"Planet Of Twilight (Barbara Hambley)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hambly Barbara)

droid Artoo-Detoo emerged from around the airfoil of the modified B-xwing that
rose like a suspended wall in the rear corner of the deck-six shuttlecraft
bay. See-Threepio, protocol droid extraordinaire, followed close behind,
golden carapace shining in the soft light. "According to Artoo, all systems
appear to be in flying order, Master Luke," stated the protocol droid in his
prissy mechanical tenor. "But personally, I should be much happier were you to
take a larger craft with greater oxygen capacity."
Luke nodded absently, "Thanks, Threepio." But in fact his attention never
left the slip of plast in his hand, the bold, firm, slightly old-fashioned
writing across its face.
He was seeing the snows of Hoth, and the way Callista's lightsaber had
vied with the ice planet's dim sunlight for brightness. Seeing the ruined
bunker there and how the ice had glittered in the smoke-brown tousle of her
hair. Remembering what it had been to fight at her side, more a part of him
than his own hand or arm; knowing which way she'd turn, or lunge, or drive the
snow monsters into his blade.
With the memories of the snow were the warm scents of night on Yavin
Four, and of lying in each other's arms on the hillside above the jungles,
counting stars. Callista had explained to him with great solemnity why it had
seemed so logical for her and two other Jedi apprentices, thirty-three years
ago-in another body, another life-to try to concoct the illusions of ghosts
haunting an old drift station on Bespin to puzzle their Master and why this
had turned out to be not such a good idea after all.
He hurt with wanting her. Missing her. Needing her.
I realized I could not come back to you. I'm sorry, Luke.
The blazing glare of the monster ship, the Knight Hammer, and all the
hopes of the renegade Admiral Daala's fleet, crashing in flames...
His own voice crying Callista's name. I have my own odyssey...
The warm, boyish, husky voice coming to him from the recording, the gray
eyes in the ghostly oval of her face.
I'm sorry, Luke...
The shuttle deck of the Borealis was quiet. Only a few security officers
stood around the antiquated Seinar system brig that had brought Seti Ashgad
over from the Light of Reason, talking with the brig's graying, downtrodden-
looking pilot, their white-and-silver ceremonial blaster rifles slung on their
backs. Ashgad had arrived with only his secretary, his pilot, and three
synthdroids; and Luke could have reassured his sister's guards that it was not
physically possible for a Seinar brig to carry more than six humans. Seinar
brigs-particularly the old H-10s like that one-were the staple of small-system
personnel transport.
Luke had taken apart and put together enough of them in his youth on
Tatooine to know there wasn't a compartment big enough to tuck a Ranat into,
let alone anything human or human size.
The vessel was in good shape, but the metal was patched, pitted, and old.
If Seti Ashgad, who according to Leia was one of the wealthiest men on Nam
Chorios, could obtain no better, it was little wonder he was willing to join
up with the Rationalist Party to try to better conditions on the planet.
He turned the message in his fingers again.
The music box, a cheap and ingenious mechanical contraption without a
chip in it, had been forwarded from Atraken, but analysis of the peculiar