Star Wars: Millennium Falcon

by James Luceno

  Guarded by a contingent of aging stormtroopers overseen by a cadre of bored human officers and enlisted-ratings, the Nilash Impe rial Impound Facility opened its hangar door every so often to prospective buyers of ships that were being put up for auction—a wide assortment of vessels confiscated from pirates, spicerunners, smugglers, and slavers. Good bargains could be had but you had to be careful, because the Imperials were known to substitute worn-out parts for what they stripped from the captured vessels. Ferrying to the Nilash system, Zenn Bien, Quip, and a mixed-species couple of dozen others traveled from Nilash III to the immense orbital pen aboard an Imperial picket.

  Zenn Bien couldn't imagine a more dreary duty than Nilash Impound.

  Questioned, patted down, and scanned, they had just been admitted to the inspection area when Quip's inside man, a young raven-haired warrant officer, separated them from the pack, ostensibly to double-check their identity documents. In the act of examining their travel permits, the Imperial slipped Zenn Bien a flimsiplast map.

  Zenn Bien glanced at it, committing it to memory, and slid it back.

  “That fast?” the Imperial said.

  “Want to test me?”

  He sniggered. “We could sure use some of you folk.”

  “Sullustans don't clone as easily as humans.”

  “I'm sure that's true.” The Imperial returned the documents. “Make as if you're inspecting the auction ships. In exactly half an hour local I'll be on the other side of the starboard hatch.” He gestured with his chin. “The security cams will be disabled. I'll dim the illuminator once; that's your signal to come through. The only way to reach the YT is by patrol boat. Have you ever piloted one?”

  “How hard can it be?” Zenn Bien said.

  “Maneuver the patrol boat to the YT's port-side docking ring and secure to it. The ship's life-support systems will be on standby, so all you'll have to do is wait for the air lock to cycle and you're in.”

  “Anything we need to know about anti-theft or anti-intrusion devices?” Zenn Bien said.

  “No anti-intrusion. That's the best I can tell you.”

  “What about fuel? Quip says the ship has been gathering rust and micrometeors for years.”

  “There's enough fuel and power to complete a jump to Sriluur.”

  “How'd you accomplish that?”

  “It took me six months to see to it.”

  Zenn Bien looked from the Imperial to Quip and back again. “You two have been planning this heist that long?”

  Both of them nodded.

  “Guess the Empire doesn't pay very well.”

  “That's the least of it,” the warrant officer said.

  Half an hour passed in no time. Ambling to the hatch, Zenn Bien and Quip waited for the illuminator to dim, then hurried through. The Imperial directed them down a dark corridor to the waiting patrol boat and wished them luck.

  The YT-1300 that Quip was after was corralled with several dozen other vessels—many of them CIS warships—in a zero-g docking station adjacent to the inspection hangar. The perimeter of the impound facility was patrolled by roving illuminators and clone pilots flying old V-wing fighters, but the patrols were so widely spaced they were able to reach the YT undetected, thanks in large measure to Zenn Bien's ability to see in the dark. As they made their approach, she regarded the freighter through the boat's small viewport.

  “This isn't a stock YT-Thirteen-hundred. It's more of a Thirteen-hundred-pea hybrid.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Just the opposite. We'll have more parts to sell.”

  Fastening the boat to the docking ring, they enabled the lock and waited for it to cycle. Then they scurried into the ship's pitch-black ring corridor, Quip holding on to the back of Zenn Bien's flight jacket. Glancing around, she shook her head in astonishment.

  “Wait till you get a load of this ship.”

  Stepping out from behind her, Quip stubbed his foot against a large round object and fell back against the bulkhead, shining a handheld glow rod along the deck.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he said while he nursed his foot.

  Zenn Bien bent down to inspect the sphere. “Buzz droid,” she said, clearly baffled. Moving to the bulkhead, she palmed the actuator that brought up the emergency lights and headed aft down the ring corridor.

  Quip planted his sore foot on the deck and began to hobble after her. “Where are you going? The cockpit's the other way.”

  “I want see what other surprises this ship has in store for us.”

  Poking her head into the main cabin, she marveled at the huge double bunk and luxurious appointments. Aft, she gazed in awe at the sublight and hyperdrive engines. Moving forward through the starboard ring corridor, she peeked into the secondary cabin and chuckled in amazement at the galley's fixtures and devices.

  “Who owned this ship?” she asked Quip over her shoulder as they headed into the cockpit connector.

  “What I heard, the Imps took it off a criminal from Nar Shaddaa.”

  Zenn Bien nodded. “That would explain it. It'll be a shame to chop this one.”

  “Like you said, more parts equals more credits for us.”

  In the cockpit, Zenn Bien climbed up into the pilot's chair, adjusting its position to suit her size. Strapped into the copilot's chair, Quip adjusted it to place himself on an even height with her.

  Humanity needs more like him, she told herself.

  They waited an hour for the clone-piloted V-wings to complete their patrol of the corral; then, disabling the magnetics that kept the YT from drifting, they maneuvered out of the press of CIS warships, firing the attitude thrusters briefly to drop the ship out of the corral.

  “The port-side jet has a problem,” Zenn Bien said as momentum began to carry the YT away from the impound facility.

  “We can have it looked at on Sriluur.”

  Zenn Bien centered herself at the controls. “Ready?” She grabbed hold of the throttle and sent the YT hurtling into space.

  “Dial up the compensator!” Quip said, struggling to remain in the chair.

  Catching her breath, she eased up on the throttle and reached for the inertial compensator, dialing it up to 99 percent. “I had no idea this thing would be so fast!”

  The Nilash Impound Facility was already a distant memory. Zenn Bien swiveled to the Rubicon navicomputer and tasked it with plotting a course for the Sisar Run. A moment later the stars elongated into lines and the ship leapt into hyperspace.

  Zenn Bien blew out her breath and extended a hand toward Quip. “Look at this—I'm actually shaking.”

  “I told you it would be a breeze.”

  She laughed. “Not from stealing her. From flying her.”

  They put in at a remote desert spaceport on Sriluur, where they paid a couple of Weequays to watch the ship while they went looking for Quip's contact. A Verpine more than twice Zenn Bien's height, Luufkin was waiting for them in the spaceport's small tapcaf. The four-limbed hermaphroditic insectoid greeted Quip like a long-lost friend.

  “Everything is prepared,” Luufkin said, struggling with Basic. “I have computer documentation for new registry and name for freighter—Gone to Pieces. Fuel is waiting, full recharge of power systems. A cargo of fine brandy and tabac sticks on hand.”

  Noting Zenn Bien's puzzlement, Quip said: “Good for bribing officials in the Tungra sector.”

  “And for celebrate with junkyard owners who purchase parts,” Luufkin added.

  Quip smiled. “May as well celebrate our luck so far.”

  While Quip hurried to the bar to order drinks, Luufkin turned to Zenn Bien. “You leave Sullust long time back?”

  She nodded. “Long time back.”

  “Quip tells us much technical ability you have. Why not working for SoroSuub Corporation?”

  Zenn Bien scowled. “SoroSuub is part of the reason I left Sullust. They were wrong to support the Confederacy during the Clone Wars, and they're wrong to support the Empire now. But most S
ullustans know better. Things will change.”

  No slouches when it came to technical wizardry, the Verpine species had their own version of SoroSuub in the form of the Roche Hive Mechanical Apparatus Design And Construction Activity For Those Who Need The Hive's Machines. Among other ships, Roche had manufactured the predecessor of the V-wing fighter used by the Republic during the Clone Wars, and was still in use at remote Imperial facilities like Nilash Impound. Luufkin had the manner of someone who had worked for the hive.

  “Support Rebels you do?”

  She laughed. “I can barely support myself.”

  “Understand that. No time for political affinity when belly empty.”

  It took the better part of a local day to see to the refueling, load the cargo of brandy and tabac, and install the computer programs that would provide the YT with its new identity. All Zenn Bien could think about was getting back behind the freighter's controls. Most of the journey to the Tungra sector would be in hyperspace, but opportunities to put Gone to Pieces through her paces were bound to arise.

  “Task the Rubicon with plotting us a course through the Yarith,” Quip said when the three of them had settled into the cockpit chairs.

  Zenn Bien swiveled to face him. “Why do that when we can just jump the Trade Spine?”

  “Make certain registry telesponder and authenticators working properly at Yarith before continuing to Tungra,” Luufkin said.

  She didn't question it. Being caught with a ship stolen from Imperial impound would get them ten to twenty at Carcel or somewhere worse. Better to be safe than sorry.

  A few hours short of Lutrillia, they were going over plans for dismantling the YT when the proximity alert system issued an earsplitting howl and the ship began to shudder as if she were in the grip of a powerful gravitational field.

  “Can't be a mass shadow!” Zenn Bien said, eyeing the star map even as she fought to control the ship. “We're dead on course!”

  But the heavens were telling her something different. Stars began to appear in the neutral folds of hyperspace, only to elongate and resume form.

  “Something's pulling us into realspace!” The yoke rattled in her hands, and every system added a harsh new sound to the chorus of alarms.

  “Power down or ship will break apart!” Luufkin advised.

  Quip nodded in agreement, and Zenn Bien's hands flew across the console, zeroing one system after the next. Beyond the curved viewport the starfield rotated madly, then stabilized, and she found herself staring at a large Imperial ship in stationary orbit above a desolate-looking planet. The ship had the dagger shape of a Star Destroyer but was considerably smaller, more lightly armed, and distinguished by a quartet of globes that bulged from the stern.

  Zenn Bien watched the YT's IFF transponder cycle in a futile attempt to identify the vessel.

  “Interdictor cruiser,” Luufkin said finally. “Prototype from Sienar Fleet Systems. Globes are gravity-well projectors.”

  “Yes, the Imps have added something new to their arsenal,” Quip said.

  Zenn Bien was speechless.

  The cockpits enunciators crackled to life.

  “YT freighter. Maintain your present course and identify yourself.”

  Luufkin nodded. “Now we see if registry functions.”

  “Imperial cruiser control,” Quip said into the headset, “we are Gone to Pieces out of Sriluur. Transiting to the Corellian Trade Spine.”

  A moment passed before the voice said: “Gone to Pieces, no one apprised you when you filed your jump plan that the Yarith system is restricted space?”

  “Sriluur spaceport control failed to advise us.”

  “What is your cargo?”

  “We're empty, control. Pilot, copilot, and navigator.”

  “Hold at coordinates three-seven-dash-seven and prepare for inspection.”

  Zenn Bien commenced reenabling the systems, then stopped. “The maneuvering thrusters are down. They must have failed when we were yanked into realspace.”

  “Inform cruiser control,” Luufkin said, leaning forward in what seemed expectation.

  The reply from the cruiser was slow in coming.

  “Gone to Pieces, scans confirm that you are empty and unarmed. Our tractor beam will bring you in.”

  Zenn Bien sat back in the chair. “Well, this is a first for me.”

  Luufkin sat back as well. “No worries. Imperials are only human.”

  And some of them were grown rather than born, Zenn Bien thought as a squad of stormtroopers formed up in the main hangar once the Interdictor's pincer cranes had the YT in electromagnetic lock. No sooner had she, Quip, and Luufkin been marched out than several of the stormtroopers marched in to perform a routine inspection. When the troopers reappeared, signaling an all clear, a human executive officer in a gray uniform approached, eyeing Zenn Bien and Luufkin in disdain while he closed on Quip.

  “We're allowing you to continue on your way, Captain Fargil. Next time you may not be as fortunate.”

  “I'll keep that in mind, sir. But we've a slight problem. Your gravity-well projectors have made it impossible for us to maneuver. We need to effect repairs.”

  “Here? You can't be serious.”

  Quip dropped his voice a notch. “Sir, when I said we were empty I neglected to mention that we are carrying several crates of fine brandy and superior tabac. As a way of thanking you for your hospitality we would very much like to donate the cargo to the commander and yourself.”

  The officer lifted an eyebrow. “Just how long will it take you to effect repairs?”

  “Not more than a local day.”

  “You have twelve hours. Then I want you and your … crew on your way.” He motioned for the stormtroopers to break formation and beckoned four of them to his side. “Captain Fargil will be offloading some cargo. Have it conveyed to my cabin immediately.”

  He spun on his heel and marched off, the rest of the stormtroopers falling in behind him.

  Zenn Bien watched him go and swung to Quip. “I don't know whether that was bold or just plain insane, but nice going, either way.”

  Usually quick to smile, Quip was all business. “Show these troopers to the cargo. We have work to do.”

  The troopers wasted no time loading six crates of brandy and tabac onto a repulsorsled and escorting it into the innards of the ship. Zenn Bien had located a cache of power tools in one of the cabins and was preparing to haul them into the main hold maintenance bay when she heard Quip call from the starboard ring corridor. “First things first. Give us a hand with these things.” He and Luufkin had their hands gripped on the corridor deck plates when Zenn Bien joined them.

  “The access bays are in the main hold,” Zenn Bien started to say when Luufkin interrupted.

  “Help lift out.”

  Without further word, she put her back into it. The alloy plates had well-concealed handholds and were not nearly as heavy as Zenn Bien had anticipated. The surprise came when three Jawas, two Chadra-Fan, and a quartet of Squibs emerged from secret compartments beneath the plates. Each of the rodent-like beings wore a utility belt and breather mask, and carried toolboxes, work-arounds, and an assortment of canisters of a type that typically housed knockout gas.

  “They boarded at Sriluur,” Quip said by way of explanation.

  Zenn Bien regarded the beings, all of whom approximated her height. “Something tells me you didn't bring them along in case of breakdowns.”

  “No,” Luufkin said. “They come to steal parts from cruiser's hyperdrive.”

  Angry, insulted, hurt that she had been manipulated, Zenn Bien returned to the tools she had found and disappeared into the maintenance bay to repair the thruster system. It didn't take long for her to realize that the YT's contingent of little folk had engineered the system to fail on the ship's being pulled into realspace. Repairs, such as they were, wouldn't take more than a couple of hours. She was laying out the tools when Quip wriggled down into the bay.

  “I'm sorry I couldn't le
t you in on it.”

  “What, you were under orders?” she said without looking at him.

  “It's true.”

  She lowered the hydrospanner and turned to him. “This isn't just another heist?”

  He shook his head. “The hyperdrive parts are for upgrading this ship.”

  “I don't understand. We're not chopping it? That was never part of the plan?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Then why do you need …” Zenn Bien allowed her words to trail off as it came to her. “You've joined the insurgency.”

  “For over a year now.”

  “The warrant officer at Nilash? Luufkin?”

  “They're the ones who conscripted me.”

  “The Jawas and the rest?”

  “They're being paid. Just like you'll be paid.” He paused. “Plus a bonus if you help us.”

  “Help how?”

  Quip prized a flimsiplast from his shirt pocket and unfolded it. “A schematic of the Interdictor.”

  Initially Zenn Bien refused to look, then thought better of it. “Got it,” she said.

  Quip grinned. “You know, we could sure use people like you.”

  “Just this once,” she warned.

  Wearing a breather mask, Zenn Bien guided the team of Jawas, Squibs, and Chadra-Fan through a labyrinth of narrow, long-ceilinged corridors that coursed between the Interdictor's armored hull and habitable core, Luufkin belly-crawling behind them to execute a mission of his own.

  Being small had its advantages, after all.

  Exiting the interstitial network in the stern of the ship, they made their way into the hyperdrive housing, which was tended to by maintenance droids but absent security of any sort. Leave it to the Empire to overlook a design flaw, Zenn Bien thought as the scavenger team went to work, conversing quietly in squeaks and squawks.

  They used the same corridors to transport parts back to the YT, stowing them in the ship's innermost freight room. Once Zenn Bien was satisfied that the team had learned the route, she remained behind with Quip to patch up the thruster system. Over the course of three hours, the stolen parts began to mount up: an Isu-Sim SSPO5 hyperdrive motivator, Rendili transpacitors, paralight relays, a null quantum field stabilizer …