blaster clattered to the floor inside the bacta parlor, where Dex could get at it. Cursing his
luck, Han poured fire through the door and charged.
Dex lay dead between tanks one and two, the last wisps of smoke rising from a round hole in his chest.
It was too small and perfect to be a blaster wound, at least an ordinary one. Han glanced around the
room, searching for the source of his mysterious help.
The woman in tank three was watching him.
“You?” he asked.
The gurney moved again—it might have been settling on its repulsor, but Han didn’t think so.
Out by the monitoring station, the decontamination lock hissed open, and the sound of booted feet
began to rumble down the corridor. Han ignored the clamor and gestured at the impostor on the floor.
“Him, too?”
The woman’s eyes fluttered closed, opened again, then fell shut and remained that way.
“Okay—must have been a ricochet.” Han was not sure he believed that, but it was what he intended to
tell the CorSec investigators. “I owe you—whoever you are.”
Then the security squad was rushing down the corridor, yelling at Han to drop his weapon and hit the
floor. He placed his blaster on the gurney and turned to find a pair of ruddy-cheeked boys poking
Imperial-era blaster rifles in his face.
“Hey, take it easy.” Han reluctantly raised his hands. “I can explain.”
Chapter 2
Temples aching, world spinning, stomach . . . churning. Leia returned. Someone yelling. Han, of course.
Head pounding.
Quiet!
Han continued to yell, and someone snapped back. Leia opened her eyes and found herself staring into
a sun. Which one, she did not know, but it was blinding and blue, and it moved from one eye to the
other.
A gentle voice—a man’s—said she was coming to. To what?
There were silhouettes around her. A man standing at her side, the blue disk of a headlamp affixed to his
brow. A woman behind a tray of medical instruments. Han and someone in a bulky jumpsuit still arguing
over by the viewport. Another man by the closet in the corner of the room, turned half away, pawing
through a shape Leia recognized as her travel satchel.
“Oo thurr . . .” Even to Leia, the words were weak and incoherent. “Thopp.”
“It’s okay, Leia,” said the man with the headlamp. “I’m Dr. Nimbi. You’ll feel better soon.”
“I thel fie.” Leia tried to point, but her arm felt as heavy as a durasteel beam. “Thopp thath theet.”
The headlamp went out, revealing a gray-eyed face with laugh lines and a familiar smile. “Better?”
Leia could see now that the man wore a doctor’s lab coat with jasper nimbi embroidered on the lapel.
His assistant, a plump woman old enough to be the doctor’s mother, was dressed in a well-worn nurse’s
uniform. The man poking through her satchel had the patches of a Corellian Security agent on his
jumpsuit, as did the officer with whom Han was arguing.
“. . . released him?” Han was demanding. “He’s a killer!”
“The only deaths here are the ones you caused, Solo,” the officer replied. “Andhis identification has
been confirmed as authentic. If we need to question Gad Sluggins again, we’ll know where to find him.”
“So would I,” Han retorted. “In the nearest Peace Brigade safehouse.”
“Political affiliations are no longer a crime on Corellia, Solo.”
In the corner, the agent at the closet removed a datapad from Leia’s satchel, glanced around at the
others in the room, then slipped it into his jumpsuit pocket. Leia tried again to point. This time, the effort
ended in a metallic clatter as her arm, strapped in place and connected to a tangle of intravenous drip
lines, rattled the bed’s safety rail. She settled for lifting her head to glare in the thief’s direction.
“Shtop.” The word was almost recognizable. “Thief!”
Han immediately stopped arguing with the CorSec officer and came to her side. With hollow cheeks and
bags under his eyes, he looked exhausted.
“You’re awake,” he said, perhaps overstating the case. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Leia said. Everything ached, and it felt like she had a hot power-feed around her legs. “That
agent is stealing.”
She extended a finger toward the culprit, but the man’s officer had stepped to the foot of the bed, and it
looked like she was pointing at him. Han and the others exchanged glances and appeared concerned.
“Pharmaceutical illusion,” Dr. Nimbi said. “Her perceptions will clear within the hour.”
“I amnot having delusions.” Leia continued to shake her finger toward the unseen closet. “The other one.
Going through my bag.”
The officer pivoted around to look, exposing the now closed closet and an innocent-looking
subordinate.
Han squeezed her shoulder. “Forget it, Leia. We’ve got more important things to worry about than
someone digging through your underwear.”
“She doesn’t need to hear thatnow , Han,” the doctor said. He turned back to Leia with a comforting
smile. “How do the legs feel? Any better?”
Leia ignored the question and demanded, “What things, Han?”
Han seemed baffled. He glanced at Dr. Nimbi, then said, “Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry.”
“When you tell me not to worry, that’s when I worry,” Leia said. Han had always been one of those
men who navigated life more by instinct than by chart—it was one of the things she most loved about
him—but his instincts since Chewbacca’s death had been carrying him into some very dangerous areas.
Or perhaps the territory only seemed dangerous, lying as it did always farther from Leia. “What’s
wrong?”
Han still seemed worried, but at least he had the sense to ignore Dr. Nimbi’s admonishing shake of the
head. “Well,” he began, “youdo remember where we are?”
Leia glanced at the emblems on the CorSec officer’s jumpsuit. “How could I forget?”
And then it hit her. The Corellians were calling them by their correct names. There were two CorSec
agents standing in her hospital room, and Dr. Nimbi—a Jedi sympathizer with enough experience in such
matters not to slip—was calling Leia by her real name. Their cover had been blown.
Something started to beep on the equipment behind the bed.
Dr. Nimbi held a scanner over Leia’s heart. “Leia, you need to calm yourself. Stress only reduces the
chance of your body overcoming the infection.”
The beeping continued, and the nurse took a spray hypo off her tray. “Shall I prepare a—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Leia reached out with the Force and nudged the hypo—clumsily, but enough
to make her point. “Clear?”
The astonished nurse dropped the hypo on the tray and huffed something about pushy Jedi witches, then
raised her nose and started for the door—where she was met by a rising din of excited voices. The MD
droid was threatening to notify security and protesting that the media were not permitted in the isolation
ward, but the intruders were paying no attention. A sudden glow poured through the door as a
holocrew’s lights illuminated the corridor outside, and the flustered nurse came stumbling back into the
room.
“Great,” Han muttered. “Thrackan.”
A bearded man who—except for his gray hair—looked more like Han than Han did came bursting into
the room, leaving a small swarm of assistants and holojournalists in the corridor outside. The man, Han’s
cousin Thrackan Sal-Solo, glanced around briefly, saw that he was standing between Leia and the door,
then moved forward so the holocams would have a view of her face. She slid down and tried to hide
behind Dr. Nimbi, who recognized what she was doing and quietly positioned himself in front of her.
Sal-Solo scowled at the doctor, then looked Han and Leia over and nodded to the CorSec officer.
“That’s them. Well done, Captain.”
“Thank you, Governor-General.”
“Governor-General?” Han repeated, trying not to scoff and, to Leia’s ear at least, failing. “You’ve come
up in the galaxy, cousin.”
“The Five Brothers reward those who protect them,” Sal-Solo said.
“Yes—it seems reekcats always land on their feet,” Leia said.
Less than a decade earlier, Sal-Solo had held her family hostage in a failed attempt to establish an
independent Corellian sector. More recently, he had inadvertently destroyed an entire Hapan battle fleet
by using an ancient alien artifact called Centerpoint Station to attack a hostile force of Yuuzhan Vong.
Given that Leia had been responsible for bringing the Hapans into the war, she was probably the only
person in the galaxy who despised Han’s cousin more than Han did. And it did not help matters that
Sal-Solo had been hailed as a hero for his foolish actions and, eventually, elected governor-general of the
entire Corellian sector.
“What’s next?” Leia continued to glare at Sal-Solo. Han winced and drew his finger across his throat,
but she ignored him. “Lose the war and become the New Republic Chief of State?”
Sal-Solo half turned toward the holocam outside the door. “My allegiance is to the Corellian system
alone.” His voice was stiff and self-conscious. “And you’d be smart to curb that lightsaber tongue of
yours, Princess Leia. An insult to the man is an insult to the office.”
“Really?” Leia propped herself up on her free elbow until the holocam lights warmed her face. “In this
case, I should think it is the man himself who is the insult.”
Sal-Solo glared at her in disbelief, then stormed over to the door and stuck his head into the corridor.
“Clear the hall! Can’t you see this is an isolation ward?”
The holocam illuminated his face briefly before he palmed the activation panel and the door closed. He
stood facing the wall until the corridor was finally empty, then turned to Leia with eyes as dark as black
holes.
“You must have a death wish,” he said.
“You’re the one who wanted to play this out in the media,” Leia said. “Don’t blame me if you can’t
handle it. Wouldn’t it have been easier to keep things quiet and ignore us?”
“Nothing would have suited me more—except maybe sending you off with a squad of Yuuzhan Vong
infiltrators,” Sal-Solo said. “Unfortunately, the choice wasn’t mine. I didn’t know either of you was here
until I saw on a newsvid that Han Solo had just killed three Corellian citizens.”
“Sorry about that,” Han said, not appearing sorry at all.
Sal-Solo gave him a dark look, then looked back to Leia. “There won’t be any charges, provided
you—”
“Charges?” Han exclaimed. Even Leia could not tell whether he was angry or surprised; they been apart
so long—and gone through so much alone—that she felt like she did not know him now. “For killing a
bunch of Peace Brigaders?”
“They weren’t in the Peace Brigade,” Sal-Solo said. “CorSec Intelligence says they were local.”
“That doesn’t mean they weren’t Peace Brigade,” Han said.
“But they weren’t,” Sal-Solo said. “Roxi Barl is an independent contractor. She didn’t like orders, which
rules out the Peace Brigade or anyone associated with the Yuuzhan Vong. Or so Intelligence tells me.”
“Then whowas she working for?” Han demanded.
Thrackan shrugged. “That’s a good question. Fortunately, it’s also one that, as of an hour from now, will
no longer concern me.”
Han scowled. “No?”
“Because you’ll be gone by then,” Thrackan said.
“Gone?” Han shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere until Leia can walk.”
Leia frowned. Their faces had been on newsvids all over the system, and he was talking about staying
until she couldwalk . What kind of rocket juice had he been drinking while they were apart?
“Han,” Leia said gently. “We talked this over. You know I may never—”
Han whirled on her. “Until youwalk , Leia.”
Leia recoiled, and Han hovered over the bed, staring into her eyes, not blinking, not breathing, not
wavering, as though he could change what had happened on Duro—maybe even what had happened
before that—through sheer force of will.
“Han, we can’t,” she said at last. “By now, bounty hunters and Peace Brigaders from all over the system
will be converging on the medcenter. And even if Thrackan wanted to protect us, he couldn’t. It would
give the Yuuzhan Vong too much reason to come see if Centerpoint is still operational.”
“And he’s just sending us on our way?” Han scoffed. “Straight into a Yuuzhan Vong patrol, that’s where
he’s sending us.”
“He can’t, Han,” Leia said. “He can’t take the chance we’d break under torture and tell them
Centerpoint isn’t working.”
Han considered this, then glanced at his cousin.
“If it makes you feel better, I could always have you killed,” Sal-Solo offered amicably. “That works for
me.”
“And how do you think Anakin would like that?” Leia retorted. Their son Anakin was the only one who
had ever been able to fully activate Centerpoint Station, and his absence was one reason the ancient
superweapon wasn’t working now. “He doesn’t care for you much as it is, Thrackan. I doubt he’d be
very helpful if you arranged the death of his parents.”
Sal-Solo’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “As long as we’re agreed, then. You’ll leave within the
hour.”
“Han,” Dr. Nimbi said helpfully, “she can handle the journey if you stop at bacta parlors along the way.”
He hesitated a moment, then added, “Leia will be fine. It’s your, uh, friend I’m worried about.”
Han seemed confused. “Friend?”
“In tank three,” Dr. Nimbi said. “I don’t think you should leave her behind, not with all those bounty
hunters and Peace Brigaders on the way.”
“Oh—right. Ourfriend .” Han glanced at Leia, and something roguish came to his eye, something sly and
fun and conspiratorial that had not been there since before Chewbacca’s death. He looked back to
Sal-Solo and sighed. “Look, I don’t mean to be difficult, but we can’t go without Jaina.”
“Jaina?Jaina’s here?”
Leia thought she had been the one to blurt the question, but realized that was not so when all eyes turned
to Sal-Solo. At least she understood why Han had been acting so strangely. She had a vague memory of
a deep-space rendezvous with theJade Shadow , of kissing her brother and each of her children
good-bye and telling them she would see them again on Coruscant. Something must have happened.
Perhaps Han had needed Jaina to help him fly theFalcon , or perhaps Mara and Luke had run into
trouble and been forced to divert. Maybe all of her children were on Corellia. She hoped not. She hoped
Jacen and Anakin were safe on Coruscant . . . but itwould be good to see them, too. So good.
“. . . Anakin?” Sal-Solo was asking. “Is he here, too?”
“Just Jaina,” Han said firmly. “Anakin and Jacen are on Coruscant.”
“Of course, youwould say that.” Sal-Solo was thinking aloud. If he could force Anakin to reactivate
Centerpoint, he would have no worries from the Yuuzhan Vong or the New Republic. He could use it to
isolate the whole Corellian system and run the place as his personal empire. “But I can find out. I have
my ways.”
“Yeah—you could comm them on Coruscant,” Han said. “Feel free to reverse the HoloNet charges—I
know how strapped things are here in Corellia.”
“Wait—what was that about tank three?” Leia demanded, not paying much attention to the exchange
between Han and Sal-Solo. “Jaina’s in a bacta tank? What happened?”
“You remember.” Again, Han gave her a strange glare. “That hit on Duro turned out to be worse than
we thought.”
The stress alarm behind the bed started to beep again.
“Will youplease disconnect that thing?” Leia demanded. Whatever had happened—whatever Han was
trying to tell her—she did not want a machine giving them away. “And get me a repulsor chair. I want to
摘要：

 Chapter1Outsidethemedcenterviewport,araggedcrescentofwhitetwinklesknownastheDrall’sHatdroopedacrossthevioletsky,itslowertipslashingthroughtheRontototoucharedstarnamedtheEyeofthePirate.TheconstellationsaboveCorelliahadnotchangedsinceHanSolowasachild,whenhehadspenthisnightscontemplatingthegalacticdep...

展开>> 收起<<
Star Wars - [New Jedi Order Short] - Recovery (by Troy Denning).pdf

共60页,预览12页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：60 页 大小：158.47KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

高考理综 人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 60
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注