Star Wars: Knight Errant Read Free Page B

some defense against the shiny membrane, seemingly hurtling toward him.
    Ker-rash! Shards of shoddy transparisteel exploded downward as he fell, offering less resistance than he’d expected. The same couldn’t be said, though, for the permacrete floor. And any hope Narsk had for a controlled landing ended when he hit the surface … and he proceeded to slide a dozen meters through a puddle of golden goo before finally slamming into a wall.
    Uncurling, Narsk squinted through the pain and looked around. The place was what he’d thought it was. Incomplete speeder bike bodies dangled from pulleys on chains, swaying as they worked their way toward a shower of paint. The whole place reeked with the pungent lacquer, wafting in steamy sheets. Narsk saw droids on duty so covered with spray, they could barely move. Evidently, there was a place in the Daimanate too toxic even for his slaves!
    Narsk struggled to stand. Where was the Corrector? Not above him, he saw. She hadn’t been dressed like the ones he’d seen in public. Did Daiman have some new kind of secret police? Why didn’t she follow him down?
    Do they worry about getting messy?
    An idle and foolish thought—and one he paid for immediately as he lost his footing in the greasy runoff and planted his chin onto the floor. The junk was in his fur now: more of that blasted gilt Daiman liked to see on everything.
    Rising, Narsk realized it was also covering a good part of the stealth suit. There was no sense activating it; it’d need to be wiped completely clean before it could fool anyone. But he’d had no choice. Craning his neck, he scanned the rafters for the reason he entered.
    There it was, high in the rafters: a fully assembled speeder bike, glistening and dry, hanging from the end of a chain. Moving more carefully this time, Narsk pushed past a loader droid on his way to a gantry ladder. Looking up again—still no Corrector—he made for the top step and waited for the conveyer to bring it past.
    A short jump—but slipping in the slop atop the ladder, Narsk nearly missed it altogether. Clawing frantically, he finally locked an elbow around the rocking frame and joined his hands, hoisting himself onto the seat.
    Safely astride the vehicle, Narsk ripped the protective coverings from the control display. Yes, the speeder would operate, but it barely had enough fuel to make the edge of Xakrea. That didn’t really matter. The Corrector would definitely have brought in support by now; Narsk would reach safety in the next few minutes, or not at all. Opening his bag, he found the needler. It was right on top of his other goods, easily reachable. Narsk sighed. Terrific . Switching the hand-built weapon’s setting to fire acid-filled darts, he drew a bead on the pulley above and fired.
    Moments later, bleary-eyed workers departing from the Personal Transport Assembly Shop looked up to see a golden blur rocketing through an open fourth-story window. Narsk tucked his body tightly against the speeder’s frame. The chain, still attached to the vehicle, whippedbehind like a mosgoth’s tail, smashing against a nearby building as he turned for the main avenue.
    No time to worry about that . Narsk allowed the wind to replace the gunk in his lungs. He’d never considered Xakrea’s air to be fresh before now. Manufacturers’ Way stretched ahead, leading toward Little Duros and a thousand places where he could lose himself. The only thing behind him was the Black Fang, its outline lit by the twin stars above. Seeing no Corrector, he turned his attention back to the street ahead.
    He should have looked up.
    The woman hurtled down from a skybridge crossing the thoroughfare, far above. Seeing her falling, her arms and hands outstretched, Narsk instinctively mashed the throttle. A sudden thump jerked the speeder from behind, nearly causing him to slip off again. Seizing a single handlebar with both hands, Narsk forced the speeder bike out of its turn and angled back into the