Star Wars: Battlefront: Twilight Company Read Online Free PDF Page A

his teeth in what he hoped was a smirk. “Quit moaning,” he said. “It’s already cauterized—you want it to bandage itself, too?”
    Charmer laughed hoarsely and croaked an obscenity.
    Brand methodically secured each door to the dining hall as Namir stood and looked to the woman who’d claimed to be the “captive.” She was standing at the dining table, pouring a pitcher of water over her hands as if to clean them—not of blood, as Namir thought at first, but of caked-on dirt like clay. Her weapon sat beside the pitcher.
    “Who are you?” he asked.
    The woman barely glanced toward Namir as she wiped her hands dry on her hips. “My name is Everi Chalis,” she said. “Governor of Haidoral Prime, emissary to the Imperial Ruling Council, and, of course—” Here her lip curled up, as if at a private joke. “—local artist-in-residence.”
    She began walking among the bodies, nudging each with the toe of her boot as if to confirm that it was dead. “Declaring myself a
captive
may have been an exaggeration,” she went on, “but I needed your attention.” When she came to the colonel, still sprawled across the table, she leaned in close, hoisted him by his hair, and spat between his unseeing eyes.
    “Glad you’re so loyal to your staff,” Namir said, slow and cautious. When Chalis turned around, he had his rifle aimed at her chest.
    She didn’t seem bothered. “They weren’t mine,” she said sourly. “
My
staff—my advisers, my bodyguards, my
chef
—were taken away months ago. These men were here to
police
me at the behest of the Emperor.”
    Charmer was trying to stammer something; Namir only heard the word
chef.
Brand glanced from a side door to Namir, and then to the governor. “Shoot her,” she said. “Haidoral deserves that much.”
    Namir scowled. The pieces weren’t coming together, and he suddenly felt the weight of days without sleep, the thirty hours of fighting. “
Why
did you need our attention?” he asked.
    “Thanks to the Rebellion, my days with the Empire are numbered.” The governor smiled, but her tone was acid. “I understand you’re recruiting. I want to join your company in return for asylum.”
    Namir took aim with his rifle. He wondered how many more guards were in the mansion and how long he had before they showed. He tried to guess how much Charmer’s injury would slow down the squad’s exit. He didn’t have time to parse the lies at play.
    Then came a low electric warbling and an oscillating flash of blue light. The governor’s lips parted, but she said nothing. Her limbs stiffened, and she fell to the floor beside her bag.
    Namir swung about. Standing in the last of the unsecured doorways was Gadren, two arms clasping his weapon and aiming the barrel toward where the governor had stood. He was breathing hard, enormous shoulders rising and falling. “We lost contact,” he said. “I thought there was trouble. I am pleased to see I overreacted.”
    Brand eyed the fallen governor. “She’s still breathing,” she said. “Why a stun shot?”
    Gadren crept to Charmer’s side, pausing to assess the scarred man’s injuries before gently lifting him from the floor and cradling him in two arms. Not until Charmer was secure did Gadren say, “I feared for the captives. A blaster bolt could have killed one.”
    “No captives,” Brand said. Gadren nodded—not in comprehension, but in recognition that now was not the time for questions.
    Namir stalked to the governor and checked the body. She was breathing steadily. No spasms, no choking, no irregular heartbeat. Stun bolts weren’t reliable, but this one seemed to have done its job. Which meant the governor was still Namir’s problem.
    “We’ll pack her up, take her to Howl”—he nodded toward Gadren—“if you’ve got room for one more. No need to be gentle.”
    Gadren roughly grabbed the governor by her collar and threw her over a shoulder, using one hand to keep the body in place. Namir wondered if Brand