by Laurie Burns
Taryn Clancy idly watched a comm clerk notarize acceptance the datacards piled on the repulsorlift cart beside her Suddenly, the busy background murmur of the old Imperial Palace’s message center disappeared under the hooting of alarms.
The clerk looked up, face draining of color as she identified the warning tones. “Oh my skies,” she said, sounding stunned. “Coruscant’s under attack.”
Taryn’s eyes widened too, but she moved fast. “If you’ll sign that off, I’ll be on my way,” she said, swiveling to push the cart closer to the clerk’s counter. “There’s your mail,” she added, pointedly holding out her hand.
The clerk blinked, looked at her datapad, punched a few keys, and mutely handed it over. Taryn swiftly inspected her authorization, keyed in her own code, then jerked the clerk’s copy out and tossed it on the counter. “Thanks,” she said over her shoulder, already three steps toward the door.
Out in the corridor the alarms continued at an urgent pitch, but as she squeezed aboard a turbolift, Taryn was relieved no one seemed panicked. Though the New Republic had made the transition from military force to galactic government, the former Rebels obviously hadn’t forgotten how to react to an Imperial attack. She bit her lip, knowing her hopes of leaving were optimistic at best. If Coruscant really was under attack, the planetary shield had probably been raised, and she and Del were stuck for the duration.
But she had to try. After all, who wanted to be stuck on the palace’s landing pads like a clipped mynock while the Empire tried to reclaim its former capital?
Not me, she thought, emerging onto the bright, wind-swept platform and blinking at the brilliance of the midday sun. Reverberations from half-a-dozen ships’ engines thrummed around her, and ahead, the Messenger added its throaty roar to the mechanical chorus. Del had the ramp down and waiting, and as she dropped into the pilot’s seat, a quick scan of the displays showed they were nearly ready to lift.
“Heard the alarms,” Del said, already strapped in at the copilot’s station. “What’s up?”
“Us, I hope,” Taryn said shortly. Another look at the displays, and she flipped on the comm and hailed palace flight control. Her heart sank as her request for liftoff was curtly denied.
Too late — the planetary shield had been raised. The Empire was up there, the New Republic was down here, and she and the Messenger were stuck in between.
Taryn slumped back in her seat. It wasn’t just that she had a schedule to keep. The Core Courier Service promised prompt service among the Core Worlds, and with crates full of communications still filling half her hold, she didn’t want to get too far behind. But late deliveries were nothing compared to what Taryn feared was about to happen — an all-out war for possession of Coruscant. Port gossip had predicted that the Empire, despite the recent loss of Grand Admiral Thrawn, was gearing up to strike at the heart of the New Republic.
It looked like they’d been right.
“Well, heck,” Del said, staring out at the platform where a transport — apparently in defiance of the controller’s orders — was lifting off. “What’re we gonna do now?”
Taryn watched the transport fade to a pinprick in the sky. If the Messenger belonged to her, she’d be tempted to do the same. But a smart captain didn’t take chances with company property “We wait,” she said, reluctantly keying off the engines. “At least until help arrives.”
If it ever did, she added silently. The Imperials would’ve knocked out the comm relays first thing, cutting off the New Republic’s ability to call for help from its fleets scattered through the galaxy. They had orbital defenses, of course, but — A tiny flash caught her eye, and she leaned forward to squint out the cockpit’s transparisteel viewport. “Blast,” she whispered.
Del followed her gaze and saw the almost indiscernible flashes of turbolaser fire high in the sky. “We’re stuck now,” he said.
They watched in grim silence for a while before Taryn abruptly wondered. “How long can the planetary shield hold up?’’
“I dunno,” Del said. “Depends on what they throw at it, probably. Couple of days, maybe … or a couple hours.”
She glanced at him. Under his gray mustache, her first mate’s mouth was tight. And no wonder — after three decades with the courier service, he was just days away from retirement. Studying the lines on his face, Taryn mentally contrasted his years of experience to her own, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with her fledgling status as captain. It was only her fourth run at the helm of the Messenger.
And it was up to her to get them out of this.
For a second she felt a niggling of the old fear; the one with her father’s voice that said she flew for the courier service because she didn’t have the guts to do anything else. All through her childhood, Kal Clancy boasted of his own bravado at the helm of his freighter, then he’d spent her teen years trying to mold her in his image. He hadn’t bothered concealing his disappointment when she hadn’t lived up to his expectations.
She looked at Del again. He’d been delivering mail longer than she’d been alive, and hadn’t ever made captain. That said something for her, didn’t it? Didn’t it?
Stop it, Taryn ordered herself. So being captain of a courier isn’t very challenging. That doesn’t mean I’m not competent.
Shaking off her father’s image, she tried to think what to do next.
Does it?
After a few hours passed with no sign of Imperial ships slipping down from the sky, Taryn’s nerves began to ease. Seven hours after the alarms first sounded, full night had fallen, and she was starting to get annoyed.
“Well, that’s it,” she declared after another request for information from flight control was politely sidestepped. “We can’t leave, they won’t let us move, and they won’t tell us anything. I’m going in there to find out what’s going on.”
“Who you gonna ask?” Del asked.
“Mon Mothma herself, if I have to,” Taryn said.
Del snorted, but getting into the palace proved unexpectedly easy. After an initial hassle with two New Republic security officers, once they discovered she captained the freighter on the platform. Taryn found herself ushered into a turbolift. One of the guards poked his head in after her and punched a button on the call panel. “Good luck,” he said, giving her a mock salute as the doors slid shut.
That was easy — too easy, she thought, wondering what that salute thing meant. She was still puzzling over it when the doors opened on a corridor clearly far removed from the service section of the palace where she’d made her delivery earlier. Same basic decor, but this section had an unmistakably brisk military air
As did the two armed troopers standing against the wall across from the turbolift. They eyed her alertly as she stepped out, then she saw the other two, standing on each side of the lift. Trying to ignore the four pairs of eyes trained on her, she glanced down the corridor. At one end, a blast door slid open and a frowning officer stalked toward her. Halting a meter away, he gave her a quick once-over.
“I’m Colonel Bremen,” he identified himself. “And you’re —?”
“Taryn Clancy, captain of the Messenger.”
He nodded curtly. “If you’re armed, you’ll have to leave your weapons outside,” he said, producing a hand-held weapons scanner.
“I’m not,” Taryn said, but Bremen ran the device over her anyway.
“All right,” he said, apparently satisfied. “Follow me.”
A guard fell in line behind her as Taryn followed Bremen through the blast doors into another corridor. She glanced curiously into open rooms as they passed, feet faltering as a face she thought she recognized from the holovid flashed into view. Was that really Mon Mothma?
And if it were the New Republic’s Chief of State, just where was this Bremen taking her?
There was no time to speculate, as he stopped beside a door and gestured for her to enter. Taryn stepped into the small office and looked at the man seated behind the desk. Good-looking and about the same age as Del, he looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him.
That is, until Bremen shut the door and brushed past her. “Got another one for you, General Bel Iblis. Captain Clancy of the Messenger,” he said, and Taryn tried not to stare. She’d expected to be pawned off on some palace flunky, not brought to the man in charge of Coruscant’s defense!
“Captain Clancy.” Bel Iblis nodded to her courteously as Bremen folded his arms and took up a position against the office wall. “I understand you’d like an update on the situation.”
“Yes, sir, I would,” she said, making a conscious effort to relax and not stand at attention. “What’s going on? And when will I be able to leave?”
Bel Iblis studied her silently. Just as Taryn began to fear she’d been too brash, he grimly answered. “Coruscant is surrounded. Our defenses have been forced to retreat, and we estimate the planetary shield will fail by morning.”
Taryn forgot not to stare. “What’ll happen then?”
“We’re not waiting to find out,” he said. “We’ll be pulling out tonight.”
“You’re leaving?”
“We have no choice,” Bel Iblis said heavily. “There’s no way to get word to our fleets in other sectors, and even if we did, they couldn’t get here before the shield fails.”
“But, what about the New Republic?” she persisted. Was the fledgling government really going to crumble that easily?
“The New Republic will survive,” he said. “Only its headquarters will move.” Something like old pain briefly shadowed his eyes. “We don’t want Coruscant destroyed too, when all the Empire wants is to destroy us. Once we’re off the planet, the populace ought to be safe enough.”
Bremen abruptly unfolded from the wall and opened his mouth, but subsided at a look from Bel Iblis. Taryn glanced from one to the other, suddenly aware of the tension between them, then looked back at Bel Iblis. “Where will you go?”
“Good question,” he said. “That’s where you come in.”
“Me?” she said, warily.
“We need all the lifting capacity we can beg, borrow, or steal the evacuation,” he said, watching her intently.
Taryn got it, right away.
“The Messenger’s not that big,” she protested. “Not that fast either. Besides, I work for the Core Courier Service, not for you. The New Republic can’t just hijack my ship!”
“Actually, we can,” Bel Iblis said. “And will. But not for what you think.” He leaned forward, looking grave. “We’ve got to get word to the sector fleets that the New Republic has evacuated Coruscant will regroup at a new base. Secrecy is absolutely vital — we can’t take the chance of the Empire tapping into any transmissions and overhearing the location of our rendezvous point. So,” he spread his hands suggestively, “we send out couriers.”
Taryn remained silent. She suspected he hadn’t said “courier” by chance.
“Usually, we’d send out a messenger in an unmarked Intelligence ship,” Bel Iblis said. Bremen opened his mouth, and again, the general shot him a warning glance. “But we need everything we’ve got for the evacuation.”
“What if I refuse?”
“You’re welcome to remain here on Coruscant.” Bel Iblis said. “Or leave on one of our transports. We’ll recompense the courier service for use of the ship, of course.”
Some choice, Taryn thought sourly. Stuck here waiting for the stormtroopers, or on the run with the New Republic.
She sighed. “So, when do we leave?”
Once she’d thought about it, Taryn had to agree using the Messenger for cover was actually pretty clever.
For one, the datacard — with its report on the retreat from Coruscant and the rendezvous location — was nicely anonymous, tucked in a crate with thousands of other datacards; communications bound for other Core Worlds. And that crate was just one among dozens exactly like it, stacked one on top the other in the Messenger’s hold.
For another, the prospect of trying to sneak past an armada of Star Destroyers was almost made bearable by the sight the bulky Colonel Bremen made, stuffed into a spare uniform they’d scrounged up that was at least two sizes too small. Tugging at the too-tight collar, he stood in the cockpit doorway with the slight frown that never seemed to leave his face. Taryn didn’t have to look away from her engine displays to know the uniform’s pant legs ended somewhere above his ankles. Her mouth quirked slightly before she remembered Bremen was here to keep an eye on her and Del, and there was nothing funny about the situation they were in.
Her hands tightened on the controls. “Go strap in,” she ordered Bremen. “We’re almost ready to lift.” When he didn’t move, she glanced over her shoulder questioningly. “What?”
“I’ll stay here,” he said.
She shrugged.
“Do what you want,” Del snorted. He and Bremen hadn’t exchanged half a dozen words since the New Republic officer had come on board, but they clearly hadn’t hit it off.
“You should let me pilot,” Bremen said, again. “This isn’t some simple mail drop, you know.”
“No,” Taryn said adamantly, as if this hadn’t already been covered in Bel Iblis’ office. “We made a deal. The New Republic can use my ship, but no one’s flying it but me.” Considering they were basically being shanghaied, she’d been surprised Bel Iblis had agreed. As it was, she half suspected the general had assigned Bremen to this mission just to get rid of him. The two clearly didn’t get along. She glanced at Del. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he confirmed.
She eased in the repulsors. Below, the comforting lights of Imperial City dwindled to pinpricks as they gained altitude. Bel Iblis had said the gaps between the surrounding Star Destroyers were guarded by smaller capital ships, so each pilot would have to pick their own escape route and make a run for it. “We got a course yet?” she asked Del.
“Nav computer’s working on it,” he said. She threw a quick look at Bremen, balancing himself in the cockpit’s doorway, then checked the sensors. Nothing close enough to worry about, but she’d have to stay sharp. Bel Iblis wanted as many ships as possible in the air and moving when he dropped the shield. With the whole swarm fleeing at once, they hoped to at least create a little confusion as they tried to sneak past the waiting Imperials.
Flashes of light danced where the planetary shield was still getting blasted, the opalescent haze shifting and rippling as it was hit. Taryn changed course slightly, aiming for a clear spot, then checked her chronometer. Almost time.
Del flipped on the comm, already tuned to the escape frequency, and as Taryn stared at the shield, she wondered what the people left below would face. Would the Empire be content to simply retake Coruscant and leave its citizens in relative peace? Or would it feel the need to punish them for not repulsing the New Republic in the first place?
Either way, she was out of it now.
“Ought to be down any time,” Bremen said from behind her, where he too was watching the shield flash under the Imperial assault. “Too bad this thing doesn’t have much in the way of weaponry.”
Taryn’s mouth tightened at the slur to her ship. As she’d already pointed out, mail freighters weren’t prime targets for anyone, even pirates. There was no need to go around bristling with armament — usually. At the moment, she conceded a little more firepower might come in handy.
Several large masses started to register on the scopes, indicating the gauntlet ahead. Taryn had never seen so many Star Destroyers in one place, and another wave of self-doubt assailed her. She’d never done anything like this before, except in her imagination. Maybe she should let Bremen take the controls —
And then, it was too late.
“It’s down,” Bel I
blis’ voice rang out over the comm. “Clear skies people, and may the Force be with you!”
The planetary shield was down, and the scramble was on.
Far to port, Taryn was aware of a planet defender ion cannon being used from the surface to clear a path for some of the fleeing ships, but she kept to her own vector as they cleared the atmosphere and the waiting Imperial ships came into sight.
There it was — her path to freedom — straight between two Star Destroyers flanked by five smaller Dreadnaughts. They looked like two ferocious Dorax dogs surrounded by feisty puppies, and she swallowed, edging the drive up to full. Even at top speed, the Messenger couldn’t be called fast, and she could only hope they’d be overlooked in the swarm fleeing from the surface.
And for a while, her hopes seemed answered. Aiming for a gap between the two Dreadnaughts furthest away from the Star Destroyers, the Messenger pelted along in the wake of another freighter, a transport, and a sleek starfighter. Alongside and slightly behind were two heavy transports. The Dreadnaughts fired, but with so many small targets, the shots were erratic and for the most part simply sizzled into space.
Their shield indicators were still green, they were nearly past the Dreadnaughts, and Taryn was beginning to think they just might make it unscathed when a sudden sharp lurch of the ship threw her and Del against their restraints, and sent Bremen tumbling forward to sprawl unceremoniously over the sensor scopes.
“Get off!” she gritted, then clenched her teeth as another hard thunk spilled him to the deck. With a jolt, she saw a lot more ships around them than had been there a moment ago. Identification was easy as a TIE fighter roared past, firing at the transport ahead of them driving for deep space.
“Del?” she said. The grizzled first mate needed no further urging, loosing a volley of laser fire at the TIE fighter harassing the transport up ahead. Behind them, a dull clunk indicated another hit, but Taryn kept going. Their course was calculated and set: if she could just get the Messenger a little further away from the planet, they could make the jump to lightspeed, and safety.
