Star Wars: Shatterpoint by Matthew Stover

Author:Matthew Stover [Stover, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9780345464231
Publisher: Ballantine Group
Published: 2011-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

The air above the Lorshan Pass was so clear that the sky-colored peak Mace could barely discern in the distant south might have been Grandfather’s Shoulder itself. There was a pall of brown haze down in that direction that he suspected was the smog over Pelek Baw. In the nearer distance, tiny silver flecks of gunships patrolled the jungle canopy below the pass. A lot of gunships: Mace had counted at least six flights, possibly as many as ten, weaving among the hills.

The occasional silent flash of cannonfire, or curling black smoke from flame projectors, he actually found comforting: it meant the militia thought the guerrillas were still down among the trees.

He sat cross-legged on the shadowed dirt of the cave mouth’s floor, his datapad slung on his shoulder. Only two meters away, brilliant late-afternoon sunlight slanted across the cliffside meadow: a grassy sward, relatively flat for a few tens of meters before it curled over the lip of the cliff and dropped half a klick to the pass below.

Easily large enough for a Republic Sienar Systems Jadthu-class lander.

Mace determinedly avoided staring up into the sky. It would get there when it got there.

Only minutes to go, now.

He found himself tallying the list of injuries Haruun Kal had inflicted upon him, from the stun-blast bruises through flame burns, cracked ribs, a concussion, and a human bite wound. Not to mention innumerable insect bites and stings, some kind of rash on his right thigh, and blistering around his toes that was probably a persistent fungal infection…

And those were only the physical injuries. They would heal.

The nonphysical injuries—to his confidence, his principles, his moral certainties…to his heart—

Those couldn’t be treated with spray bandages and a bacta patch.

Behind him, Nick’s pacing had scuffed a path through the thin layer of dirt to the stone of the cave floor. He picked up his rifle from where it leaned against the wall, checked the action for the dozenth time, and set it back down again. He did the same with the slug pistol holstered at his thigh, then looked around for something else to do. Not finding anything, he went back to pacing. “How much longer?”

“Not long.”

“That’s what you said the last three times I asked.”

“I suppose it depends on what you mean by long.”

“You sure she’s coming?”

“Yes,” Mace lied.

“What if they get here before she does? I mean, we’re not gonna have time to lag around waiting for her—not with gunships and who-knows-what-all tracking the lander through the atmosphere. If she’s not here—”

“We’ll worry about that if it happens.”

“Yeah.” Nick started pacing from the back to the front of the cave, instead of side to side. “Yeah.”

“Nick.”

“Yeah?”

“Settle down.”

The young Korun stopped, winced an apology at Mace, adjusted his tunic, and ran his thumbs around the drawstring waistband of his pants as though they were chafing him. “I don’t like waiting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

Nick squatted alongside the Jedi Master and nodded at the datapad. “Got any games on that thing? Shee, I’d even play dejarik. And I hate dejarik.

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