Star Wars - Thrawn Trilogy - The Last Command 03

by Timothy Zahn

  "Yes, sir," Pellaeon said, shaking his head in silent wonder as he keyed in the orders. Once again, against overwhelming evidence to the contrary, the Grand Admiral had proved himself right. The Rebel assault fleet was here.

  And probably wondering at this very moment what had gone wrong with their clever little scheme. "It occurs to me, Admiral, that we might not want to destroy all of them," he suggested. "Someone should be allowed to return to Coruscant to tell them how badly they were outsmarted."

  "I agree, Captain," Thrawn said. "Though I doubt that will be their interpretation. More likely they'll conclude instead that they were betrayed."

  "Probably," Pellaeon agreed, throwing a quick look around the bridge. He'd thought he'd heard a faint sound just then, something like an overstressed bearing or someone rumbling in the back of his throat. He listened closely, but the sound wasn't repeated. "Though that would work equally well to our advantage."

  "Indeed," Thrawn said. "Shall we designate Admiral Ackbar's Star Cruiser for messenger duty?"

  Pellaeon smiled tightly. Ackbar. Who'd just barely survived Councilor Borsk Fey'lya's previous accusations of incompetence and treason over the operation at the Sluis Van shipyards. This time, he wouldn't be so lucky. "A nice touch, Admiral," he said.

  "Thank you, Captain."

  Pellaeon glanced up at Rukh, standing silent guard behind Thrawn's chair, and wondered if the Noghri appreciated the irony of it all. Given the species' lack of sophistication, probably not.

  Ahead, space was filling with flashes of laser fire as the opposing starfighter squadrons began to engage. Settling himself comfortably in his chair, Pellaeon glanced over his displays and prepared his mind for battle. For battle, and for victory.

  "Watch it, Rogue Leader, you've picked up a couple of tails," the voice of Rogue Two came in Wedge's ear. "Rogue Six?"

  "Right with you, Rogue Two," the other confirmed. "Double-chop on three. One, two—"

  Bracing himself, Wedge threw his X-wing into a wild scissors roll. The two TIE fighters, trying to match his maneuver while at the same time not overshooting him, probably never even saw the other two X-wings drop into position behind them. Two messy explosions later, Wedge was clear. "Thanks," he said.

  "No problem. What now?"

  "I don't know," he admitted, taking a quick look at the battle raging around them. So far, Admiral Ackbar was still holding his Star Cruisers together in combat formation. But the way the periphery support ships were being hammered by the Imperials, the whole thing could dissolve into the mass confusion of a brawl at any minute. In which event, the starfighter squadrons would be basically on their own, hitting wherever and whatever they could.

  Which they were for all practical purposes doing now anyway. The trick would be to find something really effective to hit. . . .

  Rogue Two must have followed the same reasoning. "You know, Rogue Leader, it occurs to me that those Imperials wouldn't have so many ships available to pound us with if they had to protect their shipyard at the same time."

  Wedge craned his neck to look at the blaze of lights off in the near distance. Silhouetted against them, he could make out the dark, brooding outlines of at least four Golan II battle stations. "Agreed," he said. "But I think it would take more than an attack by even the legendary Rogue Squadron to make them that nervous—"

  "Commander Antilles, this is Fleet Central Communications," a brisk voice cut in. "I have a signal coded urgent coming in for you under a New Republic diplomatic encrypt. Do you want to bother with it?"

  Wedge blinked. A diplomatic encrypt? Way out here? "I suppose so. Sure, put it through."

  "Yes, sir." There was a click—

  "Hello, Antilles," a vaguely familiar voice said dryly in his ear. "Nice to see you again."

  "The feeling's mutual, I'm sure," Wedge said, frowning. "Who is this?"

  "Oh, come now," the other chided. "Have you forgotten already those wonderful times we spent together outside the Mumbri Storve cantina?"

  The Mumbri Storve—? "Aves?"

  "Hey, very good," Aves said. "Your memory's getting better."

  "You people are starting to be hard to forget," Wedge told him. "Where are you?"

  "Right smack in the middle of that big blaze of Imperial lights off on your flank," Aves said, his voice turning a little grim. "I wish you'd told me you were hitting this place instead of Tangrene like we thought."

  "I wish you'd told me what that little job of yours was all about," Wedge countered. "Did a good job of fooling each other, didn't we?"

  "Sure did. Fooled everybody except the Grand Admiral."

  "Tell me about it. So is this just a social call, or what?"

  "It could be," Aves said. "Or it couldn't. See, in about ninety seconds some of us are going to make a grab for the CGT array we came here to get. After that, it's a quick goodbye and we punch our way out."

  Punching their way out from an Imperial shipyard. And he made it sound so easy, too. "Good luck."

  "Thanks. The reason I mention it is that it doesn't matter much to us which direction we pick to punch through. Thought it might make a difference to you."

  Wedge felt a tight smile tugging at his lip. "It might, at that," he said. "Like, say, if you were to come out near those Golan Twos out there. Maybe hitting them a little from behind on the way?"

  "Looks like a good route to me," Aves agreed. " 'Course, it'll get nasty outside the perimeter—all those ships and things taking potshots and all. I don't suppose you could find a way to give us a friendly escort from that point on?"

  Wedge looked over at the lights, thinking it over. It could work, all right. If Aves' people were able to knock out even one of those Golan II's, it would open up the shipyard to a New Republic incursion. Unless the Imperials were willing to sacrifice it, they would have to shift some of their battle force over there to close the puncture and chase down any ships that had gotten in.

  And from the smugglers' point of view, having an influx of New Republic warships to sneak through on their way out would give them better cover than they would get anywhere else along the perimeter. All in all, a pretty fair exchange. "You've got a deal," he told Aves. "Give me a couple of minutes and I'll get that escort arranged."

  "A friendly escort, don't forget," Aves warned. "If you know what I mean."

  "I know exactly what you mean," Wedge assured him. The traditional Mon Calamari loathing for smugglers and smuggling was the stuff of wardroom legend, and Wedge didn't want to get caught in the middle of that any more than Aves did. Probably why the smuggler had come to him instead of offering his assistance to Ackbar and the fleet commanders directly. "Don't worry, I've got it covered."

  "Okay. Whoops—there goes the first charge. See you."

  The comm clicked off. "We're going in?" Rogue Eleven asked.

  "We're going in," Wedge confirmed, bringing his X-wing around in a tight starboard turn. "Rogue Two, give Command a quick update and tell them we need some support. Don't mention Aves by name—just tell them we're coordinating with an independent resistance group inside the shipyards."

  "Got it, Rogue Leader."

  "What if Ackbar doesn't want to risk it?" Rogue Seven put in.

  Wedge looked out at the lights of the shipyard. So once again, as it had so many times before, it was all going to come down to a matter of trust. Trust in a farm lad, fresh off a backward desert world, to lead him in an attack on the first Death Star. Trust in a former high-stakes gambler, who might or might not have had any real combat experience, to lead him in an attack on the second Death Star. And now, trust in a smuggler who might just as easily betray him for the right price. "It doesn't matter," he said. "With or without support, we're going in."

  Mara's lightsaber flashed, slicing viciously through the clone Luuke. The clone fell, its lightsaber clattering to the floor, and lay still.

  And suddenly, the buzzing pressure in Luke's mind was gone.

  He rose to his feet in front of the still sparking view
screen he'd lured the clone to, taking what felt like the first clean breath he'd had in hours. The ordeal was finally over. "Thank you," he said quietly to Mara.

  She took a step back from the dead clone. "No problem. Brain all clear now?"

  So she'd been able to sense the buzzing in his mind. He'd wondered about that. "Yes," he nodded, taking another wonderfully clean breath. "How about yours?"

  She threw him a look that was half amused, half ironic. But for the first time since they'd met he could see that the pain and hatred were gone from her eyes. "I did what he wanted me to," she said. "It's over."

  Luke looked back across the throne room. Karrde had tied the vornskrs' leashes to the collapsed catwalk and was picking his way carefully across the wreckage. Han, on his feet now, was helping a still groggy Leia out from under the section that had fallen on her. "Leia?" Luke called. "You all right?"

  "I'm fine," Leia called back. "Just a little banged up. Let's get out of here, all right?"

  Luke turned back to C'baoth. The old Jedi was staring down at the dead clone, his hands working at his sides, his eyes furious and lost and insane. "Yes," he agreed. "Come on, Mara."

  "Go ahead," Mara said. "I'll be with you in a minute."

  Luke eyed her. "What are you going to do?"

  "What do you think?" she retorted. "I'm going to finish the job. Like I should have done on Jomark."

  Slowly, C'baoth raised his eyes to her. "You will die for this, Mara Jade," he said, his quiet voice more chilling than any outburst of rage could have been. "Slowly, and in great pain." Taking a deep breath, curling his hands into fists in front of his chest, he closed his eyes.

  "We'll see about that," Mara muttered. Raising her lightsaber, she started toward him.

  It began as a distant rumble, more felt than really heard. Luke looked around the room, senses tingling with a premonition of danger. But he could see nothing out of place. The sound grew louder, deeper—

  And with a thunderous explosion, the sections of throne room ceiling directly above him and Mara suddenly collapsed in a downpour of gravel-sized rocks.

  "Look out!" Luke shouted, throwing his arms up to protect his head and trying to leap out of the way. But the center of the rockfall moved with him. He tried again, this time nearly losing his balance as his foot caught in a pile of stones already ankle deep. Too numerous and too small for him to get a grip on through the Force, they kept coming, pummeling against him with bruising impact. Through the dust swirling around him, he saw Mara floundering under a deluge of her own, trying to guard her head with one arm as she slashed vainly at the falling stones with her lightsaber. From across the throne room, Luke could hear Han shouting something, and guessed that they, too, were under the same attack.

  And standing untouched by the destructive rock storms he'd unleashed, C'baoth lifted his hands high. "I am the Jedi Master C'baoth!" he shouted, his voice ringing through the throne room and the roar of the rockfalls. "The Empire—the universe—is mine."

  Luke dropped his lightsaber back into defense position, senses again tingling with danger. But once again, the knowledge did him little good. C'baoth's lightning burst flashed against the lightsaber blade, the impact knocking Luke off balance and dropping him painfully onto his knees in the pile of stones around him. Even as he struggled to get up, one of the falling rocks slammed hard into the side of his head. He staggered, toppling sideways onto one hand. Again the lightning flashed, throwing coronal fire all through the stone pile and sending wave after wave of agony through him. The lightsaber was plucked from his fingers; dimly he saw it fly over the railing toward the far end of the throne room.

  "Stop it," Mara screamed. Through the haze of pain, Luke saw that she was standing up to her knees in stones, her lightsaber slashing uselessly through the mound as if trying to sweep them away. "If you're going to kill us, just do it."

  "Patience, my future apprentice," C'baoth said. . . and squinting through the stones and dust, Luke saw the other's dreamy smile. "You cannot die yet. Not until I have taken you down to the Grand Admiral's cloning chamber."

  Beneath her rockfall, Mara jerked, her sense flashing with sudden horror. "What?"

  "For I have foreseen that Mara Jade will kneel before me," C'baoth reminded her. "One Mara Jade . . . or another."

  "That's it," Lando said, tapping the activation switch on the last charge. "Give it a kick and let's get out of here."

  From around the central column Chewbacca growled acknowledgment. Picking up his blaster, Lando stood up, giving each of the doors around the outer walkway a quick look. So far, so good. If they could keep the stormtroopers out for just two more minutes, long enough for Chewbacca and him to get off this work platform and out to the walkway . . .

  Chewbacca rumbled a warning. Listening closely, Lando could hear the faint rising-pitch hum of an extremely unhappy negative flow coupler. "Great, Chewie," he said. "Let's go." He stepped out onto the end of the bridge—

  And straight ahead of him, the door opposite the bridge blew up.

  "Watch it!" Lando barked, dropping flat on his stomach on the bridge and pouring blaster fire into the cloud of dust and debris expanding out from where the door had been. Already, the sizzling blue ripples of stun fire were starting to erupt from the doorway in their general direction. Behind him, the roar of Chewbacca's bowcaster was answering. So much for those last two minutes.

  And with his face pressed as close to the metal-mesh floor as he could get it, Lando found himself looking at the bridge. At the bridge, and the thin but sturdy guardrails running along both sides of it . . .

  It was crazy. But that didn't mean it wouldn't work.

  "Chewie, get over here," he called, rolling halfway over and throwing a quick look up at the bridge controls set into the top of the work platform guardrail. Extension control . . . there. Retraction control—emergency stop control—

  The bridge shook as Chewbacca landed with a thud on the bridge beside him. "Keep them busy," Lando told him. Gauging the distance, he lunged upward, jabbing the retraction control and the emergency stop in quick succession. The bridge lurched out from the work platform and stopped, just far enough for its locking bars to disengage.

  Chewbacca rumbled a question as the bridge bobbed gently with the strain of their weight. "You'll see," Lando told him. From both sides came flashes of light as two more doors disintegrated. "Just hang on to the guardrail supports and keep firing. Here we go." Getting a firm grip himself, he aimed carefully and opened fire.

  But not at the stormtroopers now charging out onto the circular walkway. His shots were directed instead at the far end of the bridge, throwing out clouds of sparks as they vaporized sections of the mesh flooring and dug chunks out of the structural support bars beneath. The bridge lurched, bobbing even harder now, as Lando continued to hammer away at its structural integrity. Beside him, Chewbacca rumbled a savage Wookiee phrase that Lando had never heard him use before—

  And with a horrible shriek of strained metal, the bridge suddenly gave way. Connected to the walkway only by the-still-intact guardrails, it pivoted ponderously downward. Lando gripped the guardrail tightly as their horizontal position changed rapidly toward a vertical one—

  And with a crash that nearly jarred him loose, the bridge slammed up against the guardrail of the cloning balcony three levels down.

  "This is our stop," Lando said. "Come on." Jamming his blaster awkwardly into its holster, he swung himself around the steeply angled bridge guardrail to drop onto the cloning balcony floor. Chewbacca, with his natural arboreal skills, was there a good three seconds ahead of him.