Star Wars - Out of the Cradle by Patricia A. Jackson

Author:Patricia A. Jackson [Jackson, Patricia A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1994-05-21T00:13:35+00:00

Shocked into reaction, Drake lurched for Taggert’s hand. “No!” he shouted. One of the stormtroopers also reacted, firing a quick burst. Though he was moving to the side. Drake was not fast enough to escape the bolt, which blistered its way into his right shoulder, charring the flesh and muscle beneath the impact. Driven by the force of the blow. Drake slammed into the corridor wall, feeling a rib give way beneath the stress on his body. He fell to the floor, writhing in agony as the pain washed through him. Alarmed by the scent of scorched flesh, the Jawa bolted, vanishing into an access maintenance tube.

Handing the blaster to his nearest escort. Taggert stepped over Drake’s body. “Captain Halbert, by order of the Galactic Empire, as a representative of that order, I declare you are free to go on your way.” The stormtroopers congregated behind him. Hesitating, the Imperial agent paused, turning toward them. “How do you say,” his face brightened, showing the first signs of color in his cheeks, “ah, clear skies.” Without further comment, the boarding party returned to the rear of the Seldom Different, backtracking to their shuttle docked above. The sounds of the repressurized seal echoed through the corridor.

“Sratt!” Halbert spat. “Reset those coordinates.”

The Coynite ignored him, kneeling beside Drake.

“Put the kid in my quarters and get back here,” Halbert demanded. “I need you on the bridge.” Pointing an angry finger at Drake, he hissed. “You’re not going to last in this business, kid. Who told you to get out of the cradle?”

“I was in the turret.” Drake said weakly, as Parr’Sratt gently helped him to his feet.

“Hurry up with the brat, Sratt.” Halbert stormed onto the bridge, briefly whispering. “I need a drink.” He threw open the cabinet and retrieved a bottle of Corellian ale before vanishing into the forward flight compartment.

Parr’Sratt helped Drake into the captain’s quarters, settling him into a narrow bunk. The Coynite smoothed the blankets up to the trembling boy’s waist and then unzipped the flight jacket to examine the wound. An obvious frown crossed his face. Taking a medpac from the surgical kit, the Coynite gently tapped it against the wound, steadying Drake as the boy winced in pain.

When the intense burning sensation began to subside, Drake felt the Coynite move away from the bunk. He heard water being poured. Though he was not certain. Drake swore he saw Parr’Sratt spit into the cup before reaching into a satchel and sprinkling a strange powder into the steaming water. Faint from the medication, Drake began to drift off.

“Lom,” Parr’Sratt whispered. “Lom.”

Drake awoke, startled.

The Coynite nodded, pressing the cup to his lips. “Lom,” he said with pleasure.

Drake frowned. “Lom?” He stared into the unfamiliar face, feeling unnaturally at ease. “Only two people in the galaxy call me by that name,” he paused, “my father and… and you don’t look like Karl Ancher. How?”

“Lom,” the Coynite repeated, forcing the youngster to sip from the cup. “Lom’Ka’Sol.”

With his face wrinkled in a horrible

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