"Truce At Bakura (Kathy Tyers)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tyers Kathy)

wonder the transport was moving away.
"Right." Wedge clung to one end of the cylinder, wearing a pressure suit
and connected to the X-wing by a life-support tether. He must have blown his
cockpit air and dove for the cylinder's master control the moment he realized
he'd accidentally armed it to detonate. In a space pilot's lightweight
pressure suit and closed-face emergency helmet, he could survive vacuum for
several minutes.
"How long've you been out here, Wedge?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter. The view's terrific."
Closing in, Luke reversed engines with care. Wedge held one hand inside a
hinged panel. His head swiveled to follow Luke's X-wing as Luke used short,
delicate engine bursts to match his momentum with the cylinder.
"Sure could use another hand." Wedge's ^ws sounded cocky but the tone
betrayed his strain. That hand must be half crushed. "What are you doing out
here?"
"Enjoying the view." Luke considered his options. The A-wing pilots
decelerated and hung back, probably assuming Luke knew what he was doing.
"Artoo," he called, "what's the reach on your manipulator arm? If I got in
close enough, could you help him?"
No--2.76 meters short at optimum angle, appeared on his head-up display.
Luke frowned. Sweat trickled on his forehead. Anything small, solid, and
disposable would help. If he didn't hurry, his friend was dead. Already
Wedge's sense in the Force wobbled dizzily.
Luke glanced at his lightsaber. He wasn't about to dispose of that.
Not even to save Wedge's life? Besides, he'd be able to get it back.
Cautiously he slipped the saber into the flare ejection port's feed tube. He
launched it out, then extended a hand toward it across ten meters of vacuum.
He sent it gliding toward Wedge. Once near the target, he twisted his wrist.
The green-white blade appeared, silent in the vacuum of space. Wedge's
wide brown eyes blinked behind his faceplate.
"On my signal," Luke said, "jump free."
"Luke, I'll lose fingers."
"Way free," Luke repeated. "You'll lose more than fingers if you stay
there."
"What's the chance you could Jedi me a little nerve blockage? This hurts
like crazy." Wedge's voice sounded weaker. He pulled in his knees and braced
to push off.
At moments like these, moisture farming for Uncle Owen back on Tatooine
didn't sound too bad. "I'll try," said Luke. "Show me the crystals. Look at
them closely."
"Ho-kay." Wedge pulled around to stare into the hatchway. Letting the
lightsaber drift, Luke felt for Wedge's friendly presence. He trusted Wedge
not to resist this, to let him...
Through Wedge's eyes, and fighting the excruciating pain in Wedge's hand,
Luke glimpsed a pair of round, multifaceted jewels--one inside his palm, the
other crushing inward at the end of a spring mechanism from the back of his
hand. Fist-sized, they reflected pale golden sparks of saber light out the
hatch onto Wedge's orange suit. Luke didn't think the flight glove alone would
keep them apart, or he'd've simply told Wedge to slip out of it. Brief
depressurization didn't damage extremities much.